by Jc Emery
My head falls softly against the wall in front me as I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall down my cheeks. I’ve cried enough over her and won’t let myself go down this road again. She’s ruined enough of my life. It takes a moment, but I pull myself out of that place I’d rather not be and stride down the hall and back into the garage.
My only exit routes are the garage or Dad and Holly’s room on the bottom level. I can’t really explain being in the parental unit’s bedroom, nor can I reasonably explain hanging out in the garage, but there’s an exterior door to the side of the house from the garage that can at least get me in the backyard where I can hang out for a while and make it seem like I was locked out of the house and had to go around front to get in via the security code. I don’t know if it sounds as good as I think it does, but it’s better than the alternative.
Darting across the garage and out the door to the side of the house takes but a moment. I’m heading for the backyard when the telltale sound of a branch cracking behind me alerts me that I’m not alone. I swing around quickly, a scream building in my throat as I prepare to swing at anything and everything within reach.
“Chill!” a masculine voice, not especially deep and not particularly confident, says. I calm my crazy eyes down long enough to see the Forsaken patch on the leather vest that rests on his shoulders. Beneath FORSAKEN is another patch that reads DETROIT. He’s young, can’t be more than twenty-five if I had to guess, and he isn’t an officer judging from the lack of additional patches.
Uncle Rig—this guy must have come into town with Uncle Rig.
“Sorry,” I say, now more than a little embarrassed. I smile apologetically as I appraise him. He’s tall and lanky but carrying a fair amount of muscle. He has light blond hair and a pair of kind blue eyes peer at me inquisitively.
“Detroit, huh?” I nod my head to his patch. “Escaped winter?”
His smile widens and his eyes dance with mischief. “Heard a lot about the fine women in California. Glad to see the rumors are true.”
His smooth talking causes a blush to rise to my cheeks. I’m so much more than the little girl Dad and my uncles want to think of me as. It’s nice to have a member of Forsaken appreciate my more feminine qualities. I’m not counting Jeremy since we’re the same age and all. This guy is definitely not a teenager.
“I got an idea who you are, but why don’t you tell me your name, babe?”
I smirk at his forward attitude. This guy has a thing or two he can stand to learn about Forsaken women.
“You first, handsome.” I purse my lips while I fold my arms across my chest.
“You see my patch?” His tone is bored, but his smile gives him away.
“I ain’t blind,” I say. “This is my house and my town, pal. Name please.” We’re flirting, so it makes all of this okay. If he were old or serious, I’d be heading for my dad to take care of this for me, but this guy seems safe to tease.
“Daniel,” he says with a shake of his head. The smile on his face never fades.
Giving him a sexy smile—at least I hope it’s coming across as sexy—I rake my eyes up and down his frame. He’s surely attractive, and I’ve no doubt that if I weren’t already crushing so bad on Jeremy I’d be hoping the end result of all this flirting would be heated kissing and some light petting. But I am crushing on Jeremy, and I doubt Daniel’s idea of a happy ending is light petting. The thought of a man who I’d bet has more experience than I can fathom having his way with me scares me a little and calms the urge to flirt shamelessly as I’ve been doing.
“Cheyenne,” I say and point to my chest. “I take it you’re here for my dad.”
He gives a low whistle. “Bloody Knuckles’s kid. Should have known. A babe like you learned to bust balls early in life, didn’t you?”
“You know it,” I say and head for the front door. Being busted by this guy makes it impossible to go sneak into the backyard now. Crap. I don’t know how I’m going to play this off. If it were six months ago, Dad wouldn’t give a shit what I was doing. But now? Everything is too dangerous, and I really, absolutely can’t handle another lecture from Aunt Ruby—because that’s who Dad sends in when he gives up—telling me how I’m going to get myself or someone else killed by wandering off all the time. I don’t care if this dude is charming and cute. I’m just no longer in the mood to be social now that I have to fabricate yet another freaking lie.
“This way.” I say lead him around the front of the house and toward the front door. He follows closely, almost too close, and when we’re less than twenty feet from the front porch, he wraps his hand around mine. I spin around in confusion and stare up at him.
Leaning in close, he says, “You got an old man?”
I suck in a deep breath, the motion causing his attention to redirect from my eyes to my mouth. Instinctively, my tongue darts out and wets my lips. The near-constant smile on his face darkens as he steps even closer. The cool leather of his cut grazes my thin cotton shirt. His warm, sour breath basks over my face, and despite how much I think I could like him in another time and another place, this doesn’t feel right.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he says and slides his hand up around the back of my neck as he guides my face toward his.
I’m not scared to tell him no. I just don’t know how. Grown men, especially Forsaken, don’t hit on me. Like ever. Dad makes sure they all know who I am so they can stay away. Before Alex stormed into town, I even had Ryan tell me that, no matter how cute I’ve gotten, he’ll never touch me because my dad is such a fucking asshole. We weren’t even talking. I was just sitting at a picnic table at the clubhouse and eating some fried chicken Aunt Ruby cooked up. He came up, plopped down, started eating, and then proceeded to tell me that I shouldn’t like Forsaken men because Dad’s gotten me blackballed.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he says, obviously noticing how tense I am. His lips barely touch mine, but he doesn’t press. “I’m not an asshole.” Then he pulls back and places his hand beneath my chin. “Don’t ever be afraid to tell me no. I’m not that kind of man. You’re safe with me.”
I nod my head, still trying to catch my breath from what could have been something incredibly hot or super intimidating. His words slip over me, providing little comfort. Everything just happened so fast. One moment we were walking, and the next, he was practically dry humping me in the driveway.
“Miss Priss is off limits,” Jeremy shouts as his footsteps rush toward us. I hadn’t even heard the front door open much less hear the guys. I glance behind me to find that not only is Jeremy charging toward us, but so are Dad, Uncle Wyatt, and Duke.
“She yours?” Daniel asks with raised eyebrows. Jeremy’s jaw locks in place as his nostrils flare. Daniel smirks. “You’re a prospect, boy. What’s yours is Forsaken’s.”
A wash of irritation wafts over me. What a freaking asshole.
“I’m mine,” I gripe as I stare Dad down like he created the Black Plague from scratch. My eyes widen, and I nod my chin to Daniel and Jeremy because things are about to get out of hand. Part of me wants Jeremy to tell Daniel I am his, but that would be a lie. Plus, I’m really not a fan of the whole idea of ownership.
Dad nods his head at me and then strides toward Daniel, blocking Jeremy’s line of sight. I take a few steps back and find myself sandwiched between Duke and Uncle Wyatt. “Actually,” Dad says with his attention on Daniel, “she’s mine. Back off, boy.”
Daniel raises his hands in the air as he takes a few steps backward. Jeremy’s shoulders heave in agitation as he glares in Daniel’s direction. Dad just shakes his head. His eyes are locked on mine. The closer he gets to me, the more irritated he seems.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asks.
“Um,” I say, unable to finish.
“Explanation. Now.”
“I was trying to sneak a beer in the garage when Holly stormed in all pissed off at you, so I came out here to sneak in t
he front door, when this guy found me,” I say as quickly as I can and hike a finger in Daniel’s direction.
Duke chuckles on one side of me while Wyatt shakes his head and mumbles, “Shit.”
“The good shit or the cheap shit?” Dad asks, surprising me.
“You don’t have good shit,” I say, slightly perplexed.
Dad’s eyes narrow. “Buy your own fuckin’ beer, kid.” A sick smile slides over his features. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t.”
“I’m thinking really rude things about you right now,” I say quietly without breaking eye contact.
“I want your ass at the kitchen table. Now,” he barks loudly.
My lungs expand and collapse in quick succession. My face heats up, and my hands clench into fists at my side. I’m in fucking trouble for something I didn’t even do. Then again, I’d be in way more trouble if I told him the truth. So I’ll take my punishment, but I don’t have to like it.
“Can you please send me to a surface you haven’t had sex on?” I snap, careful to keep my voice low. Dad doesn’t care if family hears me being sassy, but if an outsider overhears, it’ll be my ass.
“Then you might want to wait in your car,” he says slowly as he licks his lips and leans in so that his nasty-ass breath covers my face. I love my dad, I really do. Grandma says we’re just too much alike to get along sometimes. “Shit, sorry, baby girl. Guess you can’t sit there either.”
My face pales as my stomach churns. I hope that, at the very least, it was Holly he’s been with in my car.
“Kitchen table, right now, or I’m going to find a much less comfortable place for you to wait for me.”
“Fine,” I say in a huff and stomp off toward the front door, already formulating a plan to move out and never come back.
CHAPTER 7
December
16 months to Mancuso’s downfall
I drag the thin brush full of polish up my fingernail and consider whether I really want my nails to be Paris Pink or not. It’s softer than the shades I usually go for, and in fact, it’s not even mine. I swiped it from Holly’s small collection in her and Dad’s room. She always wears these really classy shades that are soft or muted in tone. In comparison, my colors are all loud and sometimes even neon. They seem childish next to Holly’s more adult choices.
The interaction with Daniel last week made me think twice about the way I’ve been going about things. Daniel is a man. He doesn’t have any trace of boy left in him like Jeremy still does, and that kind of scares me. My eyes survey the hot pink and black decor of my room. I loved the way it looked once, but now I feel stifled by it. It’s so childish.
My cellphone chimes, alerting me to an incoming text message. When I carefully maneuver the phone into my hands with my still-drying nails, I find the message is from Jeremy.
U WITH ASSHOLE?
My brows pull together in confusion. What the hell does he mean by asking me that? I swear, he’s so hot and cold I never know what to expect with him. This inconsistent behavior is one reason I’ve been inclined to keep texting Daniel despite my feelings for Jeremy. When he sent me a random text message after our first meeting, I was put off by it. He didn’t do much to apologize but rather explained himself. For some reason, I’m still having doubts that the things he said are true.
I LIKE YOU, Daniel sent a few days ago.
Then yesterday, I WAS JUST MESSING W/THE PROSPECT.
WE GOT A CONNECTION, he followed it up with.
To be fair, I haven’t exactly been radio silent on my end of things. I think I’m half in like with Daniel, but mostly just in like with the idea of him. He hasn’t said much about Jeremy, but the few times he has, it hasn’t been very kind. Jeremy on the other hand has been totally MIA. While Daniel isn’t the perfect biker by any means, he’s at least present.
DAD NOT HOME, I respond back to Jeremy and banish my thoughts of Daniel.
WRONG ASSHOLE, he says. I knew that, but I’m not about to get involved in this ridiculous pissing match they have going on. It’s not about me—it can’t be—because neither of them have actually asked me out.
U IGNORING ME?
Apparently I’m taking too long to respond. I huff before my cheeks turn a reddish pink. Even when he’s being a jerk, I like him. I really need to talk to Holly about all this. The only problem with that is she’s attached to Dad’s hip, and he’s the absolute last person I want advice from. His answer is pretty much always, “He touches you, you kill him,” regardless of who the “him” is.
NO, I type back. I give it a few minutes to see if he’s going to respond or try to continue the conversation. Once my nails are dry, I know I’ve waited long enough, and I decide to give up. He’s so infuriating. My phone tells me his stupid ass read my text, but he chose not to respond to it.
Daniel responds to my texts.
HEY, I type out in a message and hit send. Daniel should respond any minute. He always does. The moment I set my phone down, it chimes.
HEY BEAUTIFUL, the text reads. A light blush covers my cheeks. For whatever reason, he’s not just trying with me—he’s trying hard. Holly’s opinion matters to me, even if her judgment is questionable—she is dating my dad after all—and I can’t wait to talk to her about Daniel and Jeremy and this whole being mixed-up thing.
WHAT R U DOING? I text and wait for him to respond. The little bubble pops up immediately, telling me that he’s typing a response.
JERKING OFF TO YOUR TEXTS, Daniel says. I freeze with my phone in my hands and stop breathing. I stay like that for a while until my phone chimes again with a follow-up text. SORRY. TOO HONEST?
My eyes bug out. I toss my phone to the side and do an epic face palm into my pillow, all the while being wholly incapable of breathing. He did not. He so did not just text me that.
A few minutes pass before I work up the courage to look at my phone again. The messages he’s sent still take my breath away. I just don’t know what to do with this. High school boys don’t send me texts like this. Jeremy certainly doesn’t send me texts like this. Hell, I’ve never even been to third base, let alone being the recipient of dirty text messages!
This is too much, but I don’t know how to say that without sounding like a baby.
SORRY. I’M A JERK, he says in another text.
CAN WE NOT USE THE WORD JERK, PLS? I ask.
DON’T WANT ME TO SAY I’M A JERK-OFF? he responds.
I peek at the message and decide I just can’t take any more. This entire conversation is making me feel like a child, which I don’t like. My heart is beating way fast, and even though my toes are curling, I’m not convinced that this is a good thing. With that, I shove my phone back under my pillow and head downstairs.
“We could go shopping or something?” I suggest. Holly’s getting better. It’s been a while since the attack happened. Still, she’s not leaving the house for things when she doesn’t have to if it’s not with Dad. It took her a few weeks to leave the house right after it happened. I get it and all. I just worry that she’s going to become a recluse if she keeps this up. Dad isn’t much of a shopper, and I swear he’s reaching his breaking point. Last time she dragged him into a clothing store, he was so bitchy that he scared the crap out of the poor sales clerk when she tried to upsell Holly on shoe inserts and Holly paused to think about it. Not only does Holly need to get better, but Dad needs his life back, and the entire town needs Sterling Grady to not go clothes shopping ever again.
“Where would we go shopping? There’s nothing here,” she says. We do have stores to shop in, but if I had to guess, I think she just doesn’t want to leave without Dad.
“We have places to shop.”
“I mean places that your dad hasn’t almost gotten us banned from,” she says with a bored expression on her face.
She has a point, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find an excuse to get out of the house. Besides, almost banned and banned aren’t the same thing. She might think I’m nuts, but I’m considerin
g this a stage-four crisis. I just want her to get better, and better means getting back to her sassy self when she starts reminding Dad who’s boss again and doesn’t put up with his shit. His stunt with the beer last week is proof that he’s getting too big for his britches.
“I don’t know. There’s a bookstore downtown, and we can always go have lunch or something. There’s no reason we just have to sit here and stare at the TV.” Really, at this point I’m so desperate that I’m willing to hang out at a library.
“Your dad is going to be home soon. I don’t want to get out and leave before he gets home and then have him worrying about where we’re at.”
“He’s not going to worry! We’ll have Diesel with us. Sheesh.”
“Meh, I think I’ll pass. But thanks for trying to get me out of the house, kid.”
I sigh heavily and decide to let it drop. If Holly’s really not ready for another outing, then maybe I shouldn’t be pushing her. After all, I wasn’t the one in that room seeing what happened to Mindy.
“Hey, Holly. I have a question.” She looks at me curiously because she knows that anytime I start by telling her I have a question, it’s probably not good. I may or may not have earned a reputation over the last few months as being a slight pain in the ass, but I’m Sterling Grady’s daughter—what else can anyone expect from me?
“Hey, Cheyenne. What’s up?”
“What do you think of Jeremy?”
“He’s cute, he’s earning his cut, but I think he’s trouble,” she says.
This is something I respect about Holly. She never really bullshits me, and she’s never really mean about it either. I’d say that, all in all, Dad found a good one. Not that I don’t like Elle, because actually I had been hoping for a really long time that he and Elle would get together. It just didn’t happen, and there was probably half a second where I was upset about it. Elle’s been coming around here for years, and she’s really awesome and all, but with her job, she’s gone a lot. I used to think there was no way Dad would find anybody better suited for him than her. And then I met Holly. Holly is strong and tough and super sassy. She is basically everything my mother could’ve been if she weren’t so fucking screwed up.