by Lane Hart
The self-loathing is why I haven’t been to visit my dad in years and always come up with reasons I’m too busy to have him and Deb come to New York. What must he and my stepmother think of me, their only daughter, now, when probably half of their male friends have seen me naked?
And then there’s Winston—my stepbrother who was the first to prove his own theory that sex is all men want from me. He was right and I hate him for it.
I have no idea if he’s married or not by now. Maybe he even has a few kids. I refuse to ask my dad about him to find out and make up an excuse to hang up whenever he tries to mention my stepbrother. I do continue to send Winston porno mags featuring me in the mail, hoping his wife or girlfriend gives him shit for them, and hoping he still thinks about the night he fucked me. I know Winston, or at least, I used to know him. And while he probably felt guilty the entire time, he still screwed me. He took what he wanted and threw me away the next morning, like I was nothing more than one of his trashy, meaningless tourist hookups.
A few hours later, when my Uber ride pulls up in front of my teenage home and drops me off with my suitcase, I stand in the gravel driveway for several minutes, just looking up at the one-story yellow beach house on stilts that hasn’t changed much over the years.
When I was eighteen, I thought that the next time I walked through the doors, I would be a star. The truth is, I’m the furthest thing from it. Job opportunities are even more infrequent now that I’m twenty-eight, coming up on the big three-oh. It’s one of the main reasons I’m in town, for a job interview with a company in the middle of nowhere, North Carolina, just an hour north of here.
Finally, gathering up my nerve, I drag my suitcase up the winding wooden stairs to the side door that’s always unlocked. It doesn’t feel right to go on in, so I knock first before pushing the door open.
“Hello? Anyone home?” I call out.
“Who’s there? Martin, is that you? I’m almost ready!” Debra, my stepmother, yells from the hallway before she appears. Her ear-length, dark hair is much grayer than I remember, but she’s still a beautiful woman who passed on her good looks to her son. Then I notice she’s also carrying a suitcase of her own. Oh shit.
“Zoe? Is that really you?” she gasps. Dropping her rolling suitcase, she rushes over with her arms wide to wrap me in a hug. “Oh! It’s so good to see you!”
“You too,” I say as I hug her back.
“I’m afraid your dad is at the office finishing up a few things, but he should be home soon.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Well, come in and make yourself at home.” She leads me by the elbow over to the sofa. “It’s been so long. What finally brought you back home?”
“I’m working a few small local events,” I tell her. “And there’s an opportunity for another job that could be long-term.”
“Well, that’s great!” Debra replies. “I just wish we had known you were coming sooner.”
“You’re leaving?” I say with a nod of my chin toward her luggage.
“We were. Your dad and I booked a trip for our anniversary. He’s been trying to call you but couldn’t get you to see if you were really headed to town. Of course, we can still cancel…”
“What? No way!” I tell her. “It’s my fault for surprising you. Go on your trip. I would feel terrible if you cancelled.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” she asks.
“Yes, definitely.”
“How long are you here for? We’ll only be gone for a week, so will we see you when we return?”
“Possibly.”
“In that case, while we’re gone, you should stay here. It’s still your house too,” Debra says with a genuine smile, causing me to smile as well. My mom died from an infection from the C-section to deliver me, but I would like to think she was just as amazing a mother as Winston’s.
“Thanks, Deb. I appreciate that and I may take you up on that offer.”
“You should!” she agrees just as my dad walks through the door.
“Are you all ready, my love?” he asks before he spots us sitting on the sofa. “Well, I think I need to have my eyes checked because you look just like my long-lost daughter.”
“I was never lost,” I tell him as I get to my feet to go give him a hug.
“You weren’t? It sometimes feels that way,” he says into my hair, then lets me go to look me over. “You look well. Are you?”
“I’m great, really.”
“You are? That’s wonderful! Deb and I were just leaving for Cabo. You should come with us!”
“No, Dad. I couldn’t possibly third wheel your anniversary trip. Besides, I have work here.”
“So that’s why you’ve come home—for work, not to visit your old man?”
“Both, of course,” I assure him with a smile.
And while I’m sad I won’t get to spend more time with my dad and Deb this week, it’s also a relief because I won’t have to talk about or get a guilt trip for the naked photos.
Chapter Six
Zoe
* * *
Before I sent my dad and Deb on their way, he gave me the keys to his BMW so I can drive myself over to the Harley dealership in an hour. First, I spend a little time wandering around in my childhood bedroom, reminiscing. While I haven’t been here in years, everything is still the same. There’s not even a speck of dust, which means Deb has been cleaning it on a regular basis.
By now, I sort of assumed they had boxed my things up to turn the bedroom into an office or something else they can actually use. But they didn’t. I smile as I spot the photos of me with my high school friends. We all drifted apart little by little. Most of the girls are married with kids and still live in town. I could probably call them up for a reunion, but it would be too awkward. I don’t know who those people are anymore and they sure as hell don’t know me. I’m no longer the doe-eyed girl who wanted to be the center of attention, the envy of other women in designer clothes, strutting down a runway.
Lately, I just wish I had a normal nine to five job where I get to keep my clothes on, and no one tries to get on top of me. Having a sweet husband or boyfriend to come home to doesn’t sound bad either. None of the guys I’ve dated last more than a few nights. Hell, they don’t even count as actual dates. They don’t take me out to dinner or introduce me to their friends or family. I’m nothing but a good time, a hookup to brag about to their friends.
I don’t blame them, though. I get treated like a dirty slut because that’s the image I’ve made for myself as a glamor model. None of the men even bother to get to know me. Why should they when all they want is to get off?
But that’s enough of the pity party since I only have myself to blame.
I start to leave the house to head to the signing event, but first, I make a quick stop in front of the fireplace to take in the family photos on the mantel. There are several of all four of us, but none of Winston and another woman or children, thank god. The one from my dad and Deb’s wedding is probably my favorite. I’m wearing a puffy, pale blue dress with white lace trim and smiling wide enough to show off my mouth full of braces, looking like such a dork.
And then there’s Winston, standing beside me in his black tux, his short, dark hair slicked back and so breathtakingly handsome I couldn’t speak a word to him the whole day. That was when my crush on him really started. It only grew stronger over the next few years when none of the boys at school could compare. It was an unhealthy obsession and I should’ve known it would end with me getting my heart broken.
“What did you expect to happen, you silly girl?” I ask my thirteen-year-old hopeful self in the photo. “That he would say he loved you after he fucked you on top of a car and then follow you to Europe?”
While I, of course, blame myself for being stupid enough to go to the auto shop that night and take my dress off, I still can’t let go of my anger at Winston for finally giving in and sleeping with me only because he knew I was leaving. I was an easy, no-strings attach
ed fuck, like all the other tourists he screwed around with before they left town for good. He hurt me so badly I’ve never been able to trust a man again. They’re all the same, thinking with their dicks.
And, in a few minutes, there will be a long line of them, thinking they can sweet talk their way into getting me out of my bikini bottoms. The truth is, I haven’t slept with anyone in months, and when I do, it’s out of necessity to keep working. Which is why I’ve started to think that getting paid to have sex isn’t really all that different from what I’ve been doing. Still, I’m not sure if I can throw what little is left of my dignity and self-respect out the window just to pay my bills.
The Harley dealership in Myrtle Beach is one of the biggest I’ve ever seen. On the entire side of the enormous gray building is a black painting of a snarling skull, wearing a crown like some sort of long-dead king. The menacing image is not exactly warm and welcoming, yet the parking lot is full of cars and bikes, owned by those who aren’t put off by it.
As soon as I park and walk through the double glass doors, I’m met by a pretty blond guy in a leather biker cut who holds out his palm for me to shake. The front white patch over his chest reads Savage Kings MC. “Hey, Zoe! Thanks for coming. I’m Cannon.”
Great. Now I’m starting to realize the skull king outside was, in fact, an ominous warning. I try to steer clear of the motorcycle clubs after one of my promotions ended up with a group of bikers taking turns with me at their after-party that got way out of hand. I thought the president was hot, so one thing led to another with him. I just wasn’t aware the club shared everything, even, and especially, women. I will not put myself in that situation ever again.
“Just to be clear,” I warn the man after shaking his hand as briefly as possible and releasing it to clutch my pink leather purse to my side, “I’m here for clothed photos and autographs only. The bikini stays on at all times. That’s not negotiable.”
“No shit,” the guy snorts. “Winston about murdered me for booking you. He’d definitely kill me if I got a glimpse of you naked. I mean, outside of the magazines since I have seen you naked in them.”
“Hold on. Did you say Winston?” I ask in disbelief. Surely there’s another Winston who lives in town…
“Yeah, Winston Prescott. He’s your stepbrother, right? I had no idea when I booked you, I swear.”
“Oh fuck,” I groan. “Is Winston in your motorcycle club?”
“Ah yeah, you didn’t know that?” Cannon responds.
“I’ve been busy and haven’t really talked to him in a few years.” Or ten of them.
“Yeah, well, that’s too bad. He’s still a grumpy son of a bitch but he always has your back, you know? That’s why he’s our VP.”
“VP?”
“Vice President. He’s been helping run things ever since Roman started this chapter of the club five years ago.”
“Right,” I say absently, still trying to wrap my head around this information. “So, ah, what does his wife think about him being in the club?” I add, trying to sound casual.
“Wife?” Cannon chuckles. “Winston doesn’t have a wife. Kind of impossible when he’s screwing a different tourist every night, like he’s on a mission to bang a chick from all fifty states.”
“Guess some things never change,” I mutter, unable to picture Winston as a biker. I mean, yes, I know he’s always loved anything on wheels, especially motorcycles, but I didn’t take him for the type to get mixed up with bad guys, which makes me think I don’t know anything about the man I once loved.
Winston
* * *
For the past week, I’ve been distracted, unable to concentrate on anything for very long. Zoe’s dad has tried to call her but gotten no response, so all I can do is wait and see if she shows up at the dealership.
“You still trying to decide if you’re going to see Zoe or not?” Roman asks when I’m sitting alone at the bar, after everyone else is gone. Even Leo, the quiet fucker, abandoned his bartending duty to head over.
“Yep. You going?”
“No,” he answers, which is a relief. “Charlotte and I are going to pick up Tessa and bring her to the house, get her settled in.”
“Good,” I mutter.
“You don’t have to go either. You could come with us.”
“No thanks, prez.”
“All right. Suit yourself. But if you do go, keep your fists to yourself. Some of those men are your brothers, even if they occasionally act a fool.”
“I know.”
One thing I’m certain of is, I don’t want to see any man’s hands on Zoe and I’m not sure I could handle it without it coming to blows. But at the same time, I know I’ll never forgive myself if I miss my one and only chance to see her before she leaves. Who the hell knows how long she’s here for?
Getting on my bike, I ride over to the dealership, not surprised but still irritated to see how packed the parking lot is, with a line formed and wrapped around the building.
Since it looks like the line will take a while, I decide to send Cannon a text message—not one threatening to end him, but telling him I’ll be in the garage and asking if he would let me know before Zoe leaves.
His reply is instant: Sure thing, man.
While I wait, I decide to work on a few bikes that could technically wait until Monday but will help pass the time.
I’m halfway through rebuilding an engine on a Softail Harley when the door to the showroom floor opens.
I glance over, expecting to find Cannon or Conrad, but instead see a nearly six foot tall gorgeous brunette in a tiny, bright pink, string bikini, with a matching purse hanging over her shoulder. The triangles on her top barely cover her nipples, and the bottoms, well, I don’t have to see her ass to know it’s a thong.
Zoe doesn’t say a word at first. She simply puts her hands on her hips and inhales deeply. “Wow, the smell of motor oil sure does bring back a lot of memories.”
I’m guessing she’s referring to the night we were together, but she looks so fucking good that all the words in my mouth have dried up.
“Don’t you have some clothes you can put on?” Those are the first words I utter, which is not how I imagined greeting her after all this time, but for some reason, I just can’t hold them back.
“What does it matter how little I’m wearing. You’ve had your hands or mouth on every inch before, right?”
The reminder sends a jolt of desire right down to my cock, causing it to swell.
“The list of who hasn’t seen me naked is probably shorter than the one of those who have,” she adds.
As soon as she says it, I can’t stop myself from throwing down my ratchet and marching right up to her. Zoe’s eyes widen at my sudden approach and then she takes a step back toward the closed door, like she’s reconsidering her comment.
Before I even know what the fuck I’m doing, or why, I reach for her waist and spin her around. One hand grabs the back of her neck while the other reels back and then connects with her ass, making her gasp and shout, “Hey! What the hell!”
The second and third hit land on her backside, leaving my palm stinging and her ass cheek red with a few dark smears of grease.
“A-aren’t you…afraid of getting me dirty?” she stammers, trying to look at me over her shoulder. My fingers squeeze her neck to keep her facing the door. Years ago, I hated the sight of dirt on her beautiful, flawless skin, especially when it came from me. Now, not so much.
“Not anymore. You’re already so fucking filthy, a little grease won’t hurt you,” I lean forward to growl into her ear while keeping my hips back far enough that my erection doesn’t poke her. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” I add, completely aware of the hypocrisy in my words.
I’m ashamed of my own horny and violent reaction to seeing her again, but I’m completely unable to contain it. Here we are, right back where we left off ten years ago, in a garage with me touching my stepsister in ways I have no right.
When she
doesn’t respond to my harsh insult, more of my word vomit spews all over her.
“How dare you send me nudes of yourself like I want a subscription to Sluts R Us.” I’m even more of a fucking hypocrite now, because I’m staring at her round, perfect ass in her pink thong while calling her out.
“So, you’ve never gotten yourself off to any of the photos?” she asks, trying to twist her neck again while I hold her in place tighter. “Right, Winston?”
Instead of lying or admitting the truth, I spank her even harder three more times, my dick throbbing behind the fly of my zipper with every delicious jiggle of her ass.
“Jesus! Why do you keep hitting me?” Zoe exclaims when the final echo of flesh meeting flesh quiets down.
“Because somebody needs to fucking punish you for the shit you’ve been doing, and since your father won’t, I will.”
“You don’t get to decide what I do with my life, Winston! In fact, I honestly don’t know why you even care what I do with my body.”
“You were too damn young. Martin shouldn’t have ever let you leave!”
“What? When?” she asks.
“You know when,” I grumble.
“The night you took my virginity and then said you didn’t give a shit about me?”
My hand drops from the back of her neck like she burned me as the V-word bounces around in my thick skull. “You weren’t… You didn’t…”
“Yes, I was,” Zoe reiterates when she turns around, hitting me in the gut with the corner of her big purse. Her face is bright red and angry, clearly from me spanking her and calling her a liar. “I may not have bled, but you were the first person I was ever with.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” I yell at her.
“Because you wouldn’t have done it if I had!”
That’s fucking true. The only reason I let things go that far that night was because I was certain Zoe had been with other guys at school. The way she flirted with me and other men, I thought for sure she had experience. That night, she said she had done it before.