Midnight Desire: A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 1 (3 page)

After the old guard had been swept away – either gunned down by cops or opposing gangs, or sent to the Federal penitentiary – I’d seen the writing on the wall. I was an upstart three years ago when I’d campaigned on getting us out of the illegal bullshit the club had been steeped in for the last two decades. But I persuaded 51% of the Riders and won. In the three years since, I’d made good on my promises: we got out of gun running, we were out of hard drugs like meth and heroin, and we’d cleaned up our act in virtually every other regard. Except for weed – which had already been legalized for recreational use in Washington state and Colorado, and was on the verge of becoming entirely kosher in California. We were poised to capitalize when it did.

Other than that, we were 99% legit.

Okay, maybe 95% legit. But we’re bikers, not angels.

Lou, on the other hand, preferred the bad old days when we were 95% outlaws. He’d pushed back against my changes, but eventually went along with it – not because he was on board, but because he was smart. He knew which way the wind was blowing. Didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to tack back in the opposite direction the instant it shifted, though.

He was a charming son of a bitch, I’ll give him that. And a hell of an actor. He’d smile to your face and give you a hug while he figured out the best place to stab you. Lou’s enemies didn’t always know they were on his shit list – not until the knife was in their back, anyway.

Sometimes it was years between getting on that list and getting shivved. Lou was a patient man, and that list was very, very long.

I had an inkling I was one of the names on it.

“Lou’s up to something, no question,” I said to Kade. “Keep it on the down-low, but start digging when and where you can.”

“What do you think it might be?”

“I don’t want to speculate. It might be nothing – but knowing Lou, it’ll look like nothing on the surface, but there’ll be a chamber of horrors underneath.”

“Hm,” was all Kade replied.

“And be careful. If there’s any doubt in your mind when you’re digging for info, back off. I don’t want word getting back to him.”

“He wouldn’t do anything to me,” Kade said, a little too matter-of-factly for my tastes.

“Not out in the open. But if you think Lou wouldn’t pull strings behind the scenes to get your throat cut in a dark alley, you got another thing comin’.”

“Hm.”

“Not a word to anyone else about this,” I warned, though it was entirely unnecessary. If there was a tighter-lipped man in Richards than Kade, I’d never met him.

He nodded, then slipped off to the mechanic’s bay while I went into the office to start the day.

But the brunette?

She was still on my mind.

She was still on my mind when she walked into my office that afternoon.

“Boss?” Drew said from the doorway as my back was turned. Drew was in the MC, one of the newer members. Enthusiastic soldier, mediocre mechanic.

“What,” I muttered as I wrestled with the tax numbers to give the accountant. That was one thing to be said for being an outlaw: not having to deal with fuckin’ Uncle Sam. When you sold ten grand in drugs, your tax bracket was exactly zero, and FICA didn’t even come into the equation.

“There’s a girl here says she knows you.”

“I’m a woman, not a girl,” said a cool, familiar voice.

I turned around, my mood suddenly improving 1000%.

“Yes you are,” I grinned as soon as I saw her there. She was out of her waitress’ get-up and wearing tight jeans and a black halter top. Her long hair was finally unpinned, and swept down her shoulders and halfway down her back.

Damn.

“Thanks, Drew,” I said, dismissing him. He gave the brunette the stink-eye as he left. She ignored him completely.

“So,” I continued. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. – ?”

“Fiona,” she said, the barest trace of a smile on her lips. “Fiona Christensen.”

I got up from my seat and extended a hand. “Jack Pollari.”

She took it. Her grip was firm, especially for a woman – but her skin was smooth. Soft.

I held onto her for longer than she probably would have liked.

Or maybe she liked it plenty. She was a little hard to read.

“You haven’t been a waitress long,” I remarked.

She frowned. “What?”

“Your hands. They’re soft.”

She pulled away from me, as though I’d unnerved her.

I shouldn’t have said anything. Could’ve held onto her hand longer.

“You’re observant,” she remarked.

“I just look that way.”

She frowned again, like she was puzzled.

“‘Observant’?... ‘
Look
that way’?” I explained.

Her frown smoothed out, and she rolled her eyes. “That was one of the lamest jokes I’ve heard in awhile.”

I liked that. Liked that she didn’t laugh just to appease me.

Plenty of other women would have.

“Guilty as charged,” I grinned. “Any joke you’ve got to explain is a bad one.”

“Unless the audience is stupid. Although that wasn’t the case here,” she said with another cool smile.

“I concur. So… what can I do you for, Ms. Christensen?”

“Fiona.”

“Fiona,” I said, liking the way it felt on my tongue. I was pretty sure I’d like the way
she’d
feel on my tongue, too.

“I just wanted to say thank you again. For earlier. I feel like I wasn’t… appropriately grateful.”

“Well… you could’ve handled it, right?” I grinned.

She smiled back. This time her expression was warmer. “I could have. But thank you for what you did.”

“My pleasure. So, new in town, new to being a waitress… what’s your story?”

“Not much of one. Failed actress, left LA, now I’m here.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “It happens.”

“I suppose it does. Cut-throat business, Hollywood.”

“Yes it is.”

“Let me be the first to welcome you to Richards. Or, if I’m not the first, then the second or third.”

“You’re the first,” she said, with another one of those smiles that I felt below the belt. In a very pleasant sort of way.

“I’m afraid we’re a step or two down from Los Angeles in the glamour department.”

“You more than make up for it in cost of living.”

“True.”

She gave me a playful look. “So much for glamour. What about the excitement department?”

“We’ve got that in spades, if you know where to look.”

“Ah. And you know where to look for that, do you?”

“I
am
where to look for that, Fiona.”

We stayed like that for a few seconds, staring into each other’s eyes – until she looked away, slightly embarrassed.

I decided to make it easy on her, so I asked, “So what’s the plan?”

She furrowed her brow the slightest. “…the plan?”

“Not to disparage your current employment, but smart as you are, I can’t imagine you moved 200 miles just to become a waitress at a greasy spoon joint.”

She hesitated for a second, then said, “I tried to get a job at the Seven Veils.”

My interest immediately plummeted.

Besides being hot, she’d been so smart – so
interesting.
And here she was just another dumbass like all the rest.

“Well,” I said, giving her a look from her waist to her tits, “I can’t see why they turned you down. You look more than qualified.”

“I don’t strip,” she said coldly, all friendliness gone. “I was looking for a waitressing job.”

I raised my eyes back up to hers. I was officially semi-interested again. “Really? Why?”

“Why don’t I strip?”

“Sure, let’s start there.”

“Because when I take my clothes off for a man, it’s because
I
want to. Not because I’m on the clock.”

I chuckled. I was back to being fully interested again.

“Then why waitressing?”

“If I’m going to have to deal with assholes, I might as well get paid more.”

Now I laughed out loud. “Can’t fault that. But it’s only 15 an hour, plus tips.”

“Which is at least 50% more than I’m making at the diner. And I’ll bet the tips are better.”

“Probably.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You seem to know a lot about waitresses’ pay at strip clubs.”

“I know the owner of the Seven Veils.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Really.”

“Yep.”

“You’re friends?”

“You could say that.”

You’d be wrong, but you could SAY that…

Suddenly, it was like all the pieces of a puzzle came together all at once. I could hear them snap into place with an audible
click.

If I wanted someone to report on Lou’s behavior… this might be the perfect opportunity.

Might be the perfect opportunity for other things, too.

“I could put in a good word for you,” I offered.

“They already turned me down.”

“Who, Lou?”

“I don’t know – it was some bald guy.”

“Peanut? Fuck that loser. Excuse my French.”

“No worries. I speak French.”

I
liked
this chick.

“You want to talk to Lou Shaw,” I said, and went over to my desk to retrieve a business card. “Go over there about seven tonight. I’ll let him know you’re coming. He’ll hire you on the spot.” I handed her the card. “Call me if there’s any problems.”

“Thank you. That’s very generous of you.”

“Yes it is – but I’ll require something in return.”

Her face got as remote and inscrutable as the Sphinx’s. “What would that be, exactly?”

“You having a drink with me after your shift.”

“At the strip club?”

“No, I think we’ll go someplace marginally more classy.”

She smiled. “You didn’t need to help me get a job just for that.”

“I know,” I grinned.

“You’re very confident, Mr. Pollari.”

“Jack, Fiona. My name is Jack.”

“Jack,” she purred.

“Seven o’clock, go see Lou. I’ll drop by later for that drink.”

“I look forward to it.”

“That makes two of us.”

“See you soon… Jack,” she said, and gave me a smile before she walked out.

I watched her perfect ass sashay out in those jeans.

Damn.

I didn’t get any more work done on taxes for the rest of the day.

But I
did
have a phone call to make.

I had to decide my play before I called. Had to figure out how to put it exactly right.

That took a minute, and then I dialed him up.

Lou answered on the first ring. He didn’t sound ‘friendly’ so much as ‘agreeable.’

 “Jack.”

“Lou. How’s it hangin’?”

“Down around my knees. What’s up?”

“I’m sending somebody over your way around seven tonight. Name’s Fiona Christenson. I’d appreciate you setting her up with a waitressing gig.”

“Your wish is my command,”
Lou said, though I could tell he wasn’t altogether happy about it.
“Any special reason she’s getting the top-shelf treatment?”

“I’d hardly call a waitressing job ‘top-shelf treatment.’”

“It is in
my
joint, if she doesn’t blow me first. Which I’m assuming you prefer
not
to be part of the job interview.”

“Yeah, hold off on that one,” I said, my teeth on edge from the thought of Lou even touching her.

“Again: any special reason she’s getting the top-shelf treatment?”

“I like her.”

He laughed like Satan about to collect a baker’s dozen of souls.
“If you can’t fuck her without ME giving her a job, you don’t deserve another piece of pussy for the rest of your life.”

“This one’s different.”

“How so.”

“She’s got steel in her spine. I interrupted her at the diner where she works, right before she was about to break a trucker’s elbow.”

“This sounds like a potential lawsuit you’re sending me, not a waitress.”

“She’ll be fine. She’ll be an asset.”

“To whom, though, is the question.”

It was little comments like that that gave me pause. If we were both speaking openly, it might have gone something like this:

Are you sending her over here to spy on me, Jack?

Now why would I have any reason to spy on you, Lou?

None at all.

Then I guess we’re copacetic.

Of course, Jack. We always are.

By which you mean ‘fuck you.’

Which is what I always mean, Jack. Every time.

But everything was a game of chess between me and Lou. Neither of us ever acknowledged there was even a board, but we moved the pieces all the same.

“She’ll be an asset to
both
of us,” I said, forcing a smile into my voice even though I didn’t feel it.

“Asset to me, maybe. Piece ‘a ass to you, definitely.”

“I’ll be dropping by later.”

“To reap the rewards of your generosity? Or rather, MY generosity?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, come on down, Jack. You’re always welcome.”

Yeah.

Right.

“See you soon, Lou.”

Click.

Jack Pollari was hot, of that there was no question.

Incredibly handsome, smooth, suave, smart… maybe
too
smart. That bit where he figured out I’d never been a waitress before actually messed with me for a second. Threw me off my game.

Then I realized he’d thrown me off my game completely.

I was here to find Ali’s killer, not get busy with the leader of the local asshole’s union.

When I got back to my motel room, I pulled out my book of photographs, one of my most treasured possessions.

There were so many pictures… of Ali by herself, of the both of us together, ranging from infancy to our early twenties.

One of my favorites was when we were both about seven years old, our arms around each other, gap-toothed smiles from our teeth falling out.        It was summer, and the photo was warm and bright with the perfect haze of sunshine.