Page 3 of Road Rash

2

Old Man

Once the Horde see themselves out, Brandi gets to work seating and getting drinks for the Outcasts. They take seats near the Lords, but it’s too big of a group for Jonesie to take on by herself.

Since the women have the floor covered, I take a quick break, popping back into my office to give Brandi’s husband Drake a call. The man’s gonna need to know what happened here today and Lord knows Brandi ain’t gonna tell him. He loves his wife to distraction. Life in Backwoods is his reward for all the shit he’s been through. The kind of shit that not only earned him my respect but my friendship.

“What’cha need Old Man?” Drake asks.

“Had a situation. Horde is here. Rage took a liking to Brandi—”

“The fuck?” he barks.

“She’s fine. Lords, Outcasts, and I took care of it, but thought you should know.”

“Thanks, man, I’ll be down in a few.”

“Figured you would.”

Brandi’ll be pissed I called her man, but if it’d been my woman, I’d be pissed no one called me. My woman.Ha!Ain’t that just shit. I got Jonesie staying in a trailer on my property instead of in my bed. But fuck, I was like a junior in high school when she was born. We’re too different. Too many years separate us.

Like always, thinking of Jonesie frustrates the hell out of me. I rub my hand down my face and walk back out to take my place behind the bar, getting on with my day. The posers begin filling my chairs and my till. The weekend warriors who got no business mixing with outlaw bikers. They’re all doctors or lawyers, the kind who show up with flashy bikes but don’t got big enough dicks to know what to do with either. Their leather shines. Their fingernails are clean and trimmed. And not a one of ’em has any less than a three-hundred-dollar haircut. And yeah, I know what a three-hundred-dollar haircut looks like. Backwoods is my reward for all the shit I’ve lived through, too.

I’m busy pouring glass after glass of top-shelf on the rocks when Drake walks in looking pissed. “Brandi, baby,” he calls over to her. She turns to him, smiling right before cutting me an aggrieved side-eye. But once he makes it to her, she’s all about her man. All about him. They meet at their lips. Tame for the likes of The Rash, raunchy for any other establishment. When he breaks away, he links their fingers pulling her behind him toward the office.

“Brandi’s on break,” Drake yells over his shoulder to the accompanying hoots and hollers from the bikers in the room.

Jonesie and one of the other girls, Remy, take over Brandi’s sections while she’s occupied. They smile, flirt, sway their hips and shake their tits, gathering up a shitload of tips before Brandi makes her way back to us looking thoroughly fucked.

The day continues on like that, totally uneventful. Finally, at 2:30 we kick the last old-timer out. All the girls have cashed out and we’re bullshitting for a minute.

“Boys at your mom’s?” I ask Brandi. She smiles, nodding. She and Drake got two young sons that go to her mom’s place while the rally is going on. This ain’t a place for kids two weeks out of the year.

“My favorite time of the year,” Drake growls right before nipping at the skin of her neck. “Two weeks of keeping my wife naked, fucking like we did before the boys.”

She slaps at his chest. “You saying I don’t keep you well fucked the rest of the year?”

“Nah, baby. You’re forever keeping your man happy.”

“Right. Then let’s head home so I can continue to keep my man happy.” She drags him by his T-shirt out the front door, lifting her hand to shoot us a two-fingered wave before disappearing from sight.

Jonesie stands next to me, staring dreamily after them. “They deserve each other,” she says. Then when she levels those soft brown eyes on me, shit, they take my breath away. I just don’t know what she means by them. What does she need?

One more second, she keeps them on me one more second and she’s getting fucked in a way a good woman like her deserves to be fucked. Thank god she breaks her stare to glance down at the bar top. “Oh—” she gasps. “Brandi’s phone.” She snatches it up and runs. “Be right back,” she calls out. “Gotta catch them.” Since she stays in my trailer, I escort her home.

Three pops break the silence of the empty bar coming from outside. There’s a scream and I take off running. I’m not the only one. Brothers from all different clubs ready to shut the town down for the night, bitches and whores, they’re all just as stunned as I am. Only, I’m not just stunned, I’m freaking the fuck out. Drake, Brandi, and one of the old-timers lay on the ground.

When my brain kicks into gear, I drop down to check Brandi first because she’s the closest. She’s bleeding but breathing. Same with Drake. Out. Bleeding. Breathing. The old-timer’s not so lucky. He’s out. Bleeding. Not breathing. “Call an ambulance.” Nearest hospital’s about forty-five minutes away. Remy drops down to put pressure on Brandi’s wound while I take on Drake. Then, it hits me. “Jonesie,” I whisper.

“What?” Remy asks. It’s a goddamn miracle that she’s keeping her composure the way she’s shaking. She sweeps her auburn hair back over her shoulder to keep it from hanging, dipping the tips in Brandi’s blood, but with her hands already covered, the auburn gets stained red anyway.

“Sheriff and ambulances on the way,” someone shouts from the crowd.

“Jonesie,” I repeat louder. “Where the fuck is Jonesie?”

The crowd begins to spread out looking for her.

“Found her,” someone else calls out. I’m frantically looking between Drake and the direction of where Jonesie lays possibly bleeding, dying, or…dead.

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