Broken & Burned

by A. J. Downey

  She was a dancer, and a damned fine one, so why the hell was she going to school to open a coffee and chocolate shop? The girls streamed out giggling and laughing and I heard her drop into a seat. I caught sight of her in a mirror in the next room across the hall, changing her shoes from the hard tap shoes to something softer, almost ballet like but not. She stood and turned the song to something else, still Irish, still folksy but slower, more melodic and I tucked myself to the side in the door way to watch.

  She wore black tights and over it a short maroon dress with long sleeves and a short flowing skirt that fluttered easily in any stray passing breeze. Her hair was half up and fluttered around her shoulders as she raised up on her toes and bounced across the floor in short leaps. Her arms were stick straight at her sides and her legs did all the moving. It was some kind of Riverdance shit. I’d seen it on television a time or two and it had been cool as Hell, but this, in person… her body, her legs and heart and mind behind it. I was just plain blown away…

  Chapter 7

  Everett…

  I loved to dance. It was my way of burning off steam, of letting go and my way to feel free. My da’ had insisted on traditional Irish step dancing for his only daughter. When I was a child I had no appreciation for it but as I’d grown older I’d grown to embrace it and love it. I stretched my body into sleek lines, twirling and spinning.

  I came up on point and swayed like a pendulum and heard a gasp in the doorway, I turned and smiled when I caught Dray’s deep dark eyes mesmerized by my little solo performance. I danced my way over and held out my hand pulling him into the center of the room. I made him my personal may pole and laughing stepped around him to the light airy and positive music. He turned to follow me with his eyes and I was surprised at his slack jawed look of wonder. I lifted his hand and spun underneath it and as the song finished pulled myself close and then spun out far and curtseyed. He smiled a slow curve of lips and I think my heart melted just a little. I straightened and smiled, chest dewed with sweat and heaving.

  “So what do you think?” I asked, swinging his hand back and forth. He extracted it from mine gently and ran a hand through his hair.

  “That was,” he gave a little incredulous laugh, “Wow, I don’t know what to say.” I smiled.

  “Been dancing since I was six. Da’ made me do it. I volunteer teach here every Saturday both so I can stay in shape and because by doing it, I can come dance whenever I want.” I wiped my face and neck with my towel,

  “You should be doing this. Not making people coffee.” He said decisively.

  “I love doing this, if it were a job I wouldn’t love it anymore.” I explained.

  He was looking at me like he’d never seen me before. I went over and sat down to pull off my shoes.

  “I want to ask you something.” He said and sat down next to me.

  “Sure.” But the look he was giving me made me still.

  “Last night I put you to bed.” He started and I smiled, he went on, “You wouldn’t let me close the bedroom door, seemed to think you wouldn’t see or hear them coming… Who is ‘them’?” he asked and I laughed.

  “The English.” I said.

  “What?” he asked confused.

  “My da’ was a card carrying member of the IRA. He came to America on the run before I was born. Met my mom, got married, she died having me and he never got remarried. Anyways, when I was small, I had a lot of aunts and uncles that talked like my da’. Other members that ran state side when the shit hit the fan or whatever. They would tell stories and I would listen to them even though I wasn’t supposed to. My boogey man was different than other kids I guess.” I shrugged.

  Dray blinked.

  “Seriously?” he asked.

  “Seriously.” I affirmed, “I don’t know everything that my da’ was into but I know that he did things to support the cause, when I was growing up.” I put ‘support the cause’ in air quotes with my fingers. Dray blinked at me.

  “You don’t seem to have a problem with that.” He said. I shrugged.

  “He was my da’ and I loved him.” I said quietly, “Besides, you honestly want to tell me you and yours haven’t ever done anything against the law?” I leveled him with a look and he roamed my face with those dark eyes which for now, were calm and considering. Still dark pools rather than burning embers. I smiled and nodded.

  “That’s what I thought.” I said at his silence. I pulled on my street shoes.

  “You hungry?” he asked, changing the subject but he was looking at me like he’d never seen me before, like I was brand new to his eyes. I’d had an unconventional childhood for sure, but my da’ had always kept me safe and made sure I was loved.

  “Starving, take me back to get a shower and I’ll heat up the rest of our dinner.” I suggested. He nodded slowly. I bit my lip, worried that my little revelation had somehow possibly damaged something between us.

  I got up and pulled my iPod from the stereo and put it in a pocket of my gym bag. Dray seemed distracted, lost in thought as we walked to his car and my concern grew. He opened the door for me and I smiled, the gesture somehow reassuring. I shoved my bag into the back seat. He drove us back to the house in silence which I was comfortable with and when we pulled into the driveway he shut off the engine.

  “I ran into a couple of brothers at the gym today, they asked if I was coming to the clubhouse tonight. Feel like going?” he asked. I thought about it and secretly let out a relieved breath. Perhaps my revelation about my upbringing hadn’t changed anything after all. I hoped not.

  “Sure.” I said.

  “If we drink, it’s cool, I have a room there so feel free to cut loose. Like I said. Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen.” I nodded and thought about it. I have a room there… Hmm.

  “So what typically happens at the club house on a Saturday night?” I asked as we got out of the car.

  “Same shit that happens at your typical biker bar.” He shrugged and I imitated my father, dropping into a familiar Irish brogue.

  “Now don’t be thinkin’ of e’er goin’ to a place like that Evy. Highway men th’ lot o’ them. I want my little girl safe, not turnin’ into a monster like meh.” Dray turned around and looked at me giving me one long slow blink. “My da’ would be rolling in his grave if he thought of me casting my lot with a rough and rowdy crowd like a bunch of bikers.” I said and smiled, “Then again I don’t think he’d ever met a biker quite like you… So I’ll ask again, what typically happens at the club house on a Saturday night?” I cocked my head to the side and Dray who had momentarily looked stricken, gave me that heart melting boyish grin. I raised my eyebrows and he laughed.

  “Drinking, smoking, dancing, cards… laughter and conversation, sometimes live music mostly whatever is on the stereo. That’s usually what happens at the club house.” He said and opened the front door to the house. I felt better about it already. I dropped my dance bag in Dray’s bedroom and gathered things for a shower opting for comfort for now.

  “What do the girls usually wear?” I called out.

  “Wear what you would out to a club!” he called from his father’s room.

  I showered quickly and fixed us both some lunch from last night’s left overs. Dray watched some television while I did some homework. Finally, about an hour before leaving, I went to get dressed. I chose some black footless leggings that looked painted on and wet. Over that I wore a silvery top that cascaded in the front, held in back by strings like a bathing suit. One halter style around the neck, the other across the back. I figured a biker bar may have an appreciation for the tattoos. My hair I swept over a shoulder and braided, anchoring it with a silver hair tie. The top hung low in front showing off my trinity knot necklace. I added my Mt. St. Helens Obsidianite post earrings, the stones were a deep emerald green and the earrings matched my necklace.

  They were my mother’s. My father had bought them for her when they were dating. He’d met her while living in Washington S
tate and had saved them for me until I was eighteen. He’d given them to me as a graduation present as a way of having my mom there with me too, as I’d walked and gotten my diploma… I wore the necklace every day, the earrings I brought out when I felt like being dressy.

  I did my make up to bring out my eyes and slipped on a pair of silver high heels that matched the backless halter top. I gave a little shimmy in the mirror to make sure everything was secure and I wouldn’t fall out anywhere and satisfied, adding a touch of clear gloss to my lips, I slipped out of the bathroom shutting off the light. Dray was on the couch, texting someone and looked up when I made myself visible. His eyes widened.

  “Too much?” I asked meekly. He stared open mouthed and I nodded. “I’ll go change.” I said and he stood up abruptly.

  “No! No, it’s fine.” He said and gave me a once over with those burning dark eyes of his that made me want to shiver. My inner wanton goddess perked up and said ‘Oh, yes please!’ and I told her to shut up. Until I had those results in my hand declaring me all clear of any diseases I was strictly hands off, and even then, I wasn’t about to jump into anything. But oh God the way Draven was looking at me… I really wanted to jump into something with him, like his bed, or his car, or the shower, or wherever he would have me.

  “Let me grab my phone off the charger and we can go.” I said. I turned around and heard his sharp intake of breath and smiled to myself. That right there if anything confirmed that he found me desirable and after everything that had happened with Jerry, well having any man, let alone one as delicious as Dray find me attractive was worth its weight in gold.

  I felt my self-esteem re-inflate a little as I snatched my phone from the charger and slid my debit card and ID into the back of the case I had on it. One of those ones that was made to hold such things. I didn’t really have pockets in this get up so I held my phone in my hand and went back out. Dray was a cutting figure in his jacket and form fitting black tee shirt. His legs were encased in light denim that was worn butter soft with age, frayed at the cuff and the edge of the pockets but miraculously free of holes. He had on those black biker boots with the silver buckle on the outside of the ankle peeking out from beneath the cuff of his jeans.

  He held himself in that way that spoke softly that this was a man who was used to violence. A subtle warning to anyone who looked at him. He’d pulled half his hair up and tied it off with a black hair tie that disappeared against his raven’s wing locks. His dark eyes swept over me one more time as I shrugged into a dark gray sweater. It was light and didn’t afford much protection from the elements but it covered my back and draped in the front falling to long points at my thighs, matching the halter top quite nicely.

  “Stay close to me tonight.” He said and it sounded almost ominous.

  “Okay.” I agreed and we left the house. He opened my door for me and I smiled, slipping into the passenger seat.

  “You uh, you look incredible.” He said as he started the car and I smiled, pleased that he would think so.

  “I hope you realize what a total fucking moron that ass-clown ex of yours is.” He said derisively. I looked out the window and must have been silent for too long.

  “You do don’t you?” he asked and his tone had shifted to incredulous.

  “I’ve been wondering if some of it was somehow my fault.” I said quietly, “Maybe if I had tried a little more with my appearance or tried to spend time doing things that he liked…” he snorted.

  “I don’t know what the hell he was thinking Baby but you deserve a hell of a lot better than he gave you. Don’t worry about it. Someday someone is going to see you for the awesome, brilliant, gorgeous and hardworking chick you are and it’ll be all over. You’ll be treated well and be loved and pretty much worshiped the way you deserve to be.” His hands tightened on the wheel, making that creaking noise. I stared at him agape.

  That was probably the sweetest, most genuine, most beautiful compliment I had ever in my life been given. He kept his eyes resolutely on the road, his jaw tight with tension. He pulled onto the highway and I looked out the window. We weren’t on it for very long. He flipped on his blinker and got into the center turn lane. When traffic was clear he cranked the wheel and we lurched into a steep gravel driveway with one of those chain link rolling gates open to one side.

  He pulled up and off to the side in front of a squat one story gray cinderblock building. The roof was rusting corrugated steel and high windows blocked by venetian blinds lined the front. A big picture window sat by the door, a black flag with the MC’s logo on it hanging in it ominously, the venetian blinds behind the flag were closed. For anyone stumbling in off the highway the building didn’t exactly exude ‘friendly’ which I suppose is what was intended. The window and door trim were painted a muddy brown but even though the whole thing gave off an unwelcoming and shabby appearance, it was remarkably well kept.

  Nothing was falling down or sagging and the bikes good lord, the motorcycles lining the front of the building were a study in beauty. All shining chrome and personalized gas tanks. Some glossy with paint and wax, some a matte finish, satiny in the dim light of the parking area’s lights. The leather of the seats looked buttery and soft from use but not a crack or a tear in sight. All of the machines lovingly cared for by their owners. Dray looked wistfully at them and I smiled.

  “Miss riding?” I asked tentatively.

  “That obvious?” he asked.

  “Kind of.” I admitted.

  “You ever ride?” he asked as we got out of the car.

  “No.” I said.

  “No!?” he asked and his tone was light, playful.

  “Mm-mm.” I said and shook my head.

  “Good to know.” He said and held out his arm for me. I hugged it and we carefully traversed the gravel mine field, or at least I did in my heels Dray was sure footed in his motorcycle boots.

  “Thanks,” I said when we were back on solid ground, but I neglected to let go of him. I liked the feel of his strong arm beneath my own and he didn’t try to take it back. He opened the door to the clubhouse and I was hit by a wall of sound and heat.

  I slipped my phone into my sweater pocket and stepped through the portal into Dray’s world. The first thing that struck me other than the shouts and cheers thrown in Dray’s direction was the tickling sensation of cigarette smoke in my nose. I fought the urge to sneeze as one leather clad man after another stepped up to him to shake hands, pound fists or to hug him. I was forced to let go of his arm for that and I have to admit, I felt a bit cast adrift for it.

  I let my eyes roam the dimly lit interior of the club house. The room was big and looked a lot like the interior of an older bar. To the left as you came in the door there was a bar. Scarred wood that had seen better days but clean and polished with mirrors and rows of colorful liquor bottles lined up behind it. There was a doorway that led back into a stainless steel industrial kitchen off to one side behind it and I turned my head to look around the rest of the room.

  A large archway led back into an open area with doors that opened into what were obviously bathrooms. A hallway led back into the dark and likely the rooms Dray had spoken of earlier. There was a glass fishbowl at the back wall across from the front door with black curtains hanging in the window. The door was open and a long scarred metal table took up the center of the small room. In front of that was a pool table and to the right on a back cinderblock wall was a mural of the club’s logo.

  A dance floor was raised and in the center of all the tables and chairs and music played loudly over large speakers against the back wall with the mural. There was a stage in front of it for live performances and I noted the pool table was on locked casters so it could be wheeled away if need be.

  “What do you think?” Dray asked and he was smiling with pride.

  “It’s comfortable.” I said and smiled.

  “Come on, I wanted to introduce you to Trigger and his Old Lady Ashton, Reaver’s over there too.” He took me by the e
lbow and we threaded our way through the tables to a larger one near the dance floor which had a couple of enterprising girls my age already getting down on it.

  The first thing I noticed was a big behemoth of a man sitting at it. He was taller than Dray but they were about equal in muscle mass. He had long blonde hair and the only thing missing to make him absolutely scream ‘Viking’ was the braided beard. He was clean shaven with silvery blue eyes and had a pretty, small woman perched in his lap.

  She had long, long auburn hair that hung loose around her shoulders and flowed down her back. Her eyes were a bright golden color and I’d never seen their like. She had freckles scattered across her nose and wore minimal make up. She didn’t really need any, she had that natural beauty most women would kill for. The looks of love and adoration that she and the Viking were trading were unmistakable and I wondered how long they’d been married.

  “Dray! Is this your stray!?” a man in his mid-to-late-twenties asked Dray.

  He was more slender than either Dray or the Viking and had rich milk-chocolate brown hair that was shorter on the sides and a bit longer in the middle which he had smoothed to a point between his eyes. I think they called the style a faux-hawk. His bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief and laughter, crinkling good naturedly at the corners. He had a dark blue teardrop tattoo at the corner of his left eye and very nearly vibrated with barely contained energy and enthusiasm. He was the kind of guy you meet and instantly take a liking to. His smile was infectious and I smiled back while Dray made introductions.

  “Everett, that’s Reaver.” Dray said indicating the man with the sparkling blue eyes and happy disposition.

  “That’s Trigger and his woman Ashton, but everyone calls her Sunshine on account of her eyes.” Dray pulled out a seat at the table and I shrugged out of my sweater and hung it on the back before slipping into the seat.