by Bijou Hunter
“No,” I whisper, afraid he won’t let me leave.
Looking scolded, Shane allows me to open my door. Then he steps back, so I can drive away. I catch sight of him in my rearview as I leave. He watches me until I turn a corner and race toward my house.
Today is ruined. Everyone in town is probably talking shit about me. And that psycho wants to fuck me.
Why would I ever think a nice guy would be a fan and buy me a cup of coffee? In what fucking universe would that ever happen? I swear I’m forever shocked by how dumb I can be.
I arrive at the rental house I share with my two best friends. Their cars are parked in the driveway, and I’m relieved to know I won’t be alone.
My emotions are all mixed up. I decide anger hurts the least. That’s the one I’m going to run with as I enter the house. Bubbly blonde Kelsi and macho blond Hugh sit on the couch, playing “Doom.”
“I met a guy!” I announce and dramatically throw my flannel shirt across the room. Of course, it just falls a few feet from me, killing my rage vibe.
“Good for you,” Hugh says without looking away from his game.
These are my people. While my mother worshipped at the dick altar of a man married to someone else, I built a family with the Band.
Like her mother and mine, Kelsi is a sweet butt. She hangs out at Dirty Toes Saloon—a dump given a name so shitty that no normal person would dare visit. Kelsi fawns over men who only see a set of holes when they look at her. It’s bullshit. Kelsi is fucking awesome, but she means nothing to them.
“Did the guy give you a fake number?” Kelsi asks while focused on the game. “Is that why you threw your shirt?”
Hugh and Kelsi lean against each other and laugh at my dramatics. I want to find the humor too, but I’m outraged, dammit!
“I’m outraged, dammit!” I say, walking to the kitchen where I dig through the fridge for cranberry juice now that I wasted a perfectly good cup of coffee.
I shuffle into the living room and glare at my friends. “He was a thing of beauty. I should have known something was up with him. Men like that don’t pay attention to me, but there he was offering me delicious lies. Fuck a monkey butt.”
“I feel like we should be listening to her,” Hugh says, setting down the game controller.
Blue eyes bright, he flashes me a smile and rests his hands patiently on his lap. “Please, Ramona, prattle on about your married lover.”
“He isn’t married. Well, I don’t think he is.”
“I don’t understand why she’s upset?” Kelsi says and then grunts when Hugh steals away her controller.
“Stop playing when I can’t play.”
“How else will I beat you?”
“Acknowledge her pain, will ya?” Hugh says and smiles wider. “You know before she throws another shirt.”
Hugh was the third member to join the Band. Kelsi and I grew up together, babysitting each other while our mothers sucked biker dicks on the weekends. I actually thought she was my cousin until I was eight. “Stay with Cousin Kelsi while I go out,” Mom would say as if another child could take care of me.
Hugh’s family moved to Shasta when he was in second grade. His dad had a fancy management job at the rendering plant. They lived in the lesser end of Boulders, which is the upscale part of Shasta. Having money, Hugh wasn’t someone Kelsi and I would normally know. We couldn’t rub two nickels together. His parents paid for him to get extra shit in line at the cafeteria. The state paid for mine and Kelsi’s lunches. In our eyes, he was Richie Rich.
Handsome and athletic, Hugh hung with the cool kids until the fifth grade when they found out he liked boys. His friends quickly turned on him. The idiots actually chased Hugh with rocks like a bunch of Stephen King bullies.
I stuck up for him that day because I used to think I was hot shit. Oh, boy, was I in for a rude awakening. Still, back then, I threw around my father’s name and scared off those bullies.
That’s how Hugh joined the Band. All these years later, when he could have moved away and gotten a better life, he remains our brother from another mother.
And now he’s grinning at my dramatics while I try very hard not to smile too.
“What’s the deal exactly?” Kelsi asks before blowing her thick, blunt bangs out of her doe-like eyes.
“He’s one of those Reapers club assholes.”
“Who is?”
“Shane.”
“Oh, did he finally make his move?” Kelsi asks.
Feeling punched in the gut, I can’t even respond. Hugh takes the hint and speaks for me.
“Did you know this guy planned to sexually use and abuse our good friend?”
Kelsi rolls her eyes. “She’s fine. Look at her. I don’t even think her shirt is damaged.”
They bite on their lower lips to fight their urge to laugh.
“It’s not funny. How did you know about Shane?” I ask.
“He’s the Reapers’ VP,” Kelsi says, shrugging. “He took me aside and asked about you. I said you don’t date bikers.”
“Yeah, so he pretended to be a normal guy.”
“And you didn’t notice his tats while he was abusing your pussy?” Kelsi asks.
Nodding, Hugh adds, “Yeah, they all have those reaper tats now.”
“Did you know about this too?” I demand in one of the least intimidating voices I own.
“How would I? I don’t hang around Dirty Toes. I just fuck Utah, and he isn’t pals with the new management.”
“Do you fuck him?” Kelsi taunts Hugh. “Or does he fuck you?”
“Why can’t it be both?”
“I feel as if it should be, but that it probably isn’t.”
“Don’t call me a bottom to my face.”
“Don’t be a bottom to your face.”
Clapping my hands, I demand to be acknowledged. “Kelsi, how could you not tell me that one of those biker assholes planned to trick me into liking him?”
“Aww, you like him,” Hugh says.
“He’s hot.”
Hugh frowns. “Wait, which one is he?”
“The dark-haired one with a beard.”
“Who’s the bitchy blond with the long hair?”
“That’s Maverick Majors,” Kelsi explains. “He’s the president’s little brother.”
“His face makes me hard while also afraid for my safety.”
“He called me a pest.”
“Well, he isn’t wrong.”
As Kelsi and Hugh laugh together, I’m struck by a little envy. I left Shasta for only four months, yet I feel on the outside now. They look at me in unison and instantly know why I’m pouting like a pissed baby.
“This isn’t my fault,” Kelsi says after taking my hand and guiding me to the couch where I now sit between them. “It’s yours for leaving Shasta and filling me with festering resentment.”
“Festering,” Hugh snickers.
“And I figured that Shane might ban me from the bar if I ratted him out. If I don’t put myself first, who will?”
“Did you hear that on TV?” I ask.
“No, I read it on a fortune cookie.”
“Nice,” Hugh says and pats my leg. “What’s all this hormonal madness really about, Ramona? Did he hurt you? Threaten you? Talk shit about your shirt?”
“Is that why you violently assaulted it?” Kelsi asks, laughing.
“You betrayed me,” I growl at her.
Even before I finish speaking, I know they’re going to laugh.
“Where’s the drama coming from?” Hugh asks after mocking my hysterics again.
“I thought I got lucky with a nice guy, but he’s trash.”
Kelsi nods. “Hot trash, though.”
“Have you fucked him?”
“If I say yes, are you going to crush my head?” she asks, taunting me with the line from our favorite “Kids in the Hall” skit.
Rolling my eyes, I sigh loudly. “This guy made me feel good and then like shit. I need sympathy.”
“And he won’t have no stinking tats either,” she promises while I soak in their attention.
As much as I appreciate their efforts, I’m genuinely bummed that Shane isn’t an option. He’s so handsome and was easy to talk to, even if what he told me was lies.
A guy like him would be a real catch for a girl like me. Too bad he’s a lying fucking biker. I should have seen through his bullshit. After all, there are no fairy tales in life, especially in my beloved shithole Shasta.
THE CHAPTER WHERE THEY TRY AGAIN
THE ROMANTIC
Growing up, when I wanted something, I got it. My parents were never good at telling me no. However, they were great at wagging their fingers when the consequences of my desires smacked me in the ass.
Want candy before bed? Sure. Stomach hurts from eating candy before bed? Probably should learn from that, kid. Want to open your Christmas presents the night before because you can’t wait? Sure. Now you have to sit through everyone opening presents on Christmas morning without a single gift left for you. Well, you should remember that sad feeling next year, kid.
Though not most parents preferred childrearing method, it worked for our family. I got what I wanted, but I also learned giving myself whatever I desired often led to preventable negative consequences.
That’s what happened with Ramona. I wanted her and tried lying to get her. I failed because—well, I’m not sure how she figured it out. I suspect someone snitched on me. Ramona was eyeballing her phone before the tide turned on my great plan.
Even after I lost control of the situation, I tried bullying her into giving me a square shake. Except I don’t have the stomach to deal with a woman looking at me in the way Ramona did. Abject terror, like something out of a horror movie, is how I’d describe her expression when I said I wanted her.
I took my shot, failed, and now need to adjust to the consequences. I should have gotten to know Ramona through Kelsi, but that would take patience. I wanted Ramona instantly and might have lost her for good.
But there was something in her reaction to me—before the terror—that hinted to the possibility that I can fix what I fucked up.
After getting Ramona’s number from one of the girls at the Saloon, I text her to ask to meet for coffee. She immediately responds with a “no,” as if she’s been waiting for my question.
“We live in the same town. We know the same people. Why not fix things so we can be on friendly terms?” I text, playing the reasonable guy that women seem to like.
Ramona doesn’t respond immediately. I almost think she’ll ignore my text, but then she replies with, “Fine.”
I ask to meet for coffee again to make up for her losing her cup. I noticed her expression when she dropped it. Right then, I knew she grew up poor. Taylor once cried when her last tater tot dropped on the ground. When you have nothing, every tiny thing you get becomes very important.
Ramona agrees to meet me after her shift, but I still expect her to stand me up. I wait at the coffee shop, dressed in my normal black T-shirt and jeans. Worried about being the one who looks like a fool today, I hope she doesn’t feel the need to punish me by not showing.
Instead, Ramona appears from the station’s front door, starts walking across the street without looking, nearly gets hit, and then finally arrives at the coffee shop. I make a mental note to keep watch over her when we’re around roads. This woman enchants me, but she refuses to look both ways before crossing. That’s little kid knowledge 101.
“Do you want the same coffee as yesterday?” I ask when she plops in the seat across from me and pouts.
Shrugging, Ramona looks around and gives a slight nod to a thin man with fair blond hair and a pale goatee. I recognize him from somewhere, but most people in Shasta still blur together in my head. The guy sits alone, messing with his phone. I catch him glancing at Ramona when I return with the drinks.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” she asks, tugging at her loose red shirt. “I mean, we’re friendly now. That’s cool.”
Ramona is so nervous that she’ll no doubt knock over her coffee soon. I take her hand in mine and run my thumb over her palm. She wants to pull away, but she’s scared. Kelsi said Ramona hates bikers, and that’s why she won’t date them. Based on the look in her dark eyes, I’d say this woman fears bikers more than she hates them. I swear she’s about to cry, but she doesn’t pull away her hand.
“I should have been honest,” I say as my thumb makes little circles of pressure against her hand. “I thought I could charm you so much that you’d forget about your aversion to bikers and Reapers in particular. It was fucking dumb, but that was my plan.”
Ramona must hear something she likes because she stops looking at me as if I’m death incarnate. “I’m not an option,” she says, sounding nervous. “You seem nice, but I’m just not in a good place for dating anyone, you know?”
“Because of your father?” I ask without stopping the pressure on her hand. I catch her glancing at where I’m touching her. She breathes faster, but I’m not sure if she’s scared or aroused.
“It’s not that. I’m sure you’re a nice biker with great intentions. But, see, I had a boyfriend in Cleveland that I’m still hung up on, you know? He and I are over, but I just can’t let him go in my head. That’s why I’d be fine with being friends, but dating you or anyone just isn’t an option, you know?”
Two things. One, Ramona is full of shit. She was hardcore flirting with me yesterday. If I’d asked her to go to dinner, she would have dropped everything and said yes. We were clicking just right, even if I had to watch everything I said. So, there’s that.
And two, Ramona didn’t say “you know” one time when we spoke yesterday, but she can’t stop saying it now. The more she lies, the more she says it. That’s a pretty obvious tell, and I’ll help her learn to get rid of it one day.
“Is that breakup why you came back to Shasta?” I ask, letting her lie so I can gain her trust.
“Partly. I mean, you obviously know the main reason.”
“What would that be?”
Ramona studies the Emporium, looking for spies. I catch her gaze pause on the guy, but then she focuses on me.
“My dad died, duh. And my mom fell apart, duh. And you had everything to do with that, duh.”
I fight a smile. Ramona wears the sexiest annoyed expression in the history of women ever. Her “duh” makes my dick hard.
“Your father died because he didn’t want to hand over control of Shasta to the new club. The other Skullz bowed down, and they’re alive and kicking. I’m not really the one to blame here,” I say, unable to fake sympathy when it comes to Fuse. I know I should feign sensitivity. It’s her fucking dad, after all. If someone pushed my dad out, I’d be livid. But something about Fuse just irritated me, and I can’t pretend otherwise.
Ramona stops watching where I still rub her palm and frowns at me. “What about Candyman?”
“He pulled a knife in a fistfight. The man should have known better.”
Glancing around again, Ramona doesn’t know how to respond. I bet she had responses rehearsed for me. Except I’m not saying what she expected, so she just stares for a minute.
“He felt me up when I was twelve, so fuck him,” she whispers and then starts to pull away her hand before deciding to leave it in my care. “Well, I guess, I don’t, like, blame you or whatever. I mean, it’s your fault, sure, but I don’t care about club business. It’s not about that.”
“It’s about how your heart got broken by that guy in Cleveland,” I say when she seems to lose track of her lies.
“Yeah, he and I didn’t make sense, you know? Still, I lo–cared for him a lot.”
“I understand.”
“Has anyone ever broken your heart?”
&nbs
p; “No, but I’ve watched other people get theirs broken.”
“Who?”
Smiling, I shrug. “Fine. I haven't watched it happen. Not a romantic broken heart anyway.”
“What other kinds are there?”
I study Ramona’s little hand in mine. My gaze moves to her wrists, covered in metal and rubber bracelets. I’m relieved not to spot any of those colored rope deals the sweet butts wear.
Soon, I lift my gaze to meet hers. “I don’t normally talk about this with anyone.”
“Sure,” she says, clearly thinking I’m fucking with her.
“It’s about my mom,” I say, and her gaze softens immediately. “I don’t know if you’re close with yours, but I fucking adore my mother. She loves me so much, and that made me strong. Like no matter how much I fuck up in life, she’ll always think I’m wonderful. She provided me with a safe place in the world.”
Based on Ramona’s expression, she never felt that way with her mother. I assumed Fuse was a turd father. His other daughters—whose names I can never remember—are spoiled brats who were genuinely shocked that spitting at Shelby and Taylor might lead to them getting their asses chased out of a strip mall. Those fapsocks had life too easy.
Not Ramona, though. She grew up poor, feeling unsafe. Is that why she feared me so much yesterday?
“How was her heart broken?” she whispers as if I’m sharing a secret that she won’t ever tell.
I think of how to word my answer. Ramona is a stranger to me, and my mother’s problems are private. If this woman was anyone else, I’d never tell her shit. Ramona, though, is special. I knew that the moment I saw her, and I’m even more convinced now.
“My mother was hurt as a child,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “A man saved her from that bad situation. He helped her find a family who’d take care of her. She was still troubled, though. Some things just don’t go away, no matter how much therapy and love you get.”
Ramona literally holds her breath while I speak. I wait for her to exhale before I continue.