Vice

by Elana Johnson

  “True, but you need gloves.” He reached into his jacket pocket. “I happen to have some here for you.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Hey, I know what equipment is needed to ride.”

  She took the gloves from him. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” But she managed to put them on and stay on the motorcycle without holding onto anything. So maybe she wouldn’t die today.

  She hardly recognized herself, that was for sure. A month ago, she would’ve never thought she was about to go on a Sunday afternoon joyride with her boyfriend. Or that that boyfriend would be Jordan Waterhouse, and that the joyride would happen on a motorcycle.

  “Ready?” he asked, and Felicia nodded.

  “I can’t see you, sweetheart,” he said, though he’d twisted to look at her. Their heads were so close, he couldn’t actually see her face.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  “I’ll go slow.”

  “No,” she said. “I want to go fast.” Her pulse sped just thinking about it.

  “Yeah?”

  “Safe-fast,” she amended.

  He chuckled and started the bike. The engine roared and then purred, the sound echoing off the concrete in the garage. “Safe-fast. I’m not sure I know what that is, but I promise I’ll be in control the whole time.”

  Felicia believed him. She trusted him. And maybe she was starting to fall in love with him too. She wasn’t sure if she was more scared of that or the motorcycle ride she was about to take.

  Then Jordan walked the bike backward with the words, “You press right into me, baby. And don’t fight me on the leans. Go with me.”

  “Okay,” she said. The pressing-into-him was no problem. The leaning, however…. She pulled in a breath as he took the first corner, and everything inside her wanted to fight against going into the turn. Her body was screaming at her to sit up straight, fight going down!

  But she leaned with him and adjusted her grip on the front of his jacket when he righted them. “That was terrifying.”

  “We were going fifteen miles per hour,” he said.

  “Felt like a million,” she said. “I don’t know how to lean.”

  “You just close your eyes and move with me, baby,” he said.

  “Close my eyes?” Felicia practically shrieked. She peered over his shoulder, almost desperate to know where they were going. Maybe if she saw the corners coming, she’d be able to lean into them easier. “You’re insane.”

  He laughed, the sound full of pure joy. She’d never heard him laugh like that, and she really liked how it freed something inside her own soul. “Here we go,” he said. “Turning on to the highway.”

  He came to a complete stop and put both feet down on the ground. Felicia’s first instinct was to do the same, but he said, “You just enjoy the ride, Leesh. I’ll do all the work. So hold on, because when I go, we’re going to go.”

  She looked to her left and didn’t see a car for miles. He could definitely go. But he didn’t.

  “Okay?” he asked, turning to look at her again.

  She nodded, her helmet almost knocking into his.

  “Say it, baby.”

  “I’m ready,” she said. “Wait.” She pressed further into him and readjusted her grip again. She turned her head to the right—away from any oncoming traffic—and closed her eyes. “Now I’m ready.”

  “All right,” he said, and he sounded dubious. “Here we go.” And he went. And he went fast.

  Felicia shrieked as the power beneath her kicked into a new gear. Jordan laughed, the sound getting whipped away with the strength of the wind as he continued to accelerate. She leaned with him to the left, then the right, as they maneuvered out of town and into the more forested areas surrounding Forbidden Lake.

  The air held a crispness Felicia had never tasted before. It stung her nose and mouth and eyes, but she craved the feeling. She opened her eyes and watched the scenery blur by.

  “Wow,” she whispered to herself, because this ride was the single best thing she’d ever done in her life.

  “Okay?” Jordan called.

  “Yes,” she yelled back to him. And quieter, she said to herself, “One-hundred percent okay.”

  By the time she took Jordan’s hand to get off the bike, her legs vibrated. The world seemed brand-new now, and she took off her helmet—oops, her dome—and shook out her hair. “That was incredible.”

  “Yeah?” He hung his helmet on the handlebars and took hers from her.

  Felicia stepped into him and took his face in her hands. “Thank you, Jordan. I mean it, that was incredible.” She kissed him, glad she’d taken him by surprise, because it meant she got to control the kiss.

  And wow, having him control the bike while she managed the kissing…Felicia could really get used to this lifestyle.

  She came to her senses when someone catcalled to her, and she ducked behind Jordan’s broad shoulders as she wiped her mouth. “Sorry,” she murmured.

  “Oh, I’m not,” he said, a little breathlessly. “But let’s go eat. This place has killer food.” He slung his arm around her shoulders, and she felt like the luckiest woman in the world. The biker’s girlfriend. His woman. His old lady.

  Pride filled her as they walked toward the entrance. “You’ve been here before?”

  “Yeah, lots of times.”

  “It looks interesting.” She gazed up at the sign above the door, but it was so faded, she couldn’t read it.

  “You’re living on the wild side,” he said, opening the door for her.

  Felicia laughed this time, and she had no idea who she was as she walked into the dive of a restaurant. Hardly anyone was there, but it was the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday, and Felicia decided to reserve her judgement until she tasted the food.

  She and Jordan enjoyed meatloaf and mashed potatoes—the real kind, not a single fake flake in sight—homemade rolls and the best cherry soda in the state of Michigan. The conversation was easy, though Felicia had started to think long-term with Jordan.

  And she honestly didn’t know what that looked like for her. Shelley had been with Gideon for eight years, and they had no plans for marriage. Maybe Felicia could simply have a relationship like that with Jordan, because the thought of tying herself to him made her want to run toward the Canadian border, never to return.

  She still hadn’t told him that yet, and she probably needed to. But not today, she told herself. They still had plenty of time to talk about things like that, and she just wanted to ride this high for as long as she could.

  “I’m stuffed,” he said, leaning back in the booth they’d been sharing. “Should we go?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her nerves already buzzing about getting back on the motorcycle. She tossed down her napkin and slid out of the booth. He put down a tip, took her hand in his, and led her toward the exit.

  The door had barely closed behind them when Jordan stilled. Felicia did too, because there were at least ten motorcycles in the parking lot now, all of them with a huge, tattooed biker nearby.

  They’d surrounded Jordan’s bike, and Felicia’s fear made her vision go white for a moment.

  “Get behind me,” he murmured, pushing her behind his body. “Go back inside. Call the cops.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Then call Maverick. Now, Felicia.”

  Before she could move, one of the other bikers called, “You’re in the wrong town, Sentinel.”

  “Just having lunch,” Jordan called back, and he was definitely tense, but he didn’t sound one breath away from losing the lunch he’d just eaten.

  Felicia was. She clutched his arm and peered around him, unsure if she could stand on her own. She’d only known fear like this a few times in her life. When her father had beaten her mother into unconsciousness and then turned his gaze toward Felicia.

  When her mother had brought home a boyfriend that thought he could have all three of the Cheswick women.

  A flash of
red crossed her eyesight, a deadly reminder of what she was willing to do to save herself. She’d taken a knife from the butcher block in the kitchen and cut the deadbeat loser who’d tried to come into her bedroom and take what he wanted from her.

  But there were no knives here that would help her.

  “This is Breather territory.”

  “I’m not in Williamsburg,” Jordan said, taking a step back and pressing Felicia into the door behind her. “And I’m not here as a club member. Just out with my girlfriend.”

  “Let’s see her,” another biker called, and it was all Felicia could do not to whimper.

  “No,” Jordan said, his voice loud and authoritative. “She’s mine.”

  The door behind her started to open, and Felicia had to move out of the way. The sandy-haired cashier who’d taken their order came outside. He’d been wearing a nametag that read Hugh on it earlier. “You all need to clear off my property right now,” he said.

  “We ain’t causing you a problem,” the lead biker said.

  “I’ve already called the police,” Hugh said. “Now get lost.” He went back inside, leaving Felicia to wonder if he’d really called the police.

  “I just want to see her.” Rough hands grabbed her arm, wrenching her away from Jordan.

  She cried out, and Jordan gave a primal yell, lunging toward her with panic and absolute fury on his face. “Don’t touch her!”

  Strong hands grabbed him too, but Felicia was spun around to face the man who’d separated her from her protector. Her safety.

  He possessed cold eyes and a sneer, just like the man who’d tried to rape her when she was fifteen years old. His breath stank of stale beer and something illegal. Without waiting or thinking, she struck out, kicking the man as hard as she could in the groin.

  Pain and anger filled his eyes as he dropped to his knees.

  She spun around and found Jordan shoving a guy away from him while a second bled on the ground nearby. Blood dripped from his knuckles, and he looked terrifying and lethal.

  “Come on,” he said to her, extending that bloody hand toward her. She scampered over to him, and the sound of sirens filled the air. They were definitely far away but coming closer quickly.

  “We don’t want trouble,” he said. “We really just came to eat.” He walked through the swath of bikers like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. “Get on, Leesh,” he said almost under his breath. He shoved her helmet into her arms, and with shaking hands and legs, she got on his motorcycle as quickly as she could.

  Would they be in trouble for leaving the scene? She’d kicked a man, and he’d clearly incapacitated two others.

  There would be consequences for that, she was sure of it.

  “Tell Fire that we gave him what he wanted, and this wasn’t necessary,” Jordan said just before he revved his bike and took off. She’d barely latched her helmet into place, and she flung her arms around him, pressing into his back and closing her eyes.

  This time, she had no problem doing that.

  She expected more engines to follow them, but they didn’t come. The silence around her that had been so wonderful on the ride here unnerved her now. Her tears chilled as they streaked down her face, but she’d once again escaped the real threat.

  As if in the blink of an eye, Jordan pulled into his driveway and killed the engine. They both sat on the motorcycle for a few seconds, until he finally said, “I’m so sorry.”

  Felicia forced her muscles to move. “It’s okay.”

  “Felicia.”

  “I just want to go home.” She could barely look at him as she handed him the helmet. “Thanks for lunch.” She wanted to shrug out of the leather jacket and leave it behind. But she didn’t, because she wanted to cling to the strong woman who wasn’t afraid to ride on the back of a motorcycle with her boyfriend.

  “Felicia,” he said again, frustration coating the syllables in her name.

  “I’ll call you later.” She practically ran to her safe, smart, sensible sedan, and she left without looking at him. She blew the heater the whole way home, but her hands never stopped shaking.

  In the safety of her house, with every door locked behind her, she stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself. Her makeup was streaked from where she’d cried, and she angrily threw a washcloth into the sink and turned on the hot water.

  After wiping away the evidence of the day, she pulled off the leather jacket and tossed it into her closet. She wasn’t the biker’s girlfriend. She wasn’t meant for leather and lace. She couldn’t stomach danger and desperation and leaning into curves at sixty miles per hour.

  And if that was all true, maybe she wasn’t made for Jordan Waterhouse either.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lucas Miner moved around his house, feeling more and more pathetic with every box he loaded and taped closed. He’d tried to tell himself it wasn’t his fault that the owners of the house had sold it. It didn’t make him a failure.

  But moving back in with Jordan felt like a step backward, when Lucas wanted to move forward. He sometimes felt like he was ready to leap, but the universe insisted he take baby steps instead.

  “And in the wrong direction,” he muttered, smoothing down the tape on yet another box.

  He had not asked his best friend to come help him, though Jordan would. But the man was still nursing bruised ribs, and he had his hands full with a real job and an amazing woman.

  Lucas sighed and sat down on the couch, his own back twinging a little with all the bending and straightening he’d been doing. Smoky barked, and Lucas looked over at the dog he’d been taking from Jordan more and more.

  “Come on, bud,” he said, patting the couch. “I was just talking to myself.”

  The mutt jumped onto the sofa and curled into his side. Lucas stroked the dog absently, stealing some of his calm energy.

  He’d been out looking for a new job for one day—on Friday—and he wasn’t sure the week of Thanksgiving was the greatest time to be searching. He’d take seasonal work at this point, because his bank account was starting to wail at him in his quiet moments.

  Like right now.

  But he deserved a quiet Sunday, didn’t he?

  He’d been able to help a lot around Ruby’s the last couple of weeks, and it had been Maverick who’d told him to talk to Jordan again. He’d offered Lucas a room in his loft, but the man had just announced his wife was pregnant, and Lucas didn’t want to impose on him and Karly as they built their family.

  He leaned his head back, his mind flowing to his own family. The memories weren’t pleasant, but he didn’t shut them out. He’d gone to a therapist a couple of times after Mav had rescued him and Jordan from a life on the streets, and she’d told him not to bury things.

  That might have been the best piece of advice Lucas had ever gotten, and he let himself think about his mother first. She’d died when he was only eleven, and while Lucas hadn’t known it at the time, she’d done more for him than anyone else.

  Including shielding him from his father’s abuse. Lucas had put up with that for years, only swinging back once. And the beating that had followed that had put him in the hospital.

  He’d heard all the promises, but his father was a mean drunk. No matter what Lucas did, it was never good enough. He’d get a four-point-oh on his report card and his father would want to know why he hadn’t made the basketball team.

  When Lucas had finally had enough, he’d left the house bleeding and blubbering, and he’d gone to Jordan’s. They’d taken him in, and he’d enjoyed a relatively safe six months there before his mother had moved to Chicago to be closer to Jordan’s older brother.

  “Miss you, Mom,” Lucas whispered to himself, still stroking Smoky.

  He did not miss his father, but he was incredibly lonely. Even with all of his friends in the Sentinels, Lucas still came home alone. He hadn’t had a girlfriend in a while, and he had no idea how to meet women.

  He knew it wouldn’t happen sitting on his
couch, so he got up and said, “Come on, you lazy dog.” He chuckled as Smoky looked up at him. “Let’s go for a walk.” He took the dog’s leash from the kitchen counter and clipped it to Smoky’s collar.

  Out in the woods, he let the dog run wherever he wanted. After about five minutes, the mutt always came back to Lucas’s side, panting with that goofy grin on his face. And Lucas absolutely loved him, loud bark and all.

  But here in town, he kept the dog leashed, because he had a soft spot for children, and there were plenty in this neighborhood. Most of them didn’t like a fifty-pound dog barreling toward them, barking like he had a personal vendetta against small humans.

  “Don’t pull me,” he told the dog as he opened the door that led into the carport. Smoky pulled, of course, and Lucas kept tugging him back to his side. After the first couple of blocks, the dog settled down into an easy rhythm, and Lucas was able to tuck his hand into his coat pocket and loosen his grip on the leash.

  He lived close to the center of Forbidden Lake, and his secret mission when he’d told Smoky they should go for a walk was to get a cup of caramel hot chocolate and a chocolate chip muffin from Whitetails, the best coffee shop and bakery in town.

  It was a relatively new establishment, but the word had gotten out about the killer muffins, and Lucas had to wait about ten minutes before he got his treats. Smoky waited on the sidewalk outside, lying down and keeping quiet like the good dog he was. Jordan thought he was too loud, but Lucas knew the canine just needed someone who understood what it was like to have a loud bark and be a complete teddy bear underneath.

  Lucas felt more connected to the dog, and he was sure that made him quite pathetic.

  He stood on the street and pinched off pieces of his muffin, feeding a couple to Smoky though he knew dogs weren’t supposed to eat chocolate. He watched a woman enter the bakery, but she ducked her head away from him.

  Probably the beard, he thought. After all, she couldn’t see all the tattoos because of the heavy winter coat he wore. He was grateful for that too, as he hadn’t always had the proper gear he needed in the winter.