Page 93 of His Road Dog

Chapter 36

Priest

––––––––

NICOLE SET ON THE ARMof the couch, watching Charlotte dance to the music for Banks. Priest stood in the hallway after meeting with the other officers and letting them know he wanted to branch out and bring in a different strain of marijuana. If successful, they could curtail selling car parts and making the risky trip within six months.

It would be changing one contracted work for another, but making it more beneficial for Tarkio.

His final decision now depended on Nicole. Once he talked to her, he'd need to make contact with her dad in Northern California.

Because of the location of the commune, and the security in place, he was hesitant about pushing his way in without her. What he'd seen there the day he gathered Nicole and brought her home was a bunch of men, their women, and children. It was a family community.

He couldn't rush in heavy-handed and chance a kid getting hurt. His priority was striking a deal, and it would be handled differently than how Tarkio usually completed business.

Nicole's gaze dropped away from the dancers. Priest inhaled deeply. Something was bothering her. She was the most adaptable person he'd ever met, and today something was holding her back from everyone else, including him.

He'd thought he'd finally made some headway with her. She wasn't supposed to question his decisions. Their communication had remained open until earlier today.

Solemn and detached from everyone around her, Nicole stared at the floor, deep in thought.

He couldn't allow her to pull away.

The woman had her claws dug so far in him; he'd lose it if she retracted. He fingered the coin in his pocket. A coin he kept on him whenever he put on his jeans. Through the years, that coin gave him something to hold on to when hope was lost.

He'd received it from an old guy wearing a leather vest, sitting on a motorcycle. The man had whistled him over when he was on the run after stealing food from the corner grocery store when he was sixteen years old. More afraid of the biker than the cops, he'd jogged over to the man, so not to piss him off.

Having never had a father, much less a mother, he never made it a habit to listen to other people growing up. Not his peers, not his teachers, not the nuns running the orphanage where he grew up.

But that night, he'd listened to what Copperhead had to say.

Too many years had passed for him to remember the exact words spoken that night. What struck and stayed was the impression Copperhead left him.

The biker had explained the workings of a motorcycle club. The fight or die attitude. The desire for freedom. The trust and loyalty bred within a group of men and encompassed the lives of the family.

Most of all, that old guy sparked the notion inside of Priest of having all that for himself someday.

As Copperhead handed him a silver coin and told him to grow up, he'd memorized the last thing the guy told him.

"When you're ready, kid, find me. I'll see that you earn your patch."

It took him longer than he'd thought to become a man, and as soon as he walked away from the military, he looked up Copperhead.

He squeezed the coin in his palm. Five years after Priest joined Tarkio Motorcycle Club, another motorcycle club killed Copperhead. He'd stepped up and became president, ultimately taking out the men responsible for murdering the one person Priest had respected.

The confidence and hope Copperhead had given him years ago had set him on a course for life. He'd turned into the man he was, not because of the hard life he'd been raised in, but because someone else gave him the tools to reach for something bigger than him.

Dropping the coin in his pocket, he strode across the room. Nicole was lost in her own little world. He preferred to see her dancing to the song in her head than be troubled by her thoughts.

She wasn't even aware of when he approached her. He bent his knees, lowering his head to enter her gaze. She straightened, startled to find him in front of her.

"All done?" she asked loudly over the music.

He nodded and hooked her neck, bringing her to her feet. Leading her out the front door, he welcomed the quieter night.

Instead of going to his Harley, he turned her toward him. Off the glow of the street light, tears gleamed on her cheeks.

His pulse pounded, and he gathered her in his arms, palming the back of her head. Holding her close to his chest and surrounding her, a million thoughts contaminated his thinking. Not knowing the cause of what put a bridge between them, a bridge he wanted to set a bomb underneath and blow up, he held her.

---