Broken By A King

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  "I only have licensed techs back there. You'd need to train and get your license like everyone else if you want to be a mechanic. Until such time, the only place I can put you is on the floor."

  I shake my head in disagreement. Hoping to convince him otherwise.

  "That's not where I'm going to be the most effective."

  I need to get in the back and make friends with the technicians. They're the ones who probably know where all the bodies are buried. My gut tells me that even though Savannah handles sales, she doesn't know shit. She knows what Nate wants her to know.

  "Do you want to go back inside of those four walls and finish serving the remainder of your sentence?"

  "No."

  "Then why are we still talking about this? You'll learn a lot from selling the bikes."

  "Understood."

  He turns his back to me when I decide to speak again.

  "Why are you doing all of this for me, Nate?"

  "Why?" He takes a chug of some orange juice.

  "Yeah, why."

  "You're Jack's son and he didn't raise no idiot. You just need help getting back on your feet again and I'm just the man to do it. That's why."

  I have to ask this.

  The question has been burning a hole in my tongue for twenty-four hours.

  "So where was all that help a few years ago?"

  Nate's eyes grow slightly wider. Evidently surprised by my frankness.

  "I haven't asked you anything about why you aren't living in Jack's house anymore. About where all of his life insurance money went. His truck. His gun collection. You know why? Because I understand that shit happens. You should understand that too."

  "You saying that you dropped the ball because shit happens?"

  "I'm saying that I didn't have no ball to drop. It wasn't my job to raise you right. That was Jack's job. I assumed he completed that job. When he died, you were already eighteen years old. Not eight. When I was eighteen I was already serving in the army, paying my grandmother's bills, and defending this country. Don't blame me for your bad decisions."

  He's defensive, coughing like crazy, and in an all-around bad mood now. I shouldn't have said what I did. Having this conversation about would of, should of, could of shit is not going to help my cause right now. I sound like an ungrateful dickhead, and that isn't going to get Nate to trust me. That's not going to help me get my money.

  "You're right," I say respectfully. "I won't bring it up again. So, what are the hours I'll be working again?"

  "I need someone to work late in the shop when Savannah's here. That's why I really need you out front and not in the back. She works nights and most weekends, but it's not safe for her to be in here on her own anymore. Her mother and I are old high school friends, and she would kill me if something were to happen to Savannah."

  Oh, so that's why he wants me to keep my hands to myself. He's probably got a thing for the mom.

  "You had a break in or something?"

  "No, but things are changing in this area. It was quiet and safe back in the old days, but the neighborhood is changing, so you're going to need to keep a close eye on things. After today, I'm going to need you here from one to closing. You'll work the phones, schedules repairs, and Savannah will sell the bikes. You both will close. She'll handle the paperwork, and you lock up."

  Perfect.

  "Got it."

  Savannah comes inside and starts staring at me like she wants to eat me alive. It's a dangerous look to give to a man who's been locked up with zero conjugal visits, but that's probably the point she's trying to make clear. I can see it in her eyes. If she has any say in the matter, she wants to give me everything I've been missing for the last five years.

  "Good, I need to head back home and jump in the bed before Ariana catches me. Savannah will help familiarize you with your duties. I'll come back later to close."

  He blows his nose.

  "I can help Savannah close today if you want."

  Nate looks at Savannah then looks at me. I can tell that he thinks that I want to get my hands on his number one sales girl.

  "Why?" he asks suspiciously.

  "Bored," I say nonchalantly. "I'm used to keeping busy. Just want to help."

  "All right then. See you later. Call me if anything comes up."

  "Understood."

  "Oh, and baby girl is going to bring her car in to get her backlight fixed. Don't let her leave without making sure that Sammy checks over that entire car."

  "No problem."

  "Make sure you teach him something on your downtime, Savannah."

  "No problem, Nate," she says as she grins suggestively at me. "I'll teach the new boy here absolutely everything he needs to know."

  * * *

  Seventeen

  STONE

  "What was it like in jail?"

  "Predictable."

  I never thought that I'd be a walking cliché, but I also never thought I'd ever end up in prison either. It's more difficult than I thought it would be to become acclimated to the real world again and it's only been a day. I've been told what to do and what time to do it for the last five years of my life. A person can get used to living like that and not know how to function otherwise. You'd think that would only happen to the old timers, guys doing fifteen to twenty years, but it can actually happen to guys who've done even shorter bids than me.

  Usually at this time of day inmates would be getting ready for another roll call and then dinner. There tended to be a scuffle or two around this time. Usually between one of the guards and a prisoner. Nothing major. At least not to a prisoner.

  When you're in close quarters all day every day, with a lot of testosterone floating around, the guards tend to feel the need to put an inmate or two in check. To remind everybody who was in charge. Or sometimes it was one of the inmates wanting to prove that he couldn't be checked. So, he'd stick his chest out and instigate something. Whatever the reason, it always ended in the guard's favor, and after the show was over, the rest of us would just continue on to the mess hall like nothing ever happened.

  In jail, the food is horrible and the company was even worse. The days moved slow as sludge and after a while they all seemed to just blend into one another. Just thinking about how I lived this mundane routine, day in and day out, makes me angry, mostly with myself. I got messy and I slipped up playing (as Bucky put it) Robin Hood. I should have never had all that smack in my trunk. I need to find a smarter way to hit these dealers where it hurts.

  "Do girls tell you all the time that you're hot?"

  Savannah's been asking me questions on and off for the last hour. Not very smart questions either. But at least we're passing time away in between the few customers that have been in the shop so far. It's boring as hell in here.

  "I haven't been around women for a while."

  "Oh, right. Jail and all. So, did women tell you were hot before you went to jail?"

  "Not really."

  "No? That's hard to believe," she says as she adds another coat of gloss to her lips in the mirror. "I bet they're thinking it."

  "Maybe."

  "Have you had any fun since you got here to Philly?"

  "Just got here."

  "I can definitely make sure you have a good time. I'm a lot of fun."

  "Not right now."

  "Oh." She chuckles. "I'm sorry are you gay?"

  "I'm not interested in fucking you and you assume that I must be gay?"

  "Hmm, you're right." She squints her eyes at me as if she's trying to solve a riddle. "You're not making my gay meter go off at all."

  This girl is funny. She's probably never been turned down by a man ever in her life.

  "Oh, snap!" She points her finger at me. "I know what it is. Did Nate give you the big Savannah is off limits speech?"

  "He did."

  "That explains it."

  "Does it?" I laugh to myself.

  "Of course. Five years in jail and you're passing up a taste of me? That shit didn't
make any sense, but now I understand."

  "You're funny."

  "Listen, Stone, Nate is my boss. Not my daddy. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. I'm not looking to be somebody's wifey, I'm just living in the moment. You won't hurt my feelings if you don't want to come back for seconds. I'm totally down for a one-night stand."

  "No, thanks," I say again.

  "You're seriously telling me that you haven't had sex with a woman in five years, and you're turning this down?"

  She grabs a hold of her tits and holds them high.

  "I don't like to mix business with pleasure."

  "Your loss," she says angrily.

  It's obvious that Savannah is not used to a man telling her no, but I need to make Nate feel as if he can trust me. Breaking one of the only rules that he gave me would be idiotic. Not to mention that she smells like a pack of Marlboros once you get within three feet of her.

  I'm taking a closer look at one of the kick-ass, pre-owned bikes on the floor, a Heritage Softail Classic, when I hear the bells jingle on the front door. It's a woman. She's by herself. And if I had to guess, she's probably in her early forties.

  She's in pretty good shape. Nice rack. Decent face. Hell, every woman looks like a chicken dinner to me since I haven't had any real ass in a very long time. I definitely am going to have to go to a bar and get myself laid after work to take the edge off.

  Savannah motions for me to come over. She seems to be relishing her role of trainer and my lord and master now that I've established that I won't be fucking her.

  "We get a lot of women in here. Some are lookie-loos. Some are here to really buy. It's our job to figure out what kind of woman they are and give them what they need." I nod in understanding. "I know that I'm sales, and this is your first day, but the way that she's eyeballing you tells me that you may have a better chance of making the sale. If you succeed, you get a twenty-five percent commission. You don't want to get stuck answering phones all day in this place. You'll never make any money."

  "I don't know shit about the bikes," I say in protest. Not really feeling like being thrown into the deep end so quickly.

  "Doesn't matter. She doesn't know anything either. I can tell. Just try it. Oh, and put on this shirt. I found one in the back that should fit you."

  The two things that you get to do in prison all day, every day, are read and work out. Since reading is like kryptonite for me, I decided to pass my time working out. I lifted weights every day, did push-ups, pull-ups and sit-ups. Needless to say, I'm ripped now. Since I'm stuck with this job, I might as well use this to my advantage.

  That's why I strip from the waist up for everyone in the showroom to see, pick up my new shirt (which is a sleeveless black tee with the Harley-Davidson logo on the front and the Carter logo on the back) and walk over to the woman who just walked in and looks like she wants to sit on my face. I tuck the shirt into my waistband as I approach. Giving her a minute to gawk at my six-pack, before I put it on.

  "Need help?"

  She blushes.

  "Umm, I'm just looking today."

  "Do you know how to ride?" I ask not knowing what else to say at this point.

  "Yes, I definitely do."

  "Well, feel free to look around. We've got both new and pre-used bikes available and decent financing options."

  Savannah sticks her thumb up from across the room in approval.

  "Thanks, um, I didn't catch your name." The corner of her mouth curves up slightly.

  "Stone."

  "Nice to meet you, Stone."

  "Likewise."

  The bells hanging on the door ring again and my eyes fly up. I want to yank those damn things off of the door. All these random bells going off every other minute are making me jumpy. Plus, I don't really feel like dealing with another lookie-loo. I'm not a big talker or bullshitter. I'm a straight shooter. And there's no way that I'm going to talk someone into spending thousands of dollars that they don't have.

  But it's not a lookie-loo.

  She's definitely a looker though.

  It's Ariana.

  Dressed in a simple black sweater and tight jeans with rips in the thighs, she looks like a goddess to me.

  Not good, Stone.

  I nod a quick hello to her, and start to take a walk back into the garage area to find Sammy but mostly to get away from the object of my dick's affection.

  "Excuse me," she calls after me.

  Dammit.

  I stop dead in my tracks.

  "Me?" I ask already knowing the answer.

  "Umm, yes."

  I turn around.

  "What's up."

  Ariana pauses for a moment and stares at me wide-eyed. She looks at the woman browsing around the bikes, then at Savannah, then back at me. I'm not sure if she's curious about my ink or the fact that I'm walking around shirtless in a place of business. Either way I probably look like an idiot to her. I decide that the show is over and put on my shirt.

  "I brought my car in."

  "I know. Your father mentioned it. I was getting Sammy for you."

  "Thanks."

  Ariana tells Sammy where she parked the car and gives him the key. Then we both stand around looking awkwardly at each other. I'm thinking about what I did in the shower to the fantasy of my hands all over her ass, and I have zero idea what she's thinking about, but it probably ain't good.

  "Dad said you were closing tonight, so I stopped by the house and brought you some dinner." She looks over at Savannah with a look I can't quite read. "For you and Savannah of course. Dad thought you two might be hungry."

  "Oh, you're so sweet, Tiny. Maybe if I had known you were coming earlier I would have saved some room in here." Savannah pats her abs. "But I already had a big salad earlier and I couldn't possibly eat again."

  Ariana turns what I think are disappointed eyes toward me.

  "You full too?" she asks.

  "I'll have a little," I say. Hating to see that look on her face. She made the effort. Someone needs to eat it.

  "Okay, I'll warm it up in the back. You can eat when you're finished with your uh...customer."

  Savannah giggles.

  "Yeah get back over there, Casanova, and convince that woman that she needs to buy something. I'm going to pop your cherry today if it's the last thing I do."

  * * *

  Eighteen

  TINY

  I never knew how much I didn't like Savannah Solomon until this very moment.

  I've tolerated her backhanded comments about my weight or the fact that she dresses like some rockabilly whore for years...but this might be too much to bear. Her open and obvious flirting with Stone is making my stomach churn and starting to make me seriously consider ways I can convince my father to fire her.

  Wait...somebody slap me.

  This man hasn't even been in my house for more than a day, and I'm already being completely territorial. What is wrong with me? I need to pull myself together. I don't even like him.

  I remove two microwavable bento boxes filled with Mediterranean styled grilled chicken, roasted veggies, and brown rice from my travel tote. Then I pull out a Ziploc bag of freshly cut pita bread and a small container of pine nut hummus made from scratch. While the food warms, I set the small card table my dad has set up for staff to eat at with a red and white checkered plastic tablecloth and some silver colored, heavy duty plastic cutlery I picked up from the dollar store. If I'm going to eat in the back of my father's bike shop, I at least would like to make the experience somewhat pleasurable.

  I hear the bells on the door ring and not too shortly after, Stone appears in the back. His customer must have left. I quickly wonder if he was able to "pop his cherry" and get his first sale.

  "You ready for me?" he asks in the grittiest voice I've ever heard.

  I imagine those four words as one of the things that Stone may say right before he plunges his dick inside of a woman. But maybe these are the types of thoughts you have when you don't know any better. When
you have no idea what a man says to a woman before he sleeps with them. When your only frame of reference is a Rated R movie or a steamy romance novel.

  "Have a seat," I tell him. Doing my best to pretend that his mere presence doesn't affect me one iota.

  Stone's eyes glaze over the meal on the table. I'm starting to think that he's always a lot hungrier than he lets on. He pulls up one of the foldable metal chairs and takes a seat. His gargantuan body is way too big for the table and chair, but he spreads his legs and tilts his body forward, so that he can get at least semi-comfortable.

  "Smells good," he says.

  "Hope you like it. It's just grilled chicken, veggies and hummus with pine nuts. Do you like hummus?"

  "Never had it."

  "Really?" I ask incredulously. "It's basically just mashed up chickpeas with tahini, garlic and olive oil."

  "They don't sell hummus at the neighborhood bodegas in New York, and they definitely didn't serve it in jail."

  "Oh," I say remembering that he's probably spent the last five years of his life probably eating crap. I may have sounded a little pretentious just now. "I apologize. Well then let me be the first to say, in the words of Savannah, it will be an honor to pop your hummus cherry."

  I smile goofily at my bad joke. Stone doesn't crack a smile at all, but he doesn't look angry either. He just stares at me with a look that I can best describe as...confusion. He probably thinks I'm the biggest dweeb on the planet.

  "Seriously though, hummus is really good and pretty healthy for you," I continue to nervously babble. "I learned how to make it a few years ago. Take a piece of pita and dip it in the hummus like a chip."

  Before he grabs the pita, I stop him.

  "Oh, wait a minute."

  I grab some sanitizer out of my bag.

  "Give me your hands."

  I pour a little sanitizer in each of Stone's hands. As he holds them out for me, I notice how his palms are covered in deeply etched lines. A bold love line. A long life line. (I went through a palm reading phase when I was fourteen years old.) Each line distinct and unique from the other. I begin to wonder if those hands could talk, what wicked secrets they would hold, and in particular how they would feel touching my skin.