“Because.” He relaxed in his chair. “You have yet to experience either.”
I thought about it for a moment, and then stood. stood. “Hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“We done here?” I asked.
“You feel like someone kicked you in the gut?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Over and over.”
“Good.” He grinned. “We’re done.”
We had breakfast, and then spent the day together, talking about my childhood, the club, and how important to me the men of FFMC had become. Although he always called us shit-heads or dip-shits, at least during our discussions on that day, he didn’t.
I sent Tegan several text messages throughout the day, but she didn’t respond to any of them.
It wasn’t surprising, considering where she was.
I enjoyed the time with my father that day more than any other that I could remember. For me, it was a turning point in my life.
Being honorable in all respects wasn’t going to be easy, but I was going to try my best to make my father proud.
At the end of the day, I gave him a hug, and thanked him for our talk. I had business to take care of, and as crazy as it seemed considering what was about to happen, I knew he’d be proud of me for what I was about to do.
***
I parked my bike in front of the club.
A muscular bald man in a black tee shirt and jeans looked me over as I approached. When I got close enough to reach for the door, he stepped in front me and smiled.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Hope so,” I said. “Looking for Serge.”
He eyed me for a minute, and then met my gaze. “And you are?”
“Just looking for someone. Hoping he can help me out.”
He folded his arms in front of his massive chest. “Who are you looking for?”
“There’s a guy named Marcus, and he used to see a guy named Brian. A few nights ago, they were in here together. Brian ended up leaving with a guy named…”
I paused and thought of the story Marcus told the night at the apartment. The name escaped me.
“I can’t remember his name. But they ended up out here by the door, making out. Marcus got stuck with the tab. After he paid it, he left. I’m looking for--”
He offered an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know that I can be much help.”
“Listen.” I looked him in the eyes. “Can you just point me in the right direction? I just want to--”
“Sorry,” he said with a shrug.
It was frustrating to think that I wasn’t going to be able to resolve the issue. Marcus was in intensive care, and I wanted vengeance. “Look. This guy beat Marcus half to death, and I’m going to make sure that he doesn’t do that to him – or anyone else for that matter – again.”
He waved at a passing car, and then glanced over each shoulder. “Oh. You’re not looking for Marcus?”
I shook my head. “Brian.”
He stepped back and searched my face. “You’re a friend of Marcus’s?”
“I am. Him and Tegan. He even posted a pic of me and him on Instagram the other night.”
He pulled his phone from his back pocket, messed with it for a minute, and then alternated glances between the screen and me.
“Oh wow.” He wrinkled his nose. “That is you, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Got a haircut since then.”
He smiled, opened the door to allow two people to walk in, and then put his phone in his pocket. “The hair? I liked the hair. But that beard?” he shook his head. “Shaving it was the right thing to do. It looks nice.”
“Thanks.”
“His name’s Brian Bailey. He’s not here. You might try The Brass Rail. It’s on Robinson and Fifth.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Six-two. Two hundred, give or take. He’s muscular. Short curly hair. It’s black. Dark skin, kind of like you. He’s got a big scar over his eye.” He reached for his face. “Left eye. And, he’s mean. Really mean.”
I grinned and shook his hand. “So am I.”
***
I wedged my bike between two parked cars and pointed it toward the street. Reluctantly, I removed my kutte, folded it, and put it in the saddlebag. Taking the chance of having it stolen wasn’t something I’d ever done, but wearing it in wasn’t an option. I’d taken an oath to protect it at all costs, and as much as it bothered me to leave it there, it bothered me more not to take care of what I needed to take care of.
Wearing my wife beater, jeans, and boots, there shouldn’t be a problem getting in. I glanced in my rearview mirror, straightened my helmet-hair, and then walked to the front door.
The doorman looked me over and then pushed the front door open. “Have a good time.”
I stepped past him, and inside the bar.
Loud music blasted from stage mounted speakers. As a D.J. shouted into a microphone, a fog machine sprayed smoke out over the screaming crowd. The center of the bar was filled with men and women who danced as multi-colored lights flickered to the beat of the music.
I walked to the bar, ordered a beer, and glanced around. After five minutes, I’d spotted four men who could have been Brian. I made my way through the crowd, checking each man for a scar.
The third one had one.
Over his left eye.
He stood with another man, trying to talk over the loud music. He was a few inches shorter than me, and built like a professional bodybuilder. As I sized him up, he met my gaze.
He looked me up and down, and then grinned. I nodded and smiled in return. His grin transformed into a smile. He patted the man he was talking to on the shoulder, and then stepped around him.
“I’m Brian,” he said with a smile.
At least he’d eliminated all doubt.
“Bradley,” I said with a nod.
He studied the tattoos on my arms for a moment, and then looked up. “So--”
I narrowed my eyes and pointed to my ear. “I can barely think in here. Can we go…” I motioned toward the door. “Can we go outside?”
“Sure.”
I turned toward the door. “Come on.”
He followed me outside, and onto the side walk. Luckily, there were several people waiting to get in.
“Maybe we should go over there,” I said, pointing to the parking lot.
Before he could respond, I started walking around the corner of the building toward the car-filled lot.
I stepped between two parked cars, looked at him, and smiled.
“Bradley, right?” he asked.
I nodded. “And you were?”
“Brian. It’s loud in there, isn’t it?”
I glanced at my boots, paused, and then looked up. “Are you the Brian who used to see Marcus?”
He let out a sigh. “Marcus. Marcus has a big mouth. You know Marcus?”
I shrugged. “Not really. I just wondered if you--”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I did. But--”
I punched him in the teeth as hard as I could. As he stumbled, I glanced over each shoulder. After seeing no one, I got him in a headlock and pulled him down to the ground.
Out of view from passing cars, and hidden from the bar’s patrons, I felt comfortable I could do what need to be done.
As I squeezed his neck between my left arm and bicep, I punched him in the face repeatedly until he went limp. I released my grasp. He fell into a pile at my feet. While he laid motionless, I removed his wallet and took out his driver’s license.
Covered in blood, and missing a few teeth, he eventually opened his eyes. As he tried to speak through his battered lips, I shook my head and raised my bloody hand. “If you say one fucking word, I’ll knock the rest of your fuckin’ teeth out.”
His worried eyes widened.
Standing over him, I turned his driver’s license to face him. His eyes shot to it.
“If you ever talk to Marcus again, other than to apologize, I’ll hunt you down and I�
��ll cut off your cock. That’s a promise. If you ever touch him again, for any reason, I’ll kill you. If he tries to talk to you, you better run the other fucking direction.”
I shoved his driver’s license into my pocket, pulled out my knife, and sliced a six-inch long wound into the meaty flesh of his forearm.
As he bitched and whined about what I’d done, I pressed the heel of my boot into his neck.
“That’ll leave a nasty scar. Every time you look at it, remember what I told you.” I lifted my boot from his neck. “Use your shirt for a tourniquet.”
I folded my knife and clipped it to my pocket.
“If you scream or stand up while I’m walking away, I’ll come back here and cut your fuckin’ throat, understood?”
He did his best to nod.
“You’ll hear a loud motorcycle pull away in a minute. When you can’t hear it any longer, you can get up.”
As I rode away, I was proud of the man I was.
And of the man I hoped to become.
NINETEEN
Tegan
I ran to the door, fully expecting it to be Marcus. Without peering through the peep-hole, I pulled it open.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I took every inch of him in, one inch at a time. I stole one more quick look at his face, just to make sure it was him. I opened my mouth slightly.
And then, it hit me. Why he was in front of me looking the way he did. It was clear.
My hands shot up and covered my mouth. My tongue had gone completely dry, but somehow, I swallowed. And then, again.
“Is everything okay?” I asked softly, trying to stay calm. My voice was barely audible. Deep inside, I was furious.
It could only be one thing.
He nodded nervously. “Uh. Yeah. Everything okay with you?”
My heart had risen into my tightening throat. I swallowed against the dry lump, and looked back at him, confused.
“Everything’s okay?”
He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and nodded, grinning the entire time. “Yep.”
I wouldn’t have guessed shaving would have made such a difference, but it did.
A huge one.
I reached for my pockets, and then realized I was wearing pajamas. As I twisted my hips back and forth, I admired him. He looked remarkable. His hands were clasped together at his waist, and as my eyes became fixated on them, I noticed something else, too.
I felt every ounce of available blood rushed between my legs. The surge of emotion hit me like a freight train.
“Come in,” I said. “Please.”
I needed to sit, before I fell.
I walked soft-footed into the living room and sat in the chair across from the couch. I crossed my legs and pointed to the other side of the room. “Have a seat.”
I felt my nipples hardening against the inside of my shirt, the fabric feeling like sandpaper against them. Self-conscious, but incapable of changing it, I folded my arms and fought to remain straight-faced. “What possessed you to do that?”
“A lot of things,” he said.
“Like?”
He smiled until dimples showed, and at that moment, I was even more pleased that he’d cut his hair. I melted into the seat a little.
He shrugged. The smile stayed plastered on his face. “Just wanted to make a change.”
He reached into his vest, and winced when he did. When he pulled his hand out, he was holding a blue envelope. “Can you give this to Marcus?”
As I took the envelope from his grasp, I noticed his hand was covered in lacerations and puncture wounds.
“What happened to your hand?”
“Dumped my bike.”
“Oh my God! You just got it fixed.”
“I was on the Sporty. My bike’s okay.” He looked at his knuckles. “It’s no biggie. They’ll heal.”
I looked at the envelope. Marcus was hand-written on the outside.
“What is it?” I asked.
Again. The smile. “Nothing. Just. I got him a get well card.”
“You got Marcus a get well card?”
He nodded.
I melted a little more. A lot more, really.
I needed him to leave. In fact, I needed him to grow his hair and the beard back. I was beside myself, and needed all my former thoughts and feelings to return.
Immediately.
They protected me.
“Tried to pick out a funny one. There ain’t that many to pick from, though. Not good ones.”
I wanted to cry.
Marcus was an important part of my life, and I wondered what Pee Bee’s thoughts would be about him if they met. Upon seeing them interact, I was pleased. Now?
I was astonished.
“I’ll uhhm.” I clutched the card. “I’ll give it to him. So, that’s why you stopped by?”
His smile returned, as did his dimples. “No. Not exactly.”
Gorgeous.
You are gorgeous.
And dangerous.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. He lifted his chin slightly and met my gaze.
Naturally, I, too, leaned forward. My hardened nipples ripped at the thin material of my shirt. A tingling ran through me, causing me to shiver.
“This is weird,” he said.
Mood killer alert.
With the card clenched in my fingertips, and my eyes locked on his, I gawked at him. His full lips – which was something I had never really noticed when he had his beard – came together, and then parted slightly.
Don’t talk. Just sit there.
“I uhhm…I was wondering if you…if you’d want to…” he stammered.
He sat up straight, stood, and then folded his arms in front of his chest. “Will you go out on a date with me?”
Date? What?
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My dry mouth returned. My heart raced. The blood rushed to my lower regions.
Somehow, despite his handsome new look – and my desire to jump his bones – the sensible side of me prevailed. At least for the moment.
“I uhhm. I’m flattered.” I uncrossed my legs, and then crossed them again. It wasn’t going to be easy to tell him no. “But, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
I set the card on the end table and tried not to look at him. It didn’t work. Not completely, anyway. “If I agreed, we’d go on a date. We’d have sex. And, at some point, I’d fall in love with you. And then, you’d leave. In that order. That’s what happens.”
“I won’t leave.”
“You will, after the sex. And, it hurts,” I said. “Each time a man leaves a woman, he takes a piece of her heart with him when he goes. The next man comes along, and takes another piece, this time a big one. And then, she meets another. And he takes a piece. One day we look up and we’ve got this shriveled little sliver of a heart left, and that’s all we’ve got to offer. After that, the men we meet call us bitches and cunts, and man haters. They think we’re hardened, but we’re not. It’s just that we’re heartless. And we’re heartless because of you. Because of men.”
With his face covered in disbelief, he stared back at me.
“And.” I shrugged. “You’re a man.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“You can’t say that.”
“I just did.”
“But you can’t.”
“It’s just a date. You might not even--”
“To you? To you, it’s just a date. To me it’s another chance. You’ll pull on your jeans, lace up your boots, and put on a clean tee shirt. Five minutes, tops. Me? I’ll spend three hours getting ready, and I’ll try on every article of clothing I own until I find one that I’m convinced is the one. And while we’re on the date, you’ll be wanting it to end, so we can come back here and have sex. Me? I’ll be wishing it could somehow last forever, because being on that date with you convinces me that I’m special.”
He flopped onto the couch and looked at me wi
th convincing eyes. Convincing brown eyes with irresistible specks of green woven throughout.
“Don’t let yourself fall in love until you’re sure,” he said, his tone as convincing as his eyes. “Until then, no sex.”
He was persistent, which I liked. I melted some more, but just a little. It was nothing to worry about. Yet.
“No sex.” A laugh burst from my lips. “I love sex. Love it. So, it’s not that simple. And, guys like you are way too easy to fall in love with. Girls like me do it all the time.”
A crease formed on his brow. “What’s a guy like me?”
I watched as I used my toe to scribe letters into in the rug’s fibers. “You know you’re good-looking, and you use it to your advantage. You step into our lives all handsome and charming, and you screw girls like me – the loyal servants that’ll do anything to please their man – then you disappear.” I wiped away my design with my bare foot, and then looked up. “And we’re left to wonder what we did wrong.”
“I used to be like that, but I’m not anymore.”
“I don’t think I can take that chance. I can’t lose another man from my life. Or another piece of my heart. I think it’d kill me.”
“If I’ve got to live the rest of my life wondering what could have been, I think it’d kill me.”
“I just…”
He stood. My eyes followed him.
He crossed his massive tattooed arms. I read the inscriptions on his forearms and decided I liked them.
He inhaled a deep breath, and then let out an audible sigh. “When we met? I’m not going to lie. All I could think about was fucking you. I wanted to fuck you out of spite. Out of anger. I wanted to do bad things to you because I was mad about what you did to my bike. In the past, that was my answer. I never did one thing with a woman that I was proud of. Now? Now I can’t imagine doing anything to you but treating you with respect.”
He shrugged. “Give me a chance?”
I stood up. “Let’s give it a try.”
God, I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He lifted me from my feet no differently than a parent would lift a child. Then, he held me.
What little of me hadn’t already, melted into a puddle beneath my feet.
TWENTY
Pee Bee
Five minutes tops, my ass.
Rough (Filthy F*ckers MC #2) Page 11