by Gemma Weir
The biker club is even busier tonight than it was last night. The large space is filled with what feels like hundreds of leather clad men and for someone as short as me, I feel like an ant in a city full of skyscrapers.
My eyes scan the people surrounding me as I follow Taylor to the bar. After waiting for a few moments we grab drinks from the beautiful bartender. I listen as he playfully flirts with Taylor, then step to her side when he slides our drinks across the bar. When he sees me, he freezes mid-turn and just stares at me. His head tilts to the side, his eyes running up and down the length of my body from the tips of my toes all the way up to the top of my head.
Wrinkling my brow, I glance down at myself, trying to figure out what it is about me that’s making him stare, but my skinny jeans are still plain black, and my deep cut white tank top is still as simple as it was when I got dressed an hour ago. In comparison with every other woman in the room, my outfit is conservative, but despite Taylor’s urges, there was no way I was going to come here and prance about in a short skirt and barely-there top.
The bartender’s eyes soften and if I thought he was beautiful before, the kindness I see now only heightens his Adonis-like bone structure. He doesn’t speak to me and I make no effort to speak to him either, but his unrelenting scrutiny starts to make me feel self-conscious, so when Taylor huffs and spins to walk away, I stare at her back for a second before I move to follow her.
“Hey,” the bartender calls out halting me.
Looking at him over my shoulder, I raise my eyebrows in question.
“You single? I got a buddy who would lose his fucking mind over you.”
Wrinkling my brows, I try to decide if he’s being facetious, but his expression is open and honest.
I open my mouth to tell him yes, that I’m very single, but before the words can form, I swallow them down. This isn’t the type of place to pick up the kind of man I’m used to, so instead I point in the direction Taylor went. “I should find my friend.”
When I look back in the direction Taylor was headed, she’s gone, disappeared amongst the crowd, and despite how much she normally stands out, right now she’s just one person in a very busy club. I take a few steps into the fray, heading in the direction I think the makeshift dance floor was in last night, hoping that Taylor is heading that way. I meander in and out of the crowd, shuffling past people, holding my hands up to my chest as I twist and turn muttering, “Thank you” and, “Excuse me,” every few feet.
When I reach a gap in the crowd, I stop, taking a minute to gulp in a lungful of fresh air, before I head back into the claustrophobic masses again. Taking a quick sip of my drink, I step forward, trying to find a route with the least amount of people, but before I can move, something grips my arm.
I quickly look down and see a huge, tattooed hand wrapped around my upper arm. The grip isn’t tight, but it’s so unexpected that I jolt in fear. Twisting my head over my shoulder I follow the hand up a tattooed arm until I’m looking into the face of a man.
He’s unconventionally beautiful. Warm grey eyes look at me from a strong male face and for a moment I’m mesmerized by his gaze. Apart from his face, every inch of his visible skin is covered in a riot of colorful tattoos, gauges are in both of his ears, his nose is pierced with a silver ring, and his hair is a shock of pink and blue spikes.
His face is handsome, but when you add in his tattoos and hair, he looks like a walking work of art.
“It’s you,” he says, his voice a melodic tone that instantly enchants me.
“Me?” I say stupidly.
He releases his hold on my arm, but instead of stepping away he reaches up and strokes his fingers along a strand of my hair. I flinch. This man is a complete stranger. We’re at a biker club, where I’ve lost my friend, I’m alone, and this guy is playing with my hair. What the fuck is happening right now?
His eyes have moved from my face now and are entirely focused on my hair. I know some people would hate being a redhead, but I’ve always thought that my unusual colored hair was my best feature. My mom told me when I was little that having hair the color of molten lava made me special and honestly I’ve always agreed. The way this guy is caressing the long strands sends a frisson of fear running across my skin and I timidly step back, my hair sliding from his fingertips and falling back into place by my shoulder.
“What’s your name, wee one?” The guy asks.
“Rosie,” I reply before I can think better of it.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful hair?”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles from my throat. “Once or twice,” I say.
The guy smiles a rueful smile. “I swear to fuck I’m not normally a weird asshole that strokes women’s hair, but yours… well, yours is just so many fucking colors.”
“Okay then…” I say, taking another step back.
“Have a drink with me,” he asks as he notices my tactical retreat.
I raise my glass into the air. “I already have one thanks.”
He edges closer, his eyes looking from my hair to my face and back again. “So have another.”
“Look I’m sorry. I just… I need to find my friend.”
“What does she look like? I’ll help you find her. You’re so tiny there’s no way you’ll find her when the club’s this packed.”
“Look…” I pause, because although he asked my name, he hasn’t given me his.
“Park,” he offers.
“Park?” I cry, my eyes wide.
“Yes, little one. My name’s Park.”
I just stare at him wide-eyed as he steps into my personal space and strokes his knuckles across my cheek. My skin heats as his touch does something to me, something I’m not sure I can explain.
“Your skin just turned the most exquisite shade of pink, like a rosebud,” he says, leaning in toward me, his minty breath fanning across my cheek.
“Park?” A shrill familiar voice cries from behind me.
Parks lifts his head at the sound of her voice, then his face pales and his knuckles fall from my face, until his hand is hanging limply at his side. I take a step away from him and turn, unable to do anything but stare as Taylor closes the distance between them and throws herself into Park’s body.
What the fuck is happening right now? This must be a nightmare, because if I’m not asleep then Taylor is actually here; she’s actually pressed against my body, her tits molded to my chest. I open my eyes and they lock with Rosie’s. She’s stood to the side of us, her body language tense.
Taylor wiggles against me, her arms gripping my neck tightly. “Oh, Park. I can’t believe I finally found you,” she cries, her shrill voice drilling into my brain.
I force myself to look away from Rosie. A small brittle smile is on her lips and her skin is still slightly flushed from when I’d touched her. My arms are hanging uselessly by my side and I will life back into them and force them to move, to touch the woman hanging from my neck.
Tentatively, I reach up and place only my finger and thumb on her shoulder, gently prying her from me. When her body is far enough away and her grip on my neck loosens, I take a step back, forcing some space between us. My eyes take in the woman I thought was the love of my life. Her body is remarkably similar to how she looked the last time I saw her, still svelte and slim. Her long blonde hair is pinned up in an elaborate twist and she’s wearing a pair of tiny black shorts and a strappy white top that’s cropped to show the toned, tan skin of her stomach. If I didn’t know that she was the same age as me, she could easily pass for a teenager.
The rush of lust and love I expect doesn’t come. All I feel is a thud of painful familiarity that stabs at the bottom of my gut, but it’s nothing like I’d expected it to be. It’s been ten years since I last saw her, but she’s starred in every dream and nightmare and fantasy I’ve had for a decade. Only a few days ago, I was tracking every blonde I saw, searching for her, and yet here she is standing right in front of me and all I want to do is t
urn and stare at the woman standing to my right, quietly watching us.
“Oh, Park.” Taylor cries again, pulling my attention back to her.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, my voice harsher than I’d intended it to be.
Her smile falters and she tilts her head to the side as if she doesn’t understand my question. “I came to see you,” she says with a bright smile.
Words form and then dissolve in my mouth. I never expected to see her again and now that she’s here and it’s nothing like I expected it to be, I have no idea what to say.
“Aren’t you pleased to see me?” She asks, standing up straighter; subtly arching her back and pushing her tits toward me.
The word no is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it. It’s not her fault that any chance of happiness—of us being together—was ripped away from us ten years ago. After all, she still has no idea what they did. Reaching up, I run my fingers through my multicolored hair, trying to decide how to respond to her.
“Jesus, Park, what have you done to yourself? I barely recognized you with all the tattoos and that bizarre hair. I bet your dad shit a brick when he saw you.”
Steel fills my spine and I narrow my eyes at her. “My dad can go fuck himself. What I do is none of his concern. I haven’t seen the bastard in ten fucking years.”
She throws herself at me again and on instinct I catch her as she hits my chest. “God, it’s so good to see you, baby. I missed you so much,” she says, her voice dropping to a seductive tone just as she tilts her chin up and plants her lips against mine.
Acid fills my stomach and I fling her away from me. She stumbles on her high heels, glaring at me as Rosie rushes to her side, wrapping her arm around Taylor protectively. Suddenly it all clicks into place, the friend Rosie was searching for was Taylor. They’re here together, looking for me.
“Park, what the fuck?” Taylor screeches.
Gripping at my hair with frantic fingers, I take a step back, needing space between me and them. “You need to leave.”
“What?” Taylor asks.
“Where are you staying?”
“What? I don’t understand?”
“Where are you staying? Are you in a hotel?” I say, my voice shaking.
Taylor looks at Rosie and then back to me, confusion clear on her face. “Yeah, we’re in the Olympic. It’s about twenty minutes from here.”
“Okay, I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? But I’m here now,” Taylor says, her hands planted on her hips.
“Tomorrow. Err, 10am. I’ll come tomorrow. What room are you in?”
Taylor looks from side to side as if she can’t believe what I’m saying, her lips parted, and a look of consternation etched across her face.
“What room, Taylor?” I snap, unable to hide the tension in my voice any longer.
“The Alaskan Suite,” Rosie says, speaking for the first time since Taylor appeared.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I say dismissively, leaving no room for arguments.
Smoke’s hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch, unaware that he was anywhere near me. He squeezes briefly then steps in front of me, blocking me from the women’s view. Stretching his arms out wide, he positions himself between Taylor and Rosie, capturing one on either side of him, his arm resting across their shoulders. “Ladies, let me show you out,” he says, already turning them and heading toward the exit.
Taylor twists her head and looks at me like she wants to argue, but Rosie catches her attention and quickly shakes her head. I watch as Smoke leads them through the packed crowd, then right before they’re swallowed by the hordes of people, I see Rosie glance over her shoulder and look at me. Our gazes lock, then she’s gone, hidden from view.
The moment I can’t see them I head for the bar. I don’t wait to be served. I just walk straight behind the counter, take a bottle of bourbon and walk away with it. Smoke finds me before I get too far and without saying a word, he simply follows me as I head for the exit. A shiny black town car is pulling out of the compound gates and I know that Taylor and Rosie are inside. A shudder rushes across my skin. I should probably take the time to figure out if it’s from fear, shock, or anticipation, but right now all I can think about is the bottle of oblivion in my hand and getting the hell away from here.
Climbing on my bike, I start the engine and push forward. The journey is a blur as I fly through the quiet streets and into the courtyard behind the shop with Smoke following closely behind me. We both kill our engines and he silently waits for me to unlock my apartment door, following me until we’re standing at my kitchen counter.
With shaking hands, I unscrew the bottle of bourbon and bring it to my lips, taking a long drink. The neat liquor burns my throat as I swallow, but I keep drinking, needing the alcohol to soothe my frayed nerves. Eventually, I lower the bottle to the counter and push it across to Smoke.
“Want to explain what the fuck just happened?” he says.
Bracing my palms against the countertop, I exhale shakily. “Everything just went to shit.”
Smoke takes a quick drink, then pushes the bottle toward me again. I take it gratefully, swallowing another large gulp as I try to prepare myself for the questions I can already see on my friend’s face.
“That was the blonde? The girl you grew up with, right?”
“Taylor,” I rasp, the sound of her name on my lips making my heart boom uncontrollably.
“Considering you’ve been pining for her for ten years, you didn’t seem that pleased to see her.”
“I don’t want her here. She should never have come looking for me.” I snap, slamming the bottle down onto the counter.
“And the redhead?”
At the mention of Rosie, I reach for the bottle again.
Smoke chuckles dryly. “So, let me get this straight. For the first time in ten fucking years you don’t paint the blonde.”
“Taylor,” I interrupt.
“Yeah, yeah, Blondie, Taylor. But like I was saying, for the first time in a fucking decade you don’t paint the blonde. Instead you paint the redhead.”
“Rosie,” I offer.
“Rosie,” he repeats, rolling her name across his tongue. “You painted Rosie.”
“Yeah,” I say scrubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand.
“And Rosie is Taylor’s friend?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“And Taylor is here to see you?”
“Yep.”
His laugh is deep and booming. “Well fuck me, brother.”
Taking the bottle in my hand, I glare at him and walk away, crossing the room and slumping down onto the couch. Steepling my hands on top of the bottle, I rest it on my stomach and lean my head against the neck, the glass cool against my skin. The cushion depresses next to me as Smoke joins me, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and pulling the bottle from me.
“Your shit just caught up with you, Lucky Charms. I think you might need to tell me what the fuck happened between you and blondie so I can help you sort this clusterfuck out.”
Sighing wearily, I let my head fall back against the sofa cushions. “I think I was four or five when I met her. She was my best friend my entire childhood. We grew up rich. My dad is a wealthy fucking asshole and we lived in a McMansion in LA.”
“I thought you were born in Ireland, or have you been faking that accent all these years just to get the ladies?”
With a chuckle, I twist my head to the side and flip him the bird. “I was born in Dublin, you feckin’ idiot. My mom moved us here when I was four because my dad asked her to come, or some other bullshit like that. The day we moved to America, was the first time I ever met him.”
“So when did you and Taylor get it together?” He asks, swigging from the bottle before passing it to me.
“We didn’t.”
Smoke sits up and looks at me, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “I have no idea what the fuck is going on right now. Are you telling
me you’ve never fucked that girl?”
“Never,” I say, shaking my head.
“But you’re in love with her. You’ve been brooding over this bitch for ten fucking years, painting pictures of her like some lovesick douchebag and you’ve never even fucked her?” Smoke shouts, outraged.
“It’s fucking complicated,” I hiss.
“What the fuck is complicated about it? She’s panting for you; her tits were rubbing all over you less than an hour ago. She’d have let you pull down those tiny ass shorts and bang her in the middle of the club if you’d have asked. Just go fuck her, get her out of your system.
Sitting up, I slam the bottle down onto the coffee table. “That can never fucking happen,”
Smoke throws his hands into the air. “Why the fuck not? Are you too pussy to fuck your childhood crush or something?”
Lurching up from the couch, I thrust my hands into my hair, pulling at the strands. “It can’t ever happen, because on the day I left ten fucking years ago, I found out that the girl I was in love with was actually my fucking sister.”
It’s been ten minutes since the bartender ushered us out of the biker club and into our waiting town car. My mind is whirring; a million thoughts all trying to rush to the forefront at once. But the one thought that keeps repeating, the one that’s pushing the hardest to be acknowledged, is that Park—Taylor’s long-lost friend, the only reason we’re here in the first place—made my heart ricochet against my chest and my panties go damp.
I swear that before Taylor appeared, he and I were having a moment. His eyes had been locked on mine, so intense and penetrating that I felt seared. His painted skin was so vivid and full of life against my porcelain flesh. So different from me, but there was something, just something, between us.
Shaking my head, I force the thought away. It doesn’t matter now. He’s Taylor’s. Her long lost friend and she’d been so happy to see him. This is why we’re here—so she could find him—and now we have.
A niggling thought sneaks in. As happy as she’d seemed to see him, he’d looked like he’d seen a ghost. He hadn’t smiled or hugged her. In fact, his hands had either hung loosely at his side or had been trying to pry her from him. The more I think about the way the color had drained from his face and the almost frantic way he’d tried to get us to leave, the more positive I am that Park is not pleased to see his childhood best friend at all.