by Meli Raine
“Thank you,” I say, looking first at David, then at Chase.
“For what?” they both ask at the same time, then laugh at the jinx.
“For talking about me with David,” I say, looking down at the buttons on Chase’s leather jacket. “You...you talk about me with people?” I look up as I ask the question.
He’s smiling at me with a look so dazzling it makes my heart glow. “Only with David. He’s my...well, I guess he’s my friend.”
Chase looks at David, who nods somberly.
“How are you two friends?” This combo is the least likely friendship I could ever imagine in a million years. David is gawky and geeky, dark-haired and olive-toned, all into science and engineering. He’s headed off to college in a few weeks. Chase is blonde and tawny, tanned and weathered, all bad-boy danger and a drug dealing biker.
You really, really can’t find two guys who are more different than each other if you try.
“David helps me with my stunts,” Chase explains, as if that answers everything.
I laugh, a sudden gust of wind behind me pushing my long hair in my face, whipping it in front of my eyes. “I mean how did you two meet? You didn’t go to our high school, and until a few days ago I’ve never seen you before, Chase,” I say, my words sinking in as I say them. The connection I feel with him is so immediate, so desperate, the longing there already.
How could this be so right?
David answers. “Chase was out here on his dirt bike doing some crazy jumps one day. I came out to do some solar experiments with large arrays you can’t set up near town without assholes destroying them.”
“Still? The jocks still bully you?” The outrage in my voice makes Chase frown. He looks at me, then David.
“That true?” he asks David in a voice that makes the base of my spine start tingling. I don’t think those bullies are going to last much longer.
David tries to brush it off. “It’s no big deal. They just think it’s funny to tip the arrays over. Like cow tipping, only with solar panels.” He doesn’t mention the fact that if David’s there when they come, the jocks have stolen his car and phone and left him miles from home, just for fun.
Fun.
“What do they look like? What’s their ride?” Chase asks, a determined look of calculation on his face. His eyes glow an eerie amber, and he’s laser-focused on David.
David shrugs. I can tell he knows exactly what Chase is thinking, and he’s struggling. Having those assholes get theirs would be a victory for David. Half the football team has teased him since seventh grade. On the other hand, Chase is the kind of guy who doesn’t mess around. The thought of an entire biker gang descending on a group of jocks makes my justice-minded heart sing.
But what kind of damage would the bikers do to the townies? Maybe it would be worse to tell Chase who they are.
This is David’s fight, though. Not mine. It’s all up to him. They’ve only bothered me once, about a year ago, as I was leaving the bar one night. Chuck Jorgenson cornered me near the garbage cans and tried to cop a feel before Jeff came out there and shooed him away. That was our final week of high school, back in May, and I hope I never see him again.
I change my mind. Maybe there’s a little of this fight in me, too. “Chuck’s one of them,” I tell Chase. “Chuck Jorgenson.”
David’s eyes flash with anger as his nostrils flare. “He’s the guy who harassed you, right, Allie?”
Chase’s face morphs into an ugly mask. “Someone harassed you? Touched you against your will?” His entire body goes hard, muscled and wired, like a predator getting ready to kill something.
“Um, oh,” I sputter, flustered that talk has turned to me. It was one time. Chuck’s a jerk. Chase looks like he’s ready to murder someone. “It was nothing. It’s over now, and he hasn’t bothered me since.”
“It’s not over. It still bothers you. I can see it in your eyes, Allie. You can’t hide anything from me.” Chases words are firm and clear. He’s not backing down. Like that moment in the bar when the fight broke out, he’s here to protect me. To make me feel safe. To make me be safe.
Something in me melts. Relaxes. Breathes even deeper. I’ve always dreamed that men like this exist. That they’re out there, somewhere, fueled by fantasy. It’s one thing to imagine and dream about a special man who will come into your life and make everything better. Brighter. Sweeter. More loving and less dangerous. To help turn the world into a safe haven and a place where you can grow together.
It’s quite another to have Chase in front of me, eyes boring into mine, angry and protective of me.
I’m his.
And he’s not about to let me forget that.
I wave my hand like I’m trying to get rid of an annoying insect. “Chuck’s a nobody. He’s just a stupid guy who caught me alone behind the bar when I was taking out the trash.”
“He’s the trash,” David mumbles.
Chase’s neck darts over to look at him. “You were there?”
“No, no,” David says quickly. “She told me about it later.”
“And you did nothing? Some friend you are.”
David swallows, hard, a pained look on his face. Now it’s my turn to get angry. I pull away from Chase and then step forward again, my fury hot and lively in my face.
“You know what, Chase Halloway?” I stick a finger within an inch of his nose. “You waltz into my life a few days ago and turn everything upside down. You come to my house, your dad and my stepdad get into a brawl, then they try to ban you from seeing me. Our families are in some kind of...feud...and all you want to do with these rare minutes together is talk about stupid Chuck Jorgenson and whether David’s protected me enough or not!”
I’m spitting mad, my hair flying all over the place, hands tight in fists. David’s mouth is open a bit, in surprise, while Chase’s jaw is tight. His eyes are on me, though, and he’s listening intently.
“If David had gone and found Chuck that day, it would have done no one any good. He’d have gotten a bunch of jock friends and come after David. Back in ninth grade they beat the shit out of him because he made a sarcastic comment about them in science class. Broke his arm. So David doesn’t have any obligation to protect me, and neither do you!”
I spin on my heel and start walking toward David’s car, my brain a whirling dervish of too many emotions. I’m here with my friend, who turns out to know my...whatever Chase is to me...and these two are having some kind of pissing match (mostly Chase) about who should protect me over a grope and a rub from a guy a year ago.
Men. I don’t understand men. I don’t understand my stepfather, or David, or Chase, or—
“Allie.” Chase has caught up to me, and he’s standing a few paces behind. The wind sends his voice forward, making me halt in my tracks. I haven’t gotten very far because walking in desert dirt is like swimming in mud.
“What?” I don’t turn around. My head feels like it’s boiling. If I look at him I’ll burst into tears. Nothing makes sense anymore, and every day I am around Chase Halloway the world makes more sense on the inside and less on the outside.
“I’m sorry.”
My head reels back like someone’s slapped me. Those are the last two words I ever expected to hear from his mouth. I turn around now to find him standing there, watching me, eyebrows tight with a worried expression. Chase, worried?
He looks like he’s afraid he’s lost me.
Chapter Ten
“Please? Please come back and hang out? I don’t mean to be a jerk. I just can’t stand the thought of some other guy’s hands on you. Especially someone you don’t want to have touching you. It makes me want blood,” Chase explains, eyes turning warm and distant somehow all in the same second.
He’s so earnest, his voice pleading with me to believe him. To go back to him. He walks, slowly, toward me. His hips move with purpose, legs strong and muscles thickening with each step. Chase is so big. Such a man. I feel feminine and small, wanted and needed.
Even if that means he’s a drug-dealing biker.
I keep thinking about that, and I need to stop it, or I need to say something and open the conversation up. Who wants to ask the person they’re falling for if they’re a criminal?
Or, worse—Marissa’s words cling to my thoughts. Did Chase kill someone in order to be included in the biker group?
The words come out before I can process them. “Do you really deal drugs with the gang and did you have to murder someone to be part of it?” The syllables come out in one long word, without pauses.
I’m still buried in his chest, the words muffled against his coat. He stiffens. He heard me.
Slowly, like time is being drawn out, he pulls me away from him and looks at me with a sad expression. “You don’t trust me.”
I let the words hang in the air. That’s not what I need to understand.
“That’s not true. It’s that I need to know more about you.”
“People are filling your head with lies.” Out of the corner of my eye I see David messing around with some kind of machinery. He keeps looking over at us nervously. Checking up on me, I guess.
He can’t help me, though. The danger to me isn’t from Chase himself. It’s from what the truth might do to my heart.
I shake my head, disagreeing with Chase. “Your own father talked about the drugs. So the Atlas Gang deals, right?” I make a nasty sound in the back of my throat. “I can’t judge you for that. My stepdad turns out to be dealing, too. We’re the kids of drug lords,” I add with a high, slightly-hysterical giggle.
Chase is looking at me like I’m nuts.
“My dad deals. I don’t.”
“You don’t? How can you be part of a big group like that and not deal drugs?”
“I handle the money deliveries. Never the drugs.”
I want to ask how that’s different. Chase clearly doesn’t want to talk about this, but I have to ask. Have to. While I can’t control whether I fall in love with him or not, I can control whether I put myself in danger.
“And killing someone? I was told in some biker gangs you have to kill a person to become a member.”
Every muscle on Chase’s body stops all movement. He looks at me with eyes ablaze, so many emotions in that fire. Fear, resentment, terror, concern, self-righteousness.
And dignity.
“What do you want me to tell you, Allie? That I’ve never killed anyone?”
Yes, I think. But I say nothing. I need the truth. Not what I wish the truth is.
“I want you to tell me the truth.”
“Will it change your opinion of me?”
“I don’t know. It depends on what the truth is.” I won’t lie to him. He’s too important for me to lie to him. I respect him too much.
“Yes.”
My heart stops.
“Yes, Allie. I killed someone.”
Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick.
His voice goes robotic. “When I was fifteen my mom died. You know how she died?”
Most people would hear that and think Chase was going to tell me he killed her. But for some reason, I don’t.
“She was attacked. We didn’t know my dad was dealing drugs. Until I was fifteen we lived a normal life. A nice life, right outside of L.A. We had one of the Spanish-looking houses with the brick roofs you see all over Pasadena. I went to school—actual school. Galt likes to say he ‘home schools’ me but he’s full of shit.”
I wonder how old he is. The way he looks now, sick and defiant as he tells me this story, makes me think he’s not much older than me.
“Anyhow, I came home from school one day and found my dad being held at gunpoint by a scummy biker. My mom was screaming for my dad to come help her, and I just walked right in. The guy with the gun started to point it at me. I can still hear the click as he cocked it, and my dad jumped him. He screamed, ‘Go help your mom.’”
The sick feeling inside me intensifies. My hand flies to my mouth in horror. I can’t imagine.
“So I go to their bedroom and there she is, on the bed, this sick fuck on top of her, fumbling with his belt buckle. He’s trying to rape my mom. I grab a lamp and smash it on his head. Like in the movies, you know?” he whispers, eyes distant. “Like a stunt.”
“What happened?”
“A third guy shows up and my mom’s calling out ‘Chase, oh, Chase. Run!’ and I can’t. There’s no way I can leave my mom alone with these guys, and I have no idea where my dad is. So the third guy shows up, points the gun at Mom, and shoots her in the head.”
My heart stops.
“I grabbed the knife off the belt of the guy who attacked my mom and stabbed the shooter in the back. Turns out I hit his kidney dead on. Dad said I couldn’t have aimed better if I’d tried.” He makes a strange, strangled sound. “And Dad killed the rapist and the third guy.”
“Oh, my God. Oh, Chase,” I murmur, walking to him. I need to touch him. Connect with him. Make sure he knows how sorry I am.
He stands still like a statue.
“I killed two people that day. The guy, and my mom.”
I’m confused. “No, you said the third guy killed your mom.”
“Technically, sure. But I should have protected her. If I’d been faster, had been thinking better, had done the right thing, she wouldn’t have died.” He’s like a band of steel, so taut he looks like he’s going to snap in two.
Tentatively, I reach out, just to offer whatever I can. Comfort. Solace. Companionship. I need to make sure he knows he’s not alone, and that I don’t judge him.
He crumples, pulling me into his arms. I stand on tiptoes and tuck his head to my chest. He’s not crying, but if he needs to, that’s okay. He’s been strong for me already. It’s my turn to protect him a little.
Deep breaths from him push against my breasts, and that sense of comfort and nurturing begins to change into something deeper. More primal. Chase feels it, too, as his hands start to caress my back, pull gently at my hair, tighten just a bit so the press of our flesh is more immediate.
He stands tall and looks down on me, the sun shining behind him.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people I care about.”
I believe him. Trust me, I believe him now.
“Remember that, Allie. And if that Chuck guy ever, ever comes near you again, he’ll regret it.”
The words hang in the air between us like a death sentence.
“Just don’t kill him.”
Chase’s face breaks into a relieved smile at my joke. It’s actually not a joke, but Chase seems to think it is. “Nah. I’ll just snap a leg or something. Or send Frenchie out to do his magic.”
I shudder and look away. Frenchie. Chase frowns and grasps my arm, making me look at him.
“Frenchie do something to you?” he asks in a dangerous voice.
I shake my head. “No, no. He just...he came to the bar. Alone. I heard him talking to Jeff. That’s how I found out about the drug dealing.”
Chase’s eyebrows shoot up. “You didn’t know your stepfather is one of the biggest drug dealers in the southwest?”
Wham. That feels like being hit between the eyes with a big rock. “What? In the entire southwest?” I squeak.
David walks over, clearly able to tell we’re done talking about anything romantic. “What’s going on?” he asks.
Chase looks at David, then at me. “Allie has no idea Jeff’s a drug dealer. A pretty big one.”
David’s eyes are as big as saucers.
Chase snorts. “Guess you didn’t know, either. Well, now you know.” He looks over at the area where David’s equipment is spread out. His arm goes around my shoulders and he points. “Let’s go look at what me and David do here. I can’t wait to show you.” He squeezes me with excitement and we
make the slow walk through the silty desert dirt.
My brain is spinning with so many details. Jeff’s a huge drug dealer? Chase killed someone while his mom was being attacked, and she was murdered, too? My own mom’s death pokes into my mind around the edges. We both had moms die at about the same age, and we both have dads (stepdad, in my case) who are major drug dealers.
The world is getting too weird.
The three of us walk over to a small ridge where, as we get closer, I see there’s a small dip down. A shack is to the left of us, hidden by a rock formation. It’s small, but has windows and a solar panel next to it. The solar panel is a series of three stands. They look like giant iPads propped up, facing the sun.
“What are those?” I ask David.
He gets geeked out. David’s always excited by science. “Those are a small array of solar panels. Chase didn’t want them on the roof to attract attention, so I designed them to be moveable and hidden easily. The wires go from the panels to a series of battery packs inside his house.”
“This is your house?” I ask. We’re in the middle of freaking nowhere. How can he live here?
“Sorta.” Chase seems pleased with my surprise. “I set up a cistern a long time ago and bring water in whenever I come. I can strap five gallons on the back of my big bike with a bungee cord and haul it here. Battery powered lights, a propane stove and fridge, and now the solar set up means I’ve got electricity to charge my cell phone whenever I need it.”
David is beaming like a kid in a candy shop. “He’s got everything! Except a shower.”
“No,” Chase says, correcting him. “I got that black plastic solar bag thing you suggested. Set it up behind the house.” Chase waves at us to come look. We turn the corner of the simple wood house, which is no bigger than the size of a lawn shed.
Sure enough, there’s an outdoor shower, complete with a small half-door.
David laughs. “That’s new! You did that this week?”
A troubled look fills Chase’s amber eyes. “Yeah. I need to make sure I can live here full time.”
“Why?” I ask.
Chase gives me a look that says he’s trying to figure out how much truth to tell me. “Things are getting bad at the compound.”