Page 19 of Absolution

“You could say that.”

“Uh oh,” Voodoo’s voice teases through the earpiece. “Trouble in paradise?”

“This shit was never paradise, V. It’s not like the missed connections bullshit you troll on Craigslist. She wasn’t exactly happy to see my ass.”

“Hold, please,” Voodoo says, before hushed tones fill the receiver when what sounds like a hand goes over their end of the line. I hear Raze growl and boots hitting the floor in the background.

“Hello?” I yell into the receiver. “What’s going on?”

“Gotta go, brother. Trouble may have just walked in the door. I’ll fill you in later,” Voodoo says, before immediately hanging up.

What the fuck is going on? Shit going down while I am a thousand miles away isn’t exactly what I had in mind. My body immediately tenses, readying for a fight. My brothers and club come first, and if I had to leave to take care of business, I would be risking Ricca taking off on me. Nothing is fucking easy when it comes to my club, and maybe this is a sign that this shit with Ricca, isn’t meant to be. My brothers seem to be able to balance their club and family lives, but my job was a different story. I am the cleanup man who comes back covered in blood, guts, and gasoline when the shit hits the fan. I deal out death like a pharmacy deals out pills to anyone with a prescription. It was my job, and one that I was damn good at. Even the club whores cringed at the sight of me after one of my sessions of please confess your sins and die. How would Ricca react to seeing that with everything she’s been through?

You should have thought of that shit, before you rode all the way out here, dumbass.

I wait by the phone for over an hour, before my stomach starts protesting the lack of food in it. Sitting here and waiting isn’t going to change that something is happening with my club, and that I am on the outside for the first time waiting to be filled in. Stuffing my shit in my saddlebags, just in case, I head out the door toward the front of the Inn. Vickie is thankfully tied up on the phone when I walk by, allowing me to get by un-groped.

The front door chimes as I open it, but she doesn’t even look up. The red and chrome of my bike shines in the sun, reflecting into my eyes. I grab my shades from my saddlebag, slipping them on and making the sun shut the fuck up with its rays of happiness. Settling the bags on my bike, I swing my legs over the warmed metal and flick on the ignition.

The engine idles between my legs as I try to map out my destination on my iPhone. Google doesn’t fail me and finds a diner just up the road. I think this is the first time that I have ever wished for a Wal-Mart to be close by, but the closest one is nearly an hour away. The citizens of this town must have a secret because I have no fucking clue how they survive this far out of civilization. No major hospitals or businesses outside of the bars and diner. Do people just drop dead and that’s it?

I pop the kickstand, and head towards the diner, hoping the entire time that the food there is edible. I smell the place before I see it. The air becomes thick with the scent of fried food and lost dreams. I might be exaggerating on the latter, but one look at this place and the people who live here is self-explanatory. Just a few blocks into the ride, the diner comes into view. Much like the rest of the town, it’s stuck in the nineteen fifties. The old boxcar design built into the front of the building doesn’t do a damn thing for the place, but I doubt that this town cares much. This is the kind of place that the city dwellers would die over for its rustic esthetic. Me? I don’t give a flying fuck about materialistic things. Only my brothers, my club, and this damn woman are all I need to be happy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I note the local LEO’s squad car parked in the first spot by the door. Their presence is both a good and a bad thing for me. Good in the sense that if they are eating here, the food won’t kill me. The bad part of it is that I stick out like a Goth at a pop show in this place. Nothing screams trouble like a tattooed biker riding into town. Just as I pull into an open spot, the local cop steps outside the diner and heads straight to his car. His head is turned to his walkie talkie on his shoulder so he doesn’t notice me. I watch as he drives off, and dismount my bike.

Stepping into the place, the air conditioning smacks me in the face as people stop talking once I enter. Every eye is trained on me, an outsider to their small town, and every move I make is monitored closely. A whispered laugh leaves my lips, while I smirk at their reaction. And they say small town USA is the friendliest part of this country.

Scanning to find an open place at the bar, a sound of breaking dishes and glasses startles me. A collective gasp from the crowd around me draws my attention to the source of the noise.

I smirk even more when I find Ricca staring at me like a deer in headlights with broken plates surrounding her feet on the floor.

“Morning, Siren,” I chide to her, before crossing the room and settling onto the red worn plastic of the barstool. The hushed murmurs of the other diners begin to fill up the place as Ricca quickly bends to start cleaning up the mess.

I have to say, judging from her reaction, that I do know how to make an entrance.

The other waitress, a pretty blonde thing, rushes to her side. She kneels beside her as a large man steps from the bat looking wing doors of the kitchen, his hands firmly crossing his chest.

“That’s coming out of your check, girl.”

Ricca looks up at the man towering over her, and I see her shiver at his dominating presence. She remains stone silent, trying to quickly clean up the mess, but the guy doesn’t take the hint. The blonde stands abruptly; moving away from the scene I have a feeling is about to take place.

He reaches towards her, grabbing her elbow and hauling her off the ground roughly.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me, Ricca,” He hisses as I spring from my seat, charging toward them both. No one touches my girl like that and without her permission.

“Get this fucking mess cleaned up or you’re fired,” he screams, shaking her.

“Big Joe - she stammers, before I cut her off, when I move between the two of them and force him to break contact.

“This ain’t any of your business, pal,” he snarls. I shove Ricca behind me then get into this fucker’s face.

“Keep your fucking hands off her,” I growl. My hands fist at my sides as the man postures up to me. Rage courses through my body at the vision of him touching her again. She may not want me, but no one has the right to shove around a woman like that.

“What I do with my employee is my business. Why don’t you go sit your lily ass back on that stool and let me handle my business?”

He reaches for her again, but I step into his path and shove his hand away.

“Ratchet, please,” Ricca begs from behind my back. “It’s fine.”

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