Page 2 of Pearl (Royal Harlots MC, Phoenix, Az. #1)

Carver

T he grizzly looking fucker at the end of the bar turns and recognition registers for both of us at the same time.

I’d know that grinning son of a bitch anywhere.

Three straight years locked up in Florence State Pen and you get to know your brothers better than the family you have waiting for you on the outside.

At least those of us with any kin to speak of at all.

The barkeep places a fresh brew in front of me.

I toss some bills on the counter, take my cold beer and head down to the end of the bar foregoing the bare-ass ladies strutting their stuff in the back, where I originally intended to go.

“Lucky-fucking-Wing. Good to see you man. When the hell did they let you out?”

His grey eyes light with recognition and one hand floats to his beard, stroking the four inches of growth, a gesture I’ve seen a thousand times if I’ve seen it at all.

“Good to see you too, Carver. Real good. Fucking parole board finally believed me when I told them I was, what’s the word, remorseful.

Like I was sorry for killing that son of a bitch after he murdered that woman.

Yeah, remorseful that I didn’t have more time with the bastard. ”

I laugh. “More likely they were tired of listening to your sorry ass. What brings you to Vegas? I thought you were riding with a club up north.”

“Family in the area, and that club hasn’t exactly decided to take me in yet.

” His eyes shift downward. “Things have changed in the last five years, Carver. The group patched over to some other crew, sons a bitches merged, and it’s not the same as it was back in the day when we were running and causing hell. ”

“Surely all of the guys want you back?”

Lucky nods, stroking that beard. “A couple of the brothers vouched for me, but that new crew isn’t too trusting.

We’ll see what happens. In the meantime, a couple buddies asked me to do a favor and watch over a few things in Vegas.

Sort of killing two birds with one stone before I head north.

Hoping to be riding with them soon but I’ve also got a few feelers out.

Keeping my options open right now. What are you up to these days?

Still riding alone, tearing up those canyons running mafia shit through the back door? ”

I’ve never been anything except a lone wolf, but I get Lucky wanting to ride with a club.

The family unit, the comradery, the loyalty and knowing you have each other’s backs, no matter what the fuck goes down.

Maybe one day I’ll find a good fit, but for now, it’s just me, my own rules, the canyons and my ride.

Just the way I like it, because I know for damn certain I can trust myself.

I clink my glass with Lucky’s. “Still riding alone. The connected guys here in Vegas want a run made to Arizona or the border, they don’t want any connections to them or the club working with them, so they pay cash and lots of it.

Pay me through the MC club loyal to them, the Rivals.

It’s a win-win. Just the way I like it.”

“Probably keeps you out of at least a little trouble. No club wars and shit.”

My jaw shifts with irritation as I catch what’s happening in the back of the room through the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. “I don’t know about that. Mayhem seems to follow me wherever I go.” Lucky of all people should know that.

I turn slightly and gesture toward the back where a big beefy guy with a balding head has one of the dancers pushed up against the wall, where she doesn’t want to be.

My jaw locks tight. “Take today for example. I walk into a bar to have a cold drink and watch a little ass, and some asshole has to go and put his hands on a woman who can’t fight back.

Pretty sure there’s going to be trouble today,” I tell him, placing my glass on the table and donning the pair of brass knuckles that were a gift from my uncle.

“Fucking aye, Carver, wait for me.” Lucky’s right on my heels as I stride with purpose to the back.

Just like old fucking times behind bars.

No matter that it would land us in the damn hole for at least fourteen nights.

Maybe fighting is just in my blood, because if trouble comes knocking, I’m gonna lay down. No two fucking ways about it.

Baldy doesn’t even see it coming. One good slug to the back of the head and he sways in place, ready to topple to the ground.

I glance at the brunette with tears running down her face.

“Get dressed and disappear.” She and a couple of her friends don’t have to be told twice.

They double time it out of the back room not even worried with covering anything bare.

But Baldy’s got friends, too. And I think they wanna play.

I can handle the pool sticks swinging in their hands.

I’ll shove them right up their asses, but when his spiky-haired friend with a nose ring goes for his gun, I slow my step for a second, quick to pull my own, because things could go south in a minute, but too many fights make me fucking faster than him.

“Gun!” Lucky shouts, seeing the weapon seconds too late, but Baldy roars to life, coming after me with a vengeance, temporarily blocking the gun’s path to me.

Only for a second, but it’s the only one I need.

I deliver an uppercut to Baldy’s nose that drives the broken end of it towards his brain.

Blood gushes, and I use him as a human shield, pushing his massive body back into Spiky, who loses his balance as the beefy man falls into him while Lucky clocks him over the head with a beer bottle from behind.

Assholes like that always seem to run in packs … and this time is no exception.

Four more big heavy fuckers come out of the back.

I don’t want to kill them, but just because I don’t shoot first and ask questions later doesn’t mean I won’t bury them if need be.

My knife is out of my pocket before they get near, ready to keep them alive and make my point, but a loud booming voice shouts from the door, cutting through the commotion in the room.

“You fuckers have the audacity to show your ugly mugs where you’re not wanted?

You better show some respect before you end up in the ground. ”

The big bald guy with a bandana tied tightly around his forehead strides forward with black leather chaps and boots that look like they’ve stomped a few heads in the day. And I’ve never been so glad to see Capone and his friend Ryker in all of my days.

Capone’s chest is bare except for his black leather cut. He waves a gun of his own at Spiky, who’s looking up at him but still holding that gun. “Slide it over to me on the floor. You motherfuckers are a disgrace; you can’t even fight clean.”

Baldy and his boys have a whole fucking mess of trouble because Capone and Ryker are more connected than these clowns want to know.

Capone gives me a chin nod. “These fuckers giving you and your friend trouble, Carver?”

“They were harassing the ladies. We stepped in.”

Capone looks over the fuckers who look like they’ve just been handed their asses.

“You’re in Larussio territory, no fucking permission, acting like a pack of animals and messing with our friends.

Get the fuck out of Nevada and don’t come back or we’ll put you in the ground.

We’d do it today, but you’ll get yours in Tucson. ”

Baldy’s eyes narrow.

Ryker’s blue eyes flash as a warning. He and Capone may have been from rival clubs at one time, but they’ve mended those fences a long time ago, and no one’s more dedicated to the Larussios, the mob family who took over Vegas not that long ago and pays me well to run what they need, than these two.

“You want to stay and play?” he asks Baldy.

A shake of heads from him and his scumbag crew confirms what I already knew.

They stalk out, and two of them toss the pool sticks meant for me and my head onto the floor.

Capone slides his gun back in his holster.

“At least for now, they’ll get out of town and head back to New Mexico where they should have stayed.

That crew is nothing but trouble and getting worse.

At some point, we’re going to need to deal with them.

They don’t seem to understand the boundary lines so good.

We’ll see if they show up to the Tucson rumble.

If so, they won’t fucking see our crews coming. ”

I glance at Capone and Ryker. “We appreciate your help.” Capone extends a hand.

“The Desert Riders rode in from New Mexico, they’ve been aligning with the fucking Scorpions who are a pain in our ass, causing trouble with the locals on the outskirts of Vegas with increasing frequency.

Right now, we have orders just to watch them.

See what they’re up to. “You still heading to Az in the a.m.?”

“That’s the plan.” I gesture to Capone. “This is a friend of mine, Lucky. We did a stint together in Florence, near Phoenix, a few years back. He’s in town doing a favor for a friend, and we were just catching up tonight.

Capone gives me a nod, and I follow him to the bar while Ryker talks to Lucky.

“Thanks for the heads up,” he tells the barkeep. “Bruiser, this is a friend of ours, Canyon Carver, but Carver for short.”

The grey-haired man with a long beard and lots of silver on his hands and tattoos up and down his arms gives me a grin. “Took some guts to take those bastards on single handed. I had my shotgun on the ready, but you were holding your own until Capone stepped in.”

I laugh as he pours us both a beer. “Lucky had my back too, but I’m sure as hell glad Capone and Ryker stepped in when they did. I didn’t expect the bastards to pull a gun instead of just brawl. Sorry about the mess back in your bar.”

Capone pulls out a wad of hundreds and lays them on the counter in front of Bruiser.

“The clean-up and repairs are on the Larussios. Those bastards come around again you let us know right away. They aren’t welcome here again.

They’ve been warned.” He looks to Bruiser.

“Ryker’s old group the Desert Riders are getting a little chummy with a rival of ours, the Scorpions.

Keep your ears to the ground and if you hear anything give me a heads up. ”

Bruiser tucks the money in a jean pocket. “Appreciate the cash. You know I’ll have both eyes and ears out for you,” he says, heading into the back and leaving us to drink alone at the bar.

Capone turns to me. “Any chance you can make two runs to Phoenix this week? There’s another shipment coming in from the East Coast. Let’s just say it needs to find a way over to Phoenix.

We’ve got some folks who will get it to Tucson if you can get it that far.

Word on the wires are the cops are out in full force, stopping everyone.

They know the biker convention in Tucson is going to heat up the main roads with a lot of bike traffic. ”

I take a long pull of the ice-cold beer.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. The straight line between Vegas and Phoenix may be faster, but I’ll steer clear of main roads, sky patrol, police cruisers and motorcycle clubs who aren’t as friendly to the lone wolfs.

I’ll take the backroads and canyons any day of the week. It won’t be a problem.”

“Copy that.” He pulls out a few thousand dollars. “For picking up the extra run. Pick up the package at the same location, and same deal applies. You get caught, you’ve never heard of me or the Larussios. The lawyers will have you out within a day.”

“Done. It may be a little farther to go through Sedona and take Interstate 11/US 95 but cutting across 163 and driving by the Colorado River along the shores of Laughlin and Bullhead City makes up for any inconvenience in time. And keeps the police off my ass, which is more than a plus in my book. I’ll take the alternate routes through Christmas Tree Pass, Grapevine Canyon.

One thing though. You have any issue with Lucky riding out with me as long as I don’t fill him all the way in? ”

Capone looks thoughtful, cuts a glance over at Lucky who’s still talking with Ryker. “If you trust him, that’s your call, and we’ve got no beef. Ryker and I are going to take a drive to make sure the fucking Desert Riders cleared out and didn’t set up camp anywhere.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to have a couple of cold ones, get a good night’s sleep, and head out in the morning.

” Capone laughs as the sound of females laughing and giggling stirs in the air.

I turn to see the same damn woman I told to get lost crooking a finger with a long pink nail at me from across the room, still bare-ass naked.

It makes me wonder if she came back to party and say thank you, or if the fucking Riders sent her back to get a little more information from the man they didn’t expect to meet. Either way, we’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow and she’s not getting any information from me.

The next morning, we get up early, stepping over all the bodies, beer bottles, and half empty whiskey glasses strewn about the club. I look out the grimy window and in the distance see two riders, just watching from the hill.

I have no doubt as soon as we’re out on the road, they’ll either be hot on our tail or on the phone calling in some reinforcements.

Because they may not be wearing colors and patches, and may be just riding through, but they’re affiliated with someone with a beef.

I’d bet my last dime on that. “Let’s go,” I tell Lucky, who may have come into the bar alone, but is leaving with me.

The minute we’re out the door, we kick our bikes into gear and peel out as quick as we can.

I take the lead, because we’re not taking the scenic route today.

No, we’re going to hang out in the canyons, my home away from home, at least until the dust has settled or these rogue bikers get out of town.

I move with unparalleled speed, taking all the hidden back ways in and out of the red rocks of the desert, no matter the gravel roads and washboard stretches.

The canyons are in my blood, and I’ve run them since I was able to ride, especially when trying to avoid the law.

This time is nothing, just a steady ride, not like the times I’ve had to run for my life.