by Voss, Deja
Chapter 13
Stacy:
“What the hell?!” I groan when I hear the truck idling outside my window. It’s not even eight in the morning yet, and although I’m not sad to put this shitty hotel behind me, I definitely don’t feel like being awake.
I hear the pounding on the door, and I’m not sure if it’s Hank or someone else here to probably kidnap me, possibly murder me, but the way my head is pounding, I almost wish someone would just put me out of my misery.
“What do you want?” I ask, throwing my door open in nothing but my underwear and a t-shirt. “I told you eleven.”
He looks more terrible than I probably do. The bags under his eyes age him, never mind the fact that they’re bloodshot. Still sexy, I have to admit, but definitely like a guy who didn’t get any sleep last night. He stands there in his black t-shirt and fitted jeans with the holes in them, broad and cut, damn near taking up the whole doorway, and I have to pick up my jaw off the floor. This man wants me. Maybe not in a good way, but I don’t exactly hate his idea of negative attention if it’s anything like last night’s adventure.
“So how do we do this?” I ask. “Do you duct tape my arms and legs together and throw me in the back of your truck? I’ve never been kidnapped before.”
“Why in the hell do you think I’m going to kidnap you? Do you have a bug on me or something?”
“Dear lord, you’re paranoid. The only bugs on anyone are whatever’s crawling around on this mattress.”
He starts grabbing my clothes and shoving them into my duffel bag. “I’m not kidnapping you. I’m taking you to my place until we figure out what’s going to happen.”
“Like how you’re going to kill me?”
“Until we figure out where you’re going to get the money to pay for that apartment you were looking at,” he says, looking at me with disgust. “You gotta stop it with that shit. Nobody’s gonna kill you. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I’m sorry,” I sigh. “I’m not a morning person. I need coffee in me.”
“Well get dressed and pack your shit and I’ll take you out to breakfast.”
“I need to take a shower,” I say.
“You can shower at my place. Let’s just get out of here. This place brings back bad memories for me.”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Hey. I thought what we had last night was beautiful.”
“Not that,” he says, unsmiling. “And about last night…”
Last night… that steamy, oh so wrong, hate fucking that makes me hot just thinking about it?
“That’s not gonna be a regular thing,” he says. “Finish getting ready. I’ll be in the truck.”
He shuts the door behind him and I wander around picking up odds and ends, brushing my teeth and dabbing a little make-up on my face. I throw on some jeans and a hoodie and spray myself with perfume. I’m not going to miss the smell of this place, that’s for sure.
I don’t know if he’s trying to be a hard-ass or if he actually is repulsed by me, but I am looking forward to breakfast. I take one last look around my temporary home and say a silent prayer that I’m not on my way to my funeral. Everything he’s saying is kind, but the way he’s saying it, the way he’s looking at me, it’s almost too robotic. He’s a confusing man, that’s for sure.
We pull out of the parking lot and ride down the highway in silence, except for the heavy metal playing softly from the speakers. His truck is nice. It smells like him, like a guy who chews gum constantly and wears a leather cut.
“Were you surprised when you saw me this morning? Did you think I was going to run off?” I ask, trying to break the silence.
“No,” he says with a laugh. “Not at all. You’re kind of crazy. Crazy enough to stick around.”
“I told you, I like it here. I don’t know how to make you believe me.”
“Me neither,” he says, shrugging.
He turns into the truck stop, a 24/7 diner on one end. “You said you liked pancakes?” he asks.
I nod excitedly. I fucking love pancakes. They had turned into kind of a splurge meal on my adventures, though. “Are they good here?”
“They’re awesome. Come on.”
It feels weird the way he holds the door at the diner open for me. It feels weird when he tells the hostess party of two. He orders my coffee for me. He makes casual banter with the waitress. I know we’re not on a date, but this feels like some normal Saturday morning couples bullshit.
The place is packed, and I don’t know if he did this on purpose as a gesture to show me he wasn’t going to kill me, because if I went missing, he would be the last person I was seen with. However, if I went missing, nobody would be looking for me anyway, at least not here, and I’m sure he’s well aware of that.
The coffee is so strong and so good, better than the instant shit I’ve been making in my hotel room, and when the waitress brings me my pancakes, I feel like maybe he’s already killed me and I’m in heaven. I plow into them without any regard to the people around me, drowning them in syrup.
“Have you been eating?” he asks.
I shrug. Kind of. Here and there. Bits and pieces. Since moving to the motel, I’ve learned that I can stretch out six-dollars-worth of Chinese takeout over three days.
“You came here with nothing?”
“I didn’t have much time to pack or grab cash. I had to ditch my debit card and my phone. I told you, I’m hiding,” I say between bites, shoveling bite after bite of pancakes into my mouth, barely stopping to take a breath.
“You’re telling me this stuff, but it’s not adding up. Why would you run from one biker gang right to another? If you’re trying to get out of that life, then what the hell are you doing here?”
“Honestly?” I say, scooping up the last bite wistfully, “I don’t have a clue. I’m just as confused as you are on that one. I guess I just don’t know any better.”
“That Olive stuff last night… how did you know what to tell her to do?”
“How is she by the way?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Listen, I’m full of pancakes. You could shoot me right now, and I’d die with a smile on my face.”
“Azalea,” he says sternly, grabbing my leg under the table. “You have to stop saying that. I’m not going to kill you. I just want answers.”
I’ve never told the story of Harold out loud to anyone. Who would I tell? I am just beginning to feel that wound heal. I’m just starting to be able to make peace with what happened and let go of my past life, and hearing it come out of my mouth is going to be like ripping off a scab and jamming my finger in the hole.
“I want to give you answers,” I say. “I swear, I want to tell you everything.” I lean over the table and stare into his cool blue eyes, our faces centimeters apart. “My brother shot my fiancé. My dad helped him frame it as self-defense.”
Of course I’m going to omit some important details for the time being. I’m going to need to know more about him before I spill my marbles.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“I was afraid for my own life, so I ran away. I’m sure they’re looking for me, but I doubt they’ll ever find me here.”
“Where are you from?”
“Kentucky. Northernmost chapter is in West Virginia. I don’t know if you’ve had any interaction with the Debasers before, but they make you guys look like a bunch of teddy bears, and that’s even after last night. I don’t mean that in an offensive way either. They’re just… evil.”
He has a sad smile on his face.
“Yeah, what you’re seeing is a very small picture of a long history of evil, my father being the root of it,” he says. “Things are different now, but you never know when our genetics will come back to haunt us.”
“Is he dead?” I ask. He shakes his head.
“If you want to hide out here, I don’t have a problem with it. I am watching your every move, though. And the rest of the guys, too.”
I get it. For all he knows, I’m still lying through my teeth, trying to pull the wool over his eyes so I can enact whatever insidious plan he thinks I’m cooking up.
“Could you maybe not tell the other guys?” I ask. “I don’t want to be seen as a problem. Honestly, I just want to work at the bar and get back on my feet and figure it out from there. I’m not trying to start some sort of gang war. I kind of like being no-name-nobody-cares Stacy Smith.”
“Why would I do that for you?” he asks.
“You stumped me again. It was worth a shot, though.”
The waitress drops the check on the table and he grabs for it before I even get the chance. Our fucked-up little breakfast date.
“I can pay my own way,” I say, reaching for my wad of cash in my purse and counting out some money.
“Don’t.”
“Whatever .” I’m not too proud to take a free meal right now.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he says. “This isn’t like a boyfriend girlfriend thing.”
“Good .” I am allowed to think he’s hot. I’m allowed to want to fuck him, even, but I need a boyfriend right now like I need a hole in my head. What I really need is a way to make money so I don’t have to worry about tomorrow.
His phone rings on our way out of the diner.
“Oh shit, that’s great,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll be up soon. I’m with her right now. She’s pretty shaken up. I’m gonna let her stay at the house for a little bit.”
“I’m not,” I say, as he opens the truck door for me. “Is Olive ok?”
He slams it behind me, and as he gets in, he holds his head in his hands.
“If you want to keep up this little sham, Stacy… you’re a wreck. You are so upset about what you saw last night you wanted to run away and never come back. Got it?”
I don’t know why he’s giving me this opportunity, but I’ll take it. We pull out of the parking lot and onto the highway. I forgot to ask where he lived. I have no idea where we’re going. I know these guys all live up on a mountain somewhere together, working on some sort of outlaw commune dream where they can live life on their own terms, but I’ve never seen the place. I have no idea what to expect.
“Olive is going to be fine. She’ll be out by Monday. It’s taking a little bit of time because it’s the weekend.”
I’m so relieved that, for once, I didn’t fuck everything up. I can’t wait to see her and hug her and apologize for beating the shit out of her, even if it was for her own good. She’s pretty much the only friend I have going for me, even though she doesn’t even know who I am yet.
“What’s going to happen with the bar?” I ask.
“Well, technically, it’s a crime scene right now. I have no idea. I think everyone’s going to need a little time off to recover.”
“I need a job. I have to work. What am I going to do?”
“I don’t know. Tank’s probably going to want some time off the shop this week once Ollie gets out. You know bikes, don’t you?”
“Are you serious?!” I’d always wanted to work in my dad’s shop, but he wouldn’t let me. He didn’t think it was appropriate for girls to do stuff like that, even though he taught me whatever I wanted to know in the privacy of our own garage. “I know a little bit. I’ll do whatever, Hank, I swear. I’ll mop the floors. That would be a dream come true.”
“You’re one of a kind, that’s for sure,” he says. I think he’s smiling. It kind of looks like it. I can’t really read his face behind his black sunglasses.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he pulls into the parking lot of the grocery store.
“I need groceries. Plus, I don’t have any girl shit for you at the house.”
“Girl shit? Sounds dreamy.”
“I don’t know. Body wash, scented candles, tampons, nipple cream?”
“I don’t think nipple cream is a thing,” I say, bursting into laughter. “Maybe for cows?” I’m beginning to wonder if this guy has even had a girlfriend before. He might know how to lay it down, but that doesn’t mean he knows anything about women. Maybe he’s not being a dick. Maybe he just doesn’t know any better.
“Whatever .” He shrugs. “Do you need stuff?”
“Will you start me a tab?” I ask.
“Come on,” he says. We might not be boyfriend and girlfriend, but spending Saturday afternoon at the grocery store shopping for nipple cream and ‘girl shit’ isn’t something you just do with a random biker. At least I know he’s not going to kidnap me and kill me. So he says. Of course, he still doesn’t know the whole story. At least I’ll die in a house full of scented candles and tampons.
Chapter 14
Goob:
This broad is driving me nuts. Nuts in a way I don’t understand. I don’t know why I feel the need to make sure she’s comfortable in my house. This is just temporary. I don’t know why playing girlfriend with her is kind of comforting, even though I keep telling her I’m not trying to date her.
Under any other circumstances, she’d be my dream woman. She’s hot, she likes to fuck, she knows bikes, she wants to work, and apparently she knows how to cook. That’s still to be determined, but judging by the groceries she picked out, I’m going to have to put in double time at the gym this week.
I still don’t trust her as far as I can throw her, and I stand outside the bathroom door while she mixes up a box of hair dye and starts dabbing it on her head.
“I don’t know why you’re doing that,” I say. “Nobody here cares.”
“It makes me feel better,” she says with this deep southern drawl. “It makes me feel safe. I’m hiding out, remember?”
“Right,” I say. I don’t know how to make her feel safe here. I have no idea who these guys are who are potentially after her, but she definitely picked a good place to hide. It’s not like this mountain is exactly an easy place to get to, and by design, we’re way out in the woods, where you can hear a car coming a mile away.
“I’m going to the clubhouse,” I say. “Are you going to be ok?”
She stares at me like I just slapped her in the face or something.
“You bring me up here to the middle of nowhere and you’re just going to leave me? What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Shave your legs? Do some yoga? What do girls do?”
She starts to swing the bathroom door shut but I grab it in my hand.
“Do you want me to send my sister over? I’m sure she’s dying to meet you.”
I love Esther to death, but the girl has to have her nose in every bit of business that goes on in the club. It could be a good thing. If this broad is hiding anything, Esther is the one who will get her to crack. She does that sneaky nice thing like she’s your best friend in the world, but if you’re going to mess with her club, she’ll turn into a rabid dog on the drop of a dime.
“Can I be Stacy?” she asks.
“Be whoever you want to be. I’ll be down the road.”
The truth is, I want to stay here with her. I don’t want to take my eyes off of her. Now that she’s here, I want to spend every second with her. I keep trying to tell myself it’s for the good of the club, but I know it’s more than that. I like her. I want her. I just don’t think that’s even kind of a good idea.
“You need anything?” I ask.
The way she’s standing there in nothing but a towel, biting her lip, makes me regret asking that question. I need to get out of here, and I need to do it now.
I walk out of the house. The music blaring from the clubhouse below makes me regret my choices. On the weekends, the clubhouse turns into Gingerbread Ranch, Esther’s own little brothel and strip club. Fortunately, there’s a private bar for those of us who choose to not indulge in the activities, or whose wives would chop their dicks off if they did.
I go in the side door, into the dark smoky room where my brothers are sitting, passing a joint around while they drink beer. I walk right up to Tank and give him a hug. I haven’
t talked to him since last night, but I’m sure, with his old lady locked up and his best friend on the lam, he’s probably not having the night of his life.
“I’m sorry, brother,” I say. “How you holding up?”
He puts the joint to his lips and takes a long drag. “I’m not. I’m just trying to stay catatonic til she gets out.”
“Where’s Stacy?” Gavin asks, patting me on the back.
“At the house.”
“Is she ok?”
“Yeah, she’s alright. She just needed to be alone after last night.”
“I get it,” he says, handing me a bottle of beer.
“Well, I don’t,” Esther says, peeking her head up from behind the bar. “Brooks has told me the story at least ten times, and something isn’t adding up here.”
“Oh come on, Esther, she’s right up your alley. She stabbed a person to protect the club,” Gavin says.
“She stabbed my fucking best friend. And all this legal shit she knows. She’s gotta be a cop.”
“She’s not a cop,” I say. “You think I’d let a cop stay at my place? She’s a girl who’s had a lot of hard breaks. She came here looking for a clean slate and she ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You like her!” she says, her green eyes growing wide.
“I’m being a decent human, E. The girl just witnessed a nasty murder under our watch.”
She’s grinning from ear to ear. I know my sister only wants the best for me, and I know she wants me to settle down and find a good woman. I don’t know how good of a woman she’s going to think Azalea is though once she finds out the truth about her.
“Can you just go over to the house and talk to her? I think she needs a friend or something.”
“I am dying to meet her,” she giggles.
“Where’s your old man?” I ask, looking around for her husband, Brooks, our president. I want to see what he knows about the Debasers, if we have any record of any past interactions with them in our club history. I know my father did a lot of networking back in the day, and his reach spans far beyond motorcycle club chapters in the state.