Bomb (Ruin Outlaws MC #1) Read online

  A couple of them start talking amongst themselves and then one points at me. My eyes widen and my heart sinks into my stomach so fast I can hear it splash. I look for a way to escape, but I’m frozen with a mixture of fear and nausea. The worst thing is, I’m more worried I hit the biker I saw the other day.

  I swallow hard and maintain eye contact with the gang of riders, and one of them climbs to his feet and starts walking towards me. I recognize him immediately. I don’t know if it’s his face so much, but the aura he gives off.

  He’s the one I saw the other day. My heart quickens, more out of excitement than fear. He looks pissed. His arms are tanned as dark leather and covered in jet-black tattoos. He looks powerful, and in a way, stronger than the bear-sized man that he rode in with. Despite my creeping anxiety, I don’t break eye contact. His blue eyes seem to sizzle in the light, and the sounds of cars whizzing by and drivers yelling at me fades into the background.

  He’s right in front of me now. His hand is extended. I try to look unfazed.

  I notch my chin up toward him. “What is it?” I say.

  “Who did you just call?” His voice is more gravely than I had guessed. I tighten my grip on my phone.

  “The police, I was calling in the accident.”

  He shakes his head, as if I’m an idiot. “That was stupid,” he says. I frown and lean closer to him. I can smell him now, the mixture of sweat with his masculine scent. Not the kind that can be bought in a store, but something primal and intangible. I pause to keep my composure, because the scent is heady and making me even more flushed.

  “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Hand it over,” he says, pushing his hand toward me again. I shake my head and toss the phone into the open window of my car. I hear it bounce from the driver’s seat to the floor. He frowns.

  “Why would you do that?” He plants his hand next to my head and I fight back a shiver of emotion. His lips are dangerously close to mine, and his eyes feel like bottomless wells with light glinting off the bottoms. He doesn’t seem fazed at all. I’d argue he’s unimpressed with my behavior. I have no idea. He reaches into my car window and grabs my phone and my purse.

  “Hey!” I shout, slamming my hand on his back. The black leather is hot to the touch, despite the weather being only mild. He doesn’t twitch. He reels back out of the car and examines my purse.

  “What are you going to tell the police?”

  I stare at him, confused. “What?” I pause and can tell he isn’t asking as a joke. I want to cower and make myself small, but something tells me that’ll make it worse. “Is he going to be okay...? sir?”

  He looks at me a bit stunned, but relaxes and regains his composure. “Sir,” he repeats, as if he’s testing the sound. “That’s funny.” He empties the contents of my purse on the ground and kneels down to survey his work. I stare down at him, but a brief flash of an illicit thought appears in my mind as I see his head nearly nestled between my thighs. I can’t be thinking like this right now, I’m in shock. He thumbs through the spillage and finds my wallet. He picks it up and stands.

  I don’t shake my gaze from him. “You’re not scared?” he says. He pulls my ID out of my wallet and reads it. “Cassie Clements?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Should I be?” I throw my hands into the air, feeling the tension grating on my nerves.

  “Depends. Are you scared that I have your address and name now?” He pockets my ID and folds his arms.

  “A man named...”

  He looks at me, a shallow smirk growing on his lips. I must look ridiculous. “Logan.”

  I glare at him a little longer, astounded at his confidence. At least now I have a name to put to a face. And an attitude. I can’t believe how wound up I am over him, in strange and frustrating ways. He grins and turns away from me. “The men aren’t going to like this.”

  I watch him return to his group of riders, and the sounds of the traffic fade back into the foreground again. For a few moments, it felt like I was trapped in some weird closet with Logan, and I don’t know how I should feel about it.

  The riders are arguing about something, but I can’t tell what. After some time, one pulls out a knife and kneels down by the unconscious victim. Oh my God, are they going to kill him? He digs the knife into the leather vest and cuts it off him, pulling the front and back from his body. Why would they do that?

  After gathering up the jacket, they climb back on their motorcycles and race their engines. The ambulance and police sirens sound off the buildings as they race toward the intersection, and just before they make themselves visible, the motorcyclists all ride off down the road, twisting and weaving between rubber-necking cars.

  I guess they didn’t want the police to know he was part of their gang. The EMTs rush out of their ambulance with a stretcher and wrap a brace around the victim’s neck. He seems to be coming to. The EMTs are talking to him. As they carry him into the ambulance, a police officer approaches me by surprise.

  “Ma’am, would you like to make a statement?”

  . . .

  By the time I give my statement and make it to work, I’m three hours late. Becky is ready to chastise me, but I nearly break down in tears in the back room. The weight of the entire event finally falls down on my shoulders, and I feel like puking. Between the accident and Logan’s interrogation, I don’t know what I should feel. I can’t believe my car squeaked by with barely any damage but a destroyed bumper. My air bags didn’t even go off.

  Becky consoles me for a bit and lets me come out when I’m ready, and I take a couple extra minutes to compose myself. For the first time, I can’t wait to just scrub some prissy dogs for once.

  But still, something about that man. Logan? I roll his name around in my head, and the Ms. Prissy Dog I’m cleaning shakes her coat and gets soap on my face. I barely notice I’m wiping it away, because all I can do is recreate the scene of the accident. The way he walked up to me... his scent.

  “Cassie!” I hear Becky call, in a strained voice. I glance over at her and realize she must’ve been saying my name for the last couple of minutes. She looks confused that it took me so long to reply. My cheeks are burning, and I quickly tilt my head to show her I’m listening. “Jesus. What are you doing? Maybe you should go home.”

  “No,” I protest immediately. “No, I’m fine!” I turn back to the dog and pour water on it, briefly looking in its eyes. The dog looks like it's pitying me for being absentminded. Like the dog knows anything.

  The rest of the day goes by quickly, especially since I was three hours late. It’ll be an anemic paycheck.

  CHAPTER 4 — LOGAN

  “What shit luck,” Tank says. He’s got his elbows firmly planted on the torn felt of the sea-green pool table, and I’m sitting in a stool, trying to not think about what happened. I can feel the tension in the air hanging like sickness.

  “Bomb, why aren’t we visiting Surge at the hospital? This is bullshit that we had to take his colors too.” Driver throws the damaged vest on the table and lets it crumple. The RUIN MC patch stares up at me. The flaming skull with fangs doesn't have eyes, but if it did, I'm sure they'd be judging me. The other men look at me, uneasy, but not sure if they should say anything.

  “No,” I say. I meet Driver’s eyes, just as he curls a fist and slams it onto the table. I add, “We can visit him, but not all at once.”

  “Why?”

  I sigh and look down for a minute, trying to decide how I’m going to word what I’m trying to say. “Surge isn’t stupid, he knows why we took his cut.” I point at the mess of leather, suddenly realizing how torn up and frayed it is. “We don’t want the police getting involved. If he’s just a civilian, it’s no big deal. Trust me, I’ve dealt with this kind of shit before.”

  “What kinda shit? Where do you think you are? This isn’t California, Bomb,” Driver says. I shoot him a frustrated look.

  “I know that, shit. But that doesn’t mean we don’t take precautions. This is what Surge wo
uld have done for any of us.” I look to Tank, who hasn’t interjected once. “I didn’t know I was getting involved with a bunch of children.” He shifts in his seat, but doesn’t look at me. I groan and catch Driver’s glare again, my voice loud enough to address everyone. “Driver, just go with one other guy to visit Surge. And don’t wear your cuts, for Christ’s sake. Surge would be pissed if he saw you show up with them on, even if you were consoling him.”

  Driver mumbles something that I ignore. He’s still a bit hot headed, but I can’t blame him. Surge didn’t look too good, but he wasn’t any worse than I’ve seen. He’s a tough mother fucker, at least. But, what about the drug deal he was talking about doing? Was that not something that this gang had done before? Jesus. What have I gotten into?

  I pull Tank aside and away from the other men. As I start to talk, Driver and two others spill out of the bar, the bright light from outside blinding us for a moment as the door swings open and shut. Tank looks at me suspiciously, and I lower my voice. “What the fuck, Tank? I thought Surge would’ve warned me about the crew I was joining. I can deal with Rifle mouthing off, but if these guys can’t keep their heads cool...”

  “They’re kids, Bomb,” Tank says. He looks across the bar to the other members, who are quietly joking amongst themselves. I follow his gaze and really look at them for the first time. Under the tattoos and pony tails, some of them really are just young. As if he’s read my mind, Tank continues, “The drug deal that Surge had planned would’ve been a lot of the crew’s first real outing.”

  “What about me?” He looks back to me.

  “Surge doesn’t need you proving anything. What you did today was enough, and he knows it, I’m sure.”

  I purse my lips and fume. Sure, of course. I meet Tank’s stare. “I meant what I said earlier. I didn’t sign up to babysit a bunch of children.”

  “You ain’t, they’re just messed up.” Tank is sincere. He’s only a little older than some of the others, but his frame and composure make him seem a hundred years wiser, sometimes.

  “Anyway, I gotta go check on something...” I say. I grab my vest and move between him and the pillar blocking the wall. I can feel him watching me as I maneuver through the group of men. I grab my beer and finish it, and move toward the exit.

  Just as I reach the door though, someone bursts in. Rifle looks like he’s in a frenzy, and he pushes me back into the building. He jabs his finger into my chest and spit flies out his mouth. “This is your fault!”

  I shove his hands away from me and straighten myself out. “Back off, Rifle, I didn’t do shit.”

  “I’m the sergeant at arms, if you hadn’t joined up then Surge wouldn’t have kicked me out. I could’ve protected him.”

  The other’s attention shifts to Rifle and me, but I don’t care. “Bullshit, no one could have stopped that. You weren’t there, you don’t even know. You’d be dead.”

  Rifle gapes and frowns. “Don’t you think the Skeletons are gonna find out about this? Then we’re toast. We don’t have the man power to keep a grip on our territory if everyone thinks we’re dying like flies.”

  “Surge ain’t dead, and how would they find out?”

  Rifle shuts his mouth and purses his lips. His eyes avoid mine, and he fumes. I shake my head. “Unless you’re going around bragging to people.”

  “People see shit, Bomb, and they talk.” He shoves me back one more time and walks over to the other men, who seem somewhat relieved to see him. I’d rejoin them, but can already feel Rifle’s dagger-eyes on me. No use in fighting it.

  I spit on the floor and walk out.

  I climb onto my motorcycle and start it. The engine howls and revs to life, before chugging along with a satisfying drone. I fish out my wallet and pull out the ID from the woman at the accident. Cassie Clements. I recite her address and nod, remembering the area, almost with a pang of nostalgia. I can’t make my little house visit just yet though. I’m glad none of the guys asked about the driver. Maybe they figured I riled her up enough when we talked. Truth is, I feel a little riled up about her.

  I still don’t know why Surge darted off like that. I had just cleared the intersection then he came out of no where and nearly got himself killed. I have to visit Surge. What am I going to tell him if he asks about the driver? Will he demand we skin her alive? It isn’t outside his idea of justice, and a long time ago, mine too. But...

  . . .

  I park my bike at the hospital, and turn my leather vest inside out, hiding the colors. I knew there was a reason I got it reversible. With my patches hidden from prying eyes, I head into the doors of the ER and find where Surge is being kept.

  The receptionist tells me that Daniel Trenski is staying on the second floor, which is a relief. At least he’s not in the intensive care unit.

  After wandering through the halls and getting my fair share of strange looks from some of the staff and other patients, I finally find his room. His name is lazily written on a piece of paper outside the door. Driver is inside, and he’s talking with Surge. Thank god, he’s actually awake. I don’t have to wait all night for him to come to in some movie-fashion. I step inside, and both of their eyes turn to me. A bright smile cracks Surge’s face, and he invites me closer. Without his leathers on, he looks absolutely ancient. The large purple bruises that are creeping up his chest don’t help.

  “Logan,” Surge says, somewhat teasingly. “The doctors got me loaded up on some experimental pain medication, I don’t know what that means, but it feels real nice.” Driver chuckles a little and gives me a look that tells me he’s over our little dispute. I can’t blame him, he was just worried after all.

  “Glad you’re not dead,” I say. I crash into the bedside chair and lean in close, examining the cuts on his face. “Surprised your brain wasn’t hanging outta your skull, to be honest.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Surge looks to Driver. “Derrick, go see if you can find a nurse to get me some more of this drug, it’s running low or something. I don’t care what you tell her.” Driver nods and dashes out the door.

  I lower my voice and lean in closer. “Surge, be straight with me, how much shit did I get myself into? Because those men back at the bar were acting like school children.”

  “They’re fresh scabs,” Surge says. He smiles a little. “Not everyone was as stone cold as you were at their age.”

  “Still. What about this drug thing? I thought I was joining an experienced club...”

  Surge frowns. “You did. Don’t worry about it. I’ll have Tank handle it if I’m still in here. The doctors say it could be a couple of days, but I’m lucky. Or something. No bones broken or anything, which I can’t believe.” I didn’t even notice. I stare down at his legs, which are hidden under a blanket. “Something about the bumper just melted right around my leg, can’t believe it myself...” he trails off, and I take the opportunity to steer the conversation back in my direction.

  “What can I expect out there though? If we have a bunch of nervous cats doing drug deals, someone weak is gonna be our downfall .”

  Surge frowns again and shakes his head. “Logan, you gotta relax.”

  I cut him off, “What if another gang beats us to it? We lost our entire operation just because you were too soft on a bunch of kids.”

  His voice lowers to a growl and he snaps out in anger. “Don’t you dare. Just because shit went wrong for you after I left California doesn’t mean it will here. We ain’t small fry, but we don’t have giant whales hovering around us either. Fuckin’ chill already. I’m the one who got in an accident, goddammit.”

  I bite my tongue and lower my gaze. Getting shit on by the president isn’t the right way to do things, but what else can I do? “I just don’t want to watch someone die again, Jesus.”

  “No one is gonna die.” I look at him and realize he thinks I’m talking about him. He still hasn’t asked about the driver, does he even remember? Maybe he is too old to be running things — he's been out of California for too long. T
o him, a drug smuggling exchange might just be as easy as getting money out of an ATM, but I know better. Shit went wrong all the time in Cali, and it won’t change just because we’re in Arizona now. For all I know, it’ll be harder.

  Driver comes back and knocks on the door. Surge’s expression changes instantly, and he looks over my shoulder and waves him in. Driver holds up his hands in defeat, and he looks apologetic. “The nurse told me she was too busy to be giving an old man more fun-juice.”

  Surge laughs and nearly knocks me in the face as he throws his hands out. I duck out of the way and push my chair back before standing up. He coughs and gathers himself again, and has Driver sit down next to us. I only realize now that Driver hasn’t said a word to me, but he also hasn’t screamed at me. Surge looks at me again with eyes that make me feel like I’m a rookie back in Cali again.

  “I heard that you two got in a fight earlier,” he says. “Well...” I almost expect him to dish out some wise mantra, but he doesn’t. “Cut that shit out. I can’t have two of my most loyal members fighting with each other.” Driver opens his mouth to protest, but Surge cuts in. “No, I said shut up. Driver, this drug run is gonna be your test, unless you wanna prove yourself another way... but I want you to listen to Bomb. He might not admit it, but you’re more alike than you think.” He blows air out of his nose and seems to think.

  Driver nods and looks at me. He really is young, isn’t he? I feel old, even though I don’t have the gray in my stubble just yet, like Surge. “Bomb might be an ass sometimes, but he’s not an idiot.”

  “Alright Surge, that’s enough,” I say. I let out a weak laugh and try to relax the atmosphere, but it’s still a little tense. I can tell that Surge is holding onto something he wants to say. I let it go though. “Now shake on it, it’s bad enough I can’t get Rifle to fucking calm down around here.”