When Karma Comes To Call (2 page)

“That patch means I do what needs to be done for my club. I take care of problems. Make sure you don’t become one, and we’ll be fine. I could sugarcoat shit, but no one else will. I’d be setting you up for failure.” I prefer to be upfront. It saves me from dealing with a lot of bullshit. “You stick to what I told you and you’ll make it out of this just fine.” I turn and start up the bike. I’m anxious to get to my brothers. My cut makes me easily identifiable, and I don’t know who we’re dealing with. I navigate the roads, relieved that the cars are few and unassuming. When I reach the clubhouse I climb off, but she remains on the bike, watching me with those damn eyes. Rich bitch or not, she’s seen some shit. I know a person who’s haunted by the heaviness of life.

“Come on.”

She climbs off, and her legs waver. I grab her arm, steadying her. “Jell-O leg, it’ll go away in a few minutes. Let’s get you moving.” I walk inside the clubhouse and cheers and whistles go up.

“Shit, you brought us some fresh meat?” a voice booms.

“No. I need to talk to the Pres or the VP now.”

“Shit,” Hound, a blonde with a reputation with the ladies, says. “Nomad rolls through the door and sucks the life out of the party.”

I narrow my eyes, and he clamps his mouth shut.

“You lucked out. Pres is here today. I saw him somewhere in the back with his old lady playing poker,” Hound says, instantly sober.

I nod my thanks, wrap my arm around Karma’s waist, and stare down every motherfucker drooling over her. If I don’t, they’ll be trying to get in her pants, and I don’t have the time nor the patience to fend every hungry bastard off every second. They avert their lusty gazes. Some of them are looking to earn their Black Wings. It’s not every day you see a brown-skinned beauty stroll through the door. Not that we have anything against them, it just how it’s been. Of course, from what I hear, the Pres and his right hand, Lefty, have been changing things. It’s encouraging to see growth. If you try to stick to the old, you die off. Dueling Devils are too strong for that. Our founders had vision. It was a haven for people who wanted to form their families. Unlike some clubs, there was nothing truly required other than a Harley and loyalty. It’s what attracted me to the Dueling Devils in the first place.

I spot Demon at the table with his old lady in his lap. A stack of money rested in the center, and the men around him all had on their game faces.

“Hate to interrupt. But I need a word, Pres.”

Demon glances up and smiles. “Holy shit, Slayer. You crept in on us.”

“Yeah. I was looking for some down time. But shit has a way of happening.”

Demon’s eyes grow shuttered. “I’m out, boys, keep playing without me. Prospect?” He snaps his fingers, and a lanky boy with long blond hair walks over. “Make sure Ardy’s taken care of.”

“Yes, Pres,” the boy barks like a soldier in basic training.

I laugh. We were all like this poor bastard once.

“Let’s take this to my office,” Demon says.

I follow him, dragging Karma behind me. I can tell the clubhouse has her on edge, and Demon scares her. He should. The more respect she shows him, the better off she’ll end up. The man is ruthless when it comes to protecting his own, and DD has shed enough blood in the past year. He rises from the table, all business. We wind our way through the packed clubhouse. I’m shocked his old lady is here among the biker bunnies. Not all of them can accept this part of our lifestyle, let alone look it in the eyes. The door closes behind us, and I push Karma toward a chair. “Sit.”

She obeys, folding her hands in her lap and staring at the ground.

“You want to tell me what this is all about, Slayer?” Demon asks.

****

Karma

I keep my eyes trained on his shoulder as I listen to what the man has to say. His tone is even and pleasant. He’s handsome with his dark brown eyes and strong features. His black hair is slicked back from his face, and he looks placid, unassuming even. If I were a less savvy girl, it would lull me into a false sense of security. I’m not. I hear the steel hidden beneath the silky smooth tone. You don’t trifle with a man like Demon. His name says it all. Charming, with a face that could be carved by one of the great artists, but deadly and vengeful when wronged. I can see the coldness in his gaze. I know I don’t fit into his plans, and that terrifies me. Men like this don’t like complications. I watch him from beneath lowered lids. Like an alpha wolf, I know better than to look him in the eyes, lest it be considered a challenge.

“Karma Good, has-been rock star trying to make a comeback? When you fell, you fell hard, huh? Nose candy.” He tsks. The click of his phone tells me he’s researching me. “Tell me why I should put my ass on the line for a junkie?”

“Ex-junkie deep in the recovery process.” I take a risk and meet his gaze, trying not to piss my pants. His nostrils flare, and he grinds his teeth. I hold my breath. It would’ve been smarter to hold my tongue, but I can’t about this. I worked damn hard to get where I am now.

“You got a mouth on you?” Demon asks.

“Only when it matters. I’ve been clean for over a year. I’m not looking to end up a has-been. I have my shit together now, and I know how to keep my mouth shut. I’m no princess spending Daddy’s money. I worked my ass off for everything I ever got. I come from a rough area. Snitches get stitches or worse. I know how things work.” I tilt my chin up. Goods don’t cower.

“You talk a nice game. But the fact that you’re sitting here in my office says you’re trouble. Want to tell me why I should help you, Karma Good?” Demon questions.

He makes my name sound like an insult. My stomach sinks. The smell of leather and males make me nauseous. They could end me without breaking a sweat. I’m well aware of how much more powerful men are.

“I don’t know. It’d depend on what you were looking for. I have some money stored up—”

His face distorts into a mask of rage. I’m sure this expression has been the last thing people have seen. “You think you can buy us?”

“No, just figured we could make a deal, to make this all worth your while. Money is all I have to offer. I’ll be frank; I don’t know what the hell I walked into. I don’t owe anyone money or have any enemies that I know of. I mean, this is rock and roll, not hip hop. We don’t do beefs that end in gunfire.”

“So, what happened tonight?” Demon asks, pressing me.

My mind takes me back to the moment. The cracks of what sound like fireworks reaches me in the bathroom. I panicked, thinking the equipment had malfunctioned. I shake my hands dry and run from the bathroom. Just as I open the door, a cloud of red and gray explode and splatter against the clear partition separating the studio from the recording room. I look up and meet the icy green gaze of a man with black hair and a grim expression on his ruddy face. Red liquid sticks my shirt to my chest. I back up and stumble away, slamming the door. Turning on my heels, I run for all I’m worth as my mind registers the entire picture. The crew is gone; slumped in their chairs and on the floor with blood pouring from their wounds and glazed eyes.

“Hey. Hey.” A finger snap brings me back to the present.

“Shit, she’s unraveling at the seams,” Demon mumbles.

“No,” I say, panicked. “I’m fine, just remembering, trying to see if I could come up with anything helpful. I never saw the men who were there before today.”

Demon whistled. “You saw their face?”

I nod.

“She’s fucked, brother,” the man who recused me says. I read his patch.
Arsen.

“We’re looking to get into more legal means of money. You got a backer for the record you’re working on?” Demon asks.

I snort. “I wish. All out of pocket. The music gods can be unforgiving when you fuck up.”

Demon purses his lips. “I need to take this to the table and make sure you check out. Arsen, keep her in your room. I’m going to call church for the table,” Demon states.

“All right, brother,” Arsen replies, standing. I linger on the edge of my chair, unsure what to do. “You waiting for an invitation?”

I push my aching limbs out of the chair and stand as close to him as I can get without climbing his body like a tree. This isn’t my world, and these aren’t my people. Their lustful gazes frighten me. In the span of the ten-minute walk around the perimeter, I’ve seen weed, pills, and sex. They live by their own code. I’m an outsider and a stranger. It’s not a good place to be. I follow Arsen down a dimly lit hallway to a room. He unlocks a door near the end of the hall, flips on a light, and gestures for me to walk in. I’m not sure what I expected, but this isn’t it. A twin sized bed sits beside a cherry wood nightstand, and a matching dresser is up against the wall across from it. The light scent of lemon reaches my nose. The beige, brown carpet on the floor looks clean, and the small space was uncluttered. The door clicks shut, and I turn to face him.

“We’re not animals,” he sneers disgustedly.

“I-I never said you were. I’ve known plenty of bachelor’s, and none keep house so well,” I say.

He laughs. “That’s what the bunnies are for. I’ll tell you now, I like my things neat.”

“Noted. So, I never got a chance to say thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet. You ain’t out of the woods, girl. They got to vote.”

I appreciate his honesty. I shouldn’t feel safer with him—he hasn’t gone out of his way to be kind—but he did save me and he’s been neutral. “Yeah well I’ll take these odds over the ones I would’ve had if you’d kept driving.”

“Kind of hard to do that with you hanging all over my handlebars. That shit took guts. I respect you for that. So you know.”

“Get the feeling you don’t say that often,” I whisper.

His stare is direct and electrifying. Caught in a current, I’m rooted to the floor. “I don’t. I like strong women. Hell, had one raise me.”

I get his angle then. He’s doing this for her in some shape of fashion. I’m safe with him unless Demon hands down an order. It brings me a comfort and sense of peace amidst the turmoil.

“Sit, they could take a while.”

It was a command spoken softly. I oblige, sitting on the edge of the bed. The silence stretches out between us. “Do you have a restroom?” I ask.

“Right through that door,” he says, thrusting his chin toward the corner. I stand and force myself to cover the distance calmly. I step inside, close the door behind me, and slide down to the floor. My body quakes and my eyes water. I press my palm to mouth, and I let it all out. The carefully contained emotions rush to the surface. Just when things were looking up, I’m beaten back down by an insane set of circumstances. A wave of fatigue sweeps over me. I place my head between my legs and breathe deeply. I need to gain control.
I am in control.
I chant the words in my head. It’s my new mantra. Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll begin to believe it. I can’t lose it now. Giving these people any reason to doubt me or my ability to keep all of this under wraps is a death sentence.

I slowly rise to my feet and walk over to the sink. My eyes are too big on my face and haunted. Ruby residue covers my shirt. Tiny droplets rest on my face and smear across my T-shirt. A sticky gray clump I think might be brains taunts me from the area by my chest. Cracks form in my smokescreen tough girl act.
I’m wearing someone’s brains and blood like a new accessory
. I grip the bottom of my shirt and rip it over my head. I need to get the blood off me. I want to disconnect from the memories playing in my head like a horror film. I can smell the sweet scent of gunpowder, and hear the pop that sounds like a melon being smashed. The projectile spray of brain and blood are on a loop. Tremors rake my body and my stomach rolls as I strip down. I stumble to the modest shower, set the water as hot as I can stand, and step under the spray. The stinging stream hits my flesh like needles. I turn my face to it and grab the bar of green soap.

I build up a lather and scrub. My life has gone from one of those train wrecks people sing about to a Lifetime movie. I clench my eyes tight. I’ve fallen so far off course, I don’t know if I can come back. Just two years ago, I was on top of the world, touring with big rock acts, and earning a name for myself. I broke the color boundaries with a voice that couldn’t be denied. A little bit Janis a little bit Nina Simone, with the I don’t-give-a-fuck attitude of Courtney Love and Joan Jett. My voice had always been my weapon. So, I learned to use it well. Insert my shitty life and I had enough angst-ridden material to write a debut album that ripped people’s hearts out and kept my name on their tongues. It didn’t come easy.

I did my time, sang in every dive bar, park, and tiny sports event I could manage. I worked two, sometimes three jobs to support myself, and keep my recording session, voice lessons, and branding mastery alive. I’d been in my early thirties and on the rise. Then I got introduced to the nose candy. It’s amazing how quickly things can unravel once you develop an expensive addiction that blinds you to everything else. The tears come, and let them fall. My legs give. I grip the slippery tile wall and slide down onto my knees. I sob for the mistakes made and the lives lost tonight. I let the stress, sorrow, and fear leave my body with the tears until there’s nothing left, and I’m numb. The tears continue to flow, and I rest there, an empty shell incapable of anything else.

“You alive in there, girl? Gonna be pissed if you slit your wrists and I have to dispose of the body after I worked so hard to keep you alive.”