Joker by Andi Rhodes
Chapter Twelve
There isn’t a Bangin’ Betty on the face of the Earth that’s going to make me feel better.
Joker
“What has gotten into you lately?”
The scowl on my face deepens as I focus on the bike in front of me. Fender has been riding my ass all day and I’m seconds away from unleashing every single pent-up emotion on him. When the wrench slips off the screw I’m trying to tighten, I toss it across the shop to join the other three that have sailed through the air today.
“Nothing,” I snarl and pick up the fallen screw and another wrench.
“At the rate you’re going, I’m going to have to buy all new fucking tools, as well as replace walls and windows if any of your throws are off.”
I rise from my kneeling position and whirl around to face him. “Why the fuck are you riding me so hard? Can’t a man work and sulk in peace?”
Fender lifts his hands in mock surrender but takes a step toward me. He opens his mouth to speak, but before any words come out, Charlie barges through the swinging door from the front of Infinite Motors and glares at both of us.
“Would the two of you quit bitching at each other?” She props her hands on her hips and forces all of her attention my way. “And you… stop fucking throwing stuff. If we lose customers because you can’t keep your shit together, I’m taking it out of your pay.”
“Since when do you have the right to make demands and tell me what to do?” I bark.
“Since we made her an equal partner in the shop,” Fender says, his tone making it clear that he’s on Charlie’s side. Not that I would expect anything different. She’s the one that has him wrapped up in pussy. He glances at her. “Can you give us a minute?”
Charlie’s eyes dart back and forth between Fender and me for a moment before she nods. “Fine. But cut the bullshit out.”
She turns and storms back to the front, leaving me to suffer the consequences of my outburst in relative peace.
“I’ll repeat,” Fender growls. “What the fuck has gotten into you? Because taking your issues out on the shop and tools is one thing but start taking it out on my ol’ lady and there will be hell to pay.”
I roll my neck and let my head fall back so I can stare at the ceiling while I count to ten. Or maybe fifty. Whatever it takes to calm me down before I say something I can’t take back. It’s not Fender’s fault I want to kill someone. It’s not his fault that I can’t keep my thoughts from spinning out of control. It’s not his fault I have two women who have taken up residence in my brain and won’t leave. And it’s certainly not his fault that I’ve got a serious case of blue balls because I want to fuck one of them senseless.
When I’m relatively calm, I glance back at Fender and see him leaning against the workbench with his arms crossed over his chest, just waiting for me to say something.
“Spit it out, brother,” he demands.
“There’s nothing to spit out.”
“Right. And I’m the fucking King of England,” he counters.
I avert eye contact because I know if he sees me rolling my eyes at him, he’ll deck me for it. I don’t need a black eye added to the list of shit I’m dealing with.
“The bike is pissing me off, that’s all.”
“I’m not buying it, Joker,” he says as he straightens away from the bench and walks toward me. “Look, if it’s personal and you’d rather not discuss it with me, fine. But you need to talk to someone about it because whatever the hell it is, it’s eating at you. Talk to Greaser. Shit, find a Bangin’ Betty who’ll listen while she rides you and fuck it out of your system.”
I laugh at him, but it’s hollow. There isn’t a Bangin’ Betty on the face of the Earth that’s going to make me feel better. Talking to Greaser may help, for a minute or two, but he can’t fix my problems. No one can.
Riley can.
I scrub my hands over my face and heave a sigh. I pull my cell out of my pocket to check the time. “Are we done here? I’ve gotta get back to the clubhouse and make sure everything is ready for our run tonight.”
“Yeah, we’re done. But figure your shit out. Or I will.”
I give a curt nod and make quick work of cleaning up my mess. I do a half-assed job of it so it only takes me a few minutes and then I head out into the sunshine. I straddle my Harley and fire her up, letting the rumble ease my remaining tension.
I point my bike in the direction of the clubhouse. When I make the last turn onto the five mile stretch of road that leads to my destination, my cell vibrates in my pocket. I don’t bother pulling over to check it, knowing I’ll be able to look at it within minutes.
I round a corner and the gates of the compound come into view. The scene I see unfolding at the entrance is disturbing. Part of me wants to turn my bike around and ride as fast and as far away as possible. But then the rage takes over and that flight response disappears. Fuck flight. Fight is always better.
I pull up to the gate, narrowly missing Cheryl as she bounces around to miss Greaser’s attempts at grabbing her. Riley is leaning against the metal gate holding a cardboard box in her arms, eyes wide and taking in all the action. I throw a leg over my bike and stomp over to Cheryl, wrapping my arms around her from behind so she can’t dodge them.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I bark in her ear.
Cheryl struggles against me but doesn’t answer. She’s skin and bones but years of drugs and living on the streets has made her scrappy. She throws her head back, catching me on the chin when I can’t get out of the way fast enough.
“Jesus, calm the fuck down,” Greaser shouts at her.
She spits at him and his face morphs from one of exasperation to crazed fury. He swipes the saliva off of his cheek and advances on her, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I’m still behind her.
He winds his fingers through her hair and yanks her head to the side, wrenching a yelp out of Cheryl. He leans in close and through gritted teeth says, “I don’t give a flying fuck whose mother you are, if you do that again, I’ll—”
Spit hits him on his cheek, right under his eye. Greaser lets go of her hair and wraps his fingers around her throat. I loosen my hold and let him do his thing. Greaser isn’t usually so easy to anger but he doesn’t suffer fools and Cheryl is being a grade A fool if she thinks she can get away with her bullshit.
Greaser glances at me as if asking for permission to do whatever he wants and my only response is to shrug my shoulders. I don’t give a shit what he does to her. Killing isn’t my automatic go to but I’m not opposed to it. Especially if it means I’m free of her for good.
“Bitch, I think a trip to the Nightmare Room is in order. Scare some of the crazy out of you.”
Why the Nightmare Room hadn’t crossed my mind is beyond me but it seems like the best option, the only option. If we let Cheryl go, she’ll keep coming back like a bad case of herpes because she’ll think she won, think she got away with whatever it is she’s trying to do. Fuck that.
“Where’s the golf cart?” I ask Greaser, knowing there’s no way Cheryl will get on one of our bikes and that she’s too wild right now to drag her.
“It’s up by the clubhouse,” Riley answers instead of Greaser. She pushes off of the fence and walks toward me, the cardboard box now tucked under her arm. “Greaser called up and told me that I had a package delivered. I wanted to take in the sun so I walked.”
It crosses my mind to ask her how the hell anyone knows she’s here and why she’s getting mail but those questions will have to wait. At least until Cheryl is secured.
“Go get it,” I bark at her. “And make it quick, Black Bird.”
“I told you not to—”
Riley slams her mouth shut when I glare at her. Now is not the time to argue about a stupid nickname. And quite honestly, if she doesn’t like it, maybe she shouldn’t have had it fucking tattooed on her body for the world to see.
Riley turns toward the gate and I realize that she doesn’t know where the button is to open them so I step around Cheryl and Greaser to do that for her. She carries her package with her and as I watch her walk away, my dick responds to the sway of her hips and the way her toned legs flex with each step.
When she’s out of sight, I shift my attention back to Greaser and Cheryl. Greaser, with his fingers still wrapped around her throat, shoves her to the ground. She crawls away from him and runs into my legs. I yank my gun out of my waistband and point it at her.
“Get over there,” I demand, pointing toward the fence.
“You can’t talk to me like that, Br—”
I aim just to the left of her face and pull the trigger. Cheryl shrieks when the bullet ricochets off the gravel and then she falls backward onto her ass. Thinking better of arguing, she rises to her knees and scrambles past me like the dog she is.
Greaser and I exchange a look and the evil grin he’s wearing matches the turmoil wreaking havoc inside of me. I close the distance between us, keeping my gun in my hand, just in case Cheryl feels the need to try something stupid.
“When the hell did she get here?” I ask.
“Not long before you did,” he says. “I tried to reason with her for a few minutes and then Riley finally showed her face to pick up her box. I had her send you a text while I dealt with your… mother.” The word ‘mother’ is said with disgust and judgement but I know it’s not aimed at me.
“Yeah, I felt the text come through but figured I’d see it when I got here. I was just up the road.” I nudge my chin to indicate the direction I came from then glance over my shoulder toward Cheryl. “What are your plans for her?”
“My plans?” Greaser asks and when I nod, he chuckles. “Fuckin’ nothing. I’m gonna help you get her to the Nightmare Room and then let you do whatever the hell you want.”
I nod before I pull my cell out to check the time. “Shit!” I shove it back in my pocket. “I’ve got the run tonight. Do you think you can handle this one and I’ll cover your next one?”
“If it means you get the chance to deal with her,” he nods toward Cheryl and his grin spreads. “Absofuckinglutely.”
The pathetic rumble of the golf cart drifts through the trees and I watch as Riley navigates over the dirt and gravel drive, her long hair blowing behind her, like she belongs behind the wheel. The excitement about getting time in the Nightmare Room mingles with the rush of blood that invades my cock at seeing Riley, but all of it disappears when I see that damn box sitting next to her.
“Get up,” I demand, pointing my gun back at Cheryl.
She makes no move to do as she’s told and my finger caresses the trigger, but before I can pull it, Greaser rushes past me and kneels in front of her. He’s holding his knife and he presses it against her throat where his fingers were earlier.
“Get. The.” He pushes the tip of the blade into her flesh and a tiny droplet of blood escapes. “Fuck. Up.”
He keeps the blade tucked under her chin as she scoots her way up the fence to stand. She twists her head away so she’s not looking at him and he drops his arm, chuckling as he does. He glances over his shoulder at me.
“Huh, it seems you can teach an old dog new tricks.”
I shake my head at him as I walk to push the button to open the gate back up to let Riley through. She stops the golf cart and shuts it down before hopping off. Her gaze darts from me to the blood on Cheryl’s neck and her eyes narrow.
“What did you do?” she asks, a spark of fear in her tone.
“I didn’t do anything, Black Bird.”
“You shot me!” Cheryl exclaims, choosing that moment to let her stupidity back out.
Riley reacts to the outburst by taking a step back, away from me, and I see red. I whirl on Cheryl and close the distance between us, gripping her upper arm when I’m close. I yank her back to the cart.
“I shot near you,” I growl. “As for your neck, that was him.” I point at Greaser. “Not me.”
Cheryl crosses her arms over her chest as she sits on the bench seat. I climb in the driver’s side and Greaser stomps his way over to get in on her other side. Before he sits, he picks up Riley’s box and sets it in his lap. With Cheryl sandwiched between us and our weapons to keep her in line, there’s only one place left for Riley to go.
“Hop on, Black Bird.”
A very unladylike grunt comes from deep within Riley and I don’t even bother to hide the grin that spreads across my face at her annoyance. She may have demanded that I stop calling her that but it ain’t happening. Not today, or any day for that matter.
When Riley is standing on the back, I turn the key and press on the gas pedal. Riley shrieks when the cart takes off and wraps her arms around one of the poles to hold on.
“Hang on tight.” Greaser laughs at her. “Joker is great on a Harley but he’s worse than you on this thing.”
I navigate the path through the trees that will take us to the back entrance of the clubhouse, the one that leads directly to the Nightmare Room in the basement. It doesn’t take long to get there and when I pull up in front of it, Riley steps off the back of the cart and rushes to my side, stopping me before I can move.
“What are you going to do to her?” she asks.
“You’ll see.”
I nudge her out of the way and step off the cart, turning around and unceremoniously yanking Cheryl off. I march her toward the back entrance, down the steps and through the door.
“What is the Nightmare Room?” Riley asks as she falls into step beside me and I ignore her. “Why are you doing this? Can’t you see that she’s out of her mind?”
Riley grabs my arm, digging her fingers into the muscle to stop me. And it works. I stop walking and shift to face her. I drop my gaze to where she’s holding onto me.
“Let go,” I demand from between clenched teeth.
“No.”
My head whips up. “No?”
Riley nods. “You heard me.”
“Yeah, and that’s the problem.”
Sensing the shift in my concentration, Cheryl struggles against my hold. I shove her toward Greaser, who’s behind me, so I can handle Riley. I ease closer to Riley and use my body to push her against the wall. I brace my hands on either side of her, caging her in.
“You think you can get away with whatever you want. You think you can waltz into my world, my club, my family, and start criticizing what we do and how we do it, all because you’re a victim.” I lean in next to her ear and let my breath coast over her skin, savoring the way she shivers in response. “Problem with that, Black Bird, is I still don’t believe your story.”
“I haven’t lied to you,” she whispers shakily.
Her breathing is choppy, the pulse point at her throat is throbbing. I stick my tongue out and touch the tip to her neck and lick a path up to just behind her ear. She stiffens but doesn’t recoil. She makes no move to stop me.
I sink my teeth into her lobe, biting just to the point of pain but not so hard that I actually do damage. Riley leans into the nip and while I want to turn this little interlude into something… more, now is not the time.
“Yeah, you have. And I don’t like lies.” I straighten and lock eyes with her. “Call it a hang-up from my childhood.” I drop my arms, step back, and shrug. “I will figure you out, Black Bird. All you have to decide is if I’ll need the Nightmare Room to do it.”
