Wrong Side of the Tracks by Ashley Zakrzewski
ChapterThree
Once alone in the room, Izzy placed the teacup on the end table, finished the cookie, and opened Tish’s flip phone. She pressed her aching hand against her chest while she read the very short text:
$50000 untraceable cash
Her heart raced and that nauseated feeling she’d been battling returned. She shut the phone and leaned her head against the couch. Then she took a few deep inhales and exhales to settle her stomach. Pretty soon the bounty her stepfather put on her head would be more than Tish could be expected to pass up, especially since Izzy had first-hand knowledge about her gambling and debt problems.
Ten minutes later, the phone buzzed, and she read the next text:
We know you know.
She found her cup again and sipped her cold tea. Hopefully what Hawk said was correct, because she needed the caffeine for focus and the sweetness for strength. While the text inferred that her stepfather believed Tish knew of Izzy’s whereabouts, it also meant he still didn’t know where she was hiding. She was tempted to text back a bitter reply, like telling him to fuck off, but she snapped the phone closed instead. She’d worked so hard to stay below ground, she couldn’t let her anger ruin this one chance to get away. Or, worse, put Tish in even more danger.
She pushed herself up and waited a moment to make sure wasn’t wobbly on her feet. The ibuprofen was kicking in and her hand didn’t hurt as much anymore. Hawk had been correct that it hadn’t been the pain she hated, but the blood. Since her father’s accident so many years ago, she couldn’t stand the sight or smell of it.
After turning off the office light, she put Tish’s phone on the desk and carried her tea to the window covered in horizontal plastic blinds. The room was dark, but enough light filtered in beneath the bottom of the door from the hallway and through the window from the anemic street lamp outside. With two fingers, she opened the slats and peered into the dark driveway behind the building.
Although her stepfather didn’t know where she was hiding, it wouldn’t be long before he discovered her whereabouts. The bounty, along with his powerful contacts up and down the East Coast, meant she had to keep moving. And she would, once she earned enough money to fix her car and get back on the road.
The only street lamp, near the road, sparked on and off randomly, as if annoyed it actually had to work after sunset. The driveway was filled with parked motorcycles, and a flickering light appeared near the dumpster along the back wall. She blinked a few times, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The flickering light moved up and down until she realized it was the glow of a cigarette.
The summer storm clouds moved, allowing some moonlight to brighten up the area. In the shadows, near the dumpster, a man wearing a leather jacket leaned against a motorcycle, smoking. He had one leg bent so his foot could rest on the pipe. It was a confident, intimidating pose that was trying too hard to seem casual.
Or maybe that was her paranoia spinning around in her head.
She sipped her tea and watched. He stayed completely still, except for taking drags on the cigarette. From his position, he appeared focused on the back entrance. It was too dark to see his face or determine if he was a Devil’s Renegade. It was possible he was a member of the Black Jacks MC, a rival club out of Boston she’d been staying ahead of for weeks.
Unfortunately, her apartment above the bar had an outside entrance she could only access from the back of the building, not far from where that man was smoking and watching.
“Why are you here in the dark?” J.R.’s voice sounded low and concerned, and she turned to face him. He stood in the doorway, backlit by the shaky bulb in the hallway. It was as if the electricity in this tiny, mountain town only worked under protest.
“Shut the door but don’t turn on the light.”
He did as she asked and came to her. She returned to the window and, sure enough, the man was still smoking and checking out the back of the bar.
J.R. stopped next to her and whispered, “What’s going on? The prospects took over your shift. I thought you’d be tucked into bed by now.”
“Look.” She motioned for him to peek through the opening she made in the slats. “Do you see that man near the dumpster?”
J.R. leaned down, peered through the opening, and squinted. “The guy smoking?”
“Yes. Have you ever seen him before?”
“It’s hard to tell in the dark.” J. R. stood and pressed his shoulder against the wall so he could study her. “Right now almost every Devil’s Renegade I know, including a few Nomads, are wreaking havoc on the bar. They’re all here for Cheery’s patching party.”
“Could that guy outside be a Devil’s Renegade Nomad?”
“I don’t know.” J.R. frowned at her. “Why? Are you being followed or something?”
The low tone in his voice held an accusation, almost as if Tish had told him about her situation and he was annoyed she hadn’t shared her story with him. Although they’d only known each other a few weeks, they’d become good friends.
She sighed and pressed her back against the wall, next to the window. “J.R., honestly, it’s best if I don’t tell you or Tish everything. But I will admit that there are people looking for me, which I think you’ve already guessed. These are dangerous people I need to stay away from for as long as I can.”
“You think that guy is watching your apartment? Waiting for you?”
“I don’t know.” She finished her cold tea and placed the cup on the desk. “But I can’t take the chance of letting him see me.”
He grunted and looked out the window again. “I have an idea. Wait here until I return.”
“Are you going to confront him?” She didn’t want J.R. getting hurt on her behalf.
He smiled at her as he opened the door. “I’m just taking out the trash.”
She looked out the window again. Her heart beat in the back of her throat, and her palms felt damp. When J.R. appeared outside, she held her breath. He carried two huge plastic garbage bags toward the dumpster, only a few feet away from the smoking man.
Slowly, she released her breath. After dumping the bags, J.R. went over to the man and started talking. A moment later, the man lit up a cigarette and handed it to J.R.
She’d no idea that J.R. smoked anything. He was such a health nut with his protein shakes and constant lectures on cooking whole foods, whatever those were. And it was best not to get him started on his thoughts of yoga and meditation. Still, as he smoked and chatted up the other man, he appeared confident and totally at ease, as if he was also a biker. Which, come to think of it, was possible since she knew little about his background.
It didn’t take long for J.R. to finish his smoke, flick away the cigarette, and return to the bar. Meanwhile, the smoking man mounted his bike and rode away. Unfortunately, it was still too dark to see his colors and determine who he belonged to.
A few minutes later, J.R. came into the office, closing the door behind him. But he didn’t turn on the light. “The guy is gone.”
She frowned. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I quit smoking a few years ago.” J.R. found her mugs and placed them on the tray on the desk. “The guy wore a jacket without patches and seemed straightforward. Called himself Neon. Said he was a hangaround with the Devil’s Renegades, but had gone outside for a smoke to get away from the chaos in the bar. Said he needed a break from cheap pussy and sour beer.”
“If that’s true, I don’t blame him.” Although she didn’t use such crude language herself, she’d gotten used to it since leaving home over a month ago. She also didn’t know a lot about how motorcycle clubs worked, but she did know that becoming a hangaround was the first step in eventually becoming a patched member. After a few years of literally hanging around the club, the club voted on whether or not to make them prospects. After another long stint of doing shitty jobs like cleaning up after parties and running errands for the club members, the club voted on whether or not to patch the prospects into the club. Once they became fully patched members, like Cheery had become a few hours ago, they were in for life. “Do you believe Neon was a hangaround?”
“Not until I talk to Hawk. Or Eagle. They both handle the hangarounds and prospects.” J.R. picked up the tray and smiled at her. “I’ll check in with them tonight and let you know. In the meantime, you should probably get up to your apartment while no one else is around.”
“Thanks.” She opened the door so he could pass her with the tray. “I’ll be here tomorrow, bright and early, to help Tish.” Although the bar was closed to patrons on Sundays, she and Tish used the day to stock the bar, accept deliveries, and do some housekeeping while J.R. polished his spotless kitchen. Even if she had to keep her hand dry, she could at least manage the inventory list.
“You know...” He cleared his throat and paused in the hallway while she closed the office door. “If you need to talk or anything, I’m here. You’re not alone.”
Except she was always alone.
She touched his arm and kissed his cheek. She appreciated his concern, but the fewer people she involved in her life the fewer lives she was responsible for. “Thank you, J.R. I’ll let you know.” Then she headed in the opposite direction, down the hall, and out the back door. She hurried around a line of bikes and headed for the metal stairs that had been bolted to the outside of the colonial-era brick building. Once she entered her small studio apartment which, technically, was on the fourth floor, she bolted all three door locks into place. She deliberately kept the lamps off so the only light came in through the windows from the moon and the intermittent street lamp.
A rumble of thunder rattled the old window panes, announcing another midnight summer storm the Shenandoah mountains were known for offering.
She held her wounded hand against her chest, pressed her forehead against the door, and blinked away the burning in her eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she needed to figure out the car situation and get the hell out of town. Even if that smoking biker had just been a hangaround, his presence reminded her that she’d never intended on settling in Ravensburg. Or anywhere else in Virginia, for that matter.
And she’d certainly never expected to fall into Hawk’s bed. It’d been hard leaving him, and the powerful way he made love to her, but it had been the right decision. She never wanted him or anyone else to get hurt because of her choices.
A loud thud came from the deeper recesses of the dark room, and she spun around. Her heart banged around in her chest again. “Who’s there?”
Unfortunately her handgun was in her duffel bag in the bedroom.
A floor lamp in the corner of the room switched on, and she stepped back until her shoulders hit the door. Hawk sat in the worn leather club chair next to the lamp. He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, and he held something in his hands. His brown eyes, so filled with anger, fixed on her. As he squeezed her black Chanel wallet, the silver rings on his fingers glinted in the light.
“Why are you holding my wallet?” Her voice sounded shallow and weak. “And how did you get in here?”
“The club owns the bar, remember? As the club’s Vice President, I have a key to every door in every building we own. “ He stood and moved toward her slowly, with a predatory grace only made possible by his physical strength and tremendous height. He paused a foot away and held up her wallet. “I had an interesting talk with J.R.”
She swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice casual. “Did J.R. tell you about the hangaround who was smoking near the dumpster?”
“He did.” Hawk crossed his arms, one hand still holding her wallet. “Unfortunately for you and for the club, we don’t have a hangaround named Neon. And from J.R.’s description, I suspect he’s part of a rival MC.”
“Oh.” She wanted to slip past Hawk, but the glare in his eyes warned her that wouldn’t be a good idea. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, Izzy.” His low laughter sounded more ominous than happy. “Or should I say Isolde O’Cleary? It didn’t long for me to figure out you’re the only daughter of Ian O’Cleary, president of OCL Enterprises.” He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “You lied to me.”
“Not disclosing is not lying. Besides, I’m his stepdaughter.” She held out her hand. “My wallet. Please.”
“It’s all a form of obfuscation.” He handed her the wallet, although the damage had been done. Thunder rocked the skies outside and the power flickered on and off. “You’re the only child of one of the wealthiest men in Boston. Yet you’re working in a biker bar, in a shithole town in the middle of the Virginia mountains, and you’re terrified of strangers. That tells me you’re on the run and afraid of being caught.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Maybe that’s why you left my bed. You didn’t want anyone to know you’re fucking an outlaw biker.”
“Sounds like you have all the answers.” She crossed her arms, but the gleam in his brown gaze told her he wasn’t buying her false bravado.
“I have so many questions.” He moved closer until his breath bathed her forehead, and her lower stomach clenched. “First, does Tish know who you are?”
“Yes.” She shoved her wallet into her back pocket and refused to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t care.”
She closed her eyes. His proximity, including his scent and the heat that rolled off his body, made it hard to concentrate. That made him dangerous. “What do you want from me, Hawk?”
He took her arm, and she opened her eyes. Their gazes met and the hardness in his was so different from the kindness she’d seen earlier, or the passion she’d seen weeks ago, she almost wondered if he were a different man.
“I want to know everything.” That last word came out on a harsh exhale, as if he was only a moment away from losing his temper.
She tried to throw off his grip, except he refused to release her. “Knowing everything could get us both killed. Being around me is dangerous, and you could get hurt.”
He snorted and his other hand landed on the wall next to her head, boxing her in. “Many men have tried to hurt me, darlin’. I’ve dragged my ass through Afghanistan, Iraq, and even did a hardship tour along the DMZ before returning home and getting my patch. Trust me when I say I am really fucking hard to hurt or kill.”
This time, when she pulled her arm, he released her. She slipped away from him and headed toward the galley kitchen, rubbing the spot on her arm where he’d gripped her. It didn’t hurt, but she wanted to erase his touch because her reaction to him was too powerful to deal with at the moment. Despite the situation, she’d wanted to kiss him. And she knew exactly where that would lead.
She brushed away the stray hairs that wouldn’t stick behind her ear and paced in front of the kitchen counter that divided the room. “You’re right. I’m on the run.” She glanced at him. He’d crossed his arms, and his eyes had narrowed into slits. “No matter what happens, I’m never returning to Boston. Why I left home doesn’t matter.”
“I disagree.” He tilted his head and kept his gaze on her. “If your trouble brings more trouble to my club, it does matter.”
“I don’t care.” She untied her apron and threw it onto the counter. “Besides, tomorrow I’m getting my car fixed and then I’m leaving town. I should have enough money to pay for the part.”
He frowned. “What’s wrong with your car?”
“I don’t know.” She waved her bandaged hand. “Something about the circuit board on the transmission electric oil pump.”
His laugh sounded like a bark. “Do you own that white KIA down at Renegade Motors?”
She didn’t like the shocked tone in his voice. “Yes. So?”
“Did you know Renegade Motors is owned by the motorcycle club?”
She blew out a long breath. “No. The car was towed there, and I’ve only spoken to the mechanic on the bar’s phone.” And since she’d met Hawk at the bar, he’d driven them to the motels where they’d… had sexy times. They’d never had sex in her apartment or his home. They’d never talked about it, it’s just what had happened. Then again, in those early days they’d done very little talking—other than the dirty kind.
Her face felt hot again, and she cursed her Celtic ancestry for freckles and her profound ability to blush.
“Your Kia has a recall notice on that circuit board. If it’s not fixed, the oil pump could fail.”
“So...” She sank into the chair near the lamp—the only one in the room—and rested her wounded hand in her lap. “That has already happened. When I pulled into the bar’s parking lot, hoping to see Tish, I got a red flashy light on the dashboard and smelled something burning beneath the hood. Tish helped me get it towed to the shop. That’s how I ended up stuck here, desperate for a job.”
He released a long, exasperated exhale and rubbed fist across his forehead. “Because there’s a recall on that Kia circuit board, they’re impossible to get right now.”
“That’s not what the garage guy, a man named Snake, said.”
“Snake just intakes the cars. He handles inventory and payments and stuff like that. He’s not a mechanic.”
“And you are?”
“Not officially, but I can fix most anything with a motor.” He stared at the floor. “Izzy, your car won’t be ready for three to four weeks. When it is, it’ll cost at least three grand. And that’s with the recalled part being free.”
Three thousand dollars? She blinked a few times to stop the tears blurring her vision. Not only did she not have anything close to that amount of money, she also couldn’t stay in Ravensburg for another month. “That’s not possible.” Her whispered words sounded like they’d been dragged over a cheese grater. “I thought it would be around five hundred. Six, tops.”
Hawk knelt one on knee in front of her. The anger in his eyes had softened, and his hard features had eased. He placed his hands on her knees and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Izzy. That’s the way it is.”
Thunder sounded outside again, and rain slammed into the tin roof. Since her apartment was on the top floor, and the roof had no insulation, the rainfall was deafening. Then the power went off. Both her lamp and the outside streetlight shut down, leaving them in darkness punctuated by flashes of lightning.
Hawk stood and looked around the room. “Do you have any candles?”
She pointed toward the hallway that led to the tiny bedroom and attached bath. “There is one in my bedroom, one in the bathroom, and one on the kitchen counter.”
He disappeared down the hallway. Moments later, he returned with the two candles and placed them next to the third candle on the kitchen counter. He pulled a lighter out of his back pocket and lit all three. Too bad they were three different scents. She’d probably end up with a headache from the jasmine, sweet orange, and patchouli combination.
Once a bit of candlelight appeared, he moved the one stool from beneath the counter to the living room. As he maneuvered around the apartment, she tried to see it with fresh eyes. It’d come furnished, but that didn’t mean much since there was hardly any furniture—only the worn leather chair with broken seat springs, a wooden bar stool, and a small coffee table. The old wood floors had no rug to protect her bare feet from splinters, and the white plastic blinds were stained, with many broken slats. The gray paint on the walls had blistered and peeled, due to water damage from the leaky roof. That was probably why the room always had a dampish smell. Very, very different from her parents’ eighteenth century mansion in Beacon Hill.
Yes, this apartment was a dump. But right now it was her dump and it was the only place in the entire world where she felt safe enough to lay her head and fall asleep.
When Hawk settled on the stool, near her, she said, “Hawk, I need to leave town ASAP. Especially if that not-a-hangaround man was sent by my stepfather.”
“Is there any chance you’ll tell me why you’re on the run? And why your stepfather is so desperate to find you?”
“It’s better if you don’t know.”
He frowned, as if he didn’t agree. But he didn’t press her on the issue.
She glanced at the dark window. “Do you think that guy outside the bar tonight could be a member of a rival MC? Maybe he was a PI.”
“He said he was a Devil’s Renegade hangaround when he wasn’t. And I’ve never known a private investigator to make up that kind of story. It’s too easy to get caught, and most MCs don’t like it when men lie about their affiliation. A good PI would know that and not take that kind of risk.” Hawk shook his head and gripped his knees until the knuckles turned white. “J.R. gave me a good description. It’s possible the guy is someone I’ve met before. Unfortunately, if I’m right, it’s not a good sign for you. Or for my club.”
She chewed her bottom lip. Hawk was probably right. Which didn’t leave her with many options.
“Izzy, why would your stepfather send someone in a motorcycle club after you? Why not hire a PI? He could certainly afford the best.”
She shrugged and studied the white bandage on her hand. She wasn’t quite ready to share. “Who do you suspect the not-a-hangaround might be?”
“A Sergeant-at-Arms named Nine.”
The name Nine was close to Neon. “And his club?” Please let it be any club other than the one on her stepfather’s payroll.
“A rival outlaw club out of Boston who has a charter here in Virginia.”
She held her breath and prayed silently despite the fact no one ever listened to her prayers. “Which club?”
“A club I’d hoped never to run into again, mostly because they have serious ties to... really bad men. A club known as the Black Jacks.”
Izzy clutched the chair’s arms. Her breaths felt short and tight, and that nauseated, panicky feeling began again. “Are you absolutely sure?” Please be wrong.
“Ninety-five percent sure.” He stood, went into the kitchen, and opened the only cabinet door. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s pretty damn accurate.”
She leaned forward, with her elbows pressed into her thighs, and took deep inhales and exhales to steady her heart rate.
“That’s why I’m staying the night.”
Did he mean in her bed? She stood, immediately regretting it when she wobbled from lightheadedness. “You can’t.”
“I am. And don’t worry. I’m not going to push myself on you. When you’re ready, you can come to me. And I’ll decide whether or not I still want you.”
Well, that was harsh. She sighed heavily. But she did deserve it. Leaving him in that motel room, and hitching a ride back to town, hadn’t been the nicest thing she’d ever done.
He returned with a glass of water. But when he handed it to her, her hand shook so much the water spilled over the top and onto the floor. So he took the water back and placed it on the counter. Then he took her hand, picked up a candle, and dragged her down the narrow hall into the bedroom.
“Hawk? What are you doing?”
“Putting you to bed. Alone.” He pointed to the narrow futon that took up most of the room. Her duffel bag lay in the corner, near the bedside table whose fourth leg, which had long ago broken off, was propped up on a brick. He placed the candle on the table and drew back the duvet cover. “You’ve had a long night, and I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be even longer.”
She hated the fact that she agreed with his assessment. And when she sat on the edge of the bed, fatigue hit hard and heavy, making her eyes droop. “Where are you going to sleep?”
His gaze drilled into her, and her cheeks warmed beneath his regard. It was clear what he wanted, yet she could also see the lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier in the night. “The chair.” He nodded toward the hall leading into the living room. Before she could respond, he left the room.
She curled up beneath the blanket and listened to the rain pounding on the roof. She wasn’t sure about trusting Hawk, but her limited choices were disappearing quickly. At this point, her best bet was to wake up early and hitch a ride out of town. If she were lucky, she’d make it to West Virginia before anyone knew she was gone.