Apparently uncomfortable with my line of questioning, Shauna’s eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere but at me. Her knees bounce up and down, causing her to almost drop her legal pad a few times which makes me grin.
I like that she feels nervous around me. She should. I’m not a nice guy, and I don’t play games. If Shauna wants something from me, she’d be better off just telling me what it is so we can get this shit over and done with.
I let my words hang for a minute, giving them time to sink in before going on to say,
“We’re bikers. We ride. We look out for each other. We drink. And we fuck. Sure, there’s more to us; some of us have families, we’ve got friends outside the club, and a lot of us have jobs, but that’s not what you really want to know, is it? You don’t want to hear about us going home to our families at night, tucking in our kids, and falling asleep next to our wives, do you, Princess? You want to hear all about the club whores we fuck behind our old ladies’ backs. The dirty details about the back alley deals you think we do. I’d be willing to bet my left nut that you’re banking on one of us spilling some great state secret that you can publish in that trashy little magazine you write for.”
Scoffing at Shauna’s grimace, I realize I’ve hit the nail on the head.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but there’s no story here. At least, not for you.”
I barely get done speaking when Shauna interjects. “But there is a story, though, isn’t there, Patrick? Like you said, maybe not for me, but you have one hell of a tale to tell. Don’t you?” She asks, raising one of her perfectly arched eyebrows at me.
“Maybe, maybe not, but I’ll leave that up to you to decide since I don’t intend to share shit with you,” I shrug. “I know about your health issues, Patrick,” Shauna whispers, clutching the legal pad to her chest. “And I just want you to know that I’m sorry you had to endure that. What you had to live through, how badly you must have suffered without your mom around to take care of you, no one deserves that.”
“Not even a self-professed asshole like me?” I sneer, trying to remind her of who I actually am, instead of the man her imagination believes me to be.
Shauna gives me a sad smile and shakes her head. I know that smile, I’ve seen that exact expression so many times over the last few months from my brother’s wife, Kennedy, that I’d recognize it anywhere. Sadness, disappointment, and pity, none of which I want or need.
“I don’t care what you tell me, or for that matter, what you’ve convinced yourself of. You’re not an asshole, Patrick. I’m sure that’s what you want people to believe because it’s easier than having to open yourself up to the possibility of being hurt, but you’re not fooling anyone,” Shauna claims with a voice that belies how nervous she is confronting me.
“Is that so?” I grunt, hating how close to the truth she’s hitting. Above everything else, this moment, the one where Shauna digs into shit that is no one else’s business but my own, is why I didn’t want to fucking do this.
Women are insightful, and I made the mistake of underestimating Shauna’s perceptiveness. She might have the intellect of a common garden snail, and be about as subtle with her come-on’s as a two dollar hookers, but that hasn’t affected the way Shauna’s looks at me. It’s with the same knowing glint in her eye as the rest of them, except in this case, it’s directed at me.
Closing the distance between us, Shauna places her hand on top of mine in what I’m sure she thinks is a reassuring gesture, but in actuality, it has the complete opposite effect. To me, her touch makes my skin crawl. There is only one set of hands I want touching my body, and they don’t belong to her.
Not wanting to be even more of a prick than I have already, I shake off her hand by folding my arms over my chest and leaning back in my seat. Shauna gets the message quickly, moving her chair back to where it was originally.
“All I want is to write a story about an inspirational man who overcame hardship and adversity to turn into one of the country’s leading mechanical designers. My readers want to know the man behind the designs that have taken the motorcycle world by storm, but to do that, I have to be able to ask you questions about your past. I understand you not wanting to comment on your personal relationships, and I’m happy to write no comment in response, but not everything can be off-limits, Patrick.”
Silence fills the room as Shauna waits to see how I’ll react – the only sounds coming from the low whir of the gym equipment being used on the other side of the door.
This shouldn’t be a hard decision to make; there are only two options available to me. Either I answer Shauna’s questions honestly, or I don’t. If I choose the latter, I may as well walk out now. But on the flip side, if I do, there’s the issue of where to start.
Do I go all the way back to when my mom died, or do I fast forward to what it was like living on the streets with only my older brother to protect me? Would it be better to lead into it by explaining my heart condition and how the drugs were once my only salvation in a sea of pain, eventually became my executioner? Or do I say fuck it all, and for once, even if she is a stranger, tell the whole, ugly, uncensored truth?
“I’ve never done this before, but what if I offered to let you approve the final article before I submit it to my editor. I can’t promise that I will rewrite it if you simply don’t like it, but I will make changes if you decide certain things are better left unsaid.”
It’s a generous offer, and one I’m sure chapped Shauna’s ass to make, but if I’m going to do this, then it’s all or nothing. That’s just the kind of fucking idiot I am.
“No offense lady, but I don’t trust people I don’t know. Your offer might very well be legit, but if I do this, I’m doing it with no expectations you’ll make good on it.”
“Understood,” Shauna nods.
Sighing, resigned to my idiocy, I state,
“Hope you’re prepared, because this is going to take a while.”
“I’m in this until the end, Patrick. However long it takes, I’ll be here listening.”
Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.
CHAPTERTWO ~ Jump ~
“Is it wrongtosay that Ilovesex morethan serial killers love nondescriptvans?”
–Jump’s philosophical questionof theday “You said you know about my heart condition, so I’m figuring Boss filled you in on the basics. I got diagnosed with Aortic Stenosis just after my seventh birthday. I was an active kid, played sport, rode my bike or skateboard everywhere, so when I started getting heart palpitations that didn’t go away after resting for a few minutes, Mom marched my ass to the doctor and refused to leave until they found out what was wrong with me.”
My mom was awesome. She was my best friend, and the only person other than my brother I’ve ever trusted completely. Mom didn’t care what other parents thought of how she raised us.
On the odd occasion one of the mom’s picking their kids up from school said something to her, she flipped them the bird and kept on walking with her head held high. I admired the shit out of her for that. For being able to shake it off and go on with her day like nothing had happened.
Maybe it was because I was young, but it didn’t register with me at the time that Mom wasn’t your typical parent. I just thought it was cool that she didn’t believe in rules and telling us what to do all the time. Don’t get me wrong, Mom wasn’t a pushover; she would have kicked our asses if we were disrespectful, got into fights, or skipped school.
“As a kid, I didn’t realize the toll it would take on mom or how much it would cost to get a diagnosis. MRI’s, dozens of blood tests, CT scans, X-ray’s, that shit cost money. Something we didn’t have a lot of. Mom worked as a receptionist at a doctor’s office five days a week, but she had to get a second job at night, stocking shelves to pay my medical bills. Just when mom thought she was on top of them, another bill would show up. By the time we knew what was wrong with me, my brother and I were lucky to see mom for more than a few minutes a day in pass
ing.”
“You talk about your mother and brother a lot, but you haven’t mentioned any other family,” Shauna questions leadingly.
Running a hand across the back of my neck, I shake my head.
“You’re right, I don’t. And that’d be because we don’t have any. At least, not blood-related.”
Cash and I are lucky, though. Unlike a shit ton of other people out there, we have a family. One we chose, not one that was forced on us because of some outdated belief you should respect those you share DNA with.
“My grandparents are dead, have been for five years. It wouldn’t matter if they were still alive, though, since they kicked mom out when she was pregnant with, Cash. They didn’t have any contact with her or us, not even when Cash finally managed to get hold of them a few years after mom died. You’d think when your grandson calls to tell you your daughter is dead that you’d have some kind of reaction, but they didn’t. It was as if it was just another day, just another phone call. Pretty much they said, thanks for calling but don’t bother contacting us again, so we didn’t.”
“So that explains your grandparents, but what about your dad, aunts, uncles, wasn’t there anyone besides your mom who could step in and help?”
“Not a one,” I scoff, remembering back to how many times I wished mom had someone else to rely on. “Mom never got married to our low-life, waste of genetic material sperm donor. The asshole skipped town as soon as mom told him he’d knocked her up again. Not that it mattered, we hadn’t met his family anyway. That fuckwit was a master at keeping the various parts of his life separate, or in our case, completely under the radar. And before you ask, mom was an only child, so there weren’t any relatives to help out on her side of the family either.”
“Okay, so it was just the three of you then,” Shauna confirms, not lifting her gaze from her note taking. “You said that it took a long time to get a diagnosis surrounding your condition, can you shed some more light on that please?”
“Yeah, but are you sure you want to hear all this shit? It’s not really that interesting,” I tell her. “Absolutely,” she replies enthusiastically. “I know this is par for the course for you, Patrick, but there are millions of people suffering from heart conditions, some of whom read Xtreme.”
Shrugging I launch into the same story I’ve told dozens of times before.
“About six months after the doctors started running their tests, mom was told I had Aortic Stenosis, and that the valve causing my heart palpitations would need to be replaced. Surgery wasn’t on the cards straight off the bat, though. Not only did mom not have the money, but my surgeon didn’t want to have to repeat the procedure if my heart outgrew the new valve. I wasn’t as bad off as some of the kids that underwent the operation, so they were happy to postpone it and just wait and see. The only problem with that was, they waited too long.”
My eyes shoot up from their study of the carpet at Shauna’s gasp, noticing that her face is pale and her eyes are wide at my off-handed comment. It doesn’t take a genius to know she’s thinking the worst, and I can’t bring myself to correct her because as far as I was concerned, the death of our mom was the worst thing that could happen. She was our rock, our anchor. She was all we had.
Heaving out a breath that I didn’t know I’d been holding in, I go on to say,
“After the second time I was rushed to the ER, thinking I was having a heart attack, the doctors decided they couldn’t hold off any longer. My operation was scheduled for two weeks from the day the hospital discharged me, but mom died eight days later.”
Tears are pooling in the corner of Shauna’s eyes, and her soft sniffles jolt my memory of the last time I told this story to a woman.
***** I never intended to tell Mia about my past, but she has a way of getting under a man’s skin, making him want to tell her all his deepest, darkest secrets. Which I did. I told Mia everything, watched as she cried silently, not once interrupting or taking her eyes off me. Every single fiber of my being demanded that I go to her, take Mia in my arms and wipe her tears away, but I couldn’t. I had to finish my story, or I knew I never would.
“Please don’t cry, baby. Not for me,” I muttered, clenching my hands into fists to stop myself reaching out to touch her.
Mia and I have been dancing around each other for months. Whether it’s Mia’s vulnerability, the way she trusts and loves with her whole heart, or the explosive sexual tension between us, something about her calls to me. And for the first time in a long time, I find myself wanting to explore the feelings I have for Mia.
Mia extends her hand, asking wordlessly for me to put my trust in her – something that doesn’t come easily for me. It’s not her; I don’t trust anyone. Or I should say, I haven’t since him.
He was the first person outside of Cash that I shared the shit show of my past with. I had known before I did it that it was a mistake, but what happened afterward, how he reacted, taught me a valuable lesson. Don’t trust fucking anyone.
I had just turned eighteen when Cash took Boss up on his offer to move us to Furnace, and I crossed paths with Austin Masters. Cash was busy with the MC, trying to find work, and moving us into the house Boss rented for us, so I hid the fact that I was struggling to adjust from him. My brother had enough on his plate without me adding to it. Cash had sacrificed everything, including himself to take care of me, so my decision to suffer in silence was an easy one.
To this day, I still harbor the soul-destroying guilt over what Cash had to do to protect me. The choices Cash was forced to make, how those affected him, and the scars we both bear because of them hasn’t gone away in the fourteen years that followed. For a while there, it even got worse. Dangerously so.
No amount of convincing, nothing Cash said or yell at me in frustration penetrated through the thick fog of guilt I wore like a second skin. Not until a year ago when my life hung in the balance, and I was left with no choice but to let go of the past and fight for my future. I may have accepted that there’s not a damn thing I can do to repay my brother for the sacrifices he made for me, but I’m still working on believing Cash when he says he would do it all over again in a heartbeat if he had to.
It’s hard to forgive myself when I can still vividly remember the moans and whimpers from women taking their pleasure from Cash’s body every time I close my eyes. The sounds of men’s groans and grunts are as loud today as they were back then when I prayed for them to stop.
My dreams are filled with haunting visions of orgies and violence. Of Cash’s desperate eyes as they begged me to turn around and go back to our room. But I never did; I couldn’t. If my brother was trading himself in return for my safety, then the least I could do was be there for him. If somehow, some way I could give him a little added strength to endure, I would, even if it was only from where I stayed hidden in the shadows.
But the one image I will never forget is my brother being forced to his knees and held by his hair as man after man fucked his mouth. The excitement in those men’s eyes, the rough way in which they jerked Cash’s head into position to take them deep, and the wet sucking followed by their deafening roars as they came disgusts me to my core.
However, that’s not why I can remember that one occasion clearer than all the rest. As sick and depraved as it sounds, that was a huge turning point in my life because it was the moment I knew I was different.
CHAPTERTHREE ~ Jump ~
“Someoneonceaskedmeif Iwas capableof having aconversationwithoutinjecting
sexual innuendo into it.Itold themIdidn’t understand the question.”
–Truth Walking out of the hardware store where I had just applied for a part-time job after school and on weekends, I made it as far as one step out the door before colliding with someone. Thank fuck, I’ve got a good sense of balance, or I would have ended up on my ass because whoever it was, was built like a brick wall.
“Shit,” I hissed, rubbing my shoulder. The deep, rich voice asking me if I was okay barely registered as I raise
d my head and looked up into the most amazing hazel eyes I’d ever seen. At six-foot-one, we were the same height, but where I was lean, not having put back on all the weight I’d lost post-surgery, this guy was huge.
“Hey, you alright, man?” He repeated, staring at me with concern furrowing his brow. Shaking off the almost instant feeling that this guy was somehow important to me but not having the first clue why I nodded like an idiot.
“Yeah. Fine. You okay?” Fucking hell! When did I lose the ability to form full sentences? Now I wasn’t only the new kid in town, but I came across like a loser too.
Holding out his hand, the guy grins, and much to my embarrassment, my cock swelled in my jeans.
“Name’s Austin. You’re new, right?”
I shook his hand, hating that my palm was sweating and that my pulse started racing at his touch. Austin’s hand was big like the rest of him, his fingers strong as they wrapped around mine. Even though I tried to hide it, I can’t deny that the warmth of his skin and the way his thumb brushed over the top of my hand sent sparks of heat directly to my balls.
Hoping my voice didn’t come out as unnerved as I was, I replied,
“Got here last week.” Instead, my words were unintentionally clipped as warring emotions took over and almost brought me to my knees.
Not once have I actually, genuinely been attracted to a guy before. Sure, I knew I was different – that my cock got hard at the thought of a man sucking me off or me fucking his ass. But those were all exactly that; just thoughts, fantasies even. However, this, whatever it is that I’m feeling, isn’t just about how much I’d love to see Austin on his knees as he unzipped my jeans and sucked me dry; it was more. And it scared the shit out of me.
Austin’s eyes narrow on my closed off expression. However, between his study of my face and my fists clenched at my sides, he must come to a conclusion about something because seconds later, a brilliant smile tips his full lips.
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