Heaven Sent Read online

  Thinking about my mom and what she would think about how I am dressed brings the darkness rushing in. No, Dani. Not today. You need to find a damn job, I tell myself. Suck it up, buttercup. It’s just one night like Ricca said. What’s the worst that could happen?

  Ricca prods me into her Jeep after forcing a pair of black stiletto heels onto my feet. I have no idea how to walk in these things, but Ricca assures me that they make my ass look great. Her logic seems a bit convoluted to me, but it’s the heels or flip-flops. I’d rather have the flip-flops than these potential neck-breaking death traps she strapped to my feet. She hops in the driver’s seat and flies down the street. Red Rocket’s is only a few miles from the house so it doesn’t take long to get there. The bar looks like a dump from the outside. The grass is dead and brown, but that seems to be a trend in Southern California with the water shortage. It could use a good coat of green paint to make it look just a tad bit less seedy. The parking lot is filled with potholes but nevertheless, it is full. Ricca pulls her Jeep into the employee parking lot out behind the bar and parks it next to a row of shiny black Harleys.

  “You ready to have some fun, Dani?” she asks with excitement sparkling in her eyes. I try to put on a poker face, but my mouth to brain filter fails before I can reign in my sarcasm.

  “Oh, Ricca, I am overjoyed to be going out tonight looking like a hooker in this fine establishment. What’s next? A trip to the emergency room to get the roofies pumped from my stomach and a tetanus shot?” Her smile fades into a scowl. “Fine, yes, I am so excited,, “ I lie.

  “See! That’s better. Now push those tits up and let’s go eat, drink, and be merry. I bet Red gives you that job before you even tell him your name.”

  She walks around the car and pulls me out of the seat. Ricca drags me up the door and the bouncer waves us in without ever checking my ID. Walking into the bar, I can instantly tell that this place is a dive with its scuffed and dirty wooden floors. As we walk farther through the door, the smell of greasy fried bar food hits my nose. The food might have smelled good if I had been drunk, but it reeks like week-old road kill sober. I don’t know how anyone sitting at the bar is holding back from throwing up from the stench of the kitchen... Scanning the room, I see a group of scary-looking bikers looming in a secluded corner surrounded by scantily-clad women. Two very drunk middle-aged women are twerking against each other on the dance floor to some Rihanna song before one of them falls on her ass. A man dressed in a leather vest from the biker group scoops her off the floor; her drunken giggles pierce my ears as they pass us out the door. Ricca parks me in a seat at a high-top table near the bar and orders us two tequila sunrises before I can protest.

  “Isn’t this place great?” she asks, leaning in by my ear. “Red’s really updated the place from when he first bought it.”

  I plaster a fake smile on my face while she goes back to her drink. This is updated? I think to myself. What the hell did it look like before this? Rolling my eyes at the thought, I pull my drink to my lips and let the tequila work its magic. Ricca waves at someone and a short, pudgy, bald man walks toward our table. I can smell his overpowering cheap cologne before he ever gets close to us. Its pungent scent is nearly enough to make me throw up.

  “Red, this is the girl I was telling you about for the waitress job,” she says, pointing to me. Pulling me from my stool, she practically shoves me at him in her semi-drunken state. God, was she drinking at the house before we left? How did I not catch on that she was already two sheets to the wind?

  “Meet your new waitress, Red. Isn’t she perfect? You’ll get more of the younger crowd with a stone cold fox like her working the tables.”

  Red’s eyes scan up and down my body as I try to keep the tequila in my stomach. “She sure is, Ricca baby. She’ll make all the boys howl.” He mimics a howl as I look on in horror “What do you say, Dani? Want to join the Red Rocket team?” He’s joking, right? He makes it sound like a five-star restaurant. This isn’t a team atmosphere; it’s a fucking train wreck.

  “See, I told you that he’d want you at first sight,” Ricca drunkenly whisper-yells into my ear. Shoving her away, I stare at them both. “Come on, Dani, you’ll make a metric shit ton of tips judging by the guys watching your tits and ass tonight. Come on, just do it. You know you need the money,” she continues to plea while swaying to the music blasting out of the speakers.

  Red moves closer to me and runs his fingers down my face. “Come on, baby, I’ll make sure that you’re taken care of here. I’ll pay you under the table just like Ricca mentioned. You can be my dirty little secret,” he says as the smell of the liquor on his breath fills my nose. “I’ll even give you the best hours if you’ll show off those gorgeous tits of yours to the kiddos.” In my attempt to move away from his stench, he grabs me by the arm and yanks me closer to his putrid smell. “You don’t want to refuse me, Dani. I’m your best shot at a job around here. Well, at least a job that doesn’t require you to sell your body or drugs on the street corner.”

  Red repulses me, but I know he’s right about needing this job. Maybe if I can just block out his stench and the state of the bar, I can trudge through it until I feel safer applying for a normal job or get a good fake ID. “Fine, I’ll work for you,” I say, pulling my arm away from his grasp. “But, I won’t be your or any of your patron’s fucking play thing. I just need the money, not a fucking STD-laced grope fest from a forty-year-old virgin. You got it?” I say, pressing hard into his chest.

  “Anything you want, darlin’, as long as your ass will be here at eight tomorrow night. Ricca will show you the ropes.” His eyes roam my body again. Jesus, am I doing the right thing? “Just wear something revealing and shove your tits in their faces. They’ll be too drunk to notice how much of a prudish bitch you are after a couple of drinks... .” Ricca starts doing the happy squeal again at my reluctant agreement to work for Red. “You make sure she’s looking this good tomorrow, Ricca. The only ugly woman we have working this bar is my wife, and I plan on leaving it that way. Now, you two sirens go have fun. Drinks are on me.” He smacks my ass before he walks away and into the back room, making me retch from his touch.

  “He’s not so bad, right?” Ricca asks as two more drinks show up on our table.

  “Not so bad? What the hell have you been drinking? You need to lay off the bullshit Kool-Aid and see him for the scum of the Earth, perverted bastard that he is, Ricca.”

  “I guess you’re right, but that bastard is your boss now. He’s not that bad once you get past the smell and the grabby hands. Just keep his customers happy and you’ll be fine.”

  Downing the drink in two gulps, Ricca waves at the bartender for another round and shoves my drink into my hands. “Come on, Dani, let’s celebrate!!” Three buttery nipple shots and two more tequila sunrises later, she drags me out onto the dance floor. The alcohol blurs my vision and my inhibitions begin to fall away. Dancing by myself, I see Ricca is grinding against one of the bikers from the corner. His hands roam her curves and dig into her hips as her ass circles his crotch. I can tell she’s into the man groping her when Ricca leans back and kisses him. I wonder what her boyfriend would think about that guy’s tongue shoved into her mouth. Hell, maybe the guy is one of those freaks who like to watch, but I’m definitely not cool with cheating of any kind. Dipping to the floor, she rubs her ass on him harder as his fingers slide under her short dress.

  Starting to feel uncomfortable watching them together, I begin to walk back to the table before a very masculine set of hands pulls me back against a broad, hard chest. My new dance partner’s hands grasp my hips as he moves to the beat of the music against me. Leaning back into him, I let my body take over and sway with the music against him. I can feel his dick hardening in his jeans as the song plays and our dance continues. I’m not sure whether I should be flattered I’ve turned him on or repulsed, but the alcohol makes me just not care anymore.

  Rolling my hips with the beat, I can feel his hot breath tingling ag
ainst my neck. His cologne is as intoxicating as the shots that arrive from one of the waitresses. I didn’t order another drink, but I shoot back the pretty blue concoction in one swallow. Hell, maybe this girl will get a little lucky tonight with a strange biker. Heaven knows my pussy needs to be dusted off after sitting unused for years. Jesus, the alcohol is talking tonight. Maybe it’s time to slow it down on the liquor before I do something completely reckless.

  He grows harder with each gyration from my hips while his fingers explore my luscious curves. My mind wanders in speculation of what my dance partner might look like. Is he handsome or he is just another Red with good dance moves? I turn to set my eyes on him but as I do, Ricca grabs me by the wrist, dragging me off of the dance floor. In trying to pull away from her and return to the man on the dance floor, she throws up on my shoes and all over herself. I usher her into the club’s bathroom to clean her up. By the time I’ve sorted her out and cleaned off my shoes, I discover that the biker group and my mystery man are now gone when we return to the bar. Damn, I guess it’s just not my night.

  Taking that as a sign that the night is coming to an end, I get the bartender to call us a cab since neither of us are sober enough to drive. The cab arrives ten minutes later and I shove Ricca’s ass into the back seat. After we make it back home, I get Ricca undressed and into her bed, remembering to carefully position her on her side so she doesn’t choke on her own vomit before heading to my own room. I pull the comforter up over her shoulders and put a trash can next to the side of the bed. I have a feeling she’s going to feel this party tomorrow morning. I know I sure as hell will, but I’m still too drunk to care about the consequences yet.

  Stripping off Ricca’s donated hooker dress, I throw on an old t-shirt that I bought at Goodwill and slide into my nice cool bed. My head is spinning from the alcohol coursing in my veins, but the scent of my mystery man floats the memory of our dancing back to me. The last thought that crosses my mind before I pass out is that maybe working at the bar won’t be that bad if he shows up. He might be worth every single drunken asshole if he shows up again. A girl can dream right?

  It isn’t until today that Jagger’s death really sets into me. The news spread like wildfire through the chapters and within days, eight more clubs came rumbling up to the clubhouse to pay their respects to one of the Heaven’s Rejects founding fathers. These men served beside him as our club was forged into existence, along with the creation of each additional chapter throughout the years. Other than Raze, he was one of the most respected men of our entire club’s history. The shockwaves of his loss will likely continue to ripple for months, and it’s my job as VP to make sure that those ripples don’t turn into hurricanes.

  The mood in the clubhouse has been dampened from the usual boisterous atmosphere since Raze announced Jagger’s passing. Calling his murder a passing was just sugarcoating the truth for the women and children, but to be using that word was like a knife to the heart. Nothing was as simple and easy as a passing should be in Jagger’s death. He went through hell during his last moments and just the thought of that makes me sick. Jagger didn’t deserve any of that shit. The man had basically retired to enjoy the family life and the motherfucking Twisted Tribe denied him that. Raze sugarcoated it for Darcy and his kids as a hit and run on his bike, but I suspect she knows the truth since his Harley that’s sitting in front of the clubhouse with his cut draped over the seat doesn’t have a scratch on it. As a longtime old lady, she knows not to ask questions. It’s one of the very reasons why she and Maj are so well-respected amongst the men. She may not be officially an old lady anymore, but our club will treat her just the same. When we enter the Heaven’s Rejects brotherhood, one of the oaths we swear is to protect and help our own. Jagger’s family will never want for anything.

  While the club has surrounded his family with love, Ratchet and I have stayed to ourselves. Ratchet has taken his death even harder than Darcy. Jagger was his fucking hero and now he’s just gone. He and I have spent the last few nights sitting on the roof in silence while the club gathers below us celebrating Jagger’s life. Finding his body will likely stick with Ratchet for the rest of his life, just as the mangled bodies of my brothers in arms in Iraq are cemented in my nightmares.

  Those men risked everything for our country and were sent home in wooden boxes. They sacrificed their lives for this country out of honor and duty, and the only thing that was left for their family was a flag and a medal. I know what we did over there was brave in everyone else’s eyes, but bravery doesn’t take the nightmares away or bring them back from the dead. My hellacious nightmares of my men blown to pieces and their limbs scattered around me came barreling back into existence after seeing Jagger strung up like a fucking piñata. Because of this, I have been forcing myself to forego sleeping until after the funeral; no one needs to hear me waking up at night screaming like a scared bitch.

  Ruby wanted to stick close to me after the announcement, but it’s not a good time for me to be around anyone fragile; I’ll just break them like everything else in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I am proud that I served our country, but I couldn’t take losing my brothers anymore. When the time came to re-up, I left without ever turning back. Finding myself in a motorcycle club after returning stateside is something I never imagined happening, but these men are my family, and this clubhouse is my home. After the dust settles, Twisted Tribe will understand why you don’t fuck with my club or me. Jagger’s death will result in far greater losses for them in the end, I just have to bide my time and wait to strike.

  The men around me today are clothed in black from head to toe with just our cuts on our backs to identify us. Darcy brought us a couple of his old Harley shirts that the other old ladies cut into strips and fixed them around our arms when we gathered in the parking lot of the club this morning. This way, Jagger is riding with every single one of us. Walking back to my black beauty of a bike, I notice that the prospects must have been busy the last few days while the rest of us mourned for our fallen friend because every Harley belonging to our club is cleaned and polished. Jagger would be proud of how we look while representing our club and honoring his memory. He was always bitching that our rides should be spotless as we represented the club’s name. He was a neat freak when it came to his two-wheeled baby, but I swear there were days when that damn bike was cleaner than him. She sure as hell is prettier than he was. Thinking of the good times with Jagger brings a smile to my face, but it soon fades as Raze’s bike rumbles into view with the club’s Harley hearse attached to it. Not every club has a hearse, but we bought it off another club with financial issues. It was a favor to help the failing club out, but I never envisioned having to use it so soon.

  The ride to Oak Park Cemetery is a somber one. Raze leads the procession with Jagger’s casket in the hearse, Darcy and the boys follow him in a family car the mortuary lent to us, and I fall behind the car with Ratchet riding beside me. The trail of bikers following us spans for miles. People line the streets watching us ride by. An older man even stands and salutes our procession as we pass by the town square. Jagger may not have served in the military, but he protected his city like a goddamn trained soldier.

  Raze must have called in yet another favor when we pull into the cemetery because the Upland Police Department is blocking off the street surrounding the entrance. Twenty minutes after we enter the cemetery, the final set of bikes park in one of the parallel drives. As the crowd gathers around us, the club officers and I slowly remove his casket from the hearse. Darcy’s choice in the casket is honestly perfect for the man we’re about to bury. Its black and gray brushed metal shines in the California sun as Harley casket corners adorn it. Walking to his new resting place, a hushed silence falls upon the crowd. Raze leads Darcy to the center seat with the boys following quietly behind. Following behind Raze, I drape Jagger’s cut across the casket. The rest of the crowd falls in behind the row of seats as Raze walks to the head of the casket.

  “We are here n
ot only to mourn the passing of a husband and father, but of a friend. As most of you already know, Brent Kyle was more than just a friend to many of us standing in the crowd today. He was our brother. He was with my father from the day this club was born and served as my VP during my first two years as President. He was the kind of man who you knew would always have your back even if his ass should have stayed out of the way.”

  A somber laugh escapes my lips as I think about the times in our club’s history that Raze is referencing. Looking to the other officers, they nod in agreement. Jagger had a way of landing his ass into unnecessary trouble with both his brothers and his wife. I don’t know how many times we’d narrowly escape some of our more reckless pursuits when I first joined the club only to return home to a pissed off Darcy waiting outside the club. When Darcy and he had an argument, you’d have thought they hated each other, but we all knew differently. He loved Darcy like she was his only reason for living. He was a better man because of her.

  “There have been so many times in my life that I should have been the one lying in a casket, but he always came to rescue me. Brent saved me from myself more times than I would like to admit. He was the voice of reason in my head when I couldn’t think clearly out of anger. His nickname may have been the reflection of his wilder and younger years, but he was still the front man of this MC. Without him and my father, I doubt this club would have lasted to my generation.”