Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(18)

"Hold up," Roper barked, stopping Jenner in his tracks. "Crow's got the  right idea. You wanna hear something to help keep you warm at night,  Jenny?"

Jenner opened his mouth but closed it without speaking, knowing that the  question was rhetorical. He glanced down at the three men around the  table, their shit-eating grins causing acid to bubble in his gut. He  hated them. He hated all of them. He wanted to see them burned alive.

"We finally got a fix on your boy," Roper said, sliding into a empty  seat and taking another slug of his beer. He kept that sip in his mouth,  at least. "The big stupid one. The one who offed our Rig. He's got some  fight with some shithead. Thinks he's gonna waltz in there, one-two and  done."

Now, Roper looked up at Jenner, his eyes cold and steely and hateful.  Jenner fought back the urge to return that hate twofold. It wouldn't do  him any favors, he knew. Roper leaned forward, a grin on his gnarled  face.

"But he don't know," Roper said, his voice a sadistic sing-song. "He  don't know that his opponent is willing to fight dirty for a big enough  paycheck. That's right, Jenny. We're gonna have that boy skewered in the  first round. He's gonna fall right on his gypsy ass, and he's never  gettin' up again."

Jenner's mind raced. This is it, he thought. This is what I need. He  kept his face set, impassive, while inside his heart raced and his blood  rushed.

"Why do you think I care?" he said. "I told you once and I told you a  thousand times, I wasn't on their side. I was always on your side."

Roper snarled, drank from the bottle. When he pulled it away, a thin  line of foam remained on his upper lip. He licked it off before speaking  again.

"I don't care if you care, Jenny," Roper growled. "You're a  shit-licking, two-faced, pussy-ass motherfucker either way. Just  remember, whatever we do to him, we can do to you … double. I wanna see  your whole damn troop wiped off the face of this earth. Every last gypsy  scum is gonna taste our shit before I'm dead."         

     



 

Jenner blanched, fought the emotions Roper's words incited.

"And you're gonna be the last one to go, Jenny," Roper went on. "We're  gonna give you a parade of bodies to look at before we let you eat dirt.  Gonna pick off the big guys one by one, and then we're gonna start on  all your slutty, diseased women and your snot-nosed, inbred kiddies."

Jenner's hands fisted slightly; he quickly released them, but Roper  noticed, and smiled at the reaction he was getting. Slowly, the man rose  and leaned closer to Jenner.

"You got a mother, Jenny? Of course you do. Everyone's got a mother. I  bet you miss her, don't you? When we're through, you can lick her nasty  twat all you want down in hell," Roper said. Jenner felt bile rising in  his throat, waged civil war with his own instincts to keep calm. The  table had grown poignantly silent, and Jenner glanced down; all eyes  were on him, the smirks and smiles gone.

Roper sat back down with a audible thump, eyed Jenner carefully. He swallowed the rest of his beer.

"Why don't you go get me another one, gypsy?" he said, twirling the empty bottle on its base. "Make yourself fuckin' useful."

Jenner turned, relieved to be excused from the tension. He heard  conversation start up behind him, but didn't have the nerve to try and  listen. His mind was too occupied by the throbbing, drumming blood in  his ears as rage flooded through him. Behind the bar, he allowed himself  to look at Roper while he uncapped the beer. Roper wasn't looking back.

I'm going to make you pay, Jenner thought. I'm going to make you pay so hard you'll still be in debt when you meet the devil.





19





As they pulled up to the hotel, Tricia looked at Damon, curious.

"No camping tonight?" she asked, cocking her head.

"No, no more until Miami," he said. "I sleep well outside, but it's not the best for my back."

"Ooh," Tricia teased. "Old man with back problems, huh?"

He smiled at her, but it was a tight smile. Okay, so age jokes are  off-limits, Tricia thought, filing the thought away. She put away the  book she'd found in the backseat, a collection of poems by Jack Gilbert.  Some of the lines sounded extremely familiar, but she couldn't imagine  herself ever having coming across them before. When she asked Damon, he  gave her a cryptic smile and told her she'd probably dreamed them.

They were just outside of Charleston, South Carolina. They had driven  through the city already; Tricia was bemused by the almost-too-nice  scene there, an antebellum swagger inviting a nostalgia the viewer  couldn't possibly feel. Damon pointed out a restaurant he wanted to take  her to while they were in town.

"Husk? What kind of restaurant name is that?" she asked. "It looks fancy."

"It is fancy," Damon said with a smile. "I hope you brought a nice dress."

Tricia hid her blush by looking out the window.

"I still think ‘Spaghett About It' is a better restaurant name," she  said, turning back to him when she felt her cheeks had returned to  normal. Damon laughed.

"Our house special tonight is ‘penne for your thoughts'," he said, flashing her with that contagious smile.

"We can split an order of ‘one cannoli hope' for dessert," she offered  back. They both groaned, letting it devolve into laughter.

"We should be put in jail for this shit," Tricia said, shaking her head  with a smile still broadcast over her cheeks. "These puns are criminal.  You're a bad influence."

"The worst," Damon agreed, rolling down his window. The air outside was  dry and hot. Tricia followed suit, letting the breeze catch her hair.  "But I've heard girls have a thing for the bad boys."

He winked at her and she laughed again, feeling a now-familiar flush  through her body. Soon enough, they pulled up to a chain hotel and Damon  parked, leaving her with the keys so she could use the air conditioner  if it got too hot. Tricia took the chance to stretch her legs and saw,  behind the lobby, the shimmering blue of a pool.

Perfect, she thought, stretching with the sun on her cheeks. There were  times that she could forget that she and Damon had any destination at  all, that there were any secrets between them. There were times she  could imagine that they were on a honeymoon of sorts, even though the  idea made her a bit ashamed of herself. It was silly.

There was something between her and Damon; something sexual, of course,  but also something deeper. But she wasn't the kind of girl who wondered  how many kids she'd have with a guy as soon as they started dating.  Still, the easy, relaxed nature of their days, the constant change of  scenery, the feeling of freedom that came from being together and  knowing they would soon be somewhere new and exciting …          

     



 

Her moment in the sun came to an end as Damon reappeared dangling a key on a ring.

"They still use old-fashioned keys here," he said, sliding behind the steering wheel.

"Charming," Tricia mused.

The room itself was basic, with two double beds. The carpet was mauve.  The bedspreads were thin and almost crispy, patterned in a noxious,  "Saved By the Bell" geometry. The paintings on the wall were yard  sale-worthy landscapes. It smelled like a hotel room. It reminded Tricia  of nothing at all except other hotel rooms. She loved it.

Putting her bag down, she moved to the curtains covering one wall and  pulled them half-open. They were on the shady side of the building, and  the windows overlooked the pool. Three men were down there, two sitting  together and one apart. The single man had an open cooler. The water  glistened in the sun, too blue and very inviting.

When Tricia turned, she saw that Damon had picked one of the beds for  himself, sitting on it and leaning back slightly. She plopped herself  down on the other one, looking at the clock. It was just past 3.

"What time is dinner?" she asked.

"7:30," he answered. "I made a reservation."

Again, Tricia felt a nervousness, a redness in her cheeks that had  nothing to do with sun exposure. It was a date, wasn't it? Everything  about what she and Damon did seemed backwards. Usually, you went on a  date before you hopped in a car with a guy, before he gave you an orgasm  that rocked your whole world, before you felt comfortable sharing a  hotel room with him; even one with two beds.

"I think I'm going to swim," she said, lifting herself off the bed. "Come with?"

He shook his head.

"Didn't bring my trunks," he said. She bit back a smile. Damon would  look exceptionally good in a pair of swim trunks. "I can't believe you  brought your bikini."

"Bikini?" Tricia scoffed. "No, I'm a strictly one-piece sort of girl.  And of course I brought it. I'm a girl. We always bring everything."

"Shame," Damon said, glancing up at her. For a moment, she wasn't sure  what he meant; why would it be a shame that she over packed? Then she  realized, and she couldn't bite back the smile any longer. She was  enjoying this prolonged flirtation a lot more than she should have.  Damon offered a very particular sort of sweet torture, and she loved it.  He offered tastes, just nibbles, and each one melted in her mouth, left  her wanting more.