by S. Nelson
“I’ll love you forever, Riley Crosswell.”
“You better.”
“Riley!” My eyes popped open, a lone tear escaping. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” I had no idea what made me conjure that specific memory of Kaden and me. I was angry at him, had been for years, and the last thing I wanted to do was remember a time when we were young and innocent and gravely naïve.
“I’ll be right down,” I shouted, swinging my legs off the side of my bed. I drew in a breath, counted to three, then released it, hoping to expel any deep-seated residual fondness I might still carry for the guy who shattered my heart.
“So, is everything okay with you and Dad?” I fidgeted with the air-conditioning settings in my Jeep, trying to find the perfect temperature. Late September was still quite warm in California, especially during the day. I wanted to ask her something else but wasn’t sure if I should. The thought had entered my mind because of how much tension existed between my parents lately. In the end, I took a chance and blurted, “Are you two gonna get divorced?”
“What? No, of course not. Besides, I couldn’t get rid of your father even if I tried.” Her cell dinged with an incoming text, but she ignored it and I had a gut feeling it was from my dad. I could only imagine what kinds of thoughts were going through her head. For me, whenever something bothered me, I created all sorts of scenarios, most of them farfetched and ridiculous. “Not that I would ever want to,” she continued to say soon afterward.
“Want to what?”
“Get rid of your dad. While he can be the most infuriating and irrational man on the face of this earth, I love him with all my heart.” During a lull in traffic, I turned to look at her and she was biting on the corner of her lip, looking like she wanted to say more but wasn’t sure she should.
“Mom, trust me. I know how Dad can be. Don’t feel bad about wanting to smack him upside his head.” She laughed, which helped to assuage the small amount of unease I felt. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” We had an open and honest relationship, minus the secret I’d kept from her about having been with Kaden in the past, and….
Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if she told me every detail, but I also wouldn’t be shocked if she held some things back because I was her daughter and the last thing she wanted to do was paint my dad in a bad light, even though I was aware of how possessive and jealous he could be with her. Granted, he’d only shown that side of him where she was concerned on rare occasions in front of us kids, but lately they’d been arguing more often.
“He doesn’t like that I’m working for Dr. Weber.”
“What does he have against Dr. Weber?”
“Other than he’s a man?” Her phone dinged a second time and once more she ignored it.
“Could it be that he is an attractive man?” I asked, looking at her from the corner of my eye. Addy Crosswell was a beautiful woman and I was sure my dad was aware that other men thought so too. I swore she was in better shape than I was, constantly working out. Then again, she reminded me that at my age, I could get away with eating and drinking whatever I wanted, that it wouldn’t be until I hit my thirties and forties when I’d have to be mindful of what I put in my mouth.
“It shouldn’t matter what he looks like.”
“It shouldn’t, you’re right, but it apparently does.”
“Yeah… it does.” She sighed.
There were a few times in high school Kaden had pulled that jealousy shit on me when he thought I was a bit too friendly with a couple of my guy friends, so I sympathized with what my mom was going through. It wasn’t fun, having to defend yourself, not that she had to do that with my dad, but just having that conversation could be irritating, to say the least.
She reached over and placed her hand on top of mine. “I love your dad. We’ll work through this. We always do.” The corners of her mouth curved upward and that time, when her phone alerted her to another incoming text, she fished the device out of her purse and responded.
5
Hanging up the phone after scheduling one of my clients, Chelsea sidled up next to me like she was about to divulge a huge secret. “What?” I asked, wondering why she stood so close.
“I’m tellin’ you. You missed all the action last night.”
The chime above the door sounded and in walked Mrs. Henson, one of our regular clients, an older woman who just wanted a wash and blowout. Because my next appointment would be arriving in five minutes, I told her to have a seat at the middle wash station and Natalie would be right over to get her started, then Chelsea would take care of her. She flashed me a smile before sauntering toward the other side of the salon.
“At Linc’s fight?” I asked.
I rang out one of Braylen’s clients while she rushed to the bathroom. She hadn’t been feeling well all day and I hoped whatever bug she caught ended soon before she passed it to any of us here at the salon.
“Yeah, you should’ve been there.”
“I told you I don’t like that stuff.”
“Oh, don’t be such a wuss.” She laughed, pulling her phone from her back pocket to check an incoming message. She frowned before tucking it away.
“Everything okay?” Before she could answer, Braylen walked toward the front counter, her complexion paler than before. She’d recently cut her blonde hair into a short bob, the style fitting the angles of her beautiful face, but right then she looked a little worse for wear.
“No,” she answered. “I just can’t shake this bug. I feel worse today than I did yesterday. I think I’m just gonna go home early and rest. Do you think you can close again tonight? Reece would take care of everything, but she and Tripp won’t be back in town until tomorrow.” The last thing she should worry about was this place when she felt so ill, so of course I agreed.
“Don’t worry about it. I got it.”
“I’d hug you, but I don’t want to get you sick.”
“And I appreciate that.” I chuckled, moving back a step just in case. Braylen parted her lips but threw her hand over her mouth before she could say something else, running back toward the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.
The chime above the door sounded again, and this time a tall, dark-haired handsome biker strolled in, jerking his chin toward me and smiling.
“Hey, sweetheart.” When he was close, he leaned down and kissed my cheek.
“Hi, Ryder. How are ya?”
“No complaints.” He looked around the salon. “Where’s Braylen?”
“Hiii, Ryderrr,” Natalie shouted, tilting her head and acting all coy.
“Natalie.” His grin toward her was strained, not wanting to encourage her flirtation. She was all of nineteen, shamelessly flirting with a man more than twice her age. While I could see why she found him attractive, that was too much of an age gap in my book. Never mind, the guy only had eyes for his wife.
“She’s in the bathroom,” I finally answered. “She’s not feelin’ good.”
“Oh?” Ryder brushed past me and toward the restroom before I could say anything else.
“He is so hot,” Natalie said, fanning herself and laughing when both Chelsea and I rolled our eyes.
“You better watch yourself,” I warned. “Braylen won’t like you flirting with her man.” Braylen typically laughed about it, even teasing her husband about Natalie, but I had no doubt she would kick Natalie’s ass if she thought she was any real threat.
“Oh, I’m harmless.” Natalie wiggled her brows and twirled a strand of her chestnut-colored hair around her finger.
“Anywayyyy,” Chelsea said, bringing the conversation back around to what she was talking about before. “Next time, you’re goin’ to your brother’s fight.”
“Nope. Not gonna happen.”
“For me?” She placed her hands together like she was praying and rested her chin on the tips of her fingers.
“Love ya, but not even for you.”
“I’ll eventually wear you down.” I didn’t respond because it
would be pointless to continue to go back and forth with her when I knew without a doubt she’d never get me to change my mind.
Once Natalie finished shampooing Mrs. Henson, she moved her to Chelsea’s chair, putting a towel around her neck and clipping the front before draping a cape over her shoulders to protect her clothes.
“And if you think Ryder’s hot, you should see Lincoln, Riley’s brother. He’s somethin’ else.” Chelsea fanned herself with her hand, just like Natalie had just done. “He’s all cut and shit, and while I prefer my men a little bigger, he’s got an amazing body. And don’t even get me started on those eyes of his. I swear you’ll want to rip your panties off if he even looks in your direction.”
“Eww.” My mouth turned down in a grimace, the words panties and my brother in the same sentence enough to gross me out. “That’s my brother. I don’t need to be hearing stuff like that.”
“He is a little cutie,” Mrs. Henson chimed in, laughing when she saw the surprised look on my face. “What? He’s legal.”
We all bust out laughing, although I was still unnerved these ladies were fawning over Lincoln.
Several minutes later, I asked Chelsea a question I meant to when she first referenced last night. “What about Ace?”
“What about him?” She squeezed two different products into her hands before applying them to Mrs. Henson’s shoulder-length gray hair.
“I thought you liked him. Wasn’t he the reason you went to Linc’s fight in the first place?”
“Yeah, but… I dunno… he’s…”
“Sexy?” I blurted before I could stop myself.
Chelsea grinned. “Yeah, he is that. But he’s moody.”
“They’re all moody, honey,” Mrs. Henson said. “Better get used to it now.”
Lost to our banter about men, I almost missed when Ryder came into view, holding on to an even sicker- looking Braylen. Rushing toward her, I reached out to touch her arm, but she shook her head.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ryder warned. “You don’t want to catch whatever it is she has. I told her to take it easy, that she was doing too much, but she doesn’t listen.”
“Just take me home,” she griped, grabbing her purse from behind the desk.
“Don’t worry about anything here. Just let me know if you need me to open up tomorrow.”
“I’ll text you later.”
Ryder practically carried her out of the salon even though she was capable of walking. But he was overprotective when it came to his wife of almost twenty years, although they’d been together even longer. As I watched the way he cared for her, and even the way my dad cared for my mom, when he wasn’t driving her crazy, I could only think one thing.
Would I ever find someone to love me like that?
6
“You want another?”
“Yeah, I’ll take one more,” I answered, tapping the edge of the bar. Trigger tipped the bottle of vodka over and refilled my shot glass, looking at his watch afterward and shaking his head at me. The ol’ coot was judgmental as hell, but as long as he provided me with drink, I wouldn’t complain too much.
Trigger had been the resident bartender for as long as I’d been alive, and well before then. He’d been a voting member of the club up until five years ago when he’d gotten into an accident on his bike. He ended up breaking his left hand, and although he healed up nicely, he was never able to ride after that. And because he couldn’t ride anymore, he wasn’t allowed to vote on any decisions the club made. Marek would often ask Trigger for his opinion on certain matters, mainly shit to do with the strip joints, but when it came down to casting a vote, he was out.
Trigger was well into his seventies, and I for one was okay with him not being out on the road with his bike. Before his accident, the bastard had almost run me over twice, both instances were in the club lot, but still. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, and neither were his reflexes.
Flinging the bar towel over his shoulder, he jerked his chin toward the door. “Prez is signaling for ya.”
Downing the shot, I shoved it toward Trigger before hopping off my stool. Not even two in the afternoon and already I started with the hard shit, but ever since the other night when I’d come face-to-face with Riley, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
I’d been selfish these past three years, and even a little before then, but now I was settled into the life of the club, I needed something more. I wanted to go home at the end of the day to someone who cared about me, someone who knew the real me. I was tired of women wanting to get with me because of who I was and what club I belonged to.
Riley had been my everything back then and I fucked it up when I chose the club over her. And the sad thing was, if I could go back in time and do it all over again, I wasn’t sure if I would make a different choice. I realized that sounded fucked up, but this club meant the world to me. But now I realized she did as well, or at least I wanted her to.
“You waitin’ on me?” I asked our leader once I stood next to him. There wasn’t another person alive I aspired to be like other than my ol’ man. He was fearless and direct when he needed to be but loving when the situation called for it.
I remembered when our pit bull Rosco died when I was in the fourth grade. It was my dad who hugged me. It was my dad who made me a photo book of all the pictures we had of Rosco and it was my dad who shed a tear right alongside me and my mom when we buried him in the backyard. Only a select few ever saw that side of him.
“For once, you’re not the last one in.” After leaving my phone on the table outside the room, something we all did so no one was distracted while inside, he clapped my shoulder as I preceded him into Chambers, the one room in the club that was strictly for club members only, the place where all decisions pertaining to the livelihood of the club were made. Most clubs referred to this room as Church, but we called it Chambers because as my dad would say, this was where we dealt out the justice. I believed that motto made more sense years ago when the club operated a little differently than it did today.
While at the club or dealing with club business, I called my father Prez, with the rare occasion addressing him as Marek. At home, however, I called him Dad. The same scenario had existed between him and his father way back when, as well as Stone and his dad. And like me, Lincoln referred to his dad as Stone while conducting club business but Pops or ol’ man while at home, the latter one just to get on his nerves because Stone hated being called ol’ man.
After taking a seat at the long oblong table, drumming my fingers against the edge, I glanced from one member to the next, wondering why we’d all been called to an impromptu meeting. On average, we met twice a week to catch up on the dealings of the club, but since we’d just gathered yesterday, I was surprised to be back at the table so soon.
Trigger strolled through the door, followed by Brick, which was who we waited on. There were eleven members present and accounted for, a full table, and even though Trigger couldn’t cast a vote, he retained his seat. Prez sat in the head seat with Stone at his left. Next to the VP was Ryder, then Jagger, then Trigger, then Lincoln. To the right of Marek, sat Tripp, then Cutter, then me, then Ace, and then Brick occupied the last seat on our side. There was one empty chair, belonging to Hawke, Tripp’s younger brother, who’d gone nomad almost a decade ago.
From the bits and pieces I’d heard, something happened to Hawke’s woman, Edana, back when the club was still at war with the Reapers, and he couldn’t get over it. Years after the feud was extinguished, their cesspool of a club started to rebuild, minus the original members who’d either been killed or were rotting away in prison. Members from other charters settled here in California, and their beef with us was rekindled, although not nearly what it once was. Either way, whenever Hawke had a run-in with one of them, the encounter never ended well. And despite these Reapers having nothing to do with what happened to his woman, Hawke sought revenge. And by revenge, I meant that one by one, the Reapers started
to disappear. After the third incident, Marek suggested that maybe he needed to leave for a while because his actions were bringing heat back onto the club, and everyone’s families. Tripp had tried to talk some sense into him, but Hawke wouldn’t listen. Soon after Prez’s suggestion, Hawke changed his patch to Nomad and took off with his woman in tow.
I overheard Tripp telling Jagger recently that Hawke would be stopping by in a few weeks. He was always good for a laugh because whenever he got drunk, he’d say stupid shit but not realize it, which amused me. The last time he came around was nearly two years ago, so I looked forward to seeing him again.
“You’re all probably wonderin’ why you’re here again,” Marek started, looking to each individual member, almost like he was stalling for time before he divulged the reason.
No one said a word, too busy lookin’ at each other, as if the guy sitting next to us would have the answer. The last time we were called into Chambers unexpectedly, it was to let us know that there was a run-in with two Reapers outside the Underground, and while nothing ever came of it, the older guys were concerned about the consequences of the fight. No one was killed, but tension was high for several weeks afterward.
Some shit I understood and some I didn’t, but us younger guys were kept in the dark when it came to the club’s past, most of the incidents, at least.
“It’s come to my attention that a couple Reapers showed up at Indulge the other night. They scared several of the dancers who were in the parking lot, and thankfully two of our security were getting off their shift, so they took care of them.”
“Took care of ’em?” Jagger asked, frowning at the prez’s choice of words.
“Not that.” Marek shook his head before continuing. “Our guys roughed them up a bit, but it wasn’t hard to do seeing as how they were drunk. They took off soon after.”
Stone leaned closer to his best friend. “Did they say anything?”