by M. N. Forgy
I swallow at his words, my heart beating so hard I can feel my body shake with each beat. I want to shake my head, tell him he’s wrong. But is he?
“You may be known to be an angel, sweetheart, but I see the devil,” he suggests smugly before winking and walking back into his room, shutting the door behind him.
Blinking rapidly, I step into my room and take in the mess left by bikers.
This is going to take me all night to clean up.
Undoing the bungee cords that attach my busted door to the frame this morning, I glare at the door next to me. That fucker. I should go in there and strangle him with these fucking cords. The day I fucked up was when I ran into that man.
I’m so tired of fighting. It would be nice if for once someone fought for me.
I thought he’d save me, but in the end he’s just going to use me to get what everyone around here wants.
I wrap it around the handle, and pull it tightly, latching it to the frame.
I smile, satisfied that it’s shut. Placing my hands on my hips I give a curt nod in approval. Then it snaps, the hook catching my hand in its rapid swirling assault.
“Jesus Christ!” I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp down on my hand where the metal struck.
Pushing out an angry breath, I stomp toward the main office.
“Rosa?” I question, stepping inside.
She’s inches away from the television, her thirty shades of gray hair sticking to her face from the early morning heat. The fan next to her doing nothing.
“Rosa?” I repeat, trying to gain her attention.
“What?” she barks, her voice cracking from the overuse of smoking.
“I need my door fixed.” I sigh, rubbing the red spot on my hand.
She smacks her lips and holds out her hand, the cigarette placed in between them hardly moving as it sticks to the god awful shade of pink lipstick she wears.
“I don’t have any money; you know that,” I plead, angry she would think I could pay for it. Rosa knows the deal with Alvaro and I. She knows Alvaro runs everything. It took her a busted lip and a couple pistol whips to figure it out, but she got the message eventually. She sits behind this desk, day in and day out. She places potential buyers in rooms and keeps a watchful eye on everyone that comes through.
She is paid for her services well.
“Don’t know what to tell ya then,” she states, not taking her eyes off the screen.
Rolling my eyes, I slap the counter and leave.
Pursing my lips, I think about going to that asshole’s room, demanding he switch with me.
A part of me wonders if I should warn Alvaro of what The Devil’s Dust are after before someone pieces it together for themselves. If anyone remembers Bull trying to grab me, they will think I am in on whatever Bull has planned and I will be deemed a traitor. Tortured and killed on sight.
If I don’t tell Alvaro the information I have on The Devil’s Dust, it gives me more time. Time to figure out if I can trust them or not.
It’s a gamble. One that if I lose, Uncle Benito will gladly have me offed. My hand trails down to the green bandana that is sticking out of my back pocket.
I remember when I refused to wear it, Alvaro gagged me with it, shoving it in my mouth so deep I choked on the dry fabric. I gave in quickly, deciding to just wear it. After all, it seemed so stupid to die over it.
I shake my head of the violent nightmare. The memory alone should persuade me to deter toward keeping my mouth shut and trying to use the Devil’s as an escape. But it doesn’t.
Heading to the diner for breakfast I sit in my spot and wait for Jose to wait on me.
“Damn, you look like shit this morning,” Jose greets, standing next to my table. I glance down at myself. A brown leather halter, black shorts, and my work boots. I twist my lips, maybe I don’t look fit for a runway, but I like it. Hell, I think this is more me than any dress I ever wore.
“Not what you’re wearing, we crossed that bridge of atrocity a long time ago and we gave up, remember?” He pops his hip out, his brows raised to his hairline. “I’m talking about this.” He waves his finger around, gesturing toward my face.
I laugh. Leave it to Jose to tell a girl she looks like hell.
“Yeah, well when your door doesn’t lock at night and you live in this type of place, it keeps you awake,” I smart back. The sun from the window shines on the only piece of jewelry I’m wearing or own for that matter and I grab at my necklace. The only humble thing left of me. My lion charm. It’s pure gold and was bought before my parents took on the drug trade.
“My Anahi, my familia. Set apart who you think you should be, and be the lioness I know you’re destined to be.”
“Hey!” Fingers snap in my face, and I blink slowly. Dropping the lion charm. “So why doesn’t your door lock? What happened?”
I rub at my forehead, not sure if I should tell him. I like Jose, but if Alvaro ever thought he knew something he didn’t he would hurt Jose and he’s a wuss, he’d spill what he knows instantly.
“Not sure, just won’t shut,” I lie, fumbling with the condiments on the table.
“Hmm?” He looks at me doubtfully, his lips pursed.
“Jose, table three needs you,” the cook hollers from behind the counter.
“Shit,” Jose mumbles. He slides from the booth and rests his hands on the table.
“Cheeseburger and fries?” Jose inquires. I smirk, loving how well he knows me. When I’m having a shit day… it’s my cure. Greasy food. Just like the kind my mother used to tell me about. This place doesn’t do her telling justice, but it’s close. She told me about a lot of wonderful things here in America. I may have a shitty experience being here, but I do get to have little things like this that remind me of her and that alone breeds hope that this isn’t the best it gets for me.
After eating my meal, I head out. I have to start my shift soon, meaning I will run into Alvaro. I wish he would just get hit by a truck, or someone needing a fix would go on a withdrawal rage and just do us all a favor.
Walking toward my room I notice my bike propped up on two blue milk crates. I stop in my tracks, my hands balling in my palms so hard my nails cut the skin.
Bull is hunched down, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. No shirt on under his leather vest and grease all over him.
Music plays behind him as his dexterous hands make quick work at the guts of my Fixie. Panic races in my chest. He’s breaking her apart bolt by bolt!
What the fuck? Is he trying to destroy everything of mine?
“Oh I love that song.” I flinch, not noticing Jose standing behind me. “It’s Godsmack‘s Stay Away.” He informs me.
“Jesus Christ, Jose, you can’t just sneak up on me like that!” I scorn, clutching my chest. “I could have just punched you in the throat, do you realize that?” He knows what goes on out here, I have to stay on my toes all the time.
“You going over there?” Jose ignores my rant, eyeing Bull over my shoulder. Biting my cheek I turn. My throat bobbing as I watch Bull toss bolts and shit over his shoulder.
My thighs clench on their own, defying the rage poisoning me. Sweat drips from his forehead, black grease streaked among his hard chest. I can’t help the hitch in my breathing.
“Can I have him?” Jose whispers. I blink away the sultry smog clouding my anger and stomp toward the sexy biker.
“Yeah, after I kill him!” I clip.
Bull stands and flicks his cigarette. His movements appearing in slow motion as smoke bellows from his lips. He turns, his back facing me and shrugs out of his cut, throwing it over on the patio. His muscular back inked with the same image that is on the vest.
I narrow my brows, trying to remind myself of the mission at hand.
Holding my hand out I hesitate on if I should touch him or turn around. I look over my shoulder and see Jose looking at me like I lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
Inhaling a large breath, I poke Bull in the shoulder as hard
as I can.
His skin is slick with sweat and hot to the touch. The contact shooting warmth through my finger and my body before igniting in my toes.
He looks over his shoulder, a hard look on his face.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snarl.
He lifts his chin and smiles. Fucking smiles. The act pissing me off, I shove him.
“Get off my fucking bike! How dare you touch Fixie!” I point in his face, my voice yelling above the music. He looks down at me, amusement dancing in his eyes, fueling my aggression. “It’s not funny!” I shout.
I shove him again, making him step onto the cracked patio.
“Don’t you know you shouldn’t touch another person’s things? You can mess my room up, you can even destroy my things, but my bike?” I scoff. “I draw the motherfucking line!” My accent flows thick, as I get right in his face. My heart beating so fast at the bold act.
He grabs my hand out of nowhere and slams my back against the post that holds up the awning covering the walkway. The blow so hard a squeak escapes my mouth as my head clashes with the wood.
He gets in my face, the smell of grease and fuel strong.
“I was fixing your bike you little bitch,” he growls. I pull my head up off the pole and squint my eyes.
“Oh, and were you helping me with my room too? Maybe you should help me less,” I clip quickly.
He pushes his knee between my legs and jostles me hard against the pole.
“You have a shit way of saying thank you, ya know darlin’?” Fuck me, the gruffness in his voice has me buckling at the knees.
“Fuck you,” I spit, trying to convince myself I’m not turned on.
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you? Maybe I should shut you up with my dick in your mouth,” he raises his brows suggestively.
My mouth drops in disbelief. I have nothing left to say. My body vibrates with his words, my mind twisting them into the most delicious thoughts. I’m conflicted on which way to go.
His eyes bounce between both of mine. Tension filling the air thicker than the grains that swim in the air during a sandstorm. Our souls talking, while our minds battle what is happening here.
“You need to fix my door!” I reply. Trying to clear away the attraction that is dancing within.
He scoffs. “Tell me who you work for and where I can find them,” he talks down. I pinch my lips into a fine line, conveying I won’t speak a word.
He shoves me away and I stumble, losing my footing and falling. The leather cut laying on the ground saving my hands from biting into the concrete as I fall. Furrowing my brows in anger, my fingers clench the leather, pulling it up with me.
He flicks his gaze to me and does a double take, noticing I have his jacket.
“What are you doin’?” his sexy voice drawls.
“You can get this back, when you fix my door!” I hold it behind my back. Teasing him like a little girl flirting with the boy she swears she doesn’t like.
He stalks up to me, and I take a step back.
“Fucking give it here!” he demands, his hand outstretched, fingers demanding I place the worn leather in them.
“You don’t like it when others touch your things, do you?” I taunt as I shove my arms through the sleeves, the vest feels heavy and hot on my small frame. “Fix my door and you’ll get it back,” I bargain.
His eyes widen, but I can’t tell if he likes what he sees or if he’s completely appalled.
The look has me second guessing what the hell I’m doing. He’s obviously a dangerous biker and here I am playing games with him. As if dealing drugs and being a part of The Cartel doesn’t get my rocks off enough.
“Take that off. Now. I’ve killed people for touching my leather,” he threatens. I roll my eyes and scoff.
“Everyone has killed someone around here. Try again,” I smirk, finding humor in all of this.
Taking advantage of my looking the other way, his hands grip the leather and shoves me against his motel door.
His face inches from mine, the smell of cigarettes and toothpaste swarming me.
“You don’t deserve to wear that. Only my woman wears my leather,” he snarls, the way he says it so possessively makes me feel like I’ve lost out on something I never knew I was missing. Jealousy maybe? But why? I don’t know this man.
“Yeah, well only my man goes into my room. Only my man fixes my bike!” I spit back, even though I have no man. What else am I supposed to come back with?
“You sure you want to do this?” He raises a brow, the flare in his eyes telling me I should think twice about wearing his vest.
Not wanting to come off weak, I snuggle inside the warm leather in response. I’m not going to lie, red flags are going off in my head, and my conscious is cussing me out for being so negligent. I ignore it all.
“You have no idea what you just did sweetheart,” he smiles wolfishly, and a puzzled look crosses my face. What did I just do?
My necklace snags around my neck and the faint sound of metal snapping is heard. I stall.
I look down, seeing my necklace gone. Mouth gaped open I look at Bull holding it in his hand.
“Give it back!” I cry, swiping at it. His hand pushes against my chest, keeping me against the door.
“Take your fucking vest back and give me my necklace!” I try and pry myself from the warm leather, but it’s no use with the force of his hand against me.
“You fucked with the wrong Devil,” he glares at me, making me stop in my tracks. My eyes prickling with tears.
“That necklace means a lot to me,” I tell him. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get ahold of myself, not wanting him to see me break.
“Oh yeah?” He lifts a brow. “That vest means a lot to me.” He tilts his head to the side.
“So take it back and give me my necklace,” I reason, trying to make my voice serious rather than crack with emotion.
He holds the dainty necklace up, eyeing it. The sun shining off of it perfectly. My mother gave that necklace. Other than memories, it’s all I have of her.
“Nah, I think I like this better.” His cold gaze cuts to mine as he finally releases me. “You keep the cut.”
My heart skips a beat and my teeth grit. Regret flooding through me like the Nile. Why did I fuck with him? Why did I think it would be funny?
I narrow my eyes in fury. I only did it because he was acting like such a dick. He ruined my room, he’s here for all the wrong reasons, and he touched my bike. Who does he think he is coming into this town and acting like a cowboy.
The cowboy that is walking away with my necklace. I watch him strut away. His bare back solid and tattooed, his arms bowed away from his body from the size of his biceps.
My hands tangle in my hair as I look for Jose, realizing he is now gone and wondering why he would just leave me alone with a big, sexy scary biker. Confused on what to do now I stand there. My emotions and body playing a game of tug-o-war.
I want him as badly as I want to hurt him.
“Problem, Anahi?” Carlos asks stepping onto the patio.
Nose scrunched, hands balled into fists I push past him. “Nice fucking timing!”
Sitting outside my room, my feet kicked up in the chair next to me I hold the necklace up. It looks like a lion of some sort. I blow smoke from my nostrils, flicking the charm with my index finger. It’s simple, yet cute I guess.
“What the fuck is that?” Bobby questions, sitting next to me, a beer in his hand. I had a drink earlier, because I couldn’t stand the shakes any longer. It’s the only one I’ve had though, and my body has noticed the decrease in alcohol.
“Just a means to an end,” I respond. Taking my sight back to the charm. The mystery behind it boggles my mind. I want to know why this means so much to her. Did a lover give it to her? Did she buy it with the only money she had?
“That’s that chick’s, isn’t it?” Bobby questions, leaning forward to grab it. I move my hand away before his makes conta
ct. This means something to Anahi, and I don’t want anything to happen to it.
Anahi is mind boggling and I can’t place why she is here, and why I’m so goddamn drawn to her. She’s young, and beautiful that’s for sure. But that is exactly why I need to stay away from her.
I’m damaged goods and wouldn’t do anything but hurt her in the end. Then again, I haven’t ever had my priorities in order… why start now?
She put my cut on, she just chose to be mine even if she didn’t realize it. Whether I keep her or not is the question.
Movement catches my attention, glancing over I find a fuming Anahi leaving her room. Her eyes cutting through me like shards of glass. She has on black shorts and a white shirt. There’s something on it but it’s so faded I can’t tell what it is. Her long legs are tan and I watch them as she slides into those boots with ease. I’ve never seen a girl wear those kind of boots before, but she more than does them justice.
There’s something about that little worker bee that has my head spinning. Like a fucking leaf in a hurricane, my feelings and better judgement at the mercy of the storm.
My leather cut stands out on her and I can’t help but smirk. It’s huge on her; making her look cute as hell. My nostrils flare with the sudden urge to fuck this girl. The fact that she’s much younger than me an undertone of my sexual desire for her.
She flips me off, strutting past.
“Wow, she’s pissed,” Bobby laughs. “And is that your cut, Prez?”
“If you want to achieve great things, you have to be the asshole from time to time,” I explain, ignoring
his question about my cut and flicking the charm once more.
“Anahi!” Alvaro calls and I sigh, not ready for his shit today. He stops, eyeing the leather vest on me. Or cut, as Bull called it. The only reason I’m wearing it is because I was afraid if I left it in my room he’d just go in there and get it. Then he’d have my necklace and his cut and I would have no bargaining chip.