by Meli Raine
People are so complicated.
“Same here,” he says, reaching up to stroke my cheek. “I have a video series on YouTube. I’m making a portfolio to show my stunts, and then I hope someone at a studio will see and hire me.” He frowns. “But first, I have to get out of Atlas.”
“What do you mean?” I’m finding it hard to concentrate, because all my attention is on the points of contact where he’s touching me.
“You don’t just leave,” he says in a flat voice. “You can’t just take off from a motorcycle club. They don’t let you.”
“It’s like a gang?” I ask.
“Kind of. It’s really stupid and hard, and sometimes they come after you and kill you.”
“What?” Pure fear shoots through me like electricity. “If you try to leave the Atlas Club someone will hunt you down and kill you?”
“Yup.”
I think of Frenchie, of how evil he seems. Completely out of control. The kind of psycho who would take pleasure in hunting down Chase and killing him.
“Who? Who would want to do that?”
Chase reaches down and finds a stone on the ground. He picks it up and tosses it into the dark night. It disappears as if it was never there in the first place.
“My dad,” he says, so quietly I barely hear him.
“Your own dad would try to kill you?” I ask, incredulous.
“Not try. He’d do it. When Galt Halloway sets his sights on something, he gets it. And if I try to pursue my dream and leave the club to become a stuntman, he’ll come after me.” Chase shakes his head. “It’s a Halloway trait. We don’t let go of the things we want. Ever.” Intense eyes meet mine and I know exactly what he’s saying as he leans in closer.
His kiss cements it, a sweet intertwining of tongues that says so much. My hands cling to his sandy waves and my cheek rasps against his beard. It tickles me as I sigh with pleasure. He is thorough, giving so much more than he takes, and when we pull away from each other, breathless, we touch foreheads and pant, trying to maintain control.
I don’t like maintaining control anymore, though.
My hand finds his muscled thigh, tight and strong under his frayed jeans. I stroke it, then move in long brushes, getting closer and closer to the next place I want to explore.
Chase makes me want to learn so much more about the world, starting with his body.
In the distance, I hear a car’s engine. Chase’s head shifts just an inch to the right, ear cocked. He hears it, too.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Bet it’s your stepdad, coming home from the bar.” He stands, pulling me up. “Listen, Allie. You want what I want. We both want to get away from these lives other people picked out for us. My dad keeps screaming at me to stay away from you, but I can’t.” He frowns, holding my hands in both of his, eyes like deep pools of quiet sunshine. “I won’t.”
“You shouldn’t,” I agree, standing on tiptoes for a final kiss. He reaches for the nape of my neck and we go into this place where it’s only me and Chase, just our bodies and souls, and the rest of the world fades.
The engine gets louder, but still far enough away that it’s not a crisis. Yet.
Chase pulls back and looks in the direction of the engine. “Damn. I gotta go. No use in creating more trouble for you.” I wish I could argue with him, but he’s right. If Jeff catches Chase here again, it’ll be huge trouble for me.
“This’ll have to last until we see each other again,” Chase declares, then pulls me in for a kiss so thorough I think he’s licked my toes.
As fast as the kiss ends, he’s gone into the night, running toward a small culvert on the edge of Jeff’s property. I reach up and press my fingers to my lips, as if I can hold on to Chase’s kiss a little extra longer by doing that.
I see headlights coming toward the house and sprint back inside, up the stairs, climbing into bed and under the covers before I realize I have filthy feet. Oh, well.
My heart races as Jeff parks his car, the front door to the house creaking open quietly. I’m always asleep when Jeff works the bar this late. I never realized he was quiet. That’s nice of him, trying not to wake me up. It makes me soften a little toward him. Maybe he’s not such a big old jerk after all.
And then I hear a voice that isn’t Jeff’s.
A female voice.
And it’s someone I know.
My eyes go wide in the night as she asks, “Allie here?”
“She’s asleep. Just like all the other times.”
The woman giggles. It’s Heather, one of the barmaids at Jeff’s bar. I’ve known her since, well, forever. I can’t think of a time in my life when I’ve not known her. We don’t work together much because of different shifts.
More giggles. Then Jeff makes a groan that I know, but I only know what that sound is because Chase made a sound an awful lot like that earlier this evening.
Oh, gross.
I shove a pillow over my head as hard as I can, because I don’t want to hear Heather and Jeff having actual sex right now.
Not now.
Not ever.
Jeff’s voice comes through the pillow, though. He’s being nice and talking in a low, smooth voice. The kind of voice men use when they want to get in a woman’s pants.
I reach for my nightstand, hand flailing because I’m blind, still hiding under the pillow. There. Got it!
I grab my old MP3 player and stuff the earbuds in my ears, starting a song as fast as I can. The technobeat booms in my ears, drowning out the rest of the world.
Just like kissing Chase did.
I’d much rather be kissing Chase right now, but with him gone, this will have to do.
Chapter Eight
I call Marissa the next day from the bar while Jeff’s out doing something in Blythe, just across the Arizona and California border. It’s the nearest town, and still a twenty-mile drive. This gives me plenty of time to talk and figure out last night’s nightmare.
Last night’s dream. Chase appeared out of nowhere, coming to my house for me. Me.
“It’s a Halloway trait. We don’t let go of the things we want. Ever.”
His words haunt me.
“Allie!” Marissa sounds so happy to hear from me. Jeff doesn’t let me have a cell phone unless I’m running an errand for him, so I have to use the house phone. “How are you? Getting close?”
“Close to what?”
She chuckles. “Moving out here?”
An image of Chase floats through my mind, his name imprinting in the echo chamber of my heart. “Yes! Soon, I hope.” And maybe I’ll bring someone with me.
The thought makes me smile.
“You okay? You seem a little...off,” she says.
“I’m, well...no. I’m not okay. I have a question. What do you know about motorcycle clubs?”
“You mean biker gangs?”
“That’s another term for it,” I say in a prissy voice.
She laughs. I can hear her confusion. “I watch Sons of Anarchy sometimes with my friends. They pirate it. We can’t afford cable. But that’s about all I know, Allie. Why? Did those bikers start another fight in the bar, or did Charlie Hunnam come to visit you last night and pop your cherry?”
I start choking. Chase doesn’t look anything like Charlie Hunnam, but she’s awfully close to the truth. I want to tell her so badly it aches inside. Something stops me.
“Right. Like I’d ever be that lucky,” I finally say, gasping to catch my breath.
“Then why are you asking about bikers?”
“A bunch of them came into the bar, and now I’m just curious. One of them said something about Mom—”
“Who? What? Some outlaw biker knew Mom? What did he say?” Marissa’s voice is so upset and urgent that I want to take the words back. I wish I’d never brought this up.
“He just looked at me and said I look like Mom.” It’s easier to just say part of the truth than all of it.
/> Marissa lets out a deep, long breath. “He’s right. You do. Of the two of us, you look the most like her.”
“I know.”
We sit in silence, the seconds tickling. The quiet is comfortable. If we can’t be there for each other in person, at least we can be someone to turn to by phone.
“That’s weird, though, that he knew Mom. I wonder...no. Never mind,” Marissa says quickly.
“What?”
“I was just thinking something stupid.”
“What?”
“Maybe we could ask Jeff if he knows the biker.”
Oh, boy.
This is getting way, way too complicated.
“Ask Jeff something like that? He’ll bite my head off.”
“And serve it as an appetizer for happy hour tonight,” Marissa adds with a double dose of bitterness.
We both laugh, but it isn’t a happy sound.
“Wait a minute,” she says slowly. “Is this about that guy?”
I stop breathing.
“Allie?” she says, drawing out my name like I’ve been a bad little girl.
And she’s kind of right.
I cringe. “Yeah?”
“You mentioned some guy. Chase Holland or something like that. When I was on the phone with you the other night.”
“Chase Halloway,” I say, correcting her. I can’t help it.
“Is he a biker?” Her voice is filled with steel and judgment. I feel like a little kid who did something wrong, knows it, and can’t help myself.
Yep. That describes me right now. Exactly.
“Um, maybe?” I squeak.
“Oh, God, Allie. No. Just...no. Those guys are killers!”
“What? Chase never killed anyone!” Now I’m mad at her. Who says something like that? She’s my sister and I love her, but now I’m angry. Chase would never, ever murder someone. He dealt drugs because his father gave him no choice, but killing someone? No.
“Allie,” Marissa says in a forced-calm voice. “That’s how biker gangs work. If you’re in the gang, you have to kill for the gang. Everyone knows that.”
“You know that from watching Sons of Anarchy,” I scoff.
“I know that because I read the freaking newspaper and watch the news, Allie. Ask your new boyfriend.” She says the word in a mocking tone that makes me want to reach through the phone and slap her.
“I’ll ask him. But I know the answer already.” My voice feels dead.
“Hmm,” is all she says.
I hate this. We never fight. She’s my lifeline, the only person I can talk to about anything. Without Marissa I’m completely lost.
“Why’d you really call?” she finally asks in a grudging tone. “You didn’t call to argue about bikers.”
The tree-man from my nightmare last night pops into my mind. He still has no face. “I, um, had a nightmare. A really weird one. And I don’t have any friends here, and no one to talk to about it.” I’m still angry, though. The thought of Chase killing someone because it’s a motorcycle club requirement won’t get out of my head. I’m upset that Marissa put the idea in my head.
And now it’s there, like a weed that spreads its seeds as far as possible to grow and choke out all the good plants.
Someone opens the front door to the bar. Weird. I thought I locked it.
“We’re not open yet!” I call out.
“I’m not here for a drink,” says a man’s voice. The sun is blinding behind him, and I can’t see his face. Then I realize I do know that voice.
“Hey, Marissa. Gotta go. David’s here for a visit.”
“Tell him I said ‘hi.’ And Allie—David’s way better than some biker gang member.”
Click. I hang up on her. It makes my stomach hurt and my heart sing. Both at the same time.
As he closes the door, David’s features come into focus, his footsteps banging on the scarred wood floor. This time of day, with an empty bar, the room seems so stark.
David and I are friends. Just friends. We’ve never dated, even though half of this stupid town seems to think we did. He’s the opposite of Chase, with dark hair, deep, brown eyes, and a shorter stature that makes David barely taller than me. We almost look like we could be siblings, except he has more Native American blood in him than I do. My mom used to say we were kissed by the Great Spirit, and all I have are high cheekbones and a bloodline so diluted I don’t qualify for Native American college scholarships. David does. He’s going away soon on a full ride.
“Allie, what’s up?” he asks as he reaches the bar.
There’s a loaded question. I can answer my normal way, or I can tell him the truth. “Not much,” I say out of habit. “How about you?”
He seems so happy I’ve asked, his face becoming animated with that geeky excitement I love so much. “I’m doing a bunch of solar experiments out near those old, abandoned adobes. Wanna come?”
“I have to work.”
He looks at the clock. It’s 11:32 a.m. David snorts. “The bar doesn’t open until four. I have a car. We’ll be back by two. C’mon. Live a little.” He wears glasses like that Beatle, the one who got shot, used to wear. John Lennon. David’s dark and thin, and he’s always serious.
Except when he’s making a new invention or tinkering with science stuff.
I frown. If I don’t get all the prep work done for the bar opening, Jeff will kill me.
“You know you’ll be fine, Allie. Trust me.” He looks at me with such an open, eager expression that I can’t help myself. Turning him down would feel like taking a kid’s candy away. I know David is counting down the days until he goes away to college, and this might be one of my last chances to spend some time with him. I have a feeling once he gets out of this god-forsaken place, he’ll never come back.
And I hope I’m right. For as much as I like him as a friend, he needs to get out.
So do I.
“All right,” I say, agreeing. I grab my purse and the bar keys and we head out into the sweltering day. “I need to learn to live a little, don’t I?”
* * *
Forty minutes later, we’re walking along old caves where people dwelled, hundreds—maybe thousands—of years ago. The sun is merciless, and the ground is a mixture of sand and dirt. Climbing up a hill feels like a never-ending gym class circuit. My legs are screaming with pain and it seems like we’re never going to reach David’s little outdoor laboratory.
“Where are we going?” I whine. This is not my idea of fun.
“Almost there,” David huffs, pointing. “Just over that ridge. You’ll see. I’ve got one heck of a surprise for you.”
I reach into my purse and pull out a bottle of water I’m grateful I happen to have in there. Drinking about a fourth of it, I hold myself back from guzzling the whole thing. When you’re in the desert, you think ahead. You never know what might happen to make you wish you’d held on to some reserves.
We walk toward the point David mentioned, and as we crest a rock formation I see a dirt bike in the distance, near a bunch of hills, surrounded by enormous cactuses.
“You’re riding dirt bikes now? When did you start doing that?”
The vroom of an engine to our right catches my ear. A line of dirt dust streaks along the landscape, the bike’s rear wheel kicking it up like a jet contrail. The rider is moving so fast he (she?) is almost a blur.
Within seconds the bike slows before us, and the rider brings it to a halt, shifting the weight of the machine between his legs. It’s a guy.
Peeling the white bike helmet off, the rider frowns at us.
It’s not just any guy.
It’s Chase.
Without even thinking about it, I rush over and throw myself into his arms, his hot, dirty coat wrapping around me, making me suffocate. He smells like sweat and musk, like mint and dirt, and I could breathe him in forever. The sun is so sharp it hurts my head, but now he’s kissing me. The heat, the light, the pain, the bother all melt away as his lips slant against mine. His mouth say
s ‘hello,’ and I disintegrate into that special world that the two of us create when we’re together.
We pull apart and I gasp, remembering David.
Chase follows my look, his eyebrow turning up in curiosity as he looks at my friend.
“Hey, Dave,” Chase says casually. His eyes travel back to me, the eyebrow still high, a question in his eyes.
And then:
“You two know each other?” we say in unison.
Chapter Nine
Chase is taken aback. I start to laugh. David just stands there, grinning like a mad fool.
“I knew it!” he crows. “I knew you two know each other.”
“How did you know? What do you mean?” I ask, completely confused.
“Chase kept talking about this girl in town. The one with long, black hair and gorgeous eyes. The one at the bar.” David’s cheeks are turning pink as Chase stares at him. It’s a hard look, one that almost could have menace in it.
Chase grips my waist a little tighter. “You knew Allie and didn’t tell me?” There’s something in his voice that makes David tense up. Sparks are flying between them and suddenly, everything’s different.
The sun is merciless and the wind kicks up. It feels like a rare storm is coming. Or, maybe, the guys are creating one. I don’t know. This is way out of my comfort zone.
“I’ve known Allie forever. And I’ve known you for a few months,” David says calmly, slowly. “I put two and two together yesterday when you were telling me all about her, and I thought this would be a great way to get you together. You said her father—”
“Stepfather,” I say, correcting him. It’s petty, I know, but it drives me nuts when people call Jeff my father. He’s not. My real father isn’t a peach, either, but at least I have one. And Jeff ain’t it.
“Stepfather,” David says, repeating me, tipping his head in apology. “You said her stepfather is a real asshole who’s trying to block you from seeing each other, and I figured it all out.”
“College boy,” Chase says with a smirk. “You’ve got the smarts for it. You figure things out real quick, don’t you?” The air between them is simmering a bit, settling down, but there’s an unease I don’t like.
