by Max Henry
The storeowner whips the shotgun from under my head and swings it toward Mel. I see red; every fucking shade there is on the spectrum. Like fuck he’s going to aim at her too.
“Hey, asshole. Put that away before you fuckin’ kill someone.”
I’ve got seconds to prepare as he twists it in his grip, and sends the wooden stock sailing toward my head. The butt of the gun strikes me in the forearm, glancing off and bruising my collarbone before the fucker stumbles back with the force of the impact.
Mel ducks, slipping around the side of our skirmish to shield the kid who now openly cries at what’s going down. She turns her hate-filled stare on the guy as I rub the ache out of my arm. “Nice.” She shakes her head, lips pursed. “Way to make an impression on a kid, jackass.”
I stand stunned as she shepherds the girl down the adjacent aisle and back to the front of the store.
The owner thrusts a thick finger my way as I nonchalantly take the last bite of pie. “Get out before I get your ass arrested.”
“What the fuck for, asshole?” I sneer as I drop the pie packet to the floor and pull out my wallet. He lifts the gun; clearly assuming I’m reaching for a weapon. I lift the leather billfold and pull a stupid face at him. “Here.” I rip out a twenty-dollar bill and toss it down with the wrapper. “Keep the change.”
Mel’s hot on my heels as I stride out of the store. Her heavy breathing as she bears down on me rivals the thud of my boots on the pavement.
“Do you have a fucking death wish?” she hollers, stepping in front of me and thrusting both palms into my chest.
“You think that was my fault?” I yell back, hand jutted toward the store.
She frowns, her mouth turned down at the corners. “You could have handled it better.”
“He pointed the goddamn gun at you!”
“So fucking what?” She throws her hands in the air.
“So,” I seethe. “He could have fuckin’ hurt you.”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners, just the barest twitch as she stares me down. “Why does that bother you, Dog?” she whispers.
The mid-morning breeze kicks up the ends of my hair as I stare deep into those fucking haunted eyes of hers and ask myself the same thing. Ten minutes ago, I couldn’t stand the fact she was on my bike, let alone anywhere near me. Now?
“Because …” I hesitate, trying to understand why my nose tingles the same as when I cry. “It fucking hurt my heart to think how that would feel.”
She swallows.
I blink.
A car pulls out of a park nearby.
And it feels as though the whole world waits for us to admit the truth of what we’re fucking denying.
She parts those lush lips, her frown pinching a little tighter, and I swear I hear her acceptance of how undeniable this is in the silence that hangs between us.
“Say somethin’,” I utter. “Otherwise I’ve got no reason not to.”
I don’t need to say what; she knows what as well as I do. She remains silent, the tip of her deep pink tongue peeking out to wet those fucking lips.
I’ve never known longing to hurt this much. My hands find her face, and she pushes into my hold as I take that lush lip between mine and close my eyes at the insanely amazing feel of it pinched in my hold. Her mouth moves against mine, and there’s no denying that her idea about giving us time is nothing but a fallacy, a lie we told ourselves to justify the intensity of what we feel.
A week ago I thought this girl was dead, gone forever, and that pain left a hole in my heart that needs fixing. I can’t think of anything sweeter to fill the space with, than her love.
Mel’s hands slip onto my waist, her fingertips pulse against the taut muscles in my back as I lean down and press into her, deepening, searching for more.
For everything.
Her tongue sweeps across the tip of mine, and I tilt my head to devour this twisted little woman. If I could consume her, encase her in how sure I feel, let that confidence bleed into her, fuck, I would.
I’d give her all of what I’ve got just to see her dance her way into a room and destroy everyone with a smile one more time.
She pulls away, panting, tears fresh on her cheeks as she ducks her chin to hide the force of her feelings. “I …”
I hold my breath as she swallows, waiting for her to find the words, praying they’ll be good.
“I what, Mel?” My hands tighten on the sides of her face, coaxing her eyes back up to mine.
She twists her head in my hold and lays a gentle kiss on my palm. “I don’t know what to do next.” She lays the most adorable, shy smile on me, her eyes searching for an answer in mine.
I’ve got nothing. This journey with her is so far off my well-worn roadmap of women, that it’s beyond a fucking joke.
“Don’t really know,” I say, releasing her from my hold and tapping an index finger under her chin. “But if there’s more of that involved I’m down for it.”
She rolls her eyes and grunts, clearly frustrated with the return to smartass Dog, but also a little tickled at the idea. Hell, she’s not the only one.
I adjust my jeans and clear my throat as I nod toward the bike. “Guess we should carry on then, huh?”
She smoothes her shirt down, eyebrows raised as she stares vacantly at the ground. “Yeah. I guess we should.”
FOURTEEN
Mel
We roll into Fort Worth as hues of the mid-afternoon sun trickle through the clouds. I lean against Dog’s back, finding warmth in his body as we slow down and idle into the huge hangar-style garage.
Being home is bittersweet when I’ve lost so much, yet also found something so amazing.
That kiss … let’s just say it wasn’t what I expected when I stormed out of the store after him, hell bent on giving the idiot what for after the showdown I walked in on.
But I liked it. I think he did too. And I crave more. Lots more.
It’s so easy to forget the rush of that first kiss, the thrill of wanting another in such a way. It’s easy to forget the strength of lust as it slams your heart against your ribcage, imprisons your lungs, and sends your mind floating on a high unrivaled by any man-made drug.
It’s something I’ve forgotten completely over the past year—a memory that seemed redundant given my solitude.
“Home sweet home, babe,” Dog says on a sigh as he brings the bike to a stop.
I stretch out, raising my arms over my head and then dismount. “Yeah.”
He backs the bike into a space eyes on me as he kicks the stand out. Everything about him draws me in: those brooding eyes, that lush mouth, his sharp jawline, the kicking body below, and most of all, the heart he hides from so many.
The glimpses I’ve seen of Dog, the real man behind the name, are amazing. I can’t understand why he’d want to hide that kind of person away?
“You ready to do this?” he asks as he pulls the key from the ignition and dismounts.
I glance across the yard to the house. It looks fantastic, like the guys have finally bothered to put some care into the place. But at the same time it holds so much pain it may as well be a house of horrors looming over us from its side of the yard.
“Like ripping a Band-Aid off, right?”
“Exactly.” He gives me a tight-lipped smile and loops an arm around my shoulders.
I let Dog guide me toward the house, but we barely make it ten yards when Crackers bursts through the front door, arms raised.
“Hey, trouble-maker!”
Daddy might have tried and failed, to set us up as an item, but that patch of time did nothing to dampen our friendship. The lumbering clown that leaps the front steps was the first person to hold my hair out of the way as I hurled up too much alcohol, promising he’d hide the evidence from my father. The guy I could always count on to make me laugh when life as a club princess got me down.
I owe a lot to these guys. A lot.
“Who you calling trouble?” I shout back, leaping into his embrac
e.
He crushes me in his hold and then sets me on my feet. “How the fuck are you?” He pats my shoulders with both hands as though confirming for himself that I’m indeed here in the flesh, for real.
“I’ve been better.” I give him a tight smile, recognizing the warmth behind me as Dog.
“She knows,” he says simply over my shoulder, drawing Crackers’ gaze to him.
“Shit.” Our VP scrubs a hand over his face while looking away, and then chances a pained stare at me as I stand watching him. “I’m sorry, girl. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” He shakes his head side to side, and try as I might, I can’t keep my ducks in a row.
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore, but I guess sometimes you’ve just got to pick your battles.
“Hey.” Crackers reaches out, tapping me lightly on the elbow. “Come inside, yeah, and we’ll get the worst of it over with quick smart.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Dog voices for me as he tucks me to his side.
Crackers flicks his gaze between us, the question there, unanswered.
I spend the next half an hour greeting people, accepting condolences, and sharing a few quiet moments with the people I’ve missed the most aside from my family. Fuck, who am I kidding? They are my family.
Tears are shed, smiles aplenty, and I’m greeted with nothing but sheer relief that the rumors they’d heard weren’t true—I’m alive and well. Safe and sound.
Murphy holds a stiff drink out for me, his lips curled into a type of apology. “Wish we could have been reunited under better circumstances, girlie.”
“Yeah.” I take the tumbler from him. “Me too.”
The liquor burns its way down my throat as I search out the room for Dog. I find him near the back with one of the property girls circling nearby. Yet his focus is solely and squarely on me.
I like it: the warm buzz it gives me that rivals the alcohol, and the ridiculous pride I have at being what he wants over the eye-candy on offer.
“You goin’ to tell us the real story, then?” Digits asks. “How is it we thought you were another casualty of Carlos and yet here you are?”
Murphy smacks him in the back of the head, with a scowl. “Have some fuckin’ respect, brother. You think she wants to rehash it all right this very second?”
Digits looks suitably apologetic, and yet all I want to do is hug the shit out of Murphy. He gets it. The last thing I want to do is relive the infuriating fact that I was the one Daddy decided to save, when both he and Dana sacrificed all for our club.
Why? Why did he do that?
“If it’s okay with you all,” I say, setting the empty tumbler down, “I might take ten minutes to myself.” I’m met with sympathetic smiles and a few nods. “It’s a bit tiring to be honest.” Not to mention the toll ten hours on the bike has taken on my body.
“Sure thing,” Murphy agrees.
Crackers nods and then jerks his head toward the stairs in a silent order to go as he pulls a whore onto his knee.
As celebrated as my return is, I’m no fool. My presence has injected a healthy dose of grief back into the place that’ll only be flushed out the best way they know how: getting intoxicated and losing themselves in each other.
The night’s about to get very rowdy.
I catch Dog’s eye as I head for the entrance and the grand staircase, and flick my eyes in a silent request for him to join me. He ducks his chin a little, not enough for anyone to really notice, but enough that I know he understands what I asked.
He’s probably playing it cool around prying eyes, which is understandable. Neither of us is ready to answer the questions that come with it all just yet, I don’t think.
The house has been painted and redecorated since I left, the walls a magnificent black. I wouldn’t have thought it the best color to paint the place, but it actually pulls off real nice, especially with the artwork that has been hung along the walls.
I run my hand over the painted surfaces as I make my way up the stairs and then down the hall to what should still be my room.
Everything is exactly as I left it. The familiarity is comforting, but at the same time its shrine-like feel leaves me a little creeped out. I walk into the room and collapse on the bed, closing my eyes and breathing in the familiar scents: my perfume, the lavender sachet that I kept to help me sleep, and the undertones of conditioned leather that drift from my open closet.
I roll my head to the side, hands clasped over my stomach, and stare at the clothing that hangs neatly inside. My throat swells as I gaze at the cropped leather vests, the black jeans and leather pants, motorcycle boots all lined up in a row beside my sky-high heels. It’s as though I’m staring at the shell of a different woman, someone I dreamed of being.
How can I simply slide into all that again and just transform in the blink of an eye? I drift my gaze to the left as Dog appears at my door and realize how. After all, he does it every day, doesn’t he?
“What’s on your mind?” he asks as he gently eases the door most of the way closed.
I point to the clothes. “Wondering who she is.”
“You,” he murmurs, sitting down at the foot of the bed. He reaches out and strokes my shin, and in a strange way, it brings me peace just having his touch. “Put some of it on.”
I shake my head, a sad smile pulling at my lips. “I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“That’s not who I am anymore.” I push up on my elbows to see him better. “It’s shallow don’t you think? The single purpose of being something pretty for everyone to admire?”
His chest rises with the deep breath he sucks in, and he stands, eyeballing the closet. I watch with interest as he crosses the room and moves the garments around, seemingly checking each and every one out before he selects an outfit.
“You think art is shallow?” he asks. “Paintings and photos? Sculpture?”
I shake my head, pushing myself up to sit as Dog lays out a pair of leather pants, a tight gray V-neck shirt, and my favorite vest; black leather stitched with an intricate design of roses and skulls.
“Put it on.” He nods to the clothes.
I hold his gaze and twist my lips to the side. Humor him, Mel. If anything, it’ll just reinforce my feeling that playing pretend isn’t going to be a walk in the park and maybe he’ll leave me alone.
All under his keen eye, I strip the shorts, sweater and loose tank I had on, off, and then tug on the much tighter, much more revealing outfit he laid out. His dark eyes blacken as he watches me from his spot leaned against the wall, his arms folded and his stare positively starved.
“There’s nothing wrong with bein’ something beautiful for people to appreciate, Mel. It’s soothing to a scarred soul.”
The stiffness of the pants seems foreign; a feeling I used to love, the way leather softens as it warms to your body. The vest however … the weight of it on my back, the ties that bind the sides tickling under my arms …
Fuck I’m sick of crying.
“Feel like home?” Dog asks quietly, his chin down as he regards me with a hooded gaze.
I swipe the stray tears from my cheeks and stiffen my jaw. “Yeah. It does. Too fucking familiar, actually.”
“It’s who you are, Mel.” He pushes off, closing the space between us. “That girl there”—he gestures to the baggy clothes on the bed—“is what circumstance created. That wasn’t you. That was survival.”
I stare at the sweater that’s a size too big, the cut-offs that are a full inch or more longer than I usually wear. They hid me, covered my curves and turned people’s heads the other way. But why? What was I really hiding?
“I got so used to being invisible, forgotten,” I mumble, my brow pinched. “It didn’t feel right drawing everyone’s attention.”
“Why not?”
I shake my head and run my hands over the leather on my thighs. “I don’t know.”
Dog steps forward, toe to toe with me, his finger coaxing my chin up to meet his gaze. �
�Guilt?”
I flick my gaze between his eyes, picking out the flecks of gold amongst the chestnut. “At what?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple prominent. “At feelin’ good.” His thumb skims my bottom lip. “At living.”
I turn my face in his hold again to look over the baggy clothes once more. His breath feathers my temple as I realize how right he is. I felt lost, not because I’d been out of the life for so long, but because I didn’t know how the person I was before I left, a happy carefree girl, fitted in amongst the grief and shock of what went down while I was away.
How can I come skipping back in here as though I don’t give a fuck what these people did for me? It just doesn’t sit right.
I turn back to Dog, finding his eyes intensely locked on me. “How do I do it, then? How do I be myself when it’s just so … wrong?”
“It ain’t wrong, baby.” He smiles sadly. “You just gotta see it’s what they need.” He leans in and places a gentle kiss on my forehead.
I reach up and take his face in my hands, holding his lips to my head. He’s so genuine, so raw. Why doesn’t he share this with anyone but me?
“I love this side of you, Dog,” I whisper. “Don’t ever hide it from me.”
“I promise,” he murmurs against my skin, his hands sure and firm on my hips as he tugs me closer.
I turn my head to the side and rest it against his chest as I wrap my warms around him and whisper, “You’re such a good friend to me.”
Even if the beat of my heart thundering in my ears tells me we’ve already crossed that line and moved on to something more, I’m terrified if I label this thing between us too soon I might startle him away and not only lose the thing that I cherish most—our friendship.
I couldn’t name what we have if I were asked, but whatever this thing is between us—a partnership, an understanding—it’s more than I could have asked for, and hopefully not more than I deserve.
Because right now, I still don’t feel like I deserve anything at all.