The Word of a Liar

by Beauchamp, Sally

  “Rambo, I’m glad you could make it.”

  Startled, Mason spun around. Jack eyed him intently. His smug smile irritating as ever, he offered Mason his hand. Mason shook it.

  “You sure have some beautiful cars. How much for one of these babies?”

  “That depends on which baby you are referring to.”

  “How about this one?” Mason pressed his hand on the front fender of the Porsche, purposely leaving finger prints.

  Jack’s smile vanished. “That car is about a half a million dollars.”

  “Holy shit! You mind if I sit in it?”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s go in my office where we can talk, Rambo.”

  He turned, leading Mason through the showroom and down a long corridor flanked by small offices to a larger, more plush office at the end of the hall. Jack sat down behind the desk, waving a hand at Mason to take a seat in one of the large leather chairs opposite him. Mason sank into the overstuffed upholstery. Tired from his tryst, he could have gone to sleep.

  “I have some merchandise I need to have picked up in Chicago and brought back here to Milwaukee. I thought I’d send you. Muck Eye will go along, but I thought if you’re going to work for me you ought to become familiar with my distributors.”

  Jack smiled, leaning back in the designer office chair. Clasping his hands behind his head, he waited for Mason’s response.

  Mason ran his hands over the padded arms of the chair. Not wanting to appear too eager, he squared his shoulders and crossed his legs.

  “When would I have to leave and how much?” His eyes hit Jack head on.

  “In the next hour, and how does twenty grand sound?”

  “Make it thirty-five.”

  “Thirty-five?” Jack’s eyebrows arched. “Don’t you think that’s rather steep since I don’t know what kind of an employee you’re going to make?”

  Jack leaned over the top of the mahogany desk.

  “This merchandise you want me to pick up: I have a hunch its worth quite a bit more than that. The way I see it, thirty-five grand is pretty cheap.”

  “You’re a knowledgeable business man, Rambo. You might own one of those cars someday.”

  Mason smiled. “I take it we have a deal. Thirty-five grand?”

  “Thirty-five grand it is.”

  Jack ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair and then stood to shake Mason’s hand. Mason cocked his head, scratched the side of his neck, and then slid his leg off his knee. Adrenaline gushed like blood through a severed artery, his pulse roared in his ears. He’d done it! He now worked for Fortunate Sons’ Auto! Life was good— damn good! Mason rose to his feet and then gripped Jack’s hand in a firm handshake.

  “I’ll be back in half an hour. I need to take care of a few things before I leave.”

  “All right,” Jack nodded. “Rambo, you ought to pack some things to take along. I’m not expecting any sort of trouble, but you never know. It’s always good to be prepared.”

  “You don’t have to worry, I’m always packing.” Mason smiled. “And if there is any trouble, the price goes up to fifty.”

  He stared hard into Jack’s face. A long silence ensued. “Tell Muck Eye to be ready.”

  Mason turned to leave.

  “Nice doing business with you, Rambo,” Jack called. “And tell Desi I said hello.”

  His hand on the door knob, Mason’s jaw clenched. He jerked open the door and with long, confident strides, left the building. His black custom Sportster waited like an alluring temptress. He gripped her sleek chrome arms, straddled the seat, and started the engine. Tapping it into first gear, he rolled the throttle; pipes roared as he merged into traffic.

  ***

  Ellen looked at her clock. 1:58 a.m.

  “My God!” she moaned. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”

  In bed since eleven, she couldn’t stop thinking about Mason. She sat up, punched and fluffed the pillows, and then flopped down, turning on her side. The fresh lavender scent of the sheets brought back the anguish of yesterday.

  She should hate him for what he’d done to her, but she didn’t. In one night, she’d become an addict, craving his touch. She sighed, wondering what he was doing. Is he home alone or making love to Desi?

  “Oh, what’s the use!”

  She whipped the covers back and got out of bed. Switching on the hall light, Ellen headed down to the kitchen.

  She poured herself a glass of wine then went out to the front porch. Warm, humid air patted the gauzy cotton fabric of her nightgown. Ellen sat in the darkness, knees tucked under her chin, staring at the chair Mason had sat in the night before. Clouds blocked the moonlight and the stars. It looked like it was going to storm. Ellen sipped her wine, waiting for its euphoric affects. Some small animal rustled the bushes. Fearful of mice, Ellen stiffened and held her breath.

  A pickup truck stopping at the intersection caught her attention. To avoid being caught in its headlights, she hunched down in the loveseat. It moved closer; the headlights’ harsh white beams flooded the road. Unexpectedly, they pointed into her driveway. Ellen dropped her glass. It rolled to the edge of the railing and then stopped. A dark red splotch oozed over the throw rug. She swallowed hard when the headlights died, and she heard the truck door open and close. She looked at the front door. Open, except for the screen, could she get inside and lock it?

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. A dark figure approached. Ellen didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. The intruder stood at the door, leaned into the screen, cupping his hands around his eyes and peered inside. Stepping back, he opened it.

  “Ellen, are you here?” he called out.

  Ellen jumped up, anger and relief fueling her voice. “Mason Hackett, what are you doing!”

  He turned, exhaling deeply. “Fuck, Ellen, you scared the shit out of me!”

  “I scared you? It figures you’d put yourself first. I’m out here when a strange vehicle pulls into my driveway at 2 a.m., and I scared you?”

  Ellen’s jaw clenched as her hands hugged her hips. She wanted to leap on him and pummel his chest: every blow would be an exorcism of rage and hurt. “I thought you were a robber or worse. Why are you here?”

  She watched him as he cautiously stepped closer. His eyes met hers, and then he sat on the edge of a chair.

  “I came to apologize.” He looked down.

  “Apologize for what? For last night? Are you sorry for what you did to Desi or what you did to me? You bastard!”

  She stood in front of him, arms folded across her chest.

  “I shouldn’t have left you like I did. I’ve been feeling like shit all day.”

  His eyes moved upward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together, he looked sincere. “Last night… it was… special.”

  Hands dropped to her sides, knees soft, she slowly sat back down on the loveseat. “What did you say?”

  Ellen inhaled, trying to summon back the anger and hurt, but a bewildered joy had defeated them.

  He sighed. “Last night I didn’t know how to tell you what I felt. Hell, I still don’t.” He slouched back, drumming his finger tips on the arm rest. “I’ve never felt like that before. It scared me, so I left.”

  Ellen hugged her knees to her chest and then pulled the hem of her nightgown over her toes. The still-humid air beaded her forehead with sweat, yet she shivered. Was he telling the truth? Did he leave because he was scared? She had watched him split a man’s face in half, yet she had scared him? She didn’t think so. But he did admit his feelings and, for a man like him, that was something.

  “You know, Mason, there are such things as telephones. If you wanted to stop by at two-thirty in the morning, you could at least call first.”

  His fingers froze. He raised his head, noticing the thin cotton nightgown covering Ellen. White and sheer, he could see skin. Was she forgiving him? She shouldn’t. He didn’t deserve it. He knew he had hurt her. Mason moved to the edge of the chair, leaning forward. �
��I don’t have your phone number. I should really get that from you, shouldn’t I?”

  “No, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  So she was still angry. He was going to have to beg, and that was definitely not his style.

  “Ellen—”

  “Mason, I want you to go. If you stay any longer, I won’t be able to stand it.” Morsels of light mingled with the tears that ran down her cheeks. “I don’t think I can even be friends with you.”

  She dropped her head to her knees.

  “Why?” He clutched the hem of her nightgown.

  She looked at him. “You’re with Desi. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

  Mason stood, gripping the porch railing; he watched the dark, shifting clouds. A fingernail moon momentarily escaped, lighting a small circle of darkness.

  “There is no Desi any longer, Ellen. We broke up at the rally. When you and Mad Dog left the fire, I went to my tent, and Desi and I got into an argument. The next day she left with Jack, the guy you met at the fire. I haven’t heard from her since. Things were unraveling before the rally, but you were the last straw.”

  “Me?” Ellen’s eyes widened. “What do I have to do with the two of you breaking up?”

  “She thought I paid you too much attention.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  Ellen dropped her feet to the floor, folding her hands in her lap. Her nipples poked out beneath her nightgown. Heat blasted Mason’s groin.

  “Is it? Dee Dee noticed. So did Mad Dog.”

  Mason walked over to the love seat and bent over her. A soft sigh escaped her lips. He smelled wine on her breath. Timid eyes searched his.

  “Ellen, if Desi hadn’t been with me, you never would have slept in Mad Dog’s tent.”

  He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her head.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this last night? You let me think it was a one-night stand.” She rolled her shoulders back. “Am I someone you’ve decided to sleep with on the rebound?”

  Mason rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and sat beside her. He took her hands in his, the heel of his boot tapping nervously.

  “If I had told you Desi and I broke up a couple days ago and then showed up at your house, would it have made any difference? You would still be hurt. You would still be angry. Ever since the rally, I’ve wanted to see you. I only stayed away because I thought you and Mad Dog had something goin’ on.”

  Mason brought his hand to her face, holding it tenderly; his eyes sought hers.

  “I know I’m not the kind of guy you’d bring home to mother. I know one day you’ll get tired of me…. It’s inevitable…. An educated woman like yourself and a crude biker like me….”

  His hand stroked the curve of her neck; his lips tasted the salt on her skin. Hoarse with desire, he spoke in a whisper. “I’ll stick around until you see the light and kick my sorry ass to the curb. I’m not a big believer in happy endings anyway.”

  CHAPTER thirteen

  Thunder rumbled in the black, shrouded sky. Mason’s words, unsettling as the brewing storm, alarmed Ellen. Were her feelings for him a passing infatuation? His confession regarding the failed relationship with Desi assuaged her guilt but provoked uncertainty. She pulled away from Mason and scooted over.

  Mason sprawled, stretching his arm over the back of the settee. Ellen looked up at the sky. Last night his love-making had set her free and there was nothing she wanted more than for it to happen again, but could she separate physical gratification from emotional? She glanced at him: head tilted back, eyes closed, a gentle upward curve of his lips implied serenity. Ellen swallowed. Was she a physical pursuit he would soon tire of? And what will he do when he meets JD?

  He’ll run, she regrettably concluded.

  With a heavy sigh, she sat on her hands, rocking. Feelings teetered between frustration and fear. “You’re very pessimistic about the two of us.”

  “We’re an unlikely pair,” Mason replied, his voice complacent as his fingers stroked the ends of her hair. “The odds of us being together for any length of time aren’t very good.”

  Why become involved in the first place?” Ellen countered, the hot mix of emotions spiked. “I think you’re scared, Mason.”

  She faced him. The spellbinding power of his eyes made her breathless. Struggling to resist, she continued her assault. “Underneath that biker exterior you’re scared a woman might break your heart!”

  Her voice gained momentum. “You play it cool with all that macho bravado.”

  She stuck out her chest, shaking her shoulders from side to side.

  “Go ahead, Ellen Abrams, tromp all over my heart. When you’re sick of me—or me of you—I’ll leave peacefully, because I didn’t give a fuck in the first place!”

  She jumped up, body trembling.

  “You’re a coward!” she spat.

  Mason’s jaw dropped; his eyes narrowed. Springing from the seat, he grasped her wrists, pinning them to her chest. His eyes burned with ferocious intensity.

  “I’ve never let anyone call me that!” he snarled. The muscles in his neck tensed like taut cords. Air hissed across clenched teeth.

  Ellen knew he wanted to hit her, but she didn’t back down. “You’re not the kind of man I thought you were.”

  “What kind of man am I?”

  He squeezed her wrists so tight, her fingers tingled.

  “I thought you had the guts to do whatever it took to get what you wanted and risk everything to keep it! I don’t hold back! I’m not going into this thinking ‘well, if things don’t work out, no big deal, we shake hands and make coffee dates.’ If things don’t work out, it’s going to hurt like hell! We’ll never be the same.”

  Voice quieter, more poignant, she lifted her chin.

  “Paul’s death shattered my heart and changed my life forever, but it made me strong. I’m courageous enough to believe an educated woman and a crude biker could discover something meaningful!”

  She looked down. Mason released his grip and then slumped down onto the loveseat.

  Rubbing her wrists, Ellen closed her eyes, steeling herself to continue.

  “Get off my porch, Mason Hackett.” Her breath caught. Tears surfaced. “I don’t want to have to call the police.”

  Ellen turned and then entered the house. The lock clicked.

  Like a silent movie projected on a dark screen, lightening flickered across the horizon. Thunder applauded. Breathing heavily, Mason grappled with Ellen’s sudden hostility. No one had ever dared call him a coward and kept their face intact. He’d come so close to striking her. He prided himself on his ability to maintain control in even the most dangerous situations; to be undone by a woman’s irrational ranting was unthinkable, but Ellen made him crazy. Her all or nothing attitude wasn’t realistic. Like Desi, she wanted too much. There was no way he could make promises of any kind to anyone. Not with his lifestyle. And he knew, with all certainty, eventually Ellen would come to realize how preposterous a relationship with him would be. When she did, he didn’t want her to feel responsible for the inevitable conclusion.

  She had judged him incorrectly about not going after the things he wanted. He got into the Sons of Thunder, landed a job with Jack, and made thirty-five grand his first day. He wanted Ellen and he’d have her. He couldn’t remember a time when a woman refused him. But she was right about one thing: involving her in his life scared the shit out of him.

  Yawning, he stretched out his legs and rolled his head. A glaring stab of lightening split the sky. Rain pelted the ground. Mason dragged himself to standing and started for his truck. Ellen bounded out the door, interrupting his retreat.

  “I forgot to close the windows in my car,” she mumbled.

  As she dashed down the porch steps, another rip of lightening fragmented the night, and rain gushed from swollen black clouds. When Ellen returned, she was dripping wet. Her thin nightgown clung to her body, accentuating soft, sensuous curves. Nipples protruded; hair clung to her flushed che
eks. Mason grabbed her.

  Her eyes, battle-ready, infuriated yet aroused him. His mouth assailed her lips. His tongue probed, demanding satisfaction. He twisted his hand in her hair, tugging her head back as he scored the length of her neck with his tongue. She pushed against him, but he tightened his grip. The hard bulge of his jeans pressed against her thigh. His mouth inhaled hard nipple through wet fabric.

  Ellen regarded him with narrowed eyes and gritted teeth. Her body prickled with an angry, savage sensuality. Raking her fingers through his long black hair, she forced his mouth from her breast. Mason’s hands seized the bodice of her nightgown. Their eyes met, locking in a dangerously provocative showdown. They breathed heavily. Rain ran in liquid sheets over the eaves. A metallic explosion struck the earth; blue light lit Mason’s face.

  As charged as the storm, Ellen’s body steamed. Salacious daring replaced anger. A compulsion to drive Mason to the brink of reason overtook her.

  “Is this the kind of man you are, Mason?”

  She lowered her gaze to his knuckles clutching her nightgown.

  “The kind of man who likes to play rough—show me who’s the boss? Would you prefer I’d be some pole dancer, tough as nails but knew her place when she with her old man?” she taunted.

  “You bitch!” He gripped the nightgown tighter. “Is that what you want, Ellen? Some guy to knock you around? Well, I don’t need this shit!”

  He shoved her up against the house, abruptly releasing her. Dazed, Ellen watched him go. Rain hammered the concrete. The flag on the post slapped wildly at the incongruous air. Ellen’s pulse throbbed in her ears. She followed him.

  As Mason climbed into his truck, Ellen shouted, “I’m right, you’re a coward!”

  Mason froze. Cold droplets soaked his clothes. Kicking the truck door shut, he charged up the steps. Ellen backed towards the front door. A conglomeration of lust and adrenaline pumped in her chest. Mason’s blue eyes shown out of the darkness like the eyes of a wolf, drawing near its prey. He moved stealthily; short breaths of seething anger intermingled with the sound of falling rain. When he was close enough to touch her, Ellen escaped into the house. He followed. Standing at the top of the stairs, she no longer taunted with words but with a wicked, tantalizing laugh.