by K. L. Savage
When he smashed his lips against mine, I knew what he was doing. He wanted to shut me up, but the firm grip on my hair loosened, and he sighed into my mouth as we both relaxed.
I bang my head against the bars, and the thud echoes in the small space. Am I hitting myself with the metal rods to help me forget the kiss or to remind me how stupid I am for speeding and then mouthing off to the cop to land me in here? Or to remind me how dumb I am for having a flicker of hope that maybe Knives and I like one another, and falling for that Christmas kiss?
All of it.
I’m just full of bad ideas lately.
“You aren’t going anywhere, Miss St. James. Not until your bail is posted. This time you have a court date,” Officer Daniels says as he bites into a donut and flips the page of the newspaper.
“Court? Come on! I was barely speeding.”
“You’re right. At first, your speed wasn’t too far above the legal limit, but your choice to engage officers in a high-speed chase for nearly five miles was. Maybe think about that next time.”
Oh, right. So I may have put pedal to the metal on the highway, attracted a bunch of cop cars, swerved off the road to try to escape, and cut across the lanes headlong into traffic to throw them off before finally getting pulled over.
Like I said, I’m not perfect.
He takes another bite of the donut, and my stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten since last night. I’m not going to ask for food. I just want another phone call. I let out a long sigh, push off the bars, and take three steps back.
My knees hit the metal cot, and I sit down, running my fingers through the inky strands of my hair. I hate sitting here. It gives me time to think about the things I’m doing and why I’m going them, and the answer is, I don’t know.
For the longest time, I was the perfect daughter. Straight A’s and fake smiles, along with fake happiness and a fake family.
The only real experiences I’ve ever had are the ones the Ruthless Kings have given me, good and bad. I know how I got to the Atlantic City chapter. I know it was my own doing. It’s my own fault, but I don’t care to go back to that old life.
It was stale, lacking in love and life, and any type of excitement. Is that a reason not to go home? Probably not, but I know my family, and I doubt they are worried. They never were before, and Reaper says Badge checked for missing persons and found nothing. He found more, but I stopped him before he could tell me.
I don’t want to know.
All that matters is what led me here, to now, to the present.
The past doesn’t matter, and what happened to me is irrelevant because I didn’t experience abuse from the bikers like the other girls. I have no reason to be afraid.
But you are.
I just don’t know what I’m afraid of.
I like it here with the Kings, even if they barely give me the time of day because I tried to be a cut slut. I’m going to go ahead and mark that off my to-do list, because there aren’t any sluts there now since two of them died.
I prefer to stay alive. Thank you very much.
Then why am I still with the motorcycle club? I should leave, get the hell away as far and as fast as I can, yet I’m rooted here.
And I have no idea why.
“Well, well, well.”
I grit my teeth when I hear his mocking tone. I knew I should have called someone else.
“Looks like the little hellraiser is off doing what she does best, isn’t she?”
I sigh when I see Knives standing in front of my cell, waving his phone in the air. “I got your message. Why am I not surprised to find you here?” he asks. He tucks his phone in his pocket and whips out a ninja star, scratching a spot under his chin. The cops see it and they don’t even blink.
“He has a weapon!” I cry out, pointing at the man who drives me freaking bonkers. “Hello,” I singsong. “He has a ninja star. He might kill me.” I wave my arms in the air like I’m a person trapped on an island, waving my hands in the air, hoping the only helicopter I’ve seen in weeks saves me.
Freaking crickets. What good is law enforcement if they can’t save me from Knives?
“It helps when you have the entire department in your pocket, Hellraiser.”
“Stop calling me that,” I seethe and then bolt to the bars, gripping them tight until my knuckles turn white. “I swear, you better be glad I’m in here, or I’d—”
“—You’d what?” He inches forward, and his nose touches mine between the bars. “Tell me.”
The muscles in my cheek jump as I squeeze my jaws together. “I’d freaking choke you.”
He chuckles; the sound is dark and delicious and travels down my spine like a shiver. When the tension has nowhere else to go, it seeps into the surface of my skin, creating goosebumps. “Oh, don’t make promises you can’t keep. You know how much I love a good time,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes.
I cross my arms to hide my hard nipples that his response created. I don’t have control over my body. It’s not like I want to be attracted to him. “Are you going to get me out of here or not?”
“Nah. I just wanted to come by and see you in here. Maybe being stuck in jail might give you a little perspective.”
“Perspective! You can’t be serious. Like you’ve never been in jail before?”
“Actually, I haven’t. See, I’m a good boy, no matter what the lump of coal you got me says.”
I’m fuming at this point. He is such a dick. I should have called Reaper or Sarah, someone that actually gives a damn and doesn’t want to see me in here. “Just because I made a mistake—”
He slams his fist against the bars, but I don’t flinch, even if my heart is drumming against my chest. “It isn’t just this mistake, Mary. It’s all of them. It’s your reckless behavior. TJ here says it’s the second time this week you’ve been recklessly driving. Fourth or fifth time this winter.” He slices the ninja star across the bars, and sparks fly when metal grinds against metal. “You’re going down a dangerous fucking road, and you expect me or other members to pick you up along the way? To adhere to your carelessness?”
“Adhere? That’s a fancy word for a guy like you,” I nearly spit, rage shaking my body the longer I stare into his sky-blue eyes. They are cold and calculating.
I’ve heard people say the eyes are the window to the soul, but that doesn’t apply to Knives. When I look into his eyes, I see nothing. His soul turned to stone eons ago.
“Hey, TJ. What is Miss St. James’ bail?” Knives asks, never taking his gaze off me.
“A few thousand,” the cop answers.
Knives hums as he thinks about what he wants to do; the right side of his mouth tilts up in a conniving smirk. “Perfect. Let her stew for a few days, will ya, TJ?”
“Anything for the Kings, you know that,” he says to Knives, which leaves me baffled.
This can’t be legal.
“Knives, you can’t be serious? You’re going to leave me here?”
“Guess you’re going to have to see me walk away from you to realize that, aren’t you?”
“Knives, don’t you fucking dare leave me here,” I growl low in my throat so he can hear the frustration. I grip the bars and try to shake them, which is pointless, because they don’t ever move. It’s called a jail cell for a reason.
He backs away slowly, flicking the ninja star over his fingers. His knuckles are so scarred from that trick, but he doesn’t seem to care. He lifts his other hand and gives me a finger wave goodbye. “Hey, TJ, can I have a donut?” Knives asks, ignoring me.
“Knives!” I pound my fist against the bar. “Don’t you fucking leave me here. I swear to god!”
“Mmmm, chocolate covered ones are my favorite. Thanks, TJ. I appreciate ya.” He stabs the donut with his ninja star and takes a big bite of it as he watches me. “The real world is so much better, Mary. Oh—” he bonks his forehead with his hand, “—but you know that. Later, Hellraiser. See ya on the other side.”
I don’t know if he has a hairy ass; I only said that because he has a hairy chest that I dream about running my fingers through. It’s why they call them dreams. I’m not liable for what my brain likes to think about while I’m unconscious.
The exit door slams shut, and I’m left alone.
He really left me here.
This has to be some sort of joke, but as I’m standing here waiting for Knives to walk back through the door, the seconds turn to minutes. I pinch my lips together and try and control the anger. The members have done worse things in life, and Knives has their back; why can’t he have mine?
“Looks like you pissed off the wrong guy, Miss St. James,” Officer Daniels polishes off another donut and wipes his hand on his uniform, leaving chocolate smears on the khaki.
“Mind your own business,” I mumble. Mouthing off to an officer, while I still can’t make bail, probably isn’t the best idea, but I’m shocked right now and disappointed. I can’t believe Knives left me here.
If there is one thing I know more than ever right now, it’s that the kiss we shared meant nothing to him. I had this bread crumb of hope that the dislike we shared toward one another was really passion just bursting at the seams to be released, but now that he left without giving me one last look, I know better.
If people really care when they walk away, they usually pause and give a parting glance over their shoulder, but I guess when dealing with a man whose soul is stone, I shouldn’t expect much else.
But if that’s the case, why am I so mad?
I paid her bail, and there isn’t going to be a court date because I paid the new Chief of Police off too. He seemed very happy to be in business with us. Nothing like a large stack of cash to help pay for his daughter’s college to get him on my side.
She’s in there because the cops are following my orders. Mary needs to learn that what she is doing to herself isn’t okay. I read the report. She was going 90mph in a 65mph zone, and then when she got pulled over, she veered off-road, nearly slammed into a bunch of cactuses, then gunned it to 110 mph while weaving in and out of traffic and crossing over into the other lane. Took a dozen cop cars to chase her down in the end. I don’t know why the girl has a death wish, but I’m not going to let her die easily on my watch.
So she’s going to sit there in jail and think about what she’s done.
Oh, she’s fuming.
Good. Let her boil in her mistakes, and maybe she’ll come out of the slammer having learned something about herself.
I lift my leg over my bike and sit down, then pop a piece of bubble gum in my mouth. I chew it, letting the cherry flavor roll around, and blow a bubble. When it pops, I’m reminded of when I was around thirteen years old and Mason got us two packs of gum. He said we had to chew all the pieces, and whoever blew the biggest bubble won.
That’s it.
We just won. There was no prize. It was just the ability to have bragging rights. I rub a hand over my heart when it begins the ache. I swear, the only time I feel pain is when I think about my brother. I lean against the backrest on my back, watching the front doors of the police station. A lot of riders don’t like backrests because it doesn’t make the Harley look badass.
Listen, my bike is awesome, and I’m badass, so if I know that, then everyone else can go fuck themselves. I like to be comfortable, and when we’re on long runs, I can relax while everyone else has a sore back.
I tap my fingers against the handlebars and debate if I want to go in the police station and get her. She can ride bitch behind me, but there is one problem: I’ve never had a woman on my bike, and I don’t want the guys getting any ideas. Ol’ ladies only on a member’s motorcycle, and Mary is not my ol’ lady.
No, she can’t get off easy. Fuck that. She got herself into this mess; the least she can do is do a few days in jail.
I crank my bike and hit the throttle, waving to a few police cars as I drive by. It’s a good day for a ride. It’s cold, but the sun is out, and I need to clear my head. Mary fucks me all up. I’m a one-track-mind kind of guy. I know my duties and what I can bring to the table when Reaper needs me, yet Mary gets in my head, and I’m wondering if I’m a little more complex than I originally thought.
Maybe it isn’t her I want; maybe I just want someone. All the guys are finding their ol’ ladies, and it is making me want what they have. No one likes being alone. People choose to be because they feel like they don’t deserve the love and happiness that comes with being with someone. Honestly, I think it all starts with yourself.
If I can’t be happy and alone with myself, how can I be happy and alone with someone I love? It starts with the individual. I’m more than content with myself and being alone, I just know no one deserves to be pulled into my life. The MC life isn’t for everyone.
And it isn’t for Mary.
I don’t know where she’s from or why she doesn’t want to go back, but someone out there has to be looking for her. She’s too damn beautiful, too damn smart, too damn proper to be abandoned. There’s a story behind how she got to Atlantic City before she came to Vegas, and I want to find out what it was, even if she doesn’t.
“It’s none of my damn business,” I say to the wind as it blows in my face. “I need to stay away from her and let her figure out her own shit.” I’m talking to myself, great. Isn’t that what they say when you’re going crazy?
She’s made me insane. Perfect. The last thing I need is to be like Tongue, fucking stalking her with a damn gator strapped to my chest.
My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I come to a stop outside the tattoo parlor. A ride is what I need, but a different kind. I want to feel pain. I want to remind myself why I choose to stay alone, because anyone that enjoys pain can’t enjoy love.
When I look at the screen, I see Seer’s name flashing on the screen. “Oh, that’s a big fuck no and fuck you, Seer. Sorry,” I ignore the call and tuck my phone back in my pocket.
And then it rings again.
I groan and tilt my head back, staring up at the blue sky. “Why is this day fucking with me?” Just to make sure Reaper isn’t calling, I bring my phone out again and see Seer’s name. “I don’t know what information you’ve got for me today, but I don’t want to hear it, man.” I ignore the call again, muting the vibration. Seer is one of a kind. He’s good people, odd, but in the sense, he has sight.
He can see things before they happen. It doesn’t bother me when it comes to someone else, but me? I’m not interested in what the future has in store. I’d rather take the punches as they come instead of dodging them, and if that means I die, then that’s when I’m meant to leave this world.
My phone rings again, and this time it pisses me off. I throw the phone on the ground and step on it with my boot.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Until it’s nothing but broken pieces and wires.
And the bastard still has the nerve to ring even if it does sound drawn out like a piece of machinery shutting down.
“You have got to be kidding me.” I stomp the phone again, then dig my heel into the cracked screen, grinning when the ringer starts to die. “Yeah, take that, fucker.”
“Tough day?” Luci’s amused tone comes from the side of the building, as does cigarette smoke. He spins around the corner and stares at me with a playful grin, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth.
“You could say that.” For good measure, I kick the pieces of the cell phone across the parking lot and breathe easier when it’s out of my line of sight. I really don’t mind Seer, but I don’t want to know shit about something happening to me. His gift doesn’t scare me; it’s the truth of his visions.
“You shou
ldn’t have done that. Reaper might need to get a hold of you,” he says. “And you crush your phone too many times for the man to remain patient.”
“Shut up.” Damn, if Luci ain’t right. I’m going to get my ass handed to me if the club needs me and I’m not available. “Come on—” I slap his shoulder and do my best not to inhale the cloud of smoke he blows from his mouth, “—I need a tattoo.”
Luci flicks his cigarette to the ground and steps on it. “Let’s do it, then. You caught me at a good time. I don’t have an appointment for a few hours.”
When I walk inside, my nerves settle, and the buzz of the tattoo gun eases me. The shop is nice, but what I love most about it is how classic Luci keeps it. It has American traditional flashes framed over the walls, and every artist has their own private room to tattoo their clients, but it’s simple. There aren’t any gimmicks. It’s just a place where people come for tattoos and piercings, then get the fuck out. The walls are painted a simple color, beige because Luci doesn’t like to make things complicated. He likes to keep things simple, but decoration is where simplicity ends.
He’s the best fucking artist I’ve ever come across, besides Tongue. Actually, now that I think about it, Tongue would be a great tattoo artist. He can draw and make people bleed. Two things he loves most. I make a mental note to tell him my idea later.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite cock I pierced,” Bobby-Jane greets me as she dries off her hands and snaps on a pair of gloves. The artwork on her body is more delicate, flowy, and feminine.
“Hey Bobby-Jane,” I say and lean in to kiss the side of her temple. I’ve known her for a few years now before she became a tattoo artist. “How’s it hanging?”
She cocks her head and stares at my crotch. “If I remember correctly, a little to the left.”
I have a Jacob’s Ladder, bars pierced right through my cock and two hoops on the crown, like horns, and Bobby-Jane is the one that pierced me. “You want to come find out again?” I ask her, remembering the few times we hooked up. The sex was good, but we both knew the deal.
