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  Rumor

  Black Rebel Riders' MC

  Book 2

  Glenna Maynard

  Rumor © 2014 Glenna Maynard

  This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, business, establishments, locals or events is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, business, organizations or locals is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction Harley Davidson.

  Dedication

  This series is dedicated to some people who have meant the world to me. Their love of Harley Davidson and rock 'n roll is something I will always carry with me. Foxy Roxie, Elmer Lee (Cowboy) and my parents Glen & Alice. Thank you for all of the wonderful influences you placed upon me. Roxie, Elmer and dad I hope you all are riding on that highway in the sky.

  Haunted by the past Grim's story continues in Rumor; book two of The Black Rebel Riders' MC. Grim is trying to keep the one promise he made Red, finding her daughter Sarah. Things are heating up between a club once thought to be a friend and an old enemy. Grim has to decide where his loyalties truly lie. Will Grim keep his promise and keep his patch?

  ** Sometimes, the lines that bond you are the ones that threaten to end your very existence. Loyalties are tested and lines are crossed, leaving a trail of despair on the highway to hell.

  'Rumor has it that, one day the Grim Reaper is going to come for you.' Those are the words that have reverberated through my head most of my life. You know that saying about becoming a bird so you can fly away, I too want to be a bird, and I want to fly far away from here... Sarah has lived a secluded life of torment and despair. She longs for the day the Grim reaper she has been raised to fear comes to end the hell she has endured.

  The Black Rebel Riders' MC is located in Drag Creek Kentucky. They are a group of outlaws who live and die by their way of life. For them it has always been about moonshine, brotherhood and motorcycles. Black Rebel Riders' MC was founded by Slim Black and Grim Jones—two friends who were looking to get out of the killing game, but with everything comes a price. A price that Slim and Grim have been paying for years for turning their backs on the Devils Rejects and starting their own MC. That price is war. Hook, the president of the Devils Rejects has been hell bent on revenge for the past twenty years, you read the beginning, now read the rest of the story...Grim.

  Part 1

  Rumor

  Chapter 1

  Somewhere West Texas

  Sarah

  'One day the Grim Reaper is going to come for you.' Those are the words that have reverberated through my head most of my life. These words are meant to scare me, to chill me to the bone, to force me into submission, but what daddy and Betty do not know is that I pray everyday that he comes for me and takes me away. You know that saying about becoming a bird so you can fly away, I too want to be a bird, and I want to fly far away from here...

  Some call my father Benji, but me—I call him Diablo, never to his face though. He is evil, and a disgusting excuse of a man; not that I would know what a good man is like, but anyone would have to be better than what I have come to know. I look over at my father and I feel nothing but hatred. He isn't a kind man or a loving father; he is viscous and ruthless and will stop at nothing to get his way. Just looking at him now makes my stomach turn. Benji was a handsome man still is, but his temper and the way he treats people makes him a monster—a Diablo. He has light blonde hair, matched with a very long beard, tattoos for days and the darkest shade of green eyes I have ever seen, sort of like the color of a pine tree.

  "Girl, get me and Uncle Squirrel another beer." Diablo takes his lighter holding it under his pipe, the fumes make me sick to my stomach, but I don't dare to complain. If I do, it only makes things worse for me and for Betty. Doing as I am told like a good girl, I get two beers from the nearly empty refrigerator. Holding my breath, I sit the beers down on the crate that sits between them in the living room, of this shack we call home; for me it is more like sitting on death row.

  Everyday I hope and I pray for Grim to come and kill me, just to end this hell. Already at the age of twelve, I yearn to be set free from this nightmare. Betty once told me she loved Grim, but that he has a darkness swirling inside him. Daddy overheard her and beat her good, threatened to cut her tongue out if she ever talked good about him again. That was three years ago, she hasn't mentioned him again. However, daddy, he tells me everyday that Grim is going to come and kill me just as he did my mother. Oh how I wish he would, maybe then I could be with my mother—be anywhere but here. I do not remember her, could not tell you what she even looked like but I know she loved me, I can feel it. When I think about her (my mother) warmness spreads over me, as if she is blanketing me with her love—a mothers love, warm, protective and guiding. Daddy keeps a box of her things locked away in his trunk, but I know better than to try to see what secrets are hidden inside.

  I take my seat on an old faded cushion in the floor between Diablo and Squirrel, and listen to the two of them trade the same old stories, they never seem to tire of rehashing.

  Uncle Squirrel makes me sick, I do not like the way he stares at me. I get the feeling Betty does not like it either. I am not sure why she stays, if I was her I would have done left long ago. Counting the tiles on the floor is the only escape I get from his stares. Two...four...six...eight dingy tiles trimmed in hate. I repeat the song in my head. It makes me think of the story daddy used to tell me about Grim; One two Grim is coming for you, three four had better lock the door, five six had better tuck you in tight, seven eight never mind it is too late... then he would tickle me and laugh. Daddy doesn't laugh anymore; his mouth is curved down in a constant frown.

  Betty makes the crate her seat and braids my hair for me, if she doesn't do it now it won't get done; everyone is always asleep when I leave for school. Sometimes I wonder if they'd even miss me if I never came back. I tried to leave once, but I thought how sad Betty would be and I didn't want to leave her alone with daddy and Squirrel. I never want to have to live with them by myself. Wouldn't wish that on anyone in the whole world, not even Billy Jacobs the boy who put a scorpion in my backpack last week at school.

  Drag Creek Kentucky

  Grim

  Settling on the stool by the bar, I remove my shirt so Inkman can give me my new marks. Rolling my shoulders and popping my neck muscles, I try to loosen up. It helps to be fully relaxed when you are getting a tattoo.

  "How many teardrops this time, Grim?" Inkman ask as he sets his equipment up, and prepares his gun. Inkman has tattooed me many times over the years. He did a portrait of Red on my back under our club's motto, 'Ride Free or Die Trying.' The portrait of her is everything she was, everything she gave me and everything I can never be. It serves as a reminder of things I will never touch.

  "Three, fucking roaches gave me the runaround," wincing as he starts the first of the three, motherfucker still goes too damn deep. The red teardrops that once marked my face now travel beyond my neck and down my chest. The past ten years I have been hunting Benji and Squirrel to no avail. Romeo stepped up and took my place as VP. After losing Red, my heart wasn't in wearing that patch anymore, still isn't. What little of a heart I did have died the moment she took her last breath.

  Foxie comes traipsing towards me, strutting her shit, looks l
ike she is pissed. Haven't been here one day and shit is already tense. "School called, wantin' you to come down there. Baby is in trouble again." Her long black hair is pinned on top of her head covered in a black bandanna; her lips stained come fuck me red. She is dressed to be admired, black lace bra, nipples flashing between the barely there fabric, short shorts, with her cheeks hanging out, begging to be pinched, paired with a pair of knee-high black leather boots with silver studs covering them.

  "What's the damage?" My eyes cannot help but roam over her tight body; you would never know she ever birthed children if it weren't for the faint stretch marks on her hips. Just by looking at Foxie, you know not to mess with her. Slim's brand takes up her whole left arm, his name is spelled down it in big bold black English block style lettering. The rest of her body is a painted canvas as well, her right arm has a full sleeve, her stomach has a flower garden stretching all the way across, wrapping around her body in a band, dipping down to the crack of her heart shaped ass. Her nose is pierced, her nipples too, among other things. Crazy bitch even has a garter tattooed around her left thigh.

  "She cut off a pigtail of one of the girls in her class for stealing her smelly pencil."

  "Christ on a cracker," I take a long hard drink of shine. Kid is meaner than shit—meaner than a two-headed rattlesnake...Don't know what to do with her I can barely look at her. She looks so much like Red, has her fiery attitude too. She is only one thing that keeps me sane, other than hunting for the motherfuckers that stole away my world.

  "That's not all she did. Told the principle that her daddy was home and he is a mean SOB and if he even thinks of putting her in detention that her daddy will make him go cold." Hands on her hips, pursing her lips she waits for me to say something, anything. Foxie isn't exactly happy with me. Her and Slim have been taking care of Baby for me since she entered this world—ten years ago.

  "Fuck, she spends too much time with Rebel and Striker. Little hellions are a bad influence." Inkman backs away knowing that Foxie and me are about to go round and round, if it weren't for her taking care of Baby, bitch would have been put in her place long ago. She is mad at me for missing Baby's birthday last month, but fuck, I had shit to take care of, not as if the kid noticed I was missing. Bought the kid anything she asked for, but that wasn't good enough in Foxie's eyes.

  "You can't go blaming my boys. If you were here taking care of her instead of off chasing the demons and ghosts that chain you, she might not act out so damn much. The girl needs her daddy, Grim." Baby isn't the only reason Foxie wants me here. Made the mistake of falling into bed with Foxie a few years back, fucking bitch has been hanging her tongue out at my dick ever since, wants shit I can't give her. My dick still gets hard, but my heart beats black. I was born a bastard and I will die one too.

  Getting up in her face as I spit my words at her, she knows not to step to me, "What Baby needs is the one thing I can't give her. I can't bring her mom back and I will never love another—won't ever claim another bitch." She needs to realize that there will never be anything between us but the one night my dick needed to get wet.

  "You're so stubborn Grim. You got your head so far up your own ass you can't see past all of your own shit. Stop living in the past—step up and be a man!" My fist is clinched, palm is twitching, and she just crossed a line. My hand flattens and I raise my arm ready to bitch smack her.

  "Foxie, get your ass back in the kitchen," Slim bellows from the doorway to the back. Motherfucker just saved her a world of hurt. Things between them have seen better days, always knew them bringing strange in their bed would one day bite them in the ass. Slim has him another bitch, got him a young thing, calls her Wild Cherry. Says she taste like fine, wild cherry shine, I think the whore is sour, but she is a decent fuck. Slim nods his chin in my direction, his blonde hair showing flecks of grey, hints of his age are starting to show in the crinkle of his eyes. He is smoking a joint, one hand shoved in the pockets of his faded jeans.

  Before turning on her heel, she sneers, "one day I won't be here to take care of that girl, who is she going to depend on when I leave this place?" Her empty threats don't bear no weight with me; she ain't going any-damn-where. Slim would rather see her in the ground that let her walk out on him and the boys.

  Slim and I haven't been the best of brothers these past few years, still don't trust him, what once was is no more. Nevertheless, the motherfucker did keep his word about not dealing drugs for Hook and the Devils Rejects.

  The shine business has been good to us though, if something ever happened to Romeo we would be belly up in a few months. Motherfucker isn't old but he ain't getting any younger and him being the only one with the recipes don't sit well with me. Been trying to get him to write that shit down and put it in a safety deposit box, but the dipshit is stubborn. Fucker finally started showing the ropes to Rebel and Striker, somebody has to know how to run this club, might as well start training them now.

  Cracking my knuckles and popping my back, I get ready to ride to the school. Baby loves when I pick her up on my chopper. Most of the time she cannot stand me, but a ride on my motorcycle and a chocolate milkshake from the dairy drive-in should warm her up to me a little. I know I haven't been around for her in the ways a father should, but a man like me don't know what to do with a little girl. Last time I came back from the road, she wanted nothing to do with me, no more than I did her. A part of me once wondered if I should have let her die with Red, but then she looked at me with those damn eyes—the eyes that haunt every fiber of my being. I knew then in that moment that I made the right choice, even if it kills me to look at her. Every time I look at Baby, it is like watching Red die all over again.

  No matter how hard I have tried, I can't let Red's death go. She showed me a part of me that I never knew I had. So many wasted nights I have tried to find that feeling again. And no matter how many bitches I fuck or miles I travel, I will never be able to get that piece of me back. That piece of me was buried with Gypsy Red. When I was with Red I had peace, nothing can compare to the sensation I felt when we were one, when I was buried so deep inside of her.

  **

  Entering the elementary school, I feel so out of place as the sound of my boots echo down the hallway. This old hole in the wall of a school looks the same as it did thirty years ago when I attended it. Peeling gray walls, dingy speckled tile, flickering fluorescent lights. I can hear Baby mouthing off just inside the next door. The secretary takes one look at me and leads me into the principles office without a word.

  "Mr. Jones, take a seat please. I am sure you are well aware of the fact that Baby has an anger management problem. Now me and Miss Hughes," he motions to a stuck-up looking broad, lace top, pencil skirt—looks like she's never had a good lay. "We believe Baby needs outside help to learn to control her anger." He hands me a card for a local child therapist.

  "If Baby continues to have these outbursts, we are going to have to take action." Uptight bitch tries not to be intimidated by my gruff appearance. My hair has gotten longer and my beard could use a good shave, but don't rightly matter what you look like when you are on the hunt for vengeance.

  Baby pipes in with her smart mouth, "I don't need nothing, that little bitch Susie needs to lay off my pencils. She knows strawberry is my favorite." Her arms are crossed and she doesn't understand why everyone is looking at her over her outburst. I could care less if she calls the kid a bitch, but I need Baby to be in school. Can't be home to teach the hellcat myself and I know Foxie can't handle her all the time.

  "I'll take care of it," I jerk Baby up from her seat by her straps on her pony backpack. "Come on kid, I'll buy ya a milkshake."

  Making sure her pink brain bucket is secured tight and that she is comfortable I smoke my tires just a little as the final bell rings, I know she loves it, only reason I do it. Her tiny hands hold on to the belt loops of my jeans and that's when I notice her bracelet on her left hand, right there dangling across her wrist is Red's engagement ring. The skull and ros
es just screams Red to me, it looks just like the brand she had tattooed on her arm that marked her as mine.

  "Let's go Grim, burn rubber old man." Who is she calling old man, I ain't old, not by a long shot. I try to shake away the fading memories of Red that play out in my mind, like they are on a blurry screen, but even when I'm not thinking of her, she is somehow always in the back of my mind. How can you still feel someone with you after this many years? Some nights I lie awake and I could swear I can feel her breath tickling my ear.

  My girl, my Baby is the only other woman who will ever ride on the back of my chopper, even if she does love pink. Not sure, what it is with her, everything has to be pink—not just any pink but cotton candy pink. Never knew there was a difference until Baby came along. I always thought pink was pink.

  Watching her is so motherfucking hard, she is sitting on the picnic table slurping her strawberry milkshake, dressed like a pink nightmare—pink chucks, pink skirt thing that looks like something a ballerina would wear and a glittered pink tank top. Her red hair shines bright like a flaming torch in the sunlight. Little shit even has her momma's freckles and creamy skin, nothing about the girls says she is mine she is all Red, from her head to her toes.

  Knowing I need to talk to her about school I take a seat beside of her. "Baby, you can't go around doing and saying whatever in the hell ya want, least not while you are at school." She pouts, shrinking away from me, picking at the faded green peeling paint on the table. "Do you want a chili bun?" I try changing the subject. I don't know how to be her dad. Her goddamn bracelet catches my eyes as it twinkles in the sun, yup I am ready to get back on the road. Not sure how much of this I can take.