“Huh,” he shrugs.
“You don’t think we should be worried, do you?” I worry, leaning over the counter so I can hear him better.
“Probably not but I can ask around to make sure.”
“Since when do you have connections with the racing world?”
“Since always.” He replies. “You really don’t know Brody, do you?”
Raising my brow with interest, I reply. “So, enlighten me a little oh wise one.” I mock.
“Oh, look who came with the jokes this afternoon.” David plays along as he tends to our food. “What do you know about Ashley Wolfe?”
“Nothing. Why should I?”
“Ashley is Brody’s sister and a pretty big Female Racer in the racing world.”
“Seriously? I had no idea.” I lean in with curiosity. “Something tells me there’s more to this story?”
Glancing my way, the expression on his face confirms there’s way more. “What is it?” I press, as the mood in the kitchen suddenly turns serious.
Acting the same way Izzy had, David barely whispers, “You’ll have to ask Brody,” and then completely shuts down. What’s the deal with this guy? Why’s his past such a secret? “That’s not cryptic at all.” I blurt, a little too harshly, which causes him to just glare at me from the grill. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, it’s not him I’m frustrated with it. What’s with this stupid Club and all their secrets? I huff, why is there always more to the story?
Resting my hand on top of my head I let out a heavy sigh, “When does life stop being so complicated?” I groan.
David scoffs, “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
“How’s things with you? How’s our girl Tori these days?”
Smiling at the mere mention of her name, David can’t hide the pride written all over his face. “Torie’s amazing and working on her book over at Owl’s.”
“And you?”
“Well,” he pauses, “My sister Anne – Marie has been back in Toronto for almost a year, now right?”
Not really following, I nod, “Okay?”
“Well, long story short there’s bad blood between Annie and our mom but Anthony let mom persuade him into a dinner with us all, mom included.”
Knowing my own personal history with my own mother, I can already see where he’s going with this. “I think I see what you’re getting at.” I encourage.
“So ya, I guess Annie arrived before any of us and she was left alone with our mom, maybe five minutes tops, or so Anthony says, before the two of them got into it.” David explains, as he’s wrapping our food.
“Shit,” I sing. “So, what happened?”
“Annie took off.”
“Now Annie’s the one in the wheelchair, right?” I hesitate, because I’m not sure the correct way to address a disability without it being politically incorrect.
His eyes take on a watery hue, “She is, yes.”
“Someone went after her though, right?”
Shocked at my response, he shakes his head. “Yeah Tony’s buddy Dre ran after her.”
“Atta boy,” I cheer with enthusiasm. “I mean, good for him.” But it’s too hard to school my excitement. “Please tell me something’s happening between them?” I plead, as my hand rest atop of our- to- go bag.
“Guess you’ll have to wait to find out.”
Snatching our food from the counter, I laugh with a, “You’re lucky we can’t survive without your food.” Then spin on my heel as I move to the door. “Good luck with all that.” I call over my shoulder.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Carrying our food back to the studio, my thoughts return to the conversation with David as images of Brody and the sad way he carries himself are conjured up before me. I wonder what his sister has to do with his past? I ask, yanking on the studio’s door. Why it’s some big secret?
Rushing me the moment I step inside, Mira asks, “Is that the food because I’m starving?”
“Down girl,” I tease, trying to fight her off.
“I swear I could smell this the moment you stepped onto the block.” She exaggerates, still tugging at the bag.
“Hardly.” I reply with a roll of my eyes as I set the bag down on the drafting table.
“What took so long?” Mira asks.
“Food takes time to cook Mira,” I explain, which earns me a scowl.
“Funny, but seriously?”
“David needed some company,” I shrug, and the look of disapproval she sends my way is shocking. “Not that kind of company Mira, get your head out of the gutter. He’s having a little family drama going on, so I lent him my ear for a bit.”
Cocking her head, I already know what she’s going to say. “Who are you and what have you done with Scar?”
“Oh, come on.” I wave her off as I dig into the takeout bag. “You act like I don’t care about people. I care I just don’t get invested.” I shrug. “I have enough on my plate without adding someone else’s problems into my mix, no offense.”
“I get it,” she agrees.
“Not that you can’t come to me if you need something.” I offer, extending her a napkin. “Us girls are the exception.” Nodding, Mira digs into her burger, relishing in its greasy goodness.
Hidden away in my station, I’m camped out with a couple of energy drinks and my drawing kit. Planted at my drawing table, I’ve got on my noise canceling headphones and one of my dad’s favourite playlists downloaded to my phone. Zoning out to the music, my mind completely wanders off course as my hand begins to sketch the images circling around in my head.
“Closing time,” Mira sings as I’m removing my headphones.
“Seriously? Already?” I ask, stretching the stiffness from my back.
“What do you mean already?” She scoffs. “You’ve been back there in your own world for hours.”
“Sorry,” I apologize. “You know what happens when I get into the zone.”
“Well it’s time to get out of it so we can do girls night.” Mira urges.
Shaking my head with amusement, I chuckle, “Alright.” Then push away from my table.
“Oh, wow Scar.” Mira starts, entering my station. “That looks amazing.” She encourages, as she reaches for my sketchbook.
“It’s not much yet,” I shrug, feeling proud of it all the same.
“Wait isn’t that your dad’s bike?” She asks, referring to the bike on the left. Why’d I draw dad’s bike in Brody’s tattoo?
“I guess it is.” I offer. “I can easily change a few things to fit whatever photo Brody brings in.” I shrug, even though it’s a little weird. “Hey, I’ve been working for hours do you mind if I head out for a smoke before we get started on closing?”
“Go for it,” she offers, waving me off.
“Thanks girl.”
Chapter 10
Brody
Just the idea of Scarlett waiting out back stirs a war inside my chest even though the better part of me knows this is the right thing, regardless of the outcome. Clenching my fists to build up enough strength to get through this, I step out the back as the night air greets me. Glancing towards the curb, I find Scarlett clutching a joint and I swear my heart begins to race out of my chest. Is this what a heart attack feels like? I huff, as the pain grows stronger. How am I going to talk to her if I can’t even manage to get over the clenching in my chest?
Peering across the parking lot I watch her from a distance. With my heart thrumming inside my chest I can’t help but wonder if it’s natural to hear my own heart beat so clearly? Taking a deep breath, I’m unable to school my eyes as they begin to admire the ink that marks her exposed skin. I’m a little shocked she’d permanently mark her ivory skin. I snicker into myself. Regardless, this girl is beautiful with or without the ink.
Making it clear she thought I was creeping, and didn’t appreciate my intrusion, she barks, “What are you looking at?” Between puffs.
Flustered and speechless I stumble on my words. “I.”
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“You what?” She snaps, again as her eyes narrow in on my cut.
“I had no idea who you were when I walked in here the other day.” I start.
“And the Cut?” She asks, flying up from the curb. “Did you know it was my dad’s?” She asks on a shaky breath. “How’d you even end up with it?” She accuses, as her emerald eyes seek my dark ones.
“Your old man left it to me.” I offer, noticing that her eyes were holding back unshed tears.
“And why’d he do that, huh?” Her eyes plead, as a heavy sigh leaves my lungs.
Running a hand over my face I let out a frustrated grunt, “Your old man and I were close.” I offer, my voice coming out as more of a waiver. Wetting her lips to keep her opinions locked down I can see she’s in pain. That notion itself, has me wanting to rush to her side and protect her from all this… but that would mean I’d have to let her past my walls. The walls I built up over the years to keep myself from getting hurt by anyone else. I pause to consider, and yet as she stares at me with those eyes, I’m considering lowering them just for her.
“How close?” She presses, and I’m not sure whether she’s hurt by this information or just mad all together.
Inching closer, she turns away and the tension inside my chest grows stronger. Forcing myself to continue, I swallow my emotions and clear my throat. “When my grandma got sick, the MC stepped in and helped take care of us, allowing my old man the opportunity to continue running the Club.” I explain, while she listens in the distance. “Your old man kept me from slipping into a dark place like before.” I disclose, unsure of how to tell her everything.
“Great,” her tone rises as she throws her hands up. “My dad left his cut to some stranger junkie.” She blurts with annoyance, even though her tone shows a hint of sympathy.
“I’m not a junkie.” I whisper into the night.
“Oh no?” She snaps, turning my way. “Then who are you?” She asks, tipping her chin.
That’s a question I’ve been asking myself. “I’m Samson Wolfe’s son.” I explain, as a look of recognition crosses her face.
“As in the Glory Bound’s founding member Samson Wolfe?” She worries.
“The one in the same.”
“Well shit,” she drags out. “No one told me I was standing before Glory Bounds very own prodigal son.” She adds, before her joint lights up the dark. “So, why’d my father leave his Cut to someone like you?” She accuses cutting me a scathing look. “Shouldn’t it have been left to either my brother or I?”
“I figured he left it to me because I was his prospect.”
Narrowing in on me with those watery emerald eyes, she must notice the age gap between us. “How long?”
“How long what?” I worry.
“How long have you been associated with my father?”
Knowing I’m about to lose her, I drag my free hand over my face before continuing. “Fourteen years, give or take.”
Pausing to process the information, she says, “How come you were paired with my dad and not someone else?” She asks, putting distance between us. “How come you weren’t paired with your father?” She probs, as the light from the joint glows across the lot. “After all he was the Pres, right?”
Growing frustrated with the space, I continue. “Generally, a President can’t take a family member under as a Prospect.” I state. “And your dad and I clicked long before I decided I wanted anything to do with the Club.” I confess in a hushed tone. “Snake was the one who convinced me joining the Club was a good idea.” I add, rocking back on the heels of my boots. “He claimed it was the quickest way to earn my father’s respect.” I blurt, realizing how pathetic that sounds out loud. “But unfortunately, my father died before I realized I earned that respect.”
“I’m sorry,” she softens with a sense of sincerity. “I can only imagine the types of pressures that were put on you because of your father’s position,” she whispers, with her back still turned to me.
Closing the distance between us, I had to know how much she already knew before I could begin. “Did you know my father?”
Snickering she murmurs, “I knew of him. I also know he’s the one responsible for having my father killed,” she says, a little too bluntly.
Knowing how the Glory Bound’s work, I know they tend to leave out details. “What did the Club tell you?”
“Oh, you know,” she waves her hand. “They told us some bogus lie,” she barks, as the joint lights up the night a little longer this time. “A few of the members tried to tell me my Dad had turned and was trying to over take Samson’s place as Pres.” She states as her bright red hair lights up under the street lights. “And at his funeral,” her voice waivers for a moment and I can tell those tears she was desperately trying to fight off were about to spring free. “I overheard a few more members crowded around the fucking beer keg spreading lies about him.”
“I’m sorry.” I offer, moving to her side, as her body lets go of a shuddery breath.
“I need to know the truth Brody.” She pleads, and I allow myself to become lost in her sad eyes.
“Where do I begin?” I exhale, as my free hand wanders its way through my hair.
“How about you start at the beginning?”
The beginning? Where’s the beginning exactly? Was it when I was six and caught my dad and Snake smoking pot in the garage for the first time? Was it when I was eight and my dad hauled off and smacked me across the face for talking back to one of my teachers? Or maybe she means the first time I learned Snake had a daughter. A daughter he couldn’t stop talking about every time I was around.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly begin even though I know letting her will not only give her a closure, but it will also give her an inside look at what’s being weighing on me for the past few years. “I want to tell you.” I offer with hesitation as my shattered heart tightens. “But the Club…”
“I get it. The Club prohibits outsiders from knowing the truth, right?” She utters, as she storms back across the parking lot. “But guess what?” she spins, “I’m not a fucking outsider,” she yells upon a shaky breath, “I’m his fucking daughter and I think I have a right to know what really happened all those years ago.” She sniffles, as her emotions claim defeat. “Is that too much to ask?” She cries, as her resolve finally breaks. Seeing her this was had me remembering the story her father once told me about her twelfth birthday. The story about inviting her classmates over for a sleepover but when the parents learned Snake was a member of the Club, they forbid their child from attending. “How about you just confirm whether or not my father, set up a hit against your father.” She says, pausing in between.
Caught off guard by her omission, I swear the lie is enough to make me stumble. “Is that what they told you?”
Leveling me with a glare, she says, “That’s not what happened, was it?” She retorts, knowing full well that a ‘member’ would have the inside story.
Searching my eyes, her tears shimmer in the street light reflection and there’s no way I could ever hide the truth from her, regardless of how much it’s going to hurt me to relive. “No, that’s not exactly what happened.”
Overcome with emotion, she throws her fist against my chest. “Tell me already, I can’t take it anymore.”
Watching her struggle in pain I can only hope I don’t screw this up and make things even worse for her. “Your father wasn’t killed because he was gunning for the President’s position Scarlett.” Our eyes meet again. “He was killed protecting my sister.” I whisper, into the dark.
“What?” She barely whispers.
Opening my mouth to respond I can’t seem to find the words to say. Honestly what could I possibly say in this moment that would smooth over the damage I just caused her. “I’m sorry Scarlett,” is all I’m able to offer as she literally breaks down in front of me.
“I knew he wasn’t capable of such thing’s,” she cries, as her hand drags through her hair. “I knew it was a fucking
lie,” She yells into the night.
“I’m sorry they told you lies Scarlett.”
“It’s Scar now.” She utters in pain. “I haven’t been Scarlett since the day my father died,” she says, as she re-lights her faded joint. “I want the cut,” she demands.
Unsure I heard her correctly, I move closer. “Excuse me?”
“The fucking cut,” she snaps, storming towards me with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I want my dad’s fucking cut,” she barks at me as her fist come crashing down on my chest. “You don’t deserve to wear it.” She cries, falling to her knees in defeat.
Dropping down beside her I want nothing more than to kiss her pain away but being down here beside her makes it abundantly clear I’m just as broken as she is over this, what right do I have trying to fix her pain when I can’t even figure out how to fix my own? Looking up at me with fresh tears in her eyes, immediately I hate seeing her this way. I’d do anything to make her stop. “You can have the cut,” I offer, hoping to ease some of her pain. “On one condition.” I press, hoping to cut the tension. “You agree to the tattoo.” Peering up into my own tear-filled eyes she seems to recognize my pain. On a shaky breath she nods her agreement.
“I’ll do the tattoo on one condition.” She whispers, seeming slightly stronger.
“Name it.”
“You stop wearing his cut,” she says softly as her tiny fingers trace the red stitching on the sleeve. “Did he tell you I sewed this for him?” She asks, becoming lost in emotion. “I stitched it into his cut when he was recruited to his new district.” She offers, as a reassuring smile crosses her lips. “We weren’t allowed to know where he was transferred to,” she continues, “All I knew was it must have been pretty far away because he was gone for chunks of time.” She mutters, clearly caught up in her memories as she traces her initials. “I remember he left one night and didn’t return for an entire month.” She emphasis the word ‘month’. “But the night he returned,” she pauses. “I heard my parents arguing in the kitchen,” she wet’s her lips. “Either one of them knew their yelling that night was enough to wake me.” She sniffles. “But it did, and when I stood outside the kitchen, I could hear everything they were saying.” I let her continue. “That was the night I learned I had a brother.” She chuckles, even though it’s strained.
Bad Vibes (Inkspirationz Book 1) Page 7
