Trapped (Grizzly MC Book 1)

by Brook Wilder

  But he takes the bait and he looks at me, head tilted.

  “Time? You need time?”

  “Yes. I can’t get you want you want in a day. But if you let me, I can get closer than just a one-night stand.”

  “Make him want you more than just some pussy. Ha!” He laughs. “And here I thought all you’d have the use for would be tossing it at him one night.” He puts his hand on his chin, thinking. “Yeah… yeah, I like the sound of that. I like it a lot. Do that. You report to me regularly. Don’t disappoint me, Lena.”

  Marc leans down, taking me by the chin again to kiss me.

  “Now. Why don’t you show me a little of what you gave James Davis last night?”

  ***

  Marc leaves a few hours later. I’m not sad to see him zoom off on his bike, looking smugger than he ought to be. With a heavy sigh and a shake of my head, I return to the inside of my trailer.

  “At least if you do this for him, you’ll get the bar,” I remind myself as I head back to my room.

  It’s the thing that I tell myself will make all of this worth it, and I start to clean up the mess Marc left. My sheets in a disarray and his used condoms just tossed on my floor… Disgusting. His hygiene is as bad as his personality.

  He didn’t always used to be like this. There was one time, when we were younger, where he was sweet. We went on dates, and he would hold me tenderly after we made love. I don’t know when things changed or if, somewhere inside him, Marc was always just like this on his own. What I do know is that, at one point, I had been madly in love with him. Now I can’t get away from him fast enough. They say that we have to adjust to life not turning out the way that we plan, but I have to wonder sometimes if it’s really worth the strife to suffer through something like that.

  Shaking my head, I finish picking up after Marc’s visit. At least when it’s done, I can pretend like he was never here. As I prepare for my day and eventual return to the Grizzly Bar, I can’t help but let my thoughts wander to James Davis.

  I wonder—had I met him first, how different would my life be now? Would I have fallen in love with him as I had fallen in love with Marc? I think it could be easy; I’m sure it was for Sarah, whoever she had been in life. With his strong arms and that deep, dark gaze of his…

  “Hmm.”

  The sigh leaves me before I can stop it. It’s silly to think of stuff like this. I shouldn’t hurt myself thinking of other worlds and hypothetical situations that will never happen. What’s more, I shouldn’t even entertain the idea of falling in love with James Davis, no matter how imaginary it would be. I’d been a foolish girl once, one who’d believed in love.

  Even if it’s James Davis…

  No, definitely if it’s James Davis.

  There’s no way… I could fall in love with him.

  I would only get hurt in the process. Either by him or by Marc’s violent jealousy over the fact.

  It’s better to just stay loveless than let love hurt you, after all.

  Chapter Seven

  James

  My mind is still reeling from the night I had with Lena. Even after going home, scrubbing her scent from my body, doing everything I could around the house to get her out of my mind, I still think about her. The sadness that clouded her face when I left her at her trailer haunts me as though it were a ghost, and I know that I should have stayed there with her this morning or spoken to her kinder.

  “Why are you like this?”

  There’s no one in my house to answer the question I speak. My halls are empty, silent like a grave. It’s been that way since Sarah, and I hate myself for letting it get so bad. I barely turn on the TV. I never play music in here. Feeling anything has been a chore. Until…

  Last night.

  I felt things with Lena. Pleasure, sure, but something deeper. I think that’s what’s fucked me up the most. I felt something. And I had told myself after Sarah that I would feel nothing. How could I? Love of my life dead, it’d be like spitting on her grave otherwise. And yet with Lena I find myself wondering if I should pursue her touch again if only to feel what I felt last night.

  Mercifully, my phone begins to ring. I can put thoughts of Sarah and Lena on the back burner where they belong.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Hey, James!” It’s Pete. “Listen, man, I need to ask you a huge favor.”

  “Sure thing, what’s going on?”

  “I know it’s your off night and all, but can you cover for me? My mom’s having some problems again and she doesn’t want to be at the house alone tonight while she’s feeling off.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m there.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. You look after your mom, Pete.”

  “Thanks, James—oh, don’t forget. Getting a load in from Santiago this evening. He’s gonna be expecting me, but since you’re the boss man it shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “No problem Pete. I’ll handle it.”

  “Thanks again, James.”

  The line clicks and I sigh. Pete’s mom has lupus—some kinda serious-business autoimmune disease that messes her up every now and then. She’s older, doesn’t take well to the body changes that it weaves in on people. I have no problem going in and working the shift for him. It’s actually probably better that I do that than sit at home by myself, wallowing.

  I get ready and head out. The bar isn’t too far from my house, so it doesn’t take me all that long to get there. It’s well before Pete’s shift, but I don’t mind the extra hours; keeps my mind and my body occupied.

  I’m going through the motions, getting things done. It seems like it’s just going to be another night here. But you know what they say about assuming things, and who should walk through my door tonight other than Lena.

  I shake my head. What the hell is she doing here?

  Against better judgement, I go over.

  “Hey. What are you doing here?” I ask her.

  She shifts, almost uncomfortable, on the barstool.

  “I just came in for a drink,” she says.

  I look around.

  “Follow me.”

  She looks confused, but I’m already heading to the back of the bar, near the bathrooms. I wait for her, and when she comes I pull her into the bathroom with me, locking the door behind us. It’s a single stall, so I don’t have to worry about someone else already being in here.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her again.

  “I’m just getting a drink.”

  “Two night in a row you come into my bar,” I say. “Two nights, one after I make it pretty clear what was up. You’re a Viper girl. I know better than to think you’re just here to be here, so what is it? What are you doing here?”

  I know I shouldn’t be grilling her like this. But if I let her keep coming here just to come here I’ll… I’ll…

  Tears start to well up in her eyes. The light amount of make up that she’s wearing threatens to run. Instantly, I regret being so hard on her. I reach out to her, but she pulls away.

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she says. “My boyfriend… he was a Viper. But now he’s gone, and I don’t… I don’t have anywhere else to be unless I want to keep getting passed around at the Snake Pit.”

  Oh… Fuck.

  “Listen…”

  “It’s alright if you don’t want me here,” she says. “I get it. I shouldn’t have come here again, especially after last night. I’m sorry for causing you trouble.”

  She goes to leave. I know I’ve fucked up. Poor girl has been through a lot—a hell of a lot, obviously—and I’m here acting like a real asshole. I grab her arm before she can leave, and she startles in my hold like she’s afraid of something. I let her go.

  “Listen. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to… be a dick. Just… You can stay here, okay? You can take as much time here as you want. Come hang out every night if you want, if that’s what you need, alright? I get it. Things are probably hard for y
ou. Just do as everyone else does and keep out of trouble, and you’re welcome at my bar anytime you want to come here, okay?”

  She sniffles a little but nods slowly.

  “Okay.”

  “Good… Now, I gotta get back to work. Clean yourself off and come back out when you’re ready, alright.”

  She nods again, and I stand there a moment, just to make sure she’s fine, or whatever. When I’m sure that she’s not going to burst into a monsoon of tears, I leave her in the bathroom. Lucky for me, I’ve got work to do that takes my attention.

  “Aye, boss man!” One of my waitresses, Candy, calls back to me. “There you are. Santiago is in the back. He’s waiting for you.”

  Surprising thing to be grateful for: when your drug supplier shows up. I nod, take a breath, and head out the back door, to the lot out behind the bar.

  It’s nothing new that Grizzlies run pot all through Tomahawk. We’ve been doing it since the bud was banned; it’s been a huge source of income for the Grizzlies and a stabilizer for the area. It doesn’t hurt anyone, nothing like the hard drugs the big cities run, like heroine or crack; we don’t let that shit fly here. Police will even look the other way and pretend like they don’t see us deal sometimes, since we keep the flow of other drugs from spilling into Tomahawk.

  “Yo! James! My man.”

  Santiago hops down from his truck, a big white fifty-footer. Santiago runs a lot of gigs; bussing product from plant to here is one of them. He’s a tall man, tan-skinned. Tattoos cover his arms and neck. I’ve known him since I was about fifteen, when he was working for his father pushing new strains of bud. Now he’s got a whole run of things on his own.

  I shake his hand, pull him into a hug. Regardless of the strangeness of the last couple days, at least Santiago is something that’s familiar and unchanging for me.

  “Hey man, hey. I was expecting your boy, Pete.”

  “Yeah, his mom had some problems today.”

  “Ah, for real? I hope she’s good.”

  He walks me over to the truck, opens up the back. It’s full of tightly taped boxes; I know the ones that belong to me by the big ass grizzly bear stamp that’s on there. I take a quick count—about twenty in total from what I can see.

  “Nice load today,” I comment.

  “Yeah man. Got you everything from Irish Crème to Chemdawg. Should keep your people rolling through the city, wetting every appetite, all that good, glorious jazz.”

  I chuckle. “You’re a godsend,” I say. “Let’s load this up and I’ll get your cash.”

  We start unloading the truck, couple boxes at a time. The office is in the back and, while most people know what we’re doing out of here, it’s still good to keep most of this discrete. Totals end up at twenty-five tight-packed boxes of bud, about a standard for what we pull in every few weeks, depending on demand. When I’m satisfied with the load, I slide the rug on the floor out of the way, opening up the discrete trapdoor that’s there, and pack away the boxes until I get some of the boys in for distribution later.

  “Alright… Looks good.”

  I crouch down at the safe in the office, turning the lock. I count out bills for Santiago, giving him a tip on top of the product.

  He leafs through the bills briefly before slipping the wad of money into the inside of his baggy jacket pocket.

  “You do me well, man. You do me well.”

  “No problem.”

  I think that’s about the end of the exchange; we try to keep the drop-offs brief, just in case.

  “Something up?” he asks.

  He’s got one of those looks on his face.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “Everything’s good. Why?”

  “Ah, you know. Just making sure. You been a little distant, yanno? Just wanted to make sure all was good in the hood.”

  I laugh. “I’m fine, Santiago. Promise.”

  Despite my assurances, he still continues to stare at me. I know he’s worried, but I don’t think I want to discuss his worries. Not right now.

  “Listen. There’s gonna be a barbeque coming up in a month or so. You probably heard about it. Dom’s gonna be playing there; even Abel’s gonna make an appearance just so things stay kosher. But it’ll be low-key. You should come. Bring someone with you.”

  I shake my head.

  “I don’t know about all that.”

  “Just say ‘yes,’ man. You got a whole month to work yourself up for it.”

  What could the harm be? I reason with myself. Maybe I do need to get out and do something other than come to work and go home. I eventually nod, conceding.

  “Alright. Fine.”

  “A-ha, that’s my man! Don’t forget—bring a date!”

  I roll my eyes. I doubt I’ll be bringing a date, but my mind instantly flits to Lena. Would she even come to a Grizzly shin-dig? Would she want to with me?

  I shake my head again and lock up the back and the office before heading back into the front of the bar. I see Lena walking to a table; looks like she came from the bathroom. Has she been in there the whole time?

  I hope I hadn’t spooked her too much with the way I behaved in the bathroom with her. I think back to what Santiago said about brining someone to the barbeque.

  Hm. Maybe.

  Chapter Eight

  Lena

  I watched James from the comfort of his bar for the next week or so. He was a habitual man, one whose routine was easy to follow and not too hard to document. I learned how his drop-offs operated, and I learned that, after the drop offs, Grizzlies would come in rotation every two hours for ‘meetings’ in his office. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together; it was obvious what was going on, at least to someone that was around drugs the way I was.

  Marc would ask for information every day. He would come over, ask what I had learned, and, depending on what I told him, would either leave happily or annoyed. Whichever the case was, I kept most of what I learned of James Davis to myself.

  I couldn’t really tell you why, if I’m being honest with myself. I have no connections to James outside of this assignment I’ve been given. But, when I look at him and watch him, it’s hard to be eager to give up everything about him to Marc. It’s hard, because James is… James is…

  He’s a good person. That’s the only way I can put it.

  I’m used to bikers who are rude and cruel to the people around them. The Vipers are every bit the snakes that their mascot alludes them to be. James, though... James stops scuffles, he gives nice talking-toos. James stands up for the women at his bar when they’re being harassed, and he has no time, no patience, for people being unkind in his presence. He’s nothing like Marc.

  Maybe that’s why I find him interesting.

  I don’t approach him, outside of coming to the bar, getting a drink. We small-talk. He smiles at me. Sometimes, I think he wants to talk more to me, but he stops. Something keeps him from taking the plunge, and I know that, if I’m going to do what Marc wants from me, get close to him and seduce him, I’m going to have to figure out what that thing is and poke at it until it’s not a problem anymore.

  “Whoa, Lena. You okay?”

  I’m hunched over the toilet in the bathroom of the Snake Pit. Diane, one of the other Viper girls, pats me on the back. I feel terrible. I’ve felt terrible for the last few days. Constant nausea and the feeling of not being… right. I have a cold sweat that drips down my back and my arms. I’m supposed to dance at least two more times tonight, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.

  I sit back, leaning against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. I close my eyes; the flickering, fluorescent light of the bathroom makes my head throb and I don’t have any painkillers to take the edge off. Swallowing, I gag at the acrid bile that clings to my tongue.

  “I’ll be fine,” I rasp, throat sore from the near constant vomiting I’ve been doing the last few days. “I just need… water.”

  Diane goes to the sink. We’ve got those little cup dispensers in here, usu
ally for people who want to wash down pills. She brings me a cup, and I eagerly drink the lukewarm tap water if only to wash away the disgusting taste in my mouth.

  “There you go…”

  She crouches down beside me, brushing her fingers through my hair.

  “Honey,” she says to me softly. “You are… I mean… Have you taken a test?”

  Her question flies over my head.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A test, honey. A pregnancy test.”