ROUGHNECK: A DARK MOTORCYCLE CLUB ROMANCE

W
hy Jared
? Why do you have to put me through this?

It’s not like I don’t have enough going on. The letter I found pushed beneath my door when I came home from work could attest to that.

Ms. Kason:

This letter serves as formal notification of your failure to comply with the terms of your rental agreement. As of the current date, you are forty-five days past due payment on said agreement. Please submit payment in the amount of twenty-two hundred dollars ($2,200) no later than Friday, July 25 to correct the delinquency.

If you do not bring your debt to current on or before the above specified date, the property management company will be forced to commence with the eviction process. No further extensions will be granted.

Thank you for your prudence concerning this matter.

R
.S
. Simmons

Property Management Agent

S
hort and sweet
. Ten days to come up with the money or I’m living out of the trunk of a Nissan Altima. And what would become of my misguided little brother then?

Jared had always been a pain in the ass. He never meant to be a problem, or at least it didn’t seem that way. Ever since our parents split he’d had trouble dealing with things. With a father who was quick to bail and a mother consumed completely with trying to find her next drink, it was hard to blame him. Nobody cared. That’s how he saw it, anyway.

Six years older than Jared, I’d spent the majority of our childhood making sure he got to school on time and trying to keep him out of fights. There was only so much a ‘big sister’ could do.

As we got older, he ventured into petty crimes. Shoplifting, vandalism… that kind of stuff. When the cops came knocking, I was the one who had to answer for him. Mom tried to get on the wagon a handful of times but it never took. Eventually she ended up in the clinic where she succumbed to withdrawal and passed on an unremarkable Tuesday.

As a clueless nineteen-year-old, I was granted guardianship of him. The next several years went by as one might assume. It’s been a struggle. And now, as both of us are legally adults, nothing much has changed.

We have always lived together. Always. And I don’t hate it. I love my brother; it just, I feel like I need… something.

I don’t know how much longer I can do it. I’ve been working more hours than any human should have to endure. I pick up every extra shift I can, but hustling tips behind a bar doesn’t always cut it. Some nights the money just isn’t there.

Everything I have goes toward our bills. And a couple of months back when I had to bail Jared out of jail on a drug charge, it almost sunk us. I’ve been playing catch up ever since.

In his typical way, he was trying to help.

“It was just a little weed.” He’d said.

“You always tell me to bring some money in. This is how I was gonna do it.”

God forbid he get a real job.

His latest fuck up cost me the last semester of nursing school. Three short months away from gaining all the credits I would need to get certified and it was gone like that. Poof. The money I had squirreled away to pay for tuition and materials (along with the note to my car) was now sitting in the pocket of some bondsmen in the shady part of town.

And now… now what?

He promised he’d be home to help me move this old desk. It was heavy mahogany, and one of the only things of value we’d kept after moving out of the old house. I was going to clean it up and sell it online. It had to be worth a few hundred bucks, anyway. That’s what things had come to. Selling the furniture.

But it was almost nine-thirty and he wasn’t here. Two and a half hours later than we’d agreed upon. No surprise.

A surge of anger ran through me. I lashed out with my foot, kicking over the stack of emergency medical text books that were piled near the coffee table. The top one flew off the stack and flopped open to the chapter titled ‘Physiological Effects of Stress on the Human Body.’

How appropriate.

If conventional wisdom told me anything he was back out at that dirty biker bar on the edge of town. While Jared’s transgressions had always been relatively minor, lately I’d noticed he’d begun to grow out of that rebellious stage and toward something a little darker.

It was all he could talk about when he had been around the apartment. On and on about the club and about how he was going to make a name for himself. When he spent the last of what he had from the meager injury settlement he’d received on a stripped down old Harley, I almost died.

He rode that thing day and night these past few months.

Well, if he wanted to act like a twenty-year-old baby, that’s how I was going to treat him. Enough is enough. If I had to drag him out of that dump myself, that’s what I was going to do.

T
he drive
over should have taken twenty minutes. I made it in ten. On the way, I was all fire and brimstone. He was going to get his ass in line one way or the other.

But now, staring through the streaked windshield at the beat up tavern, I was starting to lose a little bit of that ‘pissed off’ energy.

I was clearly in the right spot. Lined up directly in front of the building were the meanest collection of motorcycles I’d ever seen. They were all chrome and low handlebars. All built for speed and function. All business. At the end of the row was a weathered old man with a rag. He was making his way down the line, polishing each one of the tanks with delicate movements, as if they were chariots for some sort of gods.

My legs weren’t so eager to move anymore. I’d never really taken Jared seriously when he talked about his “brothers” in the club. I’d written it off in my mind as some sort of mish-mash crew of wayward kids. But if the two hulking, bearded guys sharing a joint under the neon sign were an indication of what was inside, these
definitely
weren’t kids.

I slid down in my seat and watched for a minute over the top of the steering wheel. They sported heavy leather jackets adorned with patches of all sorts. The one on the left wore a long sleeved grey shirt beneath his, while the other had nothing covering his arms but angry-looking ink.

A black bandana held back the dirty blonde mane of Mr. No Sleeves. His friend had one hanging from the back pocket of his oil-stained blue jeans.

What had Jared called them? The Forgotten? The Followed? It was something like that. Either way, it was apparent he had gotten himself wrapped up is something real.

That sudden realization that this could be a
very
dangerous place is what got me moving. For as much of an asshole as he could be, he was still my little brother and there was no way I was leaving him with these wolves.

My hand involuntarily shot out to catch the driver’s side door before it could slam shut. I eased it into the latch with a soft ‘click.’ No need to bring undue attention toward myself. I was already going to look like an alien walking into the place with my generic hooded sweatshirt and comfort-fitted Uggs.

Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I tried to walk with confidence. Neither of the two tall bikers, nor the sad old man polishing the chrome gave me a second look.

Loud rock music thumped from within the belly of the old building. It was something I vaguely recognized, yet couldn’t put a finger on. It probably came from a juke box, but in a place like this, it wouldn’t have surprised me to see a local band doing covers from the nineties.

By the sound the wooden walkway made when it creaked under the weight of my steps, it felt like I was about to walk into an old west saloon.

The first thing I noticed as I made my way forward was the black bandana pinned in the upper left corner of the door frame. It was the same as the ones the bikers proudly displayed. The door itself was solid, but scarred. From knives or battering rams, or the thud of heavy boot strikes, it held the character of the place in its grain. Surprisingly, it eased open smoothly on well-oiled hinges.

I braced myself for the inevitable discerning eye. I half-expected the action to grind to a halt, like when the needle is pulled off of a spinning record, but it never happened. Instead, the patrons, by and large, went about their business. Save a quick glance or two, no one really seemed to care about the five-and-a-half foot tall, brunette with the hopelessly lost look on her face.

While the place was packed to the brim, and really loud, it had an odd feeling of calm to it. There were no fights, as I’d been afraid of. No self-important assholes looking for trouble. No maniacs swinging from the light fixtures.

The room felt like already conquered territory. There was respect in the air. It was a place where hard men could be at ease. And there were hard men
everywhere.

I scanned the room while hoping to remain invisible. They all seemed to be wearing cracked leather jackets with chains and patches. Some were stitched “one percent.” Others had words or symbols which I didn’t quite understand.

What I did understand, and now I could clearly remember Jared saying the words, was the big one in the center of the back of each jacket. The one that read: “The Fallen MC.”

I slowly took in the room, from left to right. It was a scene filled with empty bottles and full bar stools. There were scantily clad women sitting in the laps of boozed-up men. The smoke seemed to hang thick in all corners. My eyes were already starting to feel the sting. Pushed off to the side was a worn pool table with-

Wait!

My head snapped back to the left so hard it caused me to take an unbalanced step forward.

He was sitting tall in one of the bar’s wooden dining chairs. Two arms, heavily tatted and sculpted from what I could only guess were years of manual labor rested nonchalantly between his legs. From the tips of the fingers on his left hand dangled a dark brown bottle.

I had a fleeting urge to look behind me to make sure he wasn’t staring at someone else, but there was no doubt. He was locked on to me like a heat-seeking missile. The mischief in his eyes and the smirk playing on the corners of his full lips told me that.

The ambient noise seemed to drown away. As if by some mysterious intervention, the sea of bodies seemed to part in a way that wouldn’t obstruct our view of one another. It couldn’t have been for more than a few seconds, but it felt like hours.

Jared. I was here for Jared, but for some reason I couldn’t think of what to do next.

It felt like a trance. His steely blue eyes traveled over the curves of my body. The smug bastard was taking the liberty to savor every inch. On a normal night I would have sent a look his way that would make anyone ashamed. But I couldn’t do it. Mainly because I was studying him in much the same way.

Though seated, I could tell he was tall. Maybe six foot three. Taller when standing on the heel of those substantial motorcycle boots. Hypnotizing eyes aside, he was strikingly handsome. With a thick head of dark hair that was swept back and cut to just above his collar, he looked like a picture of what “devil-may-care” might look like in a dictionary…

He looked… Dangerous… And sexy as hell!

He was far from anything I’d usually go for. Rough stubble covered his cheeks and chin. When combined with the hair it made a contrast with his eyes that would take the breath from your lungs.

I was snapped out of my reverie almost as quickly as I had entered it.

Knocking me off-balance was my drunken brother. He stumbled forward with all the grace of a rhino. His pointy elbow hit square in the middle of the soft flesh on the back of my arm. It that didn’t leave an ugly bruise, nothing would.

“Hey Sis!” he yelled, excitedly. “What the hell are you doin’ here? Want a beer?”

His words ran together in a string of inebriated nonsense.

The leather jacket he wore looked comically out of place when compared to his larger, more muscled counterparts.

“Jared, we are getting out of here.”

“Ace.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Ace! I’ve told you that a million fucking times. That’s what you call me when we’re here. Show some respect.”

“Respect? Are you crazy? I’ll show some respect when you pay some rent. Or at least have the decency not to leave your dirty underwear on my bathroom floor.”

Two older bikers at the table next to us burst into laughter. Jared turned as red as a beet.

“Thanks but no thanks, Sis. Tonight is my night.”

“What are you talking about?” I was getting more annoyed by the minute.

“This.” He turned to show the back of his jacket. Stitched along the bottom, just above the hem was the word “Prospect.”

“So?” An uneasy sensation started to form in the pit of my stomach.

“So, that means we’ve got family.”

“Listen, dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about but the only family you have is standing in front of you saying it’s time to go.”

He wasn’t listening.

“C’mon, Jared. I don’t have time for this. I’m picking up a shift early tomorrow and I want to get to bed. Todd said I could help with the books to get me a few more hours this week.”