Final Ride (Lords of Mayhem) Page 4

  “I’m sorry; we didn’t mean to come at you like a hurricane. We’re just…on edge and worried,” Juliette said.

  “It’s good to have people who care. She’s good. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a date with a bottle.” He turned back to the bar. “Summer, top me off will you?”

  She walked over and poured him another shot. He slammed it back, wishing he could get mind-numbing drunk. The last time he’d been tasked with guarding someone, he failed miserably. Not this time.

  * * * * *

  Ten Years Earlier

  “Son of a bitch.” Hawk slapped the dashboard of the car as he maneuvered the sedan through the slick streets. Rain came down in sheets, and he hunched over the wheel searching the deserted streets and alley for Rayen. His parents had needed a break from bringing their manic drug-addicted son down from another binge. He was clean, but Hawk knew it wouldn’t stick. He hadn’t hit rock bottom yet. Heroin was near impossible to kick, and without the will to do it… Hawk shook his head. Five minutes he’d been out of the room to take a piss, and Rayen had been out the door. Now he was out here searching for him in the middle of what felt like a fucking monsoon.

  His entire life he’d been raised to be free on his own terms. But somewhere along the line he’d gotten shackled with the weight of his baby brother. He loved the man more than life, but he was tired of being some sort of keeper. Resentment boiled beneath the surface as he turned the corner and drove deeper into the shady part of town. Right now I should be in the clubhouse picking a woman to bed down for the night. His phone vibrated, and he picked it up from the cup holder, flipped it open and pressed it to his ear.

  “Yeah.”

  “You still looking for Rayen?” Tiny said.

  “Fuck, yes. That asshole.”

  “I got a call; someone saw him heading toward an alley between First Street and Vine. You know the one.”

  “Yeah, I know it.” The popular spot for drug deals was always busy and rarely raided. The cops didn’t venture this far down into the slums where they were grossly outnumbered, and quite frankly, not worried about keeping shit clean.

  “Be careful. Bad place you’re venturing into.”

  “Always. I’ll call if I need backup.”

  “You’d better. I don’t want to get my asshole stomped out because you get fucked up on a solo mission.”

  “My brother, my problem.”

  “Just because he’s not patched, doesn’t make him any less family. We understand why he didn’t become a prospect.”

  “Yeah because he’s too busy looking for his next fix and we couldn’t count on him for shit. Fuck. I could kick his ass for getting into this shit, but I know he probably wouldn’t even feel it. I was gone for less than five minutes man.”

  “Junkies will always find a way. You can’t lock him in a tower for the rest of his life if he doesn’t want it.”

  “I know man. ’Rents can’t let go.” Hawk shook his head.

  “Must be hard for them. Your dad’s a proud guy.”

  “It’s true. I’m glad they went on this run. They needed the break. I’m pulling up now so I’ll hit you up once I drag him home.”

  “All right, brother.”

  They disconnected, and Hawk parked his car. The gloomy weather and the run-down buildings turned the street into something out of a graphic comic. He stepped from his car, ignoring the rain as he crept around the edge of the building, shielding his eyes from the rain as he strained to focus on the shapes visible beneath the lone light in the alley. He recognized his brother’s build immediately as he turned away and lurched toward him.

  “Shit!” He’d already taken something.

  He allowed the dealer to slink back into the darkness and scuttle off like the cockroach he was. No need to make a bad situation worse. Rayen stumbled out of the alley and Hawk released his rage.

  “What the fuck, brother.”

  “S-sorry Haw…n-needed it.”

  The slurred speech made him pause. Has Rayen’s luck finally worn off? “Let’s get you into the car.” He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulder supporting his thin frame. The opiates had ravaged him. Skin and bone plastered over a six-foot-one frame with lank, limp hair, and sunken eyeballs, he looked like he had one foot in the grave. Hawk helped him sit in the passenger seat and quickly rounded the car to the driver’s side. He opened the door and cried out. Rayen’s body had begun to twitch, and his lips were blue.

  “You will not OD on my watch. Damn you!” Hawk’s finger shook as he jammed the key in the ignition and turned the engine over. Pulling away from the curb he hit the gas, driving as fast as he dared to in the storm. His heart threatened to leap from his chest and bile crept up into the back of his throat. The twitches turned into violent convulsions, turning his brother into some sort of rag doll. White foam began to creep from between his lips. Hawk drove faster. Tires slid over slick surfaces and he hydroplaned, steering into the curve to right himself before he managed to pull into the cul-de-sac in front of the hospital entrance. He threw the car into park, pushed the door open and ran for the automatic doors. They opened and he prayed to the creator he wasn’t too late.

  “Help me please! My brother’s overdosing!”

  The waiting room burst into action as a gurney accompanied by nurses flew down the hall. A tall nurse with dark hair pulled him aside.

  “Do you know what he took, when he took, and how long he’s been this way?”

  “Heroin is his drug of choice and no more than fifteen, thirty minutes ago. He’d just gotten clean a few days ago.”

  “Okay. We’re going to do our best to help him now, Mr.…”

  “Hawk, just Hawk.”

  “Hawk. The best thing you can do to help is fill out paperwork and tell us as much about his history as you can.”

  He nodded, feeling helpless and totally at fault. As if he’d supplied the needle and injected his brother’s veins with the poison ripping Rayen’s life to shreds.

  Twelve gut-wrenching hours later, Rayen was stable, and Hawk was done. Never again would he assume responsibility for another adult.

  Yet here he was again, trying to protect another human being. This time will be different. It was a chance to redeem himself, and right a wrong that continued to haunt him.

  Chapter Four

  “Where are we going?” Hilary asked, eyeing Fancy suspiciously as they followed the two prospects Magic and Tex out to an SUV.

  “Shopping,” Fancy said as she glanced over at Summer and exchanged a smirk.

  “Why are you guys having a silent conversation right now? I don’t like being left out of the loop,” Hilary said. It was like being a third wheel. The two women were nothing like any of her friends, and they understood this strange world she’d been sucked into. Dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a plain black tank top, Hilary felt overdressed next to the girls who played up their assets.

  The two were beautiful. Fancy had milky white porcelain skin, a thin frame, and silky chestnut hair that brushed her shoulder blades. Summer was the exact opposite, with a mocha-latte-colored skin tone that set off her blondish-brown curls and startling blue eyes. Their blue jeans shorts stopped high on their thighs and both wore tiny Mayhem T-shirts. Summer rocked a pair of black-lace up tennis shoes, and Fancy’s were a simple open-toe cork wedge.

  “It’s nothing bad. We just know it’s not your…usual style,” Summer said sweetly.

  “That’s putting it lightly,” Fancy said.

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with the way I dress,” Hilary said looking down at her clothes. For the hundredth time she wished Juliette, Joey or Evonne were with her. But she understood the need to remain separate and keep things low-key. The men would never expect her to be with Fancy and Summer. She’d tamed her locks with a straight iron and pulled the shoulder-length hair back into a low ponytail that made her feel bared to the world. You never realized how much identity rested in your hair until you made a drastic change.

 
“Not for normal people. But a Mayhem house mouse…” Fancy shrugged.

  “You have a killer body, Hil. We’ve been swimming with you girls. You’re all curves and fifties pin-up-style soda bottle,” Summer said gesturing with her hands. “Time to flaunt it.”

  “I don’t want to flaunt it. I like to leave it up to the imagination,” Hilary protested.

  “Always mysterious,” Summer said, wiggling her eyebrows.

  “I think it’s the author in her. Aren’t all writers supposed to be just a bit eccentric?” Fancy said.

  “I resent that,” Hilary said laughing.

  “She laughs!” Fancy threw her hands up in the air. “Life’s too short to let the gears grind you down, babe. Trust me; I know. I want to see you happy. If the other girls can find someone to hold on to in the midst of all this bullshit, there has to be hope for us, right?”

  “I sure hope so,” Summer whispered. Essentially she was a house mouse on a larger scale, though Hilary had never asked about the debt she was chipping away at.

  “Enough gloominess, we’re going to spend money that doesn’t belong to us on clothes and shoes. It’s a good day,” Fancy said with a whimsical wave of her hand. Magic opened the back seat, and they piled in, buckling their seat belts.

  “First stop, the hairdresser for a consultation and appointment setting,” Summer said.

  Hilary winced, and fingered the ends of her silky strands. “That scares me.”

  “Don’t be scared of Donna. The woman we’re going to see is a master at color, and with your skin tone, you can rock any shade you’d like,” Fancy said.

  “I think she’d be a hot redhead,” Summer said.

  “Red,” Hilary said.

  “Well not fire-engine red, but a subtle auburn maybe.” Fancy narrowed her eyes. “Any shade of brown would be too close to the dark brown you already have going, and black wouldn’t make you unrecognizable. Unless you want to chop it off, you’ll have to go pretty drastic for it to make a difference.”

  I feel like I’m trapped in makeover hell.

  “You could always see if blondes have more fun,” Summer said patting her hair. “I think they do.”

  “No no, red. Red’s good,” Hilary said as images of her hair breaking due to harsh bleaching danced in her head. Ten minutes later they pulled into Style and Smiles. With its black sign and white rocker-style lettering, it looked more like a tattoo parlor than a hair salon.

  “I know it’s different, but in this instance, that’s a good thing,” Summer said, placing a hand on Hilary’s shoulder.

  “I’m an open book right now, huh?” Hilary said.

  “No, just overwhelmed. We both know what that’s like, so we want to help.” Fancy offered up a smile.

  “You? That’s hard to imagine.” Hilary shook her head.

  Fancy laughed. “Oh, I’ve gotten good at faking it. I had years to adjust, same as Summer. You were pulled in by proxy.” The door opened and they climbed down with Magic and Tex trailing them a few feet away.

  “You guys are going to follow us all day?” Hilary said.

  “Those are the orders. You guys just…do your girl thing and ignore us,” Tex said. His Southern drawl made her smile. There really was something to that Southern charm people spoke about.

  “You’re so sweet, Tex,” Fancy said. Tex looked away and his cheeks grew pink. She giggled and continued inside, turning away from him.

  “So mean, Fancy,” Summer whispered.

  “What? He’s adorable,” Fancy said.

  The salon’s rock and roll theme continued inside with black-and-white-striped walls, funky zebra-striped couches in the waiting area and a massive black desk. The woman behind the counter wore a slinky black dress that reminded Hil of the fifties. Her Betty Page bags cut straight across her heart-shaped face, and the jet-black color stood out against her olive skin.

  “Afternoon, girls, what can we do for you today?”

  “Hey, Babs, we have an appointment our lovely lady here is looking to go red.”

  “I see it. Consultation with Donna at one o’clock?” Babs said.

  “Yep, that’s us.”

  “Have a seat. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  “Thanks,” Fancy said as they sat down. The boys stood a short distance away, doing their best to blend into the background. They failed miserably, but their obvious discomfort was amusing to watch. A few moments later a blonde bombshell with full red lips, bright blue eyes, and a body she’d poured into a fifties throwback flower-print dress strolled out.

  “You girls always supply me with the prettiest canvases.” She said, holding out her hand. “I’m Donna. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

  Hilary stood and shook. “Hilary.”

  “Well, Hilary, why don’t you follow me back to my chair and we can talk.”

  “That’d be great.” Donna’s friendly manner and big personality immediately set Hilary at ease. It was clear to see she was into fashion and beauty and enjoyed her job. They passed a wash area with the usual sinks and black chairs, but the vintage dryers made her gasp. Turquoise blue with a white stripe in the middle, they made her feel as if she’d entered a time warp.

  “I know, aren’t they gorgeous?” Donna asked, voice full of pride.

  “Yes. I love vintage pieces.”

  “Me too. This shop was my way of bringing two of the things I’m most passionate about together. As you could tell from the minute you stepped inside. I just didn’t see giving my customers a boring experience. They can get that anywhere. I want them to look forward to coming here.”

  “Mission accomplished,” Hilary said, allowing herself to enjoy the moment. If she didn’t think about the fact that her life was on the line, this could be an exciting adventure. She’d been stuck in the same place for a while. This could be her chance to break free. And not get killed. They walked over to a black chair with a white strip running down the middle. “Please take a seat. If you don’t mind, can you remove your hair band? I’d like to get a feel for the texture I’ll be dealing with so I can give you an accurate rundown of your options.”

  “Of course.” Hilary removed the black band, and Donna ran her fingers through her thick tresses. “You have gorgeous hair. It’s thick and extremely healthy, so that’s great. You’re a prime candidate for dye.”

  “I’ve never done anything to my hair really, so the thought terrifies me a bit.”

  “No, don’t be afraid. Keep it moisturized, stick to one color you touch up every six to eight weeks at the root, and you’ll be just fine. When you get product happy or color change happy, that’s when things usually start to go awry.”

  “That makes me feel a lot better.”

  “Good. That’s what I’m here for. Any questions you just go ahead and ask. Going by your complexion, the fact that you have virgin hair, and your texture I have a few shades in mind that won’t require a vigorous upkeep routine. I can get a few hair samples if that sounds good to you.”

  “That sounds wonderful; can we have my friends come back here too?”

  “Of course, I’ll let Babs know on my way to the sample closet.” Donna flashed a smile and for the first time that day, Hilary felt at ease.

  A few moments later the girls came back. “You’re looking a lot better now,” Summer said.

  “Oh yeah, you guys were right. Donna is amazing,” Hilary said.

  “One day she’ll learn to trust us,” Fancy said, winking.

  For the next fifteen minutes they pored over pieces of hair and talked upkeep. They left the salon with an appointment for that Saturday and a middle-of-the-road red shade daring enough to alter her appearance but subtle enough for her to live with.

  “Where to now?” Hilary said.

  “Now we choose an ensemble to go with the hair,” Summer said.

  “Mayhem owns a few shops that specialize in clothing. We’re going to head there and have free-for-all,” Fancy said.

  “I didn’t know Mayhem ran a clo
thing business,” Hilary said, impressed. It was a good place to hide their money. She wasn’t sure where they got their cash, but it wasn’t all legal. They weren’t nine-to-five types, and there was no way the club’s garages raked in the money they threw down on things. The campsite alone where they stayed must’ve cost thousands to modify to their specific needs.

  “Yeah, they have their hands in a lot of different pies,” Summer said. The distant look made Hilary think there was a story there. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into a strip mall and parked in front of a large store front called B.B. The large bold lettering had two Harleys on either side.

  “B.B?” Hilary asked.

  “Biker Babes,” Fancy explained.

  “Clever,” Hilary said smirking with a shake of her head.

  They all exited the car with Magic and Tex leading the way. The men walked up to the thin, strawberry-blonde girl behind the counter. A few moments later she walked up to the front door, flipped the open sign to closed, and locked the door.

  “You ladies have run of the store. My name’s Charlotte. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  “Thank you,” Hilary said, smiling her thanks as her gaze swept over the store. She could describe the entire stock in three words—short, clingy, and revealing.

  “You look constipated; what’s going on upstairs?” Summer said.

  “I feel like I just walked in to Sluts R Us. No offense meant at all. But I don’t think I wore anything this short, tight, or downright brazen, even when I was in high school.”

  “Did you just say brazen?” Summer said.

  “Hello, author. She drops big words like they’re going out of style,” Fancy said.

  “I can hear you,” Hilary said snickering.

  “We know. Look, we understand this isn’t your normal fare. We’ll tone down the sexy as much as we can. But you, my friend, have to come out of your shell,” Fancy said. Summer nodded her agreement.

  “Shell? I’m not shy,” Hilary said.

  “No, but you are closed off and a bit distant,” Summer said. “You trusted us with your hair; do the same with your clothing.