by Harper Riley
“I can’t do that unless I’m gonna be seen,” I correct him. He practically has a heart attack right there and then. He walks over towards the kitchen table where his own phone is while I throw on my clothes, careful to not look too dressed. He dials up one of the guys I know is in his apartment building and orders him to come over for a meeting about the day’s shifts.
“Good,” I say, testing my power. “Now we should do this again, or at least tell people we did because I doubt you’ll be able to... do anything otherwise. Let’s plan for next week? I’ll pencil you in and get back to you. After all, you’re my man now.”
“And you’re my woman,” Cobra scoffs. “That means I can do whatever the fuck I want with you now. I make the rules.”
“Like what?” I ask, the pit in my stomach growing.
Before he can answer, there’s a knock on his apartment door. Standing on the opposite side of it, I fluff my hair, mess my shirt, and smear my lipstick on the back of my hand. Cobra lets the guy in, and the guest’s beady little eyes practically grow the size of baseballs when he sees me standing there, messing with my heels.
“Oh, hey, Sunday...” his voice trails off. “I don’t wanna interrupt—”
“You’re not. I was just stopping by. It was a short visit, right Co?”
“Not that short,” he shoots back.
“Great. I’ll let you boys get back to business.” I go in for the kill, standing on my toes as I rest myself against Cobra’s bare chest. In his ear, I whisper, “I’ll see you soon, darling.”
He turns his cheek into mine as he places a firm hand on my back. His voice drops about two octaves as he replies, “You too. Sooner than you think.”
With a glance back at the guest, I see myself out. Any longer in that apartment with me playing blackmail and I doubt I’d make it out alive.
But as soon as I’m down the block, death itself finds me in the form of a lone rider. He’s beat up—black eyes and a twisted nose—but even under the helmet and the bandages, I can tell who it is.
“What are you doing out here?” Bear demands. “What happened to you?”
It suddenly occurs to me what this must look like. “I could ask the same about you,” I counterpunch. The words barely escape my mouth. I’m having trouble just breathing.
“Get on,” he commands, throwing me a helmet from under the storage compartment of his bike. Do I have any choice? With Bear, I’d go just about anywhere to get away from what looms behind me.
Chapter 10 - Bear
If I said I wasn’t expecting to see her on my drive, I’d be lying to myself. Since I ran into Kitka last night—or maybe, more accurately, since Kitka forced herself on me—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Sunday. She was with me while I slept, haunting my dreams, and she was there with me through every single hit, punch, and jab I landed on that Filth and Butcher son of a bitch.
When I had finally knocked the little motherfucker out, his body lying still and silent at my feet, Vance came bounding towards me, a look of fury in his eyes.
“You did that for the club!” he shouted over the cheers and boos from the crowd. “My man! You’re back in action!”
I knew what he meant, but he was dead fucking wrong. After I’d talked to Kitka, after I’d heard her story about Sunday and Cobra, I didn’t want to win for anyone but me. This was my victory, goddammit!
I woke up this morning with her smell surrounding me and her taste on my tongue. I’d been dreaming about her again, but it felt like more than that. Even though it’d been nearly two months since I’d felt her body on mine or seen her round, full breasts bounce just for me, her ghost lingered, felt as real as if she’d just been riding me, grinding her wet pussy into me.
When the dream had faded, my eyes fluttered open, and I felt my stomach lurch and my groin burn. I ached for her, but all I had instead was a thin, worn-down old pillow mashed between my arms and the bed—the same bed I’ve slept in nearly every night of my adult life. And the other side of it was empty.
I couldn’t take that shit anymore. I had to go and see her for myself. I was certain that Kitka’s story couldn’t be true. Even though I’d only spent a handful of days with Sunday, I feel like I know her to the core. I saw her at her most vulnerable; I’m convinced that’s when she’s at her smartest. Sunday can be independent and intelligent while remaining smoking hot—everything these club bitches who cling on to ass-clowns like Cobra for dear life aren’t. She’s like me in so many ways, and there’s no way in fucking hell that she would willingly go with a scumbag psychopath like Cobra.
No one, and I mean no one, but me can take claim on a girl like that. So that’s why I came here.
It was a risk, that’s for sure. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since the fight, and the last I heard, the guy I beat to a bloody pulp is still in the hospital undergoing some major surgery. But I didn’t think of him as I pulled into Filth and Butcher territory. I kept my mind focused on the addresses and places we put in the dossier of Filth and Butcher members—info sheets of all the intel we have collected over the years. Guys like me, who are in charge of training, memorize where to stay away from and where to tell our riders to run like hell if they get caught up in it. This neighborhood happens to be one of the main spots I go over when mapping out territories: Killer’s little house is on the corner of this street, and the row of apartments that led up to it house any number of Filth and Butcher’ faithful girls.
I slowly drove past the houses, checking them one by one for signs of anyone or anything that might be related to Sunday in some way. I searched for almost three hours, but there was nothing. There was barely even a sign of life on these quiet streets. I was about to throw in the towel and get on out of here before one of these motherfuckers saw me and smacked me down with a steel pipe or something—but then I saw her.
She was awfully hard to miss. Even though it was only mid-afternoon, she was wearing a tight nightclub dress, the kind I’d never expect her to wear. Her long blonde hair was tied up tight into a ponytail that swished against her backside as she paced along the sidewalk. Her arms were crossed tight around her chest, but she looked strangely confident.
I snuck up on her, and she flinched as she realized who I was. I didn’t tell her the truth of why I was there looking for her. All I wanted was to get her the fuck away from there, and to my surprise, she went without any hesitation.
But now that she’s on my bike, I have zero clue where to take her. None of my usual places seems safe or good enough. I don’t want to bring her back to some seedy motel or a spot I know she’ll be recognized.
I remember something from my childhood—there are not many good memories. When I think back on those years, I remember being scared shitless with nothing to hold on to. My whole life was lived out in the back of cars and moving trucks, always on the run from God knows who. Sometimes my old man made it worth it. He pretended like it was some adventure to be happy about as we were on the run. When I was about ten, he took me to see the Hollywood sign. My mama waited silently in the car as we pulled over on Mulholland Drive. It was my first taste of L.A. after growing up outside the city, and I was addicted then and there.
It’s about a forty-five-minute drive to the start of the road. I’m surprised Sunday hasn’t complained or asked to pull over for a break. Riding up hills wear on you when you’re riding bucket. But she holds on tight, squeezing me during some of the winding, rolling parts of the street where it looks like we are mere inches from smacking into another car or diving head first off a cliff. She’s lucky I’m the type of rider who knows what he’s doing, but there are times I can feel her breath hitch as we make hairpin moves around curves.
By the time we make it up there, to the same pull over my daddy took me, the early fall twilight’s beginning to take over. You can hear the sound of the fall night around us, invading our ears. The cool, L.A. breeze is striking, so much so that I play the role of a gallant knight and take off my sweatshirt for her
. She wraps it around her with a nod of her head in thanks and then walks to the edge of the viewpoint. Her hands clasp around the white fence as she leans slightly over it and says, “I’ve never seen the city like this.” Her eyes glitter in the reflection of the view. The buildings light up almost one-by-one like stars stuck to the ground.
“Yeah. There’s nothing like it.”
I know I should look with her, but I can’t take my eyes off of her. The ghost from this morning is right here for me to take. I want to reach out and grab that strand of her hair that falls against her long, pale neck, but I can’t—I can’t help myself. I take her, instead, by the shoulder and spin her around so that her back rests against the fencing. She doesn’t struggle or collapse from the shock. Instead, she leans into me and lets me kiss her like this. Hard, fast, unrelenting—our heads and bodies struggle to keep up with what our mouths want. She bites gently on my lip, her mouth sucking me in. My hand runs up along her backside, taking a fistful of her ass.
“No,” she gasps as she pulls away, “we can’t.”
“What?” I say. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she takes out her phone from her purse and pulls open an app for a taxi service. “I can’t do this. We can’t do this...” her voice breaks as she tries to focus on her typing. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry!?” I shout, a vein in my neck throbbing.
“I shouldn’t have said yes to you. Not after...”
“You screwed Cobra,” I answer for her.
“I didn’t screw him,” she says, though she has a guilty look on her face. “It’s... it’s complicated.”
“Complicated? What the hell does that mean? You’re either with him, or you’re not. You’re either with me, or you’re not.”
“It’s neither, Bear. It’s just that—”
“Don’t bullshit me, Sunday. I know a bullshitter when I see one. You tell me the motherfucking truth. You owe me that after all we’ve been through because of your stupid little dare.”
Her head drops as she quietly replies, “I’m with Cobra.”
“You’re what?”
She stiffens as if I put a knife through her. “I’m with Cobra. He’s claimed me,” she repeats.
“But you haven’t slept with him.”
“That’s not how it works with the Filth and Butcher, Bear. And it’s more than that, it’s—”
“I know. I know, Sunday. I get it.” I turn to face the street. A few headlights shine along the gravel. “You made a mistake sleeping with me. We both fucked the wrong person back then. And now—now you gotta get back in with the boys. Fucking around with the FB’s number two is probably a guarantee, right?”
She doesn’t answer right away, but after a few beats, she finally responds, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”
“I don’t know why the fuck I brought you up here,” I spit back. “You’re just another stupid fucking club girl. You’re no different from them.” I’m very aware that I’m being cruel, but I want her to feel every last word of it—whether it’s a lie or the truth.
“My car is coming,” she says as she begins to walk towards me. I feel her hand touch my shoulder blade, and she holds out something for me, something she dug out from the bottom of her bag. “This is yours.”
It’s that keychain charm I gave her back when we first slept together. She holds it out in the palm of her hand for me to take, but I refuse to even acknowledge it. Finally, she reaches over me and places it in the pocket of my jeans, so it’s securely tucked away.
“Goodbye, Bear,” she says, quiet as a whisper. “Be safe out there.”
Her heels crunch into the gravel until I can’t hear them any longer. I refuse to watch her get into the waiting yellow car or see it drive by. But in the pocket of my jeans, the remainder of her, that charm I gave to her, burns a hole straight through into the skin.
Chapter 11 - Sunday
“Today’s the day! Can you believe it?” Larissa squeals as she squeezes me into an unwanted hug. “I am so, so, so excited for you!”
“Shut up. Please.” Kitka rolls her eyes while walking towards the fridge for a bottle of beer, despite it being only eleven in the morning. She gives me a nod up and down before focusing on my growing belly. “Damn, girl, you sure it’s not twins?”
“Seriously?” I shoot back, knowing it does no good. The five months since we found out I was knocked up and I went with the Cobra scheme have been hell on Earth. Kitka hasn’t gone a day without giving me some kind of jab or sting. Lately, it’s been commenting on how freaking round I was getting. Even with about two months to go, I Iook as though I’m about to burst.
“Oh, c’mon Kitka, you’re not excited to find out if she’s having a girl or a boy? That’s like the best part of this whole thing!” Larissa, on the other hand, has been nothing but a giddy fool over me being pregnant. First, I thought it was because I was out of commission. Me being both claimed and knocked up meant I didn’t work the bars or take on any of the boys. It’s less competition for her and Mary to fight over under Kitka’s new, iron-fist rule. But then, she started acting sweet, genuinely sweet. A few months back, she bought me a few yellow onesies with the money she had from tips. I almost cried over how kind it was. The hormones didn’t help.
“I couldn’t care if it’s a mole rat... or some kind of other animal.” Kitka’s eyes peer at me half-open. We both know what she’s referring to. She played these games early on when there were questions about the fast romance between Cobra and me, and the rumors about him dumping Kitka swirled. Killer had to stop her from giving away too many hints that the baby wasn’t Cobra’s. I watched that shit show go down and couldn’t have been more pleased to get her off my back—at least for a while. Now, Kitka’s gone back to Kitka bitch mode.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut your bitch-ass mouth, Kitka,” Larissa snaps. Then she turns to me and says, “Seriously. I’m excited. I can’t believe you’re letting me go with! I’ve always wanted to go to one of these appointments.”
“It’s nothing, really,” I reply. “They put some gel on you, show you some pictures, and you’re out of there.” That’s a lie, really. The first time I saw my baby on that screen, I burst into tears. I was alone, sobbing in a white, undecorated hospital room with only the image of my baby floating in a pool to keep me company. That’s why Larissa’s coming today. I need to share this with someone.
“What does Cobra think it is?”
“He, uh, hasn’t said.” Actually, the truth is that Cobra hasn’t said anything. At all. We don’t exactly talk when I go over to his place every night. Killer’s been generous by upgrading Cobra’s condo to a two-bedroom for the baby, but the nursery has been turned into a place for me to get the hell out of his way and lay low until morning when I can creep back to my apartment and sleep with both eyes closed.
“That’s a shame. I think it’s a boy! I read somewhere that if you’re carrying low, it’s a boy. If it’s high, like a basketball, it’s a girl.”
“What if you’re somewhere in between?” I ask as I take a look at myself in the full-length mirror. I’m still so unused to seeing myself like this.
“C’mon.” She laughs. “We gotta go.”
“Good luck,” Kitka murmurs under her breath. “You’re gonna need it.”
I turn to ask her what she means by that, but Larissa is practically dragging me out the door. We walk the five blocks to the hospital, arm in arm, as she gossips about Mary’s new boyfriend or the new recruits the club has just brought in. There’s some talk going around that most of them are boys from the Ruby Eyes, a street club that’s been up against the Wilderkind in territory disputes. If that’s true, Killer’s getting an army ready right before our eyes.
But all that fades out of my mind once we’re in the hospital room with the blue, cold jelly practically melting on my bare skin. I hold my breath and close my eyes until the silent nurse is done with the scan. She clears her
throat and then says reassuringly, “It’s okay now, dear. You can open your eyes. The baby’s doing great—measuring right on time. I’d say you’ve got another month-and-a-half to go before you meet him or her.”
“Wow,” Larissa whispers as she stares memorized at the picture of my baby on the monitor. Unlike my last ultrasound, the baby’s feet and toes are so distinct, so human. I watch it jump and then feel it kick against me all at the same time, and I laugh—my first real laugh in months.
“So... do you want to know?”
“Yes!” Larissa shouts.
“Yeah, I do,” I agree, giving her a knowing glance.
“Well, it’s a—”
She stops in the middle of her answer as we hear a crash on the other side of the door. We all turn our heads towards the entryway as the voices grow louder.
“Sir! You cannot go in there! We will have to call the police if you do not leave! Sir!”
“Call the fucking cops!” a man growls. “I need to see her! I need to see the baby!” The door suddenly swings open, and Larissa jumps back just in time to avoid being hit by it. Holding tight to the handle, Bear breathes in heavily as if he’s just run a marathon to get here. He looks about that way too. His curly brown hair is always unruly, but today, it’s a total mess. He’s wearing black, tight sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. I wonder if he just got out of bed and ran here given that he’s still wearing a pair of beat-up sneakers and not his usual riding boots.
I attempt to sit up, but my weight and the pressure of where the baby is lying drags me back down to the table. Instead, I call out to him, “What the hell are you doing here, Bear?”
“Ma’am, is he with you?” a security guard asks me from just outside the door. The older man is half Bear’s size and probably twice his age. Even if I told him to take him away, I doubt he’d get Bear out of here without backup or a gun—or probably both.