by Cheri Marie
I laugh, but don’t disagree with him and almost consider agreeing with him, just to get her out of my system.
“Yeah. His party, when is it again?”
“This Saturday. Seriously, Glas? Did you already forget?” He shakes his head and sneers out of disgust in my general direction, reminding my absent mind why he and Scarlette made sense in the first place. They’re both passive-aggressive.
“I admit to nothing.” I shrug and head out of the office, giving him the same answer I give to anyone. The same words that my brothers slammed into my thick skull over the years I’ve been riding with them. It’s almost as important as “Live Rebel, Die Rebel.” The two kind of go hand in hand. None of us are innocent, including Memphis. I’m sure the amount of medical supplies that has walked out of the hospital and into the club runs well into the thousands, if not millions. Okay, so his technically isn’t as severe as mine, but it’s still dirt the club holds on him. That dirt aka proof lies somewhere deep within dusty pages, and like dust, to the law, everything can be lifted and eventually they’ll use it against you.
Every one of us has a page somewhere. Written or otherwise, it’s leverage in case we ever decide leaving the club is an option. It isn’t.
Chapter Three
Scarlette
Passing Sarina, I smile to greet her and close the space between us, hugging her. Other than Memphis, she is the only person here who gets me. I don’t mean to be a bitch; I’m just territorial. My mother always said it ran in our blood, that we come from a long line of strong women. I love Memphis and would never take back the one drunk night that led to being with him, because we got Sam out of it, but it will never happen again.
Glas, on the other hand, grates every nerve in my body. The way he walks around like he owns everything, which when it comes to The Den, he does own a large portion of it, but not the entire thing. He’s not someone I could ever see myself with, but dammit, if I can’t stop myself from flirting with him. I don’t want to be drawn to him, because he is an asshole. The thing is, I can’t help it. I tell myself every day I think I’ll see him that I won’t give in to his charm, and every time I find myself touching him or letting myself linger close to him in one way or another. Honestly, it’s sickening—this unconscious obsession my body has with him. My mind knows he isn’t good for me, but he’s exactly what my body craves.
With the exception of working here, I’m otherwise a model citizen. Not that having a job here changes that fact, but I know if I told the parents at the PTA where I work, they would sneer their damned self-righteous noses in my general direction. I shouldn’t care about their opinions and really I wouldn’t if it were just me. But it’s not. I know they wouldn’t let their children play with Sam, and that’s what my fear is. If people find out what Memphis and I do, they will treat Sam differently. It’s any mother’s fear, I think. You never want to be the reason your child is left out.
“Glas working?” Sarina returns the smile as we pull apart from one another and her eyebrows knit tightly together in the all-too-knowing look.
“Mhm,” I answer in a low tone, my eyes darting quickly to the door and then scanning the room to make sure no one hears her. It’s clear to everyone Glas and I bicker back and forth, but I don’t want anyone to know on some deep, sick level I enjoy it. I wish I didn’t.
“Sorry,” she mouths, and her eyes do a once-over of the room before she hides her lips beneath her hand.
“Same bit today?” I ask, bending down to grab her leather whip as it smacks the floor. I wish I could be more like her. Although I know she isn’t proud of what she does, she handles it like a champ. I wear what we do as an internal scarlet letter. We aren’t whores for hire, because there is never any money exchanged directly to us from the customers, but the presents some of the clients bring are doing exactly that…without saying it’s a pay for our service. Thankfully, it’s been sometime since I stepped out from behind the scheduling desk and engaged with a client, but the fact that it did happen in the past can never be changed. I can’t say that I will never share the title Sarina has ever again, because it’s uncertain from one day to the next if an extra girl will be needed in one of the rooms.
The Den is listed as a parlor where you can get a massage and have a drink, but what the public eye is unaware of are the things that happen behind the red double doors. Once you’ve stepped foot into their entrance, there’s no looking back, even for me, and it’s been some time since my services have been requested in the place where very little good light touches. Dark thoughts are brought to life behind the cusp of that entrance, and it is within that many find out who they truly are. For me, I always diluted myself to a transparency of who I thought I was to get by. I told myself it was a temporary fix for a bad situation and it would eventually end and did. I could be truthful with Memphis and tell him I hated those times, but I’m too proud to admit that to anyone, other than someone who shares my feelings. Sarina is the only one who leaves those rooms with the same guilt I used to carry, and I think that’s why I trust her. To the outside world, we both appear shameless, but in reality, our contrition is never-ending.
“Yep. Same guy that likes his junk to be hit.” She grits her teeth and then pretends to gag herself with her finger. “Who does that? I swear, once school is paid for, I’m out.” she says with determination driving her words and remorse clinging to every syllable.
“Someone sick,” I answer her through a smirk, trying to reassure her, but knowing everyone in here is a little unhinged. Otherwise, we would all be working in a bakery and the clients would be buying cookies, not getting off.
We both nod in unison to her declaration. Both she and I enrolled in school last fall. The only difference was she was actually going to a physical school and I was taking online classes. I put my degree on hold when Sam became a factor in my life, knowing from that point on he would need to come first, and has since then. Sarina is the only person who knows I’m going back to finish my degree. I hope to be some type of counselor of sorts once it’s all said and done. Who knows when and if either of us will actually ever make it out of this club? For our kids’ sake, I hope so. Sam and her daughter, Nara, are old enough to understand the idea of working, but don’t quite grasp the concept of what we do here. Not that we tell them the full truth anyway. Memphis and I keep Sam on a need-to-know basis, and most of my job description is definitely not a factor he needs to be made aware of now or ever.
Chapter Four
Glas
“Forget about them. Okay?” I calmly say to Sam as huge tears fall down his little face and he barely lifts his head to look at me. I blow out a gulp of air, reminding myself they are children and I can’t and won’t beat the shit out of them as I would anyone else that messes with my family. I’ve never been what one would refer to as father material, and honestly it took a while for me to warm up to the title of uncle. It is easier to push people away, instead of letting them get to know you, even if that person happens to be your nephew. Sam must have been at least eight months old before I would even hold him. I didn’t want to like the kid, but now, he’s someone I would kill for. Life is peculiar like that. It’s the ones you try your damnedest to push away that somehow seem to weasel their way into your heart.
“The next time you see them, tell them they’re going to have to deal with Uncle Glas. ’Kay?” I reassure him, referring to the little pricks that just left his birthday party before I arrived.
“Uncle Glas?” He sniffs and manages to choke out, wiping his nose on his sleeve as his blue eyes find mine.
“Yeah, buddy?” I answer and consider making an exception for the little shits that are the reason for his tears.
“Is Mommy a bitch?” he says in a barely audible voice, and his question knocks the air out of my body. As my heart pounds in desperation, I remind myself I told him I’d never lie to him. She’s his mom. No parent should fall into poor lighting within their child’s eyes. I know how that feels all too well.
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“Well, bud.” I pause and scratch the side of my neck before using my hand to pull him to my side. “She is to me.” I pause again and exhale, biting my lip and looking around to make sure Scarlette isn’t within hearing distance.
His little eyes widen, and the heartbreak is clear by the disappointment staring back at me.
“But, I deserve it. I’m an asshole to her. She is amazing. Probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. So, that’s something, right?’ I ask, and he smiles before he hugs me.
“She is?” he questions, reaching his little arm around my back, but can’t quite reach my side to give me a full hug. He squeezes me anyway, and I return the gesture.
“Definitely, man. She’s a knockout,” I say, feeling as though a weight is lifted from me, finally vocalizing something about Scarlette, even if it is to a seven-year-old. Now, I might not ever speak of this occurrence again, but somehow, admitting how I feel makes me less annoyed to feel it.
“Don’t tell her I said that,” I point out, pulling away from him, so he knows how important this is. She can’t know I think she’s beautiful. If she did, I’m sure it would just be another thing she would use against me in some way or another. I’m pretty sure she is more than aware I want to fuck her, but this information would ruin me. She would know I have a weakness for her, and she would use it to her advantage, I have no doubt.
“I promise, Uncle Glas,” Sam promises and runs over just in time to see the clown make his big reveal.
“Fuckin’ weirdo,” I complain to myself about a grown ass man being at a kid’s birthday party in makeup. I can’t deny the smile that takes over me as I watch Sam laugh at the clown spraying himself in the face with water. I don’t claim to enjoy much in life, because if I actually face reality, there isn’t much in my life to be happy about. Sam, however, will always be a reason for me to smile.
“It was Memphis’ idea.” Scarlette clears her throat and motions toward the waves of remaining children and balloon animals in front of us. My shoulders bounce upward, and I tell myself she didn’t hear what I said about her. I have to believe that, because fuck, she doesn’t need that kind of explosive information.
“Seems like something he would think is a good idea,” I say, mostly to fill the silence building between us, but really to occupy myself.
She sits beside me on the cement step and pushes a mug into my hands. “Thank you.” She smiles, and I remind myself how much she annoys the piss out of me. I don’t want to stare at her bottom lip as she sucks on it. I definitely don’t want to suck on it with my own mouth. Fuck. Who am I kidding? I want to do everything to this woman, but I won’t.
“For?” I ask in an intentional bored tone, taking a swig of the unknown liquid in the cup, coughing when I swallow a huge unexpected gulp of whiskey.
“For not being a dick,” she quickly answers and then laughs. “First time drinking?”
“No. I just didn’t expect whiskey to be the drink of choice at a seven-year-old’s birthday party. I’m just going out on a limb here, but I’m thinking Chuckles over there beat us to the refreshments,” I kid, watching the clown pull rainbow-colored scarves from his pocket.
“I guarantee it.” She laughs, taking a drink similar to the one I had, and clinks the porcelain of her mug against mine.
I don’t address the elephant stomping between us. I really don’t know if she heard what I said about her or just knows I was there for Sam. The latter of the two is my choice, but no one asked me of my preference.
“Where’s Memphis?”
She shrugs in response and rolls her eyes. “He got a phone call. Said he had to take care of business.”
“Fuck,” I murmur, pulling my phone from my pocket and frantically checking my messages, knowing that’s often code in the MC when something needs to be handled. What doesn’t make sense is why he would be getting a text and I didn’t. Not a single new message is on my phone.
Immediately, I’m on point and to my feet, ready to take action.
“Relax, Glas. Will you?” She softly consoles me, tugging at the denim material over my knee. “He has a new love interest, and this isn’t the first time he’s used that as an excuse,” she explains, trying to calm my nerves, but it isn’t any use. If being a part of a motorcycle club has taught me anything, it is to never trust the unknown.
“I’ll just shoot him a quick message,” I mumble in her general direction and nod my head, silently thanking her for the whiskey as I set the cup beside her. “You good here if I leave?” I ask, before realizing I’ve let my wall down, showing a glimpse of the true concern for her safety and just her in general. Shit.
Of course, normally asking a woman if she’s okay would be the courteous thing to do in any other normal situation, but with her, it’s never been normal. My guard must still be down from talking with Sam, but she seems different, too. Less mouthy and out to blatantly be a bitch. Perhaps Chuckles isn’t the only one that has been into the whiskey, judging by how nice she’s being to me right now.
She takes a swig of her drink and looks up at me over the rim of her mug, her cheeks poked full of liquor.
“You will be,” I say in a hoarse tone, not giving her a chance to answer, and walk away from where we are. After giving Sam a quick hug and explaining I’ll return, my feet move as fast as they can to still be considered walking and not running. I need to put more distance between Scarlette and me. I could feel myself getting comfortable with her, and that is something I can’t let happen. It’s not that I care about her general well-being because I don’t, but she has to maintain a certain amount of sanity to take good care of my nephew. So, there is a cutoff on the level of shit I can give her. Of course, all of that is a lie. I care about her, but I won’t be openly admitting it anytime soon.
Once on my bike, I send Memphis a text.
Me: You busy?
Memphis: …
Memphis: Nah, just interviewing a new employee.
None of this is like my brother. Is he a dick like me? Sure. Some may say he is worse what with his hunger for power, but he’s not one to disappear from his son’s birthday party, especially since he had given me the third degree about forgetting the date. I should talk shit to him, but this is enough to cause alarm within me. Something is up with him, and unlike before, I don’t think this is club-related at all.
Chapter Five
Scarlette
It’s not like Memphis to be anything less than immaculate when it comes to Sam. Despite how our son came to be, Memphis has never been anything less than an amazing father to him. It’s also not normal behavior for him not to tell me where he is going. He and I always talk about everything, and I do mean everything. I’m almost one-hundred percent positive I’m the only person aware he thinks he’s bisexual.
Well, that can’t be true. The one man he’s been with has to have a small suspicion of this information. Although, knowing that Memphis is a private person, I bet that beautiful man doesn’t even know about Sam and me. I’m okay with Memphis keeping us a secret from him, for now, because a child should never be introduced to someone if they are just a fling. It can be confusing. Plus, I think it’s better for everyone if Memphis figures himself out before we have the talk with Sam. I know he’s far more intelligent than his years, but if his father doesn’t know what’s going on, we can’t expect Sam to understand it. It’s just not something I want to gamble on.
As soon as Glas is out of sight and all that remains is the cloud of dust his Harley left behind, I try to call Memphis. I may not have the slightest clue where he is, but something tells me by how fast Glas left, he might. The two of them can’t be in the same room with one another for more than twenty minutes without fighting, but I know Glas has Memphis’ back. I’m not sure the same can be said for Memphis. I know he loves his brother, but he’s always treated him as if he isn’t good enough. From what I’ve heard about their dad, it’s the same way he treated Glas.
Is he rough around the edges? Ye
s. Can he be a complete asshole? Absolutely, but his compassion is boundless. You just have to dig a little deeper to find it. Glas is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. If he cares about something, there is no swaying his decision. Either he loves it or hates it. The way he feels is clear and needs no clarification when it comes to most things. Apart from me, that is.
It’s undeniable that we both want the other, but if he ever asks, I’ll deny it until I’m blue in the face. Having sex with Glas would do nothing but complicate everything. Plus, even if my body wants him, I’m smart enough to know Glas isn’t the type of man you form a relationship with. He’s basically sex on a Harley. He’s the kind of guy that fucks you until you beg for him to stop, and then when he does, you plead with him to keep going, which means he’s no good for me. I need someone more stable, for Sam’s sake.
Chapter Six
Glas
Ninety-nine percent of those in an MC abide by the law, or at least that’s the belief of the American Motorcyclist Association or AMA. Which brings me to the remaining percentage, where CRMC falls into. We are what the rest of the world considers to be an outlaw MC. We’re one percenters. We operate outside of the law, which tends to make us a target for most of those in law enforcement. This, among a lot of other reasons, is why we try to fly under the radar. The Chained Rebels MC has chapters all along the East Coast, but the majority of us bastards stay in the South.
