by Paula Cox
I pick up my jacket from the back of my chair and leave the office, walk through the bar, past the framed photographs of Tidal Knights members and old antique pistols and the pool table and the rows and rows of whisky bottles and out into the Evergreen early-summer sun, across the sunlit parking lot and to my Harley.
I’ll get the ferry to Bremerton.
I’ll pay Lana a visit.
Chapter Thirteen
Lana
“I am sorry,” David says, and he really looks like he means it. He’s not a bad man, not at all. His face is soft and his eyes show genuine emotion. I ask him to change his mind, but after around ten minutes of back-and-forth I can see that he’s not going to. Terry is already in the locker room, packing away her stuff. “I really am sorry,” David goes on, as I’m about to leave the office. “But I can’t have my staff leave the premises unattended during opening hours for any personal reason whatsoever. I need staff I can rely upon. I hope that makes sense to you.” He looks at me as though he wants me to tell him it’s okay that he’s firing me.
I leave the office and go into the locker room, where Terry is stuffing her belongings into a backpack: spare T-shirts and bottles of perfume and nail paint and makeup palettes. I take my bag from the bottom of my locker and begin doing the same.
“I’m sorry, Terry. I really am.”
“It’s not your fault, hon. I’m the one who dragged us out there. I just wasn’t thinking. Well, I was thinking, but I was thinking that we needed to get you sorted. I just didn’t think past that, you know? I should be the sorry one. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She closes her locker and turns to me, mock-pouting. “And now, you little slut, you’ve robbed me of the best job I ever had!”
If it were anyone else, there would have been a serious fist fight. Instead, I mock-pout back at her. “Don’t call me a slut, you whore!”
We grin.
From the office, I hear David on the phone, arranging for some of the other girls to come in this morning to cover the shift. Part of me wants to go back in there and plead our case one more time, but he has us in black-and-white, right there in the employee manual. And even common sense. Procedure would have been to call someone in to cover before we left. We didn’t. We need to live with the consequences of our actions. Hey, sound familiar?
I finish packing my things and then Terry nudges me on the shoulder.
“Let’s get going, then,” she says. We walk past the foldout table, stopping for a moment and looking down at it, and then toward the big oval door. Terry stops and turns around, waving a hand over the place as though leaving a treasured site. “Here two women met, one beautiful, glamorous, and talented, the other . . . called Lana. They met and they became friends.”
“Screw you.”
I prod her in the arm and, dressed in casual clothes over our bikinis, we walk out into the street.
“Do you want a ride?” she asks.
“Yeah, if that’s alright. What do you think you’re going to do now?”
“‘Now’ today, or ‘now’ in general?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Today I am going to go to the nearest bar and drink as many cocktails as I can without falling over and then drink until I do fall over and maybe find some nice innocent young man I can take to bed and whose life I can change completely. In general, I am going to look for another job and do as much illustrating as I can; maybe this is the kick up the backside I need to make a real go at it. How about you?”
I hear the growl of an engine and for a moment I dare to hope. It’s faraway, approaching from the ferry side. As soon as I hear it, I’m thrown back almost two months to the misty morning, the morning Chester crossed the line and a mysterious biker put him in his place, the morning which became the steamiest night of my life.
“Lana?” Kelly prompts, and begins walking to her car.
“Oh. Uh, I don’t know. Maybe try and write something. This is awful, to be honest, because now it’s going to be even longer before I can move to Seattle, start the third year of my course. But, hey-ho . . .”
The growl of the bike gets louder and I let my words trail away, listening to it as it stamps out other noises, as the whispering wind and the scuttle of critters underfoot become inaudible over the dominating guttural roar of the bike’s engine. I tell myself it could be any bike, lots of people have motorcycles, and yet my heart begins to pound with excitement. Terry watches me closely, her forehead creased, most likely wondering what has made her strange friend suddenly stranger. And then she tilts her head as she, too, notices the approaching engine.
“Oh, Lana . . .” She sighs. “Lots of people have—”
We turn as the engine suddenly cuts short, tires screeching to a halt on the asphalt.
He removes his helmet, revealing his manly-featured face, somehow sharp and well-defined and square all at once, and revealing his eyes which make me think of oceans thousands of miles away, oceans far away from Bremerton and my problems.
“That’s him,” I mutter. “That’s Kade.”
I feel something kick in my belly. I know it’s just nerves, I know I’m nowhere near far along enough for the baby to be kicking. But I feel it kick and I imagine it’s mine—his—our baby kicking.
“I’ll wait near the car,” Terry says, backing away.
I’m about to walk toward Kade when he spots me and paces over to me so quickly and with such confidence I barely have time to move. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I see him, my toes curl without me telling them to, my fingers begin to worry at the fabric of my overcoat. After a couple of seconds, I realize I’m toeing at the gravel of the side of the road like a nervous high school kid awaiting her date.
“Lana,” he says, seeming bigger than he did before. His eyes are impossible to ignore. They were impossible to ignore when he was just a hot-as-hell guy. Now that he’s the father of my unborn child—a child he doesn’t know about, but still—I stand no chance at all of turning away from them. They make me think of blue eyes and the azure sky and wishing I could fly away from my life here in Bremerton to lands far, far away. They make me think of escape. He takes another step forward and says, “Aren’t you goin’ to say something?”
“I just—I’m surprised to see you.” Part of my mind screams at me to tell him outright about the child. But that might scare him away and the last thing I want to do is scare him away. “What are you doing here?”
He grunts out a laugh, gives me a cocky smirk. But there’s something behind the smirk this time, something that wasn’t there before. “Why do you think I’m here?” he says. “I want to take you back to that motel room.”
Terry must be within hearing distance because I hear her mutter: “Cheeky.”
She’s right, I know. It is cheeky. It’s more than cheeky. And yet just looking at him I can’t help but be turned on by the cheekiness. It isn’t every day you get a biker with sea-blue eyes asking you to come to bed with him. It’s a once in a . . . well, it’s a once in a two-monthly experience. But that’s the thing. I remember how world-rocking that night was and the thought of doing it all over again makes me want to leap on him right here and wrap my legs around him and sit down hard until I feel his cock press firmly into my pussy through my coat and pants and bikini bottoms.
“I—can’t.”
It’s like I hear myself say the words instead of actually say them.
He squints. I’m right, I know I am. Something has changed in him since the last time we met. “Why not?”
I gesture at my bag. “I’ve just been fired.”
“What? Why?”
“I just . . . we left the Twin Peaks unattended for an hour. It’s in our employee contract.”
“Why did you do that?” he asks. Not accusatory, just curious.
“We just—we just did.”
“Let me go and talk to this guy,” Kade mutters, already turning.
“No!” I exclaim, leaping in front of him. David knows abo
ut the pregnancy test. Tests. He might tell Kade. “No, don’t do that. It’s okay. It’s just—well, I’m a bit down, that’s all. Now I’m not going to be able to move to Seattle like I planned. There are expenses that are going to eat into my savings until I find a new job. Food, water, rent; she makes me pay rent even though she could easily cover it herself.”
“Listen,” Kade says, looking at me with lust-filled eyes, eyes which hint at dozens of things he wants to do to me, wants me to do to him, wants us to do together. “I’m goin’ to be straight-up with you, Lana. The truth is a very good friend of mine was killed a couple of weeks ago and it’s fuckin’ me up and I came here wanting a woman, wanting you. So I’m going to make you a proposition.” He takes another step forward, blocking out the sun, looking so imposing and strong and sexy I have to clench my fists to stop from reaching up and grabbing his shoulders just to feel the muscle through the leather. “I want you to live at the clubhouse, rent free, and in return all I want from you is to keep my bed warm when I need you for it.”
It is an appalling, offensive request. It is something which should make me ashamed. It is the sort of request that should be met with a slap across the face and nothing more. I should kick him in the balls and march away to Terry with my head held high. And I would. I normally would. I really would. But I’m starting to realize that in life what would be appalling if it came from one man is alluring coming from another. If Chester, for example, said this to me, I would spit in his face. But Kade . . . I already feel my body going into overdrive at the mere thought of it: nights up in bed writing as I wait for Kade to return and climb into bed with me; riding on the back of his bike, the back of the father of my unborn child’s bike; endless orgasms burning within me.
It is an appalling, offensive request, and yet it is a request I cannot dismiss out of hand.
He just stares at me with those eyes that make thinking of anything other than him, naked, muscles tensed, hands grabbing my breasts and my ass, sluicing through my hair—staring with eyes that make thinking of anything else impossible. He smirks, a casual smirk, an in-control smirk.
“I am not a whore,” I say.
Behind me, Terry mutters, “Damn right.”
I want Terry to walk out of hearing range but I also get that she just wants the best for me. So I just go on, knowing that she can hear every word.
“I never said you were,” Kade says casually.
“What you’re asking me to do would sort of imply otherwise.”
He shrugs. “Alright.”
“Alright?” I raise an eyebrow. “That is your eloquent reply to my very understandable objection?”
“Alright,” he repeats. “Look, I’m not one of those guys who can lay out how he feels and all that shit. All I can tell you is that I want you, want what we had that night, and I want it easy and on-demand.”
Offensive words, all of them. Horribly offense. I should punch him in the stomach and walk away. But these are offensive words which come from my child’s father, offensive words which come from the man who gave me the best sex of my life. Dammit, this is confusing.
“How would it work, exactly?” I ask.
“Lana!” Terry hisses from behind.
I turn and see that she’s standing with her arms at her sides, as though she’s ready to charge at Kade and tackle him to the ground. Usually, the idea of Terry charging at a man and tackling him would be funny. But there’s nothing funny about the way Terry’s cheeks tremble or how she clenches her fists so hard her knuckles turn white.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “We’re just talking about it.”
“What he’s asking—”
“—is for me to decide.”
She huffs, folds her arms under her immense breasts.
I turn back to Kade.
“It’s pretty simple,” he says. “You get a room—”
“Yeah, but what kind of room?”
“The best room in the clubhouse. En-suite, writing desk, king-size bed.”
“A prison for a biker’s whore,” Terry mutters bitterly.
“I’m not a hooker, Kade,” I say. “I won’t go with you under the pretense that I’ll just put out whenever you want. If I go with you, we can say we’ll see what happens. But I’m not going if you think you can just fuck me anytime you like as though I’m some kind of toy.”
Kade sighs. “That’s what I want, though.”
For some reason, I feel comfortable reaching up and flicking his nose with my forefinger. “Well, Mr. Biker, we don’t always get what we want, do we?”
“By ‘we’ll see what happens’ you mean you stay at the clubhouse exactly like I want but every now and then you pretend not to want it so you can feel like you’re not my woman? Is that it?”
“No. Maybe sometimes I won’t want to. And I’ll want you to respect that.”
Kade snorts. “I’m not a fuckin’ rapist, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“Yeah, for all we know!” Terry strides between us, using her bulk to stand down opposite Kade. “Listen, pal, you can’t just ride down here and expect Lana to just go with you because you told her to!”
“With all due respect, ma’am, I do not mean Lana any harm. I understand that you’re her friend and all, but you’re gettin’ angry at the wrong man. I would never hurt her.”
“How do we know that!” Terry turns so that one shoulder is facing Kade, another facing me, blocking us from each other. “Lana, you don’t know this man. Think. You met him once, Once. And now he’s trying to make you a prisoner in his clubhouse. This is the sort of thing crime documentaries are made of.”
“I’ve never hurt a woman,” Kade says. “I only hurt people who deserve it.”
“What if I were to slap you across the face, would you hurt me then?” Terry snaps.
“Terry!” I protest.
She ignores me. “If I slapped you across the face, would you hurt me then?” she demands.
“No,” Kade says.
“What if I pulled a gun on you?”
“I would take if from you.”
“Terry.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “You’re being unreasonable now. I get that you’re angry, but this is ridiculous. Kade is a good man.”
“How do you know!” Terry cries, throwing her hands up to the sky as if the clouds might be able to talk some sense into me.
“Okay, fine. Look. I don’t know. But I believe and trust that he is.”
Terry looks at me like I’ve just said the most stupid thing she’s ever heard. Maybe I have. I don’t know.
“And I’m going with him,” I say.
I think about the desk and the en-suite and the bed and not having to pay rent and moving to Evergreen, Seattle, where the clubhouse is. Terry is right, of course. It’s crazy. But maybe I need a little crazy. And I’ll be close to the father of my child, even if he does not know anything about it yet.
“Listen, Terry,” I say, as her mouth falls open and she stares at me in disbelief. “I want to go with him. I want to live with him. I just want to give it a shot. And hey, if it doesn’t work out, you’ll be the first person I call.”
I pick up my bag and begin walking toward Kade’s bike.
“Now?” Terry says, her voice breathy. “Now, Lana? Right this second?”
“Why not?”
Kade walks beside me, his leather brushing my arm. I look up and smile at him, and he smiles down at me.
I look across the road and see Terry walking to her car, shaking her head, muttering loudly about how stupid this is.
“Is she going to be okay?” Kade asks.
“I hope so. I’ll call her later and we’ll patch it up.”
Kade hands me a bike helmet.
“I’m glad you agreed, Lana,” he says.
I take the helmet.
“So what happened to your friend?” I ask.
Kade clenches his jaw, seems about to ignore me, but then unclenches his jaw and sighs. “He was killed in a gun deal
,” he says. “I knew him since I was three. He co-founded the club with me.”
“Oh, Kade.” I make to put my hand on his shoulder.
He pushes it gently away. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s get goin’.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lana
Spring turns to summer and Kade and I don’t have sex again. Intercourse, anyway. More than once he wakes me up late at night and roams his hands all over me, down between my legs and then up to my breasts, giving me a mind-blowing orgasm (and sometimes orgasms; the Internet says pregnancy can make that a thing, and I am definitely not complaining), then slumping next to me and passing out from exhaustion. Word around town is that the Tidal Knights and the Italians are at each other’s throat, which keeps Kade busy from early morning to late at night. I often wake up to an empty bed. Those orgasms, though—they are like nothing I have ever felt. And sometimes, when his fingers are playing with my clit, I say to myself in my mind, over and over: “This is the father of my child, this is the father of my child.” It drives me crazy. And then he passes out and I climb into the nook between his armpit and his chest and snuggle up, savoring the feeling.