by A. J. Norris
“Speak of the devil, here he comes.”
She looked over her shoulder. Parked next to her Jeep was Heath’s motorcycle and he was walking toward them. She raised her hand in greeting and he stopped under the floodlight before the front door.
“Hey, Becky.” He grinned at Rebecca. “Long time, no see.”
Rebecca scowled. “Don’t call me that.”
“What are you doing here?” Vera asked him, suddenly feeling very exposed. Seeing him so soon after spilling their night to Rebecca seemed oddly intimate.
“I can’t come see you?” he asked, drawing near.
“Yeah,” Rebecca cut in, stepping backward to where her car was parked. “I’m going to bail before you guys fornicate all over the parking lot.”
Vera gaped at her while Heath only laughed. “She’s still as vulgar as she was in high school.”
“Well, I’m sorry. The bar’s closed.”
“I didn’t come for a drink.” He pulled her to him and kissed her. “I wanted to take you for a ride.”
“But it’s so dark out.” It was nearly midnight and most of the back roads didn’t even have streetlights.
Heath smirked. “Come on, V. Don’t you trust me? Let’s just take a ride.”
“I don’t know…” She looked toward her Jeep.
He began pulling her toward his bike. “Just trust me.”
She bit her lip and watched as he threw his leg over the motorcycle and kicked it to life with a roar. He didn’t say anything, only looked back at her, waiting. Vera didn’t know what scared her more—being on the back of a motorcycle, or being so close to him. Throwing caution to the wind, she climbed behind him and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle, pressing her cheek against the cool leather of his vest.
“Ready?” he asked.
She answered him with a squeeze and off they went. Her eyes were shut tight as they left the parking lot and stayed that way for some time. She felt the cool summer night air brush over her skin and she waited for the moment they both fell to their deaths on the road. But it didn’t come.
Vera took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She watched the darkened trees as they passed them, feeling the vibrations of the bike’s motor between her legs. She was glad she had braided her hair that day, as it whipped against her back in the wind. It was freeing, in a weird way, being on the back of such a crazy vehicle, putting her life in Heath’s hands.
He turned down several streets, passing darkened homes, the lone gas station, and a small strip mall. They cruised down the empty roads and the longer they rode, the more comfortable she became. It was almost like flying. She was practically disappointed when she saw her own house come into view in the motorcycle’s headlight.
Heath pulled into the driveway and turned off the bike, waiting until Vera fell unsteadily to her feet before dismounting.
He ran his hand through his windblown hair. “Fun?”
“Yeah, it wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be.” She glanced up toward her house, lit by a single porch light. “But why take me home?”
“Having you so tight behind me made me want to get you to a bed.” He drew her close. “Your car will be fine up at the bar.”
Vera smiled and drew her keys from her purse, holding them up to him. “After you.”
Heath’s breaths were steady and slow beside her, evenly paced by sleep. Her room was glowing in the faint early-morning light. She had forgotten to draw the shades when they shambled, half-clothed, to her bedroom the evening before.
Vera sat up and slid from the bed, pulling on her oriental silk robe and tying her hair up in a high ponytail. She thought she’d make breakfast, something sweet and filling. She pondered her choices while she brushed her teeth, but as she left the bathroom, her eyes fell upon Heath’s vest, which was draped over her desk chair. The label sent an odd pang of dread into her center.
She didn’t know much about motorcycle clubs, only what she saw on television, but none of it was overly flattering. They highlighted crime, prostitution, drugs, and a general noncompliance with society at large. Riders were said to be dangerous, giving little regard to others that weren’t in their tight-knit community. Yes, Vera had heard a great many terrible things, but none of them seemed to fit the Heath Bronson she knew.
“You okay?” Heath asked. He was leaning up on one elbow, watching her stare at his vest.
Vera pursed her lips and nodded.
“Don’t lie.”
“It’s nothing.” She fiddled with the tie around her waist.
“Talk to me.” He sat up and patted the bed beside him.
Vera crawled over the comforter, settling in beside him. She kept her eyes on the wall, carefully sorting through her thoughts. “This…the Ironside Sinners…um…”
“What is it?”
“Is it…is it very much like on TV?” she inquired, feeling stupid for even asking.
He smirked. “Do I ride around all day shooting up cop cars and beating up hookers?”
She felt her chest, neck, and cheeks fill with burning heat. “Never mind. I’m just being silly.”
“No, you’re not. It’s a valid question. But we’re not like on TV.”
Vera wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe that he wasn’t involved in drugs and gang violence. She tried to push the intrusive images from her mind, but she had seen how heroin and meth had killed her mom, and could never imagine being anywhere close to that kind of life again. And the mere idea of Heath being involved in something that almost ruined her life made her stomach churn.
Heath put an arm around her. His fingers skimmed over the intricate crane tattoo on her shoulder. As if he could read her thoughts, he said,” I know a lot of MCs that smuggle drugs or turn them out for easy cash, but we don’t. I get into some shit, but there are some things I don’t touch.”
Vera turned to him. “Then what do you do?”
“This and that and a few other things we shouldn’t,” he told her noncommittally. His gaze was steady and his face placid.
“I don’t like the sound of that.” For the past few days, she hadn’t thought about what the vest and the name stitched upon it really meant.
“I don’t hurt anybody, V. I don’t fuck around with trafficked women and I don’t sling drugs. I don’t do anything that would get someone like you hurt.”
“Then do you do things that would hurt you?”
He paused a moment before answering. “Probably not. I’ve been lucky so far.” He nudged her gently.
“Not funny.”
He picked up one of her hands and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Just trust me, V.”
“I want to,” she replied in a whisper, leaning further into the warm expanse of his chest.
They lay together, watching her room fill up with light. It was strange, being there in silence, but Vera found it oddly comforting. It was nice to be held tightly in Heath’s arms and listen to the continual thumping of his heart. She needed to trust that he hadn’t lied to her. Because wasn’t it Vera, herself, who had been the liar all those years ago? Vera needed to relax, release, and let her irrational fears of the past be washed away by her hope and happiness in the present.
Chapter Four
“Come down to the farm tonight,” Heath murmured into her hair. His fingers slid beneath the hem of her shirt and Vera was glad they were hidden from the bar by her car and the darkness of night.
“Should I?”
“Mhm.” He nipped at her neck and reached for the hem of her skirt.
She batted him away with a grin. “Stop, someone might see.”
“No, they won’t.” He lifted the light cotton and brushed his hand over her lace panties. “Trust me.”
“You say that a lot,” Vera purred, gasping a bit as he slipped one finger over the edge and into her core. Her mind wandered drunkenly toward the bar. A patron could leave at any moment and catch them in the act. But as Heath cupped a breast through the fabric of her bra and slid his
tongue into her mouth, Vera couldn’t find a single fuck to give.
“Hurry,” Vera growled against Heath’s lips.
“I would, but I don’t have a condom.”
Vera groaned. The heat growing within her was becoming unbearable. She couldn’t wait a solid eight hours before getting the release she needed. “Are you clean?”
“As a fucking whistle.”
She grabbed hold of the edges of his vest. “And I’m on the pill.”
A devious smile slid across Heath’s handsome face and he grabbed her ass beneath her skirt. His grip was strong and his mouth fell onto hers. She fumbled with his belt, but he brushed her hands aside and did it himself. In a second, he had her turned around and pressed against the hood of her Jeep, the side of her panties pushed hastily aside to allow him access from behind.
Vera suppressed a moan with her hand as he entered her, his movements swift and his rapid passes into her body, smooth. But Vera didn’t care. The thrill of having Heath bend her over, so close to her place of work, aroused her more than his careful ministrations did the night before. Her breasts pushed against the cold metal beneath and she felt Heath’s fingers digging into her hips. It was raw, hard, and had a level of exhibitionism that Vera had never experienced. It wasn’t long until they both peaked, Heath spilling himself into her.
“I…I guess I’ll come…to the farm…later,” Vera breathed, straightening up and righting her skirt with shaking hands. Her knees felt like Jello. She couldn’t believe she had done that—had unprotected sex in the open with someone she…well, she knew him…but knew him six years before, and barely did in that moment.
“You better get to work.” Heath buckled his belt and pressed his lips to her cheek before slapping her lightly on the ass. “Try to close up early. I don’t think I can wait too long for you. And I don’t think your boss would appreciate me fucking his star employee in the back of the bar.”
Vera’s jaw fell open and she leaned back against her Jeep almost in disbelief at his words. While some men might say things like that for the shock value, she knew Heath was being serious.
He hopped onto his bike. It roared to life and peeled out of the parking lot. Vera took several more minutes to regain her senses before going into the bar. She felt like it was going to be a very long night.
The drive to Heath’s Uncle Jem’s farm was second nature to Vera. She had made almost the same drive for many of her high school years, and knew the way by heart. She hadn’t thought to ask if the mob of Ironside Sinners Heath had come into town with would be there—she had heard they were still in Erikson, but she hoped they wouldn’t be at the farm. Seeing them all together might be too much…at the least, it would be a reminder that the old Heath Bronson she knew was now the now Sergeant at Arms of a motorcycle club.
She was pleased to see the yard of the old farmhouse empty, save for Heath’s bike, parked close to the front door. She stopped beside it, and got out of the car, looking over her shoulder at the faded red barn, its white accents glowing in the moonlight. Vera smiled wryly, remembering the hours spent up in the hayloft.
“Hey.” Heath stood on the darkened porch, leaning against an old wooden column.
“Hey, yourself,” she responded, pulling her purse and an additional bag from her Jeep.
“What do you have there?”
Vera held up the large tote. “I stopped at home on my way. I needed the necessities.”
Heath stepped off the porch and walked, barefoot, over the dead grass to her. He took her bag and led her inside the familiar home. It had been six years since she had last been in Jem’s farmhouse. It was like a museum. Nothing had changed in all that time, down to the framed prom picture of her and Heath on the side table in the living room.
“Weird, isn’t it?” he asked, dropping her bag to the couch.
“Maybe a little. You were quite the golden boy…all-star baseball player, straight-A student.”
“A bit different than now, huh?”
“You could say that.” She glanced up at the line of stuffed deer heads over the fireplace. “I’m sorry about Jem, by the way. He was a good guy.”
“Yeah, well, he enjoyed his last few years in Florida.”
“Why didn’t he ever sell this place then? After retiring, I mean.”
“He said he always wanted to give me a place to go home to.”
Vera bit her lip. Jem always was the sentimental type, deep down, under the chain-smoking and the old-timer attitude. It was just like him to leave the place untouched for Heath. She looked back at the prom picture. They both looked younger, she in a long yellow dress and Heath in a rented tux.
“So awkward.” He chuckled, tipping the frame over and placing it face down on the table. “I don’t want the guys seeing this.”
“Are they here?”
He shook his head and stepped nearer, a smile playing on his lips. “Nope. For now, it’s just you and me. And, V, I got plans for you.”
Vera was jarred awake by a loud noise. She blinked against the darkness of Heath’s old bedroom and reached out to him, finding his place in the bed cold. She heard another sound, akin to a laugh, and sat up quickly in bed, clutching the blanket to her bare breasts. She reached down and groped about the floor. She found a shirt and pulled it on, recognizing it, dimly, as the Ironside Sinners t-shirt Heath had been wearing earlier that evening.
She turned on the lamp beside the bed and grabbed her bag. She took out a pair of lacy shorts, shoving them on as the laughter and voices grew louder. She peered out the window and saw dozens of bikes lined up before the house beside a large trailer truck. It was beyond her how she had slept through the noise that must have made, but at the same time, Heath had certainly tired her out.
Vera debated waiting for Heath, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. It was nearly three in the morning and she wanted to know what was so pressing, Heath had snuck out of bed. There was a nagging feeling picking at her subconscious, telling her she would find him surrounded with kilos of Mexican heroin. The thought made her heart ache uncomfortably. When they were in their little bubble of old feelings and wistful caresses, it was easy to forget what kind of things he did for a living.
The hundred-year-old floor usually creaked when you walked, but Vera still recalled where to step, and she made her way silently down the dark hall and the narrow staircase. When she hit the living room, she could see light coming from the kitchen and Heath’s voice calling attention to the loud group that appeared to have been assembled.
“We have fifty units of this here,” Heath told them.
There were murmurs from the other men.
“And about a hundred of these in the truck,” Heath continued.
Vera wished she knew what he was talking about. The angel on her shoulder told her to mind her own business and just trust him like he asked, but the devil on the other urged her forward.
She tiptoed over the faded carpet, standing just at the edge of the kitchen. Vera was partially hidden behind a large grandfather clock, which no longer ticked. And while she didn’t see the tightly wrapped bags of drugs she had almost expected, what she did find was arguably just as terrible.
Heath stood beside the fridge, a dozen of his biker brothers leaning against the far wall or sitting around the old kitchen table, which was loaded heavily with firearms. Heath held a rather large and savage-looking assault rifle, inspecting it with a practiced eye. He looked up, about to say something, but stopped when he caught sight of Vera, who wasn’t as well hidden as she thought. She saw his jaw tense and some of the guys followed his gaze to where she stood.
Vera, wide-eyed, forced her bartender smile onto her face and held her hands behind her back, hoping to quell the shaking. “Hello.”
“Hey, it’s the waitress from the bar!” a man with a wild beard exclaimed, a grin on his face. Vera recognized him. He had been the one to order the first round.
“Guys, this is Vera.” Heath had finally found his voic
e. He slowly placed the gun onto the table and rounded the kitchen, coming to stand beside her. “This is V.”
Most of the guys nodded as if they were familiar with her high school nickname and some waved while others tipped their beer bottles up at her.
“V, you a gun gal?” a tall, lanky man asked.
Vera shook her head, focusing on staying upright. “Not particularly. But thank you…”
“Snake,” Heath offered. Then he began pointing to each of the rest in turn. “And that’s Theo, you’ve met Petey with the beard, Vice President Ace, that’s Austin, over there is Big G, and our president, Frank.”
He introduced several more, but their names escaped her. She just stood and smiled, laughing when the others did and even taking an offered beer, letting it grow warm in her hands. She felt Heath’s arm, heavy over her shoulder. While the display of affection would once hearten her, it now felt like a motion of ownership. It almost disgusted her.
“Okay, we’re done for tonight,” Frank announced. “Austin is going over the itinerary for our ride to Pittsburgh.”
There was more, Vera knew it, but she didn’t process it. She was still in shock over what she had seen. She kindly said her goodbyes and allowed Heath to lead her back up to his room. They both stayed silent until the door was closed tightly behind them. Vera sat uneasily on the edge of the bed, her eyes trained on the floor. Heath. Gentle, kind, smart Heath was selling—trafficking—smuggling guns?
Heath knelt beside her legs, taking her hands in his. “V, you okay?”
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered quietly, the numbness she felt slowing turning into nausea.
“Vera, it’s just—”
“Guns, Heath. I come downstairs and your kitchen has a big pile of guns on the fucking table.” Her voice was steady, quiet. “What the fuck?”
“I know it looks—”
“It looks like a whole bunch of illegal firearms. That’s what it looks like. You told me you weren’t like that, Heath.”
