by A. C. Bextor
I really do hate that sentence. ‘It is what it is’ what the hell does that mean, exactly?
He’s about to continue with that smirk. “Now, Cherry on the other hand…” but oh hell no, I’m cutting off his line of thought before he voices it out loud.
“Oh, and by lifestyle choices you mean landing your cock in any willing woman that enters the room. Or unwilling, I should clarify that. It’s disgusting, Shame. It is revolting. What’s worse is the woman you are landing in are even more disgusting then you doing it. For hells sake, have some pride or dignity in yourself and the Club.” I can hear the anger in my own voice, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. I just can’t not be angry at the thought of Shame and Cherry.
“Let me pass.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You heard me, Princess.” He smirks and the sparkle in the piercing on his bottom lip shines as though taunting me into wanting to know what it feels like to flick my tongue over it before taking it into my mouth and sucking on it.
Okay Mace, focus.
“First, don’t call me that. That’s an unwanted and unfunny joke. Hem was drunk and seriously just making shit up to hurt Greyson and piss me hell off! Second, please move. I need to get Sadey home and cleaned up. Then tomorrow I’m going to deal with Hem and his motives to hurt my best friend! Third, I wouldn’t want to keep you from Cherry. Poor girl is probably tied up in your room right now, on your bed.”
The visual is gutting me but I’m making a point here. “Last, Greyson will be worried when I don’t call him soon. He doesn’t deserve to wait or worry because the animals at the zoo are all acting out.” Thank goodness my backbone appears unmoved by his gorgeous presence.
Blank stare. That’s all I get? I’ve just insulted the man because I need him to move and I’m not able to do this physically. But. Here. Comes. His. Anger. Shit!
He pulls his arms away from the door and comes walking towards me, briskly! I’m feverishly backing up to avoid contact when in a quick swoop, Shame has tossed his cigarette to the ground then grabbed me behind the back and my entire body is now pressed up flush up with his. God, I can smell him. Cigarettes, beer, and Shame. It’s a Mace cocktail. Order for one, please! Delicious.
“You can smell me, Mace? What in the hell are you babbling about, woman?” He’s confused as he should be and I am mortified! I said that out loud? Dear God, how do I backpedal?
I try for casual. “Yes, you smell like a woman you must have just devoured, cherries maybe?” Strike one.
“Liar. Explain better Princess, and this time with a little less bullshit. Can’t imagine you calling another woman’s smell, how did you say that? Oh yes, ‘Delicious’. Keep going.”
Dammit!
“You smell like the Club, Shame. Cigarettes and beer. It reminds me of Hem when I was a kid and he would visit. Good memories always smell delicious.” Strike two.
Double Dammit!
“Liar. You never were good at storytelling, Sweetheart. I will just accept the compliment and not make you uncomfortable anymore although you trembling in my arms does something for me. I do have some things I want to say to you regarding your little tirade and counting episode though.” Shit, here it comes.
“Well okay, big guy. Shoot.” I’m still pressed up against him and God it feels good but I’m trying to remain unaffected.
“Okay... first, I can call you what I want. I’ve been calling you what I want since you were just a kid. It’s my right, as your brother’s best friend and your lifelong friend, buddy, or whatever. Second yes, please take Sade home. She’s looks rough, women crying don’t have any reason to be here sniveling, especially during a biker party. I’m sure after a few Oreos or whatever food remedy you chicks select for heartbreak, then throw on some name calling regarding the intended target, she will survive.” He pauses, putting his face in my ear and I feel his warm breath on my neck as he continues.
“Third, and you listen in close to this one Princess, because I don’t want you to miss any of it.”
Drama queen and masochist that I am, I actually lean my body in closer to hear what he has to say. I’m so caught up in his face, body, and hands that I don’t even see the trap he’s setting for me. Between those beautiful white teeth and that lip ring, all I can do is imagine licking both.
“A man has needs, Mace. We are made to fuck and fuck hard. That being said, if I want to fuck Cherry until the woman can’t walk, I will. If I want to make Cherry my old lady and grab a piece of that daily, I will. Until you decide you want to take your turn on my cock, shut your mouth in regards to who I expel my needs into, you getting this entirely babe? Or you want me to continue explaining something that you already know is bound to happen? You and I are going to happen, that’s all I’m sayin’. You say the word, I will make your body feel things that your pretty boy at home has never even come close to making you feel.”
I’m still leaning in because my mind is wrapped around his words in careful study. The visual of Shame and I having one night of hot, passionate sex appeals to me on a level I know it shouldn’t. Even though I am sure he would be as good as gone the next day and it would forever alter our relationship, I would almost ante the hell up for it, all in.
Now, he continues, “Greyson doesn’t know what to do with you, but I do. I know exactly how I would do it, Mace. Given the chance I would make you burn for me, baby.” He drops his hands from my body and takes a step back.
“He’s a stuffed shirt, woman. Jesus, do you really see forever with that? Nine to Five, shirt ironing, barefoot and pregnant, minivan driving, golf tee wearing, self-professed genius? I love you Sweetheart, but I hate that life for you. You deserve….”
He pauses while looking at me back and forth from my eyes to my mouth. He starts to talk and I part my lips so he pauses again. He just sucked in a ragged breath that I feel all the way down to my toes.
“Finish it. Finish what you have to say. I want to hear you tell me what I deserve because I thought that was my decision. You have never thought to say anything like that to me until now, this day. Where is this coming from? Is this a bet with one of the brothers?”
I’m waiting with baited breath for whatever he says next. All he said about Greyson is hard to hear, but true. He just left out what an ass Grey can be at times. How he detests the club, my family, and what they mean to me. He’s good to me though, very loving and supportive. I should be defending him but standing here in such close proximity with Shame, I can only wait for his next words. Only it is not words he is going to use to explain to me what he’s trying to say.
“Mace, I… dammit woman...shit.” He pauses then all of a sudden. “Jesus, okay. Fuck it!”
Then I feel it. I feel the bottom drop out from under my feet and I’m floating in midair in the most blindingly sightseeing moment I’ve ever had. Yes, I understand the mix of words “blinding” and “sightseeing” but I have no other way to describe this feeling. His mouth is on mine actually no, his mouth is devouring mine. I grab his cut and pull him even closer to me if that’s possible. I taste, feel, see, and hear nothing but Shame. He doesn’t even have to pry my mouth open as he invades every part of it. I’m not even attempting to dismantle him off of me, not that I could right now because all of my body wants to be his. On him, with him, underneath him. I have just finished taking my masochistic mental snapshot before he pushes me away. Harshly.
“God Dammit, Mace! I have to stop. You should be making me stop. Fuck!” Wait, he’s mad. At me? What the hell?
“Say something.” He commands, but I can’t. My body is frozen, still holding on to his cut as if I would let it go causing the moment to never have happened; I’m grasping it so tight my knuckles are white. I don’t know what to say or think.
I’ve waited so long for this moment and I have played and replayed it in my head and that is the only comparison that I have, and I was wrong. Nothing compares to how I feel right now staring into those silver blue eyes. I’m tinglin
g in places I know I should feel guilty about. I’m also so overwhelmed. But lastly, I’m relieved. Because it is everything I ever thought it to be, only more.
“Greyson, oh God Shame, Greyson. I have to call him; he will be worried if he hasn’t heard from me by now.”
“The fuck?” He’s livid.
My brain to mouth filter have left the building, along for the ride it takes my common sense and manners. What the fuck am I even doing in this situation with Shame? Get bag, scratch Ace’s eyes out, leave Club, and take Sadey home. That is all I had to do. Check. Check. Check. Check. Nope, not me. Open mouth, insert foot. Score!
Dammit! I need to fix this.
“I’m sorry, I don’t... I just...” Lord, now I’m stuttering? Sexy.
“Go away, Mace.” He says sounding like he’s just bored of me. Just take Sade home and go running to call Greyson. I’m going inside, maybe Hem is through with Kegs and I can have a turn. Sometimes a little pussy variety is what is needed to forget that people aren’t always what you want or expect them to be.” He turns and walks away. I’ve officially been dismissed.
My heart cracks. Shattering in my chest. I’m left standing alone, speechless. What could I say really? Can’t blame him for throwing that at me. I just didn’t want it to hurt so badly. I head back to my car, knowing I have left my bag inside. Doesn’t matter. I can’t breathe, I want to enjoy the mental snapshot of my kiss with Shame, but can’t. The hurt I saw in his eyes when he said ‘Greyson’. What have I done? I waited years to feel Shame against me and all I could mumble afterwards was that I needed to call my fiancé so he doesn’t worry? Shit.
“What’s wrong, Mace? You look sick.”
Sadey has finally pulled it together and appears calmer than when I left her. Thanks to my mad skills in being Ace’s cock block, she’s going to be okay. However, the men in my life have just ruined the evening for us both.
Bastards.
Chapter Three:
“The only thing that could spoil a day was people. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.”
--Ernest Hemingway
It has been two weeks since the night I felt Shame hold me against him. I haven’t seen him or heard from him since, not that I’m surprised. I’ve relived that evening again and again while lost in thought but I’m sure he has filed it away and forgot all about it. Probably did what he said he was going to do and went to find Kegs. Hem has been avoiding my questions regarding that night. He won’t talk to me about his display for Sadey or if Shame has mentioned our own encounter and he looks uncomfortable when I ask about it. I will let it go, nothing I can do to change it anyways.
Now we are at mom and dad’s house. Being called to a family dinner that Hem was invited to means something is brewing, immense. Generally, bad news.
Walking in the house I can hear Hem and dad already at each other. I don’t bother hanging up my coat or removing my shoes because when they get at each other it progresses like a scene from Rocky, cue the boxing music please. Hem is the vicious fighter; dad is one with words that sting.
“Warren, I’m not changing. This is who I am, it was who my dad was. You’ve known this for a while now, haven’t you? I mean, seriously man, back the fuck off. You don’t know me, you think you know me because you have lived in that head of yours and marked me as some sort of fuckin’ stereotype. Now, let’s get to why the fuck I’m really here. Where’s my dear old Mother?”
“She’s upstairs, will be down when dinner is called.” Dad looks tired. He’s not even trying to challenge Hem with a response anymore.
He glances my way as I walk inside the dining room and immediately his face softens. “Hey there, Sweet Pea. Patrick and I were just catching up, come give me my hug.” I don’t miss that he calls him Patrick, still ever refusing to call him Hem. I don’t really think Hem would allow him to call him anything else anyway, but it is the way dad says his given name, as if the Club name is an insult to everyone in the room.
“Hey Daddy.” I glance at Hem as my dad tucks me under his arm and kisses the crown of my head. Dad’s silver and grey hair looks shuffled, he’s been running his hands through it under the stress of even having to talk to Hem I’m sure. Still questioning in my mind what the whole discussion was about, I continue as if I haven’t heard anything. “Where’s Mom?”
“She’s coming, Sweet Pea. She’s been upstairs napping so she would be ready for your visit.”
He looks so weak. Immediate concern etches my face, he sees it but ignores my silent plea for a confession as to what’s on his mind. Dad is usually so put together and in control and even if he’s not he still puts on a mask of indifference, avoiding confrontation.
“Sister, if you’re giving away hugs you have forgotten your big brother.” My father snorts and turns away as I lean into Hem uncomfortably, mirroring dad he kisses the crown of my head. I can smell the alcohol all over him. I know I can’t fault him for needing some liquid courage before coming back to a place that holds no good and true memories for him. I’m sorry for Hem to have to be here and will do what I can to help him get through this evening emotionally unmarked.
“Dad, you look tired. Let me make you a drink. Go sit down and I will bring it in.”
He thanks me and proceeds to sit at the dinner table. After I feel it safe I go and take off my shoes and coat. Then I pour him a two finger scotch and set it in front of him as he stares at the table, almost in disbelief. This isn’t just going to be big, I can feel it. Something is off. Hem and I make eye contact and Hem tilts his said to the side with a half-smile, as if to tell me it will be okay.
After a few minutes of idle chit chat from me and the tension continuing to radiate off both dad and Hem I can hear mom at the stairs. As she comes down I am shocked at her appearance. She’s pale. Her eyes are sunken. I just know she’s been on the drink because she’s wobbling. I rush to her to give her a hand and ever the emotional avoiding mother; she holds her hand up to stop me in mid stride. Welcome home, Mace.
“Is dinner ready?” She asks meekly looking to my father for some sort of guidance.
They seem to carry on with an unspoken conversation and dad is at her now, helping her down the stairs. I haven’t seen this part of their relationship, mom has always been so emotionally cut off from all of us, including dad.
“Yes, baby. Come sit and I will ring Camellia that we are ready to be served.” Dad steps away to be sure dinner will be here soon.
My parents’ house isn’t a mansion and although dad has always made the pretty penny he never allowed any of us to enjoy the spoils of what we as kids, didn’t earn. Once I left for college, he hired maids and servers to lessen some unknown invisible burden from mom. To each his own, or whatever.
Dinner is served and Hem sits next to me. I want him to just relax. Camellia has prepared a delicious assortment of her special Italian dishes. It is a smorgasbord of pastas and breads. She must have been instructed to go all out for the big family gathering. About halfway through dinner though... shit hits the fan, just as I knew it would.
A knock at the door comes as a surprise to Hem and I. We find each other’s eyes and have our own silent conversation.
The whole family is here and dad doesn’t do well with visitors and we already know mom is not herself. Wanting to ask if I should get the door, I pause and suck in a deep breath upon seeing Father Marcus from St. Catherine’s Church come strolling in, hiding something in his emotions.
I haven’t seen him since I left home for college and now the guilt hits that maybe he thinks I deserted the church and somehow he’s come to save my soul. He’s in for a special treat once he asks Hem how his soul is doing. I half smile to Hem but he doesn’t know what I’m thinking. Or maybe he does and he doesn’t think it’s funny, but I do. I think it’s hilarious. Before I can even say a hello to Father Marcus, Hem is already in action.
“Mama, why am I here?” Hem doesn’t like the recent a
ddition to family dinner. I can’t help him now, he hates being here on any ordinary Wednesday, let alone when a man of the cloth appears as if from thin air, sucking all of the air out of the room.
“Well, I wanted my children here for dinner. Both of you. No truly special reason other than a mother misses her children. The empty nest syndrome is wreaking havoc on my days recently.”
Father Marcus looks at me, to Hem, and then to my mom. “Lynda, it is time to share with your children what is it you have to say. They love you, will understand, and will have patience in your upcoming journey.” Said like the man of the cloth that he is.
“Mama really, why the fuck am I here? Something is up. I want to know. Now.” Father Marcus doesn’t even flinch. Good thing he’s well acquainted with my brother and his brothers at the Club. Hem still can even try the patience of a Saint, so to speak.
Thinking now a good time to chime right in, I attempt to soothe dad’s apparent distaste for Hem. “Dad, what’s wrong? You’re upset and I can see it. You think you are fooling me but you’re not so just tell me, what is it?” My father’s face is now wrinkled in disgust, and as if to avoid my question he aims fury at Hem.
“My God, Hem could you take off that vest you call a cult and watch your mouth? We are at the dinner table for goodness sakes. We are really trying to enjoy this meal and no one needs to reminder of how you live your life as an outlaw. God damn kids running amuck, that’s all you have been about your whole damn life. Makes me sick, it shows even now that you have no respect, coming in here with that damn thing on. Only serves as a reminder to your mother that you are exactly what you are meant to be and that is nothing, just like your father.”
Shit! Rage ascends onto Hem’s face. The top has been blown and there is no stopping Biker Hem in play.
“Well, Warren, no I will not. This “cult” as you call it is the only semblance of family that I have left other than Mace. Not only won’t I remove it because it may offend you, I won’t remove it because it does offend you. I’m not sorry I’m a constant reminder of my dad, who was a ‘lost soul’ as you put it. What I am sorry for however is that I have to sit here and endure this bullshit charade that you’ve named a family dinner. Since when does Father Marcus attend a family function, Warren? What the fuck? Since when do I attend a family function?”
