by Chiah Wilder
Lexi gave a hollow laugh. “I’m positive he has a woman, but he needs the right one.”
Wanting to shift the focus off Brad, Sharla smiled. “Did you hear that Jordan Burnside is back in town? She’s here with that band, Iris Blue. She goes by Isla Rose. I had some friends go hear them play; they said they were awesome. I can’t believe we have a bona fide rock star from Alina. Too cool. I remember when she got all the leads in the school musicals.”
Lexi cocked her head. “Really? Isla Rose is Jordan Burnside? I didn’t know that. I’ve been following them on Instagram for a while. Their drummer, Benz, is so hot. I’d love a night with him.”
“Isn’t he going out with her? I thought I read that somewhere.”
“So what? If he’s that much in love with her, no woman could take him away.” She ran her long fingernail over her lips. “Let’s just say, I wouldn’t place any bets on him. That is, if I were a gambling woman, which I’m not. I always know exactly what I want.”
All of a sudden the room got stuffy, and Sharla had to get out of there. She brought her slender fingers to her temples and massaged them, hoping that would stop the throbbing. Another knock on the door and her eyes flew open. Lexi rushed over and opened it, a wide smile filling up most of her face as she grabbed Brad’s hands and tugged him inside.
“Brad, we were just beginning to rehearse some lines. Even though I’m just an understudy, I want to be ready if I have to.”
Brad’s gaze went to Sharla’s and lingered there. “I get that. I thought you were tired,” he said to her.
Sharla nodded. “I am, but I can go over a few scenes.”
“That’s ridiculous. Just do it tomorrow.” Directing his attention to Lexi, he opened the door. “I need to talk to Sharla about one of our scenes. See you tomorrow night.” His tone was casual, but there was an edge of finality to it that made her smile. Lexi threw her a mean look, smiled sweetly at Brad and slowly walked out, making sure she brushed her chest against Brad’s arm before closing the door behind her.
“Thanks for that,” Sharla whispered. In two long strides, he had her in his arms, kissing her feverishly, his hands roaming all over her body. Moaning, she threw her head back and let him devour her neck, knowing that the thick theater makeup would cover up any marks.
For the next two hours, he ravaged her until she couldn’t take it any longer, the explosion of sensations was too much. She lay on top of him on the sofa, totally sated and buzzing with love. I love him so much! If only he didn’t want to keep their affair secret. They could go to restaurants, the movies, dancing—how I love to dance, but their time together was confined to rooms: hotels, motels, her apartment, or backstage. How she longed to walk through the park with him, hand-in-hand, proclaiming to anyone who would see them that they were a couple in love.
“What’re you thinking about?” he asked, making circular movements with his finger on her shoulder.
“That it would be nice to go out sometime. The two of us, and not care who sees us. I don’t understand why we have to keep our love hidden.”
The moment he withdrew his arms around her, she knew he was angry. She’d overstepped some arbitrary boundary he’d drawn. “Please don’t be mad,” she whispered, wanting his arms around her again. Sometimes the depth and magnitude of how much she loved him frightened her.
Brad pushed her off roughly. “I gotta go.” He bent over and picked up his clothes then slipped his boxers on quickly.
“Don’t. Please.” She sounded pitiful, but she couldn’t help it. If she had to beg she would. She wouldn’t put it past Lexi to be waiting to pounce on Brad. She couldn’t let that happen; if he ever left her, she’d shrivel up and the essence of who she was would die. “I’m sorry I said what I did.”
“I hate like hell when you keep bringing it up. I told you from the beginning that we had to keep this secret.”
“But why? That’s all I want to know. Just tell me that.”
He stared hard at her for what seemed like an eternity then he finished buttoning his shirt. Walking toward the door, he paused, then turned around and shook his head. “Because I’m getting married after the play closes. It doesn’t have to stop with us if you don’t want it to.”
It would’ve been easier if he’d rushed up to her and stabbed her repeatedly in the heart. She was sure the pain wouldn’t be as acute as his words were. Dumbfounded, she just gaped at him—her mouth open and limbs trembling.
“So there you have it. I understand if you want to stop. I have to go. Think on it.” And then he was gone.
If I want to stop? How can I stop? Love isn’t something you turn on and off like a faucet. How could he deceive me like that? Did he ever love me? She fell back on the sofa where she’d just spent the last two hours in blissful ecstasy and stared at the wall. She couldn’t even cry. It was too unbelievable.
A soft knock and her heart leapt to her throat. He’s come back to tell me this was all a joke. He can be cruel sometimes. She slipped her cotton robe on and rushed over to the dressing table and sat down. Sharla didn’t want him to think she was brooding. She wanted to act casual and not let him know how deeply his cruel joke had hurt her.
“Come in,” she said, closing her eyes while she rubbed the moistened tissue over her heavily made up eyes.
The door opened and closed quietly. She knew he was there. He’s probably waiting for me to say something. Well, two can play at his game. How dare he play around with my heart. She kept rubbing the black mascara off her lashes. She heard the creak on the floorboard and smiled. He was coming to her, like he often did when she was taking off her makeup. He’d come over and pepper her neck with small kisses while he cupped her breasts.
He was behind her. She could hear his breathing, feel the light brush of his body against her upper back, smell—Wait … that doesn’t smell like Brad. Her eyes flew open, and she stared at the figure behind her in the mirror. That’s not Brad!
“What are you doing here?” Annoyance made the fine lines around her eyes crinkle. Each time that happened, she wished she wouldn’t have baked in the sun since she was twelve years old. At twenty-five, she was too young to have any lines. “This is ridiculous,” she mumbled under her breath.
The lamp on her dressing table fell down, breaking the light bulb and throwing the room into darkness. Then smooth, gloved fingers tightened around her throat, cutting off her airway. Frantically, she clawed at them, but they held on. Panic set in, and tears rolled down her freshly cleansed cheeks. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the dimness in the room, the only light coming from a large white sign lit-up from the church across the street. In the dimness something flashed, and she couldn’t quite make it out. When it was brought close to her neck, she saw it was a knife. In that one moment of clarity, she realized that she would never perform her role on stage. She knew her next performance would be a cold, rigid corpse in a coffin at her own funeral.
The knife cut smoothly over her neck, and she stared at her fuzzy reflection in the mirror, watching the life seep out of her.
Chapter Six
“That’s fuckin’ classic. Isla Rose used to be your best friend in high school. Ella’s gonna flip over that one,” Skull said before taking a big bite out of his bacon cheeseburger.
“It’s fuckin’ strange. I knew there was something I recognized in her, but I didn’t figure it was Jordan. Damn weird.” Sangre stirred cream into his coffee.
“You didn’t know she was in a band?” Army asked.
“No. If I did, then I’d know the fuckin’ name of the band and know it was her.” He gripped his coffee cup and looked out the window. Sometimes Army asked the stupidest questions.
“It’s actually kinda funny ’cause you were hitting on her at the club.” Chains put a piece of banana cream pie in his mouth.
Sangre shook his head. “I wasn’t hitting on her.”
“Yeah, you were, dude,” Skull said.
“Big time,” Army added.
“Fo
r sure,” Chains mumbled.
“Fuck you,” Sangre replied as the men laughed and poked each other, him included.
“Admit it, bro,” Chains said.
Scrubbing his face, Sangre looked at his brothers. “I may have been hitting on her, but I didn’t know who the hell she was. What can I say? I like flirting with women.”
“And now?” Army motioned the waitress over.
Sangre shrugged one shoulder. “Now, I know it’s Jordan. She was my friend and still is, so it’s different.”
“I give this ‘just friends’ shit three weeks tops.” Army turned to the waitress. “Hey, Tammy, what kind of cream pie do you have left?”
“Chocolate, coconut, and lemon meringue,” she said while craning her neck.
“No more banana?” Army’s eyes darted to the counter.
“If there was banana, she would’ve fuckin’ said banana.” Sangre splayed his hands out on the table.
“Just checking, dude. Chill, will you?” He quirked his lips and kept repeating the choices under his breath.
“While he decides, do you want me to freshen up your coffee?” she asked Sangre.
“Sure. Thanks.”
Tammy came back with a fresh pot of coffee. She was the Night Rebels’ favorite waitress, and they always asked for her section if she was working. In her mid-forties and raising two teenagers on her own had to be tough, so the guys tipped her very well, and her warming smile whenever she saw them showed that she appreciated it.
“Did you decide on the pie yet?” she asked.
When Army didn’t respond, Sangre pushed the table toward him. “This isn’t a fuckin’ complicated algebra equation you have to figure out. It’s a damn piece of pie. I’m sure Tammy’s got other people to wait on.”
“Chocolate,” Army said.
“Coming right up.” She chuckled and walked away.
Army shoved the table back at Sangre and glared. “What the fuck’s your problem? Do you work for the goddamn union?”
“Maybe he’s just pissed that he can’t screw the rock star who is now his best friend,” Skull said, straightening out the table.
“Maybe you should shut the fuck up or we can take it outside.” Sangre’s nostrils flared as anger licked at his nerves.
“Overreacting is a sure sign that Skull’s onto something.” Chains pushed his plate away from him.
Sangre glowered at him and lifted his fist. “You want some of this too?”
The three men chuckled, and Sangre scooted out of the booth and jumped to his feet. “I’m outta here. When you assholes grow the fuck up, let me know.” He threw a twenty on the table and stormed away, lifting his chin at Tammy as he passed the lunch counter.
The early summer breeze carried the light scent of jasmine. Sangre jumped on his Harley, craving a ride through the backroads so he could clear his head. He had a few hours before he had to relieve Eagle at Isla’s house. Leaving the main streets behind, he increased his speed and rode the mostly deserted roads leading to Chaco Canyon.
After thirteen years, she was back in his life. He remembered how she’d left without even so much as a goodbye. To say he’d been hurt was an understatement. He couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t told him her family was leaving. He’d been taken off guard by her actions. And now she was back in Alina, singing in a kickass band, looking hotter than hell, and wanting to be friends again. What the hell am I gonna do?
The Harley turned and twisted up the steep mountain until he arrived at the top of one of the smaller peaks. Birds swooped in the crisp air against the backdrop of a clear blue sky.
Crouching down on his haunches, he peered out at the horizon: Carpets of green blanketed the mountains; bursts of colorful wildflowers painted the sides of the canyon. The rushing of the river below echoed against the canyon walls. He was the only one there, and when things became tough, or he just needed to get away from everyone and everything, this was his go-to place.
He and Jordan—Her name is Isla … remember that—used to come to this spot a lot when they were in high school. She had a real tough time at home with her tyrannical dad, so he shared his place with her, taking her on the back of a motor scooter way before he even had his driver’s license. He chuckled at the memory of the two of them on the open road on a scooter that barely went forty miles per hour.
Sitting on the ground, he pulled a needle from a pine tree and chewed on it, a spray of freshness filling his mouth. As he sat there, memories of his childhood flooded his mind. Front and center was himself—a nine-year-old boy in a new neighborhood, kicking rocks alone until the eight-year-old girl next door came out and asked him what he was doing. She’d shown him her frog and then the bugs she’d caught that morning. He couldn’t believe a girl wasn’t afraid of bugs. All of his sisters were, and his mom would always call his dad to kill the stray spiders and other insects that crawled into the house. From that day on, he and Isla had become inseparable.
Back then she’d been a tomboy, wearing jeans all the time, baseball caps, hair in pigtails, and keeping up with him and all the other neighborhood boys as they climbed trees, explored culverts, picked up worms, and played touch football. Isla’s curvy body, long hair, and heart-shaped face blurred the tomboy of the past. I can’t believe how fuckin’ hot she looks. But when he really thought about it, he knew she’d blossom into a real babe.
When she’d turned twelve, something happened: She grew breasts, and her straight lines were now round and curvy. Funny feelings had punched at his stomach whenever he’d look at her or see her in a bikini when they’d go swimming at the community pool. He’d changed too—he became taller with facial hair and muscles. He’d catch her looking hard at him when she didn’t think he was watching. When he’d brush against her, instead of stickiness and grit, her skin felt soft and smooth. She didn’t smell like dirt and fresh air but more like cotton candy and fruit punch.
Sangre ran a hand through his hair then glanced at his phone; he had less than an hour to get back to Alina and relieve Eagle. Pushing up, he took another look at the awe-inspiring vista and walked over to his bike.
The minute he pulled in front of Isla’s house, Eagle got out of his car and came over. He bumped fists with him.
“Anything suspicious?” Sangre asked.
“Nah. Mark said it was quiet last night as well.”
“Yeah, I talked to him.”
“Cueball said that he’ll be here at eight tomorrow morning. Do you need anything before I head out?”
“No. I know you’re gonna hear this when you get back to the club, so before the story gets all fucked up, I want to tell you that I know Isla. She went by the name Jordan back when we hung out.”
Eagle’s eyes widened. “No shit? You guys dated?”
“No, not that. We were really good friends. Best friends, actually. When my dad got promoted at Reland’s Candies, we moved out of our crappy-ass neighborhood and into the Sunnyside area. Isla lived next door to us. We hung out a lot and went to the same schools since I was nine.”
“What happened?”
“Her family moved to California and we lost touch. That’s how shit goes when you grow up.”
Eagle glanced at the house then back at Sangre. “That’s a small fuckin’ world.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No shit. Anyway, it’s good connecting again.”
“Yeah. I never had a friend that was a chick. Wasn’t it hard like when you were in high school?”
“We were friends. I respected that.”
“You didn’t answer my question, so I’m gonna guess it was hard as hell. She’s a looker too. This is gonna be interesting.” Eagle sniggered.
“What the hell does that mean?” Once again, anger pricked his skin.
“I’m just saying that she’s hot, you guys have a past, and you just broke up with Skylar. You know?”
The muscle in his jaw tightened. “We’re friends and she’s a client, so no, I don’t fuckin’ know.”
&
nbsp; “Hey, Steve. Oops … I mean Sangre.”
He looked at the porch and sucked in his breath. The early evening sun gave a rosy glow to Isla’s skin and a sparkle to her hair like a rare tanzanite gem. Jean cut-offs revealed legs that went on for miles, and a form-fitting, low-scooped T-shirt molded perfectly over her breasts. Damn. Waving back, he said, “Hey.”
“Come over here.”
“I gotta go. See you tomorrow,” he said.
Eagle clasped his shoulder. “Like I said, this is gonna be interesting. Later.” Laughing softly, he went to his car.
As Sangre walked toward the front porch, he heard Eagle’s car pull away from the curb. I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe that a man and a woman can be friends. “Hey,” he said again as he walked up the porch steps. He glanced at the wicker table and saw two beer bottles, a plate of cheese and crackers, and bowl of green olives.
“I made us some refreshments. I figured you may want a little break.”
“I just got here,” guilt hit him when he saw her face fall, “but I’m always ready for a break.”
Brightening up, she plopped down in one of the wicker chairs. “I slept so well last night. It was probably the first night I slept all the way through in a while. Not worrying about a psycho fan breaking in and hurting me goes a long way for a good night’s sleep. How was your day?”
“Busy.” He sat in the chair next to her and picked up the beer bottle. “Did you stay in contact with Madison?”
“Yes. She’s come out to visit with me in LA many times over the years. She even thought of moving there, but then her mom had a stroke and she had to stay here to help out with that. Don’t you ever see her?”
“Not really. I don’t really hang out with citizens.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Non-bikers.”
She leaned over and picked up a piece of cheese and nibbled at it, her gaze fixed on him. “How do your parents like you being in the Night Rebels? It’s an outlaw club. I mean real badass like the Insurgents or the Mongols. I looked it up online last night. It’s dangerous.”
