Snow White & The Biker

by Glenna Maynard

  I adjust my dick in my pants and try to think of anything other than her lips wrapped around me. Breaking into her apartment can wait. Curiosity has gotten the best of me. I watch from a distance as she tosses her purse into the passenger seat of her yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Her choice in car is also surprising. I thought girls like her drove Mercedes or something fancy and expensive. A smile crosses her face as she rolls the window down. Rock music blares from the speakers. My lips lift into a smirk. She is nothing like I expected.

  Nothing at all.

  Fuck me.

  Fucking hell Sybil White is ten kinds of fucking adorable.

  I need to know more about her. Hell, I want to know everything about her.

  I’m in trouble.

  Big fucking trouble.

  I need to shut these feelings down but here I am following her instead of casing her apartment.

  I hang back by a few cars and follow her to the public library. There’s a sign out front that says today is story hour with a princess. Parked across the street I observe mothers escorting their toddlers inside. In her car Sybil touches up her makeup. I go ahead into the library to find a spot to watch her without being obvious. In the children’s section there’s a multicolored puzzle rug. The kids are already taking their seats sitting cross-legged on the floor. In the center of the room is a chair that resembles a throne. Sybil enters the room and takes her designated seat. An older woman hands her a book and she has the full attention of the children. The way they are gaping at her you’d think she was the real deal and filled with magic. They are in awe of her and right now I have to admit part of me is too. She speaks softly to them as she reads, taking her time to pause and show them the pictures on the pages and changing her voice to match how the character might sound. It’s sweet. So damn sweet it makes my teeth ache.

  I find myself getting caught up in her damn princess magic with her audience. She’s captivating. Goodness is radiating off her so much so—it makes my damn stomach hurt.

  It’s all too much.

  She’s too much.

  I have a job to do and need to remind myself I can’t be thinking she’s cute.

  Having seen enough, I shove off from my spot before she notices me and head back to her apartment. Her lock is easy enough to pick. All it takes is a bobby pin. Quietly, I enter the apartment and hope she doesn’t have a dog. The air conditioner and the refrigerator both are humming. Other than that, the place is relatively quiet. Sybil lives in a one-bedroom unit. The living room is basic. A white loveseat, a yellow wide back chair, and a glass coffee table make up the furnishings aside from a bookcase. She doesn’t have a TV. Who the hell doesn’t have a television in their living room? The kitchen is nothing special, but I check out her fridge and cabinets. She doesn’t have a lot of food. Milk, cereal, bread, bananas, and a small container of ice cream. Maybe she is a minimalist.

  Her bathroom is small with a standard shower stall and tub combo. A toilet with one of those shelves that fit over the back that holds the towels. Her vanity contains the usual girly stuff one would expect to find. Hair products, face wash, tampons, and toothpaste. I move on to her bedroom. I haven’t found any personal effects. No pictures or whatnots. I don’t even think the girl owns a vibrator. There is a small flat screen television. Inside her nightstand drawer is the remote control to her television, a pad of paper that appears as though it has never been used, and one of those black silk eye masks. Her closet is full of dark clothing. She owns a lot of blue jeans and dark blue tops. Must be her favorite color other than yellow.

  I finish up and get out before she returns.

  Sybil seems to exist but not truly live and it makes me a bit sad that she is so alone in this fucked up cruel world. Because I know that feeling deep in my gut. Have lived it and felt it since Wrath murdered my old man. There are few people in this world I trust. Fucking Wrath ain’t one of them.

  On day four I have come to realize that Sybil White may just be the sweetest creature on Earth, and I don’t know if I will have it in me to kill her when the time comes. She intrigues and confounds me. Every day she volunteers for some new charity. First it was reading to children at the library, then it was taking food to the local animal shelter and volunteering at an adoption fair for the animals. The next day she visited an old folk’s home and played board and card games with them. I watched her sit with an elderly man for forty minutes and help him work a puzzle.

  She’s fucking perfect and pure. How could anyone want to see her dead?

  Why would anyone hire someone to kill something so sweet and innocent?

  Why would I agree to carry the act of her murder out?

  Why does anyone do anything?

  Greed.

  Lust.

  Envy.

  Revenge.

  Those are the usual but not Sybil. She seems to do good deeds because she simply wants to. I’ve never met anyone like her in my life. None of it matters. At the end of the day, I have a job to complete. It’s none of my business why her stepmother wants her out of the way. Though I am sure it is purely greed. My reason is purely selfish. I have a vendetta to settle with Wrath. I will put him to the ground if it is the last thing I do. Sybil just happens to be a steppingstone in getting there. I can’t allow myself to care about her or see her as a person. She’s a means to an end.

  Nothing more.

  Chapter 4

  —Sybil

  Squinting from under the brim of my hat, I smile as my favorite person approaches.

  “Like an apple from a tree I picked you, muñequita,” Sofia singsongs as she hands me a crate from the wagon. Sofia was my late paternal grandmother’s childhood friend and my godmother. She’s always called me her little doll. I’m not so small now though. My twenty-first birthday is approaching.

  I take the wooden crate, and Jose hops down and collects the three I’ve filled. “Buenos Dias, Sybi,” he says with a toothy grin.

  One would think with my heritage and four years of language lessons my Spanish would be better, though it hasn’t improved in the least. “Good morning, Jose,” I return. I continue collecting apples that have fallen from the trees in the orchard.

  Jose doesn’t speak a lick of English, yet he smiles at me anyway. I come here to Sofia’s family farm when I need to get away. It’s been four years since my father died and ten since my mother passed away. Sofia has always been a constant in my life. Always watching out for me despite my evil step-monster trying to keep her away.

  “What are you doing here? You should be out doing things young folk do. Not here sweating. Your skin is going to burn,” Sofia chastises me. I have my mother’s dark hair, but I inherited my father’s fair skin.

  “I have plans,” I lie coolly, while trying to come up with something to do.

  “Come on. You can help me start the pies for the festival.” I hook my arm through hers and start back toward the house. The Apple Festival is an annual event that Sofia lives for. She loves baking apple goods and she is phenomenal at it too. She makes the best homemade apple butter.

  Back at the house Sofia’s grandchildren run through the house playing tag while the dogs chase them. Her ranch style household is in constant motion. Family coming in and out. This is what I wish I had experienced growing up.

  Once my mother passed away and my father married Consuela my home tuned from bright and cheery to cold and dreary. The moment I turned eighteen I moved out, eager to get away from her. So harsh and controlling. She didn’t want me having friends or leaving the house. Though things have been better since I left for college. I rarely go home. Only showing my face when I am needed to make an appearance for Sybi Kids, my father’s children’s couture line. When I turn twenty-one, I will inherit the company—my legacy.

  He started out as a cotton logo t-shirt manufacture. Sybi Kids was my mother’s dream and he made it come true.

  He loved her more than life. I never understood what he saw in Consuela. Though I suppose he wanted me to have a
mother, although there is nothing motherly about that wicked witch. She doesn’t have a kind or loving bone in her body. I bet if I were to cut her, her blood would be black and like tar.

  Jesus, Sofia’s youngest son brings a basket of the apples in and places it on the counter. I start washing and he hands the apples off to his mother to peel. “That band you like is playing at Rocky’s Bar tonight.” He grins at me.

  I shove his shoulder. “No way. Get out.”

  “Way.” He bumps his shoulder back against mine. Jesus is a few years older than me and like the big brother I always wanted growing up. I think Sofia has always hoped for there to be something more between us, but I just don’t see him in a romantic way. Not that he isn’t attractive with his obsidian eyes and dimples. “Thought maybe we could check it out.”

  “Sure. Sounds fun.”

  “You two should go out to a nice dinner and movie. You don’t belong in that trash bar,” Sofia complains.

  I smile at her and Jesus shakes his head. “You worry too much, Mamá.”

  “Sybil needs a nice boy to show her how a lady is meant to be treated.” She winks and I sigh. Jesus is far from a boy and though he is nice, he doesn’t make my heart flutter or skip a beat. I want an all-consuming passion.

  “Just bake your pies and leave showing Sybil a good time to me.” Jesus licks his lips and gazes at me and my stomach drops. He’s making eyes at me. The expression on his face says a thousand words and none of them are any I want to hear from the guy I think of as blood.

  **

  Later that night I ride to the bar with Jesus hoping he doesn’t think this is a date. We pull up to the Rusty Bucket, owned by a local named Rocky, known for its fights and loud music. The neon sign flickers overhead and there is a line outside the door. Morbid Duplicity rarely does smaller venues these days as their popularity has grown. They started out locally in a garage and playing the festivals and fairs. Now they are going on tour with some bigger names. I can’t believe they are playing here tonight.

  Jesus grabs my hand as a fight breaks out in line and pulls me back against his chest. “Stay close.” His days old stubble rubs against the shell of my ear, and I step forward, dropping his hand. The bouncers have already tossed the brawlers out of the line.

  I wipe my palm on the pant leg of my dark skinny jeans. His hand was sweaty. “I’m fine.” Shooting him a smile over my shoulder, I move up with the line now that the bouncers have restored order to the group. I have my ID ready. Too bad I’m not old enough to drink. I get the yellow wristband that implies I can’t be served alcohol. Jesus will sneak me something I am sure once the lights go down and the music starts.

  Inside it’s loud and smoky as we navigate the large tight crowd hoping to find a seat.

  “I’m going to grab a beer. You want anything?”

  “Nah. I’m good. I’m going to go to the bathroom. Meet you near the stage in ten?” I’m too nervous to drink just yet though it would probably calm my nerves.

  He gives me a wink and flashes his dimples at me.

  I start to walk away when he grabs my wrist and rubs the pad of his finger in a circle. “I’m really glad you came tonight, Sybi.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, feeling pure regret.

  His lips twitch like he wants to say more. Instead he drops my wrist and I turn away.

  I make my way to the narrow hall that houses the bathrooms and groan internally when I see the line. I really don’t need to go, but I am getting a vibe from Jesus that implies that he does indeed think this could be a date. I don’t know how to feel about it honestly, and I don’t want to hurt him or give him the wrong idea. I won’t lead him on. Maybe his mother has been putting ideas in his head. Jesus would make any woman a great boyfriend. I adore his friendship but that is all we will ever be—friends.

  I know I spend a lot of time there on the weekends at their farm. Maybe I spend too much time there giving them the impression that I am interested. I frown to myself and am bumped roughly from behind, knocking me to my knees. A drink spills down my back, and I hear some guy muttering, “Shit. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” A tattooed hand waves past my face and extends to help me up.

  Taking his offered hand, I glance up to see a gorgeous pair of blue eyes trained on me. “I’ll live.”

  “Good to know.” He pulls me to my feet, and I bump foreheads with the guy.

  “Shit,” I hiss.

  “Damn. I’m not making a good impression, am I?” he rubs his forehead as I hold my palm to mine. I’m glad I don’t wear much makeup, or I would look like hell right now.

  I laugh. “Not really.”

  “Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?” He rolls his bottom lip inward, sucking his lip ring and rolling it outward. He’s cute. Dark hair frames his face and he runs a hand through it, pushing it behind his ears. My fingers twitch wanting to touch the thick strands. “I’m Diego.” His voice is rough and vibrates through my veins making me feel all tingly. He’s rough and all man.

  “Sybil,” I tell him, losing my place in line and unable to peel my eyes from his smile. Dang he’s cute. Really cute in that way you just know he could set your panties on fire and rock your world.

  “Sybil. I like that.” He shoots me another smile and warmth flutters in my lower belly.

  “Thanks. Me too,” I tell him and roll my eyes at my own awkwardness.

  “I didn’t mean to knock you down and spill my beer on you. I was trying to get through and tripped over some bi—broad’s shoe.”

  I shrug. “Accidents happen. You didn’t get me too bad. I’m just a little wet.”

  “Hmm only a little. Gonna have to see what I can do about that.” My cheeks glow red. I know what he’s implying. Diego nods his head back toward the bar. “You want to get that drink?”

  I hold my wrist up to show him that they won’t serve me.

  “Don’t worry about it. I come here all the time.” He takes my hand again, cuts the yellow band off my wrist with a pocketknife, and shoves it in his pocket.

  I smirk at him. “Souvenir?”

  “Something like that.” His lips curve upward and the curious side of me wonders if he is a good kisser with that lip piercing. My heart skips a beat at the thought. “Come on.” He takes my hand in his once more, and I peek down at them joined together. The contrast between my pale skin and his dark ink is startling. I try to read what his knuckles say, but I can’t with the way he is leading me through the throngs of people that are packed together like sardines. We make it to the bar with him standing behind me, caging me in. The musky scent of his cologne wraps around me, intoxicating me. God, he smells good. Too good.

  Glancing down I study his tattoo sleeves that leave no slither of skin un-inked. I can’t tell what they all are. I am only able to make out a huge number seven with the word original attached to it.

  “Whatchu’ drinkin’?” His lips roam along the shell of my ear, and a shiver courses up and down my spine at the proximity. His breath is warm, and his lips are soft, despite his gravelly tone.

  “Um, I’ll take a beer.”

  “Two Heinekens.” He moves one arm and holds up two fingers as he tosses a twenty on the bar. “Thanks, man.” He pops the cap off one with the bottle opener at the end of the bar and hands it to me.

  With his hand on my waist he guides me to a table that magically becomes empty with the snap of his fingers. Part of me misses his touch when he removes his hand and pulls out a chair for me. “What? You some kind of royalty around here?” I tease, arching a brow.

  “Something like that.” He takes a hard drink, and I study him. His jawline is rough and scratchy. He has a thin beard and goatee, but I like the look on him. His head cocks to the side. “That your boyfriend or brother over there giving me the evil eye.”

  Oh shit. I completely forgot about Jesus. I’m such a bitch. In my defense I was distracted by this intriguing guy. My eyes widen, and I turn my head to the direction he’s galncing off to and chuckling. Jesus’
gaze meet mine, and I can feel the disappointment radiating from him. “No. He’s just a friend. We grew up together. I feel like an ass. I completely forgot I was supposed to meet him by the stage.” I don’t know why I am explaining myself. I suppose it is the guilt swimming like a shark ready to attack in the pit of my stomach. I wave Jesus over and he stalks toward us with an angry but hurt scowl on his face.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” I can tell this guy—Diego is amused by the situation.

  I don’t find it all that funny and when Jesus shoots me a fake smile as he takes up an empty seat, I feel even worse. I’m a crummy friend.

  Chapter 5

  —Diego

  Talk about luck. When I came out to fuck around tonight, I wasn’t expecting to run into my mark. Although it seems fate is smiling down on me. When I bumped into a chick on my way to the bathroom, I wasn’t expecting it to be Sybil. She’s even more beautiful in person. Meeting her here tonight however changes my plans. So does the fucker sitting next to her that can’t keep his eyes off her. I need to find a way to get rid of him. He needs a distraction. Someone to get his focus off Sybil. He is a complication I wasn’t counting on, but no matter. I scan the room searching for a familiar face. Bingo. Taty, pronounced Tauty is here. Perfect. Discreetly under the cloak of the table as the lights go down for the show, I shoot her a text.