by Keta Kendric
By the time I glanced back to the table, the man we’d approached had moved and was standing in front of me. His imposing height and strong build intimidated me, and I automatically clutched Israel tighter, gripping his muscled bicep with both hands.
Reluctantly, I reached for the hand the man stuck out and watched as mine was swallowed by his when he took it. “Nice to meet you, Zyana. I’m Micah, and the asshole you’re with is my little brother. Since I’m the ‘Pres’ and beat him into this world by two minutes, I think it’s only fair that I get to claim you instead of him.”
Is he serious? I swallowed a thick knot of anxiety, very aware that he still hadn’t let go of my hand. The loud silence that followed the comment gave me the sense that I was standing in the middle of some sort of standoff as deadly gazes collided.
The unflinching seriousness in the brother’s tensed bodies and tight faces had me praying the tension would break and that I could get my hand back. The small hint of a smile Micah let peek from the corner of his lips when he sat his gaze back on mine allowed relief to pour over me.
My eyes volleyed back and forth between the brothers. Their heights and builds were similar, but they weren’t identical due to Micah’s dark shoulder-length hair and clean-shaven face.
“You can call me Spyder,” Micah added, and the dark devilishness that flashed in his gaze sent a chill racing up my spine. When he finally released my hand and backed away, I breathed, my chest visibly rising and falling.
“Why don’t you two sit and join us for lunch?” Micah offered. And like his words had the power to conjure up his demands, a woman wearing a black chef’s hat and a tight, fitted black dress balanced a tray filled with a mouthwatering seafood mix piled high with mussels and crabs and corn and potatoes. The seafood boil gave off a spicy scent that instantly triggered hunger.
I sat next to Israel in the seat he’d pulled out for me, and didn’t miss that two men had moved out of their seats and walked away without being asked so that we could sit. When the woman dumped the food onto the center of the table, I glanced around, waiting for someone to say something. This food display explained what the newspaper that had been spread over the center of the table had been for. Two more trays of tantalizing seafood mix were bought out and dumped on the table along with some saucers of lemon wedges and packages of lemon wet wipes.
When the seven remaining men, Israel, and his brother started digging in, I followed suit, opting for a piece of corn. The spicy-sweet flavor was delicious enough for me to try a few of the mussels.
At first, it appeared everyone was tossing their shells and cobs on the floor, but a glance down showed metal buckets placed around the table at our feet. I’d never eaten this way before, but this would certainly be a lunchtime to remember. The men were yelling around the table in three different conversations, all about different sports.
Micah spoke but kept his smiling observation on me and Israel like he sensed something that I wasn’t aware of. The rest of the bar wasn’t being discreet about studying me with him either, especially when he kept leaning over to make sure I was okay, handing me more corn and mussels, and draping his arm around the back of my seat possessively.
We sat for hours as I watched people mosey up to the table and join in for a few bites to eat, jump in and out of the multiple conversations going on, and eyeball Israel’s new property—me. Oddly, I started to make sense of Israel’s earlier words while watching the way the men, as dangerous as I sensed they were, regarded the patch-wearing women with respect, even when some of the women were allowing alcohol to make their decisions.
The group had questions about me, but I was starting to think that MC’s rules didn’t allow them to question Israel’s decision where it regarded me. They didn’t have to worry about me stealing their Snake Eyes away for long because Major would straighten things out, and I’d be out of their hair in no time.
Tired of hearing about carries, punts, and field goals, I cleaned my hands until they were lemony fresh and leaned over to Israel. He leaned down to meet me halfway as I put my lips to his ear. “I need to use the bathroom,” I whispered. All of the spotlight attention I had been receiving had my bladder fisting and my pee knocking to get out.
Israel pointed to an opening that led into a dimly lit hall. “Right over there,” he said. “I’ll wait here for you.” I was hesitant to step away, sensing that all eyes remained on me, although heads weren’t pointed in my direction. I put my big girl panties on, took a deep breath, and stepped away.
Getting into and out of the bathroom was seamless. The men’s bathroom was directly across the hall from the ladies, and the only thing that kept the doors from being perfectly aligned with one another was a painting of a big metal skeleton riding a motorcycle.
As soon as I stepped out of the bathroom, the sight of the man standing in front of that large painting outside the men’s restroom stopped me in my tracks. A deep gasp rushed in as my hand gripped my chest. Like all the men in this compound, this one was tall, well built, and dressed in black from head to toe with the MC’s cut.
Was his face scarred? I couldn’t tell from the black baseball cap he wore that was pulled low enough that I only caught a tiny flash of his eyes. There was something about his presence that stilled me when I probably should have been running. It was like standing in the center of a bed of ants that were crawling all over my body, and waiting for him to give them permission to start biting me.
He took a step towards me, and I yanked back, bumping into the closed door I had just stepped out of. He appeared to be floating closer, and the loud music and noise that had followed me into the hall had faded into the background. What I assumed were scars were tattoos on his face at his temples, and there were some reaching up from his neck. He was a state of perpetual darkness, with not so much as a trace of emotion in him. He had the presence of a dead man.
“Have you ever seen the skin get peeled off a human skull?” His voice had goosebumps popping up on my skin. If I hadn’t just used the bathroom, his question would have had piss running down my legs. “Do you know a woman still gets wet after she’s dead?”
Help! Israel, please help! The loud voice screaming inside my head refused to pass across my lips. “I can show you if you’d like to see,” the man said like we were having a casual conversation. I’d been around some scary people, but this one was straight from the lowest level of hell. He was no doubt the devil’s BFF.
“I see you’ve met Severe.” Israel’s voice was that of an angel. I didn’t care how it looked. I ran into him, gripping him around the waist like he was my man. He threw his arms around me with ease, tucking me into his chest.
“Have you been scaring Zyana, cousin?” he asked the living nightmare that I was glad I couldn’t see anymore.
“She appeared to have a thirst for knowledge, and I’m always willing to share it,” he said, his voice heavy and dark behind me. His light steps faded like that of a ghost as he walked away without saying another word.
“Is he crazy? Touched?” I asked Israel, glancing up.
“No. The opposite actually. He enjoys scaring people. It’s his defense mechanism to keep everyone at a distance, but he’s one of the most loyal people I know.”
I didn’t care what Israel said; his cousin was a damn psychopath. Talking about peeling skin from skulls and dead wet pussy. Major had prepared me for a lot. He’d shown me how to shoot, taught me self-defense, and a few other basic survival skills. But there was one thing he couldn’t teach me, and that was how to live among a bunch of killers, murderers, and homicidal lunatics.
“You ready to go home?” Israel asked, glancing down. I still hadn’t unwrapped myself from him.
“I’m not going to lie to you. Your people are scarier than an uprising in hell.”
He released a low chuckle before he turned us back into the bar with me clinging to him despite the fact that I had been fighting to get away from him less than twenty-f
our hours ago. For now, my days of running from Israel Sylas were officially over.
Chapter Six
Zyana
Once we stepped outside the bar, we returned to the motorcycle to pick up Israel’s backpack that was stuffed with my clothes and personal items. We left the Harley parked in place and hiked along a trail leading past the bar until it appeared we were about to walk into the thick vegetation that hid the ground and formed a living set of shaggy curtains.
We trekked closer to a thick wooden bridge that was built up above the wetlands and cut through a congested patch of trees and vines. The beauty of the scenery was postcard-worthy with photo ops at every blink of the eye. We approached the sturdy bridge and hiked along its wooded path that branched off in different directions to what I believed were other member’s homes.
We’d covered a good distance before reaching the end of the bridge that connected to Israel’s low sloping porch. His house was built above the wetlands so that you could glance across the porch railing and peer down at the wet floor covered in beautiful flowering plants and greenery. Once we’d stepped fully onto the porch, I realized we were at the side of the house.
When we turned the bend and stepped around to the front, I stopped in my tracks. The house faced an opening that showcased a spectacular view of the body of water I’d spotted earlier. The setting sun’s rays bounced off the waves, making the water appear to wink at me.
We were so far into the swamps that I had no idea where we were geographically. All I knew was that this was one of the most beautiful places I’d been to. It was in direct contrast to the reputation of the people who lived here.
“Wondering how a bunch of rednecks could afford all of this?”
“Yeah. I mean. This is a beautiful place. It’s like you found a way to respect nature enough that you can co-exist. Aside from all of the big bikers, it feels like I’m at a retreat.”
“My brothers and I inherited the land from our mother. She died of cancer when we were twelve. We decided to finally do something with the land after our father was killed.”
“You said when we were twelve. And last night when you mentioned my brother helping your brother, you also said, when we were twenty-six. Does that make you and your brothers triplets?”
He grinned. “It looks like being the sister of a top-notch detective pays off because most people wouldn’t have caught that. Many still have no idea that we were born only minutes apart because we have always embraced our individuality. They know us more for being a terror all our lives, three demons set free to unleash hell on earth. Believe it or not, I’m the tame one.”
My unblinking stare caused him to grin harder. “You, the tame one—” I said, shaking my head and flashing him a dismissive smirk. “How old are you guys? Who’s the youngest of you three?”
“Thirty-two and me,” he replied. The notion of him being the youngest triplet caused me to crack a wide grin that mirrored his. Why were there long stare offs happening between us now? To break the unusual tension, I approached the thick wooden rails edge of the porch and took in the scene.
The water and trees co-existed in a way I had never seen in person. Their thick trunks were submerged as the fluttering water encircled it like a flowing skirt. The insect calls were like unscripted instrumentals being harmonized.
“Oh shit!” I shouted, jumping back from the rail when a snake swam by like it didn’t have a care in the world. Israel stepped closer, taking in the slithering monster that had scared the shit out of me.
“It’s a baby water moccasin. Sometimes they get into the house, so I’d advise you to stay close,” he said, and he wasn’t smiling.
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
He didn’t answer, only stepped away, unlocked and twisted the front door open, and waited until I walked in first.
Wow! Just as the first sight of the compound had taken me by surprise, the inside of Israel’s house did as well. Rustic, bold, beautiful. The theme outside matched the inside as it was decorated with mostly natural and aged-wood furnishings.
Like his boat, this place was neat, clean, and well-kept. The high ceilings were hollowed to show off the dimensions of the cabin’s structure. Everything was open, and the front wall was all windows that presented a splendid view of the water.
A quick once-over of the cabin’s interior revealed that there was one bedroom. Not that I had been checking for it, but there wasn’t a single sign of a woman, lending truth to his earlier comment that he’d never bought one home.
“You didn’t eat much at lunch, and it’s nearing dinner time. Are you hungry?” he asked.
The way my stomach had started grumbling, he’d probably heard it from across the room.
“I could eat,” I replied.
“I can make a few things, but breakfast and spaghetti are all I do well.”
He handed me the remote to the television.
“Either sounds good,” I replied, taking the remote.
“Spaghetti, it is,” he said before walking off.
I toed off the cheap slip-ons that we had picked up from the dollar store and tucked my legs under me and into the rust-colored soft-leather couch. Absently, I flipped through the channels while pretending not to eyeball Israel’s every move in his kitchen.
If there was one thing I was certain about, it was that Israel was an outlaw, a savage, a deadly force I would hate to meet under different circumstances. Although he had the living off the grid part down, he was more domesticated than I would have given him credit for.
He used a colander to drain the spaghetti before setting the steaming, delicious-smelling meat sauce to a low simmer. When he turned in my direction, I fixed my eyes on the television, knowing damn well I wasn’t watching the history channel. For some reason, his approach set my pulse to a quick thump, and he didn’t stop until he was standing in front of me, way too close.
“Here. Major just text that he’d like to speak to you.” I took the phone, hearing it ringing before I had it up to my ear.
“Zyana—”
“Major—” We called to each other as soon as the lines connected. Israel stepped away, heading towards the bedroom.
“Are you okay? In danger? Being careful?” I knew that my brother could handle himself, but it didn’t stop me from worrying about him.
“I’m good. Making progress on getting this resolved. I need you to stay with Israel a little bit longer. He told me you guys were at Ground Zero. How are you? How’s he been treating you?”
“I’m okay. It’s all just a bit of culture shock. Israel is— He’s. Okay,” I stated, not knowing how to answer the question. He was one of the most dangerous men I knew, yet once I stopped fighting him, I could see that he was only trying to protect me. Now, I wondered if I had some weird dark attraction to the man.
“He told me how you two know each other,” I told Major in a teasing tone.
“He did!” Major shouted into the phone, followed by a low muttering of curse words.
“I may be your kid sister, but I think I have proven that I can handle the darker subject matters,” I told him. “With that being said, will you tell me what’s really going on with this case?”
A long silence followed before he cleared his throat. “Although I know Israel put you on a secure line, I don’t want to say much over the phone. However, I do know that the leak came from someone we both know. One of my informants may be able to get us a link that may lead us to the rat. Once we find him—”
Someone was speaking to him low in the background. “Look, I gotta go. Love you, sis.”
“Be careful. Love you too,” I said, my throat going tight with worry at his sudden departure.
After a long moment of staring at the phone in my hand, I used it to access the internet. Israel had let me use it to call work and my friends before we’d left his boat, and I’d also used it to check my emails.
A while later, and although I hadn�
��t heard a sound, the sudden appearance of Israel’s shadow looming over me made me jump. The man could sneak up on silence and make it speak.
“What are you doing?” he said, jerking his phone from my hand. He pressed the button to call up what had taken my attention enough for him to sneak up on me.
“Messy Mandy?” he asked, staring at what I had been reading. “The Lunchtime Dish.” He kept reading. He’d caught me in the act of enjoying one of my guilty pleasures, soaking in all the gossip I could handle from one of my favorite social media pages.
“Let me guess — you thought I was calling out for help?”
He nodded but hadn’t taken his eyes off the phone yet. He tapped the screen a couple of times, and I heard, “It’s me, Messy Mandy.” Mandy’s words sounded in that uniquely quirky voice of hers, and I could picture her Avatar shaking her little head on the screen.
Israel listened and smiled while Mandy was dishing about the latest and greatest gossip. The more she talked, the wider his smile grew before his stare became fixed with a pensive glint on mine.
“I think I get why you like this. It’s like SportsCenter for gossip.” My eyes widened, surprised by his accurate assessment. He handed the phone back and walked away without any further words.
“Well, Messy Mandy, although he’ll never admit it, it looks like you just got yourself another fan,” I mumbled to myself as my eyes followed Israel retreating into the kitchen.
***
It felt like only minutes had passed since we’d sat on the couch together eating our spaghetti and watching old sitcoms. I startled awake, and like I’d done on the boat, I was using Israel’s firm pec for a pillow, and my hand was sitting on his hard bulge.
