by Meli Raine
“Get the hell out of here. Both of you,” Jeff orders. He looks at Galt, then Chase, but never turns his eyes to me. I can’t stop looking at Chase.
My mind is a blur. I can’t think. I rub my lips with the back of my hand as if they’ve been scorched. The tingle of Chase’s kiss fills me completely. Chase won’t let go of me. Jeff pulls, hard. Galt just stares at us all, like he’s thinking.
I feel like the rope in a game of tug of war.
Chase actually growls at Jeff, like a lion. “Don’t you touch her.”
“If anyone has a right to touch her, it’s me. Not you. I’m the one that’s raised her,” Jeff says.
I shake him off. “My mother raised me,” I spit out.
Jeff’s eyes flash with something almost evil. I see a tiny bit of hurt in there, too. I don’t want to see the pain. Don’t want to know it’s there. My pain is so much worse.
And Chase makes that pain go away.
“You leave or I call the sheriff,” Jeff says to Chase and Galt, holding up his phone.
“I’ll leave when Allie tells me to leave,” Chase says. Galt just rolls his eyes and makes a weird sound in his throat. Then he spits.
I freeze. I want to run away with Chase, go to the bar, get my cash and just fly into the night. I could join his biker gang. We could live like...like...
Like however bikers live. I don’t know how they live, but it has to be better than living with an angry Jeff.
I stay silent, all of them looking at me. I wish they’d stop looking at me. The pressure is too much. I’m scared. As long as Chase’s hands are on me, I feel alive. I’m more afraid of feeling hopeless than I am of anything these men might do to each other.
Galt snorts again and says to Chase, “C’mon. She doesn’t even want you. See? Told you.”
“I, I...” My voice fails me. I wonder what Galt said about me. I want to know why a group of bikers is talking about me. Most of all, I want Chase to make me feel safe again.
“You’re the girl I didn’t expect to worry about,” Jeff spits out, starting to dial someone on his phone. He pushes me toward the house, away from Chase’s touch. Chase’s fists clench.
“Allie, say the word,” Chase says.
“It ain’t her choice,” Jeff barks.
I don’t want another fight. They look at each other like they want to kill each other. Do they all have guns? The thought makes me decide.
“Not now,” I whisper, looking at Chase with desperate eyes. “Later,” I plead. Don’t hate me, my eyes say. He’s angry, the skin under his eyes tight, his jaw knotted with something deeper than I understand.
He gives me a burning look as Galt shakes his head and starts his motorcycle.
Jeff drags me into the house. I stumble on the way in, like I’ve become one big block of concrete. I feel everything and nothing at the same time. The coldness where Chase’s skin touched mine feels like I’m dying.
“You stay away from Chase Halloway, you hear me? He’s the last damn boy you should be messing with,” Jeff says in a calm, cold voice, his finger an inch from my nose as he chastises me.
“Why was his father here?” I’m beyond being ashamed now. Something in me has crossed over to a different place. I’m not the same little girl Jeff bullied earlier today.
“Don’t ask questions.” Without another word, he storms off to his room and slams the door.
I hear the bikes take off and peer out the window. The moon is still watching, but the shadows on its surface look like it’s smirking down on me.
I sink to the ground and wrap my arms around my knees, the soft, worn cotton of Mom’s sweatshirt a balm against my cheek. By the time I get up, it’s soaked completely through with tears.
And I am more determined than ever to get out of this place.
Whatever it takes.
Chapter Five
The dishwasher always rattles at the end, when it turns off, like it’s choking to death before giving up. I open it up to unload the glasses. A cloud of hot steam rises out. I squint to protect my eyes, and it feels like I’m crying. Might as well be, for as desperate as I’ve become, missing Chase.
Jeff got these new shot glasses from the supply company this morning. They look like the ones that got broken in the bar fight. I have to dry them off with a towel or I’ll leave spots. God forbid I leave spots. My eyes feel heavy as I roll them, imagining me and Marissa making fun of Jeff.
I notice a little piece of broken glass at the edge of the bar. I pick it up with my fingers and throw it in the waste basket. It reminds me of when Chase pulled a shard of glass out of my hair. An ache fills me as I remember how he looked at me.
How I wish I’d told him to stay the other night when he came to my house, but in that moment it felt dangerous. Too many men being all alpha male. The pissing contest between Jeff and Galt was stupid. Why did Chase and I have to get stuck in the middle?
I use a dish towel to dry off each glass. Then I put it in its place. The glass is too hot to touch. I hold it with the towel to protect my fingers. The same finger I licked the day I met Chase. Now I know what his mouth tastes like. The burn of his desire is imprinted on my lips, my waist, my neck...wherever he touched me.
I want that burn everywhere.
I still don’t understand what started the fight. Why do Jeff and Galt Halloway hate each other so much? Why doesn’t Jeff want me talking to Chase? I understand that they don’t like each other, but what do Chase and I have to do with that? Too many unanswered questions.
I think about the bikers. I dry off a few more glasses. They aren’t as hot anymore. The towel is getting too damp. I hang it back up and get a dry one, the action automatic. When you work in a bar there are a million little actions that have to be taken to get all the jobs done. They’re boring and repetitive, but someone has to do it, right? Might as well be me. I need to keep saving for my stash to grow enough to move to Los Angeles.
Los Angeles.
Chase is here. Los Angeles is there.
Oh, no.
I remember Chase throwing himself over me to protect me. How strong his hands felt. How he promised to take care of me. How his lips accidentally brushed against my cheek when he said it. How it made me forget about the bar fight and the people brawling all around us.
If I leave soon, I’ll have to leave Chase behind.
I make a funny snorting sound at the thought. I’m being ridiculous. One kiss from Chase means nothing. Nothing. It might have been my first real kiss, and it might have lit my body and soul ablaze, but I’ll bet it was Chase’s ten thousandth kiss. He’s probably been with more women than Jeff has bar glasses.
I finish drying the final shot glass and peer at it. It looks exactly like every other glass on the rack.
I’m just another shot glass to Chase.
And that means it’s okay to go to Los Angeles.
Keep telling yourself that, Allie, a nasty voice inside me says. And eventually it’ll be true.
I go into the storeroom to look for a box of beer glasses. Jeff told me there were new beer glasses. But I don’t see them anywhere. I have to go ask him where they are.
I don’t want to talk to him. But I have a lot of questions.
I want to know why the bikers came to the bar. Why there was a fight. Why Galt Halloway showed up at our house. Whether he’s likely to come back. But I can’t ask Jeff any of those things. It will cause big problems. I can’t afford that.
I feel so stupid, so ignorant. I don’t understand what’s happening. If I had some answers, maybe I would...
I would...what? I’d just know a bunch of details, but nothing I could learn would make me feel different.
I want Chase. I just do.
And I think he really does want me, too.
The door to Jeff’s office is open. He is laughing as he hangs up the phone. He looks up and notices me. He seems startled. He wipes the smirk off his face. “What do you want?” he asks.
It catches me off guard to hea
r him laughing. He has a bandage on his forehead. His lip has split back open. I try not to stare at it. I say, “Beer glasses. I can’t find them. Don’t we have some new ones?”
“Christ, girl. I already told you! They’re in the trunk of my car! Does all that hair block out the sound?” He chuckles and shakes his head.
I’m not used to Jeff laughing and cracking jokes. I wonder what’s so funny. He looks at me and waits. What does he expect me to say? I don’t know what to do. Should I make a joke back?
I blurt out, “Why did those bikers come to the bar? Why was there such a fight?” The moment I say it, I wish I hadn’t.
Jeff’s face changes instantly. He shouts “God damn it, girl!” and slams his fist on the desk. “That’s none of your damned business! Don’t you ever ask me about that again.”
His face turns red and he stands up from his chair. I take a step back from the desk. He makes a fist and seems to steady himself.
Then he reaches into his pocket and tosses me the keys to his car. His face turns back to neutral. “Go out and get those beer glasses.” He looks away and sits back down at his desk like nothing happened.
I don’t need to be told a second time. I start to walk out of the office.
I hear him say, “And Allie?” I stop walking and turn back around.
“You listen to what I told you. You stay away from Chase Halloway before I have to make him stay away.”
I turn away without saying anything back. I can hear him typing on the computer as I walk away from the office. He mutters something under his breath before I go out the back door, but I can’t hear what it is.
I go out to Jeff’s car. It’s an old red convertible Camaro. He calls it Scarlett. It’s always parked behind the bar. I use the key to open the trunk. It’s empty except for a large cardboard box.
I say, “Definitely beer glasses.” Then I say, “Great, now I’m talking to myself.”
The beer glasses are heavier than the shot glasses. I hold the door open with my foot while I bring the glasses in. The air feels like a sauna out here. Nothing new, but it hurts my lungs to breathe today.
I don’t think it’s the heat, though.
I load the beer glasses into the dishwasher and break down the box, putting it in the recycling bin. Someone comes in through the back door. I can’t see who it is, but the footsteps are clear. I hear Jeff close his office door. I can’t hear their conversation over the air conditioner.
I turn on the dishwasher. It will take a few minutes to wash the glasses. I look at the clock. It’s only three. Time to mop the floor. I’m a regular bundle of entertainment, aren’t I?
Party girl with a mop.
I go back to the storeroom. It’s next to Jeff’s office. But I can’t see who he’s with, because the door is closed. Normally, I’m not this nosy, but too bad, Jeff.
I need to know what’s going on.
So I go in the storeroom. I don’t see the mop bucket. I can hear voices in Jeff’s office. The air conditioner is not as loud in here. I stop and try to listen. I still can’t hear what they are saying.
The mop bucket is behind the door. I have to close the door to get to it. It’s always hotter with the door closed.
It’s also quieter.
I put my ear against the wall. Now I can hear what they’re saying.
“You tell Galt to keep his ass away from my house!” Definitely Jeff’s voice. “And his punk kid. I don’t need Chase Halloway sniffing around Allie like she’s fresh meat. He touches her again, I’ll cut off his hand.”
“Just be glad it wasn’t me!” The voice sounds familiar. Who is that? “Galt came to warn you to stay out of our territory! Not his fault his kid’s sniffing around yours now. Besides,” the man says with a snicker, “she’s pretty fucking hot.”
“This is my town!” I hear a thud. It sounds like Jeff’s fist on his desk again. “And don’t you talk about Allie like that. She’s just a kid, you fucking perv.”
“This has been our territory for two years. You can run your bar. But no selling shaboo in our territory!”
What’s shaboo? I wonder.
“Kiss my ass, Frenchie! This is my town. I’ve been selling crank here for the last ten years!”
So it’s Frenchie. Now I’m really scared again. Jeff sells drugs? Shaboo is crank? I wonder if my mother knew. And Frenchie’s talking about me like he’d like to hurt me. Or worse...
I hear Frenchie laugh. “Yeah, but now it’s all different. You got yourself into this mess, two years ago. You know that.”
My hand tightens around the mop handle. Frenchie keeps talking about two years ago. That’s when my mom died. What does two years ago have to do with anything?
“You just tell Galt to stay out of my bar! And keep that damn boy away from my stepdaughter!”
“Keep out of our territory and you’ll keep out of trouble. Two years ago you came damn close to being taken out. It’s your own damn fault. It won’t be so easy this time! El Brujo’s got his eye on you.”
El Brujo? Why is that name familiar?
Jeff makes a snorting sound. “Ain’t none of your business how I handle my trouble. But don’t you worry. I’ve got it covered.”
I hear the door open. “Just cool it with the meth. Maybe you can sell some pot or something. Start selling Amway or Tupperware,” Frenchie says.
“Fuck off,” Jeff mutters.
“You keep taking our territory, I’ll take yours,” Frenchie says. I know exactly what he means, and it makes my legs go cold and rubbery with utter fear. He means me. I’m the territory he’s talking about now. Oh, God. No. Just...no.
Frenchie laughs as he comes out of the office. I hear footsteps going down the hall. The back door opens and closes.
Jeff lets out a long breath. Then I hear footsteps.
“What the hell?” It sounds like he’s standing outside the storeroom. I don’t want him to find me. I step over the mop bucket and press myself up against the wall.
The door opens suddenly and it hits the mop bucket. The bucket slams into my shins. I gasp in pain. But I don’t cry out. If he finds me, he’ll know I was listening.
The phone rings. Jeff says, “Goddamn it!” I hear him go back into his office and close the door.
I sneak out of the storeroom. I leave the mop and bucket behind. I rub my shins. That’s going to leave a bruise.
I go back to the dishwasher and start unloading the beer glasses. I dry them off and put them in the overhead rack. I have to find out what happened two years ago. My heart slams in my chest. My scalp feels like it’s two inches above my skull. I jump at every little sound in the kitchen, terrified.
I hope Galt Halloway does stays away from the bar. Frenchie, too.
But I hope Chase Halloway doesn’t stay away from me.
Chapter Six
I’m being chased by a man with no face, with hands like tree branches that extend out to wrap around me and pull me back. The dry desert dirt makes it hard to run, and my breath won’t fill my lungs. Legs made of Silly String try to keep me going but I’ve been running for so long, trying so hard to get away from whatever ominous thing is behind me that I just can’t keep going.
The thought terrifies me, makes the blood shoot through my brain like a fountain, exploding and making my vision blur.
I can’t stop. I can’t let him get me. What will he do to me if he catches me?
That fear propels me forward. My hands grab at the loose dirt and I push up, forcing my legs to keep going even as the brush of his grasp against my ankle tells me I’m about to face my worst nightmare.
The moon watches everything, urging me on. My heart races in my chest, pumping blood so I can keep going, making me breathe, making me live. My hair flies behind me and I feel a terrible yank, the pain blinding me, as his tendrils weave into my long, black hair, making me halt.
He’s got me.
Oh, please, no.
Hands rip at my shirt, the thin fabric peeling off me, leaving me
exposed as a faceless being strokes my bare skin like he’s going to—
A heavy groan makes me wake up, the nightmare so real I’ve soaked my bed with sweat. The night air in my room smells like dry desert and crackling wood. My breath comes out in tortured gasps. I am wide-eyed and cold, hot under the covers but chilled to the bone.
Am I breathing? It feels like he’s still touching me. It is still touching me.
Like it will chase me forever.
And I can never get away.
I swallow, twice, and force myself to breathe in through my nose for four counts, then out through my mouth for four more. When she was alive, my mom taught me this. She said it would always help me to become calmer. I suppose she was right. It’s working, but barely.
Every inch of my bedroom feels like a threat. The furniture is otherworldly, even though it’s the same dresser, the same desk, the same bedpost I’ve lived with my whole life. The way the moonlight makes the wallpaper look like it could come alive is creepy. When I was a little girl it freaked me out. Mom explained it was an optical illusion, but I was convinced she was wrong.
Convinced that there was a monster living in the wall.
My eyes shift over to the direction of Jeff’s bedroom.
Maybe I was right all along.
Jeff’s never touched me. Never been inappropriate. He’s never been some great fatherly figure who cheered me on or treated me like a princess, but he’s also not a perv.
But the older I get the more I wonder why he won’t help me leave. Why he won’t let me leave. Most men would want to be rid of another woman’s child, a teenager who isn’t even his. But not Jeff. Ever since Mom died he’s controlled me, monitored almost everything I do, and made it so I can’t get away.
Can’t get out.
Can’t go and live.
Why? I’ve chased my own sanity a million times trying to understand what he gets from keeping me here, other than cheap labor in his bar. It’s not that life is awful. I don’t have it that bad. Not like the migrant farm workers who bend over the fields for twelve hours a day to make what I earn in six hours working at the bar. Or the single moms in town who have their baby daddies beating them.