by Bijou Hunter
“Well, maybe your parents are special.”
“Or your parents suck.”
I know I fucked up as soon as the words leave my mouth. Edgy now, she asks, “Why are you into me?”
“Because you’re beautiful, and there’s something sad about you that makes me feel as if I can be a big hero by saving you. Then I act like an asshole, and you get that sad look, so maybe I’m not hero material.”
“Is this where I feed your ego by claiming you’re an obvious hero?”
“No. It’s where you say you don’t need to be saved.”
“Wait, will you buy that?” she asks, turning away just as she smiles. “I don’t think I can sell that lie after I got so moody earlier.”
“You’re not sad right now, though,” I say, inching closer until she’s stuck between me and the fridge.
Giving me the once-over, Ramona shrugs. “No. It comes and goes.”
I step back and let her breathe. “I wanted everything to be perfect with you. Every time something goes a little sideways, I get agitated and react like you’re the problem.”
“Why can’t we just hang out and have fun and not worry about perfect?”
“Because you’re Fuse’s daughter,” I blurt out, and she instantly gets that scolded look. I try to salvage her mood by saying, “You’re putting up with a lot of shit to be seen with me, and I want to be worth the effort.”
Ramona’s uneasy expression softens, and she allows a little smile again. “That first day when you were lying. Then even today, when I don’t think you are. It just seems as if you’re trying too hard. Like you want to control everything. Is that how you usually are?”
“No,” I mutter. “Like with that girl from Ellsberg. I didn’t worry about anything.”
“Then you’re just like this because of what happened with my sisters?”
I give her a lying nod. I do feel guilty for putting her in a bad situation. That’s on me, but it’s not the main reason I get so worked up.
Every time I see Ramona, I get the distinct impression that she’s in danger. Not from some outside threat—though clearly there’s some of that—but mostly I sense she’s messed-up and needs protecting. It’s her moods or her shitty childhood with parents who didn’t raise her right, or maybe it’s something that happened in Cleveland. Hell, she might just be fucked up because Fuse died, and she hasn’t processed her grief yet.
I don’t know exactly. Yet I feel as if I need to keep Ramona close to me. I don’t trust her to survive otherwise, and she already owns my heart. I’m so afraid of losing her before I’ve even technically made her mine. That’s why I’m temperamental and pushy and unsure. Fear is making me weak, and weakness makes me act like an asshole. Which only makes me feel like shit for scaring her. Then I get more afraid, and shit gets worse.
Ramona watches me, and I wonder if she can tell I’m lying. Do I have a very obvious tell? No, if I did, my friends would have told me. Shelby takes her big sister job very seriously. No way would she allow her little brother to walk around exposed with an obvious lie detector test for all to see.
“I’ve never felt this way for a woman,” I say, picking my words carefully. “I don’t want to mess up with you, but I have no experience caring this much. I think that’s why I seem as if I’m trying to control everything. I’m worried I’ll fuck up without the chance to un-fuck my fuckup.”
“But I already gave you another chance when you fucked up. Shouldn’t that mean you should worry less now?”
“No, because it’s like I already have a strike against me.”
“What if I promise not to hold that first day against you?”
Ramona looks like a tough chick, and she plays the role well on the radio, but she’s got the softest heart. I don’t know how she hasn’t been torn apart in this town yet.
Since the moment I saw Ramona, I’ve felt an intense responsibility for her. That made no sense. It probably still doesn’t, but I’m even more certain that my job is to make this woman happy.
THE LEGACY
Shane finally settles down when we sit at my small kitchen table with our reheated meals. First, he shows me videos of his adorable little dogs—Hansel and Gretel. He says Shelby and he loved the story of a brother and sister watching out for each other in a hostile world. That’s why they chose those names for their dogs.
Then he shows me pictures of Shelby and their friend Taylor. I recognize the women from around town. His sister is a busty brunette with a big smile. Taylor is a tall, lean woman with feathered blonde hair. They both have that casual beauty of women comfortable in their skin.
Finally, Shane shows me photos from an RVing trip he went on last summer. I study the pictures of his parents and River. I suspect the last person is Shane’s main concern. Will I start humping the camera when I get a look at his sexy best friend and club president?
No, River doesn’t inspire me to hump anything. I’ve actually seen him on several occasions around town. He’s a good-looking guy—big, blond, and beautiful—but I was mostly worried he might fuck with me in some way. Fuse pissed people off, but he was no longer around to punish. I planned to keep my head down with River and the Reapers.
Then Shane showed up and placed a huge target on my back. Yet whenever he smiles, I forget all about the trouble I’ve dealt with since meeting him.
Despite our earlier tension, the next hour is easy. We act like normal people on a date, talking about family, movies we like, and stuff we hate. Shane stops trying to micromanage our every moment together. Earlier, I thought maybe we couldn’t work because he’s too high-strung while I’m not emotionally capable of dealing with someone in constant need of reassurance.
Before Shane can seem too chill, he makes a very Shane-like move by insisting he joins me for Hilly’s walk.
“I don’t want to leave yet,” he explains while I locate the leash.
Glancing at him, I get the impression he wants to see where my sisters jumped me. Or he wants the same people who saw that happen to see us now. Shane is always thinking big picture while I’m focused on what happens the very next second.
“Where was the dog when your sisters were acting like bitches?” he asks as we walk along the railroad crossing.
“He ran home when they showed up. That’s how my friends knew I was in trouble.”
Shane frowns down at the oblivious dog. “My dogs bark something fierce, but they’re useless in aggressive situations.”
“You don’t seem like a small dog person.”
Shane gives me a smirk. “A few years back, my dad had to break up a meth distributor’s business. The guy had a bunch of purebred puppies, and Shelby adopted all six of them. She then gave the puppies as gifts to people who didn’t want puppies. I was one of them.”
“So, are they both yours?”
“Technically, Gretel is mine, but the dogs don’t give a shit. They think Shelby is their mommy. Hansel is technically River’s, but the dog doesn’t even like him.”
“Why not?”
“Hansel is bitchy.”
Grinning at his tone, I’m startled when he stops walking. “This is where you were jumped by those fapsocks.”
“So, you saw the videos, huh?”
Shane’s ferocious expression makes me step back. “My sister and Taylor will get payback for you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Too late.”
“Did I look super lame in that video you watched?” I ask, inching back in response to his rage-filled gaze.
“You looked badass, but there were two of them, and they’re cunts.”
I should stop walking backward, but he’s freaking me out. The pain in my face is a frequent reminder of how unfun violence is in the real world.
“And they hurt you,” he says in barely more than a whisper.
This softened tone is the only reason I don’t flinch when he touches me. Shane is sending wild signals. I’m not sure if he plans to kiss me or throw a punch. H
e radiates violence, but his fingers feel like feathers against my cheek.
“I can see the bruising more now.”
“I should have reapplied my makeup before we took a walk,” I babble, stuck between fear, attraction, and hope.
“You’re so beautiful,” Shane whispers and brushes my tender lips with his thumb. “That’s not the makeup. Or your hair. It’s just you.”
I feel those different emotions come crashing down all at once. Life is easier when it’s just the Band. Other people leave me spiraling. I know Shane could end me in more than one way. He’s dangerous, and I just want to live my life in peace.
Yet I can’t look away, and I never want his fingers to leave my flesh. I’m falling hard, and it feels great. The painful impact at the end of this ride can wait for another day.
THE ROMANTIC
Ramona’s eyes fucking glow as we stand at the railroad crossing. She is putty in my hands, and I see her stepping away from that edge she’s always lingering near. This is the shit I’ve been dreaming of for weeks. Ramona looking at me as if I’m a dream come true.
Then her chickenshit dog growls at people nearby, and the spell is broken. Ramona remembers she exists in an often-hostile world. The edge returns to her gaze. She’s overly aware of people watching us.
I’m not a shrink. I don’t know how to fix anyone. My mom was fucked up when I was born, and she remains fucked up today. I didn’t fix her. My love helped her find her smile, though. That’s all I could give her.
“How are your lips?” I ask when Ramona steps back.
She doesn’t understand the question. Tired now, she just looks around and then down at Hilly, who hides behind her as a bigger dog and its owner pass nearby.
“I’m going to kiss you,” I say, and Ramona suddenly remembers I’m right in front of her.
Her lips curve into a smile. The light in her eyes returns. She’s back with me.
Ramona needs affection. That’s easy. I can think of no better way to spend my days than keeping this woman close by and giving her all the kissing, hugging, and fucking she requires.
The heat of our kiss reawakens my dick, reminding me of how recently her lips were wrapped around it. I ought to just pick her up and walk back to her house, where we can spend the rest of the night in bed.
Except Ramona is a product of Shasta. She never really relaxes. That’s what I noticed about this town. Everyone’s always edgy. They smoke pot, drink booze, pop pills, and fuck anything nearby. Everyone is frantic to distract from whatever the hell keeps them agitated. I swear some of the desperation comes from the rendering plant’s constant smell clinging to everything.
“Do you like it here?” I ask Ramona when she peels herself off me and starts walking back to the house.
“Do you mean the Railroad?”
“Or Shasta in general.”
“Yes.”
“Because your family’s here?”
“Yeah, and I know where everything is and who most people are. It helps me plan my days.”
“Plan them how?”
Ramona shrugs. “I wake up and think about what my day will look like, and I prepare for the stressful stuff. Living here makes picturing everything easier.”
Walking slowly to keep pace with a clearly tired Ramona, I scan this part of town. The Railroad isn’t as rural as the shitty part of Ellsberg. There are lines of houses and businesses, some nearly on top of each other. The smell from the rendering plant is stronger on this side of town, and I hear a train in the distance. The Railroad is a dump, but there’s an eclectic appeal to this part of Shasta.
I’m about to ask if I can stay over when I notice new vehicles in the driveway at her house. Inside, we find Hugh, Kelsi, and another girl sitting on the couch. There’s a familiarity between the four of them that instantly puts me on the outside. I assume this is how people feel when they’re around the Fearsome Foursome. Maverick often mutters about feeling like a fifth wheel. Now I’m that guy.
“Shane, this is Max,” Ramona says and gestures to a pink-haired girl wearing oversized glasses and a floppy sweater.
Clearly trying to ugly-up her good looks, Max also might be shy. She refuses to look at me. Kelsi avoids eye contact too. Hell, even Hugh only glances at me before returning his attention to the TV, where they play a game.
Ramona tugs me toward the kitchen and away from her friends. “Did you still want to see me on Sunday?”
I open my mouth to ask why that’s even a question. Then I realize she’s segueing into me getting the fuck out of her house. I’m ready to feel annoyed until my brain suggests that I not take every little thing fucking personally. Ramona probably wants to gossip with her friends about our first real date.
“I can pick you up,” I say while my fingers caress the hickey I made earlier on her throat. “We’ll check out my creepy house, so you can see it’s not really creepy at all.”
“Will your sister be there?” she asks, sounding nervous.
“Yeah, and the dogs. Probably the ghosts Shelby claims live with us too.”
Ramona stops gnawing at her tender bottom lip when I mention the dogs and then smiles about the ghosts. “Your house probably is haunted.”
“Why, because it’s creepy looking?”
“No, because people died in it,” she says and then glances at where Hilly laps at his water bowl. “But most houses in Shasta are older. I bet people died in many of them.”
“Who died in my house?”
Ramona’s eyes widen. “Don’t you know?”
“No. I didn’t pick it. River and Taylor did.”
“The original owner killed himself there. Later, like in the seventies, a guy OD’d there during a party. Then a few years back, a husband killed his wife and then himself. They might have killed their kid too. Those are the only ones I’ve heard of. That house is old. I bet it has plenty of stories.”
Exhaling roughly, I shake my head. “Please don’t mention any of that to Shelby, will you? She already can’t sleep. She’s convinced there are ghosts in the house. If she thinks there’s some basis for her fears, she’ll only feel worse.”
“Or maybe knowing that she isn’t imagining things could help her.”
Ramona’s concern for Shelby hits me in the gut. I don’t know if I could ever love a woman who didn’t get along with my sister.
“But there aren’t any ghosts,” I say after taking a moment to run my fingers down Ramona’s soft cheek. “Shelby’s just stressed about moving and doesn’t like to admit she’s stressed.”
“How do you know there aren’t any ghosts?”
“Well, I've lived there for as long as she has, and I’ve never felt anything. River hasn’t either.”
“Maybe you’re just too masculine to notice.”
Grinning, I lean down and kiss her. “Well, there’s that for sure.”
After sucking on my tongue for a minute, Ramona walks me out to my Harley. She frowns at the bike for a few seconds and then asks if we can meet rather than have me pick her up.
“No.”
“I’m afraid to fall off, you know?”
“I’ll drive slow, and you can hold on tight,” I say, wondering about the real reason she remains hesitant about riding my bike.
Studying my Harley, she runs her fingers over the leather seat. I notice the skin on her right middle knuckle is busted. How had I not spotted that earlier? What other injuries did I overlook? I feel as if I should have memorized every inch of Ramona, but I keep getting distracted by my temper.
Kissing her for a little longer, I really wish I could stay. Or better yet, I could take her home with me. She’d be safe, and I’d be comfortable.
But we’re nowhere near the point where she can just move into my room, and I can keep an eye on her 24/7. Hell, we’re still acting like our second date requires logistical support to organize.
I leave her house, drive two blocks before circling back, just for one last look at where Ramona lives. Finally, I head to m
y house, where I find Shelby and River in the backyard with the dogs.
“How was your date?” he asks, stretched out on a bench with his feet resting on a nearby chair.
“I’m falling hard for Ramona.”
“Sap,” he taunts.
Shelby looks up at me from the ground where she brushes Gretel. “Ignore that lonely bastard. It’s good that you’ve found someone who makes your cold dead heart beat faster.”
“How can it beat at all if it’s cold and dead?” River asks.
“Stop antagonizing people,” Shelby mutters, fixing the bow attached to the dog’s ear. “No one wants to wrestle with you.”
“Are you sure? Shane looks like he could use a way to work out his blue balls.”
“They’re not blue.”
“Man, the women in this town sure do hand it out quickly.”
I’m about to launch myself at River and give him a solid ass-kicking for talking shit about my woman. Then Shelby snaps her fingers.
“He’s baiting you, little brother. If you give in, he wins,” she says and then flashes a smile at River. “Don’t give that troublemaker even an inch.”
Shelby is one of the few people who successfully puts River in his place. I fall for his shit on a regular basis. He plays me so damn well. Shelby, though, made clear, even when we were kids, that I’ll always come first. To protect me, she’ll cut River off at the knees every damn time.
That’s why—despite her erratic behavior and well-worn oddities—River views her as one of his closest advisors. She might not be technically part of the club, but she’s the one person most willing to straight-out tell him when he’s about to fuck up.
That’s how the Fearsome Foursome works. We all play our roles. I’m sure it’s similar for the Band. Right now, they’re the people Ramona listens to, and I just hope none of them are trying to cut me off at the knees.
THE CHAPTER WHERE TROUBLE LINGERS AT THE EDGES
THE LEGACY