Time Owed Read online

  She inhaled and let out her breath slowly, pulled back her arm, and hit the lower left bottom curve of the cue ball. The ball spun in a ninety-degree arch to the right before rolling left, directly into the eight ball.

  Yes. She unscrewed her cue stick before the ball sank into the corner pocket. Game over.

  The pressure, the excitement of playing pool or a quick game of blackjack stimulated her more than sex, letting her walk away with satisfaction. Gambling was in her blood. Her grandpa, her dad, and even her mom before she died in a car crash when she ran her car off the bank of River Road during the winter when Desiree was four years old, lived for the thrill of high stakes.

  She barely remembered her mom. Then after her thirteenth birthday, she'd witnessed her dad's murder. That left her with Pop, her mom's father. He'd slowed down the last couple of years, but not when it came to his games. Besides running the bar, he enjoyed poker with his friends in the basement. No harm, no rules, no law. Only fools who let money slip out of their hands.

  As with all things risky, her whole family paid in one way or another for their habits.

  For her, she dabbled in gambling to keep herself busy. Between serving drinks and helping Pop with the bar, she picked up a game or two of pool, usually with the tourists. Everyone in Federal knew her reputation and refused to play against her.

  So far, she always won. Though, she'd had some narrow escapes.

  "Thanks for the game." She held out her hand, ready to take a break and let Pop run the bar for the night.

  Brent scowled and refused to shake. "One more game. All or nothing."

  "We played a fair game." She shrugged and left her hand extended to finish the deal. "That's all I have time for."

  Brent stepped forward. She rocked back on her heels to keep her distance. His tangy smelling sweat invaded her personal space.

  His upper lip curled. "Bitch, you ain't taking my money."

  The Moroad Motorcycle Club member she'd seen in the basement yesterday stepped between her and Brent. "Back the fuck away from her."

  She shuffled backward, looking around the bar for Pop. He remained downstairs. She was on her own.

  She'd handled many men, drunk and sober, to know she had control of the situation. Instinct told her the Moroad member wouldn't be easy to stop if a fight broke out.

  "Who are you?" Brent's gaze went to the front of the man's jean vest.

  The Moroad member's hand moved fast. The pistol shoved under Brent's chin appeared out of nowhere and tipped Brent's head back. Desiree gasped.

  Her heart slammed against her chest. She held her hands out in front of her. "No fighting. Put the gun away."

  The other patrons of the bar quieted. With Brent's eyes focused on the ceiling and the biker totally ignoring her, she cleared her throat. She'd have a better chance at handling Brent herself.

  Her gut feeling told her the Moroad member wouldn't back down or take orders from a woman. She stepped around the two men, until she stood in view of the biker.

  "I've got this." She caught his gaze. "Put your gun away before we have the cops rolling in here. I'll escort Brent outside."

  The biker walked forward, taking Brent with him, and threw words back at her. "Stay inside."

  She hurried to keep up with them as he pushed Brent out the front door. Tension stiffened her neck and she caught the biker ordering Brent to leave before he shot him.

  Brent scrambled down the sidewalk, casting glances over his shoulder. Desiree crossed her arms against the anger aimed at her. Infuriated over the lack of respect she'd received from both of the men, the second Brent turned the corner and disappeared out of sight, she turned to go back inside the bar.

  The biker caught her arm. Propelled around to face him, she raised her hands and planted them against the Moroad member's hard chest to keep from falling.

  The biker leaned down closer to her. Her gaze followed the scar over the curve of his cheekbone and down into his dark beard. She lifted her chin.

  "Next time I tell you to stay inside, you plant your ass on a bar stool and don't move. Do you hear me?" he said, his voice gravelly and deep.

  "Listen, here...whoever you are. Nobody—"

  "Name's Merk."

  She shoved against him, and he refused to budge. "I run this bar, and you're a customer. That means I was handling the situation."

  "Right." Merk let go of her suddenly, slipped his pistol behind his back, and tugged his vest down to hide the handle. He completed everything without taking his gaze off her. "Did you notice his tattoo?"

  "What tattoo?"

  His lips, barely visible under his beard tightened. "The one on the inside of his right wrist."

  She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  "He's an Aryan member."

  She couldn't hide her surprise. "A skinhead?"

  "Yeah. He's someone you don't want to piss off." Merk pulled out a pack of smokes, lit a cigarette, and held out one to her.

  She curled her fingers into her palms, wondering if a hit off the cigarette would calm her down after dealing with an egotistical asshole. "I don't smoke."

  "Smart," Merk mumbled, shoving the pack back into his pocket and walking away from her.

  Merk's long legs strode down the sidewalk in the same direction Brent left. She tilted her head, the anger leaving her. She had no idea why he helped her. He didn't know her. He wasn't even a regular customer. From her experience, the Moroad MC members kept to themselves and stayed out of town.

  "Hey," she said. "Um, Merk?"

  He turned around slowly. She took three steps and stopped. The slim chance he'd show up again at the bar pushed her forward.

  "Can I, uh, buy you a beer for helping me out?" She bit her lip. He deserved a cold drink as a thank you.

  Merk's gaze intensified. She frowned, wondering what she'd done wrong now.

  "Get inside, Desi." Merk continued on his way and slipped out of sight.

  She frowned at the use of a nickname she'd dropped years ago after everyone kept insisting on calling her Desiree. Exhaling, she shook off the encounter. It was better if he left anyway. She didn't need the sheriff showing up.

  She returned to the bar before the customers helped themselves to the open tap. Her mind continued to think about Merk. She wiped the palms of her hands on the back of her jeans. Who knew what kind of trouble would start if Pop kept inviting bikers downstairs to play in his poker games. The bikers could also draw the sheriff's attention to the bar. That's the last thing her and Pop needed.

  "Desiree." Pop waved her over to the counter.

  She picked up the empty mugs on table three and carried them with her. "What's up, Pop?"

  Pop hitched his thumb behind him. "Katie's on the bar phone."

  "Thanks. Are you okay dealing with everyone yourself for a few minutes while I talk with her?"

  "Go on. I've been running this bar since before you were born." Pop winked.

  She grinned, hurried around the counter, and picked up the cordless phone. "Katie?"

  "Yeah, it's me. I have a favor to ask," Katie said.

  Desiree held the bar phone between her ear and shoulder and wiped down the counter.

  Katie lived in the Sterling Building and danced at Silver Girls, the only adult entertainment in town. Despite both of their hectic schedules forcing them to go a week or two without seeing each other, Katie remained her best and only friend.

  "Name it. You know I've got your back," she said. "Though don't ask me to take your place at work because you want to run away and join a rock band. I can't dance."

  "All you'd have to do is shake your ass, girlfriend. The guys would throw you their money." Katie laughed and then grew serious. "My car is broken down."

  "Again?" Desiree groaned. "Where are you at?"

  "Home at the Sterling Building. I'm okay, right now, but I need a ride tonight. There's a party and I have no way of getting there. I don't want to call the others who are going for a ride and have them make a tr
ip into town, so I thought I'd ask you first. We can use the time to catch up. I'll even throw you ten dollars for the gas." Katie said.

  "What time?" Desiree leaned her hip against the counter. "It's my early night, so I'm off soon."

  "Is nine o'clock okay?"

  That gave her time to go upstairs to her apartment, take a shower to wash the smell of beer off her, and get something to eat. "Sure. I can take you."

  "Thanks, Desiree. You're the best," Katie said.

  "Don’t forget it." She smiled. "See you in a little while."

  "Okay. Bye."

  "Bye." Desiree pushed the button to disconnect the call.

  Talking to Katie, if only for a few minutes, put her in a good mood. She picked up the envelope with her night's winnings and shoved the money into her back pocket. Wanting to tell Pop about her win, she searched him out and found him by the front door.

  Her heart raced. Pop wasn't alone.

  Merk had come back.

  Unable to view Pop's face, she studied the biker.

  His unreadable expression gave her no hint of why he'd returned. She held on to the edge of the counter. His unemotional response to her, to Brent, to Pop tightened the ever-present tension in her upper back, clear up into her neck. She didn't trust him.

  Merk's ice blue gaze caught her watching. Her pulse raced. She lowered her chin, grabbed an empty mug, and stepped over to the beer spout. She filled the glass without looking or paying attention. The chore, so automatic, she served beer in her dreams. She glanced up and relaxed when Merk's attention returned to Pop and not her.

  His wide, solid stance and the T-shirt stretched across his chest probably made other men stay away from him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. If his strength and size failed to intimidate others, the nine millimeter he hid in his waistband would do the job of chasing everyone away, including her. Something about him freaked her out.

  He towered over Pop, who was five foot ten inches. Desiree carried over the mug of beer to the slot machine and placed it on top. "Here you go, Tommy. It's on the house."

  Tommy leaned over, kissed her cheek, and went back to playing. "Thanks, Desiree."

  "I'll put it on your tab." She wandered closer to the door.

  She turned to interrupt Pop and Merk's conversation and found the biker gone. She stepped in front of Pop before he could get away.

  "What did Merk want?" she asked.

  "Who?"

  Desiree raised Pop's arm and kissed the back of his hand. "You're not a very good liar."

  "But, I'm a hell of a poker player." Pop winked.

  "You won?" She stretched to her toes and grasped his arms. "How much?"

  "Nope, I didn't win." Pop moved his unlit cigar to the opposite corner of his mouth. "I set up another game and tripled the pot. I'll get my money back and more."

  She studied her grandpa. He rarely lost and when he did, he had a bigger plan. Lately, with all the games he'd played, she suspected something else going on with him. His losing streak worried her. Usually he walked away and took a break if he hit a rough patch. "What are you doing?"

  Pop leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Nothing for you to worry about. Why don't you go ahead and take the night off. It's slowing down in here and I can sit back and cover the bar."

  She planted her hand on his barrel-size chest, stopping him from walking away from her. "Pop, really, what was Merk doing here?"

  Pop glanced away from her, waved at a customer waiting at the bar, and said, "He wanted me to know he'd taken care of the problem."

  She sagged. "The tourist? I had everything under control."

  "He mentioned the man got rough with you. You know you're supposed to call me when something dangerous goes on in the bar."

  "Nothing happened."

  "I hope so." Pop swung his gaze back down to her. "Anyway, Merk wanted me to know he'd taken care of the problem."

  She inhaled swiftly. "What does that mean? Took care of the problem?"

  Pop stepped away and yelled across the bar. "Be right there, Jason."

  Left alone to wonder what Merk had done to Brent, she took Pop's advice and headed for the back stairs. She unlocked the first room on the left side of the hallway and walked straight to the couch. Ever since Merk and his crazy friend showed up, Pop acted as if he was on a secret mission to clean the bikers of their money.

  The risks grew too high. Pop's money would run out.

  She kicked off her shoes. If Pop wanted to gamble, she'd become more diligent on who came inside the bar. The biker who kept winning needed to leave, and take his friend with him. Pop's losing streak needed to end.

  Chapter Three

  The fire snaked out of the pit in Cam's front yard and licked the summer sky. Merk stood with his left boot planted on a standing log. The club meeting ended twenty minutes ago. He usually left the property the moment Cam stepped away from the fire and the Moroad MC members started partying.

  Tonight, he couldn't make himself walk away.

  Jeremy, his only living relative and his dead sister's kid, competed with Bear in a burn out in the road, blocking his escape. He tried to fulfill Christina's wishes of staying away from his nephew and that included staying out of Jeremy's path.

  He owed his president's woman that much for shooting Cam almost a year ago and scaring her.

  He put his boot on the ground and straightened his back. The hint of beer assaulted his nostrils and he opened his mouth to breathe. The time to move forward was right at his fingertips. Finding Desi still at the bar after all these years, he knew the opportunity was ripe to take back the twelve years he'd lost.

  Time had worked for and against him his whole life. This time, he wouldn't fuck up.

  The surprise offer from Pop Carlyle earlier today kept him from running in place, frustrated over his lack of progress living outside prison. He actually felt his feet moving in a direction to put him back on track, in the same spot he'd careened years ago. He'd asked for a day to think over Joe's job offer, and planned to talk to Cam tomorrow morning about getting the club's approval.

  The motorcycles shut off. Merk rolled his shoulders. As soon as the path to his Harley cleared, he'd hit the road.

  Gunner slapped him on the shoulder and stepped up beside him. Merk lifted his chin. "Motorcycle running okay?"

  "Purrs like a lion." Gunner hooked Jessie's waist, brought her around to his front, and continued talking to Merk. "How's it working out living with Jacko?"

  Merk shrugged. "He's still the psycho I bunked with in the cell."

  "It's nice to have consistency." Gunner laughed. "Hit me up this week if you want to go for a ride."

  "Yeah, man, I'll do that." Merk watched Gunner walk away with Jessie.

  Gunner had taken Merk's place as vice president for Moroad when he'd had his patch removed for shooting Cam. He ran his hand over his mouth. While he respected the position, he often wondered if Cam picked Gunner for his bodyguard skills. His strength more than made up for his lack of experience working the inside of the prison.

  "Hey, Merk. Want a beer?" Johnson held up two bottles and walked to the fire.

  Merk shook his head. "I'm good."

  Already stripped of his shirt, wearing only his vest and a pair of jeans falling off his hips, Johnson weaved on a half-drunk. "Bro, you need to relax."

  Merk hooked his fingers in his pocket. The urge to take one drink and wash away the tension running across his shoulders tempted him more than he wanted to admit. He'd battled addiction his whole life. Every time he walked away from prison, he used alcohol to escape living on the outside as a felon. He was getting too fucking old and needed to stay sober.

  On the inside of the Cycle fence, he was respected, feared, and left alone. In society, he struggled. He found most people untrustworthy and harsh on their judgments of him.

  "See that?" Johnson pointed up into the dark sky, the stars bright. "Freedom, brother. There's nothing anyone can do to stop you from having some fun."
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  "Right." Merk gazed over at Cam standing on the porch, his arm slung across Christina's shoulders. "I'm heading out."

  "Hey." Johnson plopped down on an empty lawn chair. "Take one of the Moroad women with you. You ignore them too long and damn Willy will be mooching in on all the fun. The asshole needs to go without pussy for a while. He's going soft."

  Cam's gaze found Merk. That was his signal to leave. "I'll let you take up my slack."

  Johnson laughed, concentrating on getting the beer to his mouth. Merk walked around the fire. He lifted his chin to Cam, keeping his eyes off Christina. He privately wished her well, but failed to support her decision to stay with his president. He'd tried to help Christina, because she deserved better. Just like his sister deserved better. Roni understood the pull Cam had being the president of Moroad and wanted Jeremy away from the club. In the end, her addictions got the best of her and Cam ended up with Jeremy anyway.

  A car drove up the road. He stopped at his bike and pulled out a cigarette. Circumstances seemed to block his path all fucking night, and he'd need to wait until the car parked before he could leave.

  Not recognizing the dark blue Jeep, he sat on his bike and sent a stream of smoke above his head. The delay only set his jaw to aching. He had nowhere to go, he only wanted gone. Away from everyone, so he could think.

  Katie exited the passenger side of the vehicle, ran around to the driver's side, and motioned with her hand for the driver to roll the window down. "Hang on a few minutes and I'll make sure I have a ride home."

  Katie turned, smiled and waved at Merk, and walked over to the porch. Merk looked back at the Jeep. His pulsed accelerated.

  With the moonlight on her face, Desi peered out the front windshield after Katie. A flash of warmth filled his chest. The previously confident woman he'd encountered at the bar bit down on her lower lip and frowned, unaware of him fifteen feet away from her. She had a right to worry about showing up on Moroad MC property without an invite.

  Katie and the other Moroad women weren't allowed to bring others along to the parties without prior approval. He got off his Harley and walked over to the Jeep. The moment Desi turned and caught sight of him, her eyes widened in surprise.