by Joy Blood
When the sun starts to show signs of sinking from the sky, I feel the bike slow, then pull off onto an unpaved road. The ride gets a little bumpier, but Premo navigates the road well, bringing us to a complete stop at a cluster of trees. As soon as he kills the engine, I swing my leg and get off the bike, then pull off my helmet to place on the seat. He doesn’t say a word as he walks past me toward a well-beaten trail through the trees. I follow along, careful to watch where I’m going so I don’t step wrong and hurt myself. I’m so busy looking down at my feet, I don’t even notice he’s stopped and the trees have somewhat cleared. I run smack into his back with a, “Hmph.”
“I used to come here when I was a kid.” His rough voice breaks the silence, bringing my head up to look around at what he’s talking about. High up in a tree hangs a short rope with a frayed end. Below is a pond with a slight ripple running through it that leads to a slow running stream. “Was a bit of a walk out here ’til I got my first bike.”
“It’s beautiful.” The sun is setting, reflecting off the water. Bright pinks and yellows shine in the sky, casting a warm glow on the surroundings.
“Was the place to go when I was growing up. There used to be a tire hanging from that rope until Nixon, Wick, and me all hopped on it and swung out over the pond. We didn’t make it. The rope snapped, and we fell hard into the bank. When the sun is high in the sky and the water is still, you can see the tire on the bottom of the pond.”
“You grew up here?”
“Yeah. Born and raised. My great granddad immigrated over from Russia. It was my dad who ended up here. He started the club, then met my mom. They didn’t last long. Just long enough to have me, then fight over who got to keep me. My mom won that argument, until she died when I was twelve.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Was a long time ago. Dad hated that I kept her last name. It was my way of keeping her alive, I guess.”
“What is your name? I can’t imagine your real name is Premo.” He lets out a gruff chuckle.
“Nah. I got stuck with the name when I started selling dime bags of weed in high school. I always had the best shit, because of the club.” He shakes his head, then brings his gaze back to me. “Nathanial Dash. Nate.”
“I like it,” I say in nearly a whisper, finding my feet stepping closer. “Nate.” His eyes close for a second, and when they open, I swear I can see fire blazing in his stare. The distance is closed between us—by who I don’t know—and his hand grips my chin. Using the slightest pressure, he tips my head back.
It’s one of those moments frozen in time—one a person might only get once or twice in their life if they’re lucky. I’m stuck, my body is locked, and I can’t move no matter how much I want to. I want to close the distance between us, but it feels like miles separate us instead of inches. He is too far away for me to reach. A calloused thumb drifts along my chin, then up to my bottom lip, pulling slightly to open my mouth. My tongue darts out, nearly missing his thumb.
It’s as if that single action breaks the spell. His eyes close, and his head slightly shakes back and forth before bringing the moment to a halt. His hand falls away from my chin, and he leads me over to a picnic table that has seen better days. The wood is soft and green in most places, showing it’s been here for years, exposed to the elements. We talk a little more. He tells me about how his father died and how he became the president. I want so bad to ask him about his son, but decide against it. The night is going so well, I don’t want to chance having a breakdown.
We stay there and watch as the sun drops from the sky, the moon taking its place. The night surrounds us as we stare out at the pond. The temperature starts to drop, and I try to suppress a shiver, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. “Let’s get back to the apartment. I’ve got a few things to take care of tonight.” He gets to his feet, then helps me up after him. His hand lingers, holding mine, and once again, he brings his fingers under my chin to lift my face to his. “Those eyes of yours hold everything,” he whispers, and I find my body heat despite the chill. “So beautiful.”
He leans in just slightly, enough for me to feel the caress of his breath across my face. The smell of motor oil and musk invade my senses, stronger than the sweatshirt. It sends tingles through my body I haven’t felt in a long time. Just before I think he is about to come the rest of the way and kiss me, I blink. And much like before, it pulls him from the trance, and he steps away.
“Let’s get going.” His voice is back to the gruff biker. I nod and follow him over to the bike, forcing the tingles away.
Twenty-Seven
The ride to the apartment is short, but feels like it takes an eternity. I took her to the pond to try to get her to open up. I figured telling her about my past would get her to do the same, but she’s still holding back a big chunk of herself. She needs help, and not just in the addict needing a sponsor type. She’s hiding something dark.
I wanted so damn bad to kiss her—fucking twice—and I almost did, until she blinked those big, beautiful eyes of hers and brought me back to the here and now. If I kiss her, I know damn well I won’t be able to stop myself.
I’m quick dropping her off, making sure Doc is there when I do. I feel like a complete asshole, but it will just have to be. It’s still early, so I decide to give Boyd a call since I missed my time yesterday because of Nixon. I stay parked out in front of my apartment and put the phone to my ear. Only two rings before his voice echoes through the line. “Daddy!” he yells, and I have to pull it away from my ear. Kid is loud.
“Hey, man. How’s life in Cental?”
He lets out a laugh. “I got my first cut today!” he says, making my veins run cold. Ari and I had an agreement that my son would be a Siberian. Even with his stepdad being a member of the Hell’s Riders, Boyd was going to be a member of my club, if he chose the path of the club.
“Did you now?” I ask as he starts on about his day and how his sister is doing, all the while, I’m trying to keep my cool about my son having a Rider’s cut on his back. Asshole-ish. But I don’t care.
When he gets done with his tales of the day, like all kids, he is off the phone, and I’m left waiting for his mother to pick up and talk to me. “Premo.” Ari’s voice wafts over me, but the affect it normally has is gone.
“He got a cut?” I get right to the point. I can almost feel her apprehension through the line.
“It’s a leather vest with his name on it,” she explains, trying to calm me down. “Just plain black, no colors on it. I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you. Rico wanted to get him something to wear for the rally that had his name on it. I’m sorry if he overstepped.” Now I really feel like an asshole.
“Shit, I’m sorry for snapping. I should have known you wouldn’t go back on our agreement. Rico has more respect than that too.” I rub at my forehead, mentally cursing myself. With Ari married to a member of the Hell’s Riders, I knew my boy was going to grow up around club life, and that club life wouldn’t be my club. Our agreement was I would get my son once a month until he was older, then he would start spending summers with me. The other part of our agreement was he wouldn’t call Rico dad, and when the time came, if he wanted to patch in, he would wear a Siberian cut.
“Shit has just been getting to me here,” I admit, rubbing at my chin. Damn, this scruff is getting long again. “He excited for the rally?” This year, both the Riders and Siberians are going to the Western Motorcycle Rally. Camping, booze, women, and bikes.
“Yes. Oh my gosh, he won’t stop talking about it.” We agreed he could come for the family day, then go home the next day with the rest of the kids.
“Will you and Reek be staying?”
“Yeah. I think so. Ellie and Vin are going to take Boyd and Abby. Give us a weekend.” Once again, I wait for the twinge I would normally get in my chest when she talks about her husband, but it doesn’t come. “Are you thinking about bringing that girl of yours?”
“What are you talking about?” I feign ign
orance.
“Oh please, there has to be a girl.”
“Not sure about that one, Ari,” I lie.
“Please. I might not be there, but I can tell through your voice something is going on, and my bet is it’s a woman.” I shake my head. The damn woman knows all my tells—still.
“Nothing there. I’m the president, got a lot on my plate. One of my guys has a warrant. Got this complex being flipped. Plate is full. I don’t need the distraction of a woman.”
“You know what I just heard? A whole lot of BS. You like her, I can tell. Just go with it. Don’t let this one slip by because you were too busy being the ‘president of the Siberians MC,’” she mocks.
“I said there wasn’t—” I shake my head and look up at the dark, starless sky. It’s pointless to argue with the woman. “Jesus, I forgot how sassy you are. See you in a couple weeks, mama.” She lets out a chuckle and says goodbye. I put my phone away and look up to the light where my apartment is. I know Vera can probably see me from where she is, but I don’t see her. She’s there, though. I can feel her. Maybe Ari is right. Maybe I should make a move.
Twenty-Eight
Doc fell asleep shortly after Premo dropped me off and left a little too quickly. I went and took a long shower, then found myself staring out the bedroom window. He was still sitting out in the parking lot, talking on his phone. I decided to tell myself he was talking to his son and no one else. The thought of him talking to another woman annoyed me.
That is what I find myself fixated on the next day as I sit at the kitchen table staring down a box of Life cereal as if it has wronged me. “What did Life ever do to you?” Doc asks with a chuckle. It takes me a minute to realize he’s talking about the box in front of me. Making a joke.
“Gosh. Sorry, I guess I’m still tired,” I lie, but Doc sees right through it.
“He is a complex man. Give him time. He’ll come around.” He gets up from his spot at the table before I can respond. “I got a couple things to do today. Think you’ll be good?” he asks, already heading out the door. He’s leaving me alone? I have no watchdog making sure I don’t run or try to find someone to score from? I leap from my chair and go over to the door. My hand hovers over the knob. I could easily turn it and leave. I’m stronger this time, I could get farther. I stand there, waiting for something. Maybe a voice or a sign to tell me what to do. If I should run again or stay.
My feet move on their own, stepping back until I’m in the living room. Before I can think twice, I turn around and go to the bedroom where I fling myself onto the bed. “What is wrong with you, Vera?” I grumble to myself, barely catching the sound of the door opening again. Doc must have forgotten something. I hop up to tell him I didn’t run away when I run smack into a hard chest.
“You thinkin' of running again?” Not Doc. His voice is thick, almost as if he’s forcing his words out.
“No. I—I thought about it, but I didn’t.” I back up to put distance between us.
“Progress.”
“I guess.”
“Are you hungry?” What?
“No. I just ate some cereal.”
“Too bad. I want some breakfast. You up for another ride? I’ve got a few pick-ups to do if you want to tag along. Get out of the place for a while.” He shrugs. “Then maybe you’ll be hungry enough for lunch.”
“Okay. I’ll just get dressed.” I back farther away, still not breaking eye contact.
“Good. Going to be a hot one today, but grab a long sleeve shirt, we’ll be on the bike.” With that, he turns and walks out of the room.
I’m quick about getting ready, doing my best to tamper down the excitement bubbling up in my chest. He came here to get me. To take me out to breakfast. The little girl in me wants to jump up and down, but the other part, the damaged part, wants to slap her face and tell her not to believe a word of it.
He makes stops here and there, mostly businesses. Bars. Restaurants. There are only a handful of them in this small town, but each time he goes into one, he comes back out with a small money bag he tucks into the pouches on the back of his bike. I don’t ask about them, I already know what they are…or I think I do.
When we get to the last stop, he tells me to come inside with him. The place isn’t a business; it’s someone’s house. Before we reach the door, it swings open, revealing an older woman with graying hair and a slender build. Her hair is in a pixie cut, her bangs pinned to the side. “I was wondering when I would see you. Come in.” She waves the both of us inside, then pulls out chairs for us to sit. “Can I get you some tea? Coffee maybe?”
I realize she’s asking me, because she’s already pouring a cup of coffee that she places down in front of Premo, who has taken a seat.
“I…uh, coffee please.”
“Cream?”
“Yes, please.”
“Go on, sit down. I won’t bite, I promise.” She gives me a warm, inviting smile and goes about getting that cup for me.
“Vera, this is Berta. She’s my sponsor,” Premo says, matter-of-fact, and I almost choke on my creamed-up coffee.
“Like, AA sponsor?” I knew Premo had an addiction, but I didn’t realize he sought help. Is this why he asked me here today? Instantly, that little girl in me plummets to the floor with a thud. He only wanted me to talk to his sponsor. I’m an idiot.
“Yeah. Been together for…what is it now, B? Eight years?”
“Ten. And you keep forgetting our anniversary too, you big oaf.” She lets out a chuckle and sits at the table with us. “So, Vera, you’re the girl who’s got my boy all twisted up.” And once again, my coffee nearly deprives me of oxygen.
“Jesus, B. I didn’t bring her here for an interrogation. Shit.” Berta reaches out to swat Premo, but only reaches his arm.
“Don’t swear in my home. You know the rules.” She nods toward a jar on the counter, and Premo lets out a long, drawn-out sigh before he gets up and drops money into the jar. “Boy has almost gotten me that vacation I always dreamed of.” She laughs, and for the first time, I notice her front two teeth are much whiter than her others.
“That’s the only reason you invite me over for coffee, so I can fill your jar. I should just drop a twenty in every time I walk through the door. Save me the trips back and forth.” They laugh and talk some more, and I mostly just listen to their friendly conversation. Every now and then, Berta asks me a question, but only a yes or no, or something having to do with my childhood, which I don’t mind talking about. I relax into the friendly conversation, and before long, the pot of coffee we started with is gone, and Premo is saying we need to leave. All plummeting thoughts of him bringing me here to open up to her have vanished, and I’m feeling a bit lighter by the time I climb back onto his bike.
“That woman in there…I owe her my life. She pulled me back from the brink of my own self-destruction.”
“She is quite a woman,” I say honestly. I know Premo must have a story, something heartbreaking if the hurt in his eyes is anything to go by when he mentions his sobriety, but I can’t bring myself to ask him about it yet. Probably because I know I can’t tell him anything about my past. Not now…maybe not ever.
“She sure is. Didn’t used to be. Guess that is her story to tell, though. Maybe she’ll tell you sometime. You can see a person can come back from their past.”
“Coming back isn’t the problem,” I say into his back. I hug close to him as he starts up the bike. “It’s facing it.”
We ride through town to another business, only this time, he takes me inside and we order lunch. The words spoken after leaving Berta’s are long gone, and we converse easily now, enough so, I decide I need to ask about the bags. “What were you picking up?”
“Money.” He takes another bite of his burger, as if him picking money up from the local businesses is hardly a topic.
“I figured that much, but what for?”
“Protection. It’s to keep the drugs from the establishments. If people know the Siberians are invo
lved with them, they stay away. At least the smart ones do. If they have any problems, they call us instead of the cops. All it takes is a couple of us showing up on our bikes to drive the dealers away.”
“Something you are passionate about? Keeping drugs off the streets?”
He nods, then looks out the window for a moment before turning back to me. “You know why people stopped going to the pond?” I shake my head, because why would I? “There was a party out there a couple years back. Bunch of kids doing what they do best—hide from the cops, drink beer, typical backwoods shit. Well, some pricks came into town around that time and started spreading their garbage through town, trying to make a name for themselves. They were at that party. Next morning, someone found a girl floating in that pond facedown. She had been raped repeatedly and had high levels of H in her system.”
“Oh my God.” I can’t help the gasp that leaves me, and my hand clamps over my mouth to shut myself up.
“We hunted each one of the pricks down and burned ’em,” he tells me, dead serious right to my face he killed them, or at least took part in it. I don’t blink. I can’t. Whoever those men were deserved what they got. “That’s why I pick up the money and make sure I keep that shit from my town. I might be a criminal, but I will protect what is mine, and this town is.” He is making a promise to me, even if he isn’t saying the words. I can see it in his stare. His narrowed brows tell me he will go to the ends of the earth for me and back again if he has to.
I just don’t think I have the strength to ask him to.
Twenty-Nine
Telling her about the dealers we took out might have been a gamble, but it’s one that paid off. I can tell just by the way she’s handling herself around me she is letting me in a little more. Taking her to Berta’s was something else too, and it was nice to see how they interacted. Of course, Berta talked her ear off, but I found Vera starting to let loose and relax. Actually smiling more than once. Damn beautiful smile too. I plan on making her do it more often. After the conversation I had with Ari last night, I rode around town just thinking about the possibilities of keeping Vera here, with me. Making her mine. While the thought scared the hell out of me, it also made me long to see what would happen if I pursued her.
