by K. A. Ware
How had I not heard him pull up?
Baz grinned at my apparent shock and held up a white plastic bag. “Can’t let my Rabbit eat shit pizza, I brought Chinese.”
“First of all, I’m not your anything. Second, you said you’d leave me alone so I could study.”
He shrugged, not at all bothered by my hostility. “I said I wouldn’t call or text. You didn’t say anything about stopping by.”
My left eye started to twitch. This man was going to drive me to homicide. “It was implied.”
His grin grew into a half smile. “Well, I’m here now, and I brought you food, so…”
There was no way I could let him in, not with Stella upstairs, but he didn’t need to know that. Maybe a taste of his own medicine would do him some good. With one hand on the doorknob, I leaned into his space, placing a soft kiss on his cheek while I took the Chinese food, that admittedly smelled amazing, from his hand.
“Thank you for bringing me food, that was sweet,” I whispered into his ear, noting the way he shifted his stance at my closeness.
Pulling away, I flashed him a sweet smile before quickly stepping back into the house and slamming the door in his face.
“What the—” I could hear the confusion in his voice as I slid the deadbolt home, my satisfied grin plastered across my face.
“Who was that?”
I gasped and spun on my heel to find Stella standing three feet behind me, hands on her hips.
“What? Oh, no one, I didn’t feel like pizza, so I got Chinese.”
Her angelic face hardened as soon as the lie spilled from my lips. “Bullshit. Delivery guys don’t ride Harley’s and wear leather cuts. Spill.”
Damn you Baz.
This could go one of two ways, I could continue to lie and hope she’d buy it, or I could tell the truth. I wasn’t sure which was worse. We’d been through some serious shit in the last four years since I brought her home with me from Tacoma, but this was new territory. Baz didn’t just pose a threat to what I’d planned for my future, he and his lifestyle could easily be a trigger for my little sister.
Stella had been clean for two years. I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her sobriety. She’d worked too hard since her last relapse for me to risk it all by being selfish. My family psych professor would probably tell me I was stuck in the past, still trying to make amends for leaving her in Tacoma when I took off for college, but I couldn’t help it. There was nothing I’d ever be able to do to shake that kind of guilt.
“He’s no one, don’t worry about it,” I said, brushing past her on my way to the kitchen.
“STOP FUCKING LYING TO ME!” Stella screamed, her footsteps pounding after me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, willing the tears that were suddenly clogging my throat not to surface. She’d been painstakingly working on her impulse control issues with her therapist, but given the trauma she’d experienced coupled with her past drug use, it would likely always be a struggle.
Placing the takeout bag on the counter, I slowly turned around to face her, trying to keep my expression and tone as neutral as possible. “He’s just a guy I met at work. It’s not a big deal.”
Her nostrils flared and her lips pursed tightly together as she took ten deep breaths, keeping count by snapping the rubber band on her wrist. It was a coping mechanism her therapist had suggested to help with her anxiety, yet another condition her time at the hands of Butcher had caused.
Stella’s issues were the reason I was going for my doctorate in psychology. It was impossible to erase the trauma, but I wanted to help people learn to cope, people like my sister.
“I feel,” she gritted out before pausing to take another set of deep breaths.
I recognized the communication tool she was using immediately and had to force myself not to react. She didn’t need my encouragement. She needed my patience. By the time she got to the seventh breath, I could see her shoulders relaxing. Every outburst was different, but her recovery time was getting better.
When she’d finished, she cleared her throat and tried again, her voice much calmer. “I feel like you’re trying to protect me by lying, but it just makes me mad. Will you please tell me the truth?”
Before I could answer, the doorbell rang again.
“Give me just a sec to get that, and we can talk, okay?” I asked, moving around her.
“No more lies?” she challenged.
Flattening my lips, I shook my head once. “No more lies, I’ll tell you the truth.”
Stella sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Good. Go get the pizza, and I’ll get the plates, I’m starving.”
I held back the sigh of relief. There was no telling how she was going to react when I told her the truth, but I would. She’d asked for my honesty, and I’d give it to her, no matter how uncomfortable it made me.
Praying that Baz had taken the hint and that I’d just missed hearing his bike ride off in the midst of Stella’s meltdown, I opened the door. Thankfully, the man standing on my front porch was short and stocky, wearing a red polo with the pizza place’s logo embroidered on it instead of a musclebound tatted up biker wearing leather.
Taking Stella’s pizza, I handed the deliveryman a generous tip since I couldn’t seem to find the singles I’d taken out before, and sent him on his way.
I did not look past him to the driveway for signs of a certain Harley. And I did not feel a twinge of disappointment when I found it empty. Nope, not even a little.
On a completely unrelated note, I’m also a fucking liar.
By the time I got back to the kitchen, Stella had already loaded down two plates with pork lo mein and General Tso’s chicken, reserving a small portion of the plate, I assumed, for the pizza.
The food smelled amazing, and my stomach growled loudly. How Baz managed to get two of my favorites, I didn’t know, but I was thankful regardless.
“So,” Stella said around a mouthful of pizza. “Lay it on me.”
I didn’t want to explain Baz or the connection we had, but the cat was out of the bag, and there was no putting it back.
“We hooked up once about three years ago. I left before he woke up and that was the last I saw of him up until last Saturday.”
Her pale eyebrows pulled down into a V as she shoveled lo mein into her mouth. “When you had that date with the douche?” she asked, once again around a mouthful of food.
We really need to work on her table manners.
I nodded, twirling my noodles around my fork. “There was a fight at the club we went to, Kurt got spooked and took off. Baz gave me a ride home, which is how he now knows where we live. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid and reckless.” I said, conveniently omitting the part about the shooting, Butcher, and the high-speed chase. I knew I’d promised her the truth, but some truths were just too much.
Stella popped open her Diet Coke and took a drink. “You know it’s not illegal to let someone help you, right?”
“I should’ve just called an Uber or something,” I said, raking my hands through my tangled hair.
Rolling her eyes, Stella let out a belch. “And what else? You’re leaving shit out, I can tell.”
Why did my baby sister have to be so damn perceptive?
I cringed at what came next. Since I couldn’t tell her about Butcher, there was only one other thing I had to give up. “We had sex.”
Stella grinned and smacked her hand on the counter. “It’s about fucking time! How was it? Tell me everything. It’s been forever since I got laid.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. Stella had become what her therapist called hypersexual after the whole Butcher ordeal. Instead of having an aversion to sex, she’d swung to the opposite end of the spectrum, developing an unhealthy relationship with sex to regain control. It took me almost three years to realize what was happening and convince her to talk to her therapist about it.
She’s made an effort at celibacy, but her addiction to meanin
gless sex has proven harder to break than heroin. When the stress of school or a bout of depression hit, she tended to fall back into old habits.
“It hasn’t been that long. I’m pretty sure I saw Ryan’s car pulling out of the driveway when I was coming home from work a few weeks ago.”
“We were studying,” she shot back—too quickly for it to be the truth.
I smirked at her obvious tell. “Now who’s bullshitting?”
She pulled a face, her nose scrunching up. “Whatever, he’s a friend, not a rando. Besides, it wasn’t even that good, so it doesn’t count.”
“Riiiight. I’m sure Dr. Osmus would say the same thing, huh?” I asked referring to her therapist.
“Stop deflecting. This is about you. Are you going to see him again? You looked pretty into him earlier. At least, until you shut the door in his face, what was that about anyway?”
Gasping, I clutched my chest and feigned shock. “Deflecting? Are you trying to out-shrink me?”
She laughed, throwing a napkin at my face. “Four years of therapy, I picked up a few things.”
“To answer your question, he showed up unannounced and uninvited. I wasn’t going to let him in. Besides, he’s a biker.”
Tilting her head to the side a little, she raised an eyebrow in question. “So?”
I gaped at my little sister. How could she be so fucking nonchalant? “So? So? I don’t have to remind you what men like that are capable of—”
“No, you don’t,” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “The nightmares are reminder enough, thank you very much.”
Damn it.
My eyes fell closed and I winced from my own stupidity. I was so worked up about Baz I hadn’t stopped to think before I’d let the words fly from my lips. “Stell, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, but you did,” she huffed.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. As uncomfortable as it had been, I missed the back and forth banter we’d had going before I stuck my foot in my mouth.
She waved a hand and stabbed at a piece of chicken with her fork. “It’s fine. I know you feel like you have to protect me, but I am an adult.”
Technically, almost twenty-one was an adult, but she still acted like a child most of the time. “I know you are. It doesn’t mean I have to bring around a guy that could dredge up bad memories.”
Stella snorted. “Everything brings up bad memories, Sis. There’s no avoiding it. You can’t hide me away from the world. I’ve just gotta learn how to cope. Besides, not all bikers are bad, look at the B.A.C.A. guys,” she offered.
“You’re right, the Bikers Against Child Abuse are the good guys, but Baz isn’t part of a charity organization. He’s the kind of biker that carries a gun.”
And isn’t afraid to use it in public.
“Before Lucky died, the Sinners were fine. Sure, they were criminals, but they weren’t rapists and abusers. That shit started when Butcher and his brother Vinny took over the club and started flooding it with their guys. They pushed out all the good ones and patched in a bunch of strung out junkies. You know that just as well as I do. We always knew those two were trouble. It’s not like they just became a couple of psychos overnight. If I, of all people, can differentiate between the two, why can’t you?”
When the hell did she get so smart?
“I know…” I trailed off, searching for a way to defend my need to keep Baz at arm’s length.
She narrowed her gaze at me and pointed her fork in my direction. “Do you get a bad vibe from this Baz guy?”
Groaning, I buried my face in my hands. “No, he’s not going to hurt me or anything,” I mumbled through my fingers.
But he sure as hell could break me if I let him in.
Something bounced off my head and I looked up to see Stella had thrown another napkin at me while I was feeling sorry for myself. “What was that for?”
“For being stubborn and stupid,” she snapped, leaning forward. “Straight up, do you like him?”
I looked down at my plate, not wanting her to see what might be hidden in my expression. “That’s not the point—”
“God, you’re fucking stubborn! Yes, it is. It’s exactly the point. I’ve never seen you even date a guy regularly. If you like this dude, then give him a chance.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, knowing I wasn’t going to win a battle of wills with her.
At least not today.
When we’d finished eating, I settled back into my nest on the couch to finish cramming for finals. Picking up my phone, I held my breath as I checked my texts.
Baz: That’s one.
Baz: You only get three before we start playing this my way.
I didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good.
Then why do you want to go upstairs and spend some one-on-one time with your battery-operated boyfriend?
I was so fucked.
Nine
FINLEY
“No, no, no, NO! This can’t be happening, fuck!” The loud thunk, thunk, thunk of my blown tire drowned out my curses as I guided my black BMW onto the shoulder. The luxury car wasn’t the most practical purchase I’d ever made, but it sure as hell beat driving around in the hooptie I’d had since I was sixteen.
Three years ago, when my Integra finally wheezed its last breath, I had every intention of finding a practical vehicle that got good gas mileage to replace it. However, when I stepped onto the car lot and saw the shiny black beauty with buttery soft leather interior and a sound system that made my teeth chatter, I knew I had to have it. It was the only purchase I’d made solely out of want in my entire adult life.
I’d never been one to splurge, choosing instead to horde my money for a rainy day that hadn’t come yet—but it could, which is why I saved. Growing up the way I had, living off of welfare and charity boxes from the local food bank, I’d developed a slightly unhealthy relationship with money. Writing a check for a big purchase gave me hives, no matter how much I had in my bank account.
Resting my forehead on the wheel, I cursed myself for not picking up a spare like I meant to last month. I’d been tempting fate, and my luck had just run out.
Of course, I put off picking up a new spare because of how ungodly expensive it was, something I hadn’t foreseen when I purchased the BMW. Despite the incredible deal I’d managed to get on the vehicle itself, the nature of the impulse buy meant I hadn’t had time to research how much repairs and maintenance would cost on a high-end car.
Pulling myself together and effectively ending my pity party for one, I climbed out to inspect the damage. It was even worse than I thought.
Not only was the tire shredded beyond recognition, the wheel was bent to hell from the time it took me to pull onto the shoulder. I shuddered as I mentally calculated how much the repairs and the tow truck I needed to call would set me back.
I was already running late for work. Even if I left my car and called a cab, the delay would take at least another hour. I thought about calling one of the other girls to cover me, but it was the first Friday of the month, the tips I made on this one shift would more than likely cover the cost of repairs.
Just as the thought crossed my mind, the clouds opened up, and it started to rain.
Fucking hell.
Diving back into the safety of my car, I cursed the fickle Pacific Northwest weather and dug into my purse for my phone. Even if I wasn’t calling out, I needed to let someone know I’d be late. As soon as my searching fingers wrapped around my phone, it buzzed with an incoming message.
Baz: You working tonight?
Groaning, I shot back a quick text, knowing he wouldn’t stop pestering me until I responded. The man was relentless.
Me: Yeah if I can get there.
Baz: ?
Me: Car trouble.
Baz: What happened?
Baz: Where are you?
I stared at his messages, deliberating whether I should tell him the truth or not. From
the little I knew about Baz, I quickly realized he was a fixer. Give him a problem, and he’d solve it, whether you liked it or not.
You know it’s not illegal to let someone help you.
Stella’s words from the two weeks ago rang unbidden through my mind. I took a minute to weigh my options. If I ignored Baz and called a tow company, it could take hours for someone to get to me in rush hour traffic, costing me time and precious tips.
Choosing for once not to overthink the situation, I started to tap out a text letting him know what happened. I wasn’t sure what exactly he’d do about it, but I wasn’t in a place to deny help. Even if the person offering it was the sexy bad boy biker that, as tempting as he may be, was still trouble with a capital ‘T’. Before I could hit send, my phone buzzed again, this time with an incoming call. Apparently, my deliberation took too long for Baz.
Answering on a sigh, I braced for Baz’s usual domineering personality to hit me square in the face. “Hello?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Did your phone break?” His voice was laced with irritation, and it immediately put me on the defensive.
“What? No, I’m talking to you on it, aren’t I?” I snapped back.
“You didn’t text back.”
“Impatient much? I was just sending you a message when you called.” I knew I was being a bitch, but I couldn’t help it. When it came to Baz, bitch was my default mode.
“You gonna toss some more attitude my way or are you gonna tell me what happened?” he challenged, never afraid to call me on my shit. I wasn’t sure why that attribute turned me on as much as it did, but I didn’t have time to delve into it at the moment.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath. “I blew a tire on the freeway, the wheel’s fucked.”
“Shit, you good?”
The concern in his voice kept the sarcastic retort on the tip of my tongue at bay, mostly. “Yeah, I said I was fine, I just need to call a tow truck.”
