Chapter 8: STEEL

Chapter Eight

STEEL

J oslin passes out from exhaustion or terror before we get to the Rebel Roadhouse. Don Blackwood bought the place for Jairus, who ran the place officially, leaving most of the work to his wife – who doesn’t know he’s dead. I’m not breaking the news tonight, which will come back to bite me in the ass later, I’m sure. But all I want is a room and a place to keep Joslin out of trouble until I figure out what the hell to do with her.

She believes she killed a man, but I don’t know if she did, honestly. I can’t imagine a woman that small doing something like that and considering the way she gets all tense when I use prison-talk, she acts like a church girl. Hm. A church girl who killed her ex-husband out in the desert. With lips that make me want to suck on them.

Don’t blame me for the thought. Blame the vodka. Or the Coors. I look over at her sleeping as I put the truck in park and just… stare for a few minutes. If I didn’t have liquor in my system, I might have had a smidgeon of self-awareness about how creepy I looked, but the alcohol made me uniquely fixated on Joslin’s face.

I don’t really know what a Filipina is if I’m honest, but that must be some type of Asian because of her eyes. Her skin is dark though, so she must be black with skin that dark. My dick gets hard when I look at her for too long. Don’t know if that will last considering how much liquor I have in my system.

But it feels good to look at a woman. Prison was rough. I did embarrassing shit to survive. Nothing gay… but definitely embarrassing. I scuffle around and make some noise, hoping to wake Joslin, but she lets out a little snore instead. The sound makes her seem more innocent. Gets my dick even harder.

There is something wrong with me. For sure. I touch her thigh to wake her up. Joslin jerks awake and her eyes get as wide as they can — which isn’t very wide. They’re still pretty and brown. I like their shape. It’s different.

She scrambles against the truck door with momentary panic on her face. I give her a few seconds to adjust to her surroundings. The humidity fogs up the truck already. I hate the Southwest. Can’t wait to get finished with club business, leave this shit for my brother and Southpaw to sort out before I get back to handling my business.

I lost a lot of money and most importantly time behind bars. I intend on making up for it. Joslin’s hair puffs around her head from the humidity. The truck is warm and I can smell her. Not in a bad way. I’m wondering how a woman can spend all day dying in the desert and still smell so sweet.

“We’re at the motel.”

“We need separate rooms,” she says immediately.

I laugh. “Okay, Donald Trump. You got money for two rooms?”

“I’ll sleep in the bathtub then,” she says, reaching for the truck door, already so eager to escape when I would much rather drag her into the backseat and suck on her lips than get out of this truck and face the shit coming our way.

I hop out of the truck to catch up with her. Jairus’ sister-in-law is the one working the counter tonight and I don’t want her asking Joslin any questions. The fewer people that know about Joslin’s existence, the better. I catch up with Joslin just before she reaches the motel door.

“You keep running off, an eagle might swoop down and fly off with your ass.”

“I’m cold and tired,” she says. Her tone doesn’t sound like she’s complaining, despite her words. She’s speaking matter of fact and considering she was dressed for the desert heat, I understand why she’s cold. I take my leather jacket off and throw it over her shoulders.

“Here, woman. Don’t get it dirty.”

She shoots me a glare, which just makes me smile harder because she’s giving me any attention at all. I throw open the door to the Rebel Roadhouse and prepare myself to deal with the redneck woman Jairus has running the place.

I can smell cigarettes once we enter, so the woman behind the counter has obviously been smoking inside. Joslin instantly coughs at the scent of smoke, obviously not used to being around the pungent scent. She sidles up close to me and I don’t have to tell her to be quiet, which I like.

The woman leaning over the counter isn’t who I expect. My heart sinks into my ass. Oske? No. The woman looks up at me, and she isn’t Oske. Black hair and blue eyes, so she can’t be that crazy ass Indian that has Shaw protection no matter what crazy bullshit she gets involved with. I must be drunk as fuck to mistake a white woman for an Indian woman.

“I didn’t hear about you bringing a hooker,” she says in a raspy voice.

Once I hear the voice, I realize I’ve met her before. Fuck.

Seraphine Blackwood gives Joslin a once-over.

“She’s not a hooker. Watch your mouth.”

“What are you doing out here so late?”

Jairus married her sister, Magnolia. I don’t want to tell her I just saw him dead in the damn desert with his head cut off.

“Does it matter? Your job is to get us a fucking room, not pester me with questions.”

The good thing about being an ex-con — especially one with known affiliations to the Aryan Brotherhood — is that people listen to me. Only my brother knows that I feel nothing but deep shame for the deal I had to cut in prison to ensure my survival. That’s just the way prison was — whites against blacks against Hispanics. And a couple crazy Asian motherfuckers who you knew could put your eyes out with their thumbs if you went near them.

Seraphine straightens her back and puts out her cigarette.

“Fine. I’ll get you and your girl a king-sized room. But the Blackwoods are religious. They don’t like funny business going on in their motels.”

“She’s not a fucking hooker, Seraphine. Now get me the room key before I turn you into one tonight.”

Seraphine rolls her eyes and starts clicking away on the computer. Why the hell does she have fingernails that long and why on earth are they banana yellow with those little minion creatures on them…? I look away from her terrifying nails and over at Joslin, who appears to be fuming with anger. I’m hoping she’s just tired.

“Fuck, can you hurry it up, Seraphine?”

“Has anyone told you that you’re a pig lately, Ryder?”

“Can I give you $100 to be quiet about the woman?”

Seraphine looks downright gleeful. “The woman who isn’t a hooker?”

“I have other reasons to be quiet about her.”

“She a Mexican?” Seraphine asks, her glee increasing.

Joslin still doesn’t answer.

“No. She’s not a Mexican. She’s just… special to me.”

Seraphine laughs. “You are full of shit. If I have orders to keep her here, I want to know what the fuck is going on.”

“What’s going on is none of your damn business.”

“You’re all a bunch of bullies.”

“You make more money here than you did shaking your ass in Amarillo,” I grumble. “Now give me that room key.”

She slides the room key across the motel counter and I strongly consider snapping her nails off instead of grabbing the keys. Joslin reaches for the room keys, stopping me from doing anything rash by pure accident. Seraphine gives me an irritated look like I pushed her a little too far. She turns her attention to Joslin.

“Don’t let him fool you, sweetheart,” Seraphine says with that raspy drawl. “He’s racist as the rest of them. He made a deal with the KKK in prison.”

Rumors have a way of changing when they get passed around. I grab Joslin’s arm and storm towards the motel staircase, ignoring her comment.

“You’re welcome, Ryder.”

I flip her the middle finger and walk upstairs. The women affiliated with this club are some of the most unhinged women I’ve ever met. They operate on nothing but pure resentment for no reason at all. Joslin yanks her arm away from me once we get out of Seraphine’s sight.

“What?” I growl at her. It’s bad enough dealing with Seraphine’s mentally unstable behavior, the last thing my ass needs right now is Joslin acting up.

“You were very rude,” she says. “That woman is working the night shift. You could have been a little more respectful.”

“Okay, church girl.”

She stiffens when I call her that. Shit. My suspicions must be right then. She’s from some type of religion… I mean, most people have some type of religion. Joslin appears to be the serious type. I almost feel bad about how rough around the edges I am.

“I’m serious,” she says. “You should apologize tomorrow.”

“Hm. Right after I get my tongue in your pussy.”

She storms ahead.

“Hey! I don’t even know what room we’re going to.”

“Of course your drunk ass doesn’t know,” she says. I can tell she’s pretending to whisper, but she wants me to hear every word out of her mouth. I don’t know when Joslin got the athletic abilities to move so quickly through the hallways, but I find it hard to keep up with her.

She stops at door 444. Did we really walk up four flights of stairs? She presses the motel key against the door, but it flashes a red light. I grab her hips and push her body into the door. She makes a quiet yelp and freezes.

“Sorry.”

I don’t know how my hands landed on her hips. I only meant to grab that key. Joslin whips around and thrusts the spare key against my chest.

“Back up, Ryder,” she says, using my real name and unfortunately getting me rock fucking hard the second she says it. Joslin’s mind control over my dick instantly causes me to step back. She turns around and the motel key works. The door swings open, but I can’t even focus on taking a step forward because my eyes are laser focused on Joslin’s perky, cute ass.

Hot damn… she has a nice ass.

I can’t tell if I’m only noticing because I’m drunk or if her ass really looks that good. But it looks fluffy, well-proportioned to her size, but with enough ass that I could hold onto it. I stumble forward and barely catch the door before it closes. Joslin just keeps walking towards the bed, completely oblivious to the effect her body has on me.

What the hell did I get into tonight?

I haven’t been this close to a woman since I got out of prison. It’s been a long, long time for me. And the liquor I have in me already turned me into a demon somewhere along the highway. I want her. I want her something fierce. I want her more than I want the spare bottle of whiskey in the pocket of my leather jacket that she’s still wearing, covering up that soft, perky ass that I want to touch so bad.

Joslin makes the situation worse by shrugging off my jacket and sitting on it while on the edge of the bed. She looks at me and then sighs.

“I just need to sit. I’ll go sleep in the bathtub.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Get in the bed,” I say to her, taking my shirt off to prepare myself for some much needed rest. I’ll need the whiskey from that jacket before I get to sleep. Nothing sends a man to sleep faster than a shot of whiskey. But then again, nothing wakes a man up faster than a shot of whiskey. Depends on the time of day.

“You smell like a liquor store,” she says. “I’m not climbing into a bed with you.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not married, for one thing,” she says, giving me a stern look as if her argument makes any sense. “For another thing, I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care if we’re married,” I mutter, unbuckling my belt. Joslin looks terrified, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me, encouraging me to slowly strip down to my underwear so I’m wearing what I need to get to sleep. Can’t stand all those clothes on me. Barely wore a shirt in prison.

“I care,” she says.

“I think God will be a lot more concerned about the fact that you killed someone.”

My pants fall to the ground and Joslin lets out a little yelp before her eyes fall straight down to my crotch. I have nothing to be ashamed of, but it would have been my preference to not have the world’s most obvious erection. Joslin’s eyes get as wide as they can and she has to force herself to look away.

She had a husband, right? That means she’s seen a dick before and there shouldn’t be anything shocking about what I have between my legs.

I approach the bed, ignoring Joslin on the edge and crawling beneath the covers. Fuck, it feels good.

“Hand me the whiskey,” I mutter as my head hits the pillow. It’s a lot easier to get to sleep when you don’t have to worry about some asshole knifing you in your sleep. Or worse.

“I’m going to the bathtub.”

I sit up and Joslin turns back to look at me. I don’t know if she thinks I planned on having a rational conversation. I grab her arm and drag her into the bed. She shrieks this time, making the loudest sound I ever heard from her as I pull her as close to me as I can.

“LET GO!”

I try to fix her up and arrange her body parts properly so she isn’t hurt, but naturally, Joslin responds to my kind invitation by throwing her fists at my chest and fighting me off.

“I’m just trying to get you to calm down,” I reply through my grunts. She’s not very strong, but her bony ass hands slam just the wrong places between my ribs and I want her skinny ass to stop beating the fuck out of me. I loosen my grip on her and try breathing slowly, letting her throw her little fists when she wants to.

Joslin throws a hard kick at my thighs and then slams her fist so hard into my chest it’s like she’s trying to break through my rib cage. The little grunt that follows tells me she’s hitting with all her might despite the softness of the blows. What the fuck has this woman been through… And how the hell did she end up here?

“I won’t put my dick in you,” I whisper. “Too fucking tired for all that.”

She draws her body away from mine and I let her move away if that’s what makes her feel better… As long as she doesn’t get out of bed. She curls up and removes the pillow from beneath her head, clutching it in her arms instead. I look over at her, fighting the temptation to stare at this beautiful woman all damn night. Even if I can just see her hair.

And that ass sticking out.

This will be a lot easier if I don’t look at her ass. It’s hard not to imagine what the whole package looks like when I do that. I blame prison. Confinement turns a man into a monster…

She exhales slowly and I’m drunk enough to think she fell asleep instantly.

“Is it true what she said about you?”

“She said a lot of things.”

“That you’re a racist.”

“I’m nothing like those assholes in the desert. If that’s what you’re asking.”

She doesn’t say anything. I wait for her to fall asleep, which doesn’t take much longer. I know I won’t sleep much, but I can survive on four or five good hours. You don’t survive prison without being a light sleeper. Never know when you might need to jump out of bed and put your shoes on.

If she tries to make a run for it — I’ll know. Plus, Seraphine has strict instructions about what to do if Joslin tries anything. Feels good to be back in club territory. Especially after the shit I’ve seen.

Tomorrow, I have to call Southpaw and tell him all of this.

And then what?

War.

That’s all this could possibly lead to. I see the writing on the wall. Southpaw might be more measured and rational, but he still has a gambler’s impulses and Harlan Shaw’s blood running through his veins. We all know the horror stories about what happens when our club weakens. We all got a taste of it with the cops.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on out here, but I know it’s a lot worse than what we’ve been through before.

I wish I could say that stops me from sleeping, but it doesn’t. Life is about finding new ways to keep carrying on.