Joker by Andi Rhodes

Chapter Four

^{Why is it that the second things seem to be going right, something always comes along and fucks it up?}

Joker

“Dude, what’s up with you?”

I glare at Greaser across the bar before bringing the shot glass to my lips and savoring the burn as the Jack Daniels slides down my throat. The main room is littered with bodies, mostly naked, and the air is thick with residual smoke and a skunky smell.

“Nothin’,” I grumble when I slam the glass on the bartop. I make sure I don’t let my gaze waver from his.

“Bullshit,” he counters. “You’ve been moping around all fucking day. You may be able to fool everyone else, but not me.”

“I’m not trying to fool anyone.”

I don’t know why I keep trying to convince him. Lying to Greaser is like trying to bottle the goddamn sun. Impossible. At least for me.

Greaser pulls a big fat blunt out from under the bar and sticks it between his lips. After he lights it and takes a drag, he passes it to me. I inhale deeply, holding my breath, and while I’m watching smoke curl from my mouth, there’s a loud thud, startling me and inciting a coughing fit.

“Jeez, Joker, smoke much?” A voice cackles from behind me.

I whirl around and see Widow with a smart-ass smile on her face. Standing next to her is a woman with a hoodie that hangs off her body, and her face is hidden by the hood pulled over her head.

“What the fuck, Widow?” I growl as I stomp toward her.

When I reach the pair, Widow glowers at me and the woman’s eyes widen. I grip Widow’s bicep and drag her to the corner of the room, stepping over the bodies of my brothers and Bangin’ Betties as I do.

“What is wrong wi—”

I spin Widow around and get in her face. “Who the fuck is that?”

My conscience is screaming at me to back the hell up and calm down. Widow is one of us. Fuck, she’s Bronx’s ol’ lady. Or she was before he went and laid his bike down on the interstate. Ever since his death she’s been pushing the boundaries a little too much and we’ve all let her.

I don’t back up, and I sure as shit don’t calm down.

“Joker, you’ve got two seconds to get out of my face,” she grates from behind clenched teeth.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll yank your ass back.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Piston standing behind me. When the hell he got there, I have no idea. When I look back at Widow, she’s got her arms crossed over her chest and a smug smile on her face.

“Shit,” I mumble and step back. “Where the hell’d you come from?”

“Greaser got me. Now, which one of you wants to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Piston steps around me so he can face both of us. His eyes dart back and forth, and when neither of us speak, he heaves a sigh and focuses his attention on Widow.

“You first,” he demands.

“Don’t know what to tell you. I walked in and he flipped.” Widow nods toward me as she speaks.

“I flipped because you know the rules,” I snap.

“Since when is helping someone against the damn rules?”

“Neither of you are making a damn bit of sense.” Piston looks toward me. “What rule did she break?”

“You don’t just bring strangers to the club.”

Piston rolls his eyes. “Not exactly a rule. If it was, we’d never have fresh pussy.”

Widow snorts. “Truer words…”

Piston whips his head toward her then briefly glances over his shoulder toward the door. “Who is she?”

“Says her name is Riley.” Widow shrugs. “She was at Chuggies when the guys and I stopped for a quick drink on our way back from our ride. Looked down on her luck, like she needed a friend.” Widow leans in closer to both of us. “She’s running from a man. She’s got the bruises to prove it. I figured she could stay here for a while, feel safe for a few days at least.”

“And you believed her sob story?” I ask.

“Jesus, bro.” The exasperation in Piston’s tone pisses me off. “I get that you’ve got something going on.” He holds his hand up to stop my protest. “For whatever reason, you’re not telling anyone, and that’s fine, but that doesn’t give you license to take it out on a woman who may need what we can offer.”

“Pretty sure she’s not here for dick.”

“I hate to break up this little party,” a firm voice says from behind me, causing me to whirl around.

I’m gonna get goddamn whiplash if people don’t quit sneaking up on me.

The woman in question—Riley, according to Widow—is no longer hiding behind her hood. Her face is void of any make-up, so I’m able to make out the healing bruises and the dark circles of exhaustion marring her skin. Now that I’m able to get a good look, a thought teases the back of my mind.

“Wait a sec.” I snap my fingers as recognition hits. “You’re the chick from the diner. The one who doesn’t know how to walk.”

“Excuse me?” Riley narrows her eyes. “You ran into me, asshole. What is your problem?”

“Fuck.”

“Not helping, hon.”

Piston and Widow mumble under their breath at the same time.

“Do you have any idea who the fuck you’re talking to?” I snarl.

“Yeah, a prick who thinks way too much of his,” she pauses and lets her gaze drop to my crotch. She glances back up and smirks. “Prick.”

My spine stiffens, and I square my shoulders. Her smirk falters and I’m not ashamed to admit, I take great pleasure in it. Widow steps up and wraps her arm around Riley’s shoulder.

“Hon, why don’t we go find you a place to sleep for the night. We can figure everything else out in the morning.”

“She’s not going anywhere.”

“Look, I’ll just go back to my motel.”

“No, no.” Piston sighs deeply as he rubs his forehead. “It’s the middle of the night. You can crash here, and Widow’s right… we can sort it out in the morning.”

“You can’t be—”

“Enough,” Piston cuts me off. “Widow, take her to my room. I’ll head to Fender’s to let him know we have a guest and I’ll crash on his couch.”

“Thanks, P.”

Widow smiles before giving Piston a peck on the cheek and leading Riley away by the hand. Piston and I stare after them, him clearly ogling the girl’s ass and me unable to do anything but scowl. When they’re out of sight, Piston refocuses on me.

“Get your shit together, brother. Before Fender gets it together for you.”

The warning is clear, and not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, my mother is getting in my head and fucking with me.

* * *

Silence isn’t always a good thing. Right now, though, I’m grateful for it. It gives me a chance to sit here, alone, with my bottle of tequila and swirling thoughts. Greaser has long since gone to bed and the rest of the house was on its way to shutting down before Widow and her new friend showed up.

Why is it that the second things seem to be going right, something always comes along and fucks it up? First my mother, now Riley. I don’t trust her. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but it shouldn’t matter. I’m the fucking Sergeant at Arms of the Soulless Kings, not some silly prospect. If I have concerns, that should be enough.

“This seat taken?”

I look up from my bottle and turn to my right to see Riley standing just behind the stool next to me. She’s no longer wearing the baggy hoodie, and I hate that I notice the tank top that hugs her curves or the fact that her nipples are pebbled behind the thin red fabric.

When I don’t respond and go back to staring down at the liquor bottle in my hands, she huffs out a breath and sits, resting her elbows on the bar and her chin in her hands.

“You’re Joker, right?”

I remain silent, but the thudding of my heartbeat in my ears is deafening. I’m a fucking powder keg waiting to explode and she has no clue how close she is to being the spark that ignites me.

“Okay, then.”

She snatches the tequila from my hands and brings the bottle to her lips. I stare at her incredulously. For a battered woman, she’s got balls. The way her throat works as she swallows goes straight to my cock, which only fuels my anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” I yank the bottle back.

She flinches at the heat in my words. “Like Widow said, I’m Ri—”

“Riley, yeah I know.” I push up from my stool and reach over the bar for a shot glass. “But who the fuck are you?”

“What do you mean?”

I pour a shot and slide it in front of her. I don’t feel like sharing, but I do feel like answers so maybe this will loosen her tongue.

“It’s not that complicated a question,” I snarl. “Why are you here? What do you want? And more importantly, what the hell kinda bullshit sob story did you give Widow to suck her in?”

“Screw this.”

Riley spins on her stool and stands to walk away. I let her make it two steps before reaching out, gripping her bicep and forcing her back around to face me. Without thinking, I slide my hands to the back of her head and pull her forward to crash my mouth into hers.

She stiffens and struggles against my hold. Rather than stop, I try harder to work my tongue past her pursed lips. I shouldn’t be kissing her. I don’t want to kiss her.

I like kissing her.

Riley manages to get out of my grasp and takes a step back. I narrow my eyes at her and she takes another step and then another. I advance on her slowly, once again reaching out, and she moves so fast I don’t stand a chance of getting out of the way.

Riley’s fist connects with my nose when she throws a left jab. Pain radiates across my face, and I feel blood trickle out of my nostrils. All of the heat that had been coursing through my body instantly cools as if liquid nitrogen is being pumped through my veins.

“My name is Riley.” She blinks several times. “Riley Damian. I’m from, um, Washington.”

There’s something about the way she’s speaking that seems off, but I don’t know why.

“Why are you here?”

“I was at Chuggies.” She sighs like I’m inconveniencing her. I got news for you sugar, you’re on my turf and the only inconvenience is you. “Widow bought me a drink, we started talking, and she said I looked like I could use a friend.”

“And you pounced.”

“No!” she shouts and her eyes dart around. “Look, I just need a place to lay low for a day or two so my, uh, husband doesn’t find me. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”

“Husband?” I glance down at her hand. “If you’re married, where’s your ring?”

Riley holds her hand out in front of her and swallows. “I must have lost it somewhere.”

“And you didn’t notice?”

“What the hell is this, an interrogation?”

“Call it whatever the fuck you want, sugar,” I taunt, leaning in close to her face and wrapping my hand around her throat. I don’t squeeze. No, I don’t want to kill her. Just scare her a little. “You came here, into my fucking territory, and for all I know, you’ve got miles of trouble following your ass. I may be crass and you may not like my fucking methods, but know this: You’re with the Soulless Kings now and that means that I won’t rest until I figure you out. I will protect what’s mine, no matter what I have to do.”

I maintain eye contact for several moments before dropping my hand and returning to my stool. The silence that I enjoyed before she came into my space returns. I take a few deep breaths, and when I hear the click of a door shutting somewhere in the clubhouse, I look behind me to see Riley is gone. I didn’t even hear her walk away.

I meant what I said to her. I will figure out what her deal is. Because with women, there’s always something. I wasn’t able to kiss the truth out of her. Hell, I didn’t even manage to scare the truth out of her. But I will. Soon.

Riley Damian—battered wife on the run—my fucking ass.