Vice

by Elana Johnson

  “Gramps.” Mav moved toward him. Electron sat in the recliner where Felicia had been, and she edged toward the front door.

  “Get the Philly cheesesteak pizza,” Bomber said, finishing the piece he’d already taken. “And a meat lovers.”

  “You can’t just break his stuff,” Mav said.

  “I didn’t mean to,” Gramps said. “It just came off.”

  Vice looked around at the four of them, his heart swelling and swelling with love. Mav ran Ruby’s, and to leave in the middle of the day like this wouldn’t have been easy for him. Gramps worked at the library four days a week, and it must not have been today. Electron had a steady job as a science teacher at the high school, and Vice wondered how he’d managed to get out of there on a moment’s notice.

  Bomber worked for the Army recruitment office in Forbidden Lake, and Vice didn’t understand the man’s schedule. But he had a wife and two kids, and he certainly wouldn’t stay all night.

  As they continued to bicker about the movie, the pizza, and the entertainment center, Vice looked at Felicia. She beamed at him from the front doorway, and he stepped that way. “You seem entirely too happy about this,” he said, though he wasn’t truly annoyed with her. With his biker brothers, sure. But not her.

  She nodded to the front porch, and he followed her outside, pulling the door closed against the chaos behind him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to him. His porch was small, just like the rest of his house, and he easily slipped his arm around her waist.

  “For what?” Vice looked into those eyes, and every memory he’d had about kissing this woman roared through him. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and the blood in his body heated to intolerable levels. “They’re fine. They’ll settle down and everyone will disappear in a couple of hours.”

  “Not for that,” she said. “I’m glad I called them. You need some help, Jordan. It’s not a bad thing.”

  He swallowed and looked over her shoulder for a second. The houses on this street were well-kept, even if they were old and small. “I know,” he finally said. “Thank you for calling them.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t want you to be part of them before.” She cleared her throat. “I can see that was incredibly selfish of me. You belong with them.”

  His eyes darted back to hers, latching on and refusing to let go. “You think so?”

  “I really do,” she said.

  “Some of them have wives and families,” he said, his throat scratching on some of those words. “We belong together, and they belong to someone else too.” He wanted that with every fiber of his being. The house hadn’t felt stuffed full or about to burst with just him and her inside it.

  She nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “You better go to work,” he said. “Be safe, okay? Text or call if you need me.” He pressed his cheek to hers, as close to a kiss as he was going to get. “Same safe word, okay, sweetheart?”

  “Okay,” she whispered into his ear, and Vice nearly lost his self-control. He clung to it though, because often, it was all he had that kept him clean, off the streets, going to work, and ultimately, sane.

  She backed up, and Vice watched her as she turned and went down the steps and to her car. The four motorcycles in the driveway didn’t seem to faze her, though she did look at them for a few extra moments before she backed out and left.

  A sigh passed through his whole body as the front door opened and Bomber said, “Mav wants to know if you want the cinnamon twists or the marbled brownie.”

  Vice turned back to the house and said, “Cinnamon twists,” because then maybe he’d get some of the dessert dough. Bomber made a face and moved out of the way as Vice stepped back inside. The lifting of his foot sent pain up his back, and Vice’s hand shot out to steady himself against the doorframe.

  “You okay?” Bomber asked, his voice quiet and pure concern in his eyes.

  “Little movements that should be easy sometimes aren’t,” Vice said, struggling to get a full breath. He hated this weakness in his body, and he thought about what Chandler had told him that morning in Felicia’s car.

  Stay home for at least a week. I can conference you in on anything if I need to.

  When Vice had started to protest, Chandler had said, Just do it for me, okay? It’s okay to give your body time to heal. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or that anyone sees you that way. We all just want to help.

  He’d looked at Felicia then, who’d stayed outside on the sidewalk so Vice could chat with his boss alone.

  “I’m okay,” he said, patting Bomber’s chest and took a half-step forward. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Anytime,” Bomber said. “Honestly, Vice. Anytime.” He closed the door behind Vice and they went into the kitchen together. Vice sat gingerly at the bar and allowed Bomber to get him a plate for his pizza. He ate, and he took the pills Mav told him to. He laid back down on the couch, and he managed to watch about twenty minutes of the spy movie Gramps had selected before he drifted off to sleep again, Felicia’s apology lilting through his mind.

  You belong with them.

  But he wanted to belong to her.

  Chapter Eight

  “So I have something to tell you.” Felicia ran the washcloth over the kitchen counter, though she’d wiped it a few times now. She just needed something to keep her hands busy while she talked to her sister.

  “Finally,” Shelley said. “I feel like I’ve been the only one who’s had news for like, a year.”

  “It’s not my fault you get promoted all the time,” Felicia said with a smile. “And this one isn’t about work.”

  “I’m intrigued.” Shelley laughed after that, and Felicia felt her sister’s joy way down in her own soul.

  “I started seeing someone,” Felicia said. Technically, she and Jordan didn’t go out, but she had seen him every day for the past five days.

  Shelley shrieked, and Felicia giggled as she held the phone away from her ear.

  She’d brought breakfast the day after calling the men in Vice’s club, and he’d answered the door with messy hair and his T-shirt on backward. She found him absolutely adorable, and he’d started staying awake longer and longer the last couple of days.

  She left for work at two o’clock, and someone from his club came to spend the evening with him. Sometimes, she’d run into Lucas as she left for work, but he didn’t intimidate her as much as Maverick or the older biker Jordan called Gramps. For such an endearing name, the man inspired a flicker of fear inside Felicia.

  Shelley’s shriek ended, and she asked, “Who is it?”

  Felicia swallowed, because she feared her sister wouldn’t like what she was about ot say. “Jordan Waterhouse.”

  A beat of silence passed, and that said enough.

  “You’ve always liked him,” Shelley said diplomatically.

  “I have,” Felicia said. She didn’t have to justify anything to Shelley. She tossed the wash rag into the sink and turned to pick up her cat bowls. She washed them out and began filling the one with fresh water. “He got hurt during the grocery store robbery, and I’ve been helping him.”

  “Is he still in the Sentinels?”

  “Yes,” Felicia said simply. “But he has a full-time job, Shelley, at a law office. He’s smart, and he’s not a criminal.”

  “I still think you should do a background check on him,” her sister said.

  Felicia groaned as she bent to set the now-full bowl of cat food on the floor. “There you go, Freckles,” she said, and the orange tabby came running. She turned her attention to her blue parakeet, Stubbs. The bird threw seeds all over the kitchen, no matter how Felicia tried to contain them to the plastic floor covering she’d bought. It was something someone would put down on their carpet so their desk chair could still roll, and it did house the majority of the birdseed.

  “I’m not going to do that,” Felicia said. “I think building and establishing trust is really important. What would a background check indicat
e? That I don’t trust him.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Shelley said.

  “But why?” Felicia asked. “What have the Sentinels ever done to lose your trust?”

  “They’re a motorcycle club,” Shelley said as if Felicia didn’t know.

  “Yeah,” Felicia said. “And I overheard him talking with Maverick Malone about the Bikers and Books event the Saturday after Thanksgiving.”

  “That doesn’t—”

  “We’ll agree to disagree,” Felicia said over her sister. She normally let Shelley argue her point, as her sister loved arguing almost more than breathing. But she’d looked up the Bikers & Books event after she’d heard Maverick mentioning it to Jordan—who they all called Vice—and it looked like a really good program.

  They took low income kids ages eight to twenty-eight, and they bought them books. Non-fiction, fiction, textbooks, coloring books, whatever the person needed. Apparently, Jordan had set up the event months ago, and he wanted to be well enough to be there to meet the people who had been selected as recipients of the grants and donations he’d also worked to secure.

  Felicia admired him for his commitment to his club, and to the community of Forbidden Lake. She knew he didn’t come from the most favorable of home situations, and yet, he’d made something of himself. When she’d asked Bomber why his name was Vice, all the other biker had been able to say was, “You should ask him.”

  But Felicia hadn’t. She knew he was the vice-president of the Sentinels, and surely that played a part in the biker name. Deep down, though, she knew it was something more.

  “I’m sorry,” Shelley said. “You’re right. You like this guy, and he’s good to you.”

  “Exactly,” Felicia said, refilling the parakeet’s water and clipping it back into the cage. With everyone fed and watered, she needed to get ready to go over to Jordan’s. It was the weekend, and she didn’t have to work that afternoon. She’d been half-hoping that she could talk Jordan into a little outing. Just lunch. Maybe a jaunt up to the beach. It would be cold, but the water still lapped at the shore with the same soothing sound Felicia loved.

  “Love you, sis,” she said to Shelley, who repeated it back to her. Their call ended, and Felicia sighed as she looked around her house. She’d bought the place almost ten years ago now, and she’d steadily brought it back to life, mostly by working in the yard, painting the cabinets, and installing new floors throughout.

  She’d done all the work herself, watching videos on the Internet to make sure she cut the vinyl correctly and didn’t inhale paint fumes or the stuff she sanded off the old cabinets. She’d been saving for a new couch for the living room, and a few months ago, she’d bought a new bed. She lived frugally, and she was really good at socking away a little bit of money for a rainy day.

  As she left her house to drive over to Jordan’s, she realized they would not be going to the beach that day. And it wasn’t raining—it was snowing. She immediately wanted to grab some hot chocolate powder and cream at the grocery store and snuggle up by the fire, one of those romantic comedies playing on the television in front of her.

  She didn’t normally use her phone while she drove, but she hurried to call Jordan while she was stopped at a stop sign.

  “Hey, Leesh,” he said.

  “Do you have stuff to make hot chocolate?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. What does it take to make hot chocolate?”

  “I’ll stop at the store,” she said. “Anything else you need for the next few days?”

  “I can go to the store.”

  “Have you looked outside?” she asked. When he said he could go to the store, he meant she could drive him there and he’d walk around and put all kinds of foods Felicia had never heard of before into a cart she pushed.

  “Not yet,” he said.

  “It’s snowing,” she said. “Can I get you some of those fake cheese crackers you like?”

  He chuckled, and the sound tickled her eardrums. “I do like those, and I only have one package left.”

  “You really need to up your food storage game,” she teased.

  “I don’t have room for that,” he said with a laugh.

  “Text me a list of things, if you want,” she said. “And I’ll be over in a few.” She let Jordan end the call so she could keep both hands on the wheel, and she hurried through the falling flakes after she parked in the grocery store lot.

  The place wasn’t very busy, as most people in Forbidden Lake knew to hunker down during the first big snowstorm of the season. That fact made her really wonder what in the world she was doing at the grocery store, getting cream and hot chocolate mix.

  And cheese crackers, butter, milk, and coffee for Jordan. She also knew he needed bread and peanut butter, sliced turkey and cheese, and a bag of baby carrots wouldn’t kill the man. With everything paid for, she hurried out to her car and loaded the bags in the truck. By the time she got behind the wheel again, shivers racked her shoulders. She held her hands in front of the heater to get them thawed, and then she navigated slowly to Jordan’s house.

  She hauled in the bags in one trip, and Jordan must’ve seen her pull up, because he had the door open for her. “I wish I could help,” he said.

  “It’s fine,” she said, panting. “This is all of it.” She dropped it on the kitchen counter and swiped her wet hair off her forehead. “I don’t think I should stay. It’s snowing hard out there.”

  Jordan set about unpacking the bags, his head down. “I know this is selfish, but I want you to stay.”

  “A few days ago, you didn’t want anyone cluttering up your house.” She smiled at him and ran her hands through her hair, cringing at how wet it was. “If I stay, I might get stuck here.”

  “Exactly.” Jordan grinned at her with that devilish glint in his eyes. She’d seen it before, usually only a couple of seconds before he kissed her.

  Her heart fishtailed in her chest, and she pulled in a breath. But Jordan made no move to wrap her in his arms and kiss her senseless the way he had in the past. Instead, he turned to put the crackers in the cupboard, and Felicia’s pulse throbbed in her neck as she tried to get it to settle down.

  On the counter, Jordan’s phone bleeped out a strange sound, and he whipped his attention toward it. “That’s Maverick.”

  “He has a special notification?”

  “It’s an emergency,” Jordan said, reaching for the phone. He didn’t wince too badly, though he did pull his hand back and step closer before trying to reach for it again. He looked at the phone, his eyes searching. “This isn’t good.”

  “What is it?” Felicia asked.

  Jordan looked up, almost like he’d forgotten she was in kitchen with him.

  “One of Mav’s eagles just saw a couple of bikers pass the hardware store on the west side of town.” The concern in Jordan’s voice wasn’t hard to hear. He met Felicia’s eyes, and she saw determination there. “I need to go.” He pulled the yellow bowl where he kept his keys toward him, and Felicia realized he was thinking he could drive himself somewhere.

  “You can’t go,” she said, snatching the keys from his hand. “You couldn’t even reach for your phone.”

  “They need me.” He lifted his phone. “Maverick texted. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t need me.”

  “Need you to do what?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Can you drive me to the clubhouse?”

  Felicia could see that if she didn’t, he’d be going himself. On a motorcycle. In the snow. “All right,” she said. “What does one of Mav’s eagles mean?”

  “His eyes,” he said. “He’s got people who watch the entry points of town for him when we needs them. He’s got a guy at the hardware store. Earl Hatch.”

  “What would bikers be doing out in this?” she asked as he opened a closet in the living room and pulled a leather jacket from a hanger. He shrugged into it without a groan, though Felicia saw the pain cross his expression.

 
“Nothing good,” he said. “Let’s go.” He moved as fast as she’d seen him go since his injury, and Felicia followed him down the front steps and to the car. She felt his impatience all the way to Ruby’s, the motorcycle mechanic shop which also acted as the clubhouse for the Sentinels.

  There were plenty of tire tracks on the roads, but hardly any leading up to Ruby’s, which sat at the end of a road where through traffic didn’t go.

  “Pull around the back, please,” Jordan said. “There’s a garage there I can go through.” He looked at her. “I’m sorry, Felicia. But thanks for driving me.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I was going to leave anyway.” She pulled up to the back of the building, where several garage doors sat. She’d never been inside Ruby’s before, and her curiosity rose.

  His phone rang, and Jordan lifted it to his ear. “Boss?” At the same time, a blue light flashed along the perimeter of the building. “Inside? I’m with Felicia.” He looked at her, absolute alarm in his eyes. “All right,” he said. “Open the garage then.”

  The call ended, and he wore worry in every line on his face. “Mav says we have to pull in. The bikers are on their way here.”

  “Here?” Felicia’s alarm skyrocketed too, especially when the garage door a couple down started to lift. “I can’t stay here.”

  “Mav says it’s not safe for you out there.” Jordan pressed his eyes in a long blink. “I’m so sorry, Felicia. We’ll be safe inside, but we have to go in.” He nodded toward the open garage.

  The blue light stopped flashing, and Felicia didn’t see another option. She pulled into the garage and stayed in the car until the door had lowered all the way. By that time, Maverick, Lucas, Bomber, and several other bikers had crowded around her car.

  They all wore leather from head to toe, and not one of them had made room for a smile.

  Jordan got out of the car and said, “What’s going on?”

  Felicia wasn’t very well-versed in motorcycle club language, but she understood what “turf war” meant, and she knew what “no one’s leaving until this is over,” meant.