by Liz K. Lorde
The driver’s arm draped out the window and casually hung there as he leaned his head out, drinking in all that my body had to offer. “Like, you want a ride or something, chick?” He said with that positively radiant smile, a playfulness to his voice. He sounded nothing like Hunter; where his was dark and cool and gravel, the driver’s was warm and inviting and all-american. His dazzling green eyes slid over my body again.
“Something like that,” I teased, leaning in a little closer, “your guy know the course?” I asked, looking towards the car that he was racing.
The Driver shook his head, “Nah. Fresh like virgin snow, baby,” he laughed at his own joke and tilted his head. I’d scarcely seen a man so happy. “Why d’you ask?”
“I’ve got four hundred in cash money,” I explained, a wry smirk dawning on me, “you want to make some money?”
“S’why I’m here,” he chuckled, flashing his white teeth and looking behind his car out of the window, “think it’s kind of why we’re all here.”
“Walk with me to Jones and lets tell him we want to make some money then,” I placed my fingers beneath the man’s chin. Where Hunter was hard, the Driver was soft – save for his barely pronounce cheekbones. “You’re gonna scoot your ass over and let me drive that beauty.”
His eyes bugged out immediately and he looked away from me in disbelief, and then brought his gaze back. The man neglected to say anything, his jaw drooping and his brows knitting together tightly. Still nothing. Dude was speechless.
“Trust me I’m not like your Barbie girlfriend. I’ve been working and driving cars since she was old enough to hop-scotch.”
“No,” he said in total disbelief, the absurdity of my idea making him shake his head, “I mean, seriously?” His eyes rounded again, and I worried for a moment they might come out, “you’re serious? For serious? You – I just…”
“Hey, it’s your call,” I brought up my hands, “we could turn whatever you make and probably more than triple it, split the profit two ways.”
There was a beat of time, and he said, “Sixty forty. You mess up my baby, like even a scratch or a dent yo – you pay.”
I extended my hand towards him, smiling, “Sixty for me, forty for you.”
“Other way around,” he dropped his head down, still looking at me; his hand hovering close to mine but not grabbing. “If we got a deal? Name’s Jesse.”
“Fine,” I conceded with a hard breath, and we shook. “Jessica.”
Turning on my heel, I sauntered back over to Hunter; he’d already a suspicious look etched on the lines of his face, and his arms were crossed over one another.
“I’m getting the feeling that you’re up to no good.”
“What gave you that impression?” I tried my hardest to feign innocence; Jesse got out of his Impreza and walked towards Roll-Em Jones.
“Definitely not the look on your face. Seriously, Jess, what the hell are you doing?” He gave me a pointed look.
“Making some money,” I stepped forward, matching his intense gaze, “you just sit back and enjoy being a good arm piece for my personal winners circle.”
Hunter brought his hands to my waist and his chest puffed out, his brows knitting together. “I don’t want you getting hurt, baby.”
I slid my hand up his chest and let it crawl to the back of his neck, pressing his lips against mine in a tight and hot embrace. “Relax.”
“Seems like I can do anything but, around you,” Hunter remarked.
***
Getting things squared away with Jones, I adjusted the driver’s seat for my height and sunk myself back into the caressing leathers. There was a nervous excitement rushing through my veins and I looked over to Jesse, who was buckling up in the passenger’s seat. His gaze flicked to me and we shared a moment of mutual understanding.
“You’re crazy,” he said, adjusting his white cap, which was jutting off to the side, perpendicular to his ear. “You know that?”
I revved the engine, letting it’s metallic, thunderous purrs punch the air. “Crazy was letting me get driver side,” I whispered, turning my head directly in view with the makeshift course. “We’re way past crazy now, partner.”
Jesse stiffened in his seat and pushed out a breath, “Just focus on the money,” he told himself and repeated the phrase, quietly. He had previously divulged to only driving on the course once, but that he would instruct me on the turns to the best of his memory.
That Bubblegum Girl from before with her long, spider ass legs, walked on out and got between us and our opponent. She looked at me with a curious face and brought up her big red card.
I mashed the play button on Jesse’s radio, letting the car come alive with tough sounding rap music by some Eminem wannabe.
I’ll roll with it, I figured, and bobbed my head as every nerve in my body readied itself.
When the card flipped to green, the Impreza kicked to life – and like a screaming bat from hell, we swept through the night. Our faceless, soon to be loser, sped along hard at our side; as far as I could tell they were driving some 00’s Honda Accord. In my rearview mirror I could see Bubblegum Girl prancing away with those long Legs. Jesse called out that a sharp, hairpin turn would be coming up at 500ft to our left – his voice thick with concern as his hand shot up to the handle above his head.
I’d no doubt he was regretting this.
The shipyard’s concrete floor was mostly smooth, and the low hanging mist of the night became easily swept to the side as we raced down the line of abandoned containers. I pumped the brakes and stayed inside of the turn, throwing the steering wheel hard and whipping the car into the violent turn with a hard look on my face. The car beside me wailed as it’s brakes touched the wheels. It was neck and neck with us, but I knew coming out of the turn that I would be able to shave between two to three seconds off of our time versus theirs.
“Nice!” Jesse called out with exuberant relief, his jaw hanging low and white teeth showing in a pleased grin. “Woo!” He called out pumping his fist, and then pointed out towards the dash, “cut his ass off,” he instructed, and we propelled forward, quickly speeding back up to ninety, “cut him off, cut him off, cut him off,” Jesse muttered forcibly, looking nervously between me and the other vehicle. “This next turn’s on the right, yo!”
“Just tell me that next time,” I coolly barked, glimpsing the car trying to catch us. I swerved to the right and prepared myself for the next turn; making certain not to be too in line with our competition, as I didn’t want him to draft my tail.
Artfully weaving around the bend and slowing down, I embraced the weighty caress as we drifted through the turn on our right; flicking the shifters and heading forward for just a brief second, and then spinning the wheel hard to the left. Trails of thin smoke lifted through the air, as the tires of the car strained to hit the turn. Another small forward stretch, and then a circle around a series of containers; Jesse pumped away excitedly at the dash of the car.
My body felt crystalized in perfect rapture as I slid the bad boy of a car through a back-to-back series of long winded, drifting turns – coming out five or six car lengths ahead of the dude behind us. When we hit our last stretch, I slammed the gas and gripped the wheel white-knuckle tight. I didn’t blink, but it felt like I had – and all of a sudden, we crossed the spray painted line of white to a thunderous crowd.
When the ecstasy of my body eased up, and I came back down to reality – I brought the car to a slow cruise and the wheels of the car angrily kicked up smoke; doing doughnuts with Jesse hugging me and yelling in victory. I felt this lightning surge through me and I killed the engine. We shared one more look and got out of the car, sharing a moment in the spotlight. Hunter jogged up to me with a smile on his face, picking me up and spinning me around.
I whispered in his ear to let me sit on his shoulder, and he paraded me through the crowd with Jesse at our side. “Still think you’re the only badass?” I called out across the noise to Hunter, my hand connectin
g one after the other with the cheering street audience going wild.
23
Jessica
We’d spent last night together back at my place, and all throughout this morning I couldn’t shake the buzz that I’d gotten since. That electric passion that burned through me so effortless and easily, it was like every step that I took was going in the right direction, to the right place, in the right time and rhythm.
The singing and the racing made feel awesome. And with the money that I’d won, I had seriously considered continuing it with Jesse. But when I talked to Hunter about it, he made it clear that those events were at best, a weekly event, and typically they were only twice a month. Plus, if I started to compete regularly, I wouldn’t be able to get such a high payout – the bets would be stacked on me, instead of the usual suspects.
Still, it was a small step towards what Mom needed, and for that, I was eternally grateful to Hunter and Jesse.
Over the course of nearly a week’s time, I came to better know and understand the workings of the Hell Reapers. Riding with Hunter on his motorcycle was something out of this world. Feeling the wind in my hair and the sting in my face, every turn and burst of speed was like a new adventure that I couldn’t get enough of. We’d ride throughout the night with Jameson and Reyes at our heel, and we would go all throughout the county, meeting and talking with people.
There was something that I noticed, however, whenever we would tag along at Alister’s bar. That man with the wild green eyes, Tommy, I believe. He kept looking my way, and I knew that Hunter was picking up on it too. He was definitely checking me out for longer than what one would consider acceptable.
Of course, I wasn’t permitted to all information, and I could only discern what I was able to from the bits of conversations that I did overhear. I didn’t push Hunter very hard in terms of questioning, but when I did he answered honestly and patiently.
“Shouldn’t you be in there with them?” I asked, the sky blushing pink.
“Nah, this guy’s cool – they won’t need me. ‘Sides. Reyes and Jameson can handle themselves. Especially Reyes.”
“I see,” we were waiting on the stoop of the front porch, “am I being nosy?” I scrunched up my face.
Hunter craned his head over to me and let his fingers dance across my chin and the cheek of my face, “You’re like a cat.”
“I stick my nails in you and kick at you when you try and rub my belly?”
“Another smart ass word out of your pretty mouth and I’m gonna throw milk at your face,” Hunter threatened with a tight smirk.
I scooted closer to him and nuzzled up against him, pretending to be the mangy feline he so plainly viewed me as.
Hunter laughed and coiled an arm around my waist, “Alright, alright.”
“Purr-r-r,” I continued to play along. “Seriously though, what are they doing in there?”
He just shook his head. “Negotiating.”
“Very descriptive, I bet you got some high marks in school.”
His brows knitted together and the lines of his face evened out. Had I hurt his feelings? “Price of product goes up and down based on two things,” Hunter explained, bringing up his index finger, “one is supply, the other is demand. Fernando ‘Slick’ over here gets good product, and we like to get good prices, so every season we arrange a special trip. He’s our secondary supplier, used for the more curious, high end clientele.”
I hummed in acknowledgement, and feeling silly, I just barely licked at his face. “I didn’t understand any of that, I’m a cat, remember?”
***
Two more nights passed, and before the evening could paint the sky black, I made certain to visit my mom. I said my hellos to Carl Hemlocke, who was even kind and remembering enough to give me their music demo on a plain, burned CD. Promising to listen to it, I mentally filed the later-to-be-done deed away and carried the CD case with me.
Mom was well, or rather, as well enough as she could be with the cancer that was slowly but inevitably killing her. None of it was fair, and I hated every burning second of knowing that she was suffering and that the hospital wouldn’t budge without her insurance’s help in the matter.
Later in the night, I crawled into bed with Barristan jumping up to my side and pooling himself into a puddle of dog and hair at my feet. Hunter and I were texting one another back and forth every day, and more than I thought two people could or should humanly text. At night before bed, this ritual was so deeply engrained into my skull I didn’t even have to consciously think about messaging him anymore; I simply did it, or responded to him when I felt my phone buzz. It was strange, because it was nothing short of exhilarating every time we spoke – no matter the way in which we communicated. Every time I felt those fingers of warmth press against my chest, and this stupid, almost childish giddiness would overcome me.
***
It was Friday now, and my boss Mr. Gates was hounding me for further updates on the article that I was supposed to be formulating. Things on that front were not good, and even though the money was flowing into my bank account, it still wasn’t nearly what was needed. Still, a completion bonus and the favor that I’d earn by doing this for him would probably earn me a promotion.
Doubt and fear plagued at me though, was this really my out? I was in deep with the Reapers now, and deeper still with Hunter. If I decided to go through with it, there’d be no greater betrayal – and with some of their family and Hunter knowing what they know, I could seriously be at risk here.
Too deep. Just in too deep.
I was at the club’s bar with Hunter and his friend Holly, who had seemed to sweeten up to me since last we met.
“You’re looking…” Holly put a finger to her lips, pondering for a moment, “glowing.”
I raised a brow as I fidgeted in Hunter’s lap at the booth we were hanging out in, “Is that a good thing?” I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep spinning smoke with the article that I was supposed to write. I had to decide soon if I was going to go through with it or not, even though I knew there was really only one answer at the end of the day.
Hunter answered for Holly, “Hell yeah it is,” he tightened his grip around my waist and kissed at my neck playfully. I couldn’t help but squeal. It hurt something fierce to know that soon, all of this would be ripped away from me.
Holly reached into the pocket of her light sweatshirt and produced a hair band, casually bunching her golden strands into a ponytail. “Would you grab me a beer, Hunter?”
He nodded and patted my back, signaling for me to lift myself from him. He scooted out of the booth and walked towards the bar, trying to flag down a very busy Mozz.
The bar seemed to come to a strange, dream-like quiet, save for the idle background noise of chatter and forks clinking against the occasional plate. Holly leaned in against the table, and I immediately knew that something wasn’t right. “I know you’re up to something,” she accused.
My eyebrows knitted together tightly, “What do you mean?” I mirrored her leaning into the table.
“I know,” Holly repeated, looking over to Hunter and then back to me, “Reyes and D’Angelo have been looking into you.”
I knew that they were suspicious of me. This D’Angelo character I’d never met, however. “So you knew my name from them? I’m not comfortable with you guys poking around in my private life.”
She nodded. “You associate with the club, you no longer have a private life. Not one that the club doesn’t know about at least. Hunter? The brothers here? They accept you as you are, but at the end of the day, a rat’s a rat.”
“Nothing to know,” I countered. She was right about the people of the Hell Reapers taking a liking to me, for the most part – that made it all the worse, really. “And you can relax your happy ass,” I tilted my head, “I’m no rat.”
Holly shook her head, “Not from where I’m sitting. We know where it is you work—“
“Hunter already knows wher—“
“Listen,” she interrupted, “I’m not here to rip you apart. Not yet at least,” her eyes narrowed, “but your line of work? I hope Hunter’s not been so stupid as to not even consider what you might be doing. We’re keeping things quiet for now, but I’m thinking that if we did just a little digging. Maybe make a phone call to your boss, ask the right questions – maybe we go down there and start busting heads… we might not like what we see.”
I shrugged, but the nervousness wormed its way through me, “Go ahead, it’s clear to me that you’re just jealous.” I hoped that it would be enough to make her doubt the things swimming in her head. “If you want to know what it is I do, go and read the paper, tell me if you spot any mistakes in the lines. I’m lucky when I get a break from slogging through all that garbage. Work’s the dullest part of my life.” Hunter began to make his way back to us, laughing and talking at some of the various club brothers and associates, two beers in hand.
Holly noticed this, and her eyes shifted back to me, “Consider this a final warning,” she said, “come clean right here, right now. This is for your benefit, not ours.”
I steeled my expression, offering nothing but a frigid glare, “I don’t need your warnings, Holly. So please,” I said, “let it go.”
Hunter sat the glasses of beer down on the table as Holly and I stared one another off, a storm of invisible sparks between us.
***
Setting down the box of Licht chocolates on my mother’s nightstand, I smoothed out the kinks in my blue skirt that weren’t truly there.
“Thanks, Blue Jay,” she said, taking a sip of her water.
“It’s no problem,” I replied, “I always think of you when I see them, so I had to get you some.” She loved the ones filled with caramel and raspberry, so naturally I could never stand the raspberry, because mother daughter reasons, I guess. I sat there in my chair and found my gaze settling on my mom’s white blanket.
“Honey?” She asked.
“Huh?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah…”
“Yeah?” She asked incredulous.
“It’s just, I don’t know,” it was hard to find the words that my heart so desperately wanted to spit out. “There’s this guy, mom.”