Page 22 of Justice

If it’s a biker she is looking for, Tobias is more than willing to give her a ride.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

It had beensix years since Justice had last seen Red. Nothing had changed, she would recognize him anywhere. Still the same yellowing, gray hair, a result of nicotine built-up over the decades of chain smoking, and desperately needing a good washing. The scraggly beard, which grew thick from his chin, falling down a good two inches against his chest. His thick belly, still round as if he were pregnant with twins, hanging over the waist of his pants and spilling onto his thighs.

After her run-in with Big Jim, she felt confident Red would not be able to say the same about her. She went to prison a young girl who was still trying to find herself and where she belonged and came out a woman in every sense of the word. One with a score to settle and the body and mindset to get the job done.

Justice stared intently at the waitress serving them drinks. A part of her wanted the girl to be her sister, while the remaining didn’t as it would force her to abandon her plan of revenge, in order to rescue Tymeless.

Sipping her coffee, the bitterness eating away at her stomach, she sat back in her chair, the waitress across the street was not her sister. Scanning the faces of the men around Red, she felt a bit remiss of how she didn’t see a single person she recognized. Not all his club members were as corrupt as Red. Some, such as her uncle Bobcat, were awesome to her, going out of their way to help her mother and Tymeless when Red had gone on one of his terrors.

Taking a deep breath to clear her nerves, she would need to visit her mother’s grave before she left. Hopefully, her uncle was buried close to her, protecting her mother in death as he did when they were both alive.

The scraping of a chair behind Justice pulls her from her thoughts. The portly woman smiled at her over the top of the book in her hand, a well-worn copy of a vampire series, rising from her chair, slipping what appeared to be an equally appreciated cloth bag over her shoulder. Justice looks over at the woman, returning the smile she was given. As the woman moves to the left, the face of an incredibly handsome man appears.

Dark-hair, wavy and thick, the kind that makes a girl want to do incredibly stupid things with her clothes off. His defined jaw was dusted with scruff, another edge to add to the bad-boy persona his tattoos were screaming about. He was built, the muscles in his arms stretching the black t-shirt he wore, rippling with his movements as he stood from his chair, reached inside his pocket and tossed a few bills to the table. He bids the girls behind the counter goodbye, thanking them for another great cup of coffee, and swaggers toward the door. Justice refocuses her attention back to the bar across the street, as the man pushes open the front door. Once outside, he walks with confidence to the Harley parked against the curb. Straddling the bike, he looks over at the bar as he slides a key into the ignition, bringing the roaring beast to life. Justice takes the opportunity to check out his ass, the fabric of his jeans hugging his backside tight enough to ignite a fantasy of watching his ass in a mirror as he thrusts into her.

“I hate to see him go, but I love to watch him leave.” One of the ladies behind the counter says while Justice continues pretending to ignore him. Looking in the direction of the table full of men, she keeps Mr. Harley Rider in her peripheral vision.

“Girl, what I wouldn’t give to have him ride me.” A different voice behind her admits as Justice’s eyes betray her, shifting to the handsome stranger, who is looking in her direction. Shifting the bike under him, he kicks up the stand and twists the throttle several times, forcing the engine to rev in response. Sending a wink in her direction, he slides on his shades and pulls away from the curb.

“Can I get you more coffee?” Justice looks to her left, the waitress who took her order when she first walked in stands with a half-full pot of coffee in her hand.

“Yes, please.” Justice leans back, allowing the blonde, whose name tag reads Beverly, to refill her cup. When Beverly looks up from her pour, Justice notices her eyes are a unique shade of blue. The color, one which Justice would imagine as if the deepest part of the ocean and the mid-day sky had a love child, the beauty of both marbled together.

Justice opens her mouth to thank Beverly when the thunderous sound of several bike engines grows until three bikes fly down the street. The deafening sound vibrates the glass of the window and creates ripples on the surface of her fresh cup of coffee. Beverly sits the pot on the table, using her hands to shield her ears while squeezing her eyes shut. Justice isn’t fazed by the sound, recalling being woken up in the middle of the night when Red would come home or work on his bike in the garage. He didn’t give a shit about bedtimes or sleeping children, and with a judge in his hip pocket, the cops never came if a neighbor complained.

“I can't wait until they move back to Razors Edge,” Beverly admitted as her coworker comes to stand in front of the door. Unlike Beverly, the slender brunette watches the bikes pass, a blank expression on her face. It’s the way her arms are crossed over her chest and the tightness in her lips that tells Justice she isn’t as much bothered by the noise as annoyed by something one of them did. Justice knew the feeling, as every breath Red took was annoying as hell to her.

“They’re having an open gate night tomorrow.” The brunette mumbled, dropping her arms to her side, but continuing to look out the window. Justice follows her gaze, finding the waitress Red harassed cleaning up what appeared to be broken glass and other trash from under the table.

“Friend of yours?” Justice asked the girl to her left, her shirt absent of a nametag. Green eyes flashed to hers, dilated slightly as if in surprise of being caught. It was clear to Justice; the admission of the open gate night was not meant to be heard.

“My sister,” the girl sighed, nodding across the street to the waitress. Justice suspected there was more to the story, having a sister of her own, and knowing the pain, which was written on the woman’s face.

“I could kill your brother for introducing her to Lightning.” Beverly huffed as she picked up the coffee pot, wiping the ring left behind on the table with a white towel. “What the heck was he thinking?”

“She made her choice,” the emotion-filled voice cracked, eyes welling up with unshed tears.

“Your sister’s an old lady?” Justice poked, knowing the risk of using the terminology, but she needed information about the open gate night. It would be the perfect opportunity to gain entrance to the club, and ultimately Red.

“No, but—"

“Not yet. She got a job over there to be closer to that…that scumbag Lightening.” Beverly interrupted, pulling the chair beside hers out and taking a seat.

“Tracy tried to talk her out of it, sayin’ men like him don’t settle down and have babies like you’re s'posed to. Charlene wouldn’t hear a word, quit this job and marched over to Razors Edge. The old man over there tossed her out sayin’ she had too many clothes on to work there.”

Beverly spoke so fast, Justice has to concentrate to absorb the whole story, her eyes wide with the passion in the woman’s voice. She was damned determined to tell a complete stranger the troubles of the still silent girl in the room.

“Gus, across the street, offered to let her cook in the kitchen, but she turned the man down.” Placing her hand on Justice’s arm, “Can you believe that? A perfectly respectable job and she turns her nose up at it to work in a bar where the customers treat you like that,” pointing her finger across the street. The waitress, who Justice assumes from the conversation was Charlene, shielded her eyes from the mid-day sun, looking down the road in the direction the bikes took off in.

“This, Lightning, is he the guy who was sitting in here?” Tossing her thumb over her shoulder. Justice knew the answer before the question left her lips, but she needed to know everything she could before walking through those gates tomorrow night.

“Oh, Lord no!” Beverly answered with enthusiasm, as Tracy walked around, taking the chair on the other side of Beverly.

“Lightning is one of those bikers who sat across the street. It says Vice-Pres on his vest thingy.” Beverly waves her fingers at her own chest, a disgusted look on her face as if she had eaten a bug or something less appealing.

“Cut, Beverly. I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s called a cut.”

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