by C. M. Marin
“I wish―”
“Stop right here. I didn’t bring you here for that. Told you yesterday, I get that you’re not ready.”
His tone is firm. He doesn’t only attempt to provoke a discussion that’d bring him to discreetly try to convince me to sleep with him. He means it.
“And why did you bring me here? Where are we?” I ask, forcing lightness into my voice as my gaze takes in my surroundings for the first time.
Just out of the last town we whizzed past, hedged in a rather green meadow contrasting with the desert I’m more used to, is dressed a house with windows running along the entire front. It looks like the house doesn’t even have walls to help it stand. The roof is flat and…
“Is that a tree on top of that roof? Is it your house?”
“It is, and it is. Come on.”
As he likes doing it, he slides his hand in mine to guide me to the door.
It opens directly on a spacious living room filled with slick anthracite furniture contrasting with the white walls. Brick red pieces of decoration are scattered here and there, giving a discreet colorful touch to the room. With the bright morning sun shining through all those windows, it looks even more beautiful.
“It’s beautiful,” I say aloud. “But tell me one thing. Aren’t you slightly too paranoid to be lazing around on a couch set so close to a bunch of windows?”
My grin is playful, but I’m genuinely curious. And I’d lie saying a tinge of worry hasn’t settled in my stomach, too.
“They are bulletproof windows, smartass,” he explains, and I turn away from him to look at them again.
Apparently, bulletproof windows don’t look any different than usual windows.
The slap on my ass I didn’t see coming rips a squeaky, embarrassing cry out of me.
“Come on,” Nate winks at my berating stare when I mechanically spin back around.
He walks out of the living room, and I follow him, letting his unforeseen manhandling assault slide as we enter a large, light gray and fully equipped kitchen with an equally large island occupying the center of the room.
Immediately, my eyes catch the same stand mixer my mom once saved money for six months to afford. It’s still at home, but hers has an ivory shade when this one is black.
“My mom had the same one,” I tell Nate, running my fingers over the slick surface. “Do you bake?”
“Afraid I stay clear of the kitchen for everyone’s sake,” he confesses, setting the bag holding our breakfast onto the counter. “This thing is Alexia’s. Liam’s kid sister. Well, she’s only five years younger than him and isn’t a kid anymore, but when Liam patched in, he was only eighteen, just like me and Jayce. The three of us patched in the same year. We were young, but we took care of her like she was our own sister. Ben and Blane as well once they patched in not very long after that.”
“Okay,” I blurt out at his explanation, but I’m afraid I don’t understand. “She lives here, then? I mean, with you?”
“What? Oh, no.” He smiles when he gets my confusion as to why this Alexia girl’s stand mixer is in his kitchen. “Alex and Jayce were dating until a year ago. Long story short, he broke up with her after his granddad died.”
“The one that owned a cabin at the lake,” I remember.
He nods, and curious hesitation plays on his face before he goes on. “Isaac was killed,” he says, and my stomach lurches. “And he wasn’t the only one. His two sons, Jayce’s dad and uncle, were killed too.”
I hiss in a breath, and I’m pretty sure my face must have lost all color.
“It messed up with Jayce’s head, which is why we think he let Alex go.”
Sadness pours off him, and during a fleeting second, I’m thrown back to the day some policeman called me to inform me of my parents’ accident.
“The Spiders?” I just ask.
“Most likely, but without any proof, we’re tied. Can’t do shit about it, and that doesn’t help Jayce getting his own shit together. That’s why he told the guys to vote me president instead of him. Anyway, Jayce gave me the stand mixer not long after that, grumbling that he’d burn my bikes to ashes if I made a single scratch on it.”
I manage to get a light laugh out, but what he just said iced any inner smile for sure.
He steps closer, sighing. “I didn’t mean to ruin the mood, but I also don’t want to lie to you.”
“It’s okay. I already knew your life wasn’t exactly a banal one. It’s just…” I snort. “I don’t believe in unicorns anymore, but that kind of violence is a lot to process,” I admit honestly.
“You’ll find it hard to believe, but you’re safe with me. I won’t let anyone touch you,” he promises, his voice low with a barely noticeable emotion.
“You made that clear already,” I allude to the edgy state he was in at Dona’s, and how he insisted I spend the night at his club yesterday.
Not saying more, he moves back to grab our breakfast before he leads me away again.
We climb up a spiral staircase, which gives me an idea to where we’re going. And once we’ve reached the roof, a whistle leaves me.
That’s some house he owns.
Nate strolls to a lounger on which he makes himself comfortable as I crouch down near the water of his large pool to feel its warmth with my fingers.
“It’s incredible,” I look over my shoulder. “Do the others all have a house like yours?”
“They do have a house, more or less big. Ben has the biggest one, but he sulked like a kid when he saw my roof. Said he didn’t understand why he didn’t think about doing something like that. That’s probably the first thing I knew I wanted. After growing up in Illinois, I guess I wanted to be able to enjoy the sun more than the guys. They pretty much all come from around here, except for Blane, but he’s from Florida.”
Letting my eyes roam around me one more time, sudden chills crawl over my skin and I freeze after standing up.
“You said you own several repair shops, but… I hope you won’t mind me asking this―”
“No, the shops aren’t the only businesses our income comes from,” he interrupts me. “They do more than well because our mechanics are the best in their field, but every shop is also a way for us to clean the money we get through our other business,” he says, answering the question he somehow figured out had just flashed through my mind.
If I’m being honest, that subject has been in my head since I set foot into his club, but now that it’s out in the open, I come to regret my decision of even grazing it.
Naively, I chose to believe that bikers club putting food on the table through an illegal business was just one more cliché about them. Hearing from Nate’s mouth that it’s not has a vibe of discomfort snaking in me, and as I look around at his pool, his jacuzzi and the palm tree I already caught sight of the branches from outside his house when we arrived, the questions that clash in my head are a heartbeat away from triggering a wave of nausea. But then I remember he also said that they didn’t deal with drugs or guns so…
“Camryn,” Nate says with the same softness I feel through the hand he places on my cheek, and the fact he left the lounger to meet me registers.
Despite my thoughts running wild with anguish and a dawning fear about Nate’s activities growing fast, his gentleness sends through me this peace that starts to feel familiar. Oddly, anguish is also what I catch when I look into his eyes. I immediately understand he’s about to explain further what I’m not sure I want to know, but before I can open my mouth to stop him, his words ring out in my ears.
“We build bikes that we sell to people involved in street racing across the country.”
Bikes. They build bikes. They don’t deal drugs. They build bikes.
“Oh,” is all I can manage to get out as relief takes most of the space in my brain.
“Basically, we work on the bike’s engine to increase its power.”
“Which is the illegal part.”
“The selling part is just as illegal, obviously. But t
hat’s all we ever did. I told you the truth yesterday. The club never dealt with drugs, guns and other things that could end with a life sentence for us. Not saying that what we do comes with zero risks, but our clients don’t know who we are or where we live, so there’re slim chances of authorities ever getting to us. We take serious precautions to cover our tracks. And our clients are at least as cautious as we are. They don’t want to have cops breathing down their necks either.”
I’m glad he pauses to take a breath. “You shouldn’t have told me that, Nate.”
“I trust you. Don’t ask me why, I just do. But I barely grazed the subject,” he says. “And the only reason I can’t give you any details is because…” He sighs. “No one outside the members knows any details about our business. Some things are even only known by the inner circle. It’s precaution. Everyone in our world knows that outsiders such as old ladies, or families living a normal life, so to speak, don’t know anything. And there’s no reason to snatch someone who doesn’t know anything.”
The intake of air I gasp on is out before I can’t stop it.
“I now understand better where your paranoid edge comes from. I’ll try not to make fun of you again,” I attempt to provoke a shift in the serious atmosphere with a mischievous smile.
But Nate isn’t finished with the heavy stuff, apparently. “Hard as it is to believe, we’re not hurting anyone. Even members of rival clubs, unless they come at us first. This world requires to be rough to be respected, but if the Chaos Chasers hadn’t been what they were when Isaac took me in, I wouldn’t have stayed. I’m not a violent man, and I definitely don’t condone causing violence just for the fun of it.”
“Because of your father?” I ask as his eyes darken with a hollow, distant look. “You told me he’s not a good man. Was he abusive?”
Something serious must happen for someone to completely cut ties with their father.
“What’s sure is that he never needed a club to push his vices to the greatest,” he says as an answer. “I quickly knew Isaac and the older members weren’t anything like my father, though despite that, he was the one thing that made me hesitate to patch in when the time came.”
“Why?”
“Because I used to be scared I’d inevitably end up like him. Angry and violent. Bitter for some goddamn reason nobody will ever know what it is. I was afraid this world that I knew could be violent sometimes would aggravate some genetic predisposition. I’m telling you that because I want you to know I’m not a monster. You’re safe with me.”
Strangely, I don’t doubt that for a second. I’m only getting to know him, but I’ve felt safe around him since the very first day.
“I know I am. And I don’t believe in genetic predispositions,” I tell him. “But that might just have to do with the fact I was adopted. I’ve always known the truth, but my parents told me about my biological mother when I was sixteen. She left me a letter, but she didn’t say anything about my father, nor did she say anything to my parents about him. Because of that, I’ve always supposed he probably wasn’t worth mentioning, you know?” I shrug, stealing Nate’s spot on the lounger.
He joins me, sitting at the edge of it, right beside my hips.
“Where’s your real mom now?”
“She’s dead. Cancer. That’s why she gave me up. I wasn’t even one year old when she passed away. She’s the one who chose my adopted parents, and for that only I love her.” I smile. “She chose well.”
The words she wrote to me in her letter were as sad as they were beautiful. I read it so many times that some words are etched into my brain.
“A month ago, I bought you a cute pink bunny to celebrate your one-month anniversary; two weeks ago, a doctor told me about a cancer that will take me away from you without granting me the chance to see you blow out your first birthday candle; and tomorrow, instead of going to the mall to buy you another cute softy, I’ll take you to meet the nice people who will become your parents.
Be sure that even if they are wonderful people, it breaks my heart not to be able to guide you myself into this life, sweetie. But Kate and Patrick are kind and lively. They have a beautiful house with a big garden and a beautiful bedroom. They just don’t have a baby for all of this. I’m sure they’ll love you very much, Camryn. Just as much as I do. These last two months, you’ve made my life the most beautiful life someone can dream of living.”
“You never tried to find your real father, then?” Nate asks me, bringing me out of my memories.
I shake my head. “I’ve always been afraid of what I could find.”
Vulnerability settles shortly on his face. “So many times growing up I wished my father had left my mom instead of making her life a living hell.”
“Did he beat her?”
I think I know the answer, and my heart is breaking for this little boy I didn’t even know. Reaching for his hand, I thread my fingers with his. Despite the emotional turn that has taken this conversation, an electrical jolt has my skin prickling the moment his touches mine. I’m ashamed, but I can’t help it.
“That was his favorite pastime. He’d hit her for some stupid reason like breaking a glass, or for no reason at all. And when he didn’t hit her with his fists, he’d do it with his spiteful words. I think he always was an abusive asshole, but when I was little, my mom used to plaster that perfect smile on her face when I was around. Looking back, I think she smiled that much because she wanted me to believe she was happy even though she was miserable. But I eventually grew up and started to see the charade. At first, when I caught her crying, she’d make up excuses. And one day, she stopped smiling to keep up appearances for me altogether.”
My thumb runs circles over the back of his hand in a soothing motion. “Did he kill her?” I whisper, my throat closed with emotion.
He already told me his mom died a long time ago, but he didn’t elaborate as to how it happened.
“As far as I’m concerned, he did. One day after I went back home from school, she was lying on her bed. I thought she was asleep, but I quickly figured out she had swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills she used to take, probably to tame the fear at least for a restful night. I guess she had finally reached a point where she couldn’t take this life anymore,” he supposes.
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen. She left me a short letter where she wrote all her regrets, how much she loved me, and where she had hidden some cash for me to take if I wanted to get away from that house.”
“Jesus, Nate,” I croak out, then clear my throat. “What did you do? Is it when you left? You said you’ve been with the club for twelve years. Which means you’ve stayed an entire year with your father?”
My back pushes against the lounger and I straighten up, bringing me almost face to face with him when he shifts to properly look at me.
“Until my mom’s death, my father never hit me. If anything, he acted like I wasn’t even there. Barely talked to me at all. But with my mom gone, I became the punching bag,” he finally answers my first question. “That lasted for about seven months. I was too afraid to leave, but when I turned fifteen and he beat me unconscious because I forgot to bring the paper after school, I decided it was less scary or risky to live on the streets than to live with that sick man,” he relates without any emotion, and I close my eyes briefly. “Two days later, when my head stopped killing me, I took the four thousand dollars my mom had probably needed years to save, and instead of going to school, I climbed on a bus to Dallas and never looked back.”
“And Isaac found you on the streets?”
“After four months that felt like years,” he says, and the smirk tugging at his lips gives away as much affection than sadness as his thoughts go to the man who saved him. “I didn’t want to spend all my money on hotel rooms until I had figured out what to do. Where to get some help, or maybe find a job. I only went to a hotel on weekends to take a shower and have one restful night. And when Isaac found me sitting in some alley, eating
a sandwich while counting my money, I still had about three thousand.” He chuckles before he continues. “Isaac was a scary man even at sixty-two, and I thought he was standing over me to rob me. But instead, he started talking to me. Even asked me if I had stolen that money. He sat beside me and I told him my story. He offered me a proper dinner then, during which he told me about Jayce and the guys. About the club. He finally asked me if I was interested in learning mechanics so I could have a real job someday. That day, he didn’t only offer me a job, but a family. I owe him everything.”
Around the lump that hasn’t left my throat, I say, “And now you’re helping Melvin just like Isaac helped you.”
“I’m trying to do the right thing,” he says. “And though I understand why you’re on your guard with this life you know so little about, I don’t want you to be scared. Not of me,” he adds through a deep murmur that sounds like a plea as his gaze plunges in mine like he’s trying to reach my mind.
“I wouldn’t be here if I were scared of you.”
My last word still fills the small space between us when his mouth attacks mine. That must have been the right thing to say.
I welcome his lips and offer him mine naturally, the sensations floating around in my stomach too spectacular to deny. My right leg swings over him, and I move to straddle him, instinctively responding to this need that only grew deeper since he touched me yesterday morning. The tingles rise on my skin, in my stomach, across my chest. They’re everywhere, begging my head to give in to a desire Nate seems to have brought back to life.
His tongue masters mine, taking control of the kiss. I love this about him. His strength. His raw nature. The way he doesn’t handle me like he would handle a fragile thing made of glass. His kiss is as rough as it’s gentle, like he’s telling me he’s going to throw me into a place where only pleasure exists but without hurting me. And I want that. I want every primal touch he’s willing to give me.
When his hand makes contact with the fabric of my damp panties, my eyes roll into my head and a moan is waiting right at the back of my throat, eager to voice my pleasure.