by Darby Briar
He doesn’t say anything after that for a minute. I’m sure he’s at a loss for words. A lot like Cap was when Dozer stepped down.
“Hey, listen. Think this is my last call.”
“Okay. Good. Sick of you wakin’ my ass up at the crack of dawn.”
He laughs again.
Then I tell him, “I’ll see you on the other side then, brother.”
“Yeah . . . see you on the other side.”
I hang up the phone and then roll over. Rub my hands over my face. The dream still lingers in my mind. I don’t dare close my eyes for fear it will be right there when I do. More vivid than it is now with my eyes open.
I look down at myself, for the first time, I see that I passed out still dressed. Well . . . at least I took my cut off. From here I can see the worn leather vest is hanging over the La-Z-Boy in the corner of my room. How it got there, I have no fucking idea.
My head throbs, but so does my hand. I peer down at it. It’s bruised. Two of my knuckles are swollen as hell and bleeding. When I flex my hand, the cuts open a bit and the throbbing gets worse. I glance around the room until I locate the damage I did to the wall in last night’s drunken rage. There’s a hole the size of a basketball, which means I planted my fist through it more than once.
Fuuucck . . . Good one, Mav.
I’ll have to patch that shit up later.
I sit up and throw my legs over the side of the bed. My head feels like it’s being crushed by a compactor, and the world becomes blurry for a minute and I swallow back the rising nausea.
The black bag is sitting there in the middle of the floor. Its contents are spread around the room. I reach for them and quickly shove it all back in the bag. Seal it away, and kick my past back under the bed. Out of sight. Where it belongs.
Actually, I should burn that shit. I’ve tried to a number of times. Maybe I’ll be successful at it today.
At my dresser, I pull off my shirt and take off my jeans, change into workout shorts so I can get rid of some of this pent up anger, arousal, and edginess. Whatever in the fuck that’s making me think and feel too damn much.
EMBER
I wake slowly. It takes me a minute to orient myself, figure out where I am. The first things I see are white sheets, the beige comforter, and the bare off-white walls. The smell is familiar. A lot like my childhood home. But I haven’t lived there in years so it throws me off.
Slowly, last night comes back to me and I recognize my surroundings for what they are. Dozer’s room. Right. I’m in the clubhouse.
As the thought snakes its way through my brain, I’m tempted to close my eyes, click my heels three times, and see if I’ll somehow be magically transported home, to Sundown and Will.
God . . . if only that were possible.
Sighing, I think . . . stop being negative. Is this really how you want to start the day?
No, it’s not. So I take a deep, cleansing breath and start over. Today will be whatever you make of it. So be brave and make it good.
Honestly, being here, although it’s not paradise by any stretch of the imagination, especially after what went down with Mav yesterday, isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.
For a minute there last night, I actually found myself having fun chatting, and laughing with Lily who gets silly as all get out when she’s drunk. I sipped on a drink, played pool, and innocently flirted with a good-looking guy. Something I haven’t done for . . . I don’t even know how long.
I almost felt normal. Like maybe, my life wasn’t one giant mess. Like I was just a regular girl, in a regular place, and I didn’t have a big cloud hanging over my head.
Of course, I had to ignore the whoring going on around me. And it twisted my stomach to see girls treating themselves so cheaply. But I was also thankful, thankful it wasn’t me, and that I’m hands off for now, and thankful because it was clear every one of those girls wanted to be there, doing what they were doing. They weren’t being forced. They weren’t being held captive.
I hear a faint sound to my left. Startled, I snap my head in that direction.
What the . . . ?
A shock of panic zips through me and I’m instantly wide awake. I scramble backward until I sit with my back to the headboard and yank up the sheet, needing a barrier between us even if it’s only a flimsy piece of cotton.
My heart starts beating overtime because there’s a half-naked man sitting four feet away from me on the black leather couch. He’s the big guy with the tattoos on one side of his face. With his shirt off, I can see his dark body art running down his neck and continuing all the way south to his black leather pants. His pants are partially unbuttoned. And I’m thinking his graphic tats don’t stop at his waistline.
He’s not looking at me. He’s messing with some black objects on the small coffee table in front of him.
I search the room quickly. Did I fall asleep in the wrong room? My mind scrolls through the last events of last night. Dozer walking me to the door. Him winking at me a second before he closed it and locked it. “Ummm. I’m sorry. Dozer said I could sleep here. Is this not his room?”
When a few seconds go by without him acknowledging me or looking over, I try again, “Hello?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Can you not hear me?” I wave my hand. Nothing. Whatsoever. Though I do get the sense he can hear me just fine.
“What are you doing?”
His hair is brown, short on the sides, longer on the top and down the middle of the back. He has a couple of days’ worth of stubble, and a patch of facial hair below his bottom lip. His eyes are what I find most disconcerting. They’re so dark they appear black. And he’s ripped with muscles everywhere, and it’s obvious he could do some real damage to me if that’s what he’s here to do.
Thick black leather bands circle his wrists, and his hands are colorfully tatted and adorned with bulky rings. After further inspecting, what he’s tinkering with—little black pieces of metal that lay on a small white cloth—I make out what it is.
I cinch my fingers more tightly around the sheet, pull it up to my neck, and slowly draw my legs up to my chest. Like that would protect me if he decides to use what’s in his hands.
He’s cleaning a gun.
Lined up on the far side of the cloth, are gold bullets and a magazine.
As if to punctuate my thoughts, he starts assembling it. Sliding pieces together with sharp, yet fluid movements, I hear click . . . click . . . click . . . click, as it becomes a lethal weapon in his hands.
My heart rate accelerates with each click.
Once all the pieces look to be in place, he sets it down on the towel, picks up the magazine, and then thumbs the bullets in one by one. Slow. Precise movements.
My eyes fly to the door. Closed. I sharply look over to the window. I know I opened both of them late last night.
Oh, god. A prickle of fear skates down my spine.
Suddenly, my breath becomes short and hurried. His presence has somehow sucked out all the air out of the room.
The last bullet makes this awful sound as it’s loaded into the clip. Then he shoves the magazine inside the gun, and in one quick movement, he draws back the top.
Which I’m pretty sure means he just loaded a round in the chamber.
I hope to hell that I’m wrong.
His gaze leaves the gun and gradually slides over to me. Eerily. Quietly. He sizes me up. Like he’s got all the time in the world. He tilts the gun to the side, rests it on his thigh and his finger slides into the hole to rest on the trigger.
With sweaty palms, I clench the sheet, though I know it’s stupid. It’s not a bulletproof shield.
Standing, he points toward the floor. Then he walks around the table and comes to stand at the end of the bed, never taking his unnerving coal eyes off me the entire time. He motions me forward with the gun, waiving it around a bit.
“C’ mere.” His voice is low and has a whispery quality to it. Like he’s lost it recently and
he’s still recovering.
I barely hear him past the pounding of my own heart. But he’s insane if he thinks I’m going anywhere near him.
My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. “Why?”
Giving me a hard stare, he lifts the gun. “We gonna do this merry-go-round bullshit all day? I’ll drag you over here if I have to.”
Shit.
“I-I’m supposed to be hands off.”
“Yeah? Says who? Dozer?” He pushes a quick breath through his lips making a “Pfff,” sound. “You gonna give me what I want willingly or am I gonna have to use force?” He gives me all of two seconds to respond before he kneels on the bed, reaches for me.
His large hand skates over the sheet and finds my ankle. “Force it is. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” An evil smile flashes over his face. “Actually I prefer it that way. Makes it more interesting.”
A hard knock at the door has him pausing. We look at each other. The promise I find in his eyes is haunting. It says, “We’ll be revisiting this soon.” Another knock comes and a second later, the door swings open. But by then, Mr. Tats is a foot away from the bed and the gun’s no longer in his hand.
Although the tension in the room should probably ratchet up at the arrival of another hard-core biker dominating the doorway, it lessens. Some of the fear rioting through me deteriorates at seeing Dozer standing there.
Dozer scans the scene in front of him. His eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “What’s goin’ on?” I see suspicion and concern in his features.
The biker smirks, shrugs, and walks toward him. I notice the gun is tucked behind his back in his pants.
“I’m hungry. Just wakin’ her up.”
“Hungry? You better mean for food.” Dozer mumbles before he looks at me. “Did he touch you?”
I rapidly shake my head. I imagine by the look on Dozer’s face that if I’d said yes, this would escalate rapidly, and the other biker has a gun. Dozer doesn’t know that.
As Mr. Tats comes up to Dozer, Dozer pins him against the doorframe, putting his forearm on the guy’s chest. “Taz, don’t bullshit me.”
Taz, I’m guessing is the guy’s name, throws Dozer’s arm off and pushes Dozer back into the opposite door frame. They’re about the same height. Both huge, ripped with muscles. Dozer’s bigger, but not by much. If I wasn’t so unsettled, I’d probably be able to appreciate the view.
“Lay your hands on me again, and VP or not, I’ll cut them the fuck off and feed them to you. Just wakin’ the bitch up.”
Dozer glances at me. “What’d he do? What’d he say to you?”
Taz stares daggers at me.
“Nothing.”
Dozer must see some of the fear I’m feeling flash over my face, because he growls to Taz, “Mav put you up to this, didn’t he? Where is he?” Dozer pushes Taz aside and leaves the doorway. Boots pound on the hallway floor.
Taz tells Dozer, “Door was open. The stray wanted company.”
Then banging sounds from down the hall.
“Mav! Get out here, asshole.”
A few seconds later, I hear Mav’s unmistakable voice. “What?”
“You sic your fuckin’ dog on her? You kiddin’ me with this shit?” This is followed by a few seconds of silence.
Then in a thickly accented voice, Mav says, “What the fuck’s goin’ on?”
“I’ll tell you what the fuck. Your pit bull here broke into my fuckin’ room, like that.”
Taz leaves the doorway and joins the argument. “I told you. The door was fuckin’ open. Looked to me like she was wantin’ a visitor.” There’s a pause and then. “Is she or is she not supposed to be cookin’ fuckin’ breakfast?”
Another pregnant silence. “Why was the door open?” Mav growls the same time Dozer says, “The door wasn’t fuckin’ open. Lyin’ motherfucker. I locked it last night when I left her.” After that, I hear grappling noises as if they’re going at each other.
“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fuckin’ liar,” Taz growls.
Mav barks, “Cut it the fuck out.”
“It was! Fuckin’ ask her,” Taz shouts.
“Just stay the fuck away from her. Both of you. And you, you gave me your word this was done until the party.”
“Jesus, man. One day and she’s got you by the balls, huh?” Taz mutters.
“Shut the fuck up before I knock your ass out.”
“Name a time, brother, and I’ll be there.”
Mav hollers, “What the fuck did I say? Cut it the fuck out!” I hear curses and more scuffling.
A few seconds later Dozer comes into the room. Slams the door. He’s panting and his face is tinged red. He doesn’t look at me. But grates out, “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m sorry about the door. I heard a noise and peeked out to see what it was last night. I must have forgotten to lock it.”
His eyes meet mine. An incredulous look flashes over his face. “You forgot? In a clubhouse full of drunk bikers? After what you saw goin’ on last night?” There’s doubt in his eyes.
But I nod weakly.
I stayed up for a few hours after he left. I was tired as hell, but couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t breathe. I needed to know that I could leave at any time. So I opened the window. When that wasn’t enough, I opened the door just barely. Then I tucked myself into a ball and fell asleep on Dozer’s bed within seconds.
“Tell me the truth. What did he say to you?”
I shake my head again. I don’t want to be the cause of more drama between them. That’s not going to buy me any points with the members if I pit them against one another. Plus the look Taz gave me promised retribution if I ratted him out to Dozer.
“Not really anything before you came in.”
“Threaten you?”
“No.”
He pulls in a couple of breaths and turns away, rolls his shoulders as he does so. Then he walks across the room to the closet. A moment later, he peers out and says. “Just gettin’ some clothes, I’ll be out of here in a sec and then you can shower.”
“Okay.”
His eyes roam around the room. “What the hell happened in here?”
At first, I’m confused and then it dawns on me what he’s talking about. “I cleaned.”
He snorts. “Huh. Nice. Thanks.” When he walks up to me a minute later, he says, “Listen, I’m gonna run to the gym for a bit. But I’ll be back. I have to put in a couple of hours at the gym and then at the hospital. I’ll have Rigor watch you every second I’m not around, okay?”
I know this is partially his way of protecting me, and part of the deal with Mav, but I can’t help but have a sour rumbling in the pit of my stomach.
He must see the idea of a babysitter slash guard doesn’t please me, because he says, “I promised I’d have someone watchin’ you. It’ll be a while until everyone here learns to trust you. And it’s for your protection. Just because Taz didn’t do anything to you this mornin’, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have. Be smart and steer clear of him, yeah? Don’t get caught alone with him again.”
“Holy shit, girl. That’s the best fuckin’ bacon I’ve ever tasted.” Bodie groans as he chews on a mouth full.
Three other brothers grunt in agreement. The guys are sitting at the bar top shoveling in the breakfast I made them.
“Nothing special if you ask me.” Taz looks directly at me as he says it then drops a piece of bacon back to his plate as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever tasted.
I know it’s delicious. The only way he wouldn’t think so is if he had absolutely no taste buds whatsoever.
“Goddamn, these eggs are fuckin’ tasty. You got any more of them ready, sweetheart?” Griz smiles up at me.
“Yeah.” I grab the bowl and head back into the kitchen. I scoop up more eggs and grab some more muffins. I had no idea the guys could eat so much. I’m used to cooking for kids and old people though, so I guess I’ll have to make extra from now on.
As I reenter the lounge thr
ough the doors that connect to the kitchen, I hear Taz complain, “Shit tastes like fuckin’ tar. You sure she didn’t dig this shit out of the garbage?”
His words bring back the insults Mav threw out about me yesterday. I’m stunned, but I force my feet to move and I bite my lip. Just ignore it.
Taz is definitely not my number one fan. He’s been giving me the evil eye all morning. But I keep reminding myself that if he wanted to hurt me, he could have easily while I was sleeping.
While I cleaned last night, my mind kept thinking back on Mav, and what went down between us in his office. I concluded he was doing his best to scare me off. How he pushed me up against the wall, frisked me, and then told me to get on my knees. The way he bolted. I doubt he ever planned to let me go through with it.
But what has him so bothered? The idea that I’m possibly a rat for the GBs, whoever they are, or that I’m a reminder of the girl who broke him. Maybe both. I don’t know.
If anything, I’m under his skin.
Good . . .
Because he’s definitely gotten under mine.
Lily and Goose walk in. They take up some recently vacated seats at the bar. I fill two plates and hand them over, getting a growl/groan out of Goose when he takes his first bite.
“Okay, spill it. What in the hell did you do to the bacon?” Rigor asks from down the bar. “It’s never tasted like this when I fry it up.”
“Um, just a little brown sugar.”
In an amazed tone, Lily says, “How in the hell do you get the eggs all fluffy like this? You gotta teach me.”
“Hell, yeah. I’m onboard with that. Lil’ learnin’ how to cook.” Goose turns to her. “I love you, babe, but you can’t cook to save your life.”
Lily slaps his shoulder playfully.
Goose catches her hand, brings it to his lips, and plants a kiss on it before dropping both their hands into his lap. “But you have many other talents, so I’ll keep ya.”
“Shit, man. Lil’ Bird learns how to cook and we ain’t ever gonna see her sexy face. The only reason you guys come up for air is to eat,” Griz teases.
Lily replies, “And he wants to put a fridge in his room so we don’t even have to do that.”