by Jackson Kane
Instead, I knocked. No answer. I knocked harder this time. “Hendrix?” I called out. No answer.
Dammit.
I was an adult, I’d convinced myself, garnering the courage to open the door.
The mattress was completely off its box spring. A naked, blonde woman was asleep facedown on the carpeting surrounded by a few liquor bottles. The scent of sex had settled but was still thick enough to paint a pretty vivid picture of what kind of night it had been.
“Hendrix?” I repeated, half expecting him to crawl out from under a pile of clothing or to flip over the bed and be covered in vomit.
“Yeah, yeah... I’m coming,” a deep voice boomed from the bathroom. Sounds of cascading water stopped, followed by a burst of steam as the shower door was flung open. He strolled out of the bathroom, drying his face and near shoulder-length, dark brown hair with a towel, and... he wore nothing else.
I gasped inaudibly. In the morning light, I could see him very distinctly. All of him—a dark-haired version of Chris Hemsworth with a few weeks’ worth of beard over a fierce jawline. Hot water droplets cascaded down his steamy, tattooed form, colliding and speeding through the valleys of his chiseled ridges. My gaze was hijacked. I could only follow the droplets down the deep grooves of his chest, abs, and hip bones as they trapped themselves in the dark, matted patch of hair that hung over his cock.
Jesus! Unless they just had sex, he couldn’t be that large at rest... could he?
“You’re pretty when your mouth hangs open like that,” he remarked as the towel dropped to his wide, tattoo-painted shoulders. Between the cut slabs of beef that made up his chest and his massively defined arms, which looked like they swallowed soccer balls, Hendrix exuded an incredible, primal strength that sent a thrill through my whole body.
He wasn’t as bulky or swollen as a bodybuilder, but with his rugged, working-man nicks and scars and his overall brusque yet confident demeanor, Hendrix looked like a man who could easily kick the crap out of someone. Seeing him naked with all his corded, well-used muscles ready to fire at the drop of a hat really put last night’s fight in perspective. That other biker never stood a chance.
He was lucky Hendrix hadn’t killed him.
“Ten minutes,” I stammered, screwing my eyes shut and whirling around. I was so mortified that he caught me staring! My face flushed with heat that I wrote off the whole interaction as embarrassment, not attraction. I felt like such a creep.
Again, I reminded myself I didn’t like filthy, disgusting bikers or tattoos or muscles.
“Um, Tex said...” Goddammit! I was trying to spit out the message, but to do so, did I have to be in the same room as Hendrix... while he was naked? If he was ugly, I think it would’ve been easier, not that I thought he was attractive.
“Go on. What did Tex say?”
In my mind, I could see him grinning at my discomfort. I was sure he already knew what I had to say, but he was forcing me to stay and finish the message just because it was making me uncomfortable! I tried imagining him as being really ugly. Like with a potbelly and too much body hair. Though when I opened my eyes, I could see his reflection in a mirror behind the partially closed door.
I felt the universe betray me. That silly image of him in my mind chipped away like bad nail polish. There was only this naked, mind-blowingly handsome, scarred monster of a man who stared at me with a knowing smile. His eyes trapped mine while he dragged the towel over the rest of his body, making no attempt to cover himself in any way.
I swallowed then blurted out, “Ten minutes. They’re leaving for the thing.” My job officially done, I fled from his room. “Probably less than that now actually,” I shouted from the hallway as I sprinted away from whatever mess I had just stumbled into.
Yeah, that went well, I thought sarcastically as I tried to push the palm of my hand through my forehead. Ugh! I figured I’d have to formally meet Hendrix at some point, but that was not how I’d imagined it would go.
“He’s coming,” I reported to the pack of bikers when I arrived outside, not knowing who in particular needed to know.
“I’m sure he was!” one of the bikers interrupted me, noting with amusement how flushed I was. The rest of them laughed.
“He’s on his way, I mean!” I scowled, ignoring the comedian. I hated bikers.
Everyone was on his bike and was ready when Hendrix finally came strolling out of the clubhouse, buttoning up his pants.
“You well-rested? We’ve got a fucking schedule to keep, shithead! Move your motherfucking ass!” Tex was barely keeping it together, but everyone could tell how pissed he was.
Hendrix smiled and started his bike. “Are you saying we don’t have time to stop for coffee? I’m already looking forward to prison.” He did what looked like a visual check over his bike, trying various connections and listening for anything that might be slightly off. In other words, he was delaying the ride even further.
Despite myself, I couldn’t resist thinking that his personal chaos was a little charming. His boots untied and his clothing disheveled, he made no apologies and no attempt to rush. This was a man living at his own speed.
I reminded myself that I had been around vulgar, asshole bikers my whole life and wasn’t interested in guys like him. But just as quickly, my brain sabotaged my resolve by adding that I’d never seen a biker quite like Hendrix.
Violence came easy to men like Hendrix; that part resounded loudly in me. It came easy to my father too. Finally clearheaded, I thought of Anna and what I needed to do.
“The fuck do you think? Mount up! Your bike’s fine! You’re taking Princess. No more delays!” Tex’s tone was so bitter that it was barely a shade removed from an outright growl.
“Safety first,” Hendrix snapped coldly. These two men really didn’t like each other.
It wasn’t until they started riding off that Tex’s words pierced through my cloud of thought. I was riding with Hendrix? Crap. After this morning, I would have rather ridden with almost anyone else. I made such a fool of myself around him.
Hate I understood. I was prepared to feel a lot of that on this trip, but what I felt toward Hendrix was already more complicated than I cared to think about. I was already at a disadvantage somehow with him, and I didn’t like it.
“Don’t worry,” he nonchalantly spoke, snatching my duffel bag from my shoulder and stashing it in one of his bike’s side compartments. He then packed the rest of his stuff and got on his bike. Hendrix tapped the seat behind him, the part I would be riding on, beckoning me to join him, and winked at me. “I bite even less with my clothes on.” He then tossed me his helmet.
“Can I just follow you in my car?” I insisted once again. There had to be some way out of this.
“You paid us twenty thousand dollars to drive unprotected in your own car?”
What? Twenty thousand dollars! My eyes almost shot out of my head. Panic set in as I tried to figure out what he was talking about. I didn’t have anywhere close to that much money. Oh shit! It must have been Robbie! My God... did he give them that much money just to convince them to take me? A million more questions sprang to mind, but now Hendrix’s expression was shifting from amused disbelief to outright suspicion. If I blew our cover, would Robbie have wasted all that money?
“Ah... yeah, obviously. Of course, that makes sense. I just, uh... meant that maybe we could take my car instead. It would be more comfortable.” Jesus, I may not be that experienced at being a lawyer, but I needed to become better at lying under pressure!
Hendrix studied me a moment longer before finally breaking the tension by saying, “I’ve been in a cage for five years. If you think I’m crawling back into another one just for carting you around, you are out of your pretty little mind.”
“Hey... yeah. Sorry.” I tried not to look at him as I jammed the helmet on and cautiously attempted to mount the bike. Immediately I tried to change the subject. “Is there anything I should… Dammit! Fuck! Ow!”
When I swung
my leg over the side, the exposed skin of my calf slapped against something extremely hot. It was going to be a warm day, and I thought I’d be in a van for most of it, so I made the mistake of wearing shorts. I jerked my leg away before any serious burns could set, but it still hurt like hell, and the quick recoil tipped me hard to one side. My weight shifted dramatically as my reaction threatened to throw me off the bike completely. I was so terrified to touch anything else on the motorcycle that all I could do was tense up and brace for the inevitable impact onto the pavement.
Without looking, his large, rough hand snapped down on my thigh and steadied me. The unexpected thrill of his hand grabbing me sent a surge of adrenaline within me that immediately dulled the sting of my leg. I was shocked at how strong and quick he was. I had almost killed myself, and we hadn’t even moved an inch yet. First, the pitiful lie then this…. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t up to this. I was so screwed.
In all the years growing up with and around the Steel Veins, I had never actually ridden a motorcycle. I had stayed away from all that to the degree that I knew very little about motorcycles and which parts to avoid, apparently.
I didn’t notice his hand sliding down my thigh until I felt the sandpaper of his palm on the flesh above my knee and down to my calf. My heart raced again as he twisted my leg slightly to examine the burn, which was now only a red spot. I suppressed the image of his naked form, struggling to put it far out of my mind, but I could feel the flush brighten and singe my cheeks.
“You’re okay?” he asked as his clamp-like fingers released one at a time then slid off me entirely.
“Uh… yeah.” I felt stupid in every way possible, but I was so glad that my slipup about the money seemed to fall off his radar… I thought.
“See those pegs?” he had to yell over the super-loud engine while he pointed them out to me. “Step on them! Your ass and your feet are the only things that touch this bike.”
“What about leaning and all that? What do I do with my legs and arms?” I had heard that there was a proper way to sit and move your body so that you didn’t endanger or hinder the driver, but I never paid any attention to it because I had never thought I’d be on the back of a bike.
“Have you ever had rough sex?” he asked, completely straight-faced, any hint of suspicion gone.
“What?” Surely I couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“Have you ever had rough sex?” he repeated loudly.
I didn’t want to answer him, but he was treating it as a legitimate question.
“Yes,” I replied, probably coming off more bashful than I would’ve liked.
“Speak up! The engine’s pretty loud!”
“Yes! Yes! I’ve had rough sex!”
A few of the girls who were leaving the clubhouse turned to him and either smiled or blew kisses. I couldn’t believe I just screamed that statement to the entire parking lot. My face lit up like a Christmas tree. I hated how easy it was for me to blush. It betrayed all the emotions I’d rather not display, but, hell, I might as well have been wearing a flashing LED sign.
“It’s a lot like that. Smash your hips into me as close as you can.” He palmed my lower back and did just that.
His belt and thick denim ground the thin cotton-blend of my shorts into my pussy. A hot shiver ran up my stomach at the impact, snapping my eyes shut. I silently gasped for air and bit my lip, desperately trying to kill the steamy image of him stepping out of the shower, wearing a towel in all the wrong places.
“Then hold on for dear life.” The side of his head was cocked toward me when I opened my eyes. Oh God, how much of my daydream had he seen on my face? Too much, I decided when I saw a creeping smile crease his lips. “And pray that I get off before you do.”
With a roar of an already obscenely loud engine, he jerked the bike forward, startling the hell out of me. Worried I might fall off again, I clamped my thighs and arms around him as tightly as I could. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel his laughter through my death grip around his chest.
I was beginning to understand that Hendrix was such a special kind of bastard.
Within seconds, he’d put more speed and wind behind us than I’d been prepared to expect. I had to screw my eyes shut just to get my breathing under control. After a few minutes, feeling comfortable that I wouldn’t fly off into the stratosphere, I finally opened my eyes. The helmet was extremely inefficient as it only covered the top of my head. Strictly to protect myself from the wind and Hendrix’s whipping hair, I buried the side of my face into his shoulder and watched the patched, asphalt road blur by.
Downtown Topeka stretched out before us like the weathered skeleton of a downed dinosaur, its dusty stone-and-brick rib cage enveloping us as we rode through.
Riding through Topeka made me remember why I loved St. Louis so much. Every city I had been to had their own, unique pulses. Some beat faster than others. The heart of St. Louis pumped hot, passionate blood with a quickened rhythm that, for me, was the epitome of diversity and change. Granted, not all of that change was good, but it was always interesting. It was alive and had something to say, whether you wanted to hear it or not.
Topeka, on the other hand, felt as if it courted life support like a jilted, resentful lover. Nothing here was new or invigorating, only repaired, tired, and waiting for either innovation that would never arrive or death. A city that once might have had a purpose was only standing for its own sake as to keep an otherwise empty stretch of highway filled with at least something.
It was a sad, pathetic place that I never wanted to return to.
Once we hit the highway, Hendrix sped up to join with the rest of his MC. Cars we passed bled by so quickly that it looked like they were driving in reverse. I was surprised at what little change I felt on the bike as he pushed us up to speeds I’d been too timid to try in my own car. The engine roared a little louder, the wailing wind pitched a little higher, and we bent forward a little more, but that was about it.
We passed Robbie in the van and fell in rank with the dozen or so other bikers then slowed to match their speed, which was surprisingly tame in comparison. Speed was the only thing about the menacing pack of riders that was tame. They owned the road. Cars and other riders changed lanes to let them pass for fear of being crushed beneath the gasoline-fueled landslide of these Vikings rampaging into battle.
The heat radiating from both the engine and, of course, the man in front of me cut the chill and edge of the wind to make for kind of a relaxing ride. Having edged beyond my motorcycle biases, I could begin to understand why people enjoyed them. I would have understood it even more if the vibrations of the road and bike didn’t make me have to pee.
The day melted away into blurred pavement and countless miles. I never knew which city we were currently in because it was all just one limitless road that I barely registered the shift from Kansas into Colorado. Our few stops for food and bathroom breaks were so quick that I couldn’t steal any time with Robbie without looking too conspicuous.
I was trapped in my head at seventy miles an hour. I tried to stay focused on piecing things together with Robbie and rechecking the list of all the questions I wanted to ask him. What happened to my mom? What was his relationship with her? Why had he disappeared?
Those cyclical thoughts and fears were interrupted constantly by simply being in the moment. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t completely push Hendrix out of my mind. It was impossible. Amidst the ebb and flow of the endless ride, my face pressed into his black vest and my arms and legs folded around his leather and denim-wrapped, steel form. I couldn’t help but breathe him into me.
Unconsciously, I lined myself up with the rhythmic, soothing rise and fall of his chest as he took in air. For hours, as the taillights became headlights, we breathed and moved as one person. I wore him on every level.
Despite how much I tried to drown it with rationality or experience, a crippling urge kept floating lazily to the surface. It wasn’t enough. I cursed it, but st
ill I wanted more.
There was little denying it now. I yearned for it. For him.
Hendrix was an ex-con. No, he was currently a criminal, having violated his parole. I didn’t know what they were transporting, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t teddy bears. Hendrix personified everything I had spent my entire life trying to avoid—the seductive nature of that dark, edgy lifestyle. It was easy to write off my father and the rest of his thugs because they were horrible in almost every way imaginable. Corruption and selfish greed incarnate. Of course, I didn’t want my sister or me around that kind of cancer.
Hendrix scared me. Not just because of his strength and the horrors that were part of his potential. No, he scared me because I couldn’t write him off like the rest of them. It was obvious he didn’t want to be a part of whatever this illegal run was, and he’d showed me an inkling of concern when I burned myself on the bike. If I was being honest with myself, I even had to acknowledge that he was walking away from that fight last night. Yes, he did take it way too far, but he didn’t throw the first punch.
I knew that at least part of me was vilifying him to protect myself from giving him a chance. Was that wrong? No. I needed to. If I let myself fall for him, I’d be jeopardizing my future. It was hard enough finding work in the legal system in a prolonged recession, especially given my family history, which was something I spent years distancing myself from. No, actually running away from. My reputation would be destroyed if people found out that I surrounded myself with the criminal element.
What would Anna think?
Finally, Denver came into sight like a dream. The blended swatches of stubborn, blue sky slowly drowned in the celestial blood of dusk where skyscrapers stood on end like massive, broken dominoes before the equally silhouetted mountain range. Rocketing toward the brilliant glass giant, the evening lights of cars, streets, and buildings spread like wildfire, transforming the city’s look into a glowing volcano of life in the growing darkness. I was lost in a sense of awe, feeling appropriately microscopic in the scope of things.