“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” Bones murmurs to me.
Meanwhile, I have never felt so high in my life. No level of intoxication can compete with the rush of fucking Bones. He makes me feel dirty and clean, aching and fulfilled at the same time. The two of us head to the bathroom to clean up, but try as I might, I can’t seem to clear the smile off my face. I feel an overwhelming rush of adoration and warmth for him that I can’t totally hold back anymore.
“Hey Bones,” I ask meekly.
He turns to look at me, a new softness in his eyes. “Yes?” he prompts me.
Wringing my hands, I ask, “Will you watch a movie with me?”
He saunters over and kisses me on the forehead, brushing back the sweat-soaked locks of hair from my face. With a smile he replies, “Of course. Go on and start making the popcorn. I’m going to get some blankets and pillows and join you on the couch. Sound good?”
“Sounds amazing,” I gush.
He laughs gently and pats me on the ass. “Go on, then. Put your clothes back on.”
Still grinning like a fool, I pull on the old t-shirt along with some clean panties and head into the kitchen, humming along with the music as I put the bag of popcorn in the microwave. I stand there, listening to it pop as I lazily look out the window. I can’t believe my good luck. How have I managed to stumble into the sexiest, strongest, most incredible man alive? I almost feel like I should pinch myself to make sure this isn’t all some wild dream. But just when I’m starting to wonder if this paradise will last forever, I hear a horribly familiar sound.
The rumble of a motorcycle engine outside.
My eyes flick to the narrow passage through the trees where I can see the street beyond, and instantly my heart drops into my stomach. There’s that same figure again. Ominously watching me from afar.
Bones
I make my way to my bedroom to get a spare blanket out. I’ve never been the kind of guy who even thought he’d have to prepare for cozy-as-shit nights indoors, but my heart is beating fast at the thought of it with Lauren.
I’ve been living more or less on my own my whole life. When I was a kid, I spent half my nights at someone else’s house, to the point that I felt more at home when I was moving around on my own than when I was sleeping under a roof with four walls around me. Maybe that was how my love for being on the road started. Maybe that was when fate determined I’d be an outlaw as long as I lived. Or maybe, fate had just been holding out for me to meet Lauren.
All this shit is new to me, but it’s good shit. That’s something I can agree on with my past self, who has spent most of this evening kicking up a world class fit at the back of my mind for being all domestic with this girl. But as far as I’m concerned, he can shove his machismo up his ass. I like getting cozy with my girl, I like calling her my girl, and I like that she likes me calling her my girl.
I might be a simple man, but I can feel complicated feelings as well as I can make complicated sentences that make me confuse myself.
But as I thumb through the stack of blankets in my closet, looking for the least scratchy and uncomfortable of the bunch (which is easily a quilt I picked up at a thrift shop one day), my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance down at it and see a text from Breaker, and somehow, I know it’s trouble before I even unlock the screen and check the message.
Update: Sergeant Brandon is pressing charges against the bar for damages since nobody gave up your name.
“Fucking hell,” I growl at the text, clenching my teeth. I look over at the pillow of my bed, remembering how Lauren had hurled her phone at it when she got the call from the journalist that shook her up so badly the first time. It was tempting to do the same thing now.
I run my hand through my hair and pace the room, thinking for a moment. This is bad. I don’t know how long Mayor Hartley will be willing to give us a pass on the issue. He knows damn well that we can make life hell for him, but it’s one thing when we rattle our sabers over some land developers the city council is courting. It’s another thing for a bar to protect a guy who almost knocked out a “war hero.”
Just thinking that about that fucker being revered as a hero by the locals gets my blood boiling. I know one person who should be seen as a hero, and she’s cooking popcorn in the other room. By saving the lives of any innocents her father would have gotten to later on, she did more for her community than some spoiled would-be rapist ever has.
But I need to give Breaker some kind of answer, I can’t just leave him hanging for the night. Problem is, I have no idea what to tell him. The MC isn’t about to turn me in, obviously, but the longer I’m around town, the more trouble it’s going to be. I look out the window into the darkness, frowning deeply
Maybe it’s time for me to move on yet again.
That would solve the Heartbreakers’ problems once and for all, take pressure off them in Pine Haven, and let them keep running their business without having to worry about the mayor or the police breathing down their neck. We run Crooks County, and if we want to keep it that way, we need to play our cards right and not move too quickly. We can’t exactly lay low the whole time either, though. If Breaker lets this challenge go unanswered, it will make us look weak. Period.
Maybe me removing myself from the equation would solve everyone’s problem. If I just skip town with Lauren, the Heartbreakers can say they dealt with a ‘problem member’ while still maintaining their respect and prestige in the area. The soldier boy would be pacified and hopefully move on, but as long as he’s in Pine Haven, Breaker and the guys will be able to make sure he stays out of trouble.
And as for me, I’d have Lauren.
Right now, that sounds like a deal that could be a hell of a lot worse. But still, I can’t just tell Breaker I’m leaving. That would be too abrupt, and I don’t know if Lauren is really ready for that. I glance out the window and back down to the phone. That’s a conversation that will ruin the coziness of the night, and I am not looking forward to having it.
Damn, someone’s ego is bruised. Thanks, brother. Let me think about what I can do about this and we’ll touch base soon.
I send the text and get a thumbs-up emoji back in a few seconds from him. Grabbing the quilt from the closet, I shove the phone back into my pocket and make my way back to the living room. But as I’m walking down the hallway, a strong scent that reaches my nose makes me furrow my brow.
The living room is empty. As I toss the quilt onto the back of it, it hits me that the smell stinking up the house is burnt popcorn. Going into the kitchen, I see it just as empty as the living room...except for the stovetop burner still going, and a near-black bag of popcorn smoking ominously on one of the hobs.
“Fuckin’ shit!” I curse as I rush over to the nearest hand towel. I wrap it around the pan’s handle and move it off the heat before turning the stove off, and I carefully carry the bag over to the sink to douse in cold water to quelch the last of the smoldering. I look over my shoulder, half-expecting a sheepish Lauren to appear at the door frame, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
“Lauren?” I call. “You alright?”
No response.
My heart drops, and my jaw tenses. I’m starting to develop a sense for when something is wrong with Lauren, even when she doesn’t tell me, and it’s going off on high alarm right now. Once the bag is a soggy mess at the bottom of the sink, I look out the front and back windows to see if I can make out a shapely figure running across the yard in nothing but a long t-shirt. I’m not in any such luck, but that means she’s somewhere in the house.
If she isn’t in the living room, kitchen, or bedroom, that only leaves a few options, and staying still for a moment confirms my first thought. I hear the distant, almost echoing sound of sniffling, and that makes me think of the tiled walls and floors of the bathroom. That’s all the info I need before I detour to the living room, grab the still-folded quilt, and make a beeline for the water closet.
And just as I worried, I see Lauren curled up into a ball in
the tub, back pressed to the wall, eyes hollow and staring.
“Shit, are you okay?” I say as I go to her side and slowly sit down on the edge of the tub, draping the quilt around her shoulders and reaching out for her hand. When she doesn’t give it to me, I frown. She seems rooted in place, so I carefully swing my massive form over the side of the tub and climb in with her.
The look in her eyes finally changes, and she looks vaguely surprised and disoriented that I’ve interrupted her line of sight to the faucet at the end of the tub. She swallows, looking guilty for a moment, then turns her gaze down to her feet. Her hands find the edge of the quilt, and she tugs it over her shoulders absently.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say as reassuring as possible, not trying to get up in her space until she’s ready for it. “I’m not here to drag you out of the tub, you can stay here as long as you want. But I can’t help you unless you tell me what just upset you. Takes a lot for someone to leave popcorn on the stove that long.”
She suddenly looks alarmed and even more guilty, and she lowers her eyes again after frowning up at me.
“I’m sorry,” she says, barely above a whisper.
I run my hand over my face, confused and frustrated but not giving up. I scoot a little closer, close enough to reach around my legs and take her hands to squeeze gently.
“I didn’t come in here to chew you out. You’re not in trouble,” I say assuringly, and that seems to help her...at least look up at me, if not relax entirely out of whatever episode is wracking her mind.
“There was a man on a bike outside,” she says at last, and my eyes widen as my heart picks up.
“Wait, what?” I ask, furrowing my brow and leaning in. “One you recognize? Someone from the club?”
“No,” she says firmly enough to convince me. “No, it was someone different. I could tell by his frame. Bones, I-I think it’s someone my dad sent to check up on me.”
“That’s not likely,” I say without missing a beat, and I firmly believe my own words.
“But it’s possible,” she says, sniffing and reaching over for the toilet paper to blow her nose as tears run down her face. She wasn’t sobbing, but the tears were flowing, and I knew this was not a situation to take lightly.
“Your old man has spent a lot of time behind bars,” I say firmly. “It would be a hell of an accomplishment if he was able to have that kind of influence despite all that, especially since he isn’t part of a gang of any kind.”
“He could have met people in prison who’d help him out,” he retorts.
“Prison doesn’t like child molesters,” I say with a more serious edge.
“There’s still a chance,” she says, closing her eyes.
“Guess I don’t have to ask why you think your dad would want to know where you are if he has the chance to get out,” I say grimly, and she nods her head, still not opening her eyes.
“There’s even more to it than just that,” she says, taking a new piece of tissue paper to dab at her eyes. She keeps trying to avert her face, as if she’s ashamed of showing how much pain she’s in, and I can’t imagine having to leave with that kind of repression. I squeeze her hand reassuringly and stroke the top of it with my thumb as she gets her bearings back.
“Has he contacted you?” I ask.
“Not like that,” she says, shaking her head. “I mean, I think I know why he really wants to find me.” She opens her eyes again and looks at me with pure, unrestrained desperation. “I think he wants me to be his last victim when he gets out.”
The thought sinks in, and I have to admit, it doesn’t sound as outlandish as I want to tell her it does. It’s a horrible thought, and the look on her face tells me exactly how much it’s been haunting her.
“It occurred to me not long after he went to prison,” she says weakly. “I don’t know what it was that made it come to mind, but once it was there, I just...I knew it was true. I knew he saw me as the one who got away, the one who ruined it all for him. The girl looked like me, Bones,” she says, face going red as she’s unable to hold back another sob.
But she doesn’t bury her face. She clenches her fists so tight I reach over and force them open, not wanting her to draw blood from her palms. We look at the marks on her hands, and she sniffs hard.
“Sometimes I think they were surrogates for me,” she admits in a shaky voice.
“Lauren…” I say, trying to push her mind away from that line of thinking. “You can’t possibly know what’s going on in that lunatic’s mind.”
“Can’t I?” she says, looking up at me challengingly. “I’m his daughter. I...I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I knew when he decided he wants to kill me next—and last. I even felt it when the phone went off and I found out he had another chance to get out. I don’t know how I knew, but I saw the phone go off, and I just…”
She winces, shaking her head.
“He’s in me, Bones, I told you,” she says, and I feel all the progress we’ve been making sliding away out of my grasp. I can’t imagine how exhausting it is to be Lauren.
“Well, all of that sounds like a reach to me,” I say bluntly, “but let’s start with what we do know. What did you see when you looked at the guy? Anything distinct?”
She thinks for a moment, frowning and trying to remember.
“I couldn’t see him really well, because the porch light was the only thing that let me look at him,” she says. “But he wasn’t wearing sleeves, but I think he had tattoos on his arms. They were really dark. I think I saw a goatee and a really hard, square face. Oh!” she says, remembering something and opening her eyes wide. “He had this big chain-looking necklace that glinted in the light.”
“Fuck,” I say, tightening my jaw.
It’s a reflex, and it’s the wrong one to ease her nerves right now.
“What?” she asks, terrified.
“I know that guy, which might pull the plug on your theory, but it gives us another problem,” I say. “I can’t say for sure, but that guy sounds like someone I know by the name Chainlink. He’s a friend of Diesel’s,” I add, my frown deepening.
It takes her a moment to remember who Diesel is, but when realization crosses her face, she pales and shifts uncomfortably in the tub.
“That’s Buzz’s old guy, right?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Chainlink is some other outlaw who most MCs won’t touch, because he’s the kind of guy Buzz would have loved to have on his crew. If he’s around, it could mean Diesel isn’t far away.”
“Isn’t that good, though?” she asks, leaning forward. “Your club has a lot of strong guys, doesn’t this mean you can catch Diesel more easily? Maybe?” She’s clearly trying to use my worry to push hers to the side, which I’m not going to let her do so easily, but at least it keeps her from dissociating.
“Could be,” I say, nodding. “But we have another problem. Our boy Sergeant Brandon McCongressman’s Son is pressing charges against the bar. I was going to suggest we pack up and hightail it out of town together, but now, I’m thinking this problem might be one that we can’t just run away from.”
She listens carefully, but after I finish, I’m surprised when she starts...laughing? I tilt my head and smile gruffly at her as she breaks down giggling mirthlessly, shaking her head and leaning it against the cool tile by the tub.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s just unbelievable,” she says, staring at me. “Just a few days, and suddenly half the county is looking for us.”
I can’t help but grin at that.
“That’s what my kind of life is like, Lauren,” I chuckle, leaning back. “It’s not comfortable, but sometimes, you’ve got to move. And when you move enough, the outlaw life finds you. But hey,” I add, slowly standing up out of the tub. “That’s why family sticks together,” I say as I reach down to help her up.
She looks at my hand suspiciously for a moment, then gives another cheerless laugh as she takes it. “Alright, but you’ll excuse me if I’m n
ot as big on ‘family values’ after what I had to put up with.”
“Nah,” I say, hoisting her up out of the tub and the rest of the way into my arms, grabbing her around the waist and holding her up against me so high that I make her laugh for real this time. “I’m talking about the family you make on your own in life.” I lower her down enough to look at her at eye level, beaming adoringly. “The people you choose.”
She blushes, and for once, her smile has some real warmth in it.
“That sounds good,” she says softly.
“Now come on,” I growl, setting her down and kissing her on the cheek. “I got more popcorn. Let’s pick up where we left off. You need something to get your mind off all this.”
And as she hops off down the hallway with me chasing her playfully, pinching her ass when I catch her and wrap her in another hug in the kitchen, I think I know just the way to really get her mind off things.
Lauren
The wind whips through my hair as the motorcycle thunders down the empty stretch of highway leading out to the shore. The sun is just starting to sink to the horizon, melting like a pat of bright butter in a skillet. The air is chilly, but I’m properly bundled up on the back of the bike, wearing a sweater and jeans with one of Bones’s old jackets slouched over my body. I can barely reach my fingertips out the bottoms of the sleeves, just the very tips wiggling as I hold on tight. I can feel his heart beating steadily against my palm and I happily lean my cheek against his back. I can’t stop smiling. Even though the world may very well be uncoiling and falling to pieces all around us like a house of cards, I can’t help but feel butterflies in my chest. Every moment spent with Bones is like this—warm, comforting… perfect. Except for that delicious edge of danger that seems omnipresent when he’s around. I know that no matter how dark and grim things get, I can count on Bones to be bigger, scarier than any threat. He’s proven that to me many times already, almost enough times for me to stop glancing over my shoulder with primal, animalistic fear. When you’ve lived the kind of life I’ve lived and you’ve seen the shit I’ve seen, it can be easy to build walls and block yourself off from the world. It seems only natural, when confronted continually with new fears and new panics to add to the roster, to curl in. To close off. It makes sense, and I don’t think anyone would condemn me for doing it. Fear is a powerful emotion.
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