by Lux, Vivian
HIs shoulders slumped with relief and I flung myself into his arms. "You had me scared there, Em," he murmured, stroking my hair back from my face.
"What did you think I meant?"
"Thought you'd finally come to your senses or something."
I laughed into his shoulder, smelling his scent. "I have come to my senses," I scolded him. "Finally." I pulled back to look him in the eye, square and true. No subservience, no dependence. As equals.
The sun was just peeking over the hills as we rounded the entrance to the Pennsylvania Turnpike.
It was the morning of a new day and the dawn of the new Emilia.
Epilogue
Teach didn't say anything, only dropped the paper to the ground as J. prepped the bike for the long-distance ride. J. looked at the fallen paper and saw the business section of the Inquirer blaring the headline, "Whitestone Looks to Future in Face of Failures."
A streak of bad luck, both personal and business related have plagued Robert Whitestone III, the younger scion of the Philadelphia establishment. His properties have been met with a plague of vandalism. His own car was stolen in broad daylight from a parking garage at 4th and Walnut. Citing intimidation from sources unknown, his five person staff quit his office the same day, leaving him scrambling to hire and train temp workers. All this distraction has been costly to the family business. Philly real estate watchers cite the eleventh hour breakdown of negotiations for the new office tower at 23rd and JFK to be the biggest slip-up of his up-to-now storied career.
"Good," he nodded. "They're keeping him busy." Reminding him that they were watching. He had to hand it to the Storm Riders. Their network was a lot larger than he had first realized. It was safer to have Robert's harassment be at their hands than at his. Much less satisfying, though.
Case appeared over his shoulder, scanning the paper quickly. "I still say we should have just taken the fucker out," he growled.
"Wasn't our call." J. sat back on his heels and squeezed the paper in his fist, crushing the picture of Robert Whitestone III looking hopefully towards the future. "It was Emmy's call. And she ain't like that."
Case ginned a lopsided little half-smile. "Where the hell has she been, anyway? I miss her. And her tits."
"You are such an asshole." J. shook his head and slammed his kit shut. His bike was prepped for this afternoon's ride to the Shore. It was going to be good to get out of the city for a while. He had been stuck here too long. "She's been moving. That chick Sammie..."
"I like her tits too," Case interjected fondly.
"Can I finish?" Case smirked as J. continued. "They got an apartment together down in South Philly. I'm fucking relieved she's out of that rathole sublet. She loved it but it made me crazy having her in a basement apartment."
Case nodded. "Anyone could have kicked those windows in."
"Don't remind me. Her new place is above street-level." J. walked over to the trash can and shoved the newspaper section deep into the smelly recesses. "She's been moving in slowly all week, in between shifts at the restaurant. I'm supposed to go help today. Move some things around before we ride out."
"Watch your posture," Case warned.
"You are such an old woman. Watch my fucking posture, really?"
"Shut up and be careful."
J. pressed his lips together. Case was right. He still hadn't fully healed from the brawl that awful night at Emmy's parents'. His neck was prone to locking up with stiffness, making riding all but impossible until he could stand to turn again. His knee, which had born the brunt of the impact when he landed on the pavement, had never regained its full range of motion.
It pissed him off on a daily basis to have to coddle it, but the only other option was to go to Hahnemann for surgery and who the fuck had that kind of money? Doctor D. didn't have a practice anymore. The best he could do was call in favors at pharmacies. So J. downed pain pills chased with bourbon and tried to grit through it.
Emmy didn't know any of this, of course. He knew how guilty she still felt about the damage Robert's goon had inflicted on him. Sometimes as they lay in bed after making love, she would trace the scars left over and her eyes would go dark and empty. J. knew not to question her when the blankness took over. He could only hold her until she came back to him. He, of all people, understood what it was like having that darkness take hold.
"I'll be careful," J. agreed.
Case nodded, his eyes darting back and forth over J.'s face before nodding again and heading towards the bunkhouse. Case's hovering was starting to get annoying. J. could tell him ten thousand times that he was over it, but Case still jumped every time J. needed something. Sometimes J. wondered if the 'discipline' had hurt Case more deeply than it had hurt him.
It was still bullshit. That much hadn't changed. But it was bullshit that was in his rearview mirror, fading in the distance and diminishing in importance. As long as he rode fast and hard, it couldn't catch up with him. And as long as Emmy's arms stayed around his waist as he travelled, the road to the future looked pretty damned good.
Speaking of which... J. jammed the helmet onto his head, sighing as it squeezed his ears. He didn't like being proven wrong so dramatically, but the crash hadn't killed him like it should have, and it was because of the stupid helmet. So he wore one now, ignoring the jokes from the rest of the Sons and Storm Riders. He didn't give a fuck anymore. He had something sweet to live for. Time to go get her.
The End
Case's story: Steel My Love
Crash's story: Steel My Soul
The Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club
#1 Steel My Heart (out now)
#2 Steel Me Away (out now)
#3 Steel My Love (out now)
#4 Steel My Soul (February 2015)
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