Chapter 2

Cole

Kentucky

 

Finally, I’ve crossed the Kentucky state line. Just being here, I feel somehow like I’m almost home. It’s strange and I can’t begin to explain it, but deep in my bones I feel connected to the call of the road here. I can hear it loud and clear, screaming at me, “You are one with me.”

Maybe I’m going crazy from too many days and nights on the road.

Deciding on stopping for the night, I take the first exit that shows promise.

Pulling into the motel parking lot, I take in the scene around me. Hardly any cars in the lot, and it’s quiet. Too fucking quiet. It’s perfect. The first “A” on the neon sign flickers, about to burn out. The pool is pathetic; green algae covers the surface. A chain-link fence surrounds the patio area, ready to fall over if the wind blows hard enough.

Normally, this is the last place I would pick, but this isn’t normal circumstances.

Now that I’m in Kentucky, I need to lay low.

Take my time, see what I can find out about my family—Grim and his MC without them knowing. I’m not sure if I really want to meet him…yet.

As upset as I am about being kept in the dark, my parents must have had a good reason for leaving and starting a brand-new life under new identities.

My mother is one of the most hardheaded people I’ve ever known. My old man is hardass at times, but I’ve never seen a man so quick to bend to his woman’s will like he does.

I’ll never be that damned wrapped up in a woman if I can fucking help it.

Too many women out there eager to please. My mom would smack the back of my head if she heard this shit come out my mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time though. She’s got a wicked left hook, I witnessed her going after my old man one time when he came in drunk reeking of reefer. She laid his ass flat like a fucking pancake. Needless to say, he didn’t do that shit again.

In the office, I’ll pay with cash. May have taken me a few weeks, but I figured out why my old man was being so fuckin cool…he was tracking my every move with my bank card. Solved that shit. Found the nearest branch of my bank and emptied my account. Mud-stomped my cellphone too, then I bought a new one.

From fucking now on, I only call over a secure private line. I’m sure it won’t stop them from finding me, but it buys me some Goddamned privacy. Buys me enough time to do what I need to—figure my shit out.

The lobby is more of a tiny ass dank room with some nerdy motherfucker sitting behind a counter. A single painting of a cabin in the snow hangs on the wall behind the dude.

The fucker can’t take his eyes off his computer screen, if he’s choking his chicken I’m gonna shove his dick up his ass.

Ring ring motherfucker. I smack my hand on his little gold bell. “Where’s a good place to get a beer? Lowkey, if ya know what I mean.”  I ask the pencildick behind the counter, after I’ve told him I need a room. I’m convinced the seedy bastard was watching porn on his computer when I walked through the door.

He eyes me, assessing me. “Off the Hinges. You’ll fit right in.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I grit out, getting in his beady nosed face.

“Biker bar. Roughnecks.”

“Good.” I slide him enough to cover the next three days as he hands me a key. Fuck, this place is decrepit. Thought most places had cards now. Whatever. He put me on the ground floor near the swamp of a swimming pool. I can only hope my room doesn’t smell like death or ass.

Twisting the doorknob, the cheap motherfucker nearly falls off. I’d like to think I can rough it, but I don’t need my shit getting stolen. My old man would laugh and tell me to stop being such a fuckin’ pansy. He’d tell me he’s stayed in worse.

Crazy bastard. As much I want my freedom, I do miss my parents and my shithead sister. I’ve not gotten to talk to her; she’s at cheer camp and cell phones aren’t allowed, they want all their focus on their activities. I’m sure she’s fine though. She’s tough. She had to be to survive me.

I wouldn’t say I was a piss poor brother, but I did make sure she can hold her own. Taught her how to defend herself and not to take any shit, especially from a man. That little fucker, Warren, who lives down the street from us is always trying to sniff around her.

There’s nothing wrong with him per se, but Sara is twelve going on sixteen; she has a thing for red lipstick that fucking drives me and my father nuts, but mom says to let her be. I know what little fucks like him think about though. He hit puberty last year, grew a Goddamned foot and got his braces off. Thinks he’s the shit now. He can think it all he wants to, as long as he thinks it away from my little sister. Men are bastards.

Inside, the room is a helluva lot better than the outside. Nothing special, but better than expected. Kicking off my boots, I shrug my vest off, tossing it to the bed. Next, I pull my shirt over my head, making my way to the bathroom as I shred my jeans.

Getting rid of my socks, chill bumps fan over my body as the cold tile of the floor sets a chill on me. Twisting the knobs, I play with the water trying to find the right temperature. Grabbing the cheap motel soap, I peel the wrapper off and step under the warm spray of the water.

The tension leaves my muscles as I rub deep, massaging all the kinks out of my neck and shoulders. Washing the grime of the road away, I stand under the steady fall of the water, letting the warmth run over me until it turns cold.

Water dripping down my chest and onto the floor, I wrap a small towel around my waist that feels more like a damn napkin in size. Damn thing wouldn’t even work as a hand towel. Fucking forgot to bring my bag in. Stomping across the room, I dart quickly through the door to the parking lot to retrieve it. The hot asphalt burns the bottom of my feet, even though the sun is going down, making me move faster.

An older woman pushing a maid’s cart whistles at me and says, “Damn boy. Drop the towel.”

I only chuckle and throw her a wink as I step back in my room.

Dressed in a clean change of clothes, I kick back on the lumpy bed and pull my phone out, searching for directions to that bar, Off the Hinges.

Doesn’t come up on the map. Which means it’s definitely my kinda fuckin’ place.

Before I head out, I stop back by the motel office to get directions.

The slimy fucker flicks a set of matches at me.

Off the Hinges is worded in orange over a skull with flames shooting out of its mouth.

The drive is short and the parking lot is lined with Harleys of all makes and models.

The bar itself looks like a rundown warehouse. Rusty steel adorns the outside and steel bars line the windows.

Getting off my bike, I pull my cigarettes from my vest. A nasty habit I’ve picked up during my travels, but I like the burn as it pulls through my lungs.

I approach the door after lighting one up. Taking a hard drag, I step through the large, metal black door. I take three more puffs before putting it out on the ground.

A fat greasy bastard stands in the entryway collecting the entry fee.

“No colors,” his gruff voice tickles my nose as he attempts to intimidate me with his stare.

“Ain’t wearing no fucking colors.” I turn to the side, exposing the back of my leather vest, showing its bare. My old man got it for me for Christmas last year.

“Weekend riders aren’t welcome here, boy.”

“That’s not what you sister said last night.” I smirk.

“The fuck you just say to me.”

“I said, your sister was telling me how much better of a lay I was than you were.”

“Motherfucker.” He goes to hit me, and I duck, barreling into his stomach with my head and pushing him against the wall. I’ve already taken my switchblade out and stuck the fat bastard in the side with it. I aimed low to avoid anything important.

The man howls in shock and pain.

I step back as he slumps to the floor holding the small wound.

So much for laying low. I kick him in the ribs for good measure.

“Fuck you.” I spit at him.

A couple of guys give me a chin lift before carrying him to the back.

The guy behind the bar shakes his head as I lay a twenty on the bar and order a beer.

“You’re either the bravest motherfucker I’ve met, or dumb as ape shit. Name’s Rhyner,” he informs me. The patch on his cut reads Prospect.

“Cole,” I respond as he turns to put my money in the register. The back of his cut has the emblem of a devil with the word Reject under it. I gulp. I’m on the right trail. These are the fuckers Gypsy Red ran with. What would they do if I told them who I was, that I’m a fucking legacy member, of this club and the Black Rebel Riders’ MC? Something tells me they’d kill me and not turn an eye.

“What are you doing here?” He questions, sliding my beer across the counter.

“Just looking for some cheap beer and easy pussy.”

“We’re all almost out of beer but have plenty of pussy.”  He hooks his thumb to the left of him to a group of girls shooting pool in the back. I grin when the one with the thickest hips licks her lips at me and starts walking in my direction.

If her shorts were any shorter I could count her pussy hairs. She struts toward me with her tits stuck out, full of confidence. She’s not the one who has my attention though. It’s her friend.

When the first chick reaches me, she turns to Rhyner and purrs, “Who’s the new guy that stuck Gar like a damn pin cushion?”

“Ask him yourself,” he practically growls at her while shaking his head, warning me off her.

Her fingers trace the letters on the label of my beer, her red polish screaming I’m easy. “So, what’s your name, cowboy?”

“Who’s she?” I point to her friend and she sighs with a roll of her eyes.

“I’ll introduce you,” she huffs, and I follow her to the back of the bar.

Taking a seat at a nearby table, I take a swig of my beer, and motion for another.

I light up another Marlboro Red and smile at the blonde with black streaks in her hair.

“This guy thinks you’re worth meeting,” her friend tells her.

She takes a look at me and smirks.

Without an invitation, she straddles my lap and takes a swig of my beer, finishing the bottle as a new one appears courtesy of the bartender.

“I’m Harper,” she says, shoving her big tits under my nose, smelling of perfume and smoke. Makes my head swim.

“Cole,” I say with a sly grin, she’s still hot as fuck. Big tits, thick ass, legs for days. All woman.

She presses her body closer to mine, and I squeeze her ass getting more than a handful.

“I like a man who takes charge and goes for what he wants,” she says against my lips.

Without a word, I press my lips to hers and she about nearly swallows my damn face, however, that means she’ll give damn good head.

Pulling back, I tell her, “Put those lips around my cock then, sweetheart. Show me you’re not just all talk.”

“Right here,” she scoffs.

Pressing her hand to my crotch, I smirk. “Right here. Right now.”

“You’re pure trouble, aren’t you?” She says before tugging my bottom lip between her teeth and nipping me hard.

“I’m hell on Earth.” Smudging her ruby red lipstick with my thumb, I say,” That’s a pretty shade of red, but it’d look a helluva lot better smeared on the head of my dick.”

“I’m not sure if this is your color,” she teases.

Pinching her nipple hard, I warn, “Less talkin’ and more suckin’.”

With a bat of her lashes, she’s on her knees stroking my cock with her eager tongue.

A grin spreads across my face as her red lipstick coats my shaft. Her girlfriend from the bar joins the fun, sucking on my balls and playing with my ass. Both their heads bob in unison between my legs. Greedy little bitches lapping up my cum.

Harper’s friend massages her breasts while I watch the two of them make out. Taking a swig of my beer, I zip my jeans and get ready to hit the road. That’s enough fun for tonight. Who in the fuck knows when the bastard I stabbed will come back for more.

The bar is starting to fill up more with patched members from the Devils Rejects. Definitely time to get the hell outta dodge.

Harper glances at me from the floor not understanding that she was nothing more than a cheap thrill, a quick means to get me off, before I head further east in a couple of days.

“Where are you going? Party is just starting,” she says with a pout.

“The road is calling. Got places to be and people to see. I’d ask for your number, but darlin’, I don’t want it,” I give her my full honesty as I step around the pair of them.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” She huffs following behind me.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as she attempts to grab my elbow. Shoving her heated fingers off me, I say to her, “Didn’t anyone tell you not to put your hands on a fucking biker?”

She sneers, wiping my cum from her chin. “Fuck you, asshole. Your dick isn’t all that.”

“The fuck you upset about then?” I wink and keep walking.

When I get outside the door, a punch I’m not expecting lands square across my jaw, knocking me on my ass. I stumble backwards, and before I can recover, a bottle crashes down on my skull, sending me to dreamland.