Savage Night_A Motorcycle Club Romance_Skull Riders MC

by Lena Pierce

  Brittany pushes her pale blue glasses up her nose. Only a woman like Brittany would have ten pairs of glasses. “I don’t know where this anger is coming from,” she says, “and frankly, I find it insulting and unwarranted. You never asked me to keep this a secret. If I remember correctly, you never mentioned anything like that at all.”

  “I don’t get you, Brittany. What’s your problem with me? Why would you tell everybody?”

  She looks genuinely confused. “Listen to me, Willa,” she says slowly. “If I had any clue you’d be this upset, I never would’ve told a single person. But you never asked me to keep it quiet—”

  “I shouldn’t have to ask!” I snap. “It should go without saying!”

  “You’re annoying me now,” Brittany declares. “You’re getting angry at me for not doing something you didn’t ask me to do. Surely you realize how ridiculous that is?” She leans in closer, her voice vicious, whipping at me. “You really shouldn’t talk to me like that. Don’t forget that you’re just an intern, Willa. Soon you’ll be gone. When does it end, your internship? December? Interns don’t get maternity leave, remember, and how likely do you think it is that you’ll be hired now that everybody knows you’re pregnant? Oh, everybody talks about job equality, but why would they hire you over somebody who’s not going to poop out a brat in nine months?”

  I feel tears stinging my eyes. She’s cutting right to the heart of the matter. Even if I have been confused about whether or not I want this job, I don’t want it wrenched away from me like that. “I’ll tell them who the arsonist is!” I blurt.

  I immediately regret saying it. I wipe my eyes and barge past Brittany, going to my desk and dropping into the chair, heart thudding, head aching, everything feeling dreamlike and dizzy. I shouldn’t have said that, I reflect. That was a big mistake.

  I start my work for the day, hoping that nobody will bother me and I can just go home to Diesel. I need to stay focused, block out the rest of the world. But then Peter is standing over my desk, pointing at his office. His mouth is moving but I hardly hear the words. He’s going to fire me, I think in a panic. That could never happen with a normal contract. With internships, though, anything goes.

  I think about all my dreams of being a reporter. They were vague before. But the idea of losing the chance makes them solid. Suddenly losing this job seems like a catastrophe, if only because I know how difficult it is for people my age—even college-educated people—to find work.

  He closes the door to his office behind me, and then walks around his desk and drops into the chair. “What do you mean, you know who the arsonist is?” He squints at me, steepling his fingers. He looks like he’d enjoy nothing more than tearing my throat out for leaving him last night.

  Brittany. I can’t believe I ever considered her a friend.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, keeping my voice innocent.

  Peter leans forward, opens his mouth, and then jumps to his feet and starts pacing the room. “Don’t mess me around, Willa,” he says. “You’ve messed me around enough already, treating me like I’m a piece of dirt on your shoe, treating me like a loyal dog who’s just oh-so-desperate for another kicking.” He wrings his hands. “You’ve messed me around personally. I won’t let you do it professionally, too. Listen to me.” He paces over to me. His eyes are bloodshot. I wonder if he got drunk last night after I left, if he’s still a little drunk now. “You’re an intern, so unless you share what you have with us, you better start looking for another job, because this station won’t take you any longer.”

  Then he lurches forward, grabbing my leg. “You’re such a dirty bitch.”

  I slap him across the face, hard. “You’re a fucking pig!” I hiss. And that’s the worst part. I want to be quiet just in case anybody hears.

  He laughs and waves a hand at the door. “You better have something we can use, or it’s bye-bye to journalism, Willa. I won’t let you walk all over me anymore.”

  I walk from the office, leg burning from where he touched me. I know that I could call up Diesel right now and by the end of the day Peter would be a picture of bruises and cuts. But I don’t do that. Instead I sit at my desk, seething, wondering what to do.

  Chapter Twenty

  Willa

  The rest of the day is torture. I sit locked in my cubicle, not moving for anybody or anything, skipping lunch, just typing and refusing to look away from the screen. I won’t let them see how shaken up I am. I won’t let them see how much they’ve gotten to me. I remember the confusion I felt when I discovered I was an orphan, that Mom had died just as Dad had died, that I was alone now. I felt torn, as if part of me had died with them. This is different, of course, because now all that can die is my career, but I still feel a tinge of that confusion. Part of me is even considering giving Peter what he wants. Not Diesel, but maybe the Skull Riders …

  I swallow guilt and shame. When it’s time to leave, I can’t get to the elevator quickly enough.

  I walk out of the station fast, powerwalking to the place where Diesel and I usually meet. He’s waiting there, sitting against his bike, chewing on the wooden end of a matchstick. When he sees me, he tosses the stick to the ground and offers me the helmet and the jacket. We ride back to his apartment. I’m glad for the growl of the engine, meaning we don’t have to talk. I’m glad for the shield of the helmet. But then I’m sitting on the couch and Diesel is sitting next to me. I have to tell him, I reflect. He needs to know. He has to have a say in what happens now. I can’t take this responsibility alone.

  “I have something to tell you,” I say.

  He turns to me. “Okay …”

  Looking at him, I can see that he’s worried, constantly worried that I’m going to flip and turn into somebody else, march out of here and leave him. I guess it’s because of his dad. I try and imagine my parents beating me so badly that the scars would be visible decades later, and I can’t. It’s impossible to imagine. His dark green eyes are locked on my face.

  “Willa?” he asks, when I don’t speak. “Are you going to leave me drowning here? I’m not too skilled at this relationship stuff, but the last time I checked you don’t say you have something to tell someone and then just stare at them.”

  “Relationship stuff,” I mutter. “Is that what this is, Diesel?”

  He shrugs. “That’s what I thought it was,” he says.

  I place my hand on top of his. “So I’m your girlfriend now?” I feel like a teenager, but I want it to be real. I want it to be official.

  “Yes,” he says. “You’re my girl now.”

  “So that means you’re never going to set fire to another building?”

  A look of uncertainty flits across his face. He hardens it, pushing the uncertainty away. “I’m never doing that again. I’m done with it. If they come for me, they come for me, but I ain’t their fuckin’ blowtorch.”

  “The club would hurt you?” I whisper. “Really?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t think so. But you never know, not when outlaws are concerned. Dammit, Willa, what d’you need to tell me?”

  I know that if I tell him, I’ll be pulling us together. He wants a kid badly. There’s no way for me to tell him I’m pregnant without making him attached to me more than he already is. We’ll be more than official then. We’ll be welded together, as though the heat from all his fires has sealed us shoulder to shoulder. And I want that, I realize. I want that badly.

  But the words won’t come. I open my mouth and nothing but a croak comes out. They just won’t come.

  “All right, let me guess.” He lets go of my hand and holds up all ten of his fingers. “Let me see. You’re a secret agent working for Homeland Security? No.” He drops a finger. “You’re actually a member of another biker club. No? Okay, so you’re my secret twin and you’re trying to tell me we’ve made a terrible mistake. Your name isn’t really Willa, it’s Wilma. You feel like shit for lying to me about that one letter.” He goes on, knocking his fingers down with r
idiculous idea after ridiculous idea until I’m laughing like a loon. For a moment, I feel carefree. I wish it could always be like this.

  “Come on,” he says. “You can tell me.”

  I take a deep breath, readying myself. I don’t know why this is so hard. “I’m pregnant, Diesel,” I say. “I’m pregnant with your baby.”

  His face freezes for a moment. It could go either way. He could smile or he could scowl. In the end, the smile which lifts his lips makes him look like a different man, a new man. I’ve never seen him smile like this. It’s not his cheeky grin, or his wicked grin, or any kind of grin. It’s an ear-to-ear, uncontrollable smile. “If this is a joke,” he says, “it’s a damned cruel one.”

  “It’s not a joke,” I say. “Are you really happy?”

  “Happy,” he repeats. “That word doesn’t even come close. Happy! I can’t believe this.” He jumps to his feet, grabs me, and then lifts me up. “I’m taking you in to the bedroom.”

  He lifts me over his shoulder, being careful to do it softer than he usually would. I squeal, suddenly forgetting about work, about Peter, about everything. The bedroom … He carries me through the threshold and drops me into the bed, staring down at me. I stare back at him. I want him so badly, my body is gnawing itself from the inside out with the desire, desperate for his touch. He leans down, bringing his lips to mine. I close my eyes, letting myself sink into oblivion. Tomorrow might be difficult, but tomorrow can take care of itself. I’m with the father of my child and nobody can take that away from us—

  “Police! Open up!”

  The front door to the apartment pounds loudly, interrupting our pleasure. Diesel pauses, tilting his head, his old cynical grin on his face as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

  “Police!” The door pounds again. “Don’t make us ask twice!”

  I stand up, hopping from foot to foot. “What do we do?” I ask. “What the hell do we do?”

  “Wait, just wait.”

  “Police! Police!”

  Diesel clenches his fists. “You haven’t committed any crimes, Willa. You’ll be okay. But just in case, we need to get you out of here. I won’t have some fuckin’ cop interrogating you, making you feel like shit. Come on.” Without waiting for my response, he takes me into the living room, to the window and nods at the fire escape. “I want you to climb down. Wait.” He darts into the bedroom and returns with a bundle of fifties, all the while the police are banging on the door. He shoves the bundle into my hand. “Take these. Climb, now!”

  “What about you?” I ask, standing at the open window.

  “If I come with you, they’ll chase us. When you get to the bottom, there’ll probably be a cop there. Just tell him you’re sneaking out because your boyfriend’s wife is home or some shit. Or that you smelled gas. Anything, but don’t mention me. Go now, Willa. Don’t wait on me.”

  “Police! Police!”

  I stand on my tiptoes, kissing him firmly on the lips. He breathes me in and then grabs my shoulders and is about to pull me closer, but then something in him snaps and he pushes me away. “Go!”

  Feeling like I don’t have a choice, I climb out of the window and make my way down the fire escape. I walk slowly, carefully, thinking of my baby. I climb down the ladder and drop down into the alleyway, still shocked by everything that’s happening. Moments ago—at least it feels like moments—Diesel and I were about to have sex. Now I’m walking out of the alleyway, a cop striding toward me.

  “Miss!” he calls. “Miss, what are you doing?”

  “I—” Suddenly all Diesel’s lies fade. Lying to the police isn’t my world. “I—”

  He’s a young man, even younger than me, with a pink face and a button nose. His eyes move to my pants. I think he’s checking me out but then I notice he’s staring at my pocket, at the bulge of notes.

  “One hundred dollars,” I whisper, hoping he doesn’t accuse me of bribery. The street is blocked with three police cars, their lights flashing. Soon they’ll bring Diesel out and maybe he’ll look at me. He won’t mean to but he’ll look at me and the cops’ll drag me away with him, dragging our baby. Or this young man’s superior will shout over to him, and he’ll bring me before him for inspection.

  “One-fifty,” the young man mutters. “And you can be on your way, miss.”

  I pay the cop, feeling dirty, and then make my way down the street toward the parking lot where there’s a clear view of Diesel’s apartment building. I mean to watch him being taken out, make sure they haven’t hurt him. What I don’t expect to see is Peter standing by the railing with his notepad in his hand, watching Diesel’s apartment building closely. He’s so captivated by the scene, he doesn’t even realize when I come and stand next to him. He leaps out of his skin when I tap him on the shoulder.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I snap.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he says, turning back to the apartments. “I didn’t expect this, but a reporter always has to be ready.” He tapped his pen against his notepad. “So this is your boyfriend, then? A man wanted by the police? You really are a classy lady, Willa.”

  I feel like snatching the notepad from his hand, but I imagine Peter calling out to the police and trying to get me arrested, just the sort of cowardly, scumbag thing he’d do. “You followed me here,” I say. “You followed me like some sort of creep. Were you waiting in your car and trailing me down the street? What’s wrong with you, Peter?”

  They bring Diesel out and push him into the backseat of the car, and then the three cop cars drive away. I watch, biting my fingernails, not knowing what to do. Diesel, arrested, and for what? Do they know about the fires, or has he done something else? I find myself resting my hand on my belly, as if asking my unborn baby what his or her father has done.

  Peter nods matter-of-factly when Diesel is taken away, and then turns to me. “Wrong with me?” He laughs harshly. “Are you seriously asking me that question? You’re going to stand there and ask me that question. You, Willa, you, the whore who dressed like a fucking porn star and pranced about my apartment and wondered why I thought something was going on. You, the whore who led me on. You’re a dirty little slut.”

  “I completely misjudged you, Peter,” I say, turning away from him.

  He shouts something after me. I ignore him and march away, clenching my fists, thinking of Diesel in prison while our child is growing up.

  I check into the first motel I find with the money Diesel gave me, lie on the springy bed, and stare up at the ceiling. I need to do something to help him, but what?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Diesel

  “You’ve gotta tell me why I’ve been arrested,” I say, when the weasel-looking bastard pushes me into the holding cell. “You’ve at least gotta tell me that, dammit.”

  The man smashes his nightstick against the bars of the cage. “Shut your fucking mouth!” he roars. He’s one of those small men who hate men my size, I guess. There were a lot of those in the slammer, guards mainly, who’d signed up just so they could bully men who’d made them feel small in high school. “If we want to talk to you, we’ll talk to you. Otherwise, shut your cunt mouth.”

  I almost laugh at the man. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been called a cunt before. But I know how the slammer works. If I laugh at him, later on tonight he and four of his buddies will find me in the dark, come at me with Tasers and sticks, and I’ll have no way of fighting back as they beat me to a pulp. I swallow, stepping back into the cell, dropping into the hard metal seat. I sit there for a long time, wringing my hands, wondering if they’ve got me on the fires or something else. When they got me for hitting my dad’s police buddy, they told me straightaway what I was arrested for. This is damn weird.

  I close my eyes at some point, but I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about prison, about how I was a target for everyone in there because of my dad, and even with Grimace’s protection I still got more than my fair share of beatings. I think about the time som
e asshole shanked me twice in my side, blood pissing everywhere. Even when I kicked his legs from underneath him and broke his arm, I didn’t feel better.

  The worst part about prison is how you’re not a person anymore. They lock you up and treat you like cattle. Move here, eat now, sleep now, do this, do that. For a man who lives with an engine growling under his ass, the open road telling him he can go anywhere he wants, it’s terrifying. I don’t know if I’ll survive prison a second time, especially since the only reason I wasn’t killed last time was Grimace. I don’t think Grimace is going to be sending me help now.

  At some point I fall asleep sitting up, a skill I learned on my first run in prison. When I wake up, it’s morning and my head is groggy. I was dreaming of Willa and my kid. We were at the park and Willa was wearing a pink dress which fluttered in the breeze, and soon the dress was fluttering so much it covered the whole park, and then the whole country, and then the whole world. At the end of the dream I was looking down at a pink-covered planet. I’ve never been much for dream interpretation. I have no idea what it means.