Own the Wind

by Kristen Ashley

  This, I decided not to put up with.

  “Did I get a biker badass who’s great at serving up orgasms and has a natural talent with sweet, or did I get that and an unpaid laundress’s job?” I’d asked irately the last time I came back from the Laundromat to see Shy in front of the TV with a beer.

  “Don’t do laundry, babe,” he told the TV.

  Not me, the TV. He didn’t look at me, and he certainly didn’t look at the hamper I was lugging in.

  “Did you have a magic spell before me that you could cast over your clothes to get them clean?” I sniped, dumping the clean, folded hamper of clothes in my armchair.

  His eyes finally shifted to me. “No.”

  “So someone did your laundry, because your clothes are worn but they weren’t filthy before me.”

  His eyes went carefully blank before he advised quietly, “Don’t go there.”

  Oh God.

  I went there and did so by planting my hands on my hips and stating, “Your bitches did them for you.”

  “Told you not to go there,” he muttered, eyes going back to the TV screen.

  “Shy,” I called. He sighed and looked at me. “Seeing as you’re here, your clothes are here, you sleep in my bed every night, come home to my place every evening, we’re essentially living together. So we have to figure out how to do that without me getting pissed.”

  “All right, sugar, but like I said, I don’t do laundry.”

  “Okay, boss, what do you do?” I shot back.

  “Nothin’,” he stated and I blinked before my eyes narrowed, something Shy didn’t miss. I knew this when he warned, “Do not go off on one. I’ve pretty much crashed at the Compound for the last nine years, so I didn’t even take care of my own place. That bitch who raised me after my mom died didn’t do shit for us. We didn’t only keep our room clean and did our own laundry, we did their laundry and cleaned their house while her kids sat on their asses and watched TV. So I’ve had my fill of laundry and cleaning, and I don’t intend to do any fuckin’ more of it. I’ll take out the trash. I’ll get the groceries, since you seem allergic to the grocery store. I’m in the mood, I’ll clean up the kitchen. You got somethin’ you want me to do that doesn’t include washin’ clothes or pushin’ a vacuum, we’ll talk. But, babe, you can get pissed, you can rant, you can try sweet, I am not washin’ clothes and I’m not pushin’ a vacuum. Do you understand me?”

  Pulling the bitch aunt to Shy’s future biker Cinderella card unfortunately worked, so I retorted, “Fine. I don’t like pumpin’ gas, therefore it’d be cool, when you use my car, if you would top her up.”

  “I can do that,” he replied, lips twitching.

  “And,” I went on, not liking the lip twitch, “put your clothes in the hamper, not on the floor.”

  “Can do that too.”

  “And—”

  “Tab, quit while you’re ahead,” he warned me.

  “Not feelin’ ahead of anything yet, darlin’,” I shared.

  “I’ll pump gas, change your oil, get groceries, take care of the garbage, and dump my clothes in the hamper. Mind, I also do most of the cookin’,” he reminded me. “That’s what you got. You nag or bust my balls, I can dump my clothes wherever the fuck I want at my place or the Compound, and I won’t have a woman gettin’ up in my face about it.”

  Was he serious?

  “Are you threatening me with leaving?” I asked.

  “I’m sayin’, quit while you’re ahead,” he returned.

  “So you’re threatening me with leaving,” I surmised.

  “I’m sayin’, you want me here, you are in the know about the kind of man you picked. I laid it out. It’s the way it is. If you don’t like the way it is, I can make alternate arrangements.”

  “Therefore threatening to leave,” I finished for him.

  “You either want me like I am, babe, or yeah, I can find a place where I don’t have hassle.”

  “Which, just for your information, Shy, would mean me having a home without the additional hassle of cleaning up after two people and doing two people’s laundry.”

  “Yeah, sugar, you’d also go to bed alone with no one to eat your pussy,” he retorted.

  Since that nearly made my head explode, I decided, because he wouldn’t clean it up if brain and skull fragments were splattered all over the living room, I should extricate myself from the conversation pronto.

  This I did, grabbing the handles of the hamper, storming off, slamming the bedroom door behind me, making a lot of noise when I put away the clothes then locking myself in the bathroom with my phone.

  Of course, I hefted my behind up on the vanity, called Ty-Ty and shared with her, at length, about Shy and my fight.

  This conversation didn’t go much better.

  “Tabby, honey,” she started, using a cautious tone that made me brace, “your father has not vacuumed a floor in the years we’ve been together. To be honest, I haven’t even asked. Kane Allen is not a man who vacuums floors.”

  “Well, I’m not you and Shy’s not Dad and I didn’t ask him to vacuum floors. We were negotiating and he cut me off before things were balanced and that’s uncool,” I fired back.

  “No, you are not me, but Shy is Tack but younger, and I know this isn’t what you want to hear but he’s also not wrong. You’ve lived your whole life with your dad and his brothers, honey, so you also know it.”

  This sucked but it was true.

  “Love you, Tabby,” she went on quietly. “And I’ll listen to anything you want to share with me. I’ll also have a mind to not oversharing with you. What I will say is, there are a variety of ways your father makes putting up with all his extreme, uh… man-ness worth it. You need to hang in there and see if Shy makes it worth it.”

  I got her though I kinda blocked out some of the parts I got.

  She was right, of course. Shy already made it worth it, of course. But I was too stubborn to admit defeat (yet), of course.

  I rang off with Ty-Ty, called Natalie (again), got no answer (again), and avoided Shy by hanging out in the bedroom until bedtime.

  Or, I should say, I avoided Shy until Shy was done with me avoiding him.

  I knew he was done, because he made this clear by walking in the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth. His hands at my hips, he turned me, lifted me, planted my behind on the vanity, pulled the toothbrush out of my hand, and tossed it into the sink.

  Then he leaned into me, hands on the counter on either side of me, and ordered, “Stop bein’ pissed. You know you don’t give a fuck if I vacuum the fuckin’ floors.”

  Truthfully, I didn’t. Rush used to vacuum until I made him stop because he sucked at it. It wasn’t like I didn’t know this was his ploy. It was just that it wasn’t worth the headache of calling him on it when I could just vacuum and be done with it. And I discovered it wasn’t worth the headache because I’d spent years getting a headache calling him on it before I got smart, gave up, and just did it myself.

  At that moment, however, I had a mouth full of toothpaste foam and face to save.

  Priorities, I twisted, spit the foam in the sink, reached and grabbed the hand towel, wiped my mouth and tossed the towel on the counter.

  Then I glared at him and shared, “Just so you know, there’s really only one kind of biker. He might share his feelings, he might not. He might fuck around on his woman, he might not. He might carouse a wee bit more than is healthy, he might not. But down deep, a biker is a biker and I know you’re a biker.”

  “All right, and…?” he prompted when I shut up and didn’t keep going so I kept going.

  “There’s only one kind of biker, Shy, but there are three kinds of old ladies. One lets her man walk all over her. One turns into a bitch like Mom or Mitzi. And one is like Tyra, who gives but also expects to get her take. I’m like Tyra. I’m not Tyra, but you should know, I’ve considered the options and chosen that biker-babe life plan. You don’t wanna vacuum, I’m not gonna make you. But don’t cut me o
ff by making asshole remarks because you’ve decided the conversation is over. Respect me or, truthfully, I love you, you know it, you mean the world to me, but that will dig deep, fester, and there will come a time when I don’t mind your clothes are on the floor at the Compound.”

  His face changed, I held my breath at the change as he growled, “There will never come a time when you don’t mind my clothes are on the floor at the Compound.”

  A vow.

  Absolutely.

  Not an apology but I got him and I’d take it.

  I was smart enough not to gloat.

  “Right, so, I’ve brushed my teeth, you haven’t, so you’re free to eat something before you go to sleep,” I declared. That intense look left his face, his eyes flashed with heat, then I was off the vanity, in the bedroom, tossed on the bed, my panties were gone, and Shy ate something before he went to sleep.

  Truth was, I used my mouth before finally falling asleep too, but fortunately what I used it for wouldn’t give me any cavities.

  Also, before falling asleep, Shy proved he intended to make it worth it, and it wasn’t by giving me two orgasms (or it wasn’t only that).

  It was by muttering right before I fell asleep, “Just so you know, babe, the kind of biker I am does not fuck around on his woman.”

  Other women might not think it was worth knowing she was the one who would be cleaning the toilets without a break for the rest of her life, but it worked for me.

  That was the worst run-in we’d had. Although we’d butted heads a couple of times, it was nothing that sent me to fuming alone in my bedroom.

  And in an effort to continue that run, I was not sharing with Shy about Dr. Dickhead.

  Shy, like all the members of the Club, got a monthly cut of the profits from Ride Custom Car and Bikes as well as the three auto supply stores they ran, one in Denver, one in Colorado Springs, and one in Fort Collins. The boys moseyed their badasses into the store to work the counter, stock the shelves, keep the inventory, and those, like Shy, who had the skills worked in the garage on the cars and bikes. No one scheduled it but such was the loyalty to the brotherhood, not to mention their livelihood, no one sluffed off either.

  The cut of profits was only graduated as to whether you were a full member or a recruit.

  Every member had to pledge the Club and put up with however much crap the brothers made him do for however long they decided it lasted. Chaos wasn’t into rules, so it wasn’t like if they pledged, they’d be facing six months or a year and the boys knew when the torture would end, they’d get their cut, ink their tat on their back, and they could sally forth as full-fledged badasses. It was never six months or less, but it could be over a year before the boys sat down and voted a new man in.

  And by crap they had to take from the members, I meant anything.

  Anything.

  And anything was really anything when you lived in a biker world.

  So recruits got paid because they also worked in the store or the garage but they got paid less.

  The Club made no distinction on pay according to terms of membership for full brothers. Although the cut went up and down with the profits, according to Shy, the checks tripled between recruit and member. The amounts, even in leaner months, were also not shabby.

  This meant, with Shy keeping a low-profile apartment and not buying clothes for about six years, he was sitting on a mountain of money.

  So Shy, like all the brothers, did his bit at the store and he also worked in the garage. As far as I could see, he pretty much did both in equal measure. Therefore, he didn’t keep a schedule, he went when he went, came home when he was done working, but he was at Ride often.

  He also did things with his brothers and for the Club in daylight hours and sometimes at night that he didn’t share with me, and I knew enough about the life not to ask. No, strike that, never to ask. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. I’d heard my mom and dad fighting enough to learn that lesson.

  I knew the Club was clean, Dad fought to make it that way.

  But the golden rule for any Chaos old lady was to take her man’s back when needed, stand at his side when needed, ask no questions in order to get no lies, and know the goodness of her man outweighed the things he might need to do to keep the Club thriving. If she didn’t follow this golden rule, she would find herself no longer an old lady.

  In other words, Shy was around, we spent time together, we talked, we made love, we ate together, we watched TV together, but Shy also had his own life, his own things to do, and his own things on his mind so not sharing about Dr. Dickhead had been successful.

  “He still fuckin’ with you?” Lan asked, and I focused from my thoughts onto him.

  “It’s his way,” I tried to blow it off, but his eyes narrowed on me.

  “Better or worse?”

  “Depends on the day, Lan.” I shook my head. “It’s just him. He does it to everybody.”

  Though not as much as he does it to me, I thought, but didn’t share.

  “Not cool, you’re quiet, off work, at a party with your man and family, and it’s on your mind,” Landon pushed.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  Still, I shrugged again and muttered, “That’s life.”

  He dropped his arm from around my shoulders and turned to me. “Tab, I know you wanna make sure you don’t have a reputation as flighty or trouble at work, but if a bunch of folks are eatin’ this guy’s shit, maybe someone should do something. Maybe you can talk to a few of ’em, strength in numbers, so it isn’t just you swingin’ your ass out there.”

  That, actually, wasn’t a bad idea.

  So I nodded and replied, “I’ll think about that. I know some of the other nurses are over it, so I’ll talk with a few of them. Test the waters.”

  “You do that, honey, but you quit ’cause of things with Shy but also because you couldn’t put up with that asshole anymore. I don’t know if you told them then but even if it rubs you wrong, life’s too short for that bullshit. So if you gotta look for another job, you do it no regrets. If they were loyal to you, they wouldn’t let this guy fuck with your head. So you just be loyal to you, yeah? Find somethin’ that won’t make you quiet when you should be havin’ fun. You with me?” he finished on a gentle question.

  “I’m with you, Lan, thanks,” I replied.

  He grinned down and me and, seriously, Shy told me he didn’t have a girl and I thought that was miraculous.

  Then his eyes wandered over my shoulder and stopped. I looked over my shoulder, saw a big-boobed, full-hipped, big-haired, blonde biker groupie giving Lan the eye, and I knew it wasn’t miraculous.

  He was like his brother, chasing tail, enjoying gathering lipstick, but I suspected when he settled, he’d find ways to make his badass man-ness worth it.

  “Right, Tab, gonna take you to my brother. I got things to do,” he stated.

  Oh yeah, he had things to do.

  “Luckily, Shy’s at my place all the time or I foresee I’d need to change his sheets,” I mumbled through a grin as Lan hooked his arm around my shoulders and started us toward my man.

  “Absolutely,” he muttered, I looked up at him and gave him my grin.

  He looked down at me and smiled.

  Then he looked at his brother. “Your girl needs company.”

  His arm fell away.

  Shy’s replaced it instantly.

  Then he pressed his lips to the top of my hair and kissed me.

  Seriously. Loved my man.

  Lan jerked up his chin, and I encouraged, “Go get her, tiger.”

  He shot me another smile, took off, and Shy asked, “What?”

  “Landon is about to see if he’s lucky,” I shared.

  Shy’s eyes went to his brother and mine followed. The girl was looking under her lashes at him as he approached. Lan was grinning at her.

  Something caught the corner of my eye, I turned my head and saw, in the shadows at the edge of the revelry, Hop dragging Lanie toward the Compoun
d. He had her hand in his and was definitely dragging her, but her high-heeled boots were moving double time and she didn’t appear to be struggling.

  Quickly, I scanned the crowd and saw Tyra laughing with Big Petey, her back to the Compound. She still had no clue.

  But I also saw Dad, and I knew he had a clue seeing as he was following Hop and Lanie with his eyes, his mouth tight. I knew my dad’s looks and that one didn’t say angry, it said impatient.

  My gaze went back to the doors of the Compound to see that Hop and Lanie had disappeared inside.

  Them keeping things under wraps confused me. They were both consenting adults, and Lanie wasn’t anyone’s daughter.

  But in that moment, I found that I hoped like hell that worked out for them, no matter how, on the face of it, it never could, what with Hop being a rough and ready badass biker and Lanie being chic and sophisticated.

  I hoped this because, after all that happened to Lanie, she was still Lanie. Crazy. Fun. But there was something off about her that I found troubling, and I knew Ty-Ty worried about it and even Dad did too.

  Also, I didn’t think she’d had one single man since she lost Elliott. Not one. And it had been years. For a woman as beautiful, crazy, fun, not to mention sweet as Lanie, that was sad. She deserved a good man in her life that could make her happy.

  And Hop was a good man, no matter the ugliness of his break with Mitzi and that business with BeeBee. I’d known him a long time. I knew he would never go there with Lanie, knowing who she was to Ty-Ty, if he didn’t intend to do right by her.

  Further, like good women, good men deserved happiness. So Hop deserved all the crazy, fun, sweet, beauty Lanie could give him.

  Staring at the Compound door, I sent invisible good vibes to two people I cared about that they’d find happiness together.

  And, of course, that what they were doing wouldn’t tick off Dad and Ty-Ty too much.

  “He’s lucky,” Shy muttered, taking my mind off Lanie and Hop, and bringing my attention back to Landon and the biker groupie close in each other’s space, and I mentally agreed. Then Shy’s lips came to my ear. “I’m gonna be lucky in about five minutes too.”

  All thoughts of Lanie, Hop, Landon, and his groupie fled, a shiver went over my skin but I turned my head and caught his eye. “You are?”