Glacier

by Violet Blaze

  “Jesus Christ, Saint,” Royal says as he appears at the top of the ladder and climbs out into the pantry. Me, I step up to the sink and stare out at the gray gravestones dotting the hill, climbing up into the darkness of the trees. This is the perfect place to house all of the club's little indiscretions. It hasn't got any living, breathing neighbors, and the cemetery makes the perfect place to dispose of bodies. In fact, before my grandma bought it, this place used to be where the cemetery's caretaker lived.

  “He knows more than he's letting on,” I tell Royal and stuff some more gum into my mouth, chewing slowly and carefully as I do my best not to think of Serenity. If the word rape makes me think about her, then I have even more problems to deal with than I thought.

  A thirteen year age difference …

  I glance over my shoulder and find my president with his fingers in his hair.

  “You're bloody killing me here,” he says as I stare at him blankly and return my attention to the window. “If you're going to flip-flop—”

  “Does it look like I'm flip-flopping?” I ask icily, still staring straight ahead. “Serenity is …” My fingers curl around the edges of the old sink and my eyes slide closed. This … thing between us, whatever it is, it's much more than just sex. The sex is only there because there's something else, something inside of her that calls to me. I want to hand her the leash to my monster, the cage to my animal. She almost makes me feel … human. “I tried to stay away from her, Royal. I can't do it anymore. Today, I gave up the fight for good. I'm invested,” I hiss that last word out.

  “Yeah, well, you're going to have to learn to deal with this then,” he says, his accent thickening. Must mean he likes me, I guess. He usually tries to hide it around the brothers, but it always comes out around Lyric. “Love is bleeding awful. It's the fucking worst. It'll chew you up and spit you out before it ever gets any easier. Like I said, if you love Serenity then let's make this work. I know you, Saint, and as … Jesus, as fucked up as you are, you'd never rape anyone. Serenity's smart and she's mature as hell. Fuck, she's had to be growing up around the club like that. If she says this is what she wants, I believe her.”

  I snort, running a hand down my face.

  “You should've sent me to Alaska,” I say again and Royal sighs. But he knows I'm right. If he'd gotten rid of me last month, maybe I could've stayed away?

  No. No. Who am I kidding?

  I've been trying to stay away from Serenity for years and look where that's gotten me. Thirteen years. That's a lot of age difference … but I'll have to find a way to get past it because that girl, hers is the only touch I can stand. That I actually like.

  And she's right: it does feel good to be touched.

  It feels human.

  I spend all night with my new friends and come up with some fascinating information.

  “You're sure about this?” Dober barks which—quite literally—makes me feel insane. Am I sure? Of course I'm sure. I spent all night pulling teeth from a man's head—tooth by fucking tooth. I'd like to slap Dober. Or worse. The way he talks to me is annoying at best. Instead, I make myself smile.

  “I'm sure,” I say and he grunts roughly in response, turning away from the table and studying the photographs on the walls like he hasn't seen them a thousand times before. “Miguel didn't know shit because his two highest ranked officers dealt with the nitty-gritty—at the same time they were bullshitting him and double dealing with the Villarreal Cartel,” I say, listing the name of one of Mexico's most powerful and influential drug cartels. The Saldaña Cartel—the rats we cleaned out of our city last month—was just an offshoot, like rebel children throwing a tantrum. The Villarreal Cartel, well that's like the mother.

  “Well, that's just brilliant then,” Royal says, sitting back in his chair with the rustle of leather, crossing his tattooed hands together on the black lacquer surface of the table. “We lost good men and good money last time. I'm keen to see what yet another war will cost this club.”

  “We can avoid a war,” I say mildly, leaning back in my own chair, feeling Jack's eyes narrowing on my face. How uncomfortable; I ignore him. “According to the men from last night, both officers are still in town, keeping eyes and ears on the Wolves and the FBI.”

  Royal's brows go up at that and Dober turns around, president and vice president exchanging a long look, sunlight streaming across both their faces from the wall of windows behind me. The club's chapel sits in an old cookhouse from the fifties, with red walls and photographs of the club's founders spread across the walls. It smells like tobacco, and leather in here, but I've always liked it. Well, so much as I've ever liked a placed. It's steeped in history, the beating heart of the club, and the club … is my life.

  Or it was before Serenity.

  I feel my priorities shifting and toppling over one another and I know—have known for a month at least—that if it came to Serenity or my brothers, I would kill them all for her. Every single one of them, even Royal. And he's the only one I might actually like if I ever liked anyone. Still, I'd appreciate it if it never came to that. This club is the only place a monster like me can blend in, feed his beast, and get paid to do it.

  “So we find these guys first, keep one—and then we use Lyric's connections to deliver the other to Special Agent Heather Shelley,” Royal muses, unfolding his hands and tapping his fingers on the table. I study him, the wolf portraits tattooed on his arm, and then raise my eyes back to his face. There's a slight smugness there, like maybe he enjoys rubbing his wife's usefulness in. If I were him, I would, too. Nobody here wanted their president to marry the deputy mayor of Trinidad, California. “Let the FBI fight the war for us and Bob's your uncle.” Royal snorts and slaps his palm on the table, standing up from his chair.

  “Doubt it'll be as easy as all that,” Jack mumbles and when I glance his way, his lip curls, the purple and green color of his face mottled and broken up with red gashes where the force of my hand split his skin. I broke his nose, too, but there's nothing to be done about that; he'll just have to live through it. My own face is swollen and slightly tender to the touch, but even though I let him hit me, the damage to Jack is far worse. “I smell trouble.”

  “Yeah, well,” Royal says, checking his phone for the time as he glances up, brown eyes skipping over Smoky, Mug, Jack, Mick … pausing on me and then snapping back to Dober. “We work with the information we've got and then move on from there. Dober, put teams together and start searching. Talk to every scumbag, crack addict, and whore in this town and figure out where these assholes are hiding. Now, if you'll excuse me,” he flashes us one of his signature grins, “I've got a right proper meeting with the mayor.”

  Royal's steps echo against the tall ceilings of the chapel as he lets himself out and leaves me sitting there with my fellow officers.

  “What the fuck are you staring at? Dreaming of beating the shit out of me again?” Jack asks when he catches me looking at him, leaning back in his chair and wrinkling his nose. The movement makes him wince, but he doesn't pull that steely-eyed glare from my face. Truthfully? I do want to punch him out. Once again, Serenity isn't at the compound. Already, I can feel myself aching for her, this need to be near her sudden and new and disturbing. My whole life, I've struggled with little to no feeling for anything. And now? Now I'm a bundle of want.

  “Mick, get together a list of foreclosed homes in the area—the closer to city center, the better,” Dober starts, planting his hands on his hips as Jack lights up a cigarette. “Mug, get some guys together and start on that list; work your way out towards the edges of town. If these men are in Trinidad, there's a good chance they're not slumming it up. If they're high enough rankers in the cartel, they should have some means at their disposal.” He pauses and looks over at me. “Glacier … take a day off and we'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” I say with a cold smirk, rising to my feet and sensing the relief in the room. They're all glad that I'm leaving. Maybe Jack wouldn't be so exc
ited if he knew what I was up to? I keep smirking as I head for the pair of heavy wooden doors at the end of the room, carved with a pair of wolf's heads. Figures I'd get the day off. Unless it's a critical emergency, I usually do after a night of practicing my craft. Maybe the boys can sense the ice cold violence brewing under my skin and they just don't want to deal with it? I'm not sure.

  I cross the yard, walking down the path underneath a wooden pergola covered in pungent red and purple flowers, hitting the back door of the clubhouse and letting myself in.

  “Afternoon, Fauna,” I say as I pass by the bar and she turns to glare at me.

  “Don't think you're out of the woods yet,” she tells me with an angry drawl, shaking her head when I glance over my shoulder at her and smile. I toss her a wink and turn back towards the front door, head outside and climb on my bike.

  All of that coiled need and want inside of me, I'm about to see if I can slake it.

  It's the weekend, so, no school. On Monday, my suspension will be lifted and I'll be back in the fray of he-said, she-said bullshit that makes up the whole of Trinidad High.

  On my way. Meet me outside.

  It's a text from Glacier, one that makes my heart jump and tremble inside my chest. Last night, I woke up to a knock on my door and panicked, only to realize that Saint must've left some time ago. My body was sore and tender all over, and I shivered in the cool air of my bedroom, wishing he was still there, laying next to me and staring at me with those ice cold eyes of his.

  Fortunately, he'd had the foresight to lock the door, so I was able to drag on some clothes before I opened it. Of course, all Mom did was yell at me for sleeping the day away and wasting all my time on nothing. If she only knew …

  I stand up off the couch at the sound of Saint's bike, heading outside, dressed in a pair of leather riding pants, a leather jacket and boots. My excitement is off the fucking charts, and I have to keep reminding myself to take this slow.

  You chased me, tempted me, caught me. Well, Serenity, you've got me now. What is it that you want from me?

  I breathe out hard as I pull the door closed behind me and race down the steps, hopping into a puddle on the driveway and smiling at Saint as he straddles his bike and watches me with an expressionless face. But I can see beyond and beneath it, to the man buried inside. I don't know how or why; I just can.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him, breathless, my cunt tightening in response to his sleek masculine form perched on the motorcycle.

  “Get on,” he says apathetically, “and I'll show you.”

  I check my phone one more time to make sure there are no messages from my parents and find a text from Loren.

  We need to talk. ASAP. Please call me back.

  I ignore it and the other messages from Rayna, Aletha, Tom and Otto inviting me to a party later. Sounds like a good time and I might just go, but every second I have alone with Saint, I'm going to cherish.

  Saint hands me his helmet and I climb on, curving my body against his and noticing as I do that he relaxes. It's slight, almost unnoticeable, but it's there. He likes my touch and he likes me. He has for a long time. The thought keeps me warm even as the wind is cold, cutting through the leather of my riding outfit as we zip down the hill and out towards the highway.

  I get really confused as we leave Trinidad altogether, heading south towards the city of Arcata and then east, into a rural offshoot known as Sunny Brae. Saint takes us down stretches of road with houses few and far between, and then turns onto a long gravel drive. At the end of it, there's a motorcycle with a helmet draped over the handlebars. Immediately, I'm on guard, nervous as hell and wondering who exactly it is that goes to that bike. I don't trust any of the Wolves except Royal—and Lyric, of course—when it comes to this secret about Saint and me.

  “Where are we?” I ask, yanking the helmet off my head after we come to a stop. I climb off The Slim Bobber and pause in the gray-white mist, listening for sounds of traffic or people and hearing nothing. Nope. We are officially out in the boonies here. And considering we live in Humboldt County—an entire county of boondocks—this is really out there.

  “One of the boys owns this land,” Glacier says as he slides off his bike and turns to face me. “Nothing here. Never uses it. We sometimes come out here to … shoot targets.” He shrugs and there's a whole lot more written into that statement that I'm supposed to understand. Dear God. The club doesn't use this place to bury bodies do they?

  “Don't tell anyone about this,” I say with a laugh. “Is that what you're implying?”

  “I'm …” Glacier trails off, his blonde hair and blue eyes stark against the muted greens and browns of the forest, made even less bright by the cloak of fog and mist that clings to the branches like spiderwebs. That's how it always is out here, even in spring: cold, drizzling, foggy, misty. That's the price we pay for living so close to the ocean. “I don't care what you do,” Glacier says and I feel a tightening of pain in my gut as I glance back at his face, but he's dead serious when he says, “because I'll defend you to the death. It would just make things easier if you didn't say anything about this.”

  My cheeks flush again—totally weird—and I suck in a huge breath.

  “Got it,” I tell him, my voice ripe with pleasure at his words. Wow. Intense. But appropriate. If this thing between us was any less intense, I'd call it off. It's too dangerous, too risky, too wrong. It puts us both in jeopardy in so many ways. “So what are we doing out here and whose bike is that?”

  “Why,” Glacier begins, stepping closer to me, closing the six or so feet between us, “it's your bike.”

  My skin flushes with heat when he runs his inked fingers across my cheek, makes me tremble and ache with that simple of a touch. When he moves even closer, reaches for the zipper of my jacket, my sex clenches and my clit throbs. It's like I've just gone through a sexual awakening and I find myself needing more, more, more.

  Glacier pulls the zipper down a few careful inches, slides his palm inside and rests his warm, dry skin against my collarbone, breathing out long and low like that simple touch is energizing him somehow.

  “Mine?” I ask, totally confused and ridiculously giddy at the same time. “What do you mean?”

  “It's a gift,” he says, and I don't really think he has any idea how goddamn amazing he is. Teaching me to ride, defending my honor from my dad, calling me beautiful, giving me a bike. “It was my bike, and I'm giving it to you.”

  My mouth drops open and Glacier's … actually quirks up at the corner as he breathes out and leans in, pressing our foreheads together again. He seems to like doing it, like he has no idea how intimate of a gesture that really is.

  “How did you get it out here?” I ask him as he slides his palm down and finds the lacy cup of my bra, his grip rough enough that I gasp. Glacier's arm snakes around my waist and yanks me forward as he uses his other hand to finish unzipping the jacket.

  “I had a hang-around bring it out here under threat of death if he said a damn word. Another one picked him up and they left the bike.”

  My heart is racing now, so fast that I feel almost dizzy.

  “You're letting me borrow it?” I clarify, but Glacier doesn't do things in half-measures or play games. When he's in, he's in.

  “I'm giving it to you,” he repeats, the whorls of his fingertips gliding along my suddenly sweaty back. “It's yours forever.” He makes a sharp sound in his throat and pulls away abruptly, turning my skin to ice with the lack of his touch. I watch him rake his fingers through his blonde hair, study his outfit. It's basically the same as mine: riding boots, leather jacket. He's got on black jeans that almost look like leather at first glance. It's an interesting outfit to see on someone with an angelically beautiful face, gold-blonde hair, and those fucking eyes. Tattoos peek out above the collar of his jacket, beneath the sleeves. I read the words BURY and DEAD on his knuckles when he hooks his thumbs into his front pockets and stands there studying me.

  “I'm assuming
we came out here to … practice?” I ask and Glacier nods, stepping aside and holding out his hand to indicate the bike.

  And wow, what a bike it is.

  Orange and black paint, gleaming chrome, a new helmet slung across the handlebars—one that's actually my size. I walk in a full circle around it and then pause, studying the white logo on the side.

  Each MC is different when it comes to rules about bikes. The Alpha Wolves doesn't give a fuck about brand so much as country of origin. As long as it's an American made bike, it's acceptable for a brother to ride. Royal, Glacier, and some of the younger guys seem to like SuckerPunch Sally's. This gift—my bike—is a SuckerPunch Sally's Hot Rod. Fairly new, too, by the looks of it. Then again, Glacier spends a lot of time working at Wolf Cycle Service and Repair—the club's on-compound, full-service motorcycle garage. He can make anything look brand-new.

  I touch a hand to the leather seat and feel a huge grin blooming across my lips.

  “Man, if my dad knew about this, he would so flip out.” I stop and glance up at Glacier. Of course, now I'm talking about the motorcycle, even though that's the least of the issues surrounding this whole rendezvous. You know, like how I'm fucking a thirty year old? “He's let me ride with him on his bike, but he's never let me actually drive it.”

  I tap the seat with my hand and look back up at Glacier, who's studying me so intently I feel like I should be embarrassed. Good thing I don't embarrass easily.

  “How do you feel?” I ask mildly, but this isn't really a mild question at all. Somehow, though, I feel like I already know the answer to what I'm going to ask. “About a woman riding a motorcycle?” I stare at Glacier and I feel this … deluge of hatred toward the club. Gender separation, gender inequality big time. One of the major reasons I fell in love with Glacier in the first place was because he let me ride his bike. My mom, she rides bitch one hundred percent of the time. As far as I know, she's never once driven a bike—my father's or otherwise. By letting me ride his bike—by acting like I was a competent enough human being to do so—he let me know how he felt about me.