WRECKED: CHOSEN FEW MC - BOOK TWO: OUTLAW BIKER/ALPHA ROMANCE Page 3

  “Or the Grease Princess.”

  “That’s in everyone’s job description. I think the club is planning to put up a big-assed plaque that says that.”

  “Call Tiny and tell him to swing by the parts store for a coil.”

  “Sure. Are they big?”

  Greg pointed to a plastic case. “It fits in here, so it must be at least eight feet long.”

  “Okay. What the fuck do I know about parts.”

  * * *

  Greg and Carly rode up to the trailer outside of town where she lived with her parents, Willow and Jake. The remnants of Jake’s bike, now a pile of twisted metal, much of it chromed, sat alongside the dirt driveway, right next to Willow’s battered and faded blue Ford pickup.

  The trailer had seen better days, but Greg knew they were glad to have it because of its one sterling quality—it was paid for. With Jake unable to work, and disability not paying much, keeping the monthly bills as low as possible was the only way they’d survive. Even before the crash and all the hospital bills, Jake had been having trouble finding work full time. With the economy in the toilet and new construction almost at a standstill, he’d been getting by doing home repairs under the table—working for cash.

  His pot habit didn’t help the family fortunes, either. For his entire life, Jake had just gotten by. He was strong and bull-headed, and finding himself unable to help himself wasn’t doing much for his mood. Not that he got angry, but Greg worried about him getting depressed, maybe becoming a drunk. It had happened to others he’d known.

  Willow was strong and loved Jake. He had that much going for him. And Carly loved her parents. That helped too.

  Greg was fortunate to have steady work at his garage. He bought it for cash when he got out of prison after doing ten long years for killing a club enemy. His record meant he wasn’t a prime candidate for any sort of high-paying job. Even without that he had a spotty record in working for someone else. If you asked the Marines, they’d tell you that much. He’d been asked to leave. He’d been asked to leave any number of jobs.

  Then came prison. He’d killed a man. He’d been shot in the process, and in his eyes, though not the law’s, killing the other biker had been self defense. Without any credible witnesses (it was his word and Cutter’s against that of three guys from the other club), the circumstances didn’t convince a jury. If it hadn’t been for his wife… well, regrets had no place in a biker’s life unless he wanted to get sour and filled with self hate.

  Jake had suffered from that some. Not as bad as some of them, but the seeds were there, and the accident had increased his bitterness, his negativity. Greg understood the temptation.

  Five years into his sentence, his wife, his beautiful, lovely, supportive wife, had died of ovarian cancer. It hit her fast and hard. And he hadn’t been there for her. The thought of her dealing with the pain, the fear, alone still haunted him. When he got out, still stunned by her death, he’d spent time absorbing the fact she was gone. It had been one thing to hear it in prison, and even being allowed to go to the funeral didn’t make it real. Nothing was real for those ten years, other than a few slash wounds from fights. When his friends decided he had spent enough time feeling sorry for himself, Cutter, the Enforcer, his best friend, came over and kicked his ass.

  “Open a fucking garage, will ya?” he said. “You need something and we need a decent mechanic who knows us.”

  So there was only one thing to do. The life insurance company had paid up after her death and the money was still sitting in the bank. He’d forgotten they had insurance through her work until he got a letter. It was enough money to buy a defunct garage near the clubhouse, a complete set of tools and some parts. He didn’t bother decorating, settling for pressure washing the entire place.

  Because his wife had done so much for him when she was alive, he almost felt guilty that she’d had to save his ass after prison too. But she’d dreamed of him getting his act together and building something—so he did it. It wasn’t exactly a fresh start, but it was a good one.

  From the start the garage made money. Enough to keep him happy. He kept his prices low for club members. In return, they brought him referrals, people who’d pay good money to have their bikes or cars brought up to par by the mechanic of The Chosen Few. There was a certain cachet to it. He could pick and choose the work he did. Even a couple of movie stars brought him their bikes, although there wasn’t anything hard about the repairs and he suspected it was more so they could lay claim to drinking beer with The Chosen Few, and having the same mechanic.

  Greg lived simply. There was no trick to that in his book. He had the garage, and home was just a place to go, maybe cook dinner, watch television, throw clothes in the washer and dryer, and to sleep. He didn’t know if he wanted more. Something was missing.

  “Girls,” Cutter told him.

  He meant sex, but that wasn’t it. Greg wasn’t celibate. He indulged in one-night stands with girls that came to the clubhouse, or came to hang around the garage with the idea of connecting with a bad boy. He didn’t mind obliging them. Sex was good. That wasn’t what he lacked. He knew what it was. His wife was gone. She’d left a void—a big void. None of the girls he’d met was even near what she’d been.

  And yet… now he’d met Melanie Wilford, and it reminded him that there were women in the world who weren’t biker chicks. Women who had careers or jobs and lives of their own. More to the point, it reminded him that they could be both intelligent and hot. Melanie seemed to be both. And he had sensed a glimmer of attraction. Something might be possible there.

  When Carly called, Greg went into the office and found that Audra had already quizzed her on her math problems. “She knows it backward and forward,” Audra said.

  “Yay! Time to rebuild the carb,” Carly shouted, putting her school work in her bag.

  “It’s on the workbench. You know where the tools are.”

  “You bet!”

  “And the shop rule?”

  “Keep it clean.”

  “Go for it.”

  As he watched the girl dash excitedly to the workbench, his mind drifted. To Melanie. For the first time in a long time he found himself thinking of a woman as more than someone to spend the night with. It made him feel good. When Tiny arrived with the ignition coil, Greg put her out of his mind and thought about Cutter’s bike.

  Carly whipped through her job, singing to herself as she worked. “It’s done,” she sang out.

  Greg came over and picked it up, turning it in his hand, working the butterfly valve. “Looks like a good job. Sparkling clean and shiny as it should be, everything snug.”

  “Yep,” she said proudly.

  He handed it to her. “Go install it on that bike in the corner and we’ll give it a test.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, boy!”

  Grabbing up some wrenches she went to the bike and removed its carburetor, then began installing hers. “Do you like her?”

  “Who?”

  She chuckled. “Miss Wilford, of course.”

  “Sure. What’s not to like?”

  “I mean do you like her? As in do you think she’s hot?”

  “What I think about that isn’t your business, is it?”

  “Cutter and Audra say you need a woman.”

  “Do they?”

  “Not when they know I’m listening.”

  “I see.”

  “But they’re right. And she’d be perfect for you.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s smart, and good looking, and she likes you.”

  “What makes you think she likes me?” It was a serious question. The kid was not only precocious, she was observant.

  “Her eyes. I see her eyes a lot. She talks with her eyes more than most people, and when she looked at you they got all soft, like when mom and dad are getting all mushy and romantic.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. And I can tell you something else, too.”

  “Which is?�
��

  “Two things. Audra isn’t so hot at math, and I’m ready to test my work.”

  Greg laughed. “Then start the bike.”

  “Me?!”

  “A mechanic better learn how to test her own work. You can’t ride yet, but you sure as hell can test the bike here.”

  The words were scarcely out of his mouth before she’d scampered onto the seat, turned the key, and had her foot on the starter. She rose up, putting all of her weight into jamming the pedal down. The roar of a healthy engine and Carly’s scream of delight reached his ears at the same time.

  “I fucking did it!” she said.

  “Carly! You want to keep working here, you’ve got to watch your language, even when you’re excited. Willow ever hears you talk like that, she’ll kick my ass, and ban you from the garage.”

  Carly frowned. “Don’t tell her. I’ll be careful.”

  He reached over and blipped the throttle. “Get your helmet. We’ll take it for a spin and see if she sounds as good at speed. If everything is okay, it’ll be time to get you home.”

  Carly dashed to get her helmet and Greg shook his head. As proud as he was of his niece, sometimes it seemed she was growing up way too fast. She’d be one hell of a teen. She’d be a pretty young woman and already she was aware of her appeal to men. She flirted to get what she wanted. On the other hand, she had the makings of becoming a great mechanic with a strong love of bikes. It would be nerve wracking to see which paths she chose.

  * * *

  As he parked the bike outside the trailer, Carly grabbed her book bag and ran inside. “Hey mom,” she called out.

  Greg followed her in and saw Willow staring at her, her fists on her hips. “Here I see you coming home with grease on your face again, girl. What will the boys think?”

  “They’ll think I can fix a bike.” She overflowed with excitement. “And they’ll be right, too. I rebuilt a carb for Bernie’s bike all by myself.”

  Greg got a beer from the fridge. “And that was after what, Carly?”

  “After I did my homework. I did it right the first time, too. Then Audra quizzed me. She said I got one wrong, but I made her check and I was right.”

  Willow smiled. “Bribery is a wonderful thing. You go wash that badge of honor off your face. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  “Where’s daddy?”

  “Resting.” Willow sounded curt and Greg flashed her a look. When Carly ran out of the room, Willow sighed. “He didn’t go to rehab today. Stayed home smoking dope. Now that he got himself a permit for medical marijuana, he’s really overdoing it.”

  “Want me to talk to him?”

  She laughed. “And then have him bitch at me all night about how his ungrateful little brother interferes with his life? I know you mean well, but no thanks, Greg.”

  Greg came over closer so he could speak softly. “Just be there for him and he’ll snap out of it.” He handed her some twenty dollar bills. “In case he bitches about me drinking up all his beer.”

  She held the money tight and nodded her thanks. Greg noticed the pinched look in her thin face. Willow had always been thin, but now worry seemed to be taking a toll.

  “You’re a good man, Greg. And the way you’re taking care of Carly is a big help. I know I worry about her hanging around the club. That’s how I started, but then she ain’t me. She’s a damn sight smarter than me, and better at looking out for herself. So with you there, I’m really happy about it.”

  “Me, too, but I have a master plan of making her my assistant and earning me gobs of money so she can take care of all of us.”

  Willow smiled. “That’d be fine. I know she sure likes that greasy work you two do.”

  “The truth is, Willow, she has a real knack for it. She loves taking something that’s broken and making it whole again, making it work like new. I think it gives her a little faith in the world.”

  “Maybe so.” The thought made Willow smile. “Like her uncle. Jake never was much for fixing things, except doing construction.”

  “No, he never was much at that at all. Course, you know I’m taking a huge risk with Carly.”

  “You are? How is teaching her a risk?”

  “It’s a serious gamble. Smart as she is, I might get her trained into a proper mechanic and then have her decide to go to law school or something.”

  “She’s got the brain for it. All she’d need is the money.”

  “Money is vastly overrated.”

  “By them that has it.”

  “Thing is, if she wanted something like that, we’d find the money. Your Carly is worth doing what it takes. Hell, I figure I could raise plenty of tuition money by passing the hat at the clubhouse, seeing as it’s Carly.”

  Willow gave him a thin smile. “Maybe you could at that. Don’t think it’s a problem unless the law schools start offering courses in advanced mechanics though.” A coughing sound came from the bedroom and Willow shuffled to the counter. “Sounds like Jake is stirring. I better finish getting dinner on. Would you like to stay? It’s just spaghetti, but I made plenty.”

  Watching her as she turned to ignite the burner under a big pot of water and start it heating for the noodles, he realized how much Willow had aged. She was still attractive, but at forty, his own age, she was a faded memory of the bright-eyed girl that he remembered riding behind Jake. That had been back in the day—before he’d been sent up, just before Carly was born. The hard times, the stress, all took their toll on her and it showed.

  He’d aged too, but Willow and Jake had their family—each other and Carly. He was riding on the coattail of their happiness.

  Growing old certainly wasn’t for the weak. Willow was strong, but he worried she was losing her faith in the future. He could understand her thinking that life wouldn’t improve much anytime soon, and Carly did face an uncertain future. Having to hold up Jake when he was down increased her burden.

  The look in her eyes told him she wanted him to stay, to be company.

  “I’d love to stay. I’m looking forward to hear Carly explain to Jake about how hard it is to get the jets just right when you’re adjusting a carburetor.”

  “What’s hard to explain?”

  “I just need to find out if she can manage to explain it without saying ‘it’s a bitch.’”

  Willow laughed. “I know what you mean. I’m looking forward to it too, cause there’s a conversation he’ll enjoy. That’s gotta raise his spirits.”

  It would, of course. Jake adored his daughter and was pleased at her interest in bikes. Despite his accident and being unable to ride, Jake was a biker. Pain and the sense of loss that came from trying to relearn basic movements took its toll. Jake often got depressed and Carly was a positive force in their life. Greg intended to be one too, as best he knew how. Happily, her hot teacher seemed to be one as well. Melanie Wilford deserved checking out on several levels. The fact that she, her smile, her curvaceous figure in that snug pencil skirt, seemed to intrude into his thoughts with such frequency told him he needed to get to know her.

  “Hey, little brother,” Jake said, making his way unsteadily into the main part of the trailer. “How did my little girl do today?”

  Greg smiled. Jake had his problems right now, and like Greg he had a shaky record in terms of being a solid citizen, but he’d been a damn good big brother. He was also far more of a family man than anyone expected.

  “I think it’s only fair that she get to tell you about her day. She is bursting to tell you herself.”

  Jake smiled proudly. “Then I guess I don’t mind you’re drinking up all my damn beer. I can’t have any anyway, not with all these freaking meds I’m on.”

  Carly came back with her face scrubbed pink, and they all sat down to eat sitting around the table in the cramped kitchen.

  Things were tough, but watching Willow and Jake you could see they managed to care about each other even when things were rocky. With any luck they’d get through this rough patch. They both listened inten
tly to Carly’s description of her dealings with things mechanical. Willow’s blank look made him smile. She hadn’t a clue what her daughter was talking about, but she forced herself to be attentive. Jake listened, and asked a biker’s questions in between bites of spaghetti.

  Watching them made his own thoughts, with a poignant and involuntary twist, turn back to Melanie Wilford, the teacher Carly thought was great, with the tantalizing figure and smiling face that he thought were more than interesting. And if Carly was right, she was showing at least some interest in him. That gave him something to work with.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When school ended, she returned to the classroom to find Brian waiting for her at her desk. He looked concerned, serious. That week, ever since their talk, he’d withdrawn, which was the exact opposite of what she wanted to happen. By offering to talk about the ideas that confused him, she’d hoped to learn more and gain his trust. Part of her felt that she needed to understand his home situation more clearly. There was only his father, and he said the man got angry. But just how angry did he get and how did it manifest itself? It made a difference. If she thought Brian was in danger, she’d need to act. She was legally obligated to call Child Protective Services; but if his father was just paranoid, and needed to let off steam, calling in the authorities would feed his fears and possibly make Brian think he’d been right all along that there were people trying to control him.

  To determine whether it was one or the other, she needed a sense of what was going on, the dynamics. It would help if Mr. Innes would come in and talk with her and she considered sending a note, a personal message, inviting him to do so. Maybe meeting away from the school. If she talked with him, she’d have a chance to size him up, to see if there was a real threat. Sometimes a parent might get angry without it being a threat at all. Her own father had railed against government policies rather loudly and angrily, but hitting anyone, much less a child, was something he hated to even hear about. He despised violence—but there were times when, if you didn’t know him, you might think he was in a violent rage.