by Emily Bowie
Effortlessly, I carry Kellie toward my bike. Her body dangles over my shoulder, her movements easily held onto. Engines ignite, taking off. Her calls for help are ignored, no one paying any mind to me carrying her out against her wishes.
Easily, I toss her onto my small bike. It’s not the best option but the only one I have. She straddles the seat backward, facing me, her arms resting back on the handles. She bites the corner of her lip as she looks me over slowly. Her hand goes to lift the hem of her shirt, when I place my hand over hers while keeping her steady on my bike. Her balance is off and uneven. The only thing keeping her upright is me.
She doesn’t seem to notice the way my eyes narrow on her. The way my body rigidly moves to sit in front of her on my bike. It takes everything in me to tame the inferno of rage building inside me. She’s clueless and just fucking giggles at me. No one laughs at me.
Tilting her head, she smirks before her hands are rounding my shoulders, and her delicate fingers start tracing the tattoos down on my arm, tickling the hell out of me. I sit there like stone, unsure of what to do with her.
“What are you doing?” I try to act annoyed, but it doesn’t faze her one bit. She may be the only person not scared of me.
“You have soft skin with such pretty colors.”
I grunt, “Nothing about me is pretty.”
She looks up from my painted second skin like she’s contemplating what I just told her. “I think you’re wrong.” She giggles, in her own world.
Lifting her up, I place her behind me, making more room for myself. She miraculously manages to steady herself, and I turn the key.
Twisting behind I ask her, “How much have you had to drink?” She lifts up one finger, wiggling it in front of me before bopping me on the nose.
My eyebrows rise.
“Pop my bubble.” She giggles, blowing a huge bubble with purple gum over my shoulder.
“Kellie, focus,” I say softly, realizing this is going to be one hell of a ride back. Both her hands point to that annoying wad of gum, making me hold her by her thighs wrapped around me, so she doesn’t fall off.
Shaking my head, I use my finger to pop the stupid gum. “The right question should be how many pieces of gum have I had?”
“Spit it out.” I hold my hand out like a parent would to a toddler.
The look on my face must register that I mean business, because she leans back and spits the gum onto the road.
Her hands go back to my shoulders. If this situation wasn’t so fucked up, I would be enjoying the attention from her. My feet walk with my bike as I barely use the throttle, not trusting her balance on my bike. The last thing I need is for her to fall off and hurt herself.
“Do any of these mean anything?” she asks, her fingers tracing the eye I have tattooed among all the others.
“Yup.” I nod, keeping my eyes focused on the almost black road. We won’t be seeing any streetlamps the way I’m headed back to her school.
“How old were you when you got your first one?”
“Less than a year old.” That answer shocks her. “My dad got a buddy of his to do our family crest on my foot. The story goes he wanted me to remember him by something he felt he could pass on. He died just after I was seven. I got my next tattoo at the age of thirteen and haven’t stopped since.”
Her body leans into me as she tries to reach for my hand to look at my knuckles, making the bike wobble slightly with her being off balance. It’s harder than hell to keep the bike up, so I lay off the limited gas I’ve used and use my feet to keep us going. Her fingers running across my knuckles does something to me. I want to move my hands but can’t chance us falling.
“Was it these ones?”
I turn my head to look at her, questions littering her facial features. “It was.” My voice is gruff. I don’t know what to do with this girl. She affects me in ways no one ever has. She makes it difficult to concentrate and asks too many personal questions.
“Why were you there tonight?” I ask my first question of the night.
Her head tilts, looking up into the starry night. “Honestly?”
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know the truth.”
“Part of me hoped I’d get caught. The other part hoped I’d see you there.” Her eyes are still looking upward.
“Promise me you will never go back unless I’m with you.”
“I’m not in the habit of making promises. In my life, they mean nothing. It’s another way to go behind someone’s back. How about I promise to be honest and tell you before I go?”
Slowly her head tilts back down, looking at me with clear eyes for the first time tonight.
“I’m going to hold you to that. I never break a promise. That’s something you can hold me to for the rest of my life.”
CHAPTER 8
June
The summer days go slow now that Kellie has gone back home to her family. She has taken up residence in my dreams. She’s the first thing I think of when I wake up and my last thought when I go to bed. At first, I would go to our spot, even when I knew she wasn’t there, just for the hope that it would help me feel closer to her. It didn’t help.
I find myself overreacting, getting into more fights than ever. I’m unfortunately sporting a nice black eye at the moment. It’s tender as hell, but you should see the other guy. One of the MC wannabe prospects got a little too cocky, thinking his money was not required in my establishment. I had to remind him who owns this place—me. Not his feared MC. Me. And I don’t fear them. We have a very interesting relationship. We both seem to need each other. It’s an “I’ll scratch your back; you scratch mine” type of situation. And the fact is I need them less.
I purposely search fights out; this one was no different than the others. I’m always fighting in the name of the bar. I have to keep the reputation that I take shit from no one.
I have begun to live and breathe McGrath Mansion. My mother never did come back to work, living her days in her bed. It’s too hard for me to stay home and watch her die. Kellie is no longer around to distract me, leaving my only sanctuary to be the mansion.
When I’m not overseeing the business, I steal cars to chop them, padding my bank account to help pay for my mother’s nursing bills, medications, and life in general.
I’ve quickly learned how to launder money over the last year, becoming more efficient, and damn good at it. I find the whole process fascinating. My biggest obstacle is that this is Three Rivers, and there is only so much traffic. I want to be able to do more, earning my mom and me more money. So I opened up another location, closer to the city, and put my right-hand man in charge. I split my time between both locations.
For once in my life, I have extra money. Money to spend on whatever I want. It has taken me a while to figure out what I wanted. I’m so used to spending on what is needed that I had no idea what I wanted. I always tried not to think of that, knowing it was pointless.
I finally decided on a new bike. Soon, I will no longer drive around on a falling apart dirt bike but a gorgeous Harley I’m working to fix up. As much as I want to buy a brand new one, I know I have to play it smart. Everyone would only assume I stole it, leading to rumors in town and the police sniffing around where I don’t want them.
“Are you almost done with that thing?”
I keep working, my hands dirty from grease as I place the final touch on it. Twisting the last bolt in place I allow myself to look up. The smell of metal and oil has become my cologne this summer, the scent reminding me of my father.
“I am now.” All I want to do is clean her up and go for a ride. Again, the first place I think about it is our spot.
“You’re wanted out front again.” Russ doesn’t have to tell me who’s here. I already know. He’s also a week early.
Grabbing a rag, I clean my hands off to the best of my ability, but they’re still stained black. Walking in from the back warehouse, I see the same suit. He never calls; the only communication is pe
rson-to-person. He never offers a name, so I call him Suit, even to his face. I think he gets a power kick out of it.
“You’re early,” I state with a grin on my face. If he’s trying to catch me with my pants down, he’s out of luck. I’ve already laundered everything he’s given me.
“I wanted to check in on my investment.” He looks around the shitty hole-in-the-wall bar I am running then walks closer, checking out my shiner. He smells like mint today when he smiles, the piece of gum poking out from between his teeth.
I humor him, allowing him to get a good look before I step back.
“Come on back.” Turning around, I never look to see if he’s following me. I can already tell he feels safe. To him, I’m only a kid. I may be nineteen, but I’m not stupid. I don’t trust him. I have him on videotapes coming and going in case I need it. I also have two of my men watching us from afar with guns, prepared to use them.
Once we step into the back, he asks me, “Staying out of trouble?” He’s looking at my eye again.
“Trust me, if I didn’t have this, people would start asking questions on why I cleaned up my act. But to everyone important, I’ve been a good boy.”
Men like this guy are easy to manipulate. All it takes is putting myself down in front of them. They drop their shields, thinking they can take me out at any point.
“You think you can handle more?”
“I’ve been out of your money for a week already and you’re five days early.” I try to keep the smug grin off my face.
“I have to give it to you. You’re better than what I initially thought.” It’s funny how this is the general consensus after people have met and dealt with me. I’ve been working with him for almost a year now; it’s time I get a raise.
“I want more of the cut, another three percent. I’m taking all the risk.”
“What the hell do you plan to do with that money?”
I shrug, never looking away from him. It doesn’t matter what I plan to spend my money on. He gets a service, and I want to be paid for it.
“Listen, if you need to find someone else, I get that,” I bait him, challenging him to take his money elsewhere. I’m finally caught up on my bills; I don’t need him like I did before. The difference between him and me—I’m not money-hungry. I can go back to living how I had been just fine. It’s all I know. I haven’t let myself be spoiled into anything different yet.
We stare at each other, neither of us wavering. I can see it in his eyes the moment he makes up his mind.
“You have a deal. The first time you’re late, you owe me five percent onto what is still owed.”
I can feel my eyes narrow on him, not liking the deal. “What if I’m early? What do I get?”
“You get to keep all your fingers, toes, and a paycheck.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek, holding in my temper. His cockiness seeps out of his pores, making me hate him more. “If I’m late, I’ll pay you the three percent,” I concede, knowing I will never be late. It’s not cockiness making me say this. I know my shit, and I’m good at it. I never make a deal I think I could lose. He gets to think he won, while I still get my raise. Everyone wins.
My dick’s big enough to let this guy feel like he’s the big man.
He places the briefcase he was carrying down on the floor before turning to leave. His knees dip as he picks up the new briefcase that was placed there while we were talking. He doesn’t stutter seeing it. It’s a simple reminder he’s on my turf and my people are always around, even if they can’t be seen.
CHAPTER 9
August
Taking my new bike out for the first time, I automatically head to the clearing in the woods. I don’t even realize I’m going there until I see it ahead of me. It’s been a month since I drove here last. When I stop my bike, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. Standing in the middle of the clearing is Kellie. She’s looking out into the vastness of the forest, her arms crossed around her herself. Her hair is shorter, only touching her shoulders.
She has to hear my motorcycle—it’s not silent in the least—but she doesn’t turn. Leaning it on its stand, I walk over to her. Her back is to me, her face tilted upward for the sun to hit it. It’s been three months since I’ve laid eyes on her, heard her voice, or felt this draw she has on me. My body instantly relaxes, making that fight in me lessen. I breathe easier knowing she’s right here with me. The stress from the day, from the summer, fades to the back of my mind, making me temporarily forget the chaos that I live.
I worry that when she does turn around, we both will have changed too much and will never find what we had before the summer. She is the only thing that makes my heart race. Not even a gun to my head does that.
“How long have you been back?”
She turns around, her bright blue eyes meeting mine, and she runs to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I stumble back, not expecting such a warm welcome, before I spin us around.
“I missed you so much,” she confesses.
I can’t help myself; I press my lips to hers. The smell of her cherry lip gloss mixed with her vanilla scent swirls around me, making my dick hard and reminding me this is all we have ever done. It’s like it fell into our just-friends protocol.
“Me too, Kellie.” When I stop moving, her legs continue to twirl past me until she rights herself in front of me. I squeeze her harder, not wanting to let her go. Taking a deep breath, I inhale her, trying to memorize everything for when she leaves me again. I thought I had started to forget the way she smelled and the sound of her voice. But standing here, with Kellie just cements that I could never forget her.
“I see you found some trouble while I was gone.” She stares up at my face from her much shorter height as her fingers lightly brush my eye. She has to crane her neck to get a good look while I tower over her. Her body is easily engulfed by mine, with my hands keeping her close.
“Does it hurt?”
“Nothing hurts me.”
She chuckles, and everything seems right again. “You don’t have to lie to me.” Her voice is sweet and hits me right in the chest. I don’t know how I survived three months with zero contact with her.
“I’m telling you the truth.” And I am. I lost that sensation of pain long ago. I’ve learned to block it out, never allowing it to affect me. Nothing good ever comes from getting hurt, and it never changes the outcome. It’s a pointless emotion in my mind.
“Can you go for a ride? I want to show you something.”
She fiddles with the hem of her shirt as she thinks about my question. I know it’s mostly a matter of if she has time. Her school is starting in the next few days, and who knows how many other girls are there to keep the nuns busy before they notice she’s gone.
“If it’s quick.”
Grabbing hold of her hand, I pull her toward my new bike. She hops onto the back like a pro now. It feels like we saw each other last week, now that we’re back together. Coming closer to the road, I turn onto it, knowing I’m taking a chance.
No one is ever back here, and for some strange reason, I have the urge for her to meet my mom. I’ve never brought home a girl before, and I know my mom would love Kellie.
The day is warm, the wind welcoming on our skin as I drive us to my house. It’s small and old, but I never minded it. Slowly, it’s started to get a bit rundown, because my mom has been sick, and I’ve had to spend most of my time at the bar.
My heartbeat picks up the closer we get to it, and my palms sweat around the handlebars. Parking on the cracked concrete driveway, I help Kellie off the back.
She eyes the house before looking at me questioningly but never says a thing. I wonder what she’s thinking.
I take her hand and we walk through the house. It’s the same silence I have come to hate. It has a way of choking me. Clearing my throat from the emotion threatening to spill out, I keep us moving down the small hallway that leads to my mother’s room. I pause in front of the closed door. I’m not sure
if I’m even breathing. A small squeeze from Kellie’s hand has me pushing into the room.
I can feel her eyes on my back as she lags behind, our hands tight together. I know she wants to ask; it’s on the tip of her tongue. She’s never been good at not saying what she’s thinking. Stepping out of her view, I answer her unspoken question the only way I know how.
My mother looks shocked that I’ve come home but hides it well with a smile. She doesn’t say anything, I assume to preserve some of her energy. I wait to feel if Kellie pulls away, but she holds my hand tighter, her thumb starting to make small circles to calm me.
“Hey, Mom.” Tugging on Kellie, I bring her to my side, my arm wrapped around her.
“Hello.” Kellie smiles at my mom.
I refuse to look down at her. We step in closer as my mother sits up in her bed. She slowly takes the oxygen hose around her face down. Years of smoking and living in secondhand smoke her whole life has led to this.
“Kiptyn,” she croaks out like she hasn’t used her voice in a while.
Emotions try to escape as I smell the tang of smoke that seeps through the walls from decades of chain smoking. Pushing them firmly down, I smile at my mother’s hopeful face.
“This is my friend Kellie. She is the girl with the beautiful voice I was telling you about.”
My mother nods, smiling with her eyes, and Kellie takes a step forward.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she tells my mom.
There is one seat by the bed, and I usher Kellie into it as I sit on the arm.
I feel fidgety. My foot won’t stop tapping as my fingers dig into the worn cloth of the seat.
“You too, my dear. Don’t mind the mess. I don’t get too many visitors.” My mom looks to me as she says this. I get the hint. She wants me to come home more. I wish I could. But being here rips open my heart and makes me feel things I never wish to feel. I hate these emotions, needing them to be pushed down and never come back up.
