by Nicole Reed
“That looks disgustin’. Don’t you have something real to eat? Maybe some meat or cheese?” Hold saw the stricken look she gave him.
“No! I’m a vegan.”
“Is that like a California thing?” he asked, watching her flip a lid off another container.
“No, it’s a healthy thing. And it saves animals. Did you know that going vegan saves over one hundred animals a year?” she asked, glaring at him.
“Definitely a California thing,” Hold answered, knowing it pissed her off. He liked to see the fiery heat that filled her cheeks. Shyla pushed a square of chocolate at him. “Chocolate’s vegan?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.
“It’s vegan chocolate. Eat it and shut up.”
He smiled at her sassy attitude. “Blue.” Hold took a bite of the dark chocolate in his hand. The rich, bittersweet taste spread across his tongue.
“Huh?” she asked, setting down a water bottle in front of her and handing him one.
“My favorite color. And I like plain cheese pizza,” he said, glancing at her. She appeared surprised that he answered her. Good. He needed to keep her off her game as much as she kept him off his. “What about you?”
“Blue. And my favorite food is this curry with cabbage, coconut, and potato. I’m a big Thai and Indian food fan.”
“Sorry to say that you won’t find any restaurants here in Harmony to help you out with that curry fix.” Hold watched her nose scrunch up and her lips pout.
“Only drawback to Harmony so far. Favorite cartoon character?” she asked, firing off her next question.
“I don’t like cartoons. Never watched ‘em.”
“I call bullshit. Every kid in America has watched cartoons at some point.”
“Not me. Never interested. I was more into blowin’ shit up,” Hold answered, taking a drink of water.
“This has to be good,” Shyla said, putting away the food and reaching for something else in her bag. A bottle of sunscreen appeared. “Entertain me while you rub some of this on my shoulders. Please.”
He was mesmerized by the beauty turning her back to him. Still lying on his side, he opened the cap and squirted a small amount into the palm of his hand. He slowly rubbed the creamy white lotion against her silky skin. The tips of his fingers didn’t miss the chill bumps that arose by the hundreds. Hold knew that getting the job done quickly was imperative.
When he finished, she turned back to lie flat against the towel beside him. She retrieved a pair of sunglasses to shade her eyes.
“Talk. I want to hear about this fascination with blowing shit up,” Shyla said, not sparing him a glance.
Hold lay next to her, the tops of their shoulders touching. Surprisingly, he began to tell her a childhood story of when he and Mikey got a hold of some bottle rockets. The fireworks were gathered together in a large container that flipped after lighting them. Which happened to be in a Sage’s flower garden. The innocent fireworks turned into a massive explosion that killed every single rosebush.
Shyla laughed, thinking of Sage’s reaction at her rosebush destruction, and eventually flipped onto her back. For the next hour they swapped stories back and forth, both skirting tales that would ruin the relaxed nature surrounding them. In this moment she was just a girl and he was just a guy. It didn’t matter what he did. He wasn’t a man whose past dictated his future. And she wasn’t a woman who he’d no business getting to know.
A sharp crack rang through the soothing silence. Shit! The unmistakable sound of a gun resonated through Hold’s ears. He rolled on top of Shyla, protecting her body, knowing they were easy prey for someone to pick them off. Damn! He’d forgotten himself for a minute, putting not only himself in danger, but her too. Motherfucker! The sound of gears grinding and another loud bang echoed for a good minute.
“I don’t think the car backfiring is going to shoot us,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
He glanced down to stare in her eyes. When he realized they weren’t in any immediate danger, he didn’t get off her at first. Shyla didn’t seem fazed by what happened, of what that sound could’ve meant.
“I’ve been shot. Gears didn’t grind afterward. Telltale sign,” Shyla whispered, answering his unasked question. Not once did she break their visual connection.
“What happened?” he asked, curious to know more about the girl comfortably sheltered underneath him. It was a change for Hold, something he’d not experienced since Hels.
She wiggled her body beneath his and his involuntarily responded. Her hand parted strands of blonde hair, baring the side of her head, and the rigid scar lining her scalp.
“Club business. The bullet luckily only grazed me. I fainted and thankfully a head wound bleeds pretty badly. The men who killed my parents believed they’d done the same to me,” she said, letting her hair fall back in place.
Hold didn’t know what to say. This life wasn’t for everyone. The way Ward ran the MC made yourself or your loved ones responsible for the price of being associated with them. It wasn’t fair and it didn’t have to be that way. What did more money for the club mean if you couldn’t enjoy it because you were locked up or dead? Or if the person you loved couldn’t handle the shit and left without a second glance? He fumbled backward, putting what he thought was a safe distance between him and Shyla.
“For so many years I’ve made myself forget things about my father and mother. Coming to Harmony has triggered so many good memories I locked away. But I remember my father loving his brothers in the club. I knew he loved my mom and me, but it was special what he felt for them. I’m not mad anymore about what was taken from me… a childhood and a family. At least I realize now that he was happy before he died. My dad was where and who he wanted to be,” she said, sitting up.
Hold nodded, not knowing what else he could do or say. This girl leveled him out like no other. He rubbed his bare chest over his pained heart. A phantom ache, he’d heard it called. Now was prime time to get the hell out of Dodge.
“I need to get back to the garage,” he said, standing. His toes dug into the sand.
Shyla’s eyes followed him. Hold felt like he owed her something, but didn’t have a clue as to what that was.
“I know Shady mentioned to you about his band playing tomorrow night. C’mon by the clubhouse and grab a beer. They’ll be a group of us there.” Hold backed away as he talked to her.
“I’ll stop by,” Shyla answered, not moving.
“See ya, Shyla,” he said before turning to walk toward his truck.
This chick wasn’t for him. First off, because of Mikey and second, because all of his old wounds felt fresh around her. Exposed. He’d been down this road and he wasn’t going through that shit again. Not ever again, if Hold could help it.
“It’s Friday night, honey. Do you really want to go to the clubhouse to hang out? We can go have some fun at that bar the next town over, if you want?” Diamond asked Shyla for the hundredth time.
Diamond’s foot released the pedal of her machine as she glanced up from tattooing her latest client, Shyla herself. Shyla had asked for a small black cross with ivy crawling around it. Inside would be her parent’s initials. The pain of the tattoo machine inking her inner forearm was definitely worth the living memorial she would carry on her body forever. Make the ink count, her aunt always reminded her.
The soft buzzing sound quieted. Shyla had been watching in detail, wanting to learn the art of tattooing. She’d been shadowing her aunt for the last several weeks. It seemed such an emotional and intimate art form, and one that interested her. But for now she mainly helped Diamond take care of the ledgers and ordered and stocked supplies.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go?” Shyla asked again, but knew she wouldn’t get an honest answer. She didn’t admit to Diamond that she knew the reason her aunt wanted her to stay away from Hold.
Shady had asked her to come out and listen to his band play. She had initially hoped Mikey would’ve returned to join
her as a friend, but he hadn’t. He’d been gone for almost three weeks and so much had happened. The MC interested her and she wanted to return to hang out.
“Did Hold ask you?” Diamond asked, the lines of her mouth tightening.
“Yes, but I’m sure he’ll be with Carrie tonight. We’re just friends,” she said, her eyes shifting to glance out the window, not wanting Aunt D to see the fucked-up feelings she had inside.
Carrie’s jealousy the last time she’d seen the girl didn’t matter to her. Shyla hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Hold. She even loved his scent: a suitable mix of some masculine cologne combined with residual oil and grease ingrained in his skin. Hold hadn’t stopped invading her dreams… but he was someone else’s.
And then yesterday happened. The day at the beach had been a feigned act of confidence. It was a complete surprise to see him there and absolute torture to talk and laugh with him, but not touch him. Shyla longed to feel her arms wrapped securely around his trim waist again, her thighs and groin pressed intimately against his backside as they rode his bike.
If she weren’t already infatuated with Hold Dawson, being with him yesterday would’ve cemented it. The time they spent getting to know each other crossed so many boundaries for her. Shyla couldn’t read Hold, but she knew without a doubt that still waters ran deep. He had a sense of humor, which surprised and delighted her. When he’d pinned her to the sand, protecting Shyla, she’d gone soft with need and want from witnessing firsthand what was inside of him underneath the tough exterior.
“And what about Mikey?” her aunt asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“We’re just friends.” She shrugged her shoulders.
Shyla was physically attracted to Mikey, liked that he seemed outgoing and funny, something her ex lacked. He seemed to care about getting to know who she was. Hold was just a lustful punch to the gut. She was sure that most living, breathing females, regardless of age, took more than an eyeful when he was near. But Shyla had gotten to know who Hold was and she felt like she’d always known him.
“Just remember our conversations,” Aunt D said, placing her foot back on the pedal.
“I will.”
Hold sat at the bar, drinking a tall boy after a hard day’s work. Mikey called and said they’d be home tomorrow. He hoped he might be able to breathe easier when his brother was safely back in Harmony, safe being a loose term with the way things were with the club.
He needed to run upstairs to shower, knowing the clubhouse would start filling for tonight’s performance at any minute. Shady had started up a band with some of the other prospects. And shit if they didn’t sound decent. Their music was a hardcore alternative rock that most of the club members, old or young, appreciated.
As if on cue, the guys started to arrive with their equipment and began setting up in the corner. Hold fielded hellos while he took one last swallow of his cold beer and headed upstairs to shower. His room hadn’t changed in the past two years. A mattress and box spring sat on a basic metal frame. Off to the side was a small table scarred with cigarette burns and a matching chair. At some point Sage had hung some drawings of motorcycles up on the walls in an attempt to decorate his spartan space.
He stepped through a small door that had a toilet and single shower. Hold switched the water on hot, letting the spray warm up. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the warmth. Turning the knob, he adjusted the nozzle so it massaged his body with water as it cleaned. Streams of droplets rolled over his bare skin and he opened his mouth, letting the water wash away the bitter taste in it.
The sound of his cell made him hurry through his shower. Hold was able to grab it on the last ring. With his other hand he grabbed a towel.
“Yeah,” he said in answer, after seeing it was one of his prospects overseeing the meth issue.
“I’ve got some bad news, Hold. I overheard one of the guys at a local bar here talkin’ ‘bout your motorcycle accident. He kept sayin’ Sandman paid two of his cousins to take you out if they saw you in Barrow County. Just thought you’d wanna know.”
Hold listened, unsurprised at the information. He had his proof, but the question was what to do about it.
“Thanks. Listen, don’t say anything to anyone. Got it?” he asked, ignoring the tinge of pain stinging inside of his chest.
“Yes, sir,” the prospect answered.
He pressed the end button. The damning revelation wasn’t as disturbing as it would’ve been to most. He and Sandman didn’t have a great history and he’d become emotionless when it came to the other man—Hold only wanted retribution instead of repentance, not that he’d get the latter from the soulless man anyway.
Within the hour, he was headed back downstairs. The bass of the music reverberated off the walls. Unlike the picnic, tonight you wouldn’t see anyone’s old lady around the club. This was for the members and the sheep who came out to play. Most of the whores would be looking for status to see how high they could climb, Ward’s or his dick being the ultimate prize. And then there would be the ones looking to be some poor fool’s old lady.
“What up, Hold?” one of the members asked, and others joined in.
They greeted each other in a brotherly handshake and half hug. He spent time talking to them, cutting up, and shooting the shit—nothing serious discussed. His eyes scanned the room.
Ward sat at the bar, drinking beer with several guys. A group stood in front of the band, rockin’ to the music. Others played pool, or pinball, and one group sat at a table in the back with a high-stakes poker game taking place. Plenty of hot-ass chicks circulated around the room, their outfits skimpy or almost non-existent. He was surprised that Carrie hadn’t found him before now. Lately, Hold had made himself scarce, dodging her left and right. He’d ended it with Carrie, but she had yet to take the news to heart.
“They’re really good.”
Hold turned at the sound of the sweet voice behind him. Shyla stood with a beer in hand, wearing a cut-off halter top that showed off her flat midriff, and a jean miniskirt that barely reached her silky mid-thigh. Short skirts were his kryptonite and he was pretty sure Superman never hit on Batman’s girl.
“They’re not bad,” he answered, having to lean down so they could hear each other. The swell of her breasts demanded his attention. Hold tried his best to not find out if she had on a bra.
“I wasn’t going to come, but I’m glad I did,” she said, stretching her long, graceful neck out to speak into his ear.
“Yeah. Shady just put the band together.” Hold wasn’t listening to a damn word she said. He was pretty sure she didn’t have anything on underneath her shirt. Every damn thing about her was a mindfuck for him.
Shyla gave him a strange look. “So where’s Carrie?” she asked, glancing around the room.
It was hard as hell to keep his eyes level with hers. “Uh, I don’t know. Why?” he asked.
“One of the reasons I came tonight was I wanted to clear up any misunderstanding about last week. You know, let her know we’re just friends,” Shyla said, seeming embarrassed.
“Listen, there’s nothing serious between me and Carrie. You don’t need to worry ‘bout that shit. I’ll handle it,” he said, leaning down to whisper directly into her ear. Damn, she smelled good, something sweet enough to lick.
“Hold, I don’t want to cause you any more problems.”
“Well, you’d be the only one who gives a damn whether they’re causing me shit.”
“I’m serious. I’ll talk to her if you need me to.”
For some reason the thought of Carrie and Shyla getting along didn’t sit well with Hold. He knew it was fucked-up to even give a shit, but the woman standing before him didn’t need to be trapped in his world. When his eyes darted from hers, he saw all the male interest directed to where she stood. Not everyone would believe Mikey had called dibs if she was here by herself tonight and to some it wouldn’t matter anyway. He felt the need to watch over her.
“C’mon. There�
�s Badger and Hound. We’ll sit with them,” he said, watching her eyes follow where he nodded.
“He’s probably just here to check up on me. Diamond worries,” Shyla told him, taking a sip of her drink.
“Badger’s a good guy. Most of the married men don’t give a rat’s ass and fuck anything with two… uh…” he stopped, knowing he’d said too much by the look on her face. “But not Badger. Really, I’ve never seen him run with the sheep since he and Big D got married.”
“What the hell is running with the sheep?” she asked, her eyebrows bunching together on her forehead.
“Um… sheep are chicks who come around the clubhouse lookin’ to hook up,” he said, watching the realization dawn on her face.
Her mouth formed in a tight little circle. His imagination went mad, imagining those pursed lips wrapped tight around his cock, those sexy, tilted eyes looking up at him as she sucked him dry. He felt himself start to harden with his x-rated thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “Maybe I should head over to sit with my uncle.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said, trying not to laugh at her comical facial expression.
They sat at the table with Badger and Hound. Both of the men discussed something while he and Shyla listened to the band. Hold realized the group didn’t even have a name. Someone brought him a beer at one point and refilled hers. He watched Shyla shut her eyes to feel the music, bobbing her head, and damn if it didn’t look sexy as hell. Hold made himself turn away.
“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” she yelled, reaching over to tap his hand that lay on top of the table.
“C’mon, I’ll show you,” he said, standing to show her the location.
They maneuvered through the throng of people, wending through bodies gyrating to the blaring music. Cigarette, cigar, and marijuana smoke combined to give the cleanest of souls a high and he naturally inhaled. Hold guided her to a darkened corner that opened up to a short hallway.
