One night, when my father was out on a run, Frankie snuck into my room and slipped in bed with me. He slept soundly for the first time since he'd moved in with us and he’s been in my bed ever since.
And life moved on.
Two weeks after my twelfth birthday my father decided it was time for Frankie to tag along on an MC run. When he found out I wouldn’t be going he threw a violent fit until my father caved. When it came to Frankie, my father was a total pushover.
On the back of Frankie’s bike I left Manhattan, Northern Illinois destined, our first stop: A pumpkin farm. When your father and his cohorts were involved in illegal dealings and needed to meet privately, criminal gatherings at pumpkin farms were more frequent than one would think.
These sorts of meets usually lasted a couple of days; the adults stayed inside and the kids outside. There was always a lot of yelling, a lot of fighting and a lot of drinking. And a lot of slutty women.
I'd started developing early and looked rather awkward being as skinny and as tall as I was, all elbows and knees with a pair of C cups. Several boys who had accompanied their father’s to the meet had been following me around, snapping my bra strap, and calling me “stuffer”. Which was how I found myself hiding in a tree, my headphones on, listening to the Rolling Stones, swinging my legs, bobbing my head and singing along.
I felt a tug on the toe of my chucks and I jerked my foot away.
"Go away Frankie!" I yelled.
Frankie tugged my toe again and I ripped my headphones off my head and glared down at him.
It wasn't Frankie.
Except for his hair, which was now thick and sandy blonde and hung down to his shoulders, he looked exactly the same. Still devastatingly beautiful.
He grinned his multi dimpled grin.
"Heard you were around here somewhere, darlin'. You remember me?"
"Deuce," I whispered, staring at him. "From Riker's."
He burst out laughing. "I'm not actually from there. Home sweet home is in Montana. I was just visitin' my old man, same as you. Remember?"
I nodded. "Reaper. I liked him."
His smile slipped. "He's gone now.”
I never knew what to say to people who had lost their loved ones. Nothing ever sounded right.
But seeing the faraway look in Deuce’s icy blue eyes, I had to say something.
"He had a great smile," I said softly. "Just like yours."
His eyes shot to mine and he smiled.
And I smiled.
"You know," He said as he pulled a thin gold chain out of his dirty white tee shirt and lifted it over his head. "You should have this."
He grabbed my hand and placed the chain in it.
"It was my old man's," He said. "Ain't no one ever said nothin' nice ‘bout that bastard. Ever. Not even his own mother. Not until right now. Figure that makes it yours."
I held the chain up and studied the small, round medallion hanging on it. The Hell's Horsemen's insignia was on the front. The words, “Hell’s Horsemen”, encircled a hooded grim reaper straddling a Harley and holding a scythe.
On the back it read, "Reaper".
"That day seven years ago was the first time I'd seen that asshole smile. It was also the last."
I didn't know what to say. So I didn't say anything, just slipped the chain over my neck.
"Thanks," I said and tucked the medallion under my Jimmy Hendrix tee shirt. "I like it."
Nodding, he looked off into the distance.
"Gonna take a walk through them pumpkin's darlin'. You wanna join?"
I hung my headphones around my neck, clipped my walkman to my jeans pocket and hopped down.
I didn’t give it much thought, just slipped my hand into his like I would with my father or Frankie. He glanced down but didn’t pull away and his thick, warm fingers curled around mine and we started walking.
As we walked, Deuce stared up at the cloudy gray sky, chain smoking, not speaking.
“Are you sad?” I asked.
He glanced down at me and his brows furrowed. I bit my lip. Had I said the wrong thing? Maybe he hadn’t wanted anyone to know he was sad. My heart started beating faster and faster, I felt my palm grow clammy, and because my hand was in Deuce’s hand, I became embarrassed and started sweating even more.
“Little brother died, darlin’. Few days ago.”
I stopped walking and threw my arms around his waist, squeezing as hard as I could. “I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered.
Deuce sucked in a breath. “Darlin’.”
Then he fell to his knees and squeezed me until I couldn’t breathe but I didn’t care because it felt so nice and I knew he needed it.
“You’re a good kid, darlin’. A good, sweet kid,” He whispered in my ear.
He pulled away and looked me in the eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay that way, yeah? You and me kid, we were fuckin’ born in the life, reared by the road and the wheel; it’s what we know and where we belong but that don’t mean it won’t take its toll. So you promise me, no matter what you see, no matter what sort of fucked up shit happens to you. Don’t let this life turn you bitter.”
I stared into his icy blue eyes, entranced by the safety and comfort blanketing me, warming me. I couldn't look away. I wanted to tuck this feeling in my back pocket, take it home with me and keep it safe under my pillow to have when I needed it most.
Eventually, when I remembered what he’d said, I nodded.
He brushed his knuckles down my cheek and stood. I slid my hand back into his and we resumed walking, Deuce resumed smoking and I began pointing out unusually large pumpkins.
“You ever watch, "It's the great pumpkin Charlie Brown”," Deuce asked. “Stupid fucker makes me laugh.”
I decided I too really liked that stupid fucker Charlie Brown and made a mental note to watch everything featuring Charlie Brown as soon as I got home.
"You gonna dress up for Halloween, darlin'?"
"I haven't decided," I told him. "Halloween is very tricky. Once a year you get to dress up and pretend you're something or someone entirely different then you are. There’s nothing else quite like it. You don't want to mess that up, you know? It's important to pick carefully that way you have no regrets only fabulous memories."
Deuce stopped walking and stared down at me.
"What are you thinkin' you might wanna be?"
"Maya Angelou," I replied immediately, "Or Eleanor Roosevelt."
He started choking.
"But," I hurriedly continued, “In order to dress up as Maya Angelou I’d somehow have to make my skin black without insulting the African American community. I will probably end up as Eleanor Roosevelt. Not that I mind. She was an amazing woman.”
"How old are you?" He asked roughly, pounding on his chest with his fist.
"Twelve."
"Twelve?"
Looking bewildered, he shook his head. "Thought you were a pretty smart kid when I first met you, now I know you are."
I blushed. Deuce, President, according to his cut, of the Hell's Horsemen, thought I was smart. How cool was that?
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Thirty, darlin'." He looked down at me and wrinkled his nose. "Old, yeah?"
I shrugged. "My dad's thirty seven. And he's still pretty cool."
His eyes bugged out of his head. "Lemme get this straight. You're twelve years old, you’re probably gonna dress up as Eleanor Roosevelt for Halloween and you think your old man is cool?"
I nodded.
He shook his head again, smirking. "Damn."
My stomach dropped. He was making fun of me.
I ripped my hand out of his and crossed my arms over my chest. "I know I'm weird. Everyone at school always tells me that. Everyone except my best friend Kami. They hate my music because it's old. They hate my clothes cuz they're boy clothes. They think I'm a freak! So go ahead and say it! You think I’m freak, don’t you!"
Deuce knelt down in front of me. "Darlin' you ain't weird. You're twelv
e. An those kids don’t hate you, not even close. The girls are jealous cuz you're so damn pretty and the boys are just bein' boys tryin' to flirt but not havin' the first clue how to go about it."
You're so damn pretty.
"I'm pretty?"
His lips twitched. "Only twelve and already fishin'. Yeah, darlin', you're pretty. Gonna be beautiful someday. Gonna make some boy happier than a pig in shit."
I grinned. Who would have thought the words "pig" and "shit" used in the same sentence could make a girl blissfully happy.
“There it is,” he said quietly. “That’s what I like to see. Nothin' better than a pretty girl smilin'.”
I stared up at him; he stared down at me. His hard eyes gentled and I felt my body go butter soft. Something was happening to me, something important, monumental even.
The shift from child to teenager. Although I wouldn't understand this until I was much older, what had happened and why it had happened, standing there in the middle of a pumpkin field I’d known I was irrevocably changed. And that I'd changed because of and for this man.
"EVA! WHAT THE FUCK!"
I swiveled around. Frankie was storming towards us, kicking poor innocent pumpkins out of his way.
"Great," I groaned. "Frankie found me."
"Your man?" Deuce asked watching Frankie's temper tantrum with marked interest.
My eyes bugged out of my head. "Ew! He's my fake brother!"
Frankie's long brown hair was flying all over the place and his dark brown eyes had darkened further with burgeoning anger. Only fifteen and he was already six foot tall with the body of a quarterback. He wasn’t as big as Deuce was but he would be someday.
"I know you?" Frankie hissed, stopping only inches from Deuce.
Deuce's eyebrows popped and he smirked. "No kid. Fraid' we haven't had the pleasure."
Frankie hated being called a kid, especially in front of me. I watched as his hands clenched into fists.
Deuce wasn't smiling anymore. "You're gonna wanna reel that in. I don't take shit from grown men and I'm sure as shit not gonna take shit from an asshole who's pretendin' he's grown cuz he wants down a girl's pants."
I closed my eyes. Deuce didn't know Frankie therefore he didn't know that Frankie wasn't trying to impress me, this was just the way he was all of the time. Before he could throw a punch and get his butt kicked by Deuce, I pushed in between them and wrapped my arms around Frankie’s middle.
“I missed you,” I said hurriedly. “I've been looking everywhere for you and couldn’t find you anywhere. I asked Deuce to help me look for you.”
Frankie’s arms wrapped around me and his hard body sagged against mine. One of his hands fisted in my hair and the other held tight to my waist.
"Sorry," He muttered. "I just thought…I don't know…you gotta stay close to me. I can't fuckin' protect you if I don't know where you are. If somethin’ happened to you baby, I would kill myself. Can’t be in this world without you. Fuck, I can't even think 'bout you bein' gone, makes me fuckin' crazy."
"Oh Frankie," I whispered. "You gotta stop worrying. Nothing's going to happen to me and I'm never going to leave you."
☼☼☼
Deuce hesitated leaving Eva alone with that crazy little shit but it looked as if she was the only person who had any sort of control over him, so he left her to it. He had known kids like Frankie growing up. Jacked in the head, no control, caught crazy at the drop of a hat and usually ended up dead before they turned thirty. Preacher giving him a cut had been a big mistake. He didn’t give a shit how much love he had for the boy. When shit got intense, and it always did, you needed level headed men on your crew.
"Dare you to touch her tits."
Deuce paused beside a rundown barn at the edge of the farm.
"Dare you to fuck her."
"Preacher finds out he'll kill you."
He stiffened. Little shits were talking about Eva.
"I'm not scared of Preacher. ‘Sides she's the only bitch here old enough to fuck."
"She's fuckin' ugly. Except for her tits, bitch has nice tits. I'd fuck her just to see those tits."
Deuce saw red. Eva was twelve years old. Yeah, she had tits, twelve-year-old tits. And these fuckers were around sixteen and seventeen. He cracked his knuckles and stalked inside the barn.
Five little shits were leaning back against a row of empty horse stalls smoking cigarettes, acting like they were grown.
"Deuce," One of the little shits said. "What's up man?"
He didn't answer, just walked up to the first little shit and kicked him in his face then moved onto the next. Yanking little shit number two up by his collar, he spit in his face, gave him a fist to the gut and tossed him to the side.
The remaining three had scrambled behind stacked bales of hay.
"Git your fuckin' asses back here," He said, pulling his piece from the back of his jeans. "And take your fuckin' punishment like the men you ain't. If not I got some bullets with your fuckin’ names on ‘em."
"What the fuck did we do?" A pimply faced, gangly little shit screeched.
Using his gun, he gestured to where they had been sitting just moments ago. "Get. The. Fuck. Over. Here."
They got.
"I hear you talkin' 'bout Eva again. I see you lookin' at Eva, I see you within a hundred feet of Eva, you are all dead. You feel me?"
Wide eyed they nodded.
"Gonna go find your father's next and tell them what kinda bastards they're raisin' and I ‘spect they'll be beatin' the shit outta you next but first you're dealin' with me."
He took the third little shit by his greasy hair and brought the kids head down on his knee. Out cold, he shoved him to the side.
The forth little shit pissed himself the moment he stepped to him. Laughing, he moved on to the last little shit. The one who had called Eva ugly. Grabbing his neck, he shoved the barrel of his gun in the boy’s mouth.
"Know for a fact you got a coupla sisters. Know for a fact one of ‘em is just a year older than Eva. How's 'bout I go find your little sister and fuck her? How's 'bout I get some of my boys to fuck her too? Maybe we can all fuck her at the same time? Fuck her in her mouth, and her pussy and her fuckin’ asshole. Sound good?"
Crying, the kid shook his head.
"You respect women you little fuckin' shit. It was a fuckin' woman who carried you around in her fuckin' body, fuckin' birthed you and fuckin' loved you, and it's gonna be a woman who keeps you warm at night, who lets you inside her body and it's gonna be a woman who carries around your fuckin' children. You fuckin' respect that, you feel me? You fuckin' respect women, all of ‘em, or I will end you."
He released him and the kid fell to his knees retching.
"Fuckin' little shits," He muttered. Tucking his gun back in his jeans he walked away.
CHAPTER THREE:
I was sixteen.
It was summer in Manhattan.
And it was the first Sunday of the month.
Smack dab between Morissey's Bar and a Middle Eastern grocery store, up on the roof of the Demon's five story Portland Brownstone, the MC’s monthly family barbeque was in full swing. Old ladies and wives, children, cousins, friends of families and business associates were talking and laughing, dancing and drinking while dogs and burgers were being flipped on the grills as fast as the kegs were emptying.
On top of a picnic table, Frankie and I were sitting side by side sharing a pair of earbuds. My discman was wedged between us, our heads were pressed together, while we rocked out to Led Zepplin's Dazed and Confused. I had my arm slung over Frankie's broad shoulders and his hand was sliding up and down my thigh, his fingers tapping out the beat of the song.
"Heads up brothers the Horsemen are here!"
My head swiveled right.
Another yell. "Hide your women!"
This was followed by loud guffaws and a lot of feminine giggling.
I watched as a large group of leather clad men joined the crowd on the roof. On the backs of thei
r cuts were the Hell's Horsemen insignia.
Just like the insignia on my medallion.
My heart started pounding. Was Deuce here? I scanned the crowd but the Horsemen had already dispersed within the sea of people.
Frankie squeezed my thigh to get my attention. I pulled out my ear bud and slanted my eyes at him.
"Want me to hide some booze for later? Some smoke?"
Demon barbeques were infamous for becoming wild and reckless and more often then not every last biker would be passed out drunk before midnight. This was when their offspring partied with their leftover booze and green.
"Yeah," I said and smiled at him.
Frankie stood, ran his fingers through my long dark hair and pulled my head flush against his hard abdomen. "Be right back," He whispered.
"And Eva?"
I looked up.
"Don't fuckin' go anywhere until I get back."
Rolling my eyes, I put my earbuds in and resumed my head bobbing, foot tapping and overly loud singing, happily ignoring the openmouthed stares my singing always caused.
Middle school had been rough for me but I'd since grown into my awkwardness. I'd embraced my weirdness, I was cool with my oddities. I was who I was and I didn't care anymore what anyone else thought. High school so far had been good to me. I was pretty, I was popular and I had a ton of friends. I suspected most of my girlfriends used to me get near Frankie, trying to bag him. Frankie was a good-looking guy, big and broad with finely chiseled features. He was a pureblood Italian with brown eyes the color of dark chocolate and thick blown hair he'd grown long.
The girls flocked and bag them he did. In droves. Never did the same girl twice. So other than having to listen to all the girls at school whine and pine over Frankie, life was good. It was fun and uncomplicated and I was happy.
My eyes trained on the blacktop beneath me, a shadow fell over me and a pair of leather boots walked into my line of sight. I stared down at them. Full grain black leather with a rubber sole. Detailed at the ankles with metal buckles, they looked edgy, sexy.
I looked up.
"Still wearin' chucks and singin' out of tune I see."
Yep. Edgy and sexy. Just like the man wearing them.
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