Dark Knights Ch. 01

"That guy is off his nut," Bryn growled as he coasted to a stop in front of me.

"Should we call the cops?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Do you really want the cops coming around and asking questions? Besides, he hasn't done anything... yet."

"Yet?" I squeaked. "You think he will?"

"I don't know. I hope not, but I wouldn't put it past him." I chewed on my bottom lip, unsure of what to do. He must have picked up on my uncertainty. "Why don't you stay with me tonight? I'll sleep on the couch."

I look at him in the same way I looked at a guy who wouldn't stop hitting on me. "And why should I do that?"

"Because, Reagan, Hayden is a few feathers short of a duck." I barked out a quick laugh at his twist on a common phrase, causing him to smile at me, before he continued. "He didn't like it one bit you were here and in my apartment. I don't think you should be alone tonight in case he decides to do something stupid. Give him a little time to cool off. If you stay here, rather than in your house, there are a lot more people around, and that may make him think a little more before he tries anything."

I thought about it and it made a certain sense, and I would feel better staying with someone... and if that someone had a gun, even better. Seeing Hayden outside my house this morning had given me a serious case of the creeps.

"If you make a pass at me, I'm going to shoot you with your own gun," I teased.

"Wouldn't think of it," he said, his lips quirking into a slight off-center grin. "The last thing I want is Kevin pissed off at me. He hates me already."

"He does not," I said as we started walking back to Bryn's apartment.

"Uh-huh," he grunted. "The only reason the guys tolerate me is because they need me."

"You don't exactly help yourself," I pointed out as we climbed the steps to the second, and top, floor of his building. "You never talk to anyone. You just sit in the corner and sulk."

"I'm not sulking," he protested as he unlocked his door. "I just don't see the need to prove myself to people that don't give two shits about me. I've had enough of that already."

I looked at him, my brow furrowed as I followed him inside. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he muttered as he shut the door behind me and snapped the deadbolt. "Forget I said anything."

"If we're going to spend the night together, so to speak, you can at least tell me what's eating at you. Maybe I can help. It's the least I can do for you putting me up."

"Maybe some other time," he said as he pulled the weapon out of his pants and walked into his bedroom.

After that he didn't say much. He was still friendly if I spoke first, but he didn't seem to want to engage with me. The rest of the evening I lazed on his couch, flicking through television shows while he pecked on his computer. I wasn't sure why, but after my comment about him sulking, he'd reverted to the standoffish personality he wore like a shield. I didn't pry, but I wondered why my comment had stung him. I already liked and respected Bryn, but today I'd seen a glimmer of another Bryn, a tough and self-assured Bryn that I liked even better.

I was adjusting pillows on Bryn's bed when he knocked lightly on the door. "Reagan? May I come in for a second?"

He'd loaned me a baggy t-shirt that I was wearing as sleepwear, but I pulled the bed linens to my chin just the same. "Sure."

The door slowly opened. "Sorry. One last stop before bed," he said as he hurried into his apartment's tiny, and only, bathroom and closed the door.

I watched as he passed, and I wished he'd left the bathroom door open, or at least hadn't rushed through the room. Bryn was a fucking knockout. He was wearing full length pajama bottoms but no shirt. Without clothes to hide his physique, it was easy to see he had the lean, muscled look swimmers had. I heard the toilet flush, the water run, and then the door opened. I forced myself not to stare.

"Bryn... thanks," I said softly as he passed.

He paused at the door and looked back at me as a slow smile appeared on his lips. "I'll share my bed with you anytime," he rumbled, his voice dripping sex and promise.

Not only did he have a banging body, I also realized for the first time how sexy his voice was. I'd always thought his voice was pleasantly deep and masculine, but hearing his bedroom voice, even if he was just teasing me, made my mouth go slightly dry. He held my gaze a moment longer before his smile spread slightly, he stepped out, and pulled the door closed behind him.

I had a little trouble falling asleep after that... and not all of it because of Hayden Rogan.

The next morning Bryn and I joined the club for our normal, first Sunday of the month, breakfast meeting. That was where we talked business, and sometimes got paid... like today. Normally if the weather permitted, we rode our bikes to the meeting and then took a ride through the country afterwards. Bryn and I wouldn't be joining the club ride this morning as we arrived in his vivid blue Subaru. His FXDR 114 didn't have a pillion seat, I was still a bit nervous going home by myself, and any other solution involved too much running around. He pulled into Reggie's and parked. Only Eric's Road King was there.

Reggie's was a Savannah institution that had been serving meals from the same location since Reggie returned from Europe after World War Two. Reggie's granddaughter owned the place now, but little had changed from when Reggie first slid one of the heavy white plates across the counter. The greasy spoon was like a time capsule, festooned with bright red plastic booths and red Formica tables wrapped with chrome edging. Matching chrome plated chairs with dark grey cushions, a black and white tile floor, and old black and white pictures showing Savannah the way it was way back when covering nearly every square inch of the walls completed the décor. Another thing that hadn't changed was there was nothing frou-frou on the menu like mocha, mocha, caffè latte, the breakfasts were heart attacks on the plate, and the pancakes served with warm, real maple syrup, were to die for.

"Morning!" Eric called as we approached the table.

"Morning," I replied, feeling rested and refreshed after a better night's sleep than I'd had in the last couple of days. Bryn mumbled his greeting as we slid into the large circular booth the Knights claimed as their own.

The booth was set slightly apart from the rest of the restaurant by being tucked into a corner down a narrow aisle beside the kitchen. Because the area was in an out of the way location, the restaurant had to be completely full before the staff sat people in the table nearest us. That afforded us a modicum of privacy that allowed us to conduct business without worrying about being overheard.

Eric and I shot the shit waiting for everyone else to show up. I liked Eric, and he didn't give me the shit that Mike, Tony, and Kevin did, but Bryn had reverted to type and become sullen and quiet. I didn't understand his change because he wasn't like that on the drive to Reggie's. Eric and I carried the conversation until the rest of the Dark Knights straggled in. Once the last person arrived, Kevin as usual, we got down to club business.

Eric slid an envelope across the table to each of us. None of us counted what was inside because we knew Eric wouldn't screw us. "We did good this time. The club pocketed a little over twelve thousand, after expenses, and there's two in each envelope. So well done men, and lady," Eric said smiling at me. "Not bad for a couple months work."

We all murmured our thanks as the envelops disappeared. We ordered breakfast, and as we ate, we talked about our next shipment.

"Word is spreading. I have deposits on fourteen bikes." Tony slid a piece of paper to me. "This is the bikes so far," he said, looking at me. "At the rate we're going, we're going to have another container in less than a month. Demand is going up now that the weather is warming up. Do you think you can get twenty or thirty bikes in the next thirty days?"

"Let me worry about that," I snapped, becoming peeved again. I'd never failed to deliver, but someone asked me that question every damn time.

With my help, Bryn had created a fictitious dealership that existed only in the Harley-Davidson dealer system. After his handywork, according to the system, Knights Harley-Davidson had been bought out and renamed to Bonaventure Harley-Davidson back in the eighties, when Bonaventure had opened. When I was on the hunt for bikes, I used the dealer network at work to locate the bikes I was looking for at other dealerships all around the country. Once I found the bike or bikes I wanted, I had Bryn activate Knights Harley-Davidson, Kevin wired the money to the originating dealer as if it were coming from our fake dealership, and I did a stock transfer to have the bike shipped to us. Before the motorcycle even arrived, I sold the unit to various imaginary sellers, for cash, at dealer cost. Knights Harley-Davidson didn't make any money, but everyone got paid, and nobody was the wiser.

After the bike was in our possession, Bryn did something in the computer that changed the transfer order so it appeared it was Bonaventure that had requested the stock transfer, and the bike had been delivered to and then sold by them. He then deactivated Knights Harley-Davidson again in such a way that it appeared the account hadn't been active or used since the eighties.

The phantom transfers and sales boosted Bonaventure's sales numbers in such a way that we were getting credit for selling more bikes than we actually did, which helped us win our Gold Bar & Shield award year after year. While Bonaventure didn't make any money off the phantom bikes, the award featured prominently in our promotions, which helped drive more business into the dealership, so my employer was getting some backhanded benefit from me using their computer system for our side gig, even if they didn't know it.

I didn't know how Bryn jiggered the electronic records, only that whatever he was doing, it wasn't running through the regular dealer system. Even though I knew exactly what happened and could see the bogus transfer and sale in the system, it looked like any other stock transfer and sale. He also provided me with paperwork to support the transfers and sales that was indistinguishable from the legitimate paperwork. As the dealership's paper files were archived in a room full of filing cabinets off the parts department stock room, it was a simple matter for me to slip the documents into the proper cabinet after the fact.

The Dark Knights rented a small warehouse where we assembled and stored our bikes, the location standing in for Knights Harley-Davidson's off-site storage facility, until we were ready to ship them out of the country. Once I had the bikes located, and their expected delivery dates, I let Mike know so he could schedule a container and book a spot on a ship. Because we handled our own loading and shipping, getting the bikes racked, loaded, and to the port in time to make our shipping deadline was normally the problem. We'd missed our initial ship date more than once because the container wasn't ready, but nobody never questioned Mike.

Once we had our ship date, Bryn went to work getting the paperwork in order. To skirt the tariffs, we were shipping 'used motorcycles and parts.' The hogs were, technically, used, as they'd been sold to a customer in the U.S. before being shipped overseas, and we could load more parts into the container... if the parts happened to be assembled into a motorcycle. Because we had no dealer to assemble the bikes once they arrived, we shipped our bikes complete and ready to ride. All the customer had to do was pays us, add gas, and ride the bike away.

"If you can get me a container, I can fill it," I said, taking my jab at their attitude.

We each got a turn to talk, to bring up any concerns, but these meetings were usually non-events. We shipped two containers our first year, but last year we shipped eight. This year, if demand kept increasing, we were going to ship at least that many, if not ten or more. Since we launched our export business, we'd worked the kinks out of our system, and with the exception of the occasional hiccup getting the container to the port on time, we rarely had issues.

Once business was concluded we talked about other things. Everyone was looking forward to the ride and getting out of Savannah for a while to enjoy the spring weather.

"I didn't see your bike out there, Reagan," Kevin said, "or yours either, Bryn. Y'all not going on the ride today? The weather is supposed to be nice."

Before Bryn could answer I piped up. I'd worked out a cover story on the way over in case anyone asked. "Bryn and I came together in his car this morning. He asked me to tune up his bike for him before we start riding much."

Kevin frowned, obviously troubled by what I said. "Why didn't you do that last weekend when it was raining? You know we always go for a club ride after our meetings. It's important that we do these activities together, to keep us tight and to see each other for reasons other than business. You two never think ahead."

"I just asked her," Bryn said, coming to my defense. "She didn't know about it until yesterday."

"I see," Kevin said. "I tell you what, we'll drop by after we're done here, and you two can get your bikes. One ride isn't going to hurt anything."

"I don't know, Kevin," Bryn said. "It's running pretty rough. Not sure what's going on with it. I thought it was bad gas, but I put in fresh gas and it's not any better. The last thing I want is to get stranded on the road. Besides, Reagan came in her car so she could bring her tools."

"Fine," Kevin snapped, clearly annoyed. "Do what you want."

"Stop being such a pisser, Kevin," I said, my tone telegraphing my annoyance. "This is the first ride we've missed in how long? I'll get his bike straightened out and we'll go next time."

Kevin's attitude put a damper on the whole meeting, and we broke up as soon as Eric paid for everyone's breakfast. Kevin left first, hauling ass out of the parking lot on his Heritage Classic, leaving everyone else behind. I loved my brother, but he was worse than a little kid when he didn't get his way. If he was like that at home, I didn't know how his wife put up with him.

"Thanks for backing me up," I said to Bryn after the last of the Knights were gone, the rumble of their Harleys fading like distant thunder.

"No problem. So does this mean I'm getting a free tune-up today?" he asked as I opened the door to his car.

"It might... but you're going to have to bring the bike to my house because that's where my tools are," I said as I dropped into the seat.

He grinned at me as he started his car. "Careful what you offer. I might take you up on it."

Now that we were away from the Knights again, Bryn had reverted back to the way he was acting last night and this morning. "Bryn, tell me something," I said as he pulled out of the parking lot and began accelerating.

"What's that?"

"What's up with you and the Knights? It's like you're two completely different people. If the rest of the club could see what I'm seeing, well, I think things might be different."

Bryn was silent for a moment and then glanced at me as he rolled to a stop at a light. "I don't know why I do that. I want them to like me, I want to belong, but it's just hard to open up and trust them."

"I don't understand. Trust them how?"

"I haven't told anyone this, so you have to keep this between us, okay?"

A chill passed over me as I wondered what deep, dark secret he was going to share. "Okay, sure."

The light turned green and we began to move with traffic again. "I never knew my dad. I think I'm the result of a one-night stand." I opened my mouth to speak but he held up his hand. "Just wait. We never had anything. A big deal for me growing up was for Mom to have enough money so I could get a candy bar, and I was on the free food program at school. Some days that was the only meal I had. Mom was only eighteen when I was born, and I think she resented me for trying her down. When I was about eight, after child services had shown up more times than I can count, Mom put me up for adoption. I think she was glad to be rid of me. Do you know how hard it is for an eight-year-old to get adopted? So I bounced around from foster home to foster home. No one was ever mean to me, but, well, I just never had a place to call mine, you know? Nobody I could trust."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, and I meant it. "That must have been tough."

"Yeah. It wasn't fun."

"How many foster homes were you in?" I could see him thinking.

"Six."

"Six in ten years doesn't seem so bad. I'm sure it was tough, but that's like one every two years or so."

"More like one every six months."

"How can that be? You went in at eight and I assume you got out at eighteen, so...?"

He smiled, but there was a sadness in it. "I was moved around a lot at first. Not that unusual I guess, but then I finally got settled into a home that I liked, and they seemed to like me..."

"What?" I asked when he didn't seem eager to continue.

"Then I got into some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

He was quiet for a moment. "My foster family had an older daughter. She was three, maybe four years older than me. She asked me to help her and..." He paused and then glanced at me. "Okay, look, here's the deal. I liked where I was, and they seemed to like me. I've always been pretty good with computers and Linda, that's the daughter, asked for some help, some computer help. She told me that she'd have her parents throw me out if I didn't help her hack her dad's credit card account. I didn't want to do it, but I was afraid of moving again. I'd just started making some friends, you know? I even reminded her dad, in private of course, that it's a good idea to change his passwords every so often."

"So did you help her?" I asked when he paused.

"Not at first, but then she started making comments in front of her parents about me, uh, taking an interest in her. Nobody said anything, but her dad seemed to start looking at me differently, and I started to worry."

"Why didn't you tell them what she was doing?"

"Right..." he said, drawling the word out. "Who do you think they're going to believe... their daughter or some foster kid?"

"So you helped her?"

"Once she got his password, she logged into his credit card account and requested to have another card issued. She did that on her own, but I helped her setup a new email account and showed her how to go on her dad's computer and redirect any emails from the credit card company to the new email account so she could continue to impersonate him without him knowing. I was stupid, but I figured since I didn't have the card, and all I did was help her with an email account, I could play dumb and pretend I didn't know anything about why she wanted it." He paused again.

"Then what happened? You said you got into trouble," I prompted.

"Yeah," he replied softly. "What I didn't know at the time was she'd told a couple of her friends how to do what she'd done, and her friends did the same thing to their parents, using the same email account. It took several months before their parents got wise, but when they got caught, everyone blamed it on me." He grimaced and I knew there was more to come. "She was a smart, conniving bitch. After she'd learned to set everything up, she created another email address using my information, forwarded her dad's emails to that one, and then deleted the first one. When the shit hit the fan, she also planted the extra card in my backpack. I guess the other two threw theirs away or something, but the one was enough."