by Bijou Hunter
“Father, is this true?” Chipper asks, blinking wildly as if about to cry. “Why was I never told before?”
Cricket gasps again. “Wait, we’re twins, so does that mean I’m not from his seed either?”
“No, I don’t think that’s what it means,” Cap says, sipping his coffee.
“Oh, good,” Cricket mumbles and starts eating again. “Carry on.”
Hayes sighs loudly, sounding like a dying locomotive. Candy, though, keeps tilting her glass of juice threateningly. He glares at her. She glares right back.
“I will never fucking bow,” he growls at her.
“I will spill this shit in your fucking lap,” she growls back.
“Why the fuck are we fucking fighting?” he snarls.
“I can’t remember, but I want to win more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my fucking life.”
Their staring match goes on for far too long for me to pay attention, so I take a bite of my newly arrived food and assume Candy will win. After all, Hayes no doubt wants to remain dry more than he needs to triumph over his wife.
“You don’t really think Soso hooked up with another guy last night, do you?” I whisper to Audrey once Cap is in the bathroom cleaning up with Chipper.
The two men must be fighting because we hear a bang against the wall from that direction followed by laughter.
Audrey rolls her eyes while feeding Keith from a jar. “Well, I assume you wore her out, right? If so, she won’t be in the mood for another cock.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Let me try it again, and I’ll lie this time,” Audrey says before reaching for my hand. “I sensed something very beautiful between the two of you, and I can’t imagine her ever feeling that way about someone else.”
“I appreciate that,” I say.
Audrey winks at Keith. “Crushed it.”
“I don’t know you,” Cricket says, suddenly standing next to me. Her twins flank her, staring with crazy eyes that I’m sure they worked tirelessly on perfecting. “But you should know that Dayton Rutgers will never allow his daughter to leave Tennessee. He loves her too much to let her go.”
“Hey,” Audrey grumbles with her mouth full. “My pop loves me as much as any man could.”
“Clearly not since he let you move here.”
“He didn’t let me do anything. I’m the boss of me and no one else.”
Hayes says something to Cap as the brothers return from the bathroom. Their laughter only irritates Audrey more.
“You’re ganging up on me.”
“Now you know how I feel when we visit Ellsberg,” Cap says and slides into the booth. “What are we doing here, Cricket?”
“I’m trying to mess with Bubba’s head.”
“Is it working?”
“I don’t know him well enough to tell. Thoughts, Audrey?”
My cousin studies me and sighs. “He’s very bothered by your words. Mission accomplished. Now, go away.”
Cricket smiles while her twins still stare like horror movie kids. “If you want to take Soso Rutgers out of Tennessee, you’ll need to be sneaky about it. That’s all I will say.” Then instead of returning to her table, she adds, “But I sense you’re just the latest in her very long line of hookups, so I can’t imagine she’ll want to go with you anyway.”
“Look,” I say, staring into her eyes, “I get how you’re trying to upset me or intimidate me or whatever, but my mother is Bailey Fucking Johansson. She once knocked over one of those displays at the grocery store because she thought a group of old ladies was talking shit about her. They weren’t, by the way, but she never apologized, and she didn’t help clean up the mess either. To this day, she claims her only mistake was not chasing the women out of the store. That means, if you want to bother me, you’ll need to amp your bitch level to an eleven.”
“Well said, Bubba,” Cricket coos and pats my head.
“No,” growls her husband, who snaps and gestures for her to get back to their table.
“He’s very good in bed,” Cricket shares with me. “That’s why I allow him to boss me around.”
Chipper snickers. “Her pussy calls all the shots.”
“Shut up.”
The twins then proceed to talk shit about each other for ten minutes until my plate is empty and I’m finished waiting for Soso to call me. She claimed we’d meet for lunch, but I haven’t heard anything, and I refuse to play hard to get with her.
Whether she’s home or not, I’m driving my ass to her house. If she has a problem with my behavior, well, I hope she plans to amp her bitch level to an eleven too because I won’t take no for an answer.
THE CHAPTER WHERE THE RUNAWAY TURNS INTO A BULLET
THE BOHEMIAN
Staying busy last night kept my mind off Bubba. I picked up Freki and returned to my parents’ place. We spent a few hours painting at Rick and Leah’s new house. I felt watched the entire time. Not that I was shocked by the sense of isolation.
Many of the club’s old ladies haven’t been my fans since I dumped Griff. Can’t I see how sexy he is and how much he loves me? Why am I so selfish? Do I think I’m too good for a biker? No doubt hooking up with Bubba only made me more obnoxious in their eyes. Poor, poor Griff, they likely whisper.
Fortunately, he doesn’t show up at the house, and I actually have fun since Mom and Dad might be the worst painters I’ve ever seen. She paints the same sections over and over again while he’s sloppy as hell.
“They put the tarp crap on the floor for just that reason, Num-Num,” he explains after making a mess.
I consider sleeping over at my parents’ place, but I miss my bed after last night on the couch. Despite the urge to text Bubba all evening, I crash early and sleep late. I want to be rested for today in case he breaks my heart, and I can actually cry.
Waking up groggy after sleeping for far too long, I enjoy strong coffee in the backyard while Freki explores. I used to come back here and talk to my Caique parrots. I’d shut the outer door on the back porch and open the atrium so my girls could fly free inside the house. I adopted the birds when they were tiny and even housetrained them. They were sweet goofballs, but I left them vulnerable.
“Now, I can cry,” I grumble and wipe my cheeks.
I hear a motorcycle approaching, and soon there’s a knock on my front door. My protective little Freki bursts into a yapping fit. He doesn’t actually head toward the threat, of course. Smiling, I pick him up and walk inside where I rest him on the couch where he yaps while cuddling with his pillow.
“Such a badass,” I taunt.
Checking my teeth for gunk in a small mirror near the door, I want to make sure I’m presentable for Bubba.
Except when I throw open the door, I find the antithesis of my hunky puppy.
Standing on my porch and shifting from foot to foot, Griff looks like a restless kid waiting for the last bell at school.
I consider shutting the door, but he’s already positioned to stop me.
“Why are you here?” I finally ask.
“You’re killing me.”
“Is that it?”
“How can you be so cold?” he whines, wearing the pained expression of a man wronged.
“We’ve gone over this before.”
“I want to talk.”
“I’ve told you nicely, and I’ve told you cruelly, but what I say is always the same. We’re over, and nothing will ever change that.”
Before I can shut the door, he pounds hard enough to send it flying at me. I take one step back before standing my ground. Griff looms in the doorway, blocking the light.
“Yes, nothing proves you’re worth a second shot like breaking my damn house, you fucking bully,” I growl.
“If you weren't such a bitch,” he growls back, lowering his face until it’s inches from mine, “I wouldn’t have to resort to being a bully.”
“If I’m such a bitch, why do you want me?”
“I love you despite your flaws, and I know you love me despi
te mine.”
“If I loved you, I wouldn’t have ended shit. Now, get out of my doorway.”
“Not until we talk.”
“Well, at least, get on the porch.”
“I want to talk inside.”
Knowing us alone wouldn’t be safe, I lift my chin and force eye contact. “Get out, or I’m calling my dad.”
“He won’t take your side. Everyone knows you made a mistake leaving me.”
“Fuck you,” I say, yanking my phone from my pocket.
Backing down, Griff steps out of the doorway and onto the porch. I grudgingly follow him outside to avoid him breaking more of my stuff. He stands over me, refusing to allow any personal space. He’s always been like this. I used to think his need to possess me was a sign of devotion. Now, I just find him creepy.
“Are you fucking that Reaper?” he asks, staring at me with heartbroken blue eyes.
Crap, is he going to cry again? Beg for another chance? Ask me to love him like he loves me because that’s all he wants to do in life is to love me always and forever? Ugh, I’m sick of everything about Griff. Rather than feeling pity when I see his sad eyes, I want to punch him in the face.
“It’s none of your business and hasn’t been for months.”
“That guy’s a fucker. I heard he raped a chick.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his lame attempt to turn me against Bubba. “Thanks for the info. I heard you tried shoving your dick up some chick’s ass even after she said no. Kinda sounds like you both need help, huh? Now, get off my porch.”
“Is he here?” Griff asks, shuffling closer, erasing the oxygen between us, smothering me again.
“If he was, do you really think he’d be cool with you pounding on my door and crowding me?”
Growling in frustration, Griff kicks a planter off my porch. “You only care about things. That’s Queen Soso. The selfish bitch who loves a fucking door more than a man.”
Despite the urge to scream at this motherfucker, I’m aware he isn’t entirely sane. He proved that with Bjork and Ula.
Rather than speak, I shove my hands into my pockets—one of which holds my switchblade—and wait for him to get to his point.
Griff still stands too close, but I’ve gone through all this before with him. Crowding me won’t work. Breaking my stuff won’t work. Reminding me that he’s protected by the club won’t work. I’m past falling for his tricks.
Trying a new tactic, he leans down and growls, “If you’re going to spread your pussy for some diseased fucker, then I want my dog back.”
“Fuck that!” I yell, forgetting all about my “cool as a cucumber” act.
Griff smirks angrily at my rage. “I only gave him to you because you were my woman. If you’re sucking off other guys, I want him back.”
“One, fuck you,” I snarl at him. “Two, you can’t take back gifts. Three, I didn’t even want the dog, but you threatened to dump him at the pound if I didn’t take him. Four, Freki is afraid of you because you’re an asshole. And five, fuck you.”
Griff leans over me, wanting to emphasize his size over mine. He growls deep in his chest, gritting his teeth, full psycho animal crap. “I want that fucking dog.”
“Haven’t you stolen enough from me already?” I hiss as my mind imagines his huge hands crushing my sweet birds.
“I gave you everything, but you’re a selfish cunt, and it was never enough.”
“You’re dead inside. All fucked up and rotten. You used Freki to make me feel like I owed you. You never cared about him or me. You just wanted to fuck Dayton Rutgers’ daughter.”
“I’m taking my fucking dog,” he says, pressing his forehead against mine and giving it a shove.
I should call my dad or brother. They’d rush over to settle things, but then what? Griff could kill Freki with his bare hands before either of them arrives. Would the club care if my dog died? No, he’s one of them. Dad would care, and he’d make a mess, and then there’d be hell to pay.
“If you touch that dog, I will fuck up your ride.”
“Bullshit.”
I rush past Griff, hoping to draw him away from the house where my little guy minds his own business. On my way to the street, I grab a can of old paint I used on a table I refinished. Griff storms after me. I reach his chopper first and rip off the top of the can. There’s very little paint left, but the dipshit doesn’t know this fact.
“If you fuck with my stuff, I’ll fuck with yours,” I threaten while swinging the can over his Harley.
“Do it, cunt.”
I don’t mind the name-calling, but this asshole trashed my atrium and garden. Best case scenario, my birds flew away. Worse case, he killed them. Either way, I’ve spent the last two months hating him for taking away my babies.
Only a cup’s worth of green paint plops onto the fender of his biker, but Griff roars as if I gutted his mom before his very eyes. I consider hitting him with the can still swinging from my hand. I doubt he’d feel it much.
There’s something in his eyes beyond anger. It’s a primal desire. He wants me. Someone else fucked me. He’s got to fix what Bubba broke.
I back away and think to run to a neighbor's house. No, he’ll either grab Freki or scare the hell out of one of the elderly women who live on this rural road.
“What’s wrong with you?” he screams as if I’m the one who showed up at his house with the plan to use an animal as leverage. “Where’s your heart? Your soul? You said you loved me!”
Face red, Griff screams all his usual insults—cunt, bitch, slut, whore, and variations of those four. I reach into my pocket as I back away. We make a circle in the yard as he whines about how he just wants to love me. Even after everything I’ve done to him, he could forgive me if only I’d pull the stick out of my ass long enough to see what I gave up. He then lists off all the crap he’s supposedly done for me. He got me a dog I didn’t want. He bought me a shirt I wouldn’t wear. He painted the atrium a color I hated. He did every-fucking-thing, and I just wanted more and more!
“It’s never enough!” he yells so loud that my ears ring.
Time stands still while also feeling as if an hour goes by. I’m so focused on watching his every move, dodging his hands, avoiding getting cornered, and making sure I have an exit route that I don’t notice the approaching Harley until it jumps the curb and races at us.
The front tire clips Griff, sending him backward. I’m easily out of the way, staring in shock at the sight of Bubba sliding off his still moving bike. The chopper roars into the bushes while he steadies himself before tackling Griff who’s returning to his feet.
I want so badly to run back into the house, lock the door, and let these two macho men fight it out. Except Bubba is, well, my hunky puppy, and I’m not leaving him with the psycho.
Their fists fly wildly. I hear the crack of bone against bone. I don’t know whose blood is whose.
Without thinking, I swing the paint can at Griff and nail him in the temple. He reaches for me, but Bubba punches him in the stomach. Griff instantly pukes up his breakfast, and I think maybe he’s had enough.
Inching toward the door, I consider calling Bubba’s name, so he’ll follow. Griff won’t react well to hearing me inviting his rival inside, though.
I grew up hearing stories from my mother about how she calmed her clients. Many of them are autistic and can get aggressive when stressed. Deescalate this situation would be ideal.
But Griff takes one look at me, and I know nothing short of the threat of death will get his ass off my property. He was already in a rage, but Bubba’s arrival threw fuel on his insane fire.
I take off for the house, leaving the men to beat on each other again. Bubba might win with another few punches. He’s already got Griff rattled and puking. Yes, he could easily win, but he could also end up dead. I can’t take the chance of losing him.
Returning with my shotgun, I cock it to get Griff’s attention and then point the muzzle at his head. “Leave now,
or I’ll put you down.”
He spits blood on the ground and hisses, “You’d kill me for this fucker?”
“In a heartbeat. Or you can leave, and we’ll let my dad sort shit out later.”
I suspect hearing me mention my father more than his fear of the shotgun is what finally gets through to Griff. He feels safe in the knowledge that the club will side with him over an interloper like Bubba.
Backing away, Griff opens his mouth to talk trash. Then he sees Bubba raise his fist and decides to keep quiet. I hold the shotgun at him until he finally—after bitching quietly about the paint on his bike—speeds away.
I lower the weapon and look at a bloody Bubba watching me.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“I missed you.”
His answer kills my tough chick boldness. All those tears I couldn’t whip up last night arrive in full force.
THE RUNAWAY
Soso’s tears ignite a deep rage inside me. I was already pissed when I saw that motherfucker looming over her. Yeah, yeah, I know she scared him off with her shotgun. She’s a tough broad. I get all that, but she looked so vulnerable backing away from that asshole.
I knew the second I saw her that they weren’t playing. She reminded me of the hookers out at the Rossiya Motel when they’re in fear of the Dogs. I hate the look on any woman but seeing Soso that fragile tore up something inside me. Her tears are salt on the wound.
“I should have checked who was at the door before answering,” she says after insisting I right my Harley and get it parked next to her truck. Though her tears stop by the time we’re inside, the unease in her eyes remains. “I heard the chopper and thought it was you. That was dumb.”
“You should be able to answer your damn door without worrying.”
“Should doesn’t mean I can. I know what he’s like, and I know he’s freaking out about...” Soso doesn’t finish as she slides her shotgun into an umbrella stand. “I need to clean up your eye. You might even need stitches.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
“No need. I know someone who fixes up the guys. No legal paper trail to worry about.”