by Bijou Hunter
“Maybe I do know.”
Ramona studies me. “Do you?”
“Maybe.”
Studying me a little more, she shakes her head. “I don’t think you do. That’s why you don’t know who Pinball is. No, you don’t know. You’re trying to trick me.”
“Why would I want to trick you?”
“To embarrass me and make me feel bad.”
Switching gears, I remember how Ramona stated flat-out that she has poor coping skills and cannot calm herself. If left to her own devices, she’ll sink deeper into the dark, ugly place I see in her eyes. Is that what happened when she hurt her wrists? Did no one help her, and she couldn’t help herself?
“Ramona, I’m selfish,” I say, and she frowns. “I am crazy about you, and I want you, and I don’t plan to let you go.”
“We should break up.”
“No.”
“I want you to dump me.”
“I won’t do that.”
“I’ll dump you, then,” she says weakly.
“No.”
“So, I have no choice?”
“Not when you’re upset and willing to make a bad decision. I know you’ll feel guilty and want to take back your earlier choice. Like you did last night when you didn’t really want to stay over but thought you couldn’t change your mind.”
“I like you,” she says, seeming smaller now. “I like the way you make me feel, but it’s not going to last. I’m scared of how bad I’ll feel when you’re done with me. I think it’ll be easier if you dump me now.”
“I can’t let you go.”
“You will. You’ll throw me in the trash.”
“Why would I ever do that?”
“I’m evil. I do evil shit. I’m just not a good person,” she says, sounding more emotional with each word.
“I kill people and steal my sister’s food. I’m not a good person either.”
Ramona really, really doesn’t want to smile. Except she likes that last part about Shelby’s food. I see her wondering what I’ve stolen, but that bit of curiosity isn’t enough to shake the ugliness in her head.
“People all know,” she says and backs away from me despite again banging against the wall. “They’ll tell you, and you’ll hate me. You’ll know, and you’ll hate me.”
The rising panic in her voice again inspires me to force her into a hug, but my heart says touching her isn’t the right move. She’s on the edge of something dangerous, and I can’t be the reason she falls.
“I’m bad. I do bad things!” she cries in a high-pitched, panicked voice. “I’m stupid, and my friends think I’m a burden, but they’re too scared to ditch me. I’m evil, Shane.”
“We need to stop talking,” I say in a tone that frightens Ramona enough for her panic to switch to fear. “You listen to music when you’re tense. Put on a song.”
My demanding stance intimidates Ramona into obeying. She takes her phone that I hand to her and finds music. I see the way the expression in her eyes shifts immediately at the familiar beats.
“You look ready to drop. Lie down,” I order, and Ramona again obeys. She’s too emotionally spent to fight me. We end up resting on our backs while a song I don’t recognize plays on her phone. I notice her breathing soften, normalizing as the music soothes her.
“The first time I killed a guy, I thought maybe I was a monster,” I say, nearly whispering. “I didn’t feel bad at all about him dying. I was even happy when I finished him off, but then I got numb. Felt dead inside. Started thinking I couldn’t love anyone. I was too cold. I wasn’t human.”
Earlier, when Ramona was the one suffering, she couldn’t stand me touching her. Now that I’m the one sharing my pain, she rests her slim fingers tenderly against my arm. She gives so easily to those she cares about. In the hands of the Band, her open nature is a gift. In the hands of someone less careful, Ramona is just asking to be stomped on.
“I went home and looked at my family and wondered if I really loved them. Was I just this ugly, killing machine with no heart? Except, fucking duh, I killed the guy because he hurt my sister. I couldn’t stand seeing her afraid and in pain. It hurt me, so I hurt him. I wasn’t a monster. I mean, yeah, I’m fucked up and cold when I need to be, but my heart is fucking fine. I love just right, even if I don’t love like other people. Think about all the people who lose a loved one to violence but never get revenge. They follow the system and play things safe. I can’t be like that. That just means I’m not normal, but it doesn’t mean I’m a monster.”
Ramona watches me with tired, sad eyes. “I’m not strong. My tough-girl exterior is bullshit.”
“I don’t need you to be strong. I just need you to be you.”
“You say those words, but we’ll see,” she says and scoots closer.
“Yes, we will.”
“I don’t want to talk about the tattoo.”
“We don’t have to talk about anything. We can just rest while you calm down. Then we can eat breakfast in complete silence. I don’t need you to say anything.”
The rawness in Ramona’s gaze fades until she seems more like herself. Yet I know she still believes we’re doomed once I learn her secrets. Ramona trusts no one except the Band. My sweet promises won’t prove shit until I put in the time and effort. One week in her life isn’t enough. A month probably won’t be either.
Ramona is smart not to trust me. Who am I anyway? A guy she barely knows. I make a lot of big proclamations about how she’s mine, and I won’t change my mind. I probably sound like a fucking idiot. How can I know what I’ll want in a month or a year? Ramona can’t understand because she’s not me. Life hasn’t given her whatever she wanted like it has for me. That’s why I see so clearly, and she remains blind.
Until she’s stronger, I’ll see for the both of us.
THE LEGACY
Shane gets me. Or understands how to calm me anyway. Maybe having a messed-up mom along with a non-vanilla sister and friends helps him figure out my shit.
I can’t be sure how it went down because my brain wasn’t focused on him. Instead, all I could feel was the emotional chaos in my head. I felt myself tumbling deeper into the same shame and panic that I feel whenever I think about that weekend with the Executioners. I try to pretend like it was no big deal. Everyone knows about it. The only people who care are my enemies who call me a cheap whore. Otherwise, it doesn’t matter.
Except Shane doesn’t know yet. Every time he says I’m his or special to him, the worry squeezes my heart, and I revert to fraidy-cat Ramona. The more he cares, the worse I’m bound to feel when he stops.
In contrast to his magical powers to soothe my crazy, I just don’t get Shane. He seems harsh, bossy, and scary, but he’s also tender, protective, and sweet. I can’t figure him out. I’ve known plenty of men, but only one well, and Hugh is nothing like Shane.
After my meltdown, we prepare to head downstairs for breakfast. I feel better once I apply makeup and hide the bruising still under my eyes. Plus, my shorter hair needs way more attention to get it in order.
Shane doesn’t head downstairs while I’m in the bathroom. Instead, he lingers in the hallway and escorts me to the kitchen. He’s so protective that my stress levels lower, and my earlier freak-out feels so silly. I’m sure he won’t even care about that weekend in Elko. Shit like that happens. No biggie. Drama unnecessary. Just chill, Ramona.
We find Shelby and the dogs in the kitchen. One of the animals—I can’t really tell them apart when the girl isn’t wearing a bow—walks over to welcome us while the other remains curled up by the back door. Shelby stops cleaning the dishes and looks at Shane over her shoulder.
“Brawny bruv, we missed you at breakfast. I brought home food for you,” Shelby announces from her spot at the sink. “Of course, I brought a meal for your darling lover. Hard work and compassion for others is what I do. No need to applaud.” After Shane walks over and whispers in his sister’s ear, she snickers and says, “Oh, stop. I am not perfection.”
<
br /> He chuckles at her comment and looks over the to-go containers. “Nice variety, sweet sister.”
I notice their terms for each other and wonder if this is their normal morning routine.
“I didn’t know what Ramona liked,” Shelby explains, returning to the dishes, “That’s why I bought the entire menu. Whatever she doesn’t eat, someone will. Leftovers don’t get left for long around here.”
“True,” Shane says and gestures for me to check out the food. “What would you like?”
Despite my selecting a little of everything—bacon, eggs, sausage, pancakes, hash browns, Shelby really did get everything on the menu—Shane looks at me as if I’m skimping on the food. He wants me to eat more. I see his dark eyes studying the food on my plate and then processing how it’s not enough. I know he’s going to say something. I watch him struggling for the right words. He doesn’t want to bully me, but he wants the end result that bullying would reward him with.
Smiling, I wait to see what he decides to do. Noticing my reaction, Shane rolls his eyes.
“If you want more, there’s more.”
“Thank you. I never eat much in the morning.”
“Our mother is a big believer in a big breakfast,” Shelby says with her back to us. “She heard that a shitty breakfast makes kids dumb, so she force-fed us as much as possible to increase our brain sizes.” Shelby turns and sighs. “I don’t think it worked.”
“I’m plenty smart,” Shane mutters while eating his eggs. “I know all the maths and some of that reading stuff too. Real genius here.”
“Not me,” Shelby says and returns to cleaning. “I got none of that big learning.”
“In Shasta,” I say before popping my morning pill, “dumber is better. If you’re easily distracted, the smell isn’t so bad, and people seem nicer.”
“Yeah, I kinda hate it here,” Shelby mutters, and Shane flashes a worried look at her.
His sister doesn’t see his concern, and he doesn’t say anything about her comment. They just continue what they were doing while I realize warm breakfast foods are actually great.
“I grew up eating cereal,” I say, and Shane immediately smiles at how I choose to share even the tiniest of shit. “Kelsi’s mom always fed her pop-tarts and those French toast slices from the freezer. Man, I felt fancy eating at her place. But I never really ate this kind of stuff. Max doesn’t cook much breakfast for us. When she does, it’s always in taco form.”
“What’s that about?” Shane asks. “The taco thing.”
“Her stepfather owned a Mexican restaurant when she was growing up. He taught her to cook, and she’s obsessed with tacos.”
“Is that place still open?”
Shaking my head, I lower my gaze. “Her stepdad, Eamon, refused to pay protection money to the Skullz, so they burned down his restaurant. I don’t know why he couldn’t rebuild. I think they had insurance, but maybe not.”
“So, what does he do now?”
“He’s dead,” I say and change to a less shitty topic, “Max works over at the Fish Net as a prep cook. She tried getting a real chef job here, but there aren’t any. Max even applied in bigger cities, but she isn’t formally trained, so no nibbles. I don’t know if she’d like the city, though. When she visited me in Cleveland, she seemed frazzled a lot.”
“It’s probably best if the Band stays together,” Shane says, and I have to get up and kiss him for choosing the perfect words.
His startled expression makes clear how Shane isn’t rolling with a solid plan. The guy’s just winging it and seems genuinely surprised by my giddy reaction.
Shelby turns around as I return to my seat. “I have the kind of brilliant idea that makes me wonder why no one else came up with it yet.”
“And what’s that?” Shane asks.
“We should have a get-together at the house and invite the Band. Her people and your people, in one place chilling. Sounds great, I know. You’re welcome.”
Shane glances at me. “They’re your family, and that makes them important to me.”
“Are you just saying that so I’ll sit in your lap again?” I tease, and he shrugs while flashing a little smile. I get up and kiss him again. This time, he insists on moving my chair closer to his so he can lean over and taste me when necessary.
“When should we do it?” Shane asks Shelby, even though his dark gaze remains on me.
“I’m under the impression that Ramona and her friends have real, normal-people jobs that involve schedules and stuff. We should probably organize it around them since we’re a bunch of lazy, biker bums living off the hard work of those who came before us.”
“I work hard,” Shane says, and his sister smiles widely. “Very hard.”
“No one works harder than you, baby bruv.”
“Now, I fully agree that River is a lazy fuck.”
Her smile grows before she sighs dramatically. “It’s his hair. Blond men are just flighty. I blame his blond parents for making him that way.”
“I agree. Our dark-haired parents knew how to raise us well.”
“So well.”
“The best, really.”
“No doubt about that.”
Shane glances around before asking, “Is River somewhere nearby listening, and that’s why you’re drawing this out?”
“He’s in the next room, rolling his eyes, no doubt. I chalk that up to jealousy. Blonds are often the most jealous, lazy people. Wouldn’t you agree, Ramona?”
I’m startled by Shelby’s choice to draw me into their conversation. I should probably lie, but I spend too much time around the Band and just say whatever I want.
“No. My best friends are blond.”
“Wait, I thought Hugh was the tall, dark-haired fellow?” Shelby asks.
“No, he’s the tall, blond guy,” Shane clarifies before adding, “Thin build, shitty goatee.”
“Hey,” I grumble, losing my smile.
“He’s not here, and the guy can’t grow a beard.”
“Well, I’d claim he didn’t have your parents' good breakfast plan, but he grew up with a little money.”
“Really?”
“His parents lived in the Boulders but moved to the Farm when the plant downsized. His dad is a manager there.”
“What’s the Farm?”
“How do you not know?” I ask, frowning at the siblings who frown back at me. “You’ve lived here for half a year, right?”
“I still feel as if I’m only visiting,” Shelby says, and I sense she really doesn’t like Shasta.
“I don’t pay attention to anything that’s not food or club related,” Shane adds while I watch his sister.
“The Farm is the new subdivision located where the corn used to grow and the cows chilled.”
“Does everything have to be named?” Shane asks.
“Of course. How else would people in a small town feel superior to other people from that same small town? The Farm is some money. The Boulders is more money. The Railroad is no money. Downtown is two blocks of cool, surrounded by all that no money.”
“I like the downtown,” Shelby says. “It’s where I get my donuts.”
Shane shakes his head. “I think that’s in the Railroad.”
“That’s what she just said,” Shelby grumbles.
“No, she said the downtown was surrounded by the Railroad. It’s different.”
“That’s pod people talk, Shane. Don’t you dare alien speak at me.”
Shane rolls his eyes and returns to eating. Shelby frowns at him and then considers frowning at me. I watch her struggle with her next step before she finally walks out of the room.
“What just happened?” I whisper to Shane.
“She doesn’t like Shasta.”
“I know, but why was she mad at you?”
“I’m the reason she’s here. If River moved to Shasta, she would have remained in Ellsberg, but I came too. Then Taylor had to come because we came. Shelby had no choice but to follow. Most days,
she’s fine, but I know she’s homesick and hates the smell.”
“I barely noticed it growing up, but it was more obvious after I came back from Cleveland.”
“Did you hate it then?”
“No, I missed it. That stink means I’m home.”
Shane gives me a strange frown. He doesn’t get Shasta nearly as well as he gets me. Despite its small-town, friendly vibe, this place isn’t safe or warm. Shasta is a hard place where a man can work his ass off to create a successful business, only to watch it burn to ash. All because an asshole like Fuse didn’t get his cut. When the best jobs are working for the stinky rendering plant or the violent biker club, there’s little to hope for. That’s why the people here are always drunk, stoned, and horny. There’s nothing else to do in Shasta.
The sooner Shane realizes what a dead end this place is for a guy like him, the better. Even if that means he’ll ditch the town and me with it.
THE ROMANTIC
Ramona hangs out at my place until around noon. As much as I want her nearby at all times, she needs a break. I should probably get one too. Ramona seemed exhausted after our conversation about that tattoo. I should let it go, but I want to hear the story behind it. If I know, I can reassure her that it doesn’t matter.
I can’t help wondering if Kelsi will help me out with this problem. Entering the Saloon around six, I spot her at the bar with Chase. He sees me coming toward them and backs up instinctually. I admit I really fucking love when the old Skullz assholes fear me. None of them have proven their loyalty. So far, they’ve just kept their status in life without losing a fucking thing for the Reapers. That’s going to have to change eventually.
“Want to walk out back?” I ask Kelsi, who nods and follows as if we’re on a mission, and she’s a super-focused spy.
The sun isn’t down yet, and the chilly air makes the often-overwhelming Shasta stench manageable.
I expect Kelsi to blurt shit out as soon as we’re alone, but she just clams up instead. She seems tiny, standing in front of me, gnawing on her red bottom lip. Before I saw her with Ramona, I never thought much about Kelsi. She’s cute, sure, and smiles a lot. Like a lot of the younger sweet butts, she treats the club guys like kings. However, there was nothing special about her until Ramona. Now knowing how tight she is with my woman, I feel protective of Kelsi too. They’re a package deal, just like I am with River, Taylor, or Shelby.