Money Shot: Selected Sinners MC Romance (4 page)

VINCE

July 1st, 2014

I did my best to open my eyes and tried to focus on my surroundings. The unfamiliar room was dark, illuminated only by the streetlights shining in through the cracks between the blinds. After a few long minutes of my eyes adjusting, I tossed my legs off the side of the bed and attempted to stand.

With each breath I took, it felt as if a knife was being inserted into my chest. I sat on the edge of the bed and searched my mind for memories of what had happened. After a few more minutes of confusion, I recalled the events of the Sunday night that got me to where I was.

A disagreement about a parking spot turned into a fight, and the fight was over almost before it started. The mouthy – and very disrespectful – driver of the truck was put in his place with half a dozen quick punches and a short choke hold. The other three passengers in the truck were a totally different story. While holding the driver in a choke hold and doing my best to explain the benefits of being respectful – all the while attempting not to actually choke him – one of his three friends blindsided me with a punch. Before I knew it, I was on the ground being kicked and stomped by three cowboys.

As they laughed and turned to walk away, I cut the calf of one of them. Through the leg of his jeans – and from the back of his knee to his ankle – I dug my knife as deep as I could, dropping him to the ground as he turned to walk away. As his two friends carried him away, I crawled to my bike and rode the three blocks to the closest place I knew to go.

Assuming I was still at Sienna’s home, but not sure of anything, I once again tried to stand. As I moaned in agony and relaxed on the edge of the bed, the bedroom door opened.

“Don’t you dare try to get up,” she said as she opened the door.

Although I couldn’t see her clearly, her voice was enough for me to know who she was. After a short and almost blind stare on my part, the bedroom light came on.

“Got to, I got a job I got to do tomorrow,” I said as I shaded my eyes with my hand.

“Tomorrow being Monday?” she asked as she walked to the edge of the bed.

I sighed softly and nodded my head. “Yeah.”

“I don’t understand how in the hell you do anything without a phone, and it’s Tuesday, so you’re a day late,” she said harshly as she stood in front of me with her hands on her hips.

“Fuck. Tuesday?” I asked as I glanced upward.

She sat down beside me and cleared her throat. “Technically, yes. It’s about 1:30 am. And Monday’s passed, so yeah. It’s Tuesday. You’ve been asleep on and off for twenty-four hours.”

“Swelling’s gone down quite a bit, and the stitches look pretty good,” she said as she closely inspected my face.

“Stitches? You stitched me?” I asked as I reached for my face.

She slapped my hand away from my face and shook her head. “Don’t you dare touch it, it’ll get infected. And, fuck no, I didn’t stitch you. You’d look like some pieced together sock monkey if I did. I got a nurse and a PA over here and they took care of you.”

I gazed down at the floor, swallowed heavily, and nodded my head. At the time, I only wanted to get somewhere where I felt safe. Coming to her house was inconsiderate on my part, undoubtedly unexpected on her part, and troublesome at the least.

“Look, I don’t want you thinking I’m some weirdo, ‘cause I’m not. You live two blocks from the busiest intersection in this city, and although I don’t live close to here, I ride by here a couple times a day…”

“Save it,” she interrupted.

I shook my head. “No, just hear me out.”

“Some of the fellas run in packs, and some hang out at the clubhouse and do whatever comes up. I’m a loner. I mean, I’m loyal to the MC, and I love the brotherhood, but I run alone. I just don’t trust people. Not really,” I paused, inhaled a shallow breath, and winced from the pain.

She shook her head and tilted it toward my mid-section. “He said you probably have cracked ribs. Based on the boot prints, anyway.”

“Feels like it,” I coughed.

“How many stitches?” I asked as I raised my hand toward my cheek.

Another slap of my hand and a sharp exhale reminded me of her obviously protective nature.

“Thirteen on the big cut, and I think four on the small one,” she said as she leaned in front of me and inspected my wounds.

“You look a lot better than you did,” she said.

I shifted my eyes toward the floor. “I’ll pay for whatever it cost. You got friends in the medical field, huh?”

“Nope. I did my best to drag you in here, and gave up half way. I made a quick Craigslist ad in the personals. Got a lot of responses, too. It was the only thing I could think of that wouldn’t get the cops over here,” she said.

Still staring down at my bare toes, I nodded my head in shame. “Appreciate it.”

“So, as I was saying. No phone, and riding alone as always, I was up at Central and Rock. At
Walt’s
. Place was packed. I pulled in from the east, and there was one stall left. Some truck was just sitting there, and I sat there on my bike and waited for this prick to park, and he just sat there. So I parked and hopped off the bike. As I’m walking toward the bar, the driver gets out and calls me motherfucker for taking
his
spot. Ended up beating the shit out of his cowboy ass, but his buddies got the best of me. I’d have never made it to the hospital, and someone had already called the cops and an ambulance, so I left in a little bit of a hurry. I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “So, you’ve never said. Just what is it that you do? You know, for a living?”

I stared down at the floor and thought of the best way to explain my situation. After a short pause, I glanced in her direction. My eyes were swollen, I had a throbbing headache, and I was still a little dazed from the beating, but it was pretty easy to see that she was an extremely beautiful woman.

She looked different than she did when I met her. On that night, in her filthy sweats and half-drunk with her hair in a ponytail, there was no doubt she was an attractive woman. Tonight, however, she was even more so. With her hair down over her shoulders and her concerned brown eyes studying me, it was difficult not to stare at her. After a short time of enjoying her beauty, I once again shifted my eyes to the floor.  

“Resolutions manager,” I said flatly.

“That didn’t sound very sincere. And what does that mean anyway?” she asked.

“I resolve things,” I said as I glanced toward her.

“Be more specific,” she said.

“Debt collector?” I said as I shrugged my shoulders. It came out with a hint of uncertainty, sounding more like a question than an answer.

She chuckled and turned her head in my direction. “What, you’re not sure?”

I glanced upward. “I’m sure. It’s just not something I have to describe very often.”

“Look, I’ve read enough books that I know club business isn’t up for discussion, so don’t worry about explaining anything if you don’t want to,” she said.

“What books?” I asked, almost bursting into laughter while I spoke.

“Lots of books. MC Romance books,” she responded.

I coughed a laugh and reached my aching ribs. “What the fuck is an MC Romance book?”

“It’s a love story about a member or members of a motorcycle club. Most of them are a series of books, each one about a different member of the MC. You know, one will be the president, the next the sergeant-at-arms, maybe a prospect, or the enforcer, or whatever. It’s a subgenre of books. They’re pretty popular,” she said.

“I’ll be fucking damned,” I said.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“Kind of,” I responded.

In actuality, I was starving, but I didn’t want to impose any more than I already had.

“Eggs, bacon and hash browns sound good?” she asked.

I did my best to smile and nodded my head.

“Be right back,” she said.

She stood from the edge of the bed and studied me with smiling eyes for a moment before turning away. There was no doubt in my mind that whoever ended up securing Sienna as a wife or girlfriend would have someone very special.

I just knew that person would never be me.

SIENNA

July 3
rd
, 2014

I sat outside the coffee shop sipping my coffee and reading as droves of people needing a caffeine fix came and went. A couple in their mid-twenties got out of an SUV and walked toward the entrance, pushing each other playfully as they made their way across the parking lot.

I watched until I was almost disgusted by their groping, giggling, and grabbing, and finally turned away. I took a drink of my coffee and propped my legs on the chair opposite of where I was seated, and tilted my Kindle away from the sun.

The coffee shop was one of my few escapes, and provided entertainment in the form of people watching, really good coffee, and a peaceful place to read. I had read many books from start to finish at the same location over the years, and my memories of the place were quite fond.

Once while parking my car, I got into an argument with another person attempting to park beside me at the same time, and was rescued by a patron of the establishment. The gesture of kindness led to sharing a cup of coffee, which prompted a date, and the date included sex.

He swore at the time he was single, lonely, and on the tail end of recovering from a case of heartbreak, but it all ended up being a lie. Facebook, Instagram and Twitter are not your friend when you cheat on your wife, and a girl who is unemployed has nothing but time on her hands to figure such things out.

Since the incident with the married man, I had chosen to sit on the other side of the coffee shop, feeling as if the side I was sitting on that particular day was now tainted.

My house had been reminding me of Vince, and I hoped a trip to the coffee shop and a good book would clear my mind and allow me to make it through a day without me obsessing over thoughts of him and the possibilities of us becoming an
us
. It seemed, however, that everything I did or saw, including reading my dark erotic novel, reminded me of Vince.

In the process of reading my new book, no relief was provided, but I did have a few pretty vivid fantasies etched in my mind, all of which included Vince and me in a basement with handcuffs, a blowtorch, a Tanto blade (whatever that was) and a box of Frosted Flakes.

I had no reason or right to be obsessing over Vince, and in my lifetime had never done so over any man. Men, generally speaking, obsessed over me, making ridding myself of them entirely an almost impossible task. I was beginning to feel a strange guilt, and almost as if I was becoming exactly what it was I detested, a stalker.

Two chapters later, and I was writhing in my seat. In my mind, Vince was the Hero and I the heroine. The problem, for me, was that the author had done a remarkable job of painting the sex scenes in a vivid manner, and had left me to suffer.

Frustrated, horny, and for some odd reason wanting a bowl of cereal, I decided to call it a morning and go for a drive. I needed to clear my mind of Vince and try to become normal again.

As I picked up my coffee and turned off my Kindle, three motorcycles pulled in the lot and parked on the sidewalk by the entrance. I did my best to act uninterested, but as I walked toward my car, I checked over my shoulder.

One, a massive man almost seven feet tall, stood beside another slightly shorter, but rather muscular man. The second man, with a huge beard, much more full and long than Vince’s laughed as he walked, and the third man, considerably more handsome and with a darker skin tone than the other two, talked as they walked toward the entrance.

All three wore vests adorned with the patch of their MC.

Selected Sinners.

Here we go again…

VINCE

July 4
th
, 2014

Sunday nights were reserved for dinner at my mother’s home, and as much as I tried over the years to change it, I wasn’t able to do so. Disputing my mother’s practices, procedures, or rituals was something rather simple to do, but having her agree with me was another story. Although this particular day wasn’t a Sunday, it was a holiday, and one that my mother perceived as worthy of a family meal.

And arguing with her wasn’t an option.

“Eat your fried chicken, Stephen,” my mother said.

“I’m eating it as fast as I can, Mother,” I responded.

“You’re picking. I don’t like it when you pick. Pick, pick, pick. It’s all you’ve done since you got here. Did you eat with those boys before you came?” she asked.

“No. I told you, I came straight from home. The food’s good, I just…”

She reached below the table and handed Bradley another chicken bone. “You just
what
? Stephen Vincent Ames, you need to forget about that woman. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back. You deserve better, and it’s been what? Two years?”

“Don’t feed him chicken bones. It’ll kill him. And it’s been a year,” I said.

Bradley, an English bulldog, was my mother’s best friend. She talked to him as if he understood every word she said, and fed him whatever he would eat. According to my mother, Bradley was my younger brother, and she even held birthday parties for him, making him wear a hat and eat birthday cake every year.

“He’s a walking garbage disposal, he’ll be fine. And don’t think changing the subject will make me forget what we were talking about. She didn’t even want kids, Stephen, it was only a matter of time. And I haven’t seen her for two years, so it’s hard for me to remember exactly when you were divorced, but she left you long before you were divorced, I can tell you that, ” she said.

I inhaled a shallow breath and cleared my throat. “I’m not thinking about her.”

I scooped up a forkful of some strange corn, bean, and vegetable salad she had prepared and carefully lifted the substance to my mouth. Fried chicken on the Fourth of July was one of her rituals, and it generally included several side dishes, many of which she now obtained off of Pinterest. Some of the new recipes were great and some were nothing short of awful. I did my best to swallow the unidentifiable spicy mixture, but it was proving to be rather difficult. As I rolled it around in my mouth and reached for my glass of water, she raised her eyebrows and sighed.

“You don’t like the corn salsa?” she asked.

“It’s
salsa
?” I asked as I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth in an effort to rid myself of the taste.

“Yes, what did you think it was?” she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Hell, you’ve got a gallon of it there in that bowl, I thought it was a salad or something.”

“Salsa, Stephen. It’s corn
salsa
. I got if off of Pinterest. Suzette likes it, and so does Randy,” she said.

“Well, take it over to Suzette and Randy’s house,” I said.

She reached over the table and smacked the back of my knuckles with her butter knife.

“God damn it,” I howled as I pulled my hand away. “Fuck.”

I raised my hand and stared at the back of it, fully expecting to see blood. A three inch long red welt began to rise before my eyes.

“You hear that, Bradley? We’re two dollars richer,” she said as she pointed toward the top of the refrigerator with her chicken leg.

I knew better than to argue. I stood, pulled out my wallet, and walked to the refrigerator. After digging through my wallet and finding two one dollar bills, I pulled the jar from the top of the refrigerator and dropped the money inside.

“You smell like smoke. Have you been smoking?” she asked.

“No, I quit,” I said, telling the truth for the most part.

“I think you were telling quite a fib to Bradley and me earlier when we were cooking the chicken. I want you to know that, Stephen. You’re my little boy and I can see right through you. It’s what mothers do,” she said.

I continued to eat, acting as if I didn’t hear her.

She paused and pointed her half-eaten chicken leg at me. “You’ve been riding since you were six years old. You and I both know you didn’t wreck your father’s motorcycle. I want to know who beat you up. What happened?”

“I dumped it in some sand,” I said.

“Stephen Vincent. Both your eyes are stitched up, and you look like hell. What happened?” she asked.

I pointed at the jar with my fork.

She shook her head. “Hell isn’t a curse word, it’s a place. And it’s a place you’re going to end up living if you keep telling your mother fibs.”

“I dumped the bike, Mother,” I sighed.

“It doesn’t have a scratch on it,” she said, shaking her head from side to side as she spoke.

I cocked my head and stared in disbelief. “It’s covered in scratches, how would you know?”

She raised her index finger in the air and glared at me. “I rode on that bike for years. I know where every scratch is. Fine, Stephen, just fine.”

“I met a girl,” I said flatly as I picked through the pile of chicken.

“Pardon me? I would have sworn you said you met a girl,” she said.

“I did,” I said as I continued to pick through the chicken. “Did you buy a breastless chicken?”

“Here, take mine,” she said as she handed me her chicken breast. “Now, about this girl. Is she the reason you got beat up?”

“No, I met her one night when I ran out of gas. She gave me a ride to the gas station. She was really nice. It’s nothing, I was just making conversation,” I said as I bit into the chicken.

“Bradley’s starving, give him your bones,” she said as she waved her hand toward my plate.

“He shouldn’t eat chicken bones, and he weighs fifty pounds anyway. And thirty of it’s fat,” I said.

“Take it back, he’s not fat,” she said.

“You can’t take things back after you say ‘em, and he is too,” I said.

“You sure can. You say ‘I take it back.’ Now, who’s this girl? Does she want kids?” she asked.

“How the hell would I know? I told you, she gave me a ride to the gas station,” I responded.

One thing my mother always detested about Natalie was that she was outspoken regarding her lack of interest in having children, and my mother dreamed of the day she would have grandchildren. It was a subject Natalie and I discussed often and never quite agreed on.

“Is she pretty?” she asked.

I nodded my head. “Beautiful. Dark hair, like yours.”

“Does she have tattoos?” she asked.

“None that I could see,” I said.

My mother accepted the fact I had tattoos, but believed everyone else with tattoos was an obvious criminal or had spent time in prison. Women with tattoos, as far as she was concerned, were trouble.

“So are you seeing her?” she asked.

I dropped my chicken breast onto my plate. “Gas. She took me to get gas. That’s it.”

“Did you get her phone number?” she asked.

I rested my forearms on the table, glared at her, and raised both eyebrows.

“You need to get a phone, Stephen. This is ridiculous,” she said. “Everyone has a phone.”

“I
had
a phone and now I don’t. No worries, I know where she lives,” I said. “I could always stop by.”

“Don’t be a stalker, Stephen. It’s not nice,” she said as she reached for her glass of tea. “I saw on
Bluebloods
the other night what happens to stalkers.”

“Jesus…” I sighed as I reached for my chicken.

“Take her some flowers, tell her thank you, and ask her to go to dinner. That’s what a proper man would do. In the same situation, it’s what your father would have done, and you know it,” she said.

As I ate my chicken, I considered her advice. She was right. So far, I’d troubled Sienna twice with my problems, and had never really taken time to thank her properly for everything she had done for me.

“I’ll take her some flowers,” I said with a nod of my head.

“And dinner. Take her to dinner, Stephen,” my mother said as she lowered another chicken bone below the table.

Bradley took the chicken bone from her hand, waddled toward the refrigerator, and flopped down on the floor beside his bowl of food. As he gnawed on the bone and grew another few ounces fatter, and one step closer to choking to death, I shifted my eyes toward my mother.

“Fine,” I said. “And dinner.”

“You’re a good boy, Stephen. Now eat the rest of your salsa,” she said as she pointed her butter knife at my plate.

I had no intention of eating the remaining salsa, but I did think taking Sienna flowers and going to dinner was a good idea. My mother might have been difficult to bullshit, and impossible to win an argument with, but she always gave good advice. Her only concerns were, and had always been, what she believed to be in my best interest.

As I sat and ate the remaining portion of my Fourth of July meal and mentally prepared for the fireworks display we were certain to discharge in the driveway later, I knew one thing for sure.

I would always be her little boy.