“Nah, just… borrowed something from her and was thinking of returning it.”
“Oh, the book. She mentioned something about that. If you give it to me, I can drop it off next time I check on her.”
That’s OK, I’m not quite finished with it anyway. I’ll give it to her next time I see her.”
“Oh. All right, then.”
After that mildly awkward encounter with my stepmom, I retreated to the guest room. I collapsed on the bed, which Christine had remade since I left it in disarray this morning, and closed my eyes. In a way, I was glad that Leah had been asleep. I would only have made a fool of myself.
If Leah was sick, I wondered, why had she planted that kiss on my cheek? Maybe it was biological warfare. Or maybe—maybe she was sick because of me. You know, lovesick. Contemplating the latter possibility led to a familiar feeling in my jeans. My hand traveled down my stomach, and came to rest on the growing bulge. I closed my eyes and pictured Leah as I’d first seen her: in a tight, white T-shirt and pink pajama pants, with that insufferable smug grin on her face.
My mind’s eye added a few embellishments to the picture. For example, whereas my viewing angle the night previous had offered me only an oblique glimpse of Leah’s pert breasts, now I could see every detail. She was braless, for one thing, and her nipples were visible in relief against the thin cotton, dark little circles with visibly stiff nubs. And those pink pajama pants had shrunk to a lacy little pair of panties. Her right hand rested near her waistband, its thumb tucked into the elastic, this close to her…
What the fuck are you doing, Asher? She’s your goddamn stepsister. If you’re going to be such a creep, maybe you belong back in that cell.
Despite my strong hunch that what I was thinking and doing were wrong, I still had my hard-on to contend with. How long had it been since I last got my rocks off? A couple weeks, definitely. In the penitentiary, getting caught stroking it could mean another year added to your sentence—or a beating, if you were unlucky enough to be caught by a fellow inmate rather than a guard—so you had to watch and wait for that golden window of time when your cellmate was gone, then whack it furtively, as quick as you could, into a stray sock.
Oh, sorry, am I making you uncomfortable with all this jerk-off talk? Well, imagine how uncomfortable I felt, with a cock like a curtain rod, at least 14 days’ worth of sperm backed up in my balls, and my stepsister’s beautiful body stuck in my head like the latest Taylor Swift single. I concentrated on the least sexy image I could conjure up.
The Queen of England is naked, standing at home plate in Yankee Stadium. She’s moving the tip of the baseball bat back and forth like they do sometimes, baseball players, when they’re waiting for a pitch. Her baggy old breasts waggle in sync with her movements. On the pitcher’s mound is Mickey Rooney, also ass naked, penis swinging between his legs like an old rope.
I’m in the stands, gawking at this disgusting spectacle. Mickey winds up and throws a fastball. It arcs down at the last second and beans the Queen right in her wrinkly gut. She loses her lunch on the spot! A whole English breakfast roars out her gullet: bacon, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, black and white pudding, baked beans all mixed-up, viscous and beige, splattering on home plate.
Mickey must have a weak stomach, because he sees this and starts puking, too, even more forcefully the Queen. The mess comes out too quick to soak into the dirt. In fact, it’s rolling down the pitcher’s mound in foul-smelling torrents. Neither of them show any sign of stopping.
Gagging and blurping noises become audible on all sides. I realize the stands are packed. People in the crowd are starting to throw up one by one. Groaning, moaning and splashing in full surround sound. The man to my right joins in.“Blarrrrgh!” Droplets of hot chunder glance off the blue plastic of the seat in front of me and hit my jeans.
Suddenly, a small, warm hand clasps around my left hand. I turn to look and it’s Leah. She’s smiling and pointing at the 2,100-inch screen on the other side of the stadium. We’re on the Kiss Cam! She pulls me close, her eyes closed. I try to hold back, but we’re drawn toward each other like the positive and negative poles of two magnets. I feel her warm breath against my cheek just before our mouths touch…
Jesus Christ, I thought, suddenly aware of the turn my thoughts had taken. I’ve got it bad.
Chapter 9
Leah
It had been a while since I’d spent an entire day in bed, let alone two consecutive ones. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it.
With my iPhone plugged in on the other side of the room, a hot cup of tea on my end table and the covers pulled up to my waist, I could tune out the world and concentrate fully on my reading. I finished Waiting for Godot, sat there pondering it for 45 minutes or so, then started over at the beginning. I didn’t have a thesis for my 12-page paper yet, but I could feel an idea for one slowly taking shape in the back of my mind.
Did I think about my stepbrother? Sure, a little bit. My most acute relapse into Ashermania came after I ran into him on the way to the bathroom, which was inconveniently positioned between his room—the former music room—and mine. He was headed out, by the looks of it. He had on the same tight, black motorcycle jacket he was wearing the first time I saw him.
“Oh, hi Leah!” he said, slowing in mid-step as if unsure whether to stop and talk to me or keep moving toward the door.
“Hi,” I said without expression, before sliding past him and into the bathroom. I hoped my rudeness hadn’t offended Asher, but figured it was for the best. Maybe my aloof behavior would persuade him to give me the space I needed to forget about him.
Granted, part of my reason for slipping away so quickly was that I was embarrassed to be seen by him in sweats, unkempt hair and no makeup. I made a mental note to cultivate indifference toward him by dressing like I didn’t give a shit what he thought of me. (As it turned out, I would look pretty fucking rough when we next crossed paths—but not by choice.)
All in all, though, my trip to Asher rehab was a smashing success. Out of sight, it seemed, really was out of mind.
Sunday evening, as planned, I made my miraculous recovery. When my mom peeked in to see if I needed anything, I waved aside her offer of more chicken noodle. “We still have those frozen pizzas, right? I’ll throw one of those in the oven.”
“Suit yourself. Think you’ll be able to make it to school tomorrow?”
“Oh, totally.”
“Awesome. By the way, have you seen Asher?”
“No—why?”
“No big reason. He and his bike have been gone since yesterday afternoon, and Clint’s getting a little concerned. He may be 23, but he’s still his father’s little boy.”
“Oh,” I squeaked.
“Sorry,” she said, “Didn’t mean to make you lose your appetite again by mentioning his name.”
“It’s not that. I’m just a little worried too, I guess.”
Mom cocked her head. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Leah?” Realizing my concern was more than skin-deep, she added, “Honey, he spent three years in prison. And he looks—well, I wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley. If there’s anyone who can take care of himself out in the world, it’s Asher.”
“Yeah,”
“By the way, he said he was going to return that book you lent him next time he sees you.”
“Huh? Oh, right. The book. Yeah, I’ll get it from him whenever.”
Satisfied, Mom returned to her study.
She was right, of course. I had no reason to believe anything bad had happened to Asher. After hearing Carly’s story, I knew he could handle himself in a fight. Plus, he’d smoothed things over with the leader of the Seraphim and washed his hands of the MC life for good. Nobody had any reason to target him.
So, why did I have that funny feeling in the pit of my stomach?
Since Operation Don’t Think About Your Stepbrother was technically still in effect, I tried to direct my mind elsewhere. I set the oven to 450 deg
rees and stared through the window as it preheated. I thought about Beckett, about Vladimir and Estragon. I tried to picture what Sophia was doing. (In my mind’s eye, she was kicking back with a frozen pizza of her own, watching Orange Is the New Black in between texts to her latest boy toy. Greg. Or was that Chris? Sophia went through guys like Kleenex, so it was tough to keep them straight.)
It was no good. That uneasy feeling stuck around like a bad smell. I knew Asher wouldn’t want me poking around too deep into his business, but I figured he’d forgive me a little Facebook sleuthing. After sliding my pizza into the oven, I fetched my MacBook from my room and set it up on the kitchen counter. Despite not knowing Carly’s last name, I was able to find her profile with ease. I sent a friend request—after Friday’s conversation, I certainly felt like we were more than acquaintances—and fired off a private message.
Hey Carly. this is kind of random, but have you seen Asher today? He hasn’t been around since since yesterday afternoon.
I hopped off my stool and checked on the pizza. Not quite done cooking. When I sat back down, there was already a “new message” notification on my screen.
hi Leah! nooo, he stopped by the garage Saturday evening, but that’s the last adam or I heard from him. I’ll keep my ears open. [Here she included three “ear” emojis, for emphasis I guess.]
Hm. I still had a lingering feeling something wasn’t right, but there wasn’t much to do but sit and wait. At least I had a fresh, hot pizza to soothe my nerves.
Chapter 10
Asher
After what happened Friday evening, I was starting to think I needed some time away from Leah. When I ran into her in the hall Saturday afternoon, I knew I did. It wasn’t the fact she responded to my attempt at friendly conversation by brushing me off, so much as the fact that I cared. If I didn’t get out of the house, I’d be sitting around all night agonizing over what was going on in my stepsister’s head. Had I done something to offend her?
I was long overdue to pay Adam a visit and inquire about that job opening, so I hopped on my bike and hit the interstate. My worries melted away over the course of the scenic drive. By the time I pulled up in front of the garage, my anxiety over you-know-who was a distant (if soon-to-be-revived) memory.
When I walked in, Adam had his head buried under the hood of a cherry-red BMW convertible.
“Nice ride, man. Whose is it?”
Adam responded without looking away from his work, “State senator. Corrupt motherfucker—but I ain’t complaining, if he’s spending our hard-earned tax dollars at my garage.”
“MC members calling out corruption in the hallowed halls of government. It’s a sad day we live in.”
“That’s for sure. Fuck!” Adam’s wrench fell with a “clink!” into the engine and he struggled to fish it out. After he snagged it, he mopped his brow with the back of the same hand, replacing the sheen of sweat with a smear of engine grease. “Say, Asher, about that meeting you had with Cal the other day. I did my best to take the heat, but the Inner Circle isn’t too happy about you moving without official Claque say-so.”
“I didn’t need say-so; I’m not part of the Claque—or any MC, for that matter. Now that I’ve tied up loose ends, that part of my life is over. Finito.”
“Yeah, but I did send Mutt and the Prospect with you, against my better judgment. All I’m saying is, if you have any further dealings with the Seraphim, we most likely won’t be providing backup.”
I sighed. “Fine. There aren’t gonna be any problems.” I felt a little betrayed, but the lack of support from the Claque would be academic as long as I kept my nose clean.
“I hope you’re right, Ash. But—but don’t something feel a little fishy about all this? Clem and Lew coming out of the woodwork to intimidate you and your stepsister, Cal telling you it had nothing to do with him… at the very least, it means the President ain’t running a very tight ship.” Adam spit a glob of brown stuff into a coffee can at his feet.
“Nah,” I said with a shake of the head. I grabbed a cold beer from the fridge against the west wall, cracked it and continued. “It’s the classic MC dilemma. Crazy, vicious motherfuckers like Clem and Lew are like guard dogs. You need ‘em around to keep everyone else on their toes, but you’ve got to keep them on a tight enough leash that they don’t bite someone you don’t want them to. Cal just let them get away from him for a second. I let him know, nobody got hurt, no harm done.”
“I don’t know, Ash There’s a big difference between guard dogs and rabid ones.”
I took a long gulp of my beer. “Why are you telling me this, Adam?”
“Because I care.”
“Bullshit you care! You’re telling me some rabid dogs are after me, but you and the club can’t do anything to help. Seems almost like you’re trying to raise my blood pressure for no good reason.”
“No, I’m just saying don’t be stupid, man. Be careful who you trust. I’m your friend, and I’m trying to look out for you as best I can.”
I scowled. “A friend would pat me on the back and reassure me that all was well, or he’d tell me straight up what kind of trouble he thought I was in. He wouldn’t give me this wishy-washy, speaking-in-riddles shit.”
“You know what? Fuck you, Ash. Fuck you for even implying I’d hide something that important from you.”
“I’m not implying anything, Adam. The way you’re talking just scares me. Look, I’m going to take a piss and then I’m gonna take off. I need to clear my head of all this nonsense. If you want to talk, we can talk tomorrow.”
“You know where the bathroom is.”
I pissed, tossed my half-full beer in the recycling bin and climbed on my bike. “Later, Adam.” Once again buried in his work, he didn’t even give me a wave. Jesus, I wondered, what’s gotten into him?
I navigated the backroads with a head full of worries. This time, even the open road and the engine’s purr weren’t enough to soothe my troubled mind. The engine’s purr? Actually, it was starting to sound more like a hacking cough. Not more than two miles down the road, I realized that there was something seriously wrong with the way my bike was sounding. I pulled over to take a look. If the problem wasn’t straightforward enough to tackle using the portable tool kit in my saddle bag, well, I’d just have to swallow my pride and give Adam a call.
When I’m working on an engine, I get so focused on the task and hand that the whole rest of the world fades out of existence. That explains why I didn’t notice the black Lincoln Town Car with illegally tinted windows creeping up on me till the driver’s side door opened and Clem Hoffman stepped out.
“Don’t make any sudden moves.” He croaked, in that raspy voice that never failed to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He was leering at me with his one good eye down the barrel of a revolver.
“Clem! It’s been too long, amigo. Mind telling me what all this is about?” Inside, I was terrified, but my voice didn’t betray the slightest tremor. Burying your fear is a skill you pick up in prison, where the slightest sign of weakness can cost you your reputation and, like as not, your life.
“I think you know what this is about, fuckface.” He crept towards me, pistol trained on the space between my eyes. For a moment, I really thought this was going to be the end. But no—for better or for worse, it would only be intermission.
When I was within arm’s reach, Clem raised the pistol and brought the barrel down sideways against the side of my skull. Crack! I was out cold before my body even hit the ground.
Chapter 11
Leah
I finished the frozen pizza all by myself, then tucked into a bowl of Rocky Road ice cream. Don’t judge; you might binge-eat too, if you were worried about your stepbrother being tortured to death by vicious bikers.
When midnight rolled around and I still hadn’t received word on Ash’s whereabouts, I reluctantly turned in for the evening. My sleep was fitful. Every few hours I woke up sweating, sheets coiled around my ankles, the image of Clem
Hoffman’s cloudy, scar-fringed eye lingering in my mind like a bad omen.
I was exhausted when I awoke on Monday morning, and I must have looked it, because the first words out of Mom’s mouth after “Good morning” were, “You’re not looking so good, Leah. Sure you don’t want to spend one more day at home, just to be sure you’ve kicked it?”
“Nah, I’m good. It’s nothing worth missing school over.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “No senior slide for you, huh? You’re quite the trouper.”
“Yeah.” I smiled weakly. “Guess I am.” In reality, I felt plenty sick enough to justify staying home. I just figured school was more likely to distract me from the heavy shit on my mind than another day spent lounging between the sheets. And it probably would have distracted me, had I not run into Sophia again on my way to first period.
“Hey Leah, listen, I’m really sorry about—“
“Don’t sweat it.”
“—telling you your stepbrother was hot and stuff.”
“Really, it’s cool.”
“Phew, that’s a relief. I thought you were seriously pissed at me. Anyway, I thought it over, and really he’s a seven out of 10, at best.”
“Sophia! You need to work on your apologies.”
She raised her hands in supplication, almost dropping her textbooks in the process. “OK, OK, I get it. I won’t say another word about… who were we talking about, again?”
“Strange, I can’t seem to remember, either.”
We walked in silence for a few paces before Sophia piped up again. “Is everything cool, though, Leah? You’re looking kinda… rough, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Thanks for noticing. I’m fine. I’m just getting over a… stomach thing.”
“You’re not contagious, are you?”
“Not that I know of. No one in my family’s caught it.”
“Good. I need to stay healthy for my big date Wednesday night.” She said “big date” as if I were supposed to know exactly what she was talking about. “Say, we’ve been talking about getting together for a study session for a hot minute now. How about we hang out at your place after school? I solemnly swear I won’t try to put the moves on… He Who Shall Not Be Named.”
A Step from the Edge (Tough, yet Tender Book 2) Page 5