Page 6 of Strider's Misstep

Jasmine and I had had a good thing for over two years, both knowing the score and knowing there was never going to be anything real between us until it was interrupted a few months ago by those two little lines.

It was then it all went to shit.

“You know we’re financing her project?”

Buzz’s calmly spoken question takes a moment to compute in my head.What project?Since the fateful day, I’ve maintained distance from Jasmine, which is hard to do when we both spend most of our time in the club. But I go out of my way to avoid her. When she’s out of sight, it’s easier to try to keep her out of my mind. Now I’m starting to wonder what she’s been getting up to and whether I should have kept a closer eye on her.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap as I rack my brain. “I don’t remember authorising giving her money.”

“We don’t give her any more than we do the other club pussy,” Shotgun points out. “Lodging and food for a start. And the pocket money so they can buy the shit they need.”

“I ask again,” my voice a deep growl, “what the fuck are you talking about? In what way are we financing her, and what fuckin’ project?”

Tequila narrows his eyes as he glances my way. “We provide food and keep to a woman who doesn’t work as a club girl. It’s left her with time on her hands. You truly never see what she’s up to when she’s in the clubroom? When she has that laptop open all the time?”

I might try to avoid looking at her, though I’m always overly aware of her presence when she’s in my proximity, the sense of her being close, that unique perfume that seems to surround her. I don’t let my gaze linger even when she catches my eye. My temptation, my guilt, making me keep my distance.

I tap out another cigarette as I try to imagine what they all know that I don’t. One answer comes to mind. “She running an online business or something?” Jasmine is smart. I know nothing about her level of education, but one of my most poignant memories of her is lying in bed after sex and just talking. Her natural intelligence, her unique insight on things, I’d enjoyed our conversations. But remembering isn’t doing me any good.I can’t have her.

“Well, it’s something, all right.” Tequila laughs as Buzz gets up, goes to his saddlebags and returns carrying an object.

When he hands it to me, I take it and see it’s a paperback book. I glance at the title,Falling for the Club President,and then at the author name,J. Frobisher.Neither tells me a lot. I flick through the pages and words leap out that let me know it’s a romance novel, the type of book I’ve seen Jasmine read before.Motorcycle club romance.Fuck, a glorified, sanitised view of life with bikers. I remember teasing her about it. Disinterested, I start to hand the book back.

Shaking his head, Buzz refuses to take it from me. “There’s more.Falling for the Club Enforcer, Falling for the Sergeant-at-Arms, and Falling for the Road Captain.”

“So?” Are they going to tell me they’ve caught Jasmine reading books? For fuck’s sake, where’s the crime in that? She’s free to do whatever she wants with the little money she gets from the club. “Jas reads. I already knew that.”

Shotgun barks a laugh. “Not these,” he remarks, then frowns. “Well, I suppose she has to. But these particular books? Well, these are the ones she writes.”

She writes?

I tap on the cover. “Say’s it’s written by a woman, or man, called Frobisher. Jasmine’s surname is Smart.”

Buzz sighs. “Ever heard of pen names, Prez? Apparently, Frobisher was the maiden name of a grandmother she had fond feelings for.”

My eyes open wide that the author really is her. Jasmine has written a book. Several of them, by the sound of it. An unexpected wave of pride washes over me. I always knew she had a spark. “You’ve read them?”

I suppose I’ve addressed my question to them all, but don’t expect them all to nod.

“Had to,” Shotgun states. “Wanted to make sure it was all fiction. Don’t want her giving away secrets about the club.”

“And they’re fuckin’ good!” Tequila remarks. “Good writing for a chick. Full of adventure and suspense.”

“And sex,” Buzz drops in. “Don’t forget the sex.”

Shotgun snorts. “Can’t forget that.”

I glare at them all. Having forgotten my lit cigarette, it’s dripping with ash. I tap it off, and then take a long drag. Thewheels in my brain start to turn. “Jasmine’s making an income from this?” Buzz’s nod and accompanying shrug suggest he thinks so but doesn’t know. I breathe deep, then let out a breath. “You want me to cut her loose from the club? You think that’s going to make me feel better?”

It’s an answer, I suppose. Out of sight, out of mind. Wouldn’t need to feel guilty if she’s found a way of supporting herself. My stomach grips tight as though I’ve eaten something I’m allergic to.Let her go?It would be for the best…

“Fuck no,” Shotgun barks. “That book,” he nods at the one in my hand, “is the latest she’s published. Think you better read it, Prez.”

Read it?I’m no reader. Well, not unless it’s a Harley manual or some such. I start to shake my head but notice the intense look in my VP’s eyes.

“There’s something in here I’m not going to be happy about, isn’t there?” My brain automatically goes to the place where Jasmine has unwittingly betrayed us. Maybe disclosed some innermost workings of the club to our enemies. And if so, how much repair work will I have to do, and am I going to have to punish her?

Betrayers of the club end up six feet under.

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