by Ella Goode
“They went out to dinner, came back, and when they were undressing in his bedroom, I chambered my gun. My brother screamed like the little dickless boy that he was and flicked the lights on.”
“What happened then?” Chelsea and my food is getting cold but we are both mesmerized by Abel’s story. Abel, though? He’s making his way through the stack of pancakes like they’re nothing more than a pile of whipped cream. The fucked up tale of his girl and his brother wasn’t bad enough that it affected his appetite.
“I told him that he needed to sell the house and send me my half of the funds and that if I ever heard from either of them again, the bullet wouldn’t stay in my chamber. I got on my bike and went back to base. A month later I get a check for forty grand which was my share of the house and I haven’t been back. I heard that he proposed and then found her screwing around with someone else. I don’t keep in touch.”
He shovels the rest of the cakes into his mouth and then drains his glass of milk.
“That’s really shitty of both of them but it sounds like you dodged a bullet.”
Abel shrugs lightly. “Best thing that could have ever happened to me. I didn’t marry a cheating cunt, found out that blood doesn’t mean shit when it comes to families, and got a nice little nest egg that I keep tucked away in case I need it.”
“She was a real bitch.” Chelsea’s mouth is screwed up and I can tell by the way she’s gripping the fork that if Abel’s ex was standing in front of us, Chelsea’s fork would be in the bitch’s forehead.
“Plus you got new brothers now and not one of them is going to stick their dick into pussy you’ve claimed.”
“Not interested,” Abel replies.
Beside me Chelsea gives a tiny sniff of disbelief. She thinks he wants an old lady but doesn’t trust one enough to let himself care but I can see Abel’s done with this topic.
“”Let’s talk about the Misery crew and what the fuck we’re going to do with them,” I say.
“I vote for firebombing them,” Chelsea offers, “Or maybe not firebombing them but the house at least.”
“I like Big. He’s a good guy and I don’t think he’d back someone who wasn’t worth following.” Abel waves his hand for the check. “Junior’s hiding something but I don’t think he’s the type of person to stab you when you’re not looking.”
“But he will knife you when he’s looking you in the face. That’s not very comforting,” Chelsea says.
“We’re all a little feral, baby.” I plant a hard kiss against her temple. “Even you.”
The night I was hauled in for questioning over the murder of a local Fortune woman, Jessica Trainor, Chelsea looked ready to bring every one of those dirty cops down.
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue because I’m right.
“Back to the hellhole?” Abel says after paying the bill. This little trip is funded by the Death Lords so we don’t worry about splitting meals.
“I’d like to register for classes this morning. The next set of courses starts in two weeks.”
“How about I drop you off and then when you’re done I’ll pick you back up.” I don’t want Abel being stuck with the Misery crew without backup. “Then we can go look for someplace to live.”
“Sounds good.”
The beauty school that Chelsea is going to attend while we’re in Minneapolis is in a nice brick building in St. Louis Park. I tell her to wait while I go around and open the door for her. After I help her out, she gives me a weak tongueless kiss goodbye. Using my body, I shove hers against the side of the truck and pull her head back by the ponytail to show her exactly how we’re going to be saying goodbye when she goes to classes.
When she’s flushed, panting and pressing her sweet hips up against me, I release her. “You can go now.”
She scrunches up her nose and scowls. “Thanks a lot. Now my panties are wet and all my lipstick is on your face.”
I thumb her plump, rosy lower lip. “Like I said. You need to invent coffee flavored lipstick.”
Her hand comes down and cups me between my legs. Expertly she rolls my balls and rubs a firm palm against my growing stiffy. It’s almost too cold out here to get a hard on but my dick knows whose hand that is and he eagerly stands at attention.
I growl but she dances out of my embrace.
“You can go now,” she laughs and waves as she runs up the steps to the entrance. I mock chase after her and she squeals loudly before disappearing inside.
I watch as the blonde ponytail sways as she disappears from sight. I’d like nothing better than to follow her inside, find a small deserted closet and fuck her until it’s hard for her to stand but duty calls.
Abel doesn’t say much as we drive back toward the Misery MC’s clubhouse. About ten minutes out, he breaks the silence. “You really love her.”
“Yeah.” His statement’s full of wonder—as if it’s impossible for him to imagine loving anyone like I love Chels. “Can’t live without her. Worst part of being in prison was not seeing her. I made her stay away. Wouldn’t let her visit me because it was too fucking painful.”
“The other night…with Big. Why’d you pick him?”
The other night he’s referring to is the night we arrived at the Misery MC. Someone from the Misery MC insulted Chelsea and Big, the efficient killer who burns the evidence for Misery, offered up apologies in the form of eating Chelsea while I fingered her. She came like a bottle rocket. It was hot as hell, but probably not something we’d repeat.
“Because Chelsea mentioned something off hand about wondering what it’d be like being Annie—two guys getting off on bringing her to a happy place.”
“Why not a Death Lord?”
Why not a—? Oh shit. I kick myself for not recognizing earlier what Abel was hinting at when we were talking about our housing situation. Abel wondered why I’d picked a stranger and not someone I trusted.
“Shit man. The offense was from the Misery boys, not you. We got no problem with you.”
Able doesn’t look convinced.
“It’s Chelsea.” I’m not running her down here, just laying out her feelings. I think she’d do the same if she were here. She likes Abel. “She told me that it’d have to be a stranger. Someone she wouldn’t see on a regular basis because it’d be too embarrassing. She gets off on watching but she’s not into the showing off.”
Abel processes this explanation through his bullshit meter. “Okay. I’ll buy that. For the record, I’m not into the sharing either but I admit that I didn’t want to be somewhere if I was making people feel uncomfortable.”
“You’ve never given Chelsea an extra look so I guess I didn’t think you’d even be interested.”
He gives me a hard stare. “You’re kidding right?”
“No.”
“Wrecker, man, you start growling the minute another guy shows Chelsea even the slightest bit of interest. Plus, there’s Judge. There are easier and less painful ways to kill myself than step on the toes of the Death Lords’ president and his son.”
I am possessive of Chelsea but I also like making her happy. If she told me that having sex on the baseball field in front of sixty thousand fans would burn her up like tinder on a hot day, I’d do it because I get off on her getting off. “Okay, maybe once but I swear on my mother’s grave that the Big thing was spur of the moment and never to be repeated. Chelsea still blushes whenever she walks past him.”
“True. Big finds that funny, you know.”
“I know and so does Chelsea which makes her even more embarrassed.”
My phone buzzes. I toss it to Abel since I’m driving.
“Your attorney wants you to call her when you have time.”
“Great.” I’m still a person of interest in the Jessica Trainor shooting plus I have a year left of parole. She’s probably calling about that. “Ignore that and give Judge a call. Let’s find out if he knows what happened to any of the older members.”
Abel dials up Judge.
&n
bsp; “No one over the age of forty is left in the club?”
“That’s right. The only guy even remotely older is Moose—the one dealing the meth. He’s thirty-five. Has two sisters. About six feet and wiry. Brown hair.”
“Moose. Moose. Yes I think I remember him. He seemed decent. Rough around the edges. Didn’t like authority but loved his sisters something fierce. Would do anything for them. Those girls must be in their twenties. What else is going on? “
I explained the insult to Chelsea and how it led to one of the guy’s turning in his cut rather than apologizing.
“Abel took care of that for us.”
“Junior okayed that?”
“Yeah.”
“Doesn’t sound good. Funny thing is that after we moved that shit for Junior, there was a break in at one of the hideaways.”
“I didn’t remember that.”
“Storage unit was empty so never thought anything of it. Shit happens, you know? Thought it was a vagrant trying to find someplace warm in the winter.”
“Junior might have followed us and sent someone to break in?”
“I’m guessing that might be the case. Shit, now I’m gonna have to send Easy and Michigan down to rip apart what Junior had us store.”
When we agreed to move some of Junior’s more sensitive shit, we knew it wasn’t going to be legal stuff. No one hides legal stuff. But we didn’t look because Judge is an honorable guy. What was Junior’s business was Junior’s business. Judge was just lending a hand.
But you didn’t put someone in danger without giving him a head’s up. To hide the ball and place Judge in jeopardy was a dick move. And for some it would mean outright war and the Death Lords is big enough to bring the struggling Misery crew down.
Judge continues, “I’m hoping Junior’s just a dumbass and there isn’t anything in there but booze and guns. Do you need more back up? I’m reluctant to send anymore reinforcements because it might tip Junior off.”
“No, Abel and I are fine. There’s only a couple of guys living in the house and we’re moving on as soon as we can find a place.”
“Make that a priority. I don’t like knowing that Chelsea is sleeping so close to scum. Maybe you outta send her home.”
“First, she wouldn’t leave and second, no. I bring her back to Fortune and she won’t stay.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He sighs. Chelsea’s his little girl and I can hear the reluctance in his voice. He’d like for her to come home but she’s with me now and he’s got to let her go.
“I promised her when I got out, we’d never be apart again. Can’t break that promise to her. Plus you have to start trusting that I’m going to watch out for her. She’s not just my girlfriend. She’s everything to me.”
He’s silent for a minute. “Hard not to forget that you’re not that snot nosed kid who wrecked that bike when you were four.”
I bark out a laugh. “I served three years of hard time and you still think of me as a kid.”
“Once a dad, always a dad. Speaking of which…” he trails off. “Pippa wants to have kids.”
“Yeah so?”
“That bother, you?”
“You’re the one who has to teach the snot nosed kid to ride when you’re sixty.”
“You’re a fucker.”
“Learned from the best.”
19
CHELSEA
Registering for classes takes longer than I’d anticipated. The school’s admission’s officer presents me with more options than I’d read about on the website. I can take nail technicians classes only which is a ten week program. I’d have to do an additional two hundred hours at a salon before I could get a certificate from the state. The three years I'd worked at the Cut n Curl didn't count. Not even a single day which seemed unfair but there is no arguing with the fierce lady dressed all in black.
A full-on hair cutting, styling, and coloring program is ten months. I’d learn makeup techniques and nail stuff along with cutting hair. Marge doesn’t need another stylist but…I ran my finger down the classes offered. An esthetician's certificate would only require me to go through one semester of classes and it'd be half of what I originally had thought school would cost me plus no one in Fortune offers facials and massages.
Shoot. I can’t believe I’m making a decision based on whether my skills will sell in Fortune. When I was there, I couldn’t wait to get away but only a few days in the cities and I’m already thinking about going back. I wish Grant had stayed with me but then again, he’d be useless telling me only to do whatever I wanted to do.
Back in Fortune, I could have asked Marge or another old lady or even Pippa, my stepdad’s new girlfriend. Here in the cities with the mass of people, I’m more alone than I’ve ever been.
“You having a hard time deciding?” The admission’s officer brought me to another lady who is going to help me check out. Her nails are long and a deep purple and she’s rocking multiple layers of honey blonde hair and the most perfectly applied winged eyeliner I’ve ever seen.
“I’m not really interested in cutting hair,” I confess.
She flicks her hand. “Lots of girls aren’t interested in that anymore. Take the esthetician classes. There’s huge demand for facials, skin wellness, microdermabrasion.” She leans forward and I get a strong whiff of floral perfume. “Plus if you can get into a salon that has a dermatologist attached you can do fancier stuff like laser work. Classes start in just a couple of weeks.”
I look down at the sheet again and then fill out the application. With every stroke of the pen, I feel more sure about the decision. Taking just a few classes now with the option of more later makes the most sense. I sign up for the esthetician classes and then write out my check for the tuition. I can barely fit the words five thousand, four hundred, and eighty nine dollars on the check line. It’s the biggest check I’ve ever written. By the sighs and suspicious looks from counter lady, I guess most folks pay with a credit card.
“I’ll need to see your license.”
I hand it to her and she photocopies it twice, clipping one copy to the back of the check and placing the other in a file I can only presume is marked Girls who can’t afford to pay with a credit card.
After she’s done taking all my money, she hands me a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” I scan the paper. It contains titles of books like Your Skin, Your Beauty and then a “tools” section that lists about twelve different implements. I suck in my lower lip. This was a cost I hadn’t anticipated.
"Problem?" The counter lady asks.
"No. No problem." It’s not really a lie. Grant had told me we had plenty of money to cover it but whatever cash I had saved is totally depleted by this. With having to pay rent, all the utilities along with tuition and books and supplies, I’m starting to realize how expensive life is away from my family.
I tuck the sheet away and take the course book the woman offers me.
“Here’s a print out of your class schedule. If you have any questions you can contact Toni Lotz. She’s in charge of your program.”
“Thanks.”
She gives me a dismissive wave. I gather up the materials wishing I’d brought something bigger than my small cross-body purse. It’s hard to hold my phone and the booklets. I look for a place to set my stuff down when a voice pipes up beside me.
“Need a hand?” Another pair of perfectly manicured hands reach out to take my course materials.
“God, yes. Thank you.” I give her a grateful grin and pull out my phone to shoot Grant a text.
Ready.
“No problem. When I first enrolled I was surprised there were books. Like if I wanted textbooks and homework, I would have gone to college.” She laughs. Her merry eyes look familiar. “I thought it’d be all hands on but there were books and tests and stuff.”
“Hopefully it’s not that hard.” The phone buzzes.
OMW. 20 min.
“Nah, you’ll get the hang of it.” She hesitates for
a minute and then says with a wrinkled nose, “This is kind of rude, but I think we met before. At a party over on Grove Street?”
“Grove Street? I just moved here from Fortune. Chelsea ____.”
“Right!” She snaps her fingers and points at me. “Chelsea, you’re the girl who, um…” she trails off but suddenly I know exactly where the party at Grove Street took place.
“The girl who sleeps with her stepbrother. I didn’t catch your name.” My tone is about as cold as the temperature outside—icy enough to freeze water before it leaves the faucet.
“Mandy Johnson.” She’s undeterred by my frostiness. “And hey, he’s smoking hot so I can see how that’d be a constant temptation if you lived together. My brother is a whiny, pimply seventeen year old.”
Her friendliness starts to warm me up. “I met Grant when I was fourteen but we didn’t start dating until I was almost eighteen.” I didn’t admit that I wanted him from the first time I laid eyes on him or that every dirty dream I’d ever had from the minute I knew what dirty dreams were starred him. Dating’s probably the wrong word for it too. We started sleeping together when I was almost eighteen.
“That was some night, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows. Her face is so expressive. With long luscious brown hair, curled at the ends, and immaculately applied makeup, she seems a touch too polished for the biker crowd. She’s right though. My introduction to the Misery MC included being insulted, getting fingered and eaten out by another guy with Grant holding me up because I couldn’t stand from the overwhelming sensation, and finally watching a Misery member be kicked out of the club.
“Just another night in the life of a motorcycle club,” I deadpan.
She laughs—an open mouthed, belly laugh. “Isn’t that the truth. The parties those guys throw are insane in the membrane. I can’t stay away. They’re all like a bad drug habit that you can’t kick. How long you been with your, um, boyfriend?”