by Jax Hart
I did. I placed my hands on the cold granite counter in the kitchen, felt him at my back and waited, getting wetter and hotter by the second as I wondered what he was going to do to me.
“Ah,” I had gasped as he dropped to his knees spread my ass cheeks, tongue and mouth finding me from behind. His soft beard made my inner thighs tingle as the hairs brushed in and out between my legs.
It was dirty.
Decadent.
And hot AF.
He pulled back slapping my cheeks and said, “I told you not to move. If you do it again, I won’t let you come.”
My hands slid to grip the edge of the counter, my teeth sank into my lip so hard I tasted blood. But I didn’t move as I swallowed my cries of ecstasy, coming all over his face.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to come,” he told me gruffly. Somehow, I managed to escape being pinned between the counter and his body. I had walked to the fridge needing an ice-cold drink. “I-I didn’t think I needed it. Maybe Luce is right, and we should go to San Francisco,” I half-muttered.
“What’s that doll?”
“I said, me and Luce have plans to go to San Francisco soon.”
“The hell you do. Tell me. Tell me why you wanna go.”
“Too see Alcatraz,” I deadpanned sipping my water.
“Dev…,” he warned coming closer.
“Luce found a BDSM club there. We want to go. She thinks Smith might be a DOM too.”
“Fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped closing his eyes, clenching his fists. “Do you know what they’d do to sweet naive girls like the two of you? Once you’re in, they wouldn’t let you out. If you’re not wearing a collar signifying that you’re already taken by DOM—any male or female, would consider you fair game to be their submissive.
That’s not a club for first timer’s sugar. It’s the real deal. Hardcore people into that lifestyle fly in from all over the world to go there. How in the hell did she find out about it?”
I had shrugged, “It’s Luce. She has ways.”
“Fuckin’ hell, I need to call Smith. He needs to get a handle on her real quick,” he had replied.
“Yeah, you do that,” I had laughed, knowing Luce was pissed to hell at Smith. He had come on so hard—so fast, only to disappear after a week or two of intense texts and phone calls.
He took the drink right outta my hands, “Maybe I’ll show you what they’d do. You wanna be with a DOM, sugar? Well here I am.”
He lifted me like a sack of flour carrying me into the bedroom. He grabbed a pair of winter socks from my drawer and blindfolded me with them. He took my hands placing them above my head. I felt the worn leather of his belt binding them tighter and tighter together.
“Nice improvising,” I had taunted.
“This is fifty shades of BDSM; backwoods style,” he answered. I could hear the affection in his voice as his words floated through the dark.
“You still trust me, sugar?”
“With my life,” I had answered.
The dip in the bed eased and I sensed his presence leaving the room. I only he knew was back by the sound of ice cubes rolling around in an empty glass.
“What the fuck?” I had screamed as I felt the ice burning on my clit at the same time hot drops of wax dripped on my skin.
The dueling sensations had me yearning so good. He removed the ice, grabbed my legs, pulling them apart entering me in one full thrust. He didn’t ease in like he normally does but stuffed me good and full, easing the ache he created with the ice.
I gasped as one hand held an ice cube and trailed it over my skin where the wax landed, before he placed it on my clit letting it melt from the heat of our bodies.
“You kinky old man,” I had moaned.
“Come for Poppa, sugar,” he replied taking my mouth captive and thrusting in again.
And I did, boy, did I come for Poppa.
“Ms. St. John?”
“Hmmmm?”
“Uh, the bell rang five minutes ago…,” my student shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
Shit.
I was lost in remembering that night with Rog, staring out the window drinking coffee like a lovesick idiot, not even noticing the class filling in behind me.
“I was just thinking about what your first essay of the year will be. I’ve decided it’s going to be the history of Springdale and it’ll be due next Friday. Now open up your laptops, it’s time we start talking about one of the greatest most tragic wars of all time: The Civil War. Brother fought against brother; father against son. Can any of you find a topic or subject in today’s time where you can imagine killing your own family over?”
Hands shoot up in the air. “Yes, Rachel?”
“I’d kill my brother over deleting my picks on NETFLIX.”
The class snickers and I roll my eyes, “Very funny. I just moved the due date of your essays to Monday.”
The class groans and I hide my smile behind my coffee cup. That’ll teach them to raz me again.
“Jefe? Can I come in?”
I lift my eyes from the paperwork on my desk finding him hesitating outside my office door. I motion with my hand watching him walk in like he’s about to deliver a death blow.
“What’s up?”
He shifts his weight, rolls back on his heels and shakes his head. He starts to talk but closes his mouth as soon as it opened.
“Just spit it out already.”
He looks up, eyes full of remorse. “It was Devon.”
“That makes no goddamn sense.”
“I saw the paperwork and the credit card receipt. It was her signature.”
I let out a deep breath, my chest closes like a fist. I can’t breathe.
“I’m sorry. She paid for Dee’s new headstone. I slipped the cemetery worker a few bills and he sang. Said she jogged through the cemetery every morning this summer stopping at Dee’s grave first then John Masters’.”
“What the fuck?” I lean back in my chair, arms behind my head while every cell in my body rebels that it isn’t true but my gut knows it is.
A thousand fragmented pieces of the puzzle click together. Her transplanting to Springdale for one. How she looked that night when we danced under the moonlight spilling through the trees—like someone I swore I had met before. I chalked it up to pure romance, like the old fool I am.
Does she even have feelings for me or was that all a lie too?
My eyes close, fingers lightly rest on the old wood, centering me as I let the dreams die. All the ones I had of me and her.
My heart turns to stone.
My life’s been full of disappointments. I can take one more. It’ll just be one more scar on this old heart of mine that no one will see.
I knew she was trouble the minute she stepped into the bar and walked into my life. I just wish she didn’t carve up my heart and put it on a platter.
“So, what do you want to do?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to do anything. This dies with us. You hear me?”
“Yeah. Loud and clear,” he answers, leaving.
My eyes fall to my wrist. She’s supposed to be here in an hour for her shift. I haven’t seen her all week since she’s been busy setting up her classroom. We mutually agreed she’d only work weekend shifts. Since summer’s over, the weekends are the only time we’re busy anyway.
My hand shakes as I sit back in my chair picking up the heavy desk phone. My fingers punch in the number.
“Rog? What’s going on man?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “There’s no easy way to say this Duke. So I’m just gonna say it.”
“O-okay. Just give me a sec. You caught me rebuilding an engine.”
The sound of clattering tools and voices fill the line followed by running water as he washes his hands.
“What’s up? I’m back.”
“There’s a strong possibility you have a half-sister.”
“Come again?” His voice quiet and deadly.
“You remember the girl I introduced you to at the lake?”
“The one you were sucking face with when you thought no one was looking?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Devon. She’s been paying respects to both Dee and your father’s grave. Just about every damn day since she rolled into town.”
“How old is she?”
“Around thirty.”
“Christ.”
“I know.”
“We’ll need to do a DNA test on the down-low. I’ll get a sample from Dev.”
“Jesus, I’m getting flashbacks from when I thought Shanna could be my half-sister.”
“I know. Me too. We’ll use the same lab from last time and I’ll call you when the results come back.”
“Will do. I’ll send Smith down with my sample. Shanna… Colin’s passing is still too raw for her to come back to Springdale.”
“I understand. Be well, brotha.”
“You too.”
I replace the phone in the receiver with a click. Alone, I sit in the chair mourning a relationship that never got off the ground. The sun sets leaving me sitting in the dark where no one can see the sheen of tears in my eyes or the lump in my throat.
At half past seven, I finally get up, grab my leather cut, and leave closing the door quietly behind me. I don’t tell a soul I left. The only thing I need right now is the freedom of the open road and the cold wind whipping at my back. I’ll take a long ride down to the coast. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the ocean.
I text Federico that he’s in charge tonight and if Dev asks, to tell her I had club business.
The ride will clear my head and I’ll be able to get right, somehow, with a way to move forward.
I TEXTED ROG IN between periods but he never texted back; I’m worried. He usually calls me before work every morning. It’s so unlike him. Something is up. But the last thing I want to do is hound him, annoying him especially if he’s dealing with club business. When the bell rings marking the end of the last period, I wait till each student shuffles out before checking my phone again.
Still nothing.
I gather up the papers on my desk, my laptop and lesson plan book, and grab my duffle bag. After changing in the locker room to my running gear, I walk out into the warm late afternoon sun determined to feel better.
Climbing in my old Subaru I decide to run at the old logging trail. Usually, I walk here from my apartment, but the mornings have been chilly where the afternoons warm.
I park in the lot and get out, doing a few stretches before starting out at a light jog. I prefer to listen to music when I run but ever since that run in with the creep earlier this summer, I don’t run with anything that could dull my senses anymore.
I control my breathing as my pace quickens. My movements are light and quick, the only sounds are the twigs snapping under my feet, my steady breath and the rush of water over the rocks as I near the stream.
I see a figure running towards me ahead. My lips curve in a smile recognizing the hoodie and the man wearing it. If a million years passed between me seeing him; I’d never forget every line, every inch of his face. It’s beloved to me. He’s beloved to me. I can’t believe how hard and fast we fell.
We run towards each other and I slow down, expecting him to catch me in his arms. My heart beats faster as he picks up his pace, coming straight at me giving me dèjà vu. I feel better. It makes sense now why he didn’t text. He really gets in the zone when he works out.
“Hey!”
His steps don’t falter. His eyes cut to the right. He brushes by me.
Without a word.
Without a glance.
He froze me out.
Ghosted me.
My head turns, eyes following his figure until I can’t see him anymore. My hands clutch my sides. I can’t breathe. It hurts so bad, like I just got sucker-punched in the gut and the wind’s knocked out of me.
He knows.
Somehow, he knows.
I fall to the ground, crying like a lost child screaming for her mommy. But I don’t want my mommy. I want Rog.
He just slayed me.
That man knows every part of my body in ways no one else ever did. I thought he saw me; really saw me. God, could I be wrong? I thought Rog would look past DNA to the most important parts of me: my heart and soul. Surely those are untainted enough for him to keep?
I need to find a way to make this right.
I just hope he’s angry because I didn’t trust him enough to tell him who I was, and I hope he can still love me despite whose DNA makes up every fiber of my being. Like he told me at the lake, I’m more than who my parents were.
I get up, brush myself off and keep running.
I will find a way to get him back. I didn’t come this far, just to lose everything I’ve found.
I will win the heart of my Silver Fox and keep it till the end of time. I only need to figure out how.
My heart starts beating again as I see him standing by my car. Arms crossed over his chest, hood still pulled down, legs planted apart, I can tell he’s still pissed. But at least he’s there.
“Rog,” I sob running for him, throwing myself into his arms.
They don’t hold me back.
He pushes my hands away, rubbing a few strands of hair between his fingers, “I just needed this.” He gently pulls a few pieces out and puts them in a zip lock bag.
“I already know what it’ll say. I have a birth certificate.”
“That doesn’t mean shit,” he answers walking away, “Dee could’ve put anyone down. She was a goddamn liar.”
His words punch me in the gut as he climbs in his truck peeling out so fast, rocks fly from under his tires.
He better be wrong. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted Duke to be my brother until the thought that he might not be enters my head.
“Mac?”
My hands clutch the doorframe, eyes blinking up at him.
“Jesus, Dev. You look like shit.”
I turn, leading him inside. He flicks on the lights and I wince.
I went on a bender.
His eyes sweep the room taking in the half-eaten boxes of takeout next to the two empty bottles of wine I downed with it on my small coffee table. Crumpled tissues litter the floor next to the couch. I climb back in, burrowing back under the blanket I’ve been under all weekend.
“What the fuck happened?”
“You honestly don’t know? Rog didn’t tell you?”
He shakes his head. “Did you forget already? I’ve been coming here every Sunday at four.”
“Shit. I did I-I’m sorry. Let me just get this cleaned up and the books out,” I start frantically picking up trash.
“Whoa, easy there, girl. What in the hell is going on,” he asks placing a hand on my arm.
“It’s better if you don’t know,” I break free from his hold, dumping everything in the kitchen trash.
“Did you know he met up with Duke at the California border a few days ago?”
My head snaps up.
“He left me and Federico in charge.”
“I feel like a zombie. All I’ve done this past week is sleep and go to work. I can barely eat—"
“Talk to me Dev. We’re friends.”
“Are we? You better think about that answer. If you had to choose between me and Creed: Who would win?”
“Whoa… is that what you asked Meat?”
“No. Ironically Creed has everything and nothing to do with what’s going on,” I snort.
“Where’s Luce, anyway?” He asks looking around.
“We have a three-day weekend for Columbus Day. She went back to Chicago to ship the rest of her things here. She didn’t want to go but I made her. It’s our last break until the holidays.”
“Is she still with Smith?”
“I-I don’t know if they were actually even together. Why?”
“No reason… “
“Mac?”
“Fine. But if I’m snitchi
n’ so are you.” He sits down on my couch, propping his boots up on the coffee table that I just cleared. I hand him a beer. “She caught more than Smith’s eye at the lake party. Let’s just say if she’s moving here… she has more options.”
“You’re too young for her, Mac.”
“Not me. The Sergeant in Arms of the Vancouver chapter. He’s a bad-ass motherfucker, too. Smith better get his shit together.”
“I think I’m done with men from the MC. I hope Luce is too.”
“Ah, come on Dev. What in the hell could Rog have done? That man’s twisted over you.”
“Was.”
“Dev?” He warns.
“I’m Dee Dee Stanton and John Masters’ biological child.”
His beer spews all over my couch and floor, “WHAT!?”
“Tell me about it,” I sink into the arm chair, “… that’s why I came to Springdale. I was looking for answers about me. About my past. I never thought I’d find all of you; that Creed would become family—that Rog would rip my heart out when he found out.”
“How did you tell him?”
“That’s the thing… I didn’t,” I reply looking down, picking at the fuzz from the worn plaid recliner.
“Dev,” he breathes, “that’s… damn, that’s some bomb you just dropped. I can only imagine Rog was pissed he found out second-hand.”
“I don’t know how he knows. I just know that he does, and it wrecked everything. He barely looked at me… barely spoke to me. It’s like I’m some sort of she-devil.”
“Look. It’s fine if you can’t tutor me today. We’ll do this some other time.” He moves standing up.
“Don’t go. Actually, maybe helping you study for the GED will take my mind off things… that’s if you don’t think I’ll put a curse on you with my mad voodoo skills that I inherited from my whack mother?”
“Shut up, Dev. I wasn’t even born when that shit happened. I think that’s why Rog might be taking this hard. He was here, he lived it.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Fine. I’ll stay but I will state on the record, that I think it’s fucked-up that you didn’t tell him who you were.”
“I was scared. Every time I wanted to; I chickened out. I’m not a big, bad-ass biker with tats in a gang.”