“Wear something nice?” Carla repeated to herself for the hundredth time as she slid from the driver’s seat of her white pickup truck to the cold cement pavement of the clubhouse parking lot. What the hell was that supposed to mean anyway? Nice, like fancy dinner nice? Or nice like, I’m going to the club and things are about to get crazy nice? For some reason, she had leaned towards the latter and she hope she hadn’t missed the mark as she tugged down the hem of the too-short dress self-consciously.
It had been something from her early days of college, sneaking under-aged into local bars, tucked way towards the back of the closet: a dark burgundy cotton dress that was relatively modest in the front but narrowed to a few thin threads at the back that crisscrossed, leaving it mostly bare. She was wearing her customary ankle booties and the denim jacket once more thrown across her shoulders to fight against the cool night air.
The nerves were there too, just like last time, but now even more than that was a sense of anticipation. She was finally about to do something to get out of the mess that had become her life. And it only fueled the fire that she was about to see Joel again. Over the past few days he had been stuck in her thoughts like a song she couldn’t get out of her head.
Carla pushed open the heavy front door of the Dirty Cruisers’ clubhouse with more confidence than she felt and she walked inside. Her gaze instantly found him and it was a shock to her entire system. He was sitting in the back of the room, at a table large enough for eight or ten people, but he was alone. Joel sat up straighter in his chair as if sensing her presence and his eyes scanned the crowd until he found her. She couldn’t resist the lure he cast, drawing her closer to him as if by some invisible thread that tied them together and she didn’t even really try.
“Hi,” she said, her voice husky, as she neared his table and he gestured for her to sit down next to him. In front of him was a pad of paper with what looked like chicken scratch scrawled across the once white page. “What’s that?” she nodded to it as she sat, desperately trying to stay calm.
“This?” he asked, flicking the sheet with one hand, and she noticed the tattoos that covered the back, running across his knuckles and then back up again to disappear under the sleeves of his leather jacket. “This is the plan.”
He shoved the papers towards her but she just shook her head in confusion.
“No, I think this is a previously undiscovered language. Alien, maybe?” She glanced up with a smile that hovered like a ghost around her lips, “How can you even read that?” His eyes flicked down to her mouth, his silver gaze flashed for a moment before it settled into a smoldering grey that had her heart speeding up once more. Damn it.
“I can read it just fine,” he said with a smirk, dragging it back, all confidence and swagger, and he leaned back in the chair. “Basically it lays out everything we talked about before. You would get another shipment of weed from the farm and deliver it to us. In exchange, you will get a percentage of the money we make from sales in Utah. Now the hard part,” Joel said, leaning forward again, this time so close she could see the little charcoal flecks in his eyes.
It was too close, she thought at first. Or not close enough.
“The hard part is going to be convincing your douchebag of a boss that the previous shipment is already gone, and that he’ll need to send another one.”
Carla was already shaking her head, “But he won’t trust me to drive another shipment, not after the last time.”
“It doesn’t matter. All you have to do is tell us when the shipment is leaving, and where it will be, and we’ll be waiting. Just like last time. No one gets hurt, everyone wins,” he grinned, a quick silver jolt of expression that lit up his entire face and Carla had no choice but to grin right along with him, caught up in his contagious excitement.
“So, when?” she asked, more than ready to quit her job and move on to bigger and better things, especially if Joel was involved.
“That’s up to you. How soon do you think you can get another shipment on the road?”
“Well, we have one on the books for two weeks from now. This is prime processing season so they leave pretty close together. I could maybe even push it up a few days. Does that work?” Carla looked at him questioningly and his expression grew serious for a moment as he did some mental math.
“It’s cutting it pretty close, but we should be able to handle it.” He scrawled some more chicken scratch on the page before drawing a perfectly straight line at the bottom and pushing it towards her.
“What?” she asked after a moment of him looking expectantly at her.
“Sign it.”
“Sign it?” Carla questioned with a laugh, “What if it says I’m signing away my soul, or my firstborn child or something.”
Joel snorted at her words before he read it off, word for word. It said exactly the same as he had earlier and she took the page back and wrote her signature neatly across the line. He took it back.
“Carla Bluebird Jensen? Really? Bluebird?” Joel laughed again, this time outright and Carla turned to him in mock affront.
“My mom is really into birds, okay? She said one day she was outside and a bluebird landed on her finger, and she just knew she was going to have a beautiful baby girl,” Carla explained, fighting the long entrenched embarrassment at her unusual middle name, but Joel’s expression changed as he watched the blush sweep across her cheeks. He swept a finger out, following it across her skin and it sent chills through her that did nothing to stop the flood of heat.
“I like it,” he said, staring into her blue eyes, “It suits you.”
There was a moment of silence between them, the tension filled the air in between them like a solid thing and Carla had to break it, somehow, so she could just draw breath again.
“So, what now?” she asked, once more fighting nerves after the intense moment, but Joel looked as relaxed as ever as he leaned back once more, before finally standing slowly. Everyone in the bar turned to look at him as he raised a hand, and they fell instantly silent for a leader they obviously respected, even though he’d told her he was only the vice president.
“It’s done. We have a deal. Now, let’s have ourselves a party!” The roar that his words caused was almost deafening and Carla couldn’t help but laugh in delight at the bikers’ vociferous encouragement.
Not a moment later, Hot Wheels rushed up to the table, grabbed Carla’s hand in her own and dragged her away from Joel. She cast a glance back, asking for help with her eyes, but he just grinned that sexy-as-hell grin of his and shrugged as if to say there was nothing he could do. Hot Wheels was a force of nature unto herself, and Carla soon learned that for herself as she was dragged around the large, rowdy bar.
The voracious blond seemed to stop at every table, introducing her to all the members of the gang, and Carla was impressed by the way she handled the bikers, giving as good as she got and making her wish she could be that comfortable. But all the names were becoming a blur, melting together, and she knew there was no way she would remember all of it. The minutes slid into an hour and Carla gratefully made her way up to the bar.
“Hey, Honey.”
“Carla! The woman of the hour,” the too-handsome-for-his-own-good bartender grinned at her from behind the warm oak of the bar, its surface chipped and marred with use, but no less beautiful for that. She just shook her head at his easy charm.
“I don’t know about that.”
“That’s because you don’t realize how important you are, how important this deal is,” he said solemnly for a moment, leaving Carla with more questions than answers, but a second later, the grin was back on his face, dimples and all. “What can I get you?”
“Can I get a sex on the beach–.”
“On the beach, on a bed, on the bar right here if you want, sweetheart,” Honey said as he leaned close and it took her a minute to catch her breath before being able to throw a hand out and swat him teasingly on the arm. She had to lean across the bar to do it but she wanted him to know she was serious.
“Just knock that off right this minute,” Carla said, trying her best to look stern and knowing she failed. Miserably. She could tell by the sudden light of humor in Honey’s dark brown eyes, and a second later, he opened his mouth for a full-on belly laugh that had a lot of the members turning to look in her direction.
“You really need to work on your tough face,” he said in between chuckles as another member walked up to the bar. “Tucker, you show her how it’s done.”
Carla glanced over and stared at the biggest man she’d ever seen in her life. Not fat, or overweight at all, rather, he stood taller than her by at least several feet and his broad shoulders and chest looked hard and heavily muscled, but not in the extraneous way of a body builder. It was more like the musculature of a boxer--a heavy weight champion--and she had no problem at all picturing him fighting in a ring. And she had no doubt he would win, either.
“You want to see my mean face, Honey? You want me to show Carla?” the giant asked and Carla was surprised at the solemn thoughtfulness that rang through his deep, baritone voice. “Well, too bad,” he said after Honey nodded eagerly, “I only show that to people that I don’t like, and I like Carla.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, surprised by the man’s answer. She’d only met him briefly and he had seemed quiet, reserved almost, but as he turned to her, a grin split his face in two to reveal rows of pearly white teeth and she felt an instant connection, almost brotherly, with him.
“Well, I’ll show you my mean face,” a nasal-toned voice said from behind her, “It’s right here, between my legs.” His laugh see-sawed in and out as he grabbed his groin, just in case she missed his meaning and she just rolled her eyes, both Tucker and Honey shaking their heads sadly.
“Viper, man, you’ll never learn. That’s not how to get chicks.”
“It’s really not,” Carla seconded, trying to keep her expression serious as the new man, Viper’s, fell in obvious distress, disheartened.
“You know, it’s not that hard to impress a lady,” Carla said tentatively, trying to help the now slump-shouldered Viper. He immediately perked up at her words.
“Really? How?” he asked earnestly.
“Just be yourself,” she said with a shrug, at a loss for any other great love advice. Really, she was the last person who should be offering any, but the smile that broke across his face was worth it.
“Just be myself. Got it. Hey, thanks doll,” he got up to leave and grabbed his beer, but as he passed, she felt a hard slap to her ass and she turned angrily in offense. Viper just shrugged, a completely unrepentant look on his still smiling face. “Just being myself,” he said as way of excuse and continued on his way.
When she turned back, red-faced, Tucker and Honey were both trying, and failing, to hold in the laughter that threatened to burst forth and she couldn’t deny a rueful grin herself.
“Don’t worry, Carla, Viper’s a lost cause.”
“Yeah, you just gotta ignore him– Hey, watch out, man!” Honey yelled as one of the members, a little worse for wear, stumbled up to the bar with a full mug of beer clenched in his unsteady fist. Or, it had been clenched in his fist before he spilled the icy cold beverage down the back of her denim jacket anyway.
Carla inhaled sharply as the freezing liquid immediately soaked through the thin fabric and she shrugged out of it as quickly as she could. It was another uncomfortable moment before she realized that the men around her had gone silent and were staring at her. Only then did she remember about the back of the dress, and the mile and half of bare skin she was now flashing. Honey leaned forward, a new heat in his eyes, when suddenly Joel was there, throwing a glare at anyone and everyone unlucky enough to be caught staring as he threw an arm around her shoulders and led her away.
*
Joel’s eyes followed her after Hot Wheels had dragged her away from him, unable to look anywhere else as she was introduced to the other members of the Dirty Cruisers. He had to clench his fist around his whiskey glass to stop himself from pounding the star-struck gazes off of every one of them.
He sat back, shocked at himself, and forced himself to relieve the pressure on his glass and wondered why the hell he felt so possessive around her. Maybe it was the innocent way she replied to the men’s remarks. Joel had no doubt Wheels could hold her own, and had for years earning the trust and respect of the bikers, but Carla? She looked like an all-American slice of pie slapped down in the middle of a table full of starving men. He knew they wouldn’t do anything, especially without her consent, but that still didn’t stop the prickle of frustration that needled the back of his neck.
He wasn’t sure how long he watched her through his heavy lidded eyes, sipping whiskey after whiskey, but a commotion at the bar where she’d been standing had him instantly alert. Joel glanced across the length of the bar. He heard Honey shout something.
Fuck. He was on his feet in an instant, still unsure as to what had happened, but he’d only taken a step or two when he realized that everyone was still relaxed. Carla was smiling up at the man behind her who seemed to be apologizing, but he didn’t notice. His vision tunneled until all he could see was her sliding that damned denim jacket off her shoulders, and baring the most scandalous thing he’d ever seen. There was no back to her dress and his body hardened painfully at the sight of all that creamy skin. He wanted to run his hands over it and see if it was as soft as it looked, to track the dimples of her spine as her back arched for him. He pulled himself back viciously and that’s when he noticed every other guy in the damn bar staring at her with the same lust shining in their eyes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! he repeated the mantra over in his head as he stormed up to the bar, wrestling with the feeling welling up inside him. Could it be…jealousy? He shook his head. No fucking way. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt jealous of a girl, and could remember plenty of times when one of the club bunnies--girls who hung around who were happy to sleep with any member of the Cruiser’s they could get their hands on--had jumped straight from his bed to another’s and he hadn’t felt a single twinge. But now every dominant instinct inside him roared at him to throw her over his shoulders, take her to his private apartment at the back of the clubhouse, and show her exactly how big of a mistake she’d made. He knew they would both enjoy the exquisite punishment.
He hurriedly threw an arm around her, shielding what he could, and he was barely aware of the lasers he was shooting out of his eyes at anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in his line of sight. Joel walked her quickly through the bar and outside.
Carla looked up at him with curiosity shining in her blue eyes and they looked like twin mysterious pools of water against the night’s darkness. A grin was still hanging on her lush lips. Joel stared down at her, for the first time noticing how little makeup she wore. It wasn’t usually one of the things he noticed about a girl, but the club bunnies, and even Hot Wheels, were usually painted up. Maybe that’s what made her look so young and innocent. And naïve.
“Carla, I…” Joel trailed off, not even knowing what the hell to say. He rolled his eyes at himself in disgust but when his gaze fell back to her he noticed her trembling. “Hey, you cold?”
She tilted her head to one side as if evaluating, “Yeah. I think so. The alcohol’s helping, but–”
Before she could even finish her sentence, he was sliding off his leather and swinging it around her shoulders like a cape. And then he froze. What the fuck was he doing? Letting a girl wear his member’s jacket was a big deal. It meant something, at least to all the bastards still drooling over her inside. It meant something to him. He looked into her eyes, and she had the same grin on her face, but he didn’t think she realized the meaning of what he’d done, and without even thinking about it. A part of him was relieved, he didn’t need the extra complication, but another part, a small distant part, had hoped she might.
“Listen, I should probably get going. It’s late and if I go back in there, Hot Wheels will drag me around to another ten tables and my head is already spinning with all the names I won’t be able to remember.” Carla shifted from foot to foot as if wanting to say more, and he took a step closer, all confidence again as he held her chin in his hands, marveling at how much smaller she was than him, and tilted her face up to meet his. She had no choice but to meet his demanding gaze.
“What is it, Carla? Tell me.” It was less of a question, and more of a rough command and she responded instantly.
“I can do this, you know. With Maurice. I just need you to know that. I can handle this.” It seemed so important to her, and he wondered why for a brief moment before replying.
“I know. I saw the strength in you from the first time I opened the door of that truck and found you sitting there instead of a big burly driver, or an armed guard. You were surrounded by bikers, had no idea if you would get hurt or not, but you didn’t panic or start crying. You were strong, and brave.”
“I…I trusted you,” she said then, and he felt the shock of her words explode inside him, in that tiny part that he had thought had died when he was five. “You promised I wouldn’t get hurt, that I would be safe, and I trusted you.”
Joel searched for the right words, but she had him tongue-tied. He stared into her blue eyes, remembered her funny middle name and it echoed in his mind. Bluebird. It really did suit her, more than she realized. He knew his thoughts were rambling and he drew himself up, trying to regain some semblance of control but she seemed to wreck it so easily. And she didn’t even realize what she was doing.
“Good night, Carla,” he finally said, his voice like rough gravel and she smiled up at him, making it impossible to breathe, impossible to say anything else.
“Good night, Joel.” Then she turned and walked back to her truck. It wasn’t until she’d driven off that he remembered she still had his leather.