The thought of him being a criminal was exciting. It also scared the shit out of me. The first question I asked him when we met was if he was a real biker. I didn’t expect him to be a model citizen, nor did I want him to be. I didn’t expect him to be a getaway driver for a group of outlaws, either.
I took a moment to digest what he’d said, and then drew a shallow breath. “Can I ask what kind of things you guys do?”
He shook his head. “I can’t discuss club business.”
His response sent me right back to feeling sick. The thought of losing him was real, and I didn’t like it one bit. He was either going to need to trust me, or chance losing me. I couldn’t be part of mass-murder plot or turn the other cheek if they were shooting gas station attendants in failed robbery attempts.
There were, however, some scenarios I could accept. Stealing truckloads of cigarettes and selling them on the black market was fine. Manufacturing methamphetamines wasn’t. My mind was going a thousand different directions and I wasn’t thinking clearly.
My eyes welled with tears. “Porter, I’m scared shitless right now, and I don’t want this, or anything, to come between us. Can you. Can you give an example of what you’re talking about? If you can’t, we might need to quit seeing one another.”
I couldn’t believe the words that came out of my mouth. I wanted to take them back, but it was too late.
His expressionless look changed to one of worry.
With a tight jaw, he studied me.
“I need you to trust me,” I begged. ‘You can’t expect me to accept who you are if you won’t tell me who you truly are. I’ve hidden nothing from you. Be truthful with me and let me make a decision based on the truth.”
He continued to stare. Fear clouded his eyes, leaving them dull and without much emotion other than distress.
“Do you trust me?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Prove it,” I demanded. “Prove you trust me.”
He blew out a long exhaustive breath, and then met my gaze. “Every one of us takes a stance against drug dealers, and what their dope does to society. It’s pretty common for us to rob drug dealers.”
“At gunpoint?” I asked.
He shook his head. “We’re professionals. Did you watch Ocean’s Eleven?”
I’d seen the movie more than once. If the crimes depicted in the movies were what his club was doing, it was going to go from bad to good in instant.
“We’re kind of like that,” he explained. “A computer expert to manipulate the alarms. Explosives expert to divert attention. A weapons expert just in case. A man damned good at planning to put everything together. A getaway driver to make a quick escape.”
“And you split the money?” I asked.
He chuckled. “We give more than half of it to charity. The club’s president is like Robin Hood. He doesn’t do it for the thrill, or for the financial gain. He does it for the betterment of mankind. When we rob drug dealers, we burn the dope in the desert, just to make sure it doesn’t end up on the streets. He gives the money away like candy to the unfortunate.”
“So, you don’t manage car washes?” I asked.
“No,” he responded. “That’s true. I do manage car washes.”
“And you rob drug dealers?”
He laced his fingers and leaned forward. “The last job we did was this: a woman had her retirement account compromised, and two million dollars of her savings was taken. The financial institution wasn’t able to find it, but we did. We recovered the money and gave it to her.”
I was fascinated. I shouldn’t have been, but I was. “Cyber banking stuff?”
He shook his head. “No. Someone drained her accounts and converted it to cash. Then, he took the cash home and had it in his safe. We recovered it.”
“So, you physically took it back? That kind of recovery?”
He nodded. “Correct.”
I braced myself for the fact that at least one of them was a murderer. “What did you do to the guy that took it?”
“Advised him to keep his mouth shut, or we’d turn him in to the law for the crime.”
It sounded like he was more of a vigilante than a criminal. Granted, he was committing crimes, but they weren’t crimes against humanity. My gaze dropped to the table as I absorbed everything he’d said. While I tried to make sense of it all, he cleared his throat.
“For what it’s worth, the club has a rule,” he said. “We have a hands-off policy when it comes to women and the elderly. Men, on the other hand, are subject to the wrath of the club.”
I looked up. “But only as a last resort?”
He nodded. “Correct.”
“Would you consider walking away from the club?” I asked.
“I’m considering it now,” he said. “I haven’t made up my mind. I needed to come clean with you and see what you said. But, I need you to accept me, regardless of the choice I make. This has been killing me, Abby. I can give you as much time as you need. Either way, I understand.”
I didn’t need any time. I’d already made my decision. It wasn’t solely based on the fact that I loved Porter, but my love for him played a huge part in my ability to accept him for who he was. He was committing crimes in the eyes of the law, but they were crimes that many law-abiding citizens would commit if they were able.
“I’d prefer you walk away,” I said. “But only because I don’t want you to get hurt. If you choose not to, I can accept that. We’ll need to talk about it more, I’m sure, but I can accept it. Is there anything else?”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Love is the key to coloring outside the lines. My prompt acceptance of my criminal boyfriend’s activities was proof. Losing him wasn’t something I was willing to risk. I managed to find a way to accept everything he’d said. I didn’t like the thought of him being hurt while robbing a drug dealer, but for the time being I’d reserve hope that he’d find a way to walk away from the club.
I offered a crooked smile and a nod. “Yes.”
“You’re one hundred percent sure?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Both eyebrows raised. “Abby?”
I sighed. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Pardon me?” I blinked a few times. “I thought you said I love you.”
“I did,” he said. “When I admitted it to myself, I knew I had to tell you everything. Now that I have, it’s time for me to be honest. I love you, and I can’t imagine living a single day without you. I want you in my life, now and forever.”
I covered my mouth with my hand to prevent hyperventilation. After a moment of heavy breathing, I lowered my hand. “I love you, too I really do I think I have for a long time but I was too afraid to admit it I’m glad you finally said something because it was eating me up inside I went to talk to George about it God I love you.”
He stood and stretched his arms wide.
I wanted to attack him like a rabid spider monkey.
He swept me from my feet and spun me around, so my back was to the wall. Then, he kissed me like I’d never been kissed. I couldn’t remember if Disney princes and princesses kissed, but if they did, their kisses would have been like that kiss.
It was the perfect kiss. From the perfect man. On the perfect night. After the perfect fight to preserve our perfect relationship. And then, the perfect revelation.
He loved me.
And, he told me so in the perfect place.
My favorite ice cream parlor.
When our mouths parted, I began to cry.
He wiped my tears away and looked into my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Number two on my list,” I blubbered. “I did it.”
“We did it,” he said.
I couldn’t wait to tell my mother and George. My father would shit a complete brick, but I didn’t care. He’d have to find a way to get over it.
“I can’t wait to tell George,” I blurted.
“Can we tell him togethe
r?” he asked.
As far as I was concerned, we needed to start doing everything together. Except for pooping. Pooping was an alone activity, even if I was in love.
I nodded eagerly. “When do you want to?”
He looked at his watch. “How about now?”
“What time is it?”
His mouth twisted into a smirk. “He closes in fifteen minutes.”
It was twenty-five minutes away, maybe more, depending on traffic. “Guess it’s a good thing I fell in love with a getaway driver,” I said. “You want to show me how you earned that nickname, Ghost?”
102
Ghost
Despite my triple-digit high-speed run to the diner, the door was locked when we arrived. By my watch, we were a few minutes early. Abby, as excited as a kid on Christmas day, pounded on the door as if she was trying to knock it down.
“He’s in the back,” she said. “He always cleans the kitchen last.”
George peered over the ledge of the pass-through opening. After recognizing us, he shook his head and turned away. A moment later, he burst through the swinging doors and into the dining area.
With his arms swinging at his sides and his head held high, he marched to the front door and removed the keys from his pocket.
After fumbling with the lock for a moment, he pushed the door open just wide enough to fit his head in the crack. He glared at Abby. “What in the name of fuck is going on?” He shifted his eyes to me and grinned. “Evening, Porter.”
I gave a nod. “George.”
Abby tossed her hands high in the air. “We’re in love.”
He glanced at each of us and then fixed his eyes on Abby. “You two have been drooling over each other since the first day you brought him in here. I’m not dirtying up my kitchen to celebrate something that I’ve been knowing for the last month or so.”
“Stop being so grumpy,” she said. “I’m excited.”
“I’m excited, too.” He grinned a cheesy tooth-revealing grin. “See?”
She put her hands on her hips. “We saw Luke Westham at the Mission Valley Theater. He grabbed my arm and called Porter an asshole. Porter knocked him out cold.”
He looked at me and arched one of his oversized eyebrows. “The creepy running back for the Chargers?”
“That’s the one,” I said.
“I’d planned on kicking that dip-shit’s ass myself, but he never cashed in the free lunch vouchers I sent him on Facebook.” He pushed the door open. “Well, hell’s bells, get your asses in here. That’s cause for celebration.”
Abby walked past him and turned around. “You sent him lunch vouchers?”
“Four or five times after that last series of emails he sent you. Told him he was a random winner. Offered all you can eat pancakes and ham for free. Son-of-a-bitch never showed up. Figured Lawson and I would tune him up if he did.”
I laughed. “Which one’s Lawson?”
“Tall kid with the scar on his face.”
That would have been a fight worth seeing. Lawson was at least six-feet-six, and weighed two fifty, easily. His hands came to rest right beside his knees, which would have given him a six-inch reach on the football player.
I chuckled. “You could have sold tickets to that fight.”
“If they would have sold tickets to yours, there’d be a bunch of people wanting refunds,” Abby said with a laugh.
“Why’s that?” George asked.
“He hit him five times in two seconds, and then Luke fell in a pile,” Abby said. “It was over before it started.”
George offered his hand. “Good work, Porter.”
I shook his hand. “He got what he deserved.”
“So.” He looked at Abby. “What’ll it be?”
“To celebrate the fight?”
He smiled a genuine smile. “Wasn’t falling in love item number two on the list?”
“It was.”
“Technically, we’re closed,” he said. “As long as no money changes hands, we can have a glass of champagne.”
“You’ve got champagne?” Abby asked excitedly.
“Got a couple of bottles in the back for such an occasion,” he said.
Abby looked at me.
I shrugged. “I’ve never been in love with anyone. It’s a pretty big deal for me.”
“Big deal for me, too,” George said, shifting his eyes from Abby to me as he spoke. “Be right back.”
In a few minutes, we were seated in Abby’s favorite booth, right next to the kitchen. Each of us had a ruby red plastic tumbler filled with champagne. George raised his over the center of the table.
“Raise your glass for these two lost souls, for they’ve finally found their fate. May this toast keep them as one, ‘till they reunite at heaven’s gate.”
We clanked our glasses together and took a drink.
Abby lowered her glass. “I like that. Where’d it come from?”
“I made it up,” George said.
“Just now?” she asked.
“Just now.”
I liked what he said, short of the heaven’s gate thing. Nonetheless, I offered a smile and a nod. “That was nice.”
“I’m about two percent Irish, according to that ancestry DNA thing,” he said. “The Irish always give witty toasts. I thought I’d make something up. Rolled off the tongue pretty easily.”
“I liked it,” Abby said.
“I hope this lasts forever,” George said. “If anyone deserves it, it’s the two of you.”
Forever ended when either of our clocks stopped ticking. Although we were the same age, my forever and Abby’s forever weren’t the same. Since meeting Abby, I’d avoided questions about my condition, all but lying to her – and to myself – about the cancer that ate away at my chance of having a meaningful forever with her.
Admitting that I loved her opened a floodgate of emotion, and of possibilities. I could see my future with her, and I liked what I saw. It was time for me to cast my insecurities aside, become a responsible lover, and seek treatment for my cancer. I owed it to her, and to myself, to take care of my health the best that I was able.
I took a silent sip of what remained of my champagne, hoping my decision wasn’t made too late.
103
Abby
I sat in the waiting room of the cancer center with my purse in my lap and my heart in my throat. I’d give any amount of money to fix Porter’s condition, but I had no idea what it was or what he needed. He never spoke of the doctor, of his appointments, or of his recovery. He hated going to the meetings, and over the course of the time that we’d been together, had only gone to two.
During a visit to his doctor two days prior, they scheduled another appointment at once. I was all too familiar with the research center, and knew if his appointment was there, that his condition wasn’t as good as I hoped it would be.
Over the last seven weeks I’d told myself he was getting better. I convinced myself of it. In my mind, if he said nothing, it meant things were improving. I now felt like an ostrich that had buried its head in the sand.
The unique smell of the research center brought back memories of my frequent visits. With them came a flood of recollections from my lengthy recovery. Losing weight until I weighed eighty-five pounds. Being covered in bruises. Vomiting day in, day out. Losing my hair. Praying. Losing my faith. Praying some more.
Flushing the toilet twice became a habit that was difficult to break. I feared the chemicals would remain in my body forever. Then, after deciding I couldn’t go another round of therapy, I was told I had beaten the dreaded disease.
I was a true survivor.
My father said it’s not the dog in the fight, it’s the fight in the dog. My mother agreed, telling stories of how I was stubborn, even as a toddler.
Now worried sick, I clutched my stomach and waited for Porter to return. I decided no matter what, he was going to have to start confiding in me exactly what his condition was. I was not going to allow him to shelter m
e from the truth any longer. We were a team, and we were going to get through the treatments together, regardless of the outcome of each visit.
Just like George said, deception was the same as a lie. Porter not telling me about his doctor visits was the same as telling me an untruth. If he loved me – and I was sure that he did – he could tell me everything. He needed to tell me everything. If he did, as a team, we could get through anything.
I clutched my purse, closed my eyes, and drew a deep breath.
It’s me again, the girl with the potty mouth. I need another favor. I don’t ask for much. In fact, I’ve asked for nothing since I was in this room last. Considering what you did for me, I need to ask that you consider doing something for the man I love.
He’s not close to you, and I know he won’t ask for anything. That doesn’t prevent me from asking that you bless him. I’d give anything to have you place your healing hand on his shoulder.
Anything.
If you’re able, and if you see him as fit for a better life on earth than in heaven, please consider blessing him with the power of healing. Despite some of the choices he’s made in life, he’s a good man.
If you choose to answer this prayer, I reserve hope that it gives him the faith he needs to become closer to you.
In your name I pray.
Amen.
I opened my eyes.
I watched the minutes on my cell phone’s clock tick past, until another hour had passed. I checked the status of the purse I’d ordered online. I scrolled through my recent Instagram posts. I Googled brain tumors and read data until I was sick. I looked on Amazon for a new bicycle. I picked the sand out of the split soles of my beloved Converse. I twirled my hair. Just when I was on the verge of breaking down, the door beside me creaked open.
I looked up. Porter stepped through the threshold and into the room. Glassy-eyed and expressionless, he pulled the door closed behind him. His eyes met mine.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
I stood and turned to face him.
His upper body fell against the wall. He began to cry. “I can’t get my legs to work.”
Devil's Disciples MC Series- The Complete Boxed Set Page 55