by Heather West
“Nice of him,” he commented blandly. “I should thank him.”
I folded my arms across my chest. I didn’t think he should thank him at all. “I’ll pass that along.”
Bills nodded once and silence fell between us. For a brief, hopeful second I thought Bills was done and he’d let me walk, but as I made another attempt to get around him, he, once again, stopped me. This time he did it by reaching out and grabbing my arm.
I froze as I remembered that day in the alleyway when the man reached for me. He’d been so much stronger and I’d been powerless to stop him, just as I was then with Bills.
A scream bubbled towards my lips, but something stopped it. Scream again, bitch, and I’ll kill you. It died in my throat.
“Look, I’m not very good at this, maybe,” Bills said, looking suddenly nervous and younger somehow. Like a teenager asking a girl out for the first time. Except his hand was still wrapped tightly around my arm and I was still in that dark place in the alley and there was no question Bills could do whatever he wanted to me and I couldn’t stop it.
“Let me go,” I said, but it was so quiet, barely even a whisper that he didn’t even hear me.
“But I think you should give me a chance. Max’s Max and there’s nothing wrong with that, but he didn’t hang the damn moon, you know?”
I stared at him with wide eyes, waiting for the conversation to stop. Praying it would before things got bad all of a sudden. My throat was dry, even as I tried to say something, anything to make him go away. My lips parted, but still no sound slipped from between them.
“I could make you really happy, Cherry,” he told me in a tone that might have been soft or just really quiet.
The use of my old high school nickname was enough to make me jerk away from him, breaking his grasp on my arm as my face flushed with anger and indignation. With a voice that was much smoother and stronger than I felt, I said, “I’m with Max. I love him and that’s not going to change any time soon. I’m…I’m sorry.”
With that, I turned away and headed quickly back inside. I didn’t even bother talking with my dad; nothing seemed all that important as far as that was concerned anymore. I went straight to Max, interrupted their conversation, and pulled him away to one of the back rooms. We fucked until he came and when he asked why, I told him, “A reminder for why we’re so good together.”
When I finished my story, Becky was sitting back with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open just a bit. “Wow,” she said, and for a second it was all she could say. “Wow.”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything else. I really wanted to know what she thought, what her take on it was before I dove in with my own theories. It took a while and I had to wait in agonizing silence, but eventually she spoke again.
“I can’t believe that happened,” Becky said, but she was more thoughtful than concerned or outright indignant about it. “Did he make another pass at you after that?” I shot her a look that said, Weren’t you even listening? She waved me off. “I mean besides today.”
I frowned, thinking about it. I made a point of not being alone with Bills, so that had a lot to do with it. I didn’t want to risk another moment like that and definitely didn’t want a repeat of that day in the alley. Even thinking about it still gave me the shivers. Finally, I shook my head. “No, not besides today,” I admitted to her.
“Well…maybe, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way or anything, but maybe he really didn’t mean anything by it?”
I blinked at her. What? I thought about my story, replayed the events of that day with Bills. He’d grabbed me, just like that other guy had, and I panicked. I’d been terrified. And she was trying to say he didn’t mean anything about it? “How can you say that?” I demanded, working hard to keep the hurt and the anger out of my voice. Becky was supposed to be on my side after all. “He came on to me and—”
“It was definitely not a ‘I just wanna be friends’ moment,” she told me quickly, interrupting me before I got absolutely furious with her. “But I don’t think it sounds like he was, you know, trying to do anything. He was just hitting on you. Guys do that.”
I stared at her blankly, trying to deal with the torrent of emotions swirling inside of me. Hurt, anger, fear. I was trying to understand how she could come to that conclusion. How could she listen to that story as I’d lived it and think it was nothing more than a guy hitting on a girl? “But he grabbed my arm!” I told her urgently, suddenly needing her to see it how I’d seen it.
Becky looked uncomfortable for a moment, then she tilted her head to the side and fixed me with an assessing look. She looked at me like that for a long time before her expression turned soft and she leaned forward slightly. “Lucy, honey, did…well, did something happen to you where a guy grabbed your arm like that?”
I froze. Her question brought all of that back to me again, but it did something else, too. It reminded me that I hadn’t wanted to tell her about that moment when I was fifteen and that that moment had colored my entire world in a slightly different shade. It didn’t make me any less positive that Bills was a creep and that he was dangerous, but it did tell me why Becky couldn’t see the danger.
She didn’t know all of it.
It took me a long while, but I finally nodded. I didn’t tell her all the details of the alleyway or the man or how Max had beaten him so badly that his face was permanently deformed afterwards. But I did tell her that something had happened and a man like Bills had done it.
She nodded once and said, “That makes sense. I just don’t think you should be so quick to assume that everyone who grabs your arm is the same as that guy.”
“So you think Bills isn’t a bad guy?” I asked hesitantly, dreading the answer. I didn’t want to hear one more person vouch for his loyalty and goodness.
Quickly, Becky shook her head. “Oh, hell, forget that! He’s a dangerous fucker and I’d stay the hell away from him!”
Relief filled me at her words, though I was slightly confused. “What? But I thought you just said—”
“I said you shouldn’t let that one experience suggest that every guy is like that,” Becky explained to me. “That doesn’t mean Bills isn’t like that guy. He’s always given me the creeps. And besides, if he weren’t a creep, he would have just let you go when you first tried to get around him, right?”
I let out a slow sigh of relief. For a moment there, I had really thought she was going to tell me I was just completely overreacting. But she didn’t. She was on my side. Letting out a quick laugh, I nodded my head. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”
“But I’ll be honest,” Becky continued, sipping at her coffee. “I really think you should just tell Max. He’ll kick Bills to the curb, or, at the very least, teach him the kind of lesson he won’t forget anytime soon. Guaranteed.”
I bit my lip. I hadn’t wanted to talk about Max about how worried I was about Bills because then I’d have to get into details. And details could be dangerous. But under normal circumstances I would agree with Becky. Telling Max was the easiest way to deal with all of that, right? Finally, I said, “I don’t want to tell him because I’m worried.” I wanted to say scared, but substituted it for worried at the last minute.
Becky frowned, pulling her legs up beneath her on the chair, holding her mug between her two small hands. “What do you mean?”
“I’m worried about Max. Things are…escalating. I know there’s something going on with the Slayers and I know Max’s caught in the middle of it. Worse, I think the Slayers are trying to double cross Max.” I said this last part quietly, worried someone might hear us and my scant few words would send into motion a terrible war between the two clubs. I couldn’t risk that; the Sin Reapers weren’t ready for war. But I had to get this off my chest now. I was so scared for Max and me and my family. What was left of it. I had to tell someone.
Becky let out a loud whoosh of air, then whistled. “Damn. I didn’t realize…” She shook her head. “I had no idea the danger
and the excitement would start right away.”
I almost told her, “See? This is what happens. You still sure you want this?” But I didn’t. Instead, I nodded. “It does. And it doesn’t go away, either. This is just the most recent shitstorm.”
Becky sat back thoughtfully for a moment before she asked, “You think he’s in real danger?”
I shrugged. Yes, was the answer, but Max was always in danger and that was the real point. How could you believe someone was safe when they were constantly caught up in risky business? “I don’t know. They’re careful about this stuff, but…” I trailed off, then took a deep breath and said, “But stuff happens. People die. My dad—” I broke off when I thought I might start to cry. My mind flashed back to the garage and his body and the pool of blood. The words on the note rang in my ears, though I never saw them on paper.
Becky reached for me, her hand clasping mine tightly. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
I took a deep, steadying breath and nodded, because my throat was caught up by a deep welling of sorrow and I didn’t trust myself to speak. She held on to my hand for a long while as I composed myself before she said, “That’s not going to happen to Max.”
I nodded, though I couldn’t help but think it didn’t matter how my dad died, only that he did. And that meant Max could, too.
“Can I ask you a favor, Bec?”
She nodded without hesitation. “Of course. Anything. You name it and I’ll do it.”
I smiled at her weakly. “Go with me to the cemetery?”
Chapter 14
Max
What the hell?
Now that I knew it was Bills in that building and he was meeting two Slayers, I couldn’t come up with a single damn reason he should be there. Yes, we were making peace. Yes, we were going to have to work together on that. But that was in the works, not a solid commitment on either of our parts. I still didn’t trust Blade or the Slayers, and that meant, right now, I didn’t trust Bills, either.
Six months ago, when the Preacher died and I took over, there had been a lot of debating over who was who. There was little to no contest as far as me becoming leader. That had been implied for years now, and whether people thought I was too young or too lenient or too goody two shoes for it, they wouldn’t argue it. Not really.
The Preacher had made it clear that should he step down, he wanted me as his replacement. It was years ago that he said and I wasn’t sure if it had more to do with Lucy or me, but I never bothered to ask and neither did anyone else. When the Preacher gave an order, it was law and it had to be followed unquestioningly.
The only moment of uncertainty I’d had was all those years ago on the night the Preacher had made the decision to give me the spot, and it was because he’d had someone else in mind for the spot first.
Bills.
Bills had been the Preacher’s right hand for years and years. He wasn’t old enough to be the Preacher’s contemporary, not quite, but it was close. A lot closer than I was. And Bills knew the business. Not just the cars, but the logistics of running a biker club like ours as well as dealing with some of the unsavory aspects that went along with it. Aspects like killing those who needed killing. Pieces that often didn’t sit very well with me most of the time.
But four years ago, something had shifted. People talked and there were all kinds of rumors about what had happened, but no one really had a definitive answer. Some said Bills fucked up so bad that the Preacher never really forgave him. Some said Bills deliberately stepped down on his own and the Preacher didn’t have anything to do with it. And some said there had been a private battle between myself and Bills to determine who had the right to be at the Preacher’s side.
I could honestly say that last one was complete bullshit. Whatever happened between Bills and myself had never amounted to much more than a disagreement here and there. In fact, the only one that had been any kind of a large disagreement had been over Lucy. At that cookout at the Preacher’s place. Now that I thought about it, it wasn’t long after that day that the Preacher made the announcement.
Bills hadn’t seemed overly upset about it, but he hadn’t been pleased either. After that, I started learning the trade in earnest and Bills took a back seat. He became my de facto bodyguard, while I started to act in that capacity for the Preacher.
It didn’t take long for everyone to settle down about the whole thing, including Bills and myself, but when the Preacher died six months ago and his will was actually implemented, things got stirred up again.
Suddenly, people were scrambling to take up the job I’d held: lieutenant. It was a title of honor that meant you were the right hand of the club leader. It could be dangerous, though, because it also meant you acted as bodyguard for said leader. If they were in a dangerous situation, it was your job to get them out of it.
A lot of people told me they should be my lieutenant, people I even liked. That didn’t unsettle me really because it was my choice and it was natural for people to put in their bid for it. What did bother me was when people told me I shouldn’t make Bills my lieutenant. Not because they wanted it or felt like so and so would be better suited for it, but because they felt like there was something wrong with Bills.
You should never mistrust your lieutenant. When I made Bills mine, I did it working under the assumption that the Preacher had always trusted him. Even when he’d changed his successor to me, he always told me, “You can trust him, Max boy. Bills is a rough man on the outside, but he’s as loyal as any man I’ve ever met and then some. You can’t do better.”
So I did as told. I hadn’t regretted that decision, but as I watched the meeting come to a close, handshakes all around, I had the sinking suspicion I was about to.
When the men finished up, they went for the door.
“Shit,” I said, then ducked down lower, trying to cover myself as best I could amidst the tall grass and the brush.
The two Slayers went out first. They did a quick sweep of the place, looking to see if there was anyone around watching them. There was, but thankfully they didn’t spot me. Satisfied they were safe and no one had witnessed their illicit meeting, they hopped onto their motorcycles and rode off with a blast of sound. Bills came out next, but he lingered for a while by the door. He took something out of his pocket, checked it, then cursed and put it back. He waited several long minutes, not knowing I crouched there watching him.
Finally, he checked his watch and apparently decided it was okay to go. He scooped up his helmet, which was set beside the door, and headed around back. I realized he must have parked a little out of the way so no one would spot him—more cautious than his associates, I noticed. If I wanted to follow him farther, I realized this would probably be my only shot. If I lingered here by the window any longer, there was a good chance I’d get stuck here as he drove off. Otherwise I’d be seen, and by the time I could get to my bike, he’d be long gone.
Making a quick decision, I ducked out from beneath the window. Staying low to the ground, I ran as fast as I could to that billboard towards my bike. I heard his start to rev just as I got to mine. I ducked behind the billboard when I heard the sound getting closer. Just barely peeking my head out to see, I watched as Bills drove up the road towards the freeway.
I gave him a little bit of a head start, then hopped onto mine, hoping he wouldn’t notice me as I attempted to trail him. I needed to know where he was going and what the hell was doing.
There was a good chance my life depended on it.
Chapter 15
Lucy
I didn’t know why it was so important to visit Dad just then, but as soon as I mentioned the idea to Becky, I knew it was the right thing to do. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to my father’s grave since we buried him. The plot was nice, as was the cemetery itself. I knew there were some where the graves were overgrown and the trees were dead and the flowers—if there even were some—were nothing but cheap fake-looking ones made from fabric or plastic. This place, thankfully,
wasn’t like that.
We’d stopped at a flower shop to pick up some wildflowers. Dad had liked them, though I suspected it was more because they were my favorite rather than any personal preference on his part. When I was around six or seven, I told him they were the best kind of flowers because they grew all on their own and they didn’t care where they ought to grow or what they ought to look like. They were what they wanted to be and no one could tell them different. Of course, most all flowers were like that, but as a kid, I didn’t understand the difference and thought wildflowers were just these pretty little weeds that couldn’t be tamed.
I carried a bouquet of them now as we walked through the multitude of plots. Becky hung back a few steps, understanding she was there if I needed her, but otherwise this wasn’t really the kind of thing that concerned her. She knew my father, but not well. It was nice to know she was there, at the very least, a familiar and comforting presence that gave me something to ground myself to.
