by Marata Eros
I don't even need to wonder; it's easy. “I'd say yes.”
“See? My exact point. You're a junk-food addict.”
I curl a strand of hair around my finger. “Yeah. I blame my parents.”
Sam snorts. “Agreed, they're health nuts. And you're clearly rebelling.”
“Clearly,” I answer in a droll voice and lie back on the couch, squeezing my legs next to Sam's again.
“You've boxed me in. I can't get to the freezer for ice cream now.”
I roll my eyes at Sam. “You're too lazy to bother, and you're hoping I do it instead.”
“Yes.”
Rolling off the couch, I slouch over to the freezer and tear open the thirty-year-old door.
Ben and Jerry's. The Tonight Dough.
Holy shit!
I squeal, and a curly head pops up over the sofa table. “What?”
“The Tonight Dough!”
Sam sinks back down, hiking her feet on the back of the couch. “Hells yes.”
“Can we share a pint?” I ask, digging around between the frozen food, sausage, and ice cream bars.
“No. Get your own pint.”
“So selfish.” I'm grinning.
“Yup.”
Carrying two pints of my favorite ice cream on the planet, I swipe two spoons out of the silverware drawer then walk back to the couch. I plop down, and Sam swings her legs over and plants her feet on the floor, curling her toes in the worn high-pile carpeting.
“What?” I ask, handing her a pint plus a spoon. “You can't just lay around and spoon it in?”
Sam shakes her head, lifting the spoon to make her point. “I have to draw the gluttony line somewhere.”
“Not me.” I scoot against the armrest and draw my knees up, balancing the cold pint on my tummy. Digging for my next spoonful. I groan in relief from the flavor burst. Yum.
We eat in silence for a couple of minutes, then Sam asks, “What's Trainer's real name? You said that guy that busted into your condo was Noose. Why do they all have weird names?”
“You've seriously never seen the MC show, Sons of Anarchy.”
“No, I like to be non-conformist. You know this.” Sam stabs her spoon in the melting ice cream, doing a slow spin, then loads the utensil. “If lots of people like a show, I don't want to be common.”
The bite disappears.
“No fear there,” I mutter.
“I heard that.” Sam licks her spoon then drops it inside the pint, setting her carton on the slim wood table that runs behind the the couch. “Halftime,” she announces, hand to her flat stomach.
“His name's Brett Rife, but he corrected me early on. I've been using Trainer since the first day I met him.” I stare down at my empty pint—impressive, even for me. “I've got more appetite.”
“I wonder why?” Sam asks, voice as dry as the Sahara Desert.
I cock my head, giving her the wide-eyed innocent look, setting my empty carton next to her half-eaten one.
“Brett Rife,” Sam repeats, ignoring my feigned innocence as a faraway expression takes her attention elsewhere.
“What?”
She gives a small startle and shake of her head. “Nothing. Thought the name sounded vaguely familiar.”
“Well, he does have a court possibility.”
Sam shakes her head a second time. “Nope. Don't know about ʻpossiblesʼ or dates that futuristic or vague.” She shrugs, tucking a curl behind her ear and bending her knee to join her thigh. “It's nothing. I hear a ton of names in court, and sometimes, they get scrambled.”
“Brett Rife isn't a super-common name,” I remark.
“No, but Brett's pretty common.” She gets that distant expression again. “I don't know… something about the combo.” Sam shakes her head again, curls bouncing. “Weird.”
A quick check of my cell says it's already eight o'clock at night. I groan. “Why am I doing this?”
“The teaching?”
I nod.
“Because you help people. And there's Trainer.”
“Who you don't want me to date.”
Sam laughs, and I look at her. “The jury's out.”
“Cute.”
“Just be cautious.” Sam's face crumples. I wrap my arms around her, speaking to air. “I'm not going anywhere, Sam.”
“I can't lose you too, Krista. I couldn't survive it.”
I know that. “I'm not going anywhere.”
“Be more careful for me, since you have no self-preservation instincts.”
I pull away, scowling. “That's not true.”
Sam searches my face. “You've always trusted everyone. Just because you see them, doesn't mean they see you. It's about perspective, and so few share yours, Krista. So few.”
“I'll be okay.”
But her words follow me all the way to the condo.
Like a portent.
Chapter 18
Trainer
“What the fuck?”
Feels like my head will explode.
Noose betrayed me. He went to Krista's place and scared her.
“Calm down, Trainer.”
I can't. Feels like my blood is boiling. I feel sick. I trusted him. “I thought we had each other's backs.”
Noose rakes a palm over his hair, screwing it six ways to Sunday, as Vipe always says.
“Fuck yes, we do. That's why I went over there—had to set her straight.”
“No, you fuckinʼ didn't!” I yell, pacing away from him so I don't murder the big fucker. “She's innocent, Noose.”
“No woman is innocent, Trainer. Look around.”
I don't look through the one-way glass of the church room to where I can take my pick of clubwhores. “Those ladies have a goal. Krista just wants to help people.” My hands fist.
“That's true, Trainer. But listen to me. She's got some history with this mouthpiece I don't like.”
“Allen.” My hands loosen then clench again.
“See? You're already wanting to pound this guy's brains in.”
“Not funny.”
Noose grunts. “Sorry, I wasn't thinking about the stepdad.”
I turn my head back toward Noose, giving him my profile. “That's too good a name for him. He was just the latest guy.”
“Gotcha. Lived the same deal.”
Facing him now, I look him in the eye. Maybe I have him by a half inch, but we're close. “But your mama wasn't in the mix of my horror story.”
Noose spreads his hands. “Don't remember her much. Died before I got grown.”
“Was she…” I look down. I can't say whore—not about Mama—though it's the bald truth.
“Yeah.” Noose doesn’t make me finish.
My shoulders slump in relief. “All I'm saying is, stay away from Krista.” I add through my teeth, “Please.” Because I really want to sock him for messinʼ in my life.
“I'm lookin out for ya, is all.”
Our eyes meet. “When it comes to her, don't.”
“You got it bad?”
“What?” I ask, having a sense of what he might be fishing for.
“Pussy fever.”
I shake my head. “Got plenty of ladies around to help me with that.”
“Trainer.”
“Yeah,” I answer, half-barking.
Noose smirks. “Got news for ya. They're not ladies.” He swipes a hand over his nape, giving me a look that says, “Get real.”
Probably. I meet his eyes, still wanting to defend my thinking. “Krista's a lady.”
Noose keeps staring at me. “Had a good weekend?”
“Amazing,” I admit in a whisper.
He snorts, checking out my crotch and giving me a chin lift.
I frown.
“Simmer down, pal. If it feels like you want your woman permanently impaled on your dick, you got it bad.”
A visual rises inside my brain of Krista riding my cock all the time.
Gives me a boner.
Sorta embarrassing. “Some
limitations with that.”
Noose shouts out a laugh from his belly, folding his arms. “Not literally, Trainer. Just feels like that'd be any guy's dream woman.”
I flick my eyes at his then look away. Swallow. “That how ya feel about Rose?”
“Yeah.”
That's what I like about Noose. He doesn't complicate everything with a bunch of words that hurt my brain.
Krista uses lots of words, but they don't punish me.
“Came on pretty strong with Krista.”
I glare at him.
“Didn't hurt her, but she's got fire.” Noose chuckles, lighting up, and jets a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
“Vipe's gonna kill you if he catches you smokinʼ.”
“Yup.” Noose starts popping rings. First one large ring, followed by a medium ring with a tiny ring floating inside.
Sometimes simple things get my attention and hold it prisoner. When Noose does rings, I never think of what the Arnies did with their lit smokes.
Noose is the first smoker who doesn't remind me of those freaks.
His gray eyes slim to razors on me. “What?”
“Nothin.” Not talking about those demons. Even with Noose.
“Chill. Not asking about shit you don't want to talk about.”
Tension slides out of me. He never presses.
“You coming over for pancakes before church?”
I nod.
“Bring Krista. Rose won't give a fuck.”
Rose is nice. I especially like the kids. Charlie shows me his toys and never makes fun of how I talk and shit.
He reads. An eight-year-old kid.
I take a deep breath. Krista promised me I can learn. Hard not to go over our first twenty sight words.
I remember again how she said I'll dream about my learning pretty soon. Didn't tell her I was dreaming about her instead.
A smile curls my lips. Probably don't want to tell her that.
Krista will think I don’t want to be taught. I didn't at first, but she's made me want to be something more.
A better man.
“What's that shit-eating grin ya got goinʼ?” Noose asks.
My head jerks up. “What? Oh, nothing… I—” I scratch my head then drop my hands next to my ass that's leaning on the solid wood church table. “Just thinking that I'm doinʼ okay on the learning part, but Krista's helping, but not helping.”
“Pussy fever,” Noose repeats, folding his arms over his built chest.
I cross my arms, matching him. “Well, yeah, I like that.” I look out the one-sided viewing glass, watching Crystal walk by, hot as ever, and I'm not that into her. “Love that, actually.”
Noose is quiet, snuffing out the last cigarette and lighting another one.
He watches the girls.
“Do ya miss fucking the sweet butts?”
“It was easier,” Noose admits, and I look away from Crystal and turn my attention to him.
“This loving shit is complicated. But at the end of the day, there's no choice. And the good parts… they're so fuckinʼ good.” His voice lowers to a wistful thread.
“Like what?” Never had a normal family life. Weird to think there's something different out there.
“Like when your flesh and blood falls asleep on your chest.” Noose takes his free hand and folds it over his heart. “And the baby smells like new life and powder and soap and your wife, all rolled up into this fucking awesome scent pill. A man never gets tired of that. Then there's this fucking awesome chick that gives an actual fuck about what you say. Remembers where your bike keys are when you've been searching around for ten minutes. Puts just the right amount of blueberries in your pancakes.” Noose looks at me. “And never seems to have a headache, if ya get my meaning. Fucks like a goddess.”
He smooshes the cig into a Road Kill MC ashtray at the edge of the table.
“So to answer your question: do I miss fucking them?” He jerks a thumb behind him. “Not anymore.”
Then he walks out.
Noose doesn't make speeches.
Unless he's got something important to say.
I review his words for the next half hour, committing them to memory.
He has more experience. Life experience. Not in the bad shit. We're about equal there.
But the good stuff.
His words give me that second seed of hope.
The first was given to me unexpectedly.
By Krista Glass.
*
One week later
“Ya don't call the bitches right away.” Storm erupts from the chair he was sitting in.
I shake my head, leaning back in my seat, and lace my fingers behind my head. Storm's overreactive. Has been since the first day I met him. And kicked his ass. “I've got class today. There's no playing Krista right now, even if I wanted to.” Which I don't. “She's gotta teach me, Monday through Friday.”
“Damn, you're like a captive audience, dude.”
Yeah, but that's one audience I wanna be a part of.
“She hot?”
I think of her beautiful deep-gray eyes, hair so dark brown that it borders black, and the way her pussy looks. Tastes.
I lick my lips. “Yeah.” The one word is deep.
“Holy shit in a sack. That face.”
I shut down my expression.
“Never seen you look soft, man—that's all I'm saying. Hope you're not looking at the bitch with that face.”
The legs of my chair kiss the ground, and I stand, scooping Storm across the table, neck cranked back hard. Tightening my fist, I strangle him with his shirt collar.
Church goes silent.
“Don't fucking call Krista a bitch.”
“ʼKay,” Storm squeaks.
Too much air. Not enough lesson. I know about lessons. I tighten my grip until I feel his Adam's apple flattening.
“Let him live, Trainer,” Wring says dryly from his usual corner. “He doesn't have the smarts to appreciate restraint from a brother, but it'd be a mercy.” His voice is low, cutting like a dull blade across the red field of my vision.
Slowly, I release Storm, and he slaps his palms on the table, coughing up a lung.
I straighten my vest and fling my ass back in the chair.
“Gonna live, ya ʼtard?” Noose says, helpfully slapping him on the back.
Looks like clubbing, actually.
The gavel bangs on the table. “If we're completely finished with the drama, let’s talk about that gun run that Noose and Trainer took care of.” Viper narrows his light-blue eyes on Storm. “You're taking up precious real estate on our table. Get your ass down.”
Storm crawls backward, gets to the opposite edge of where I sit, and sort of falls off the edge.
Lariat grabs him by the seat of his pants, near the belt loop area, and hauls him backward into a seat. “You never refer to a potential old lady as a bitch. Trainer about killed you on principle, yeah, brother?”
Lariat's dark eyes sweep toward me like black high beams. I can see the question on his face ’cause he wants me to.
“Yeah.” I nod my agreement.
“Jesus, I got it! I'm doing all the work, slopping through clean-up detail that makes me puke, watching all the females that—somehow—are the most complicated tail on the fucking planet, and now my partner for almost eighteen months is a brother and about kills me because I called his teacher girlfriend a—”
“Don't,” Wring commands, though he's back to cleaning his nails with a switchblade he is never without.
Storm's mouth snaps shut.
Hell, I remember with crystal-clear clarity when I was right there with him. Didn't whine as much, though. I don't think.
Viper turns to me. “So those guns were a special acquisition. We needed the capital for the next venture.”
Judge has been working with me, and even though Viper is the prez of one of the most aggressive tri-state MCs, he sounds pretty smart, uses words like Judge, who told me that I have t
o listen to the words around the ones I don't get and the meaning of the phrase will come to me. Krista called that “contextual learning.” She says everyone does it, and it's how kids learn new words and their meanings.
Just thinking about her makes me want to leave church.
But there's pancakes, and I'm so nervous about having all the guys meet Noose and his family—Lariat, Wring, and Snare.
They're all the family I got. I have Mama, but she's messed up. And Judge said I can't go near her.
He knows I might kill another Arnie.
Probably right. And I don't want to leave Krista for prison. I know that now.
Had nothing to live for before. But now I got plenty to live for.
Family has never been this close.
“Hey, you awake?” Viper says, not unkindly, but I'm disrespecting him by not giving my attention to his words.
“Sorry, Viper. Got my mind on stuff.”
“Well, get it off stuff. We got another gun run. Bigger—fueled this fucker from the proceeds of the last one. Meeting our Oregon charter. Just a hand-off, but they'll give us an advance because they have a solid buyer lined up.”
“Sweet,” Noose says, fingering his smokes inside the interior pocket of his vest, almost like they’re a lucky charm.
“Don't you fucking light up in here, Noose. Smells like shit even without you smoking.”
I don't look at Noose, but it's not easy.
“On to other news—everyone has their tasks for the gun run?” Viper looks at the front men: Lariat, Noose, Wring, and Snare.
He includes me. “You're going again. Noose said you did well.”
“Okay,” I say.
“What's the time?” Viper cups a palm behind his ear.
I sigh. “Friday night, eight p.m.”
“That's right. Pussy will have to wait. Club shit first.”
We stand, and everyone taps knuckles. Road Kill MC always comes first.
But a part of me—a part I didn't know I had—wants to be with Krista, and I don't like making up shit as an excuse to not be with her.
Unless she'd be my old lady.
Too soon. Just thinking about putting myself out there for a lady makes my pits sweat.
Even if she's the only lady I want.
Chapter 19
Krista
It's a dream.
These past two weeks have been the best of my life.