by Ryan Michele
She takes a few steps in front of me. Her round ass has the perfect sway as she walks. I notice men and women alike looking at her. She has this striking quality that I don’t think she sees in herself by the easy way she acts.
Getting through the crowds, Bristyl leads me down a hill, and then farther away from the rally. “You ladies walked this far?”
“Yeah, parking was a bitch.”
“And you were going to walk this far, in the dark, by yourself?”
She seems like a really smart woman, yet that just screams “kill me.”
“It doesn’t matter now because we have you.” When she looks up at me and smiles, the air leaves my lungs. Having that much power directed right at me is a shot to the heart. Not once in my life has this happened. Not once has a woman grabbed my attention so completely. Never once have I realized that a woman is way too good for a man like me. She’s too good and doesn’t need to get mixed up in the biker lifestyle. Even seeing her go after the guy and biting him, and having spunk, she can do so much better. Even for one night. Even for a quickie in the back of her car. Hell, even for a lifetime of those smiles.
Bristyl deserves better than me.
“Here we are.” She pulls out her keys and bleeps the locks, making the interior of the car come to life.
Green walks Leah to the passenger side while I walk Bristyl to the driver’s.
As she turns and looks up at me, her eyes swirl. “Thank you for everything.”
One taste. I want one taste. Is she as sweet as she looks, or is the sin tart to the tongue?
She brings her hands up to my chest, the heat from them sending a shock all the way down to my toes. Then she licks her bottom lip before placing it between her teeth. She wants to kiss me, too, and is giving me the go-ahead.
With the willpower of every fucking superhero ever created, I pull her into my arms, resting her head on my chest. I inhale the scent of some type of flower, burning it to memory. If I kiss her, if I taste her, I won’t be able to stop myself. That’s not weakness, it’s reality.
Giving her another squeeze and using every bit of restraint within myself, I step back out of her grasp, and she looks up at me in confusion.
“You take care of yourself, Bristyl. Don’t get messed up in this world. You’re too good.”
She goes to say something, but I raise my hand.
“Be safe.” I turn and walk away, up the hill and to my brothers who have gotten rid of the problem.
“You mean to tell me that we took on this shit and you’re not even gonna claim her?” my father roars as we’re about to enter the hotel later that night.
I’d already told him what happened and how I played it. Not only is he my father, but my brother as well, and I owe him the truth on both counts.
After Bristyl drove away, I felt a small place inside me turn cold. Even all the pussy in the world couldn’t make it warm, so I decided to go to bed.
“It’s better this way.” I slip the card into the door and open it, my father right on my heels.
“Stay,” he orders Green, who came back with me. Then my father shuts the door and turns the deadbolt.
I toss my keys, wallet, and some junk from my pockets onto the small, round table by the window. Every hotel I’ve ever been in has the same damn things—bed, TV, dresser, chair, and a stupid little table in front of the window.
“Why the fuck are you saying that?”
This isn’t the first time my father’s been angry with me, and it won’t be the last. His lifetime quota has yet to be met. I can’t blame him, either. Although a member, he will always be my father. The choices I make are a reflection of him whether I want them to or not. It’s how the world works.
I fall into the chair and it creaks from my weight. “Dad, look, she lives here in Florida—”
“And?”
“I’m not gonna have her hop on the back of my bike and take her to Sumner when she has no fuckin’ clue what she’s gettin’ herself into.”
“How do you know that? She was at the rally, son.” He sits in the chair across from me.
I shrug. “Somethin’ about her screamed innocent in a way. Or, not tainted from the life. She needs to stay far away from us bikers. I mean, hell, she works at a laundromat for Christ’s sake. That screams clean.”
He sits back in the chair and crosses his arms over his wide chest. His caramel colored hair is getting darker and shows a few gray hairs, but I’m blaming those on my brother and sister. When I was younger, I thought he could move mountains, was the coolest person in the entire world, and wanted to be him when I grew up. Now I am. I’m not the coolest person, but like him—strong, determined, and smart.
He swipes his hand over the scruff of his beard and down his face. “So, what, you’re gonna go home and drown yourself in pussy and booze?”
“If I want to.” Booze doesn’t sound half-bad at the moment.
“When I met your mother, I held a gun to her head.”
“I know this.”
“But what you don’t know is that I claimed her the moment our eyes locked. Come hell or high water, that woman was going to be mine. I didn’t give her a choice. Of course, she could have beat the hell out of me, or at least tried.” He chuckles. “The point is, when you know, you know. But you’re young and have your whole life ahead of you. You sure as shit don’t need to be settling down anytime soon.” My father latches his fingers and places his hands behind his head as I take in his words.
I have no plans of settling down. It was just a feeling I had when she was near me. It doesn’t mean shit.
“I’m not.”
“But, you find the one that makes your life whole, better not fuck that up. That’ll be your biggest regret. Young or not, I taught you to think about everything—every angle.” I let his words penetrate deeply. “Enough of this heart to heart shit. Get some shut eye. We’re leavin’ at eight.”
“Got it.”
My father rises from the chair, stretches, then heads to the door. “And, son?”
“Yeah.”
“Life will lead you where you need to be, or you need to man up and lead it where you want it to go.” He turns toward the door and walks out, his message remaining in my thoughts.
Chapter Nine
Stomping out of my office, my temper is on fire, and Stone is my target. The mechanic shop is fully stocked with everything one would need, and it’s the top place my brother will be. I’ve had enough of his shit. Hell, I’ve had enough with a lot of things; he’s just on top of the list. Lucky him.
“Stone!” My voice is loud, garnering the attention of pretty much everyone in the place, including my father, but that doesn’t stop me.
“What?” he barks back, wiping his hands off on a greasy towel. The classic Plymouth Barracuda is looking nice, but I’m not telling him that. He’s been restoring it for ages, working on it whenever he has down time.
“I fucking told you to give. Me. The. Receipts! I’m missing twelve! Twelve, Stone! I’ve had it. I keep asking and keep asking, and do you do what I ask? No! You completely ignore me to the point that, right now, I have to go to the bank and straighten the books out, because they don’t want to do that many over the phone!”
I’m fully aware I’m losing my shit, but there’s been a lot on my mind the past couple of weeks. The main one: a man who shouldn’t be in my head, but won’t go away and leave me alone. Instead, he invades my dreams. He’s always there. When I close my eyes, when I take a shower—hell, when I drive to work! I’m losing my mind. It has to be the case, because this shit isn’t right.
Add in Leah calling me four, five, six times a day, apologizing for what happened, even though I told her it’s all over now. She’s disconnected her online dating thingy and even changed her phone number to make sure Nick can’t find her. Thank God she didn’t give him her address and faked a last name. At least she was thinking there. The I’m sorry’s are getting old. Like, way old.
Then this damn
bruise on my leg. I didn’t think it was that bad, but the asshole really grabbed me hard, leaving his handprint that turned a greenish purple. Wearing jeans for a week to cover it in this warm weather hasn’t made me happy, either, but no way will my father or brothers find out. It’s over and in the past.
Mr. Draker finished what he said he would, but he didn’t put in enough shutoffs, so now he has to go in and redo it. I mean, how fucking hard is it? Six machines, twelve shutoffs. Six hot, six cold. Done. If I knew how to solder a pipe, my ass would be over there fixing it myself.
Everything is just piling on top of each other, and these receipts have put me over the edge. It feels like I can’t catch my breath.
“Calm down, Bristyl,” Stone snaps, pissing me off more.
“Do you want to go to the bank and sit with that mean teller who has the personality skills of a gnat? Want to sit across from him and go line by line on the credit statement? Because if you do, I’ll be more than happy to let you,” I fire back.
“I have the receipts, just calm your shit.”
“All of them?”
“Yes. What’s crawled up your ass lately? The past week or two, you’ve been a royal bitch.”
My skin prickles. I can feel the top on the kettle about to blow, allowing the steam to rupture.
Several guys around Stone’s car stop to stare at us, but I’m too pissed off to give a shit. The fucks have all gone.
“You …” I take a step closer to Stone, getting in his face.
A steel-banded arm wraps around my waist, and I turn to see my father who picks me up.
“Kiss my ass!” I scream as my father shuts the door to my office with a loud crash after pushing me inside, my hair flying this way and that.
“What is your problem? You don’t act like this, Bristyl!” he fires at me, and it feels like a physical slap. My father, the big brute he is, rarely raises his voice. And more rarely raises his voice to me. He’s calm most of the time, but in this moment, he’s anything but.
“I’m just frustrated.” I rip my fingers through my hair and pull a chuck of it hard, leaving them to rest on top of my head. “I can’t do my job when they don’t do what they’re supposed to do. I’ve had it!”
“You quitin’?”
Startled by his words, I suck in a huge breath then let it out slowly. The anger fades, and my temper cools a touch.
“No, Dad. All I want is the receipts so I can do what I have to do. I hate going down to the bank because it makes me look incompetent at my job. Then it makes the club look bad because your name is on all the paperwork.”
He falls into the chair.
Taking a closer look at him, there are circles under his eyes that seemed to have taken up residence since he and my brothers returned from their run before the rally. The wrinkle on his forehead has deepened a bit and the lines around his mouth.
“You’ll have all the paperwork you need. On each Friday, I’ll have the boys bring you your shit. That solve it?”
Leaning against the wall, I plop my head back on the concrete block, letting every bit of anger release from my body. In its place, a twinge of worry forms. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Gotta chat.”
That catches my attention.
I move to my chair, take a seat, and fold my hands in front of me. Whatever this is, maybe it has to do with the change in my father. It piques my curiosity, yet terrifies me.
“That shit out there in the garage will never happen again. You think doing that shit in front of anyone is okay? You’re damn lucky those are brothers out there and not paying people, or your ass would be in a shitload deeper. You’re not a member of this club. You’re not an ol’ lady. You’re an employee, and you need to learn your place. I’ve been really lenient on you, but after that little tantrum out there, you need to realize where you stand. Gotta toe the fuckin’ line, Bristyl. Keep your shit in check.”
I’m pretty sure, if my father took a knife and shoved it in my chest, twisting it around, it would have hurt less. My entire life has been about the Sinister Sons. When my mom was alive, she let me tag along with her, all the while I only wanted to be a part of this family. My brothers were engrossed in it. My dad let them come to the club all the time with him, but said I couldn’t.
I didn’t understand at the time. When my mother told me it was because my gender and girls don’t become members of the club, I cut my pigtails off so I’d have short hair like a boy. I think I was six or so. It was totally irrational, but being so young, belonging meant everything to me. It didn’t work, of course.
My life has revolved around cookouts, brothers coming to our house, and charity runs where I’d ride on the back of my dad’s bike because my mom didn’t want to go. All of it felt like I belonged, but in the end, I don’t. I’ve never fit in anywhere here, and that realization is a punch to the gut.
In my heart, I always knew it, but never thought about it, taking the avoidance route. Regardless, my father is right. I’m not a part of this. I’m an employee who happens to be the vice president’s daughter and sister to three members. That’s it. However, it’s the fact that my father thinks that way that hurts most of all.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. No way in hell. I’m stronger than everyone gives me credit for. Stronger than this hurt. If anything, it’s making me realize that I somehow need to carve out a life for myself, one that doesn’t include Sinisters. Would that exclude my family, too?
I clear my throat before answering, keeping my tone as low and calm as possible, not allowing an ounce of the hurt to shine through. “I’ve got it. Can I call the bank please and tell them that I won’t be coming?”
My father shakes his head. “I’ll have Stone bring the receipts, and you can apologize to him.”
The hole in my heart grows wider. Not only do I get reprimanded, told I’m not a part of the family I love and have supported, but now I have to apologize? Great, just great. And if I don’t do it, I have no idea what my father will do. Judging from his demeanor, I don’t want to find out, either.
My bed is cold when I climb into it, the sheets cooling my overheated skin. After apologizing to my brother and entering all the receipts, I came home.
Home. It’s not so much that anymore with my mother gone. She left a hole so deep that the warmth she had disappeared. I don’t stop the tears from rolling down my face as I allow myself to miss her. So. Damn. Much. She would’ve had the advice I need. She would’ve pointed me in a direction. She would’ve put her hand out, yanked me out, and stopped me from drowning. She would’ve guided me or talked to my father and see where all of this is coming from.
Grabbing the pillow, I tuck it close to me and cry myself to sleep.
Instead of calling in sick the next day and avoiding work altogether, I go in, do my job, am cordial to people and leave as if yesterday never happened. I get weird looks, and my brothers stay clear of me. There is no way I will let them see they got to me. Not happening. The day goes by quickly, thank God.
As I sit in my living room, twirling my phone, thoughts run rampant.
“You take care of yourself, Bristyl. Don’t get messed up in this world. You’re too good. Be safe.” Cooper’s last words to me make me want to laugh. He doesn’t have a clue that I’m in this shit as far as a woman can get without being in it. Father a VP, brothers are members, Mom was an ol’ lady. I’m too good? Too good for what, exactly? For him? Please.
He has no idea that I grew up with the Sinister Sons. That thought makes me pause, because I kind of like it. I like that I don’t have my association with the Sinisters hanging over my head. I’ve been asked on plenty of dates, but I never get a second date because my brothers scare the piss out of them.
They always say, “Any man who takes my sister out had better be able to stand up to us and show his worth.” Cooper would. He wouldn’t back down from them. He’s that kind of man; I can feel it in my bones. From the way he was at the rally, making sure
we were safe, I know he wouldn’t back down from anyone.
I swipe my thumb over the screen of my phone and go to the recent calls, scrolling down until I find a Georgia number. The same number that called me from the laundromat.
When people call me, they don’t realize they are getting my cell phone. They figure it’s a landline, but what’s the point? Unlimited minutes and all. Not only that, I really don’t get that many calls, and most of the time, they go to voicemail and I return their messages later.
My finger hovers over the number like a magnet, urging me to push it, so I click. A screen pops up with a phone and an envelope. I choose the envelope. Text messaging first. Why not?
I type, Hey, it’s me. Bristyl. Then delete it.
It’s Bristyl from the rally.
Delete.
I’m thinking of you.
Delete fast.
Fucking hell, what’s wrong with me? I feel like a damn teenager, afraid to talk to a boy for the first time. All my thoughts turn into a mangled mess of words.
I type, Hi. Then, before I chicken out, I press my thumb down, sending the message. My damn hands begin to sweat as I wonder if he will text me back or blow me off. He more than likely didn’t save my number in his phone, so he has no clue who it is.
I’m seriously losing it. I met the guy twice. Twice, and I’m acting like a damn fool.
A few moments later, I get a, Who is this?
I reply with shaky fingers, Bristyl
I wait for a response.
And wait.
And wait.
When it doesn’t come, I toss my phone on the table and click on the television. I guess that’s that. Can’t say part of me isn’t let down. It is. Expecting any differently than what I got, though, is on me.
Bye, Cooper.
Chapter Ten
Five hours later, Bristyl’s name still stares back at me from my phone. And hell yeah, shocked doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling. I thought I called a business phone. Wrong.