Renegade Riders:Forbidden Flame

1-Crow

Santa Monica, California

~OCEANO~

The sun had barely kissed the horizon, painting the sky a fiery shade of orange as I parked my rust stained pickup in the alley behind the Murder of Crows bar. My heart hammered in my chest like a drum in a marching band, and a mix of excitement and trepidation coursed through my veins. I was stepping out on a limb, into foreign territory.

Mom had been in the ground less than a week now, having died in a car accident, and I’d been thrust into becoming the bread-winner. A situation that scared the hell out of me, but one I had to undertake. There was no other choice.

The Murder of Crows, where I had been directed to inquire in my search, was an institution in our little coastal town: its neon sign a flickering beacon to some of the hardest and toughest men to drive the streets. The building itself was a relic of the past, its brick façade bearing the scars of a hundred bar brawls, and the whispers of a thousand secrets.

As I reached for the door, I could feel the interior’s coolness through the metal. A fleeting thought of, Holy hell, what the electric bill must be in this place, titillated through my mind. As I placed my hand on the knob, I could feel the beat of the music playing inside, its soulfulness wrapping around me from a foot outside the door.

Shoring up my car-salesman attitude to talk my way into employment, I took a deep breath and pushed the door open, then stepped through to biker haven.

The inside of the bar was alive with the smell of stale beer and the thud of pool balls. A thick, heavy cloud of smoke clung to the low ceiling and floated around the patrons; a motley crew of leather jackets and tattoos.

The music in the place was a raw, soulful blues that seemed to echo the very essence of the bar itself. As I shifted my gaze toward the bar counter, I took in the man behind it. “My, oh, my,” I whispered to myself.

The man’s eyes were a piercing shade of blue that seemed to see through the very soul of anyone who dared to meet his gaze. His black hair, pulled back in a ponytail, revealed a sharp jawline and a scar that traced the line of his left cheekbone, but the scar took nothing away from his looks. He was one fine-ass piece of candy.

As if sensing the presence of someone new in the bar, he glanced in my direction, making eye contact with me. He raised an eyebrow, and in a voice that was a warm honed rumble, he asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm here about the job," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Melanie sent me. You know where I can find Crow?"

The man looked me up and down, his expression unreadable. "You got him,” he stated. Then, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he asked, “You know what this place is, right?"

I nodded, my ass overloading my mouth as my sarcastic sense of humor popped out and I quipped, "Umm, yeah… It’s a bar?"

Crow leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing. "It's more than that, darlin'. This is the heart of the Renegade Riders. And I'm not just the owner. I'm their president."

The revelation hung in the air between us. My stomach knotted—my mom had warned me about the dangers of places like this and the gang life, but I had no choice. My little brother’s medical bills were piling up, and this was the only job I’d found that promised to pay enough to keep us afloat.

Fidgeting just a bit, and voice barely more than a whisper, I offered, "Umm…Phoenix was my dad.”

Stilling for the count of a heartbeat, Crow slowly set the glass he’d been drying on top of the counter, then dropping the towel beside it, he looked up, his gaze penetrating. “So, you're Phoenix's kid, huh?"

"Yeah," I replied, my eyes never leaving his. "And I really need this job."

The bar was a place where the line between right and wrong blurred. I’d heard of The Renegade Riders of course—a notorious motorcycle gang known for their fierce loyalty and their propensity for trouble. The kind of people I’d always been warned to stay away from, but desperation had a way of blurring lines. And I was desperate.

Crow picked up another glass beginning to dry it, before glancing back at me, he rumbled, “Well? What are you waiting on? Get your ass back here.”

The evening passed in orders and chaos as I learned the ropes. The bikers eyed me warily, whispering among themselves about the new girl being the daughter of Phoenix. I had no difficulty in recognizing they were a tight-knit group, bound by loyalty and a shared history that I could only guess at.

As the night grew later, time marching forward with a slowness that almost drove me mad, the mood in the bar suddenly shifted with the arrival of the Serpents—a rival gang of the Renegades. One moment the bar was swaddled in an easy going atmosphere, the next, it was enveloped in a cold blanket of uneasiness.

As the Serpent’s leader, Snake, slithered in with a sinister smile, it didn’t quite reach his cold, dead eyes as, his gaze falling on me, it lingered with a silent promise of trouble to come.

Crow, ever the calm, remained stoic, his eyes never leaving the mirror behind the counter as he watched the reflection of the room.

When he finally did approach Snake, the air grew hypersensitive with friction as, voice emerging in a low warning growl that sent a shiver down my spine, he asked, "What do you want?"

Snake, lips pursing in a sarcastic sneer, muttered, "Oh…just thought I'd drop by and pay my respects.” Then with a slight hand gesture in my direction, he continued, “You know, to the daughter of the man who betrayed us."

With his taunt, the room fell silent. The dull roar of the jukebox and the clinking of glasses seemed to fade into the background, and suddenly, I felt like every patron’s eyes were on me, as if I were standing in a spotlight of accusation and curiosity.

"Phoenix had no part in your mess," Crow stated, his tone even. "And neither does she."

"Huh! Really? Well, we'll see about that," Snake sneered, before downing the remainder of his glass of whisky, he slithered back out the door.

The silence after Snake and the Serpents left was sound, only shattered by the growl of bikes coming to life outside the bar before they roared off. As if the auditory eruption were a signal to the patrons, they returned to their drinks and conversations again, seemingly without a second thought to what had occurred moments earlier.

Crow turned to me, his expression unreadable. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer than I’d heard it all night.

"Yeah," I lied, turning my attention back to the counter. Snake’s appearance had just added another twist in this messed up world called my life.

After Crow walked away, I let out a small expulsion of breath, swiping the cloth across the countertop again. I had a feeling I hadn’t just stepped my foot in a pile of trouble, I’d thrown my whole body into it. Mom had never really told me what had caused everything between her and my dad to go sour, but by everyone’s reaction around here to his name, he’d ruffled more than just my mom’s feathers. But I wasn’t here to smooth anyone’s plumage, I was here to take care of my brother, and that was it.

From a very young age, mom had always told me, if I ever needed anything to look Crow up, and throw Dad’s name out to him. I didn’t know what the connection between them had been, but it seemed fate was determined to make sure whatever it was, it wiggled its way down to me. What were the chances, I wondered, that Dad and Crow had known one another, and that Melanie and I would become friends our senior year of high school, as well that Crow would be needing help at the same time I was desperate for employment. Pretty damn slim, I figured. Yet, here I was.