Bones by the Wood: Kairos, #2

By Catherine Johnson

Steve ‘Dizzy’ Disraeli has been the Sergeant at Arms of the Priests MC, Louisiana for fifteen years; he’s been a member for more than twenty.  Now his president has a big task for him, Samuel Carter has asked him to travel to move back to his native Texas to head up a new charter of the Priests MC.  He’s got a lot of work to do, and he needs to find a way to make a home now that he is no longer surrounded by the family he has known for more than half his life.

Althea ‘Thea’ Colby is just trying to get along as best she can.  It’s not easy being a single mama, but she’s giving it her all.  Her son, Josh, is her world and the only man worth having in her life.  She spent some time on the sidelines of the biker club in the town she calls home, but never had any plans to get drawn in any further.

But the Rabid Dogs MC has disappeared without trace or explanation, and now there’s a new MC in town and they seem to have brought a truckload of trouble with them.  Thea and Josh are at risk from the MC's enemies, and her heart is certainly at risk from the President of the club himself.

Thea has to fight to keep her tiny slice of family whole.  Dizzy has to fight to build a family from nothing.  As they endeavour to survive and endure the trials in their way, they may find that the roads they’re looking for are one and the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catherine Johnson
• Release date: Oct 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502228628

Catherine Johnson

CATHERINE JOHNSON, Ph.D., is a writer specializing in neuropsychiatry and the brain. She cowrote Animals in Translation and served as a trustee of the National Alliance for Autism Research for seven years. She lives with her husband and three sons—two of whom have autism—in New York.

Book preview

Chapter One

The day had turned out to be quite mild for July, but for Louisiana that wasn’t saying much. It was still humid enough that Dizzy knew he would want a shower before he climbed into bed. The only saving grace of summers here, versus his native Texas, was the lack of tornados. He still remembered the gut-clenching wail of the warning klaxon that had assaulted more than just the eardrums as it rang out, giving residents precious little time to find a place of safety.

He was glad that the club was taking this day to connect. There had been a lot of upheaval and loss in the last few months, and while they’d had plenty of their usual debauched nights, it was nice to get together in the daylight and at least try to be a little bit civilized. With that in mind, he parked his bike outside his President’s house. The single story, clapboard residence was set well back from the road. There was a narrow, paved path leading through the grass up to the porch. The grass never needed cutting; its constant use as a parking lot for various vehicles, both two and four-wheeled, ensured that it was often mostly dust with a few patches of defiant greenery.

The scrubby space was more crowded than usual. Once it had become apparent that the day was not going to be a record breaker, temperature-wise, Samuel, President of the Priests MC, had invited the club over for a barbeque and beers - although the two incentives should probably have been reversed – there was likely to be a lot more drinking than eating. It was a celebration of sorts since, the previous week, Samuel had found out he was going to be a granddaddy for the first time. Samuel and his wife, Moira, and the club as a whole, were still grieving the death of Samuel’s firstborn, and the news of a new baby, a new life, had given the club a shot of happiness that it sorely needed.

Samuel’s son, Dean, had been a member of the club for almost fourteen years. He’d died during an ambush by members of a Mexican drug cartel, invested in a turf war with the Colombian cartel that the Priests dealt with. The official story was that his neck had been broken when his bike had skidded out of control during a fierce rainstorm. It was true enough, and that might have happened anyway, but two men shooting at them hadn’t helped him keep his seat.

Dizzy knocked the kickstand into place and swung off his bike. He hooked his helmet over the handlebars, fished his battered Stetson out of his saddlebags and settled it over his shaggy blonde hair. It would be different, having little kids running around the place. There hadn’t been kids around the club in twenty years, not since Samuel’s two, Dean and Ashleigh, had been young. This new addition wouldn’t be the only one.

Barely more than a month since, the club had been rocked by the revelation that its long time allies, the Rabid Dogs MC of southern Texas, had made moves to assassinate Samuel and his Vice President, Terry, with a view to taking over their business arrangement with the Rojas family. The move that they had made was to allow one of their members to patch into the Priests, but with a hidden agenda. In the end, Shark Reardon had fallen hard for Samuel’s daughter and had confessed his mission without ever having attempted to carry it out, but that had brought about a brutal retribution for the Rabid Dogs. Every member had been killed, and some of the bodies would never be found. One of the members had been father to a little girl, a precious little eight-year-old. Shark had made the request that, regardless of the consequences that he and the girl’s father faced, that a home be found for the child whose mother had abandoned her.

Samuel had agreed to approach Eduardo Dias, his contact for the Rojas family, and the source of all their illegal work. The Rojas had the far reaching tentacles and resources to find the little girl a home without questions being asked. But then when Samuel had visited Texas to take care of some business, he had met and fallen in love with the little girl, and he’d known where the perfect home for her lay. Terry and his wife Dolly had never been able to have their own children. Dizzy didn’t know the specifics of why and he wasn’t about to ask, but he assumed Samuel knew. Samuel had called Terry almost straight away with the suggestion that he and Dolly take in the little girl. Terry hadn’t been sure at first, but Dolly had been enthusiastically militant about accepting this random gift from the cosmos, and there wasn’t much Terry wouldn’t do to keep his wife happy. It was going to take a few weeks for the Rojas to buy off the appropriate officials and make the paperwork legit, but by the end of that time, Terry and Dolly would have the child they’d always craved.

The changes filled Dizzy with a new hope for the club. He could see a future, or a possibility of one, for it now in a way that he hadn’t been able to before. He was looking forward to the kids arriving. He liked playing uncle. He’d been in his early twenties when Ashleigh and Dean were young and had been something of a co-conspirator when they wanted to do something that wasn’t strictly allowed, although he would never have helped them to do anything dangerous.

Being two years older than his sister, and a boy, Dean had had an easier time finding a way to fit into the culture of the club as a kid, but Ashleigh had always seemed somewhat lost to Dizzy, especially while Samuel was in jail. It seemed like half the time she was supposed to be a princess and the rest of the time she was supposed to be seen and not heard. She’d found a way to get her mama to agree to her spending Sundays at the garage. He’d shown Ashleigh how to navigate her way around an engine, and taken her out on short rides that wouldn’t get him stripped of his patch. His other brothers knew he always took Ashleigh for a treat at Gina’s Diner and maintained an impenetrable solidarity when it came to keeping Moira from finding out that her little girl was riding around town on the back of a Harley.

Dizzy figured his chance at a family had come and gone somewhere along the way without him even realizing it. He’d never found anyone that he felt a strong enough connection with to settle down and raise children of his own. In the back of his mind he’d generally measured most women, that weren’t club pussy, against Moira. It wasn’t that he had a crush on her, far from it, but he had a healthy amount of admiration for his President’s wife. She impressed the hell out of him. She handled life in the shadow of the club, especially the times her husband had been in jail, had raised two kids, kept the town sweet by heading up various charities and made it all look easy.

As Dizzy rounded the corner of the house, the scent of the wildflowers that lined the road collided with, and was overwhelmed by, the aroma of cooking meat. He scanned the group of people who were closer to him than his blood family, looking for his President first automatically. Samuel stood over the grill with Sinatra, one of their newest patches. Chiz, one of the club enforcers and something of a protégé of Dizzy’s, had discovered that Sinatra had a gift for cooking meat over hot coals and no doubt Samuel was imparting some of his own tricks to the young man. Samuel looked up, having heard the rumble of Dizzy’s bike. Dizzy nodded and received a bob of the head as welcome in return.

Dizzy checked for Moira next, since he was a guest in her home, with the intention of greeting her, but he saw that she was deep in conversation with Dolly and Ashleigh. She hadn’t even noticed he’d arrived. She was still fit to bursting with the news of the next generation, and he could see that she was animated in her discussion, so he left her to her talk and headed over to the man who had been his own mentor in the club. Fletch had been the Sergeant at Arms when Dizzy had first donned his Prospect patch and had become something of a surrogate father in his life and a guiding hand when Dizzy had stepped into the role when Fletch retired from it.

Fletch was sitting with Kong, Tag and Crash. As he got closer, Dizzy realized that the discussion underway was about some sort of TV program that had nothing to do with either naked women or engines. He would have reversed his course, but Fletch had seen him and was rolling his eyes and shaking his head in despair. Dizzy felt duty-bound to rescue him, or at least provide respite. Fletch tilted his head in the direction of the house. Dizzy followed his indication and spotted several large plastic crates filled with beers and iced water. He detoured and helped himself to a bottle before heading back to Fletch’s side.

Crash was in the zone, busy making a point of opinion. All I’m sayin’ is, if it were me, I’d do a soup for starter. Something like tomato or minestrone. You can’t go wrong with that. Just keep it warm while you get your main sorted out. Do a fancy main course to impress people, do a cold dessert that you can have waitin’ in the fridge the whole time.

Tag’s eyes had flicked to Dizzy when he’d walked up and he’d almost flinched, but then he’d tuned back into what Crash was saying. Dizzy wasn’t offended; as far as he was concerned it was a sign of a job well done. As SAA one of his responsibilities was discipline in the club, and he’d had to remind Tag that he was supposed to stand up for his President’s daughter when a strange patch grabbed her, ally or not.

Tag was fully engaged in the conversation again now. No man, I‘m tellin’ you, put out your fancy shit for the starter, set the tone. Then do somethin’ simple, but really tasty for the main course, somethin’ with a lot of flavor. Then you can give everyone time to get hungry again while you’re doin’ somethin’ fancy for dessert and end on a high note.

Crash was shaking his head in vehement disagreement. Dizzy hope this wasn’t going to be one of those times that Crash lost his temper, spectacularly and without warning. He’d left the Marines after receiving a head injury during a tour of duty, and the aftereffects were interesting, to say the least. The most obvious were wild mood swings and trouble with his balance. Crash had stopped re-spraying his bike every time he laid it down; it had gotten too tedious. Now his Harley was more scratches than paint. The young man’s bright blue eyes gave him a slightly mad air anyway, but coupled with the extensive scarring on his head, almost highlighted by the patches of hair he kept buzzed short, he looked almost totally insane when a tantrum hit.

Brother, you do all your cookin’ in the fuckin’ microwave. Your insides have been exposed to so much fuckin’ radiation you should be the Incredible Hulk!

Kong, who was due to hit seventy this year right along with Fletch, looked like a man who loved his food. He weighed in with his own opinion. You’re both wrong. Fuck the starter. Who needs that prissy shit? Get a big ole steak on the plate with plenty of fries and put a pie out after. That’s all you need.

Tag raised an eyebrow at Kong. For a guy lookin’ like you do a person’d think you’d be more interested in your food.

Kong’s bushy, brown brows drew down as he looked at the young man. Tag might have been in his early thirties, but there was something about his wide eyes, and maybe the freckles, that made him look a lot younger. Careful kid. I can still take you in the fuckin’ ring. Plain old cow never did me any harm.

Crash snorted in amusement, diffusing the situation. Kong, brother. You eat so much fuckin’ beef you should have fuckin’ horns by now.

Kong let out one of his booming laughs that could be heard all the way to the coast.

Fletch was pulling on his silver handlebar moustache. Have you guys fuckin’ heard yourselves? You know you’re s’posed to be outlaw bikers, right? Dizz, save me from this shit. Someone let them watch fuckin’ Come Dine With Me or some shit again.

Dizzy took a swallow of his beer. Brother, I hate to say, but I think they’re all a lost cause.

Lord help me, I think you’re right. Fletch pushed himself out of the plastic lawn chair with a grunt and turned towards the house. I’m gonna take a piss.

I ain’t stayin’ to discuss sautéin’ and flambéin’ with you shitheads. Dizzy saluted the three men with his bottle.

Sounds like you know what you’re talkin’ about, Dizz. Crash grinned.

Dizzy just tossed him a wink before he walked away. He laughed to himself as he heard Kong chuckle as he said, Course he does. Problem is he forgets to do that shit to his food and does it to people instead.

Essentially he was first and foremost a bodyguard for Samuel and secondly Terry, but as well as being the disciplinarian, he also shared the roster of guys who could obtain information or deliver a very visual message using human flesh without losing sleep or his stomach contents.

He made his way over to the remaining knot of his brothers. He picked up as he approached that Shark, Chiz and Morse were talking engines, a nice, safe topic. Morse was still a little pale and had some trouble with breathlessness, having lost a portion of his right lung to a bullet not two months previously.

Dizzy had discovered a capacity for forgiveness that had surprised him when he’d found out about Shark’s ulterior motives. That the man had confessed all without prompting or duress was part of it, so was seeing how hard he loved Ashleigh. It was written all over Shark’s damn face that he’d rather be ripped apart by wild horses than hurt his lady. The fact that Dizzy had personally branded the man’s skin with a motif of the club as punishment helped some, too, and the Shark had borne his penalty with stoic strength. The man was a veritable mountain of muscle. Only Dizzy and Fletch came close in height, but neither man was built in the same way that Shark was. Where they were lean, and discreetly muscled, Shark was all obvious bulges.

Chiz was basically Paul in miniature, although he only looked miniature when he was stood next to Paul. Both men kept their heads shaved smooth and, as well as sharing the same love of weightlifting, both shared Dizzy’s ability to keep from flinching when it came to inflicting slow deaths.

Dizzy fell straight into their conversation with ease until Samuel called out that the next batch of ribs and steaks were ready. His stomach gave an appreciative rumble as he made his way over to the grill.

A stack of paper plates and napkins and a tub of cutlery on a table by the grill was everyone’s first stop. They all made way for the women to fill their plates up first as they formed a somewhat unruly line, based mostly on first come first served.

As Dizzy held out his plate for a lump of steak Samuel said. Dizz, a word later?

Sure, boss. Dizzy replied.

Samuel nodded, and Dizzy took his plate over the table groaning with side dishes to load up on his favorites. Along with Shark, they’d recently taken an extended trip to Texas to try to sort out the logistical issues that they’d created when they’d exterminated the Rabid Dogs, and Dizzy figured whatever Samuel wanted had something to do with that. In the meantime, he found a seat with Fletch, away from all talk of ideal dinner parties. They ate, drank a couple more beers and talked bikes and sports, with a few colorful stories from the club’s history thrown in by Fletch, until Samuel came over and motioned for Dizzy to follow him into the house.

Samuel led Dizzy into a room that had been given over as a cross between an office and a man-cave for Samuel. At Samuel’s indication, Dizzy made himself comfortable on one of the well-worn leather sofas as Samuel poured them a couple of fingers of whiskey each from a small bar he had set up in the corner. Although Samuel rarely indulged, a faint odor of cigar smoke clung to the room. The tang, along with the scarred, ox-blood colored sofas and dark paneled walls gave the room a warm, cozy feel, even with the sustained efforts of the air conditioning.

Samuel handed Dizzy a glass of amber liquid and sipped his own as he took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa.

I got a big ask for you, Dizz. I’ll understand if you say ‘no’, but I want to consider it carefully ‘fore you give me your answer.

Duly warned, Dizzy asked, What’s on your mind, boss?

This new crew we’re puttin’ together in Texas. I’d like for you to head it up.

Dizzy stayed silent, knowing that Samuel wasn’t finished yet.

You know I voted for Shark to stay in our fold, but I can’t deny that the whole business left me with some serious trust issues. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. Ain’t that how it goes? I need to know there’s someone I can rely on at my flank, and I can’t think of anyone who fits the bill for this better than you, brother.

The upshot of their visit across the state line was that the best way to keep the delivery chain of illegal goods from Mexico to Florida going on behalf of the Rojas family was to set up a new charter of the Priests and recruit for it accordingly, rather than try to find a separate club to fill the gap. Moves had already been made to put feelers out for anyone who wanted in.

Dizzy leaned back and sipped his drink, rolling the glass in his fingers and savoring the burn of the high quality alcohol. It was a big ask, but it was the obvious one, too. It was a conclusion he’d been on his way to himself when he’d mused to himself about how they’d decide who out of the prospective patch-overs would be best at the head of the new table.

The fact that he was from the Lone Star state originally had no bearing at all. He was from the north, close to the border with Oklahoma, and the Priests business was clear down the southern end of the state by the border with Mexico. He’d been in Louisiana now longer than he’d been in Texas. He’d been fifteen when his parents had moved, following his father’s job. He’d struggled to settle in their new home and had been getting into the predictable trouble that dissolute teenage boys do before he’d come across the Priests and decided that all he needed in life was a Harley beneath him and a kutte on his back. To prove to the club he was trustworthy, he’d settled down in school and to the delight of his parents his grades had improved. But to their everlasting despair, rather than go to college, he’d apprenticed at the garage and prospected as soon as they would let him.

For more than half his life he had been devoted to this club, and for almost half that time his life had been devoted to the protection of his President. That wasn’t about to change now, but the how of it would alter a little. The more he thought about it, the less Dizzy liked the idea of having a full set of almost complete strangers backing their plays. He wasn’t sure he had the first idea about building a charter from the ground up, but he knew that he’d be able to get plenty of advice from Fletch and Kong, who’d been inaugural members of the Priests along with Samuel’s father.

For his part, Samuel was also reclined comfortably, stroking his goatee between sips and waiting patiently for Dizzy’s response.

For what it’s worth, boss, I reckon you’d do well to move Chiz into my spot when I leave.

Samuel’s face split into a broad smile. I’m gonna miss you, brother. But I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know you’re gonna have the club’s back, my back, over there. And yes, Chiz’d be my first choice for the Sergeant’s spot, too.

Ain’t like you’re never gonna see me again. I ain’t never thought I’d ever take the top spot, here or anywhere else. Gonna need all the wisdom you’ve got to give, boss.

And you’ll have it, no question. But, brother, I wouldn’t have asked this of you if I didn’t think you were right for it. You’re one of life’s natural leaders. All you need to know are the technicalities.

I hope you’re right. They clinked glasses in a toast. I’ll do my best not to let you down, boss.

I know you will, Dizz. I know you will.

Chapter Two

Thea Colby knocked on the heavy, granite-grey door of the Dusky Kitten strip club, rapping a spot next to the black and silver Sorry We’re Clothed placard, and waited to see if anyone would let her in. Despite the morning being almost over, she wasn’t hopeful anyone would be inside. All the same, she was hoping that Annelle Beaumont, the House Mama, would already have arrived to ensure everything was in place for their early afternoon opening.

She heard muffled steps on the other side of the weighty door, and stood in front of the peephole so whoever was there could get a clear view of her. She heard the clicks and thunks as various locks were disengaged, and when the door cracked open it was Annelle standing on the other side.

Thea? What you doin’ here, hon?

Hi, Nell. Can I come in? I need to chat.

Sure, hon. Annelle opened the door wider and motioned Thea inside. Thea stepped into the murky hallway that was the unprepossessing entrance to the club and waited for Annelle to lock the door behind her.

Not in trouble are you, hon? Annelle asked as she led Thea down the hallway and through the next set of double doors into the main room of the club.

As dark and dim as the hallway was, the main room was bright and light, even with only half the house lights on. In a couple of hours the room would be bathed in a neon pink glow from the strip lighting under the edge of the bar and around the podiums and from the pink-shaded pendant lights that hung from the ceiling. Thea didn’t have to worry about slipping, her Converse had no quarrel with the polished tile floor, but she did have to weave between the chairs and tables, which were all in a state of disarray. The hum of a vacuum cleaner clued Thea in as to why everything wasn’t in its usual pristine state, but she couldn’t see the cleaner.

Annelle led Thea through the room, through another door and down another short corridor to her office. By Thea’s best guess, Annelle was somewhere around the sixty mark, but she had never seen the older woman without a pair of outrageously high stilettos or a sharp suit, both of which highlighted her curvy, but tight, figure. Even at the Friday night parties at the Rabid Dogs MC’s clubhouse, the most casual Thea had seen Annelle get was discarding her suit jacket. Only her shoulder-length, copper-colored hair, carefully colored to disguise the grey, seemed to defy her efforts at control, remaining stubbornly wavy.

Annelle waved Thea towards the high-backed chair she kept opposite her desk for visitors. Thea sat down and dropped her fringed satchel bag by her feet. She automatically ran a hand through her long, dark hair and fluffed her bangs. She wasn’t one to normally feel self-conscious, but something about Annelle always made her feel scruffy in a way that few people did. She didn’t resent the older woman for it; it was simply part of Annelle’s aura of authority.

So? Trouble? Annelle asked as she took her own seat in the luxurious office chair behind the polished walnut-colored desk, the same color of wood that was used throughout the club.

No. No trouble. Thea leaned forward in her seat and dropped her voice even though they were the only two people in the room and the door was closed. Nell, what happened to everyone? It’s been two weeks. I ain’t heard shit from Elvis, and when I took a trip up to the clubhouse it was shut up tight. Didn’t look like anyone was around. Last I heard from him, Elvis told me they were headin’ over for some club shit in Louisiana. He ain’t answerin’ his phone, and I ain’t heard from him since he texted to let me know he’d got there okay.

Annelle cocked her head to one side. I didn’t realize you two were so serious.

Fuck, Nell. You know we weren’t exactly Jack and Rose, I hadn’t even introduced him to Josh, but we were a bit more than fuck buddies and now he’s disappeared off the face of the earth. I’d be insulted if it didn’t look like the rest of the club disappeared right along with him.

Annelle sighed and Thea got the impression she was making her mind up about something. Then she slid open one of the desk’s drawers and pulled out a printed sheet of paper. She put it on the desk and pushed it in Thea’s direction. Thea picked it up. It was a newspaper article that looked to have been printed from the paper’s online site. She scanned the headline and the contents; there was no picture accompanying the text.

When she’d finished reading she looked up at Annelle in shock. Nell, this says that half the club is fuckin’ dead! Murdered in a shootout at a Louisiana motel.

Yes, that’s what it says. So there’s your answer about the whereabouts of the club.

But this don’t say shit about Elvis. Thea tapped the sheet of paper with one finger.

Hon’, they would all have been staying at the same motel. If he ain’t mentioned, it just means they haven’t found the body yet.

But his bike...?

Could be fuckin’ anywhere. Annelle interrupted.

And Sloth and Cross and Travis? Fuck. What about Cross’s little girl?

I don’t know about her. I’m not runnin’ a mindin’ service here. I’m assumin’ he made arrangements for her that were a little more than some bags of candy and dishes of water left round the house, so she’s probably still wherever he packed her off to.

Thea slumped back in the chair. She scanned the article again and then tossed it back onto the desk. Annelle slid it closer with the tips of her fingers and then returned it to the drawer it had come out of.

So? What do we do now? Just pretend they never existed or some shit?

Annelle leant forward, bracing her forearms on the desk. Yes, that’s exactly what we do. Someone wiped out an entire MC, hon. You don’t fuck with that. You don’t want them lookin’ in your direction, or in the direction of your boy. You carry on like nothin’ ever happened. Go buy yourself another vibrator if you’re lonely. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble.

Shit. Thea muttered. It just don’t seem right, Nell. He’s lyin’ dead in a ditch somewhere, and I just carry on like I never even knew him.

’Less you want you or your boy in that ditch next to him, that is exactly what you’ll do. You’re not stupid, hon, and it’s not like we’re talkin’ a lost soul mate here.

How can you be so calm about this? Thea asked with a hint of exasperation.

No choice, hon. Someone somewhere was sendin’ a message leavin’ that many bodies lyin’ around. I simply don’t want to be next on their list of targets.

Thea slumped further into the seat in defeat. It still didn’t sit right with her, but Annelle’s logic regarding the safety of her son was undeniable. She shifted so that she could tug her mobile phone out of her jeans pocket to check the time. Shit. I better run. I’m coverin’ an earlier shift today.

Annelle’s stern expression softened. You know you can earn better money here, hon. Better hours, too.

We’ve been over this. Thea replied with a small smile. I’ve fucked Josh’s life enough already. I don’t need him gettin’ teased at school ‘cause his mama’s a stripper.

Annelle shrugged. It’s a perfectly valid vocational choice.

Thea laughed. Yes it is, but it’s not for me. ‘Sides, I don’t think your customers’d be interested in this amount of ink jigglin’ around in front of them.

Annelle arched an eyebrow and said dryly, Hon, you would be amazed at what my customers are interested in.

Thea laughed. Yes, I’m sure I would. I gotta book. She stood, slung her bag onto her shoulder and paused with her hand on the door handle. M’I gonna see you now, seein’ as how we won’t both be at the clubhouse on Friday nights?

Annelle pushed her chair back as she stood and rounded the desk. Tell you what, hon. You an’ me, we’ll have a standin’ appointment for coffee. How’s that sound?

Thea smiled. My house? Friday mornin’s? Josh’ll be at school.

Annelle smiled and nodded. Fridays it is.

Annelle followed Thea out through the club and let her out of the door. Thea heard the locks re-engaging once the large entrance door shut behind her. She hurried over to her old, beaten-up Ford and turned the ignition in that certain way that was the only one that the temperamental car would accept as the instruction to start. She’d had the car since before she’d arrived in Ravensbridge, the home of the Rabid Dogs MC, and it was now comprised of more parts from the junkyard than it was of its original pieces. That was how she’d met Elvis. Something had blown under the hood, and he’d rescued her from the smoking mess by the side of the road.

Her knight on a shining Harley had managed to tweak whatever was wrong just enough for her to roll slowly to the nearest garage and had asked for her phone number by way of thanks. Annelle had been right; it wasn’t the love affair of the century, but it had been fun. Elvis had been a bit of levity in her life, a respite from the routine of being a single mama.

That was where she’d met Annelle, at the clubhouse Friday night parties. Thea couldn’t make it every week, she was working more often than not on Fridays, but one week that she’d attended Annelle had struck up a conversation with her. Annelle’s opener had been trying to persuade Thea to come and work for her at the Dusky Kitten. While Thea was quite happy with the way she looked, she had no intention of waving her tits around for an audience, half of whom probably had kids that attended her son’s school. Those sorts of sly looks when she dropped Josh off were not what she needed. Although, considering that she was obviously younger than most of them and sported a serious amount of ink even when wearing jeans and a beater, she got the Lite version of those looks anyway.

Thea had never seen Annelle pair off with any of the guys from the club, but she figured if she was fucking any of them, that it would likely be Jimmy, the President. She doubted that the woman in charge of one of the clubs that was effectively owned by the MC would warrant anything less than the attentions of the boss, but who knew?

Elvis had clued her in on the club structure before he’d taken her anywhere near the clubhouse. He’d been reluctant at first; she wasn’t his old lady and he was worried about the other patches pushing up on her. But then had come a week when the only night she was free was the Friday and he hadn’t wanted to miss the regular party, so he’d relented and brought her along, albeit with strict instructions to stick to him like glue for the night.

Thea wasn’t shy, but once she got inside and sensed the vibe of the place, she was more than happy to comply. Some of the guys, like Sloth, Rabbit and Cross, she’d really gotten along with. Others, like Giles and Garfield, had given her the fucking creeps. She’d quickly deduced Elvis’ place in the pecking order of the club as well. It was obvious from the way the guys made fun of him. She’d barely made it all the way through the door before the remarks about him punching above his weight had started. When she’d shed her jacket and they’d seen the roses that covered her left arm from her shoulder to her elbow, and the bits and pieces showing around her the straps of her simple camisole top of the detailed black and grey piece that swept across her back, their ribbing had increased tenfold.

She’d known she was cradle-robbing a little, he was a couple of years younger than her twenty-nine years, but it had been a shock to find that he was one of the youngest members. That had made her feel a lot older than her age, even though the rest weren’t much older than she. Everyone had assumed that she was young and innocent. To some extent, she was. She had never come across a biker club before, and apart from what Elvis had told her, her only terms of reference were from TV shows which were very much a glossy version of what she encountered. There was a degree of chivalry that she hadn’t been expecting. Rabbit