by Gemma Weir
“I don’t want to change plan, I say quickly.”
“Okay,” Sleaze says, not asking me why or prying.
Without saying anything else, he turns back to the hotplate and drops three more pancakes onto it, flipping them when the batter starts to bubble. A minute later he drops them onto a plate and pushes it toward me. I take it, drizzle some syrup on them and start to eat.
An hour later we pull up to the shop Sleaze said would repair my cell. Climbing out of the truck I head for the door, but Callum darts in front of me pulling it open and rushing inside. I follow after him, heading for the counter, then I stand awkwardly, waiting for the guy behind it to look up from the laptop he’s working on.
“Hey,” he says when he finally lifts his head.
“Hey, I heard you repaired cell phones. Do you think there’s anything you can do with this?” I say, pushing my cell across the counter.
The guy reaches for it, examining the smashed screen and the damaged case. “I can replace the screen, but I’ve got to be honest, the fact that it’s rattling isn’t a good sign. I can open it up and see what’s going on, but the repair will likely end up costing more than a new cell would. Might be time for an upgrade.”
I nod, then take my cell back from him. “Thanks.”
Turning, I find Sleaze stood a few paces back, his hands in his pockets, his leather vest open and showing the plain black t-shirt he has on beneath. He must see something in my eyes because he steps forward and lays a big hand on my shoulder.
“Let’s go, kid.”
I let him lead me from the shop, emotion clogging my throat and making it impossible to speak. It’s only a cell phone, a stupid piece of technology that I can replace. But it’s the last link, the last thing I have from home, from my mom, my dad.
Callum runs along behind us, happy and carefree like all eight-year-olds should be. I don’t know anything about him, or Sabrina, the other kid. I’ve lived with these people for three weeks and apart from eating with them, I know nothing about them. I’ve barely even spoken to them. Yep, I’m an asshole.
Sleaze opens the truck and Callum climbs eagerly into the backseat. I get into the front, remaining silent as Sleaze rounds the hood and climbs in, starting the engine and reversing out of the space. The radio plays quietly as we drive out of town and into winding country lanes. When we pull up to a set of impressive metal gates, Sleaze slows, rolling down his window and waving to a guy sitting at the gate house. Then he pulls forward, driving into the compound, past a big barn and a huge building.
I see the familiar insignia painted on the buildings wall the moment we get closer and it only takes me a second to realize that it’s the same one that’s on the back of Sleaze’s leather vest. “We’re at the club?” I ask, referring to it the same way that both Zeke and Griffin had.
“Yep.”
That’s all he says, that one word like it’s supposed to explain everything. Callum jumps out the moment we stop, racing through the doors and into the building. When Sleaze climbs out, I follow suit, walking into the building when he holds the door open for me. I’m not sure what I’m expecting of a biker club, maybe for there to be half-naked women hanging out, or guns piled in the corner, next to the drugs. Yep, I’m a judgmental asshole.
What I’m not expecting is the inviting smell of BBQ sauce and cooked meat. The whole place smells fantastic and there are groups of guys sat at tables, eating ribs and pulled pork and not doing anything out of the ordinary or biker-ish.
Sleaze walks to a long wooden bar and leans over, grabbing two bottles of something before turning back to me and handing me one. I look down and see it’s a bottle of Bud. I smile, deciding not to point out that I’m not old enough to drink. Instead I twist off the top and take a long pull of the crisp cold beer.
The alcohol immediately takes the edge off and I feel some of the tension melt from my shoulders. Sleaze tips his chin and signals for me to follow him and we walk across the room to a table full of guys.
“Brothers, you remember Valentine.” He says to the group.
The men all nod. One waves and I offer a slight chin dip in return.
“Puck, the kids cell phone had a fight with a wall and lost. Anything you can do?” Sleaze asks a guy with shoulder length white-blond hair.
The guy looks up at me expectantly and I pull my cell from my pocket and hand it over to him. He turns it over in his palm, fumbles with something in his pocket, pulling it out and examining my cell for another second.
“Maybe,” he says handing me the SIM card. “Leave it with me.”
Sleaze nods and then turns to walk away. I look from the guy, to Sleaze, and back again. “Thanks,” I say quietly and the blond guy just nods, then goes back to his food.
I follow Sleaze to the pool table and he gestures to the balls. “Wrack them up.”
The last five minutes has been beyond weird. I’m in a biker club. Callum is nowhere to be seen. I’m drinking a beer, and now we’re apparently playing pool. Fuck it. Shrugging, I place my beer on the edge of the table and pull the balls toward me. I might as well embrace the madness.
It doesn’t take me long to set up the table. The balls are ready to break and I’m waiting with a cue in one hand and my beer in the other. I watch as Sleaze emerges from the door he disappeared behind a few minutes earlier; only now he has a white box in his hand. When he reaches me, he takes my cue from me and hands me the box.
“I’ll break,” he says, nonchalantly leaning over the table and striking the balls with enough force to shatter the triangle I just formed and pot one of the balls into the pocket.
I look away from the table, turning over the box in my hands and jolting with shock when I realize it’s a brand-new iPhone. “I can’t take this.”
“It’s a loan until yours gets fixed.”
“It’s a brand-new cell.”
Sleaze shrugs. “You need a cell, that’s a cell. Yours gets fixed, you give it back. If not you have a cell. Problem solved.”
Anger flares to life inside of me. “What the fuck is your angle, man? You bring me here, give me beer, give me a thousand dollar cell phone, then act like it’s nothing. What the fuck is going on and where is Callum?”
Sleaze chuckles, his smile slow and easy. “Callum’s in the kitchen with Ethan.”
“Who the fuck is Ethan?”
“Ethan’s my son. You met him the day you arrived, but you were too busy being an asshole to actually pay attention to the people you were introduced to.”
“You have a son?” I ask, shocked.
“Yes. Do you want to meet him again?”
His question knocks all the anger right out of me and I just stand there feeling like an idiot.
“Valentine, I know your history is fucked up. I’m not even going to pretend to understand all the shit you’ve gone through in the last few years, but I bought you here because this is as much my home as my house is. This club is full of my family and I’m not biologically related to a single person here. I gave you a beer because you’re not a kid, you’re an eighteen-year-old man and so that’s how I’m going to treat you. I gave you a cell phone because you need one and I knew there were spares in the office from when the club did upgrades on the business plan. That’s it. I don’t have an angle or an ulterior motive. I’m a pretty fucking simple guy. I love my wife, my family, and I love this club.”
This is both the most I’ve heard Sleaze say since the day I met him and also the most emotion I’ve seen him express. “Thank you for the cell phone,” I mutter, feeling like an even bigger asshole.
Sleaze chuckles. “No worries. Let’s play some pool, then you can meet Ethan. Again.”
For the next couple of hours, we play pool, eat great food, and I meet Ethan, as well as a load more of the other bikers. It’s nice. Since I realized that the ‘Club’ wasn’t made up of criminals and murderers, I haven’t really given it any consideration. People have visited the house, but I’ve made no effort to speak to them,
and neither Sleaze nor Brandi has tried to make me.
Today is the first time I’ve thought about how little effort I’ve put into getting to know the people I live with. I’m so used to moving on after a few months and being suspicious of the people around me, that not investing in relationships has become second nature, a defense mechanism to protect myself.
As we drive back to the house, I pull the new cell from the box and slide my SIM into the side. Pressing the button to power it up, I quickly set it up, choosing the language and dial tones. When it beeps to tell me I have a text message I’m surprised.
Nova: If it wasn’t you then who was it?
I gasp, actually fucking gasp. My heart quickens, beating erratically in my chest. Shit, she might not believe it wasn’t me totally, but she’s giving me an opening; a chance to prove I’m innocent, at least of this.
“What’s up, kid?” Sleaze asks.
Unable to speak, I lift the cell up and show him the message. I don’t know why, but it feels right to share with him. Unless it was an act, he believes that I wasn’t responsible for the video, and now maybe so does she.
“Well, damn,” he says quietly. “What you going to do?”
“No clue, but this is good. Right?”
“Yeah, kid, this is good. Any thoughts on who might be behind it?”
“None. The Scions are revered, but they’re not all exactly liked.”
“The Scions?” Sleaze asks amused.
“That’s what the kids at school call Nova, Emmy, Zeke, and Griffin. The Scions. It means the descendants. I looked it up after the first time I heard someone call them it. I don’t think Nova and the others even realize that’s what they’re known as. They’re top tier, the most popular kids in school and everyone wants to be in their circle.”
“Being popular isn’t a bad thing though?”
“No, not really. It’s just that there’s some resentment from the kids on the outside, ones that want to get in. Zeke and Griff play football and Emmy kind of keeps to herself, but Nova…” I trail off not sure how to explain.
“Nova what?” Sleaze presses.
I glance into the backseat, making sure that Callum’s still occupied with his iPad and headphones. “Nova’s kind of a bitch.”
Sleaze laughs, the sound warm and loud and shocking coming from such a badass looking guy. “Princess isn’t a bitch; she’s a sweetheart.”
“At school she’s a bitch. She’s kind of snooty. She acts like she thinks anyone outside of her circle is beneath her and honestly the majority of girls hate her.”
“Holy shit, does she know?”
“Oh yeah, she totally knows,” I answer.
We fall silent as Sleaze maneuvers the truck into the driveway and kills the engine. I follow behind an eager Callum and Sleaze as they head for the front door. “So what you’re telling me is that any of the girls in your class would have taken the opportunity to bring Nova down a peg or two if the chance presented itself?”
I wince, then nod. “Not all the girls; but yeah, there are a lot who’d want to take Nova’s place as the queen if they got the chance.”
Sleaze heads for the family room, leaning over and kissing Brandi’s lips as she’s sat on the couch with Sabrina watching some kind of period drama on the TV.
“So what’s the plan to figure out who it was then? Do you have it narrowed down to a list of kids you think it could be?” He asks, sliding down next to Brandi.
“Henry Thomas is pretty sore after I ruined their date the other day.”
“You ruined a date?” Brandi asks, turning to look at me.
“Did I not mention that yesterday? Remember that night I borrowed your car? Well, I went to where Henry and Nova were having dinner and when she went to the bathroom, I told Henry something that made him leave.” I admit.
“What did you tell him?” Brandi asks, her voice becoming shrill.
I glance at Sabrina, and Brandi reaches over and covers the girls ears with her hands, then nods to me.
“I might have told him that Nova only agreed to go out with him because she was pissed at me and trying to make me jealous.”
Sleaze laughs and Brandi reaches back and smacks his leg. “If that scared him off then he doesn’t deserve Princess,” Sleaze says.
“I might also have mentioned that Nova got pissed at me and kicked me out of bed the weekend before,” I say, attempting to look remorseful and failing miserably.
Sleaze snickers again.
“Okay, so Henry is an option. Anyone else?” Brandi asks, releasing Sabrina’s ears.
“Nova’s friends Brit and Phoebe are massive bitches; it could have been either of them.”
Brandi rushes to cover Sabrina’s ears again, but the younger girl slaps her hands away. “Heard worse.” She says, all of her attention focused on the TV.
“Brit is the one you caused problems with?” Brandi asks.
Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, I may have mentioned some stuff that caused Brit to try to start a coup and oust Nova. They had a big argument and as far as I’m aware they haven’t spoken since.”
“So that’s three potentials. Anyone else?” Sleaze asks.
I think for a minute. “No one that I can think of, but the others would know better than me. Those ones are just the people I’ve fucked with while I was messing with Nova.”
A flash of disappointment crosses Brandi’s face, but it’s gone as quick as it arrives. “You need to speak to Zeke and Griffin.”
“I’ve tried, none of them are answering their cells and they won’t let me in when I go to the house. Nova’s the only one who speaks to me and that’s mainly to ask me why I set the video up.”
“I’ll speak to Liv,” Brandi says.
“No,” I say quickly. “I don’t want to cause any more shit than I have already. I’ll speak to Nova again, see if she can convince the guys to speak to me. Or I’ll just go around there. Sooner or later one of them will come talk to me.”
“Hang on. Nova is speaking to you, but the others aren’t?” Brandi asks.
I nod.
“She texted him,” Sleaze offers.
Brandi spins to look at her husband. “She did?”
He nods. “Yep, she totally gave him an in.”
“She did,” Brandi says, turning to look at me again.
Lifting my cell up, I show Brandi the text message.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” I say, shocked at how comfortable I am with these people, with this conversation. The thought almost has me retreating upstairs, away from their comradery, away from the normalcy of having adults who are prepared to listen and support me.
“So what are you going to text back?” Brandi asks, excitement lacing her tone.
“I have no fucking clue.”
I wake up expecting to find a text message from Valentine; only my cell is silent and my message app shows no new messages. I’m disappointed. I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t. But I miss being around him.
My mind’s been quiet, so it’s not that I miss the peace he affords me. More that the last few days before it all went to shit, I found myself just enjoying being with him. I like the way he touches me, the way he kisses me. I like being with him, even if it is all pretend.
But is it?
Was everything between us a pretense? Or was some of it, even just a slither of it, real? A part of me hopes that it was, hopes that it wasn’t all one-sided, that he felt something more for me than just a bully tormenting his victim.
I have so many questions that I need him to answer. Why me? Why does he hate me? Does he hate me?
But another part of me is calling for revenge, calling for me to turn the tables on him, to use and manipulate him the way he did me. I could get him kicked out of Brandi and Sleaze’s home. I could tell my Dad and Uncle Sleaze that he blackmailed me to let him touch me, that he forced me to let him put his hands and his mouth on me.
A five-minute conversation and I cou
ld ruin everything he has here in Archer’s Creek.
Only it’d be a lie. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted his hands, his fingers, and tongue on me and I loved the way it felt. He made me come harder than ever before, he tormented me in the very best way, until I shattered to pieces beneath his ministrations.
I want to regret it. I want to hate him and loathe that I ever kissed him or let him near me, but the truth is that I don’t. I don’t regret it. The only thing I regret is that I don’t know what was real and what was an act.
I don’t know if he orchestrated my humiliation, and that doubt, it’s almost worse than knowing for sure.
I find Zeke, Griffin, and Emmy all down in the basement when I head downstairs after my nap. They’re watching a football game on the TV, a bowl of popcorn between them on the couch. “Hey, guys,” I call, when I push through the door.
A chorus of greetings echo back at me.
“Can we talk?” I ask cautiously.
They all nod in agreement, and I head for the refrigerator, grabbing a soda before I make my way back to the couch. I sink down next to Zeke, turning sideways and tucking my legs beneath me. I pull in a deep breath, then lift my head to find three sets of concerned eyes looking back at me. “I’m sorry,” I say, the words rushing out of me.
“What do you have to be sorry about?” Emmy asks.
“For everything, for not telling you what was going on.”
“We get it, babe,” Griffin says. “We just wish we could have been there for you. We’re a team, we always have been.”
“I know. I do, it’s just...” I sigh, plucking at the fabric of my shirt with my fingers. “I just felt like I was going crazy. I still do if I’m honest.”
“You’re not crazy,” Zeke says, his voice stern and insistent.
“I just wanted you all to know that I love you, and I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you. I’m going to try not to keep stuff to myself from now on. Not that I have a choice seeing as I’m seeing a shrink six times a week.” I say with a laugh, trying to lighten the somber mood.
“I saw a shrink for about three years,” Griffin says, shocking me.