Wrong Side of the Tracks by Ashley Zakrzewski
ChapterFour
Jason carries me outside, away from all the hurtling bottles, swinging fists, and all the utter carnage that comes with a biker bar fight. I’ve never seen anything like it – what I can see from my upside-down angle. It’s both scary as fuck and the most exciting thing to ever happen to me. Jason puts me down, and the door swings shut on all the chaos taking place inside.
“Where are you taking me?” I demand as I remove my shoes to pull my jeans back on in the parking lot, the grit and stones biting into the soles of my bare feet.
“The Clubhouse,” Jason tells me, being vague with the details.
“Wait, this isn’t it?” I thumb behind me.
Jason eyes me sharply. “No, this ain’t it,” he replies, sounding offended by that.
“Oh, I just assumed,” I say before Jason cuts me off.
“You assumed we’d all bundle together under one big blanket and have a gangbang?” He casts a critical eye over me as I button up my fly. “Sometimes I wish Bodie had been more open with you about things. We’re nothing like those meatheads in there. We have standards, Keira. The boys and I fixed up a place down by the river. It’s not much, but it’s clean. It’s warm. And it’s home.” His eyes cut to the bar door as something slams against it. “Let’s get you out of here before the shitshow erupts onto the parking lot.”
Mohawk Guy comes hurtling through the door, followed by Tex, who strolls out dusting his palms. Hustle and Rooster give his goons a helping hand by tossing them onto the dusty ground.
“Go back and tell your boss I said no. And if he or any of you ever show your faces here again, it won’t end well for any of you,” Jason warns them.
Mohawk Guy spits blood onto the ground, then glowers at Jason as he gets up. “You’re gonna regret this.”
Jason pulls out a gun from the waistband of his jeans. “You’ve got some nerve, threatening me on my turf.” He takes off the safety, and my mouth runs dry.
“Jason, what are you doing?” I murmur, my heart pounding as I curl my hand around his arm.
Jason jerks his elbow away, his face twisting into an angry snarl. “You’ve got until I count to three to fuck off back to whatever rat hole you crawled out from before I start shooting.”
The goons scramble away before Mohawk Guy does. He starts running the moment Jason starts counting. Jason doesn’t even get to three; he chuckles after counting to two, watching them scuttle out of view like a cluster of roaches. He puts the safety on, then thrusts the gun back inside the waistband of his jeans, his face stern as he looks at me.
“Never question me in front of the enemy.” Jason grabs my wrist and pulls me along. “And you used my real name when I specifically told you not to.”
“Uh-oh,” Rooster chortles behind me. “Someone just earned another ass whooping.”
I hear the guys laughing behind us, their voices fading as I run to match Jason’s hurried pace. His hostile body language is making me nervous. I don’t want him to be mad at me. I like him better when he’s nice. It didn't matter how bitchy I was to him before today. He always shrugged it off. But now it’s like the slightest roll of my eyes, angry exhale, or the tiniest little comment is going to earn me a smacked backside or worse. I’m his now, and it’s like he’s setting an example. If he can’t control me, then he can’t control anything. And I totally get it. But I get a kick out of winding him up. What the hell am I gonna do for fun now?
Jason leads me to his Harley Davidson cruiser. It’s large and sexy, just like him, and he stares at me as if he’s expecting me to just get on the back and ride pillion with him. I’m not afraid of bikes. I just don’t trust the fuckers who ride them.
“Are you nuts? I’m not getting on that thing with you,” I tell him straight. “I’ll get cut to bits if I fall off.”
Jason gets on the bike and then taps the seat with a smirk on his face. “If you don’t, I’ll spank you in front of the whole fucking club. How about that?”
Reluctantly, I do as he says, climbing on and wrapping my arms around his toned stomach.
Then I hold on tightly as he kicks off and leaves the guys behind us in a cloud of gritty road dust, the barren scenery whizzing past my eyes in a speedy blur. He takes me through town, turning off down a side road. I assume it belongs to a steelwork company, or at least it did before they abandoned the site. Jason, or Havoc as he asked me to call him, stops outside some rusty gates and then drags them to one side. It’s ominous as fuck. There’s nothing but overgrown weeds and long grass as far as the eye can see. But then I hear a loud bark, and a huge black Rottweiler comes bounding over to us and darts out through the open gate. Jason stoops down to stroke him, and the dog rolls onto his back to let Jason tickle his belly. The rumble of bikes fills the air as the guys ride past us and leave us standing here beside the open gate.
“Hey there, Dude,” Jason greets the dog, rubbing his smooth, short fur and scratching behind his ears. “Did you miss me? I brought someone here to meet you.” He turns to me and jerks his head toward the dog. “Bodie and I rescued him when he was just a pup. Didn’t have a single tooth in his head. Reckoned he must’ve been around four weeks old. He was inside a mailbag by the river. Someone tried to toss him in but missed. Sick fucker. It was a stroke of luck we found him – heard him whimpering, and looked inside the bag, and there he was. We hand-reared him, taking turns feeding him every few hours. Fuckin’ slept at my side for weeks until he learned to settle alone. He takes up most of my bed; I’m lucky if he’ll give me an inch of room.”
I flash a wicked grin. “Oh yeah?” I walk over to the dog to pet him, surprised he lets me. He’s so friendly, licking out at my hand as I pet him. “Not much of a guard dog, huh? More of a cock block, am I right?” I say, hearing Jason snort in agreement.
“You’re honored he’s letting you do that,” Jason tells me. “The last stranger who tried to pet him, Dude almost took his hand clean off. He must be able to smell Bodie on you.”
Jason and I exchange a fond smile at the mention of Bodie’s name. It’s a tender moment, and my heart clenches a little, the pain bringing a lump to my throat. Not wanting to get all teary-eyed, I sniff and deflect the conversation.
“Wait, what? You named the dog Dude?” I ask, scrunching my face, thinking maybe dude was a cute term of endearment. “Couldn’t you think of an actual name? It’s almost worse than calling him Dog. I thought with him being a biker’s dog, you’d pick a cool name like Fang or Butch.”
“Dude is his name, and he likes it.” Jason stands, dusts off his hand, and then pushes his bike through the gates. He whistles and jerks his head as a sign to follow him, and I assume he means the dog until his eyes flick to me and he mutters, “Don’t just stand there scratchin’ your peach, move it.”
Dude groans and turns to follow his master. Is this what it’s come to? I’m Jason’s property, and he’s now my master. As much as I dislike being whistled at like a dog, I follow Jason down the winding dirt track, which leads to the riverside, just like Jason said. And lo and behold, there’s an abandoned factory that nature is trying to claw back with a vengeance. Leafy vines coil around the iron railings and poke through some of the broken windows like nature is swallowing it whole. Either the glass has been tinted, or someone spray painted it black. It looks kind of foreboding. I cast a critical eye over it, thinking it could be the perfect setting for a horror movie. Jason pushes his bike inside, and the dog bounds in after him, leaving me out here with nothing but the sound of the wind rustling through the tall grass. I hear female laughter from inside the dilapidated factory, which reassures me. Bodie said the guys all have girlfriends. I’m a little nervous about running into Ivy, the girl he used to gush about. Bodie was crazy about her and even asked our mom if he could have our grandmother’s old engagement ring because he planned to propose. My chest tightens as I revisit the memory.
Jason points to a woman’s bra dangling from the handlebars of Tex’s bike. “That’s nothing,” he attempts to reassure me. “You’ll probably see all kinds of things you’ll wish you could unsee, but it’s all part of club life as you’re about to find out.”
From the frantic sex noises coming from somewhere inside, I’d say someone was having a quickie. I try not to look so embarrassed as I walk through the hall and into the communal living space, seeing Tex’s jeans around his ankles, and his bare ass banging against his girlfriend as she clings to him like a monkey. Everyone else is ignoring it, so I do too. There’s no way I could ever do anything remotely like that in front of other people. I’m not a prude. I’m just private. Not like I’ll get much privacy in this open-plan space. It’s industrial and echoey. There’s a metal staircase leading to an upper level that overlooks the communal area, and on the ground floor, right at the back, I notice they’ve done a good job at installing a kitchen. It’s made up of stainless-steel worktops, cupboards with sliding doors, a commercial-sized fridge, and one of those chef’s stoves you’d find in a restaurant. I grimace with disgust as Rooster lights his cigarette on the hob, then flicks ash in the sink. That’s just gross. I might be a grease monkey, but at least I’m housetrained.
“I thought you said this place was decent?” I comment, scrutinizing their living standards.
Jason drags his fingers through his hair, looking slightly embarrassed. I can tell by the shocked look in his eyes that he didn’t expect to walk into a bombsite.
“Sorry about this, Peaches,” Jason mutters, thrown off his stride for a moment. He drags his tongue over his bottom lip, then whistles loud enough to rattle our ears. “Hey! Is this a fucking pigsty or a clubhouse? Clean up your shit by the time I come back downstairs or else you’ll be sleeping outside under the stars. Don’t think I’m kidding. There’s already one ass on my hitlist.” He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.
I look down from the railings and see three women scurrying around, throwing all their takeout cartons in the trash. The guys are helping, but there’s a fourth woman, a long-haired brunette who catches my eye. She doesn’t get up from the ratty sofa. Our eyes meet briefly as she looks at me, her hand resting reflexively on her prominent baby bump. My words get snagged in my throat, recognizing her from the photo on Bodie’s workstation. That’s Ivy. His girlfriend – his pregnant girlfriend. Oh my god.
Jason unlocks the first door we reach. “In here,” he says, his tone gruff. “Before we do anything else, we should talk.”