Rescued MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 13) Page 6

  Shiva stepped back, and Alvitr stepped up to him. She slapped him, once, a sharp crack across his face. He staggered, then glared at her. “Hey!” he said. “Wasn’t gonna hit ya. Just dance.”

  “Dance. That wasn’t a request; actually that was grabbing someone else’s body. When they made you stupid, they did an excellent job,” said Alvitr. She stepped to the side then grabbed his arm from behind.

  “Ow!” he said.

  “That was how you were trying to grab me. Feel good to you?” asked Alvitr.

  “No,” he said. “Fuck!”

  “Get the hell out of here, before Alvitr’s mothers show up,” said Shiva. “My knife will seem gentle to you.” She held the razor-sharp knife up to his cheek. “Will you leave now?”

  He tried to nod, but thought better of it. “You’re beating me up!” he said.

  Alvitr and Shiva both laughed. The sound was terrifying in the hot night. “No, we tried to explain to you what you did wrong,” said Shiva. “Stupid shouldn’t stand. We have every single thing you did on camera. Would you prefer we called the police?”

  It finally dawned on him that he’d done something bad, even illegal. “No,” he said. He looked down at the knife against his cheek. “Lemme go.”

  “You bring a car or bike?” asked Bear.

  “Naw,” he said. “Lost my friends. Got separated. Wanted to see a biker bar.”

  Bear, their huge bouncer, said, “Now you did, and found out you are a dick. Now, the Strip is that way.” The Iron Knight took back his handcuffs, then Bear frogmarched the man off the Dirty Rock property. “Walk. And never return.”

  The man weaved down the street, and threw up about halfway down. Bear sighed. “I’m gonna have to make sure he gets back to the Strip alive,” he said.

  “I’ll do it,” said Alvitr. She slipped off into the dark. “Nasty guy,” she said, in a menacing voice. She spoke when she got to him. “I’ve got my knives. I can flay your skin. Walk now.” He stood, wiped his mouth, and staggered forward. “Keep going now,” said Alvitr. He staggered forward a little faster.

  “We’d better go in before one of the mamas shows up,” said Bear. “If they catch him, he’ll be missing body parts for sure.”

  Shiva grinned. “She’s trained by our fiercest fighters. Skuld and Rota know she can take him apart herself.”

  “Should we follow her?” asked Bear. “Wait, dumb question. Will she take him apart?”

  “No,” said Shiva. “No sport.”

  Mike quailed inside at that one. Bear nodded, shrugged, and opened the door. Inside, the music was like a wall of sound. Ivy nodded at them, hopped up onstage as the last strains of Dream On faded, and the male singer sang the opening line of the B-52 hit, Love Shack. Almost everyone got up to dance. Shiva grabbed Mike’s arm and dragged him onto the dance floor. They moved, and whirled. She had him moving in ways he hadn’t tried yet. She grabbed his belt loops, and drew him to her. She gyrated against him, making him hard in an instant. She pulled him down for a kiss, and ground herself against him. He groaned. Shiva stepped into him, and made him move on one side, then the other. Soon he was moving to her beat, willing to do anything for her. She slid her hands on his hips, and he moved his hips to her beat.

  She pulled him down for another kiss. His mouth steamed with her breath. He felt a rushing in his head. His ears heard Ivy switch to Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me. He slipped into the new beat with Shiva, stepped with her, swayed with her.

  Somehow they lasted long enough for sweat to pool at his back, his knees jelly. She led him to the bar, and they drank spiced apple juice, the “fake beer” Ace gave to those who needed to stay sober for the ride home. They finished their juice, and danced to Mony Mony and What I Like About You, and one of the Valkyries did the amazing piano while Ivy sang Old Time Rock and Roll, with just enough Bob Seger growl in her voice. The band then went into Sharp Dressed Man.

  Mike could barely stand. She led him out the door, a hot wind pounding over them. She kissed him there, in the parking lot. She led him to their bikes. They kissed again, and she got on. She led the way to her place, the mattress on the floor now on a low bed, complete with a padded back and a little nightstand built into both sides. She had her vest off and hung up, and his jacket hung off the back of the door on a hook, with his shirt off before he realized it.

  She slid her fingers over his chest, his hardened stomach. She gently stroked him then gave him a scorcher of a kiss. He slid his fingers through the non-lethal side of her hair; the other hand stroked her cheek. She moved against him, and he felt something clench deep inside, while something else, maybe in his heart, maybe in his soul, released. She took off her bustier, her breasts flowed into his hands, and he kissed the first one, then the other. She undid his pants, and his jeans pooled around his feet. She carefully moved him back, and he relaxed down onto the bed. She removed his blade leg, leaving the sock. She lay him down, and kissed all the way from his ears to his mouth, to his throat. He caressed her spine from her head to the small of her back, felt her clench under his fingers, and release.

  She kissed him way farther down. She stroked him, balls in one hand, fingers going from base to tip, and then back down. She reached out, opened a drawer in a nightstand, and pulled out a box of condoms. She opened it with her teeth, and they spilled out on the bed. She tore one open, rolled it on, and slid onto him. He moaned, clenched, and found himself moving to her beat again. She kept it slow, driving him insane, moving his hips to let her thrust deeper and deeper into him.

  They got deep, went deeper, and finally he couldn’t hold back. He shouted as he came, and she clenched, and came, screaming, against his chest. She came again, and he felt her shudder on his chest.

  She rolled over, gasping, and reached back in the miracle drawer. She pulled out wet wipes, and cleaned them both up. She threw the detritus into a tiny garbage can. They lay there, gasping.

  “I can’t move,” said Mike.

  She laughed, still gasping. “We don’t have to.”

  He laughed, making her hair jump in his hands. She laid her non-lethal side of her head on him, and listened to his heart race. She stroked his side, making him lean into her.

  “You are getting strong,” she said. “Good.”

  “I want to be strong enough,” he said. “I kinda broke there, for a while.”

  She looked up at him, stroked his face. “You lost part of your leg. Lost people you knew and loved. Had to recover physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. You needed time to recover from battle.”

  “Have you battled and lost?” he asked her.

  “I lost my soul when my brother died,” said Shiva. “Some little gangbanger with a knife killed a doctor. A doctor! He was in his third year of med school. Some gangbanger was shot; he was in the emergency room. Some guy followed him in and knifed my brother, and went after the guy on the table. My brother was right there in the hospital, but they lost him on a table.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Mike. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You left your leg and your blood there. Do you want to go back?” asked Shiva.

  “No, the fight is here,” said Mike. “I grow food for people to eat. I see young ones come in, all beat down, with nothing. I mean nothing. Their duffel bags are empty, if they have them. Then, they get clothes and that good food into them, and Inola and David sing over them, and they get strong, they get healthy. They use their minds, are pushed to excel, and they get the horses and sunlight, too. Something in them grows, pushes to the surface, like flowers out of seeds. They bloom in the sun, and go out again into the world to help other people do it, too.”

  “That’s one hell of a fight,” said Shiva.

  “What’s your fight?” asked Mike, stroking her shoulder.

  “I fight for all the girls like me. My mother went into a shell of pills when Rajah died. My father always saw me as less than, not good enough, and my mother followed his every word, his every glance. She’s
terrified somewhere deep inside, and won’t find her own strength.”

  “Fallout from death is usually worse than death itself,” said Mike. “We fall, and everyone else falls like dominoes.”

  “We’re gonna leave people behind,” said Shiva. “The question is, though, do we leave them better then when we found them? Stronger? Feeling more loved? Feeling more able to reach their goals?”

  “Feeling more,” said Mike, stroking her hair more. “I can’t understand how you do it, but the parts I thought were dead move now. You woke me up.” He kissed her forehead. She moved up, kissed him more deeply.

  “I had people. Iron Knights fought for me. One almost had me, but he got drunk one too many times.” She smiled sadly. “He took a swing at me.”

  Mike grimaced. “You take him out?”

  “No, I walked out,” she said. “And told his commanding officer. He won’t be doing it anymore, not to anyone. He’s off the force, drank on duty. Last I heard, he moved to Baja and is drinking tequila sunrises all day and night long.”

  “That’s sad,” said Mike.

  “My Valkyrie sisters kept me going and made me strong, smart, making better choices. I knew, the first time I saw you, that you were strong enough, and that you were working hard, that you would never hurt me.”

  He said, deep in his soul, “Never. Never.” He stroked her face, her neck, kissed her. “I would cut my other leg off first, and with a rusty knife. I would deserve anything you or your sisters did to me in retaliation.” He took a deep breath. “Never,” he said again.

  “I will,” said Shiva. “Hurt you. I’m not a tippy-toes person around a human heart. But I will do my best not to make you bleed, and I will lick the blood from my blade and try to repair the damage if I do.”

  “I know,” said Mike. “I didn’t get into this expecting a fluffy bunny. You wield a sword.”

  She laughed against his skin, kissed his chest. “I do.” She reached lower, grinned at him, her eyes laughing. “And, so do you.”

  With only a few strokes, he was ready to go again. She made him gasp; scream out, as she used her fingers and teeth on him. She grabbed a condom off the spill of them on the bed, ripped it open with her teeth, rolled it on him, and slid onto him again. She made him come explosively, and this time, after she wiped them down, they slipped into sleep, his arm around her, even when she tried to get up in the night to get water.

  She kissed him, slipped out of his embrace, came back with cherry water she poured down his chest and licked off. He groaned, stole the bottle from her, and drank it down. She laughed, licked him some more, and they slid into sleep, his arms around her.

  Wolf Howl

  Alo rode into the sunrise, which took him all the way across Utah. Just before Wyoming, he stopped off at the Uintah and Ouray reservation to pick up a boy who was named Leo Running Deer. He found the boy in Myton, long black hair to his jean-covered ass, a flat face, flashing eyes. He put the boy on his bike, and rode back on the 40 toward the 80. They stopped off in a coffee shop, and he fed the boy. Leo ate his burger and fries like a wolf.

  “You bunk with me,” he told the boy. “We’re going to get Montana so crowded that we have to build more housing,” he said. “Good experience, building houses. Joran Little Bear does the housing up there, shipped him down to Tito so he can see how we add on to our properties, how to install the sleeping pods.”

  “I’ll learn anything you teach me,” said Leo. “I know that I want to learn new skills, and I won’t know what I like until I’ve tried it. You gonna finish those fries?” he asked.

  Alo laughed. “Let’s just order you more fries,” he said. He waved over the server. “Give the boy more fries, and two chocolate shakes. This Coke isn’t cutting it.” The red-haired server grinned, wrote on her pad, and swirled away.

  “Jessica Alvarez,” said Leo, about the black-haired woman running around with an order pad and a coffee pot. “She’s married to Jose, down the road. Fixes cars. Only damn jobs in the county, practically,” said Leo. “I want more.”

  “The first things we need to get you are riding boots and leathers,” said Alo. “Sketchers and a thin tee don’t keep you safe on the road.”

  They stopped off at a vintage shop in Provo, backtracking a bit. They got Leo good leather boots and a battered leather jacket in black. They got back on the road, and headed up on the 40 toward Montana. It was way past dark, and they stopped for the night in Orem. They rose at dawn, found a coffee shop, and they both ate farmer’s breakfasts of eggs, bacon, hash browns, sausage, biscuits with honey, and orange juice. They rode out, and passed through gorgeous country, Leo holding on in back, exulting in the wind.

  They wore his real leathers there, as, even in high summer, the wind coming off the mountains was amazing. They flowed on down, then up and up, and up. Alo’s jaw dropped. He loved mountains, and these were beyond majestic. They saw mule deer, elk, sheep, cattle, and dozens of squirrels running through the trees.

  They stopped for lunch, and ate bacon cheddar sandwiches with fries and Cokes out on a picnic table in the middle of the woods, bursting with birdsong.

  “Creator lives here,” observed Leo.

  “Absolutely,” said Alo. “Now you see why I want to take you here.”

  “I will go wherever you do,” said Leo. “This is amazing.”

  They rode out, smelling the pines. They rode up, then down, then up again. They stopped to stretch their legs, and just walk around, from time to time. They stopped just past Caspar, Wyoming for the night. They got up very early, and Alo sang in the dawn as Inola had taught him to do. They drank strong black coffee and ate a farm breakfast at the lodge’s coffee shop. They rode out as the light kissed the trees, and flowed forward. They turned off the 90 at Lodge Grass, and they met the Crow elders for a huge dinner of steak, potatoes, a salad of local greens, and Cokes.

  “So this is one,” said Joran Little Bear.

  “It is,” said Alo. “It can’t be all Crow. This program helps everyone. We are many Nations, but one People.”

  “We can be,” said Joran Little Bear. “Oftentimes, we forget to think of ourselves that way. We have so little sometimes, we forget the bounty of the Creator.”

  “I agree,” said Alo. “My grandfathers have trained me well, and sent me to help.”

  Joran grinned; his wide square face had been deeply browned by the sun, his eyes crinkled with laugh lines. “I have heard the truth spoken to me by your grandfathers. You chose this yourself, without their input. They were deeply pleased.”

  Alo’s eyes filled. “They honor me,” he said.

  “Well, then,” said Joran. “Let’s talk animal feed.”

  “I only make food for herbivores,” said Alo. He smiled. “Let’s talk beets.”

  Joran grinned. “My second brother grows beets,” he said. “You will need him.”

  “I will,” said Alo. He looked over at Leo. “We will.”

  “So, we need to grow beets,” said Leo.

  “In the winter, yes,” said Alo. “The rest of the time, no. And wheat, there’s plenty here. Amaranth, quinoa, things like that. Sugar beets make profit here. Lots of it. Good crop rotation.”

  “You know your crops,” said Joran.

  Alo grinned. “I should. Got a degree.”

  “Your hydroponics going to eat into our profits?” asked Marty Ranier, the Crow farmer.

  “You grow sugar beets in winter?” asked Alo. “Or lettuce, amaranth, quinoa, carrots, potatoes, corn, alfalfa, spinach?”

  “Nope,” said Marty.

  “We do a horse rescue,” said Alo. “Got an opportunity for that here?”

  “Be stupid to mistreat a horse,” said Joran, his eyes narrowing into slits. “We have working horses here, on farms. Abandoned ones get adopted real-quick around here. We find out who did it, they get a bit more than a talking to.”

  “So, not the plan,” said Alo. “So, no, not here to take profits from the local co-ops. Grow fresh during the wint
er, keep the local stores and restaurants supplied, and keep from the cost of having to ship greens and veggies up here. Keep everyone healthy in winter, from horses to people.”

  “Sounds good,” said Marty, relieved.

  “So, we set up hydroponics, and grow stuff small now, and ramp up when the snows fall,” said Alo. “In summer, we’ll figure out crops we can grow that don’t eat into your profits.”

  “If it ain’t sugar beets, wheat, or soybeans, grow what you want,” said Marty.

  “Sheep, goats, alpaca, angora rabbits,” said Alo. “Goats for the milk, sheep, alpaca, and angora for the wool. Big, fat, happy animals. A few at a time, then get some small herds. Show you how to make goat cheese. First few makings are garbage, but they have four varieties with the Goat Girls on the Paiute res. Sell to local chefs.”

  “I’ll build what you want,” said Joran. “Pens, rabbit condos.” He laughed. “Probably won’t be as nice as the condo on Henry’s land.”

  “Campground,” said Alo. “Off the res. Solar hookups, sewage and water will be a problem. But, thousands of people will come up for sugar beet season, wheat, that kind of thing. Many of them have campers, and their employers pay the hookup fees.”

  Joran nodded his head. “They need everything —food, drinks, groceries, gasoline, tires, mechanical work on their RVs if they break down. Tap into some of those profits, be good for the res.”

  “Good,” said Alo. “Now, we gotta get the hydroponics running, build the pens and the rabbit condo, acquire the animals, and get the training in. Brought tablets in my saddlebags with the educational software on it, and we’re gonna get them trained up with GEDs. Winter is a great time to study deep, make things for locals, like saddles, reins, blankets from the wool from looms, all stuff like that. Summer we can do trail rides, hiking, canoeing, fishing, and photography guides.”

  “No hunting?” asked Marty.

  “No,” said Alo. “City people coming down in orange vests, shooting anything that moves, including people and livestock. Be stupid, get us killed.”