Triad: A Three Way Love Story Page 10

  By lunchtime I managed to collect another three thousand dollars in unpaid repairs. I test drove a brand new bright red Jeep and refilled my birth control pills. I’d already missed a few and didn’t want to take my chances.

  My next stop was a place called “Chico’s Bar”, four different accounts listed it as their address, and they collectively owed about six grand. The bar itself was a dismal little cinder block building with just one small front facing window. The neon sign in front flashed “ICO’S” since the CH lights had long gone dark. My pick up was the only four wheeled vehicle in a parking lot full of neatly parked bikes--all backed in and the front tires facing in the same direction. It seemed very OCD to me. The parking lot was surrounded by six foot chain link fencing and razor wire with very prominent “NO TRESPASSING” signs every few feet. Very welcoming, I thought to myself.

  I pulled open a squeaking metal door and sauntered up to the bar, planting my butt on a torn red vinyl and chrome stool. The place got quiet suddenly. Very, very quiet. They must not see alot of women here. “Hi there, I’m looking for Butch, Taco, Lefty and Ruger. Are any of them around?” The bartender in a very tall bald man with a handlebar moustache. He stared at me but didn’t make a move or say a word. I tried a new tactic, “I’m not here to make trouble or anything. I work with Grey and Mick’s bike repair. I’m just here about their accounts”.

  Out of my peripheral vision, I noticed that the men in the bar were closing in on me. Three guys who had been gathered around the pool table dropped their game and moved in like they were hunting prey. A table full in the corner dropped their cards on the table, slid out of their booth and circled behind me. They all wore kuttes like Sammy’s MC, but something told me that these guys were a bit more hard core. “Listen, maybe you could tell them I stopped by. Um, I’m all out of cards, or I’d leave one. Next time.” I slid off the stool and took a single step backwards before I ran into a brick wall. Actually a brick wall would have been softer. Fuck. I am in trouble.

  I turned around to face the man behind me and I find out that I am, in fact, surrounded by bikers. Chaos, their kuttes say. The O in their name looks like a bomb and there are flames around it. A very large man with questionable hygiene practices, evident by his long greasy long hair. approaches me slowly. Two of his compadres close in on either side of me.

  I take a step back and my ass hits the stool. I have no escape. The brick wall man pulls the dirty toothpick out of his mouth and leans forward his nose in my hair. The bastard fucking smells me? He runs his fingers across my scalp and fists a handful of my locks and breaths in my scent. WTF. I’m terrified and revolted. I put my hand up between us and try to show my sass, “Back off buddy, I’m just here to collect on some bills. I’m not here to start shit with you.” He still has a handful of my hair in his hands and leans in again for another long whiff. This time I feel his tongue against my ear. He has a voice like nails on a blackboard, “Shit has been started woman.” My skin is crawling. The rest of the boys are laughing and making crude comments. “Fuck her on the pool table, Ruger.” “I get sloppy seconds.” “Make her suck your dick.” I’m really in trouble. I can barely breath and panic has set in. I know that I’m about to get gang raped by the hair sniffer and his pals.

  A voice from behind my new fan club stops them all in their tracks. “Back off. Now.” Brick wall drops my hair and moves away from me. The rest of the guys part like the red sea and I find myself face to face with their president, according to the patch on his chest. A muscular man, with an air of authority and perhaps danger. Despite the fact that most of the men in the room tower above him in stature. He is clearly in charge. They respect and more importantly for me, they fear him. A long scar stretches down from his right eye to his chin which adds to his menacing look. His hair is jet black, with a few random strands of silver.

  He looks familiar to me, but I can’t quite place him. When he walks towards me, and I lift my chin and attempt to stare him down despite the fact that I’m shaking uncontrollably. He stops in front of me and looks me up and down, licking his bottom lip. “Take her to my office.” Oh fuck. Two of the founding members of my fan club, brick wall and pool player, grab me by the elbows. My feet are off the floor as I am half carried and half dragged towards the back of the dive bar and up the stairs. “Put me down, asshole!” I’m pissed off and screaming like a banshee. “God damn you, son of a bitch I said put me the fuck down.” The more I yell the more they look amused. “This one will be a screamer boss.”

  Boss man unlocks the door with an electronic fob of some sort and the big guys deposit me in a chair. He takes a seat across from me, behind a big oak desk. “Leave”. He dismisses them with a wave of his hand. “Call us when you’re done with her.” Terror doesn’t begin to describe the way I feel. My hands are shaking, and I try to control them by gripping the arms of the chair i’m in. I look around for a weapon or a means of escape. There are no windows. No other door. Bike posters on stark walls and a bottle of Crown Royal and a glass on the desk.

  Boss man is staring at me. For the longest time he doesn’t say a word and the silence is awkward. My tension is mounting by the second. He leans back in his chair and finally speaks in a quiet deep voice with a hint of a Spanish accent, “Why are you in my bar?” “I’m not here looking for trouble. I swear. I told them that downstairs. I’m collecting on some repair debts your guys have with Grey and Mick. I’m looking for Butch, Taco, Lefty and Ruger. They owe money. That’s all.”

  He picked up his phone. “Send up Butch, Taco, Lefty and Ruger.” and hung up. We stared at each other silently. My leg jiggled nervously and I still had a death grip on the arms of the creaking oak chair.

  I heard the four of them stomping their way up the rickety steps like a herd of angry buffalo. They knocked respectfully and he hit a buzzer on his desk to open the door.

  The four of them filled the room. My anxiety spiked again and I feel very small in a room full of giants who want to fuck me on a pool table. Brickwall was the spokesperson, Ruger, his patch said “ENFORCER”. I have no idea what that means and I don’t want to know. It sounds very bad.

  “Do you guys owe money for bike repairs? To Mick and Grey?” “Probably Ambush, they’ve done work for me in the past, They’ve done work for most of the guys.” Boss man nodded and looked back at me. “Tell them what they owe.” My hands openly shake as gave them their invoices from the folder in my bag. “Pay the lady.” They didn’t hesitate. Wallets that were chained to back pockets opened up quickly and the desk in front of me quickly piled with cash. “Interest. With interest”, Ambush, my new best friend advises. They each threw a few more bills on the desk. “Leave”. They quickly exited the room.

  I straightened out the bills, not bothering to count it. “Thank you, um, sir? I’ll just be on my way. I appreciate it.” I stood up. “Sit.” I did. Immediately. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Ambush? Well, you do look very familiar to me, but I just can’t seem to place you.” He extended his hand “Damien Chacon.” I shook his hand. “Maybe you don’t know me. Maybe you know someone closely related to me. Someone who looks alot like me.” He smiled across the table at me and I pulled my hand back in shock. FUCK AN A!

  He knew that I knew the instant I saw his smile. Even with the distortion caused by the scar, I could see it clearly, it was undeniable. It was in his face. Oh shit! It was in the eyes, the hair and the solid jaw. I was sitting across from Mick’s mystery sperm donar father. How did I miss this? If Damien wore a beard and didn’t have the scar and the stress lines around his eyes, they were a perfect match.

  “Holy fucking hell, you’re Mick’s daddy!?”

  “So you’re fucking my son and his buddy at the same time. How’s that going for you?” “Excellent, thanks for asking”, I shot back sarcastically, “So you’ve been hiding from your responsibilities as a father for your son’s entire life. How’s that going for you?”

  Damien leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly,
his hands gripping the armrests, to the point of tension climbing up his forearms, “Not by my choice.” “Belle?” His expression didn’t change and the tension didn’t alleviate. He nodded slightly, “Belle.” I’m feeling light headed and need a little liquid courage.

  I leaned forward, casually, like I’m not really scared enough to pee my pants, and poured myself a shot of Crown from the bottle on the desk. I shoot it quickly down my throat. The burn slides down into my stomach and a familiar warmth spreads slowly through my limbs. “She must have something pretty serious on you to hold this over your head all these years.” I slammed the glass down and leaned back. The ball was back in his court.

  It was Damien’s turn to pour himself a shot. He swirled it a few times, staring into the amber liquid. “You could say that, yeah.” He swallowed the shot and slammed the glass down between us. Pulling out a set of keys, he unlocked the desk drawer and set a black metal cash box in front of him. Opening it, he stared into for a second before pulling out a pile of pictures in various sizes and formats. Some were black and white. Some of them were color. A few were old school Polaroids, while some were digital prints. Most looked like casual shots, although there were several school pictures and professionally taken photos included.

  Without looking at me he spoke, “I didn’t want it to be like this. I wanted my son. I still want my son in my life.” He dropped a photo in front of me. Baby Mick in the hospital, wrapped in a receiving blanket and sleeping in a clear lucite crib. He had jet black hair even then but it was fine and spikey. One after another, Mick’s life unfolded in front of me--riding a red tricycle, sucking ice cream out of the bottom of the cone, first day of kindergarten with a cartoon character lunch box, class photos from almost every year, little league with a bat held high behind his ear, playing the trumpet in band, Junior Varsity and Varsity baseball, prom and Marine Corp uniform. The last one is Mick, Grey and I at the MC BBQ. Both of them have their arms around me. I’m resting my head against Mick’s chest. We look happy and relaxed.

  From a white envelope, he drops one more photo on the table. It was him and Belle. She looked the same but had less makeup and much bigger hair. They were both fresh faced kids, young and in love, by the look of it. Damien’s face was without the long scar. Belle looked less angry that she does now, in fact, she looked really happy. She was obviously pregnant and sitting on the lap of the man who was currently sitting across from me. He had his arm around her, holding her close to him, with his hand resting on the side of her belly. Damien was a few years younger than as Mick is now, and but the resemblance is uncanny. I can’t stop staring at the photo in my hands.

  Then the bomb drops.

  “I want you to be the one that tells him. It’s about time he knows the truth.”

  Wait a second. What? I can’t even begin to process what he just said.

  “Why?” The most logical place to start. Why me? Why now?

  “Because you wandered into my bar. Because you are my loophole. Because he is a grown ass man now. Because this bullshit has gone on long enough. Because you love my son and hate his mother. Do you want me to keep going?”

  “Loophole? I’m a loophole?” “I have a signed agreement between Belle and I. She agreed to refrain from ever mentioning certain incidents that occurred during a certain time frame, and I agreed to never personally tell our son the truth about his parentage, nor are members of my MC allowed to do so. You, baby girl, are the loophole”. “Mick calls me baby girl”, I mused.

  “Tell me about my son.”

  I poured another shot. “Mick is a good man. He has a sensitive soul. He cares about the people around him. He stopped to pick me up when I was crying in the rain when a hundred other cars just drove by. We share peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the middle of the night. He loves reality tv, but won’t admit that he watches it. He can fix anything, most of the time he can tell by the sound what’s wrong with it.” I down the shot. Two is plenty. I want courage not inebriation. This is a bad time to get hammered but damn it tasted good.

  “We talked about fathers once over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the middle of the night. I think he would want to know.” I made a decision. “I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him that you’re his daddy, but on one condition.” I push the glass back across the desk and he refills it for himself.

  “Name it. Money? Drugs? Protection?” I chortled. “Nope. Just one little thing. You promise me that you will not try to drag him into Chaos. He doesn’t want the MC life. Never has. Leave him out of it”. Damien’s eyes narrowed and he stared at me, holding the glass in front of his mouth, contemplating my demand. Have we hit a stalemate? Was that Damien’s plan? Does he want Mick to join the MC?

  “You surprise the fuck out of me. I’d give you a blank check.” I leaned towards him, halfway into his face, “I don’t want your fucking check. I want Mick to be happy.” He slammed the shot and leaned forward, bringing us face to face, “sounds like a woman in love”. I didn’t respond. Was I in love or just heavily in “like” or perhaps lost in lust?

  “Why didn’t you have Grey tell him? Why me?” Damien grinned a little, “I thought about it. I watched them for a long time. Grey doesn’t have emotions. If he does, he hides them well. You do. You’ll do it gently. You’ll make him understand. You’re much better suited for the job.” He sorted through the photos and handed me a few, including the one of him and Belle. “Show him these. Make sure he knows I was there, always in the shadows. Give me your phone.”

  I rummaged through my purse and handed him my new phone. He programmed his number in as “Damien”, not as Ambush. As of right now there are three numbers in my phone. His, Mick’s and Greys. We spent the next few hours discussing Mick, and Mick/Grey and me/Mick/Grey. Damien called downstairs and ordered Kobe Beef Burgers from the bar kitchen. I was impressed with the quality. A prospect delivered the tray. He seemed slightly disappointed that I was not tied naked to the chair and performing blow jobs on demand. The medium-rare burgers were served on a super soft home baked roll with caramelized onions, Shiitake mushrooms, and with a side of crispy hand cut french fries covered in coarse ground black pepper and sea salt. Damien assured me that it was his private stock, and not the regular menu. It didn't even need hot sauce. He even ate like Mick.

  “Don’t come in here alone again.” he chastised me the same way that I knew the guys were going to do when I got home. “If I hadn’t seen you walk in on my security system, you might have found yourself the new Chaos fucktoy.” “You condone rape?” “Fuck no, but some of these guys have much looser definitions of rape than civilians. Call me first, ok? I’ll keep you safe.” “I promise. I have to admit I thought that Ruger was going to eat me. Not like licking my pussy, more like with fucking Fava beans and a nice Chianti”, I said in my best Hannibal Lechner voice. He laughed out loud at that one. “He likes to smell people. Weird little kink”. “Gee, do you think so? If I didn’t walk into you quaint little establishment today, what was your plan?”

  He folded his hands in front of him and thought about his answer, “Some of my eyes out there watched you guys at the BBQ the other day. I considered having you kidnapped.” “What the fuck, Damien?!? That’s a major felony I think, and I sincerely doubt I would have decided helping you was a good idea if you had your guys knock me out and throw me in the trunk of a car! Really bad plan!” He smirked, “believe me Joss, if I had you kidnapped you would have had no idea what happened until you woke up. My guys have much better skills than that.” “That’s some seriously creepy shit.” He nodded and changed the subject quickly.

  “How’d you end up the collections bitch?” I gave him the abridged version of my story and how I met my boys. “You’re telling me that a week ago they found you crying in the mud on a street corner and took you home with them?” “Yes, that is exactly what I’m telling you.” “So is your relationship with the guys a rebound? Something to take your mind off of what you lost?”

  “Shit Damien, it start
ed that way, I guess. I’m not going to lie. I needed to get laid. Badly. I hadn’t had sex in nearly a year. I never had a three way before. It turned into something else. I like them. I mean I really like them both. I like the dynamics of our relationship. It could really turn into something amazing.”

  He nodded thoughtfully and chewed his burger. “You need to take your time. You were “Joss and David” for a long time. You were the Chief Financial Officer Joss. Now you have to be just Joss. Figure out who she is before you become Joss and Mick and Grey.” Damien was turning out to be the best girlfriend I ever had. He was absolutely right. And to think I thought he was going to murder and rape me a few hours ago. “Just slow down and take a deep breath. “Slow down and enjoy life. It’s not only the scenery you miss by going too fast-you also miss the sense of where you are going and why.” “Sage advice for an outlaw.” “Not my advice. Eddie Cantor’s.” I have no idea who that it but he sounds like a very wise man

  I finally felt like I was sober enough to drive home and break the news to Mick. Once the office door closed behind us, Damien shifted back to being Ambush, President of Chaos. He held my upper arm firmly and escorted me to the front door. “Stay in touch”, he whispered and shoved me out the door. Blinded by the sunshine, once I was outside of the darkened barroom and didn’t waste a second getting into the safety of the locked truck and on the road home.

  Chapter 21--Mick

  “Pass me the vice grips”. I wish I could get this rusted piece of shit apart, but it’s been a losing project. Joss has been gone most of the day, and I need the parts she picked up from the dealership in town before I can do anything else, so I’m just killing time on our latest project bike. She’s been gone for hours her her collections mission. I realize that I miss her presence when she’s gone.