hand into the pocket of his jeans and kicked at the grass.
“I’m not,” he grumbled.
“Where do you like to go on your motorcycle?”
“Everywhere. Riding is number one, and we hit the roads a lot.”
“We?”
“My club.”
“You’re in a motorcycle club.” It was a statement, not a question. “I should’ve guessed it with the leather jacket, tattoos, and badass attitude.” She was razzing him again. If she were standing there, he would’ve pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard.
“I’m surprised Zach didn’t tell you I was in a club.”
“No, he didn’t warn me about that.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “What’s the name of your club?”
“The Insurgents.”
Behind him, there was a loud whistle. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Klutch walked toward him, shaking his head.
“What the fuck, man?”
Smokey held up his hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“I gotta go,” he told Ashley.
“Okay.”
“Are you home yet?”
“Yes. I’ve been sitting in my car in the garage talking to you.”
“Remember to put the alarm on. It won’t do you any good if you don’t use it.”
“I’ll definitely use it. Thanks again for watching out for me.”
“No problem.”
“Dude, you need to get your ass in gear!” Klutch shouted.
“Your friend sounds mad, so you better go. Have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
Smokey slid the phone into his pocket and sprinted toward Klutch.
“Banger’s gonna be pissed if we miss Ray. Who the fuck were you talkin’ to?”
“It was business. Is Rags ready to roll?”
“We’ve both been ready for a while. You wanna drive?”
Smokey nodded. They walked in silence until they reached the lot, where Rags was already waiting near Smokey’s SUV. The men had decided not to take their motorcycles because they didn’t want to tip off Ray that they were coming.
Smokey settled into the driver’s seat while Rags slid into the back and Klutch into the front. Lighting a joint, Rags held it out to Smokey who took a hit before pulling out of the lot. During the ride, Klutch rambled on about the big busted woman he’d hooked up with earlier that day, while Rags’s questions and guffaws egged him on even more.
Staring straight ahead, their voices faded away as he thought of Ashley. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about the black-haired spitfire. Never had a woman gotten such a reaction from him in that way. Well, maybe Brenda, but that had been years ago. He’d been a lost fourteen-year-old living on the streets when he’d met the thirty-two-year old. Taking a shine to him, she’d invited him to crash at her place for the night, which had turned into almost a year. The kindhearted prostitute opened him up to a world of pleasure and caring.
A smile ghosted his lips as he recalled her being his first crush. A few years later, though, he’d realized what he felt was lust and gratitude toward her for taking him in. He still remembered how upset she’d been when she got the news that her old man had been released from prison. She’d sobbed as she told him he had to go, and that her old man would hurt him real bad if he found him in the apartment. So, he packed up his stuff and headed out. At first, he’d missed her. But to his surprise, it had faded quickly, and soon she was nothing but a memory tucked into the back of his mind.
After Brenda, Smokey had never felt anything but lust and kindness toward women. That was, until Ashley, and he couldn’t figure out why.
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Dammit!”
“What the fuck, dude?” Klutch said.
Rags leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Smokey grumbled. “Just thinking about shit.”
“Like Ray?” Rags asked.
“Nah.”
He turned down a desolate road dotted with open fields and dying buildings that had once been teeming with life and vitality during their heyday of leather production. The area had once been a vibrant mainstay in the town’s manufacturing community until global competition and stricter environmental regulations dealt a fatal blow to the tanning industry. Now, all that was left were faded signs of forgotten businesses painted on crumbling brick walls.
Several rabbits scattered when Smokey parked under an oak tree. Streaks of orange and pink painted the sky as the sun began its descent toward the horizon.
The three men walked down an alley overgrown with weeds, choked with broken tree branches and strewn with debris. Ray Arrowood ran a small clothing manufacturing company out of one of the warehouses. Like many small business owners, he