Dar Nights

ONE

I stood before the deep red door of apartment 206, Bryn's door, chewing my bottom lip. I tugged on my dishwater blonde hair to tighten my ponytail, a nervous tic I'd had since childhood, unsure I wanted to go through with this. Normally I could handle myself just fine, thank you very much, but this shit was getting totally out of hand. I'd managed to explain away the bruise on my cheek, but I was seeing Hayden in way too many places for it to be just coincidence. I took a deep breath, gathered my courage, and rapped firmly on the door. After a moment I heard the snap of a deadbolt releasing and then the door swung open.

"Reagan? What are you doing here?" Bryn asked, his surprise clear on his face and in his voice.

Part of the reason for his surprise was I'd never been to his apartment before, and until four hours ago, I hadn't known where he lived. I'd found his address by looking it up on the service computer at work.

"May I come in?"

"Uh... sure," he said as he stepped back and opened the door wide in invitation. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked when I stopped just inside the door, not sure what I wanted to do next.

"Thanks," I said as I moved to the single chair.

I picked up the short pile of mail in the seat, variously addressed to Current Resident, Occupant, and Bryn Ludlow. I handed him the pile, the top envelope announcing he 'May Have Already Won!' Bryn's apartment was tiny, made smaller still by a gutted computer on the floor, along with empty Mountain Dew bottles and several empty pizza boxes piled on the bar and his small kitchen table, though his computer desk was tidy. He added the junk mail to the clutter on the bar.

He plopped into his desk chair and swiveled to face me, but said nothing, apparently waiting for me to speak. "Well? What can I do for you?" he finally asked with I didn't say anything.

I paused, not wanting to admit what I'd done. I talked to Bryn at least once a week, but unlike everyone else in the club, I respected and liked him. "I have a... problem," I began, my voice soft.

Why was it so hard to admit I was in over my head?

"I gathered or you wouldn't be here. Why don't you just tell me what's going on?"

I huffed out a sigh. "I've fucked up. You've heard me pissing and moaning how all the Dark Knights don't respect me?"

"Yeah, well, welcome to my world," he grunted.

"Well..." I said before pausing to take a deep breath to gather the courage to continue. "I've had an affair with Hayden Rogan," I finished with a rush.

He blinked at me a moment before he broke into a huge smile. "Hayden Rogan?

The

Hayden Rogan? The Hayden Rogan whose nuts Kevin threatened to have cut off? That Hayden Rogan?" Bryn paused then began to snicker. "Kevin is going to positively shit kittens when he finds out about this!"

"Don't you dare tell him!"

"Reagan... he's your brother. He's going to find out sooner or later." Bryn chuckled as he spun once around in his chair. "Oh God, I so want to be there when he finds out about this!"

"Bryn! You can't tell him!" I begged.

I knew this was a bad idea!

"I won't tell him," he said, still grinning like an idiot, "but I have to savor the moment," he added dreamily, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before returning his attention to me. "So, why are you here? Are you going to have an affair with me now, in case fucking Hayden wasn't enough to give Kevin an aneurism?"

I jumped to my feet. "Fuck you, Bryn!" I snarled. "I thought maybe you were the one guy I could trust to help me, but you're just as bad as all the other assholes in the Knights!"

"Reagan, wait! Just wait a minute!" Bryn called, rising from his chair and chasing after me as I stormed for the door. I grabbed the knob and tried to open it, but he put his hand against it to hold it shut. "Just hang on a second!"

"Let go of the fucking door,

Lowlife

," I snarled, my voice dripping with contempt on the nickname the club had given him.

His face hardened. He hated being called Lowlife and I knew it. He jerked his hand away as if the door was hot, holding it aloft to show his compliance.

"Fine," he rumbled as he took a step back. "Guess you don't need my help after all."

I didn't open the door because I didn't know who else to turn too and I really did need help. "You can be such a jerkwad," I growled as I released the door handle.

"You're not exactly little miss sunshine sometimes either, you know," he said and then smiled. "I'm sorry. It's just... Jesus Reagan... what were you thinking? You're Kevin McKenna's little sister.

Vice-President

Kevin McKenna," he clarified, making rabbit ears in the air around Kevin's title. "Here, come sit down, and tell me how I can help. Can I get you something? I have Mountain Dews in the 'fridge."

"How about a beer?"

"No beer. Sorry. To me, that shit tastes just like what it looks like."

"Fine. Give me a Dew."

He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a pair Dews. "Here you go," he said before tossing it underhand to me.

"It's going to spray everywhere!"

"Dews don't spew," he said before waggling his bottle rapidly to give it good shake and then slowly opening it to demonstrate.

I gave the top a slow twist, and though the bottle gassed off like a grandpa after eating a bean burrito, it didn't bubble over. "Thanks," I said before taking a swig, my face twisting as the neon green liquid flowed over my tongue.

Yuck! How does he drink these things?

"I'm sorry for what I said and that I laughed. I'm just... shocked I guess... that you'd do something like that. You're so... into the club. Why did you, anyway?" he asked and then grinned again. "Not that I mind watching your brother squirm a little, but how'd you get mixed up with Hayden, and what can I do to help?"

I paused, not knowing where to start, but then started at the beginning. If he was going to help me, he needed to know the whole story.

-oOo-

The Dark Knights, or Knights as we called ourselves, was a club of like-minded individuals that enjoyed riding motorcycles, more specifically, Harley-Davidson motorcycles. While we each had our day job—I managed the parts department at Bonaventure Harley-Davidson for example—we also had our... other job. The Knights wasn't your typical motorcycle club. We were a small club, and we wanted to keep it that way. We didn't accept prospects, new members were allowed in only if they were recruited, and we only recruited when we needed a very specific set of skills. Technically we were an outlaw club, but we didn't run drugs, booze, whores, or guns. We were in the export business.

After a thirty-one percent European tariff was slapped on Harley-Davidson motorcycles in retaliation for American tariffs on European steel, we discovered we could supply new Harley-Davidsons to European customers for significantly less than they could buy them at a legitimate dealer, and still make a tidy profit for ourselves. We also shipped Harleys to countries where eager customers couldn't otherwise purchase them.

My brother, Kevin, was Vice-President of business development at Savannah Banking and Trust. With a little creative paperwork, he'd made a line of credit available at SBT the Knights could draw on to purchase the bikes for cash, and handled all the wire transfers on behalf of the club.

Bryn was the supervisor for the IT help desk at Memorial University Medical Center and functioned as our forger. His computer skills allowed him to make modified documents, both electronic and paper, that were indistinguishable from the originals. He made sure the paperwork was all nice and legal looking, and the feds were kept in the dark about our grey marketing. He also erased our electronic fingerprints to prevent people from discovering our activities.

Mike Skoefield drove a semi, handled transportation, and was responsible for getting the bikes in a container and on the water.

Tony Russo was an air freight pilot on a regular run from Savannah to London, which made him perfect for handling sales and was the contact for our customers.

My job was to use the Harley dealer network and my contacts to locate and obtain the bikes our customers wanted.

Then there was Eric, our President. Eric Lind founded the Dark Knights years ago when he sold his string of restaurants and retired. He ran our little export business for something to do, and to bring in a little 'walking around money,' as he called it. He handled the money, making sure each of us got a slice of the pie.

We all had our jobs, and we were all an important cog that made the well-oiled machine run. The problem was, not everyone saw it that way. While the other club members had been with the club for years, Bryn and I were recruited a couple of years ago to get the export business running. Whether it was because we were new, or I was a woman and Bryn was reserved, Bryn got no respect for what he did, and neither did I. I knew more about Harleys than anyone else in the Knights, but did they respect me? That would be a big fat fuck no. I was just Kevin's little sister. I'd like to see one of those assclowns buy as many new bikes in a year as we did and not have someone get suspicious. Or uncrate one. The bikes were shipped assembled, but there were still accessories that needed to be installed, and they needed a PDI—Pre-Delivery Inspection—to make sure there were no defects. Hell, Tony couldn't even change his own oil. I knew because he always brought his bike to me to do it for him.

So even though Bryn and I were the two that

got

the damn bikes for everyone else to do their part, they gave me a pat on the head and a ain't she cute bullshit attitude, and I'd finally had enough of it. I was tired of living in the shadow of Kevin, who didn't do

shit

except create wire transfers unless we ran into a cash flow problem. Three weeks ago, after throwing a wrench at Mike for his smart-ass attitude, I'd stormed out of our warehouse where I was putting a bike together with a vow to never return.

Later, as I sat thinking evil thoughts and sipping a beer at one of my regular watering holes, Hayden Rogan had strolled in and sat down beside me. Hayden was once a Dark Knight, until he, Eric, and Kevin had a falling out. I wasn't part of the club then, but he knew me as Kevin's sister.

The Knights had started out as just a small group of friends that got together a couple times a month to shoot the shit and go for a ride. When Eric started putting together his idea to grey market the bikes, he'd organized the club. Hayden was pissed that Kevin was selected as Vice-President even though he'd been with the club longer. Hayden was more brawn than brains, and the Knights were so small that titles didn't mean much, but rather than suck it up and act like a man, he'd started spreading rumors how Kevin was trying to take over the club, and how he couldn't be trusted, couldn't keep a secret, and would take the entire club down. That had been bad enough, but when Kevin caught Hayden selling drugs as Dark Knight, Hayden found himself stripped of his patch and tossed out on his ass. That was three years ago, and Kevin and Hayden had

despised

each other since.

After being kicked out of the Knights, Hayden formed his own club, the High Rollers, and appointed himself President. It didn't escape anyone's notice that his club initials just happened to match his own. That was Hayden, an insufferable know-it-all blowhard... but damn was he good looking.

Plied with beer and attitude, one thing led to another, and I'd gone home with him. In hindsight, we both wanted the same thing, to stick it to the Knights, and for Hayden, by extension, Kevin. The first week or so was pretty fucking good. That was to say, the fucking was pretty good. Hayden might be an asshole, but he knew how to please a woman. A few days later, Mike, Kevin, and Eric called, apologized, and asked me to come back. I was mostly over being pissed off anyway, having worked off my aggravation on Hayden's cock, so I started trying to ease my way out of the relationship. That's when Hayden started getting clingy and weird.

Last week I'd finally had enough of Hayden's shit too and told him I was out of there. At first, he pleaded, then he threatened... and then he slapped the shit out of me. There must be a course at asshole school that teaches a man just how to hit a woman because that slap hurt like a bitch. I'd hit him with beer bottle and then ran like hell. Two days later at breakfast, when the club saw the bruise, I claimed a teenager chasing a Frisbee in the park had run into me. I didn't know if anyone bought it, but nobody said anything.

I'd have considered it lesson learned and let it go at that... except Hayden was creeping me out. It seemed like every time I turned around, he was there, somewhere, watching. When I finally confronted him about his stalking, he didn't deny following me and said that he couldn't live without me. That was scary. What was even more scary was him saying that eventually I'd realize that I couldn't live without him too. I told him to wait at his house and that I'd come to him when I realized he was right.

This morning I was going to ride my bike into work, since it was going to be such a nice day, but as I opened the blinds in my house, Hayden was propped on his motorcycle at my curb. I changed my mind and decided to take my car. I had no idea how long he'd been there, and it unnerved me to think he might be standing outside my house at night. Not wanting to go home, afraid I'd find Hayden waiting for me, I'd driven straight to Bryn's after work.

-oOo-

"So that's why you stopped calling me," Bryn said when my story ended with me arriving outside his door.

I nodded. "Yeah. I really intended to leave, then Eric called, and everyone apologized, so..." I shrugged a shoulder as I twisted my lips to the side.

"What can I do to help?"

"I don't know, but I didn't know who else to turn to."

A tiny smile touched his lips. "Thank you. That's nice of you to say." He stood and spread the blinds to look out of the window at the parking lot beyond. "You're the red Accord coupe, right?"

"Yes, why?" I asked, rising to look out the window with him.

"Just checking. I don't see anyone."

"Me either. Maybe he's given up."

He looked at me as an eyebrow arched. "Hayden? Not likely. From the stories I've heard, he sounds bat-shit crazy." He paused as he watched the parking lot a moment longer and then turned to me. "How's this? Stay here for a while and then I'll follow you home. I'll order pizza or something. Then in the morning I'll swing by before the meeting and we can ride in together. How's that sound?"

I smiled at him. "Thanks, Bryn. I knew I could count on you."

"Well, that's one," he mumbled as he released the blinds and turned from the window.

-oOo-

After my tale of woe, he'd spent the next five minutes furiously picking up, all the while apologizing profusely for the mess. As he cleared the clutter away, I glanced around. His apartment appeared to have only two rooms, a large room that served as both living room and kitchen, a bar with two tall chairs extending from a wall providing some visual separation, and his bedroom. There was a narrow door off the kitchen that was probably a pantry or maybe a laundry room, but that was it. My house wasn't large, but it was massive compared to the space Bryn lived in. The apartment couldn't be more than five or six hundred square feet.

The floors and walls were the typical neutral apartment colors of brown and cream, but he'd added color with movie posters that appeared to be from the forties and fifties. The posters were mostly from old B-movie science fiction, with names like

It Came from Space!

,

The Giant Behemoth

, and

Red Planet Mars

, among others. The only movie I recognized from the collection was

The Blob

. Contrasting with the colorful and overwrought movie posters, his couch, chair, and office area furniture were well made with clean and simple lines.

I smiled to myself as I realized he was a bundle of interesting contrasts. The average person wouldn't peg Bryn for a biker. Standing at least six-two with dark hair and eyes, he was a classic preppy with his clean cut, J. Crew pants and shirt, and stylish rimless glasses. I noticed for the first time that he also appeared to be well-muscled, and I wondered how I'd missed that before.

After he made his run to the dumpster with the bagged clutter, we'd talked for a while before he ordered the pizza. Bryn and I worked closely together, and I'd always respected what he could do with the computer, but now, sitting and talking to him like a friend for the first time, I realized he was a truly nice guy.

Despite the fact I couldn't have a beer, we ate and laughed, bemoaning our mutual lack of respect from the rest of the club, and cracking wise about how fucked the club's export business would be without us. Stuffed, I tossed my half-eaten slice back into the box, feeling better about life than I had for the last several days.

As darkness fell Bryn looked out of the window again. "I still don't see anyone hanging around. Maybe he doesn't know where you are."

"I hope."

"You ready to go?"

"Yes, and thanks. I really appreciate you doing this for me."

"Hey, what are friends for?" he asked as he walked into his bedroom. He was stuffing something inside the waist of his pants when he reappeared a moment later.

My eyes widened. "Is that a

gun?

"

"Yeah. Never leave home without it," he said as he arranged his shirt so the weapon disappeared.

I recognized the slogan from somewhere but couldn't recall where. "I didn't know you carried a gun. Are you allowed to carry?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Do you have a permit to carry concealed?"

"Yes, why?"

I looked at Bryn in a new light. There was clearly more to Mr. Bryn Ludlow than I suspected, and he may not be the quiet, shy guy I thought he was. "Okay. Whatever," I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. Hell, I'd been involved in smuggling Harleys for a little over two years. Who was I to judge if he wanted to carry a gun?

Bryn and I walked to my car. As we strode across the parking lot, I saw Hayden leaning on his motorcycle near the entrance, out of the line of sight of Bryn's window. I grabbed Bryn's arm like a scared little girl. Maybe that's all I was.

"There he is!" I hissed, sick with dread. I hadn't seen him following me, but he must have been watching me when I left work, even though I'd hung around the dealership until it closed, hoping he'd think he'd missed me or get bored and leave.

Bryn glanced where I was staring before stopping. "The guy leaning on the motorcycle?" I nodded. He fished in his pocket. "Here," he said, handing me a key ring. "Go back inside while I have a chat with Mr. Rogan."

"What are you going to do?" I asked, my voice telegraphing my anxiety.

"Nothing. We're just going to talk for a minute," he said, his voice harder than I'd ever heard it before.

I took the keys and hurried back toward Bryn's apartment, but stopped before Hayden disappeared behind another building. I needed to see this. Tugging my ponytail tight, I watched as Bryn strode purposely across the parking lot. When Bryn reached Hayden, they spoke for a moment before Hayden raised his hands in an 'I'm not doing anything' type motion. I couldn't hear their voices, but it was clear from their body language this wasn't a friendly conversation.

They argued for a moment longer before Hayden slowly mounted his Sport Glide, his relaxed pace and attitude silently claiming he was leaving because he wanted to, not because Bryn was there, before he rode off in a rumble of thunder. Bryn stood, glaring after him for a long moment, perhaps making sure he was actually leaving, before turning away and striding toward me, his quick pace telegraphing his agitation.