by D. A. Young
“As tempting as that offer sounds, Marnie, I gotta say no. If Boss Lady even found out about it,” Ransom allowed the words to sink in before adding, “I don’t even want to get on her bad side. Do you?”
That was enough to make her smile fade. She straightened up, man-eater mode swiftly replaced with professionalism. She missed Ransom’s grin as she returned to her desk and grabbed a clipboard to scribble his request down. “I’ll make sure the car is in your lot.”
“Thanks, Marnie.”
Ransom left her and went out to the main floor where Shakes supervised the dismantling of a black Jaguar XJS coupe’s passenger door. A medium-sized cardboard box sat at his feet. “What’s up, brother?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to let you know that Digger is bringing a gold Lexus in. It stays in my slot, and no one fucks with it but me.”
Shakes bent down and picked up four, tightly wrapped bundles of cocaine from the box and carefully packed them inside of the door. Once done, he reassembled the door. Drug smuggling and gun-running were the main sources of income for the Immortals, aside from personal security, the garage, and the strip club. And business was damn good. The quality of the merchandise was excellent and always delivered on time. Many law enforcement palms were greased in the process to look the other way, ensuring a smooth delivery.
Sparks of interest appeared in Shakes’ eyes. “Who is she?”
“None of your business.”
“Come on!” Shakes wheedled. “Where is she? Lemme meet her! I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“You don’t own any good behavior,” Ransom reminded his friend good-naturedly. “Her name’s Billy, and she’s off limits to all of you fuckers.”
“Billy?” Shakes grimaced. “That’s not a girl’s name! She can’t be that fine with a boy’s name.”
Long, slender limbs the color of nutmeg and sexy dark eyes popped into Ransom’s mind, followed by the full, sweet curves of her lips that he’d traced and memorized with his tongue. An honor he sensed that few were privy to before him. Billy was a rarity. A shooting star, uniquely herself. Ransom was convinced that the universe was crushing tough on her. Almost as hard as he was. The scales had probably been tipped in her favor since birth, and she definitely knew her worth.
Ransom smirked at his best friend. “Yeah, what do I know? Guess you’ve got it all figured out.”
“Seriously, what “Billy” do you know that’s attractive? Billy Jean King?” Shakes tested him derisively.
“You’re an ass. Later.”
“Billy the Kid?! Billy Joel?! Billy Idol?!” he shouted after Ransom and got no answer. “Billy fucking goats?!”
“Your brother had no right to make that call for you.” Pitch tipped back his bottle of Coors and finished it off. “Are you gonna let him get away with disrespecting you like that, Harley? The brothers are watching you. I know he’s your twin, but…” he trailed off, glancing around covertly before continuing. “You’re our future! This is your birthright. I gotta be straight with you, man. That shit Prez said this morning made you look weak as fuck.”
His best friend’s words were hot coals of humiliation branded into his skin. They burned and rankled, offering Harley no reprieve or shelter to lick his wounds. He could still feel Slade’s contempt when he’d quizzed Tank on his brother’s whereabouts.
“So, she came with one brother but left with the other? Hell, even I can’t fault a bitch for having good taste. She clearly knew a winner when she finally saw one.”
His skin was taut, crackling with anger, his constant companion, and Harley needed a regular release from it. An outlet, just like last night, always did the trick. Janet had been perfect. From the moment he’d seen her, Harley was immediately drawn to her. That lily-white skin and all the ways he could decorate it with his special brand of art made him harder than he’d been in months, envisioning her terrified and screaming for mercy.
It was a risk bringing her home, but Harley wanted her too bad to think it through. For the first two hours, he had to gag her for fear of getting caught. Her look of heart-stopping terror fed his monster as he stared into her light blue eyes. Harley had no intentions of sharing, but Digger happened to be out in the hall mopping the floors. It was quiet with everyone in town, and the slut’s first scream brought him running. Harley decided to let him get in on the action. If Digger was getting his dick wet, then he couldn’t very well go running and blabbing his big mouth, could he? It was either that or kill him. Letting Digger live was Harley’s good deed for the day.
“Harley, you listening to me? How long are you gonna let Ransom call the shots? Harley? Harley?!”
He grew aroused as memories flooded his mind. Janet’s revulsion when they doubled down on her. His hands wrapping around her slender throat and squeezing until she was on the brink of unconsciousness, triggering his violent release. The look of resigned acceptance on the faces of his prey that they were about to die, fear combined with defeat was an aphrodisiac, a constant fix that Harley now required. Every raw encounter with Slade drew him deeper into darkness. And he loved it. That familiar place of inconspicuousness was starting to feel like home. It was becoming harder and harder to conceal it.
Pitch was the only one that understood. They were two of a kind. That was why they normally went pussy hunting together on the road. To do the things they couldn’t do close to home. With his short blonde curls and ocean eyes, women were drawn to the Pitch’s choirboy good looks. Yesterday, he had been out of town to pay his respects at his grandmother’s funeral. He’d made it back in time this morning for church and to watch Harley receive his latest ass-reaming from Prez. After a scathing lecture from Slade yesterday morning regarding the botched paint job, Harley had taken off like a bat out of hell to find the release he needed. He didn’t see anything wrong in bringing Janet here. Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t planned on sharing his new toy once he’d broken her in.
As usual, his twin didn’t agree with him. He’d taken Janet away as soon as Harley turned his back, giving Ransom the perfect opportunity to plant a blade in it. There wasn’t anything that he wouldn’t do for Ransom, but Harley was tired of his twin’s goody-two-shoes act. Of him acting like he wasn’t just as affected by Slade. That cool façade was always in place and at times, made him resentful of his brother. Especially when he provided the protective barrier between him and Slade.
That drove Harley insane more than anything. Regardless of his actions, Slade refused to recognize his efforts and continuously put him down no matter where they were. Sometimes, they were subtle digs like splinters penetrating his skin. In vain, Harley tried to get rid of them, but they only burrowed deeper into the blackness of his soul. Other times, they were full-on verbal assaults that felt like a physical beat down. Harley never knew how or when they would be administered. He just had to be prepared to take them. Slade relished putting him on the spot. Of watching him sink in front of everyone until Ransom stepped in and coolly diffused the situation.
Always little bro to the rescue.
Yet, despite how he felt, no one else could say shit about Ransom. Harley lunged forward and grabbed Pitch by the neck. He tried to break free, but Harley slammed his face against the hot, wooden picnic table.
“Watch your mouth when it comes to Ransom! This is the only warning you’ll get, Pitch.”
“I was wondering if you were gonna let him get away with that.” Ransom’s quiet voice reached him as he stepped out of the auto shop’s back door and into the patio area that served as an employee break station.
Harley’s eyes closed against the disappointment and reproach he heard in Ransom’s voice. He released Pitch, and the smaller man shot to his feet and backed away from the table. “Never, brother. Surely, you know that no one comes between us. Ever.”
“Fuck this shit!” Pitch shouted, grabbing at the back of his aching neck. “I’m outta here. Just remember what I said, Harley.”
Ransom deliberately blocked the exit
for the instigating asshole, forcing Pitch to either confront him or find another way out. The little bitch chose to jump the mesh fence instead. Pity. He wouldn’t dwell on it too much, though. Pitch couldn’t help himself. Eventually, that mouth of his would trip him up again. Ransom planned to make sure he was there when it did.
“When are you gonna get it through your head that he doesn’t have anyone’s best interests at heart except his, Harley? Pitch is only interested in pushing his own agenda?”
Add condemnation, know-it-all, and disapproval, and the parts to Ransom’s alter-ego, “Sanctimonious Asshole” formed like Voltron, shredding Harley’s nerves.
“Did you come out here just to tell me how much I fucked up? If so, save it, man. I’m not in the mood for any of it.” Harley turned his back to him dismissively.
There was no remorse for what he’d done.
Fury lit a fire in Ransom’s soul, remembering his promise to Angela in front of her hotel.
Gingerly, Angela peeled herself from around Ransom and got off his bike. Relief brightened her eyes that he’d kept his promise. “Thank you.”
Ransom’s expression was pained at hearing those words again. “No thanks—”
“Don’t!” she implored. Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it. “You did the right thing when you didn’t have to. We both know what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t stepped up. I wish I could repay you in some way—”
Her choked cry of anguish made it hard for her to continue. Ransom could only watch helplessly while she struggled for composure. He didn’t attempt to comfort her. Ransom didn’t want to take the risk of Angela forming any attachments to him. He just wanted to make sure that she was going to be okay. If only there was a way that he could ease her mind.
“I just hate what he did to me!” she whispered in a tormented voice. “I want him to pay!”
Now, that, Ransom could help her with.
Ransom grabbed the back of Harley’s chair and yanked it back, causing his brother to fall backward onto the hot concrete slab.
Disoriented, Harley rolled to his side and scrambled to his feet, holding his ringing head. “What the fuck man?!”
“What’s the matter, pretty boy? You can’t take a little pain?” Ransom taunted him. “Or is it because you’re used to dishing it out on helpless females?! Quit acting like a fucking pussy and show me what you got!”
Enraged, Harley rushed Ransom. He caught him around the waist and tried to drive him back into the wall, but Ransom was ready for him. He clasped his hands together and brought them down on top of his brother’s head while simultaneously bringing his right knee up to catch Harley under the chin.
The action caused Harley to bite his tongue viciously. Blood exploded in his mouth as Ransom repeated the action, and Harley loosened his grip. The excruciating pain had him falling to his knees, but he wasn’t done yet. Harley staggered to his feet with a maniacal snarl, swinging wildly at Ransom, who deftly avoided his aimless punches. Harley’s head snapped back in quick succession as blinding bursts of agony detonated behind his eyes from Ransom’s jabs, rendering him unbalanced. He was finally knocked off his feet when his brother slammed his fist into his jaw.
“You’re not in the mood for it, huh?” Ransom hissed, standing over his brother’s prone body. “You think I was in the fucking mood to clean up your mess?! To try to reassure the girl that you raped that she was gonna be alright? To wonder from this day forward how much you’ve ruined her life?!”
Ransom couldn’t help himself. His wrath and heartache were fused with his adrenaline, making him unable to rein himself in. Harley’s blood sprayed his face as he struck him repeatedly. Employees poured out of the back door to watch. His brother’s face was grotesque and distorted yet, Ransom felt no sympathy. He grabbed Harley by his cut and lowered his face to look into his eyes, allowing his big brother to see from half an open eye just how serious he was.
Into Harley’s ear, Ransom harshly whispered, “No one in this world knows me better than you do, so you know I mean what I say. I love you, Harley! God knows I do! You know I would go to hell and back for you and have always had your back! But if you ever, in your sorry ass, pathetic life, do something like that again…I won’t think twice about putting you down like the rabid animal you’re becoming.”
He released his grip and Harley fell back to the ground. The deafening silence was broken by their father.
“Get him up, boys. Have Pitch take him home to his mama’s nipple,” Slade ordered callously.
He didn’t spare any concern for Harley as he went back inside, ignoring Ransom’s blistering glare. It wasn’t necessary. All he cared about was that the future leader of their MC was still on his feet and uninjured. Slade allowed himself a satisfied grin, whistling cheerfully. He’d been worried that Ransom would go easy on Harley and show him some leniency.
Clearly, it’d been a waste of his time.
Chatham was completely surreal to Billy.
She couldn’t believe how small it actually was. Or how invested its nosy residents were in her every move. Billy could feel their prying eyes on her as she headed toward the bar Ransom mentioned. Normally, such blatant rudeness was deserving of middle fingers accompanied by sentences liberally sprinkled with colorful enhancers. Billy would have done just that if she wasn’t so nervous. Somehow, she’d managed to convince herself that driving close to nine hundred miles to meet a complete stranger was a fan-fucking-tastic idea.
What if Marcus only came to the funeral to see if Melody had left him anything? Or to make sure that Billy continued to keep her distance? Surely, if Marcus wanted kids, nothing would have kept him away from her?
Doubt was creeping in. Just because Melody thought she was the best thing since sliced bread didn’t mean Marcus would. Billy found herself longing for a normality she would never experience again. Of kicking back on the sofa with her mom, a big bowl of caramel-cheddar popcorn between them while binge-watching shows like “A Different World” and “Miami Vice” on VHS. They’d both been addicted to “New York Undercover” and never missed an episode on Thursday nights. Television was their thing. Now, it would never be the same for her.
Billy turned the corner and immediately understood why this section was closed off from the rest of the “town”. The first building seemed perfectly respectable. The hotel Puebla Bonita was made of adobe, three stories high, and positively enchanting. Instinctively, Billy knew her mother would have appreciated the place. The windows and main doors were painted brick red with lavender doves stenciled on them. Long white-dyed ristras of chiles hung on either side of the double doors. She would later discover that they were believed to bring good luck and good fortune. Garnishing the exterior were euphorbia cacti in assorted sizes ranging from three to five feet and potted in violet and yellow clay pots. It was an inviting and well-kept establishment. Whoever owned it obviously cared about its appearance.
Billy felt sorry for them, though, when her eyes shifted to the eyesore next to it blasting Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me”. Petal Soft Comfort. Hmm. Evidently, this was where Chatham’s diversity was. There was a group of women of varying ethnicities on the wide front porch. They wore diaphanous bits of lingerie or nothing at all. Billy was going to take a wild guess and assume she’d found the brothel. It was painted a garish neon-blue and covered in red roses and daisies with vines. She stopped for a moment to take in the outrageous show the women were putting on.
They were entertaining a group of bikers with lap dances or servicing them sexually. A large man with orange-red hair and pale, freckled skin and one hand, walked among them, overseeing the entire spectacle. He glanced away from them with a bored yawn and stared at Billy, who was gawking with outraged disbelief and perverse awe. He called out to her in a thick Irish brogue.
“Won’t ye come and join the party, lass? We’ve got more than enough room! I could use a looker like ye.”
He laughed crudely, rubbing his hand over his crotch sugges
tively.
“Ask any of my gals, and they’ll tell ye I treat ‘em well!”
“No thanks. I’d honestly rather shove a hornet’s nest up my crotch,” Billy assured him dryly.
The bikers and hookers laughed at his expense, and his skin turned florid with anger. Billy bowed gracefully and continued on her way.
Take that, fucker.
Loud music and boisterous conversation to her right caught her attention. This song was the Eurhythmics “Would I Lie to You”. It was pouring from the open doors of a storefront two shops away. Its hanging sign was shaped like a large flame with black lettering in the middle that read Inferno.
Oh boy.
This was it.
What was the worst thing that could happen? It’s not like she knew the guy. If Marcus rejected her, she’d simply grab her car and be out. At least then, Billy would know and the “what if” wondering would stop. He won’t make or break you, Billy reminded herself. Cancer couldn’t do it and neither could Neville. Marcus Glover was a nobody. She’d be damned if she allowed him to disrupt her peace of mind.
But if she left, she wouldn’t see Ransom again. Once more, that sinking feeling overwhelmed her at the depressing thought. The biker was growing on her. And so was that big dick walk of his. After that kiss next to the highway, Billy realized exactly why he walked the way he did. And it made her weak with desire. She recalled overhearing a conversation between her mother and one of her girlfriends.
“Girl, I knew it! He walked way too fast and straightforward to be working with anything special. That’s what I call the Lil’ Dick Hustle,” Melody cackled into the phone. Noticing Billy standing in her bedroom doorway, she quickly shooed her away. “This is grown folks business! Be gone, missy!”