When he looked at me, it was like his eyes held me. I couldn't look away. It was like he had something on me.
He didn’t. If anything, I had the goods on him, but that wasn’t how he made me feel. He looked at me like he was happy to see me and ready to forgive. Him. Forgive me.
His eyes even looked bigger than I remembered.
“You been having fun with your new biker friends, Belle?” He smiled like he was looking at a naughty little girl.
I kept my voice even. “I wonder if I had as much fun as you did with my credit card.”
A little laugh sparkled in his voice. “Yeah, shit happens. What can I tell you?”
“You can tell me how much of that eye-bleeder pimpmobile I own.”
“Aww, baby. Even though you dumped me, I can’t stay mad for long. Come sit with me and have a drink.”
When I hesitated, he glowered and his voice rasped, “You’re mine, Belle. Don’t you forget it.” His eyes blazed. Laurent had never acted that way to me in front of other people.
Wait—I hadn’t left him. For a moment there I almost lost sight of what had actually happened, of how he’d run off with the last two months’ rent for our little apartment.
How he took the credit card that I had spent more than a year to build up and he blew it. How he left me broke, stranded, and out of gas with no phone service in the middle of the desert.
He could be explosive in private, but I only knew him to go over the tipping point when his “bulletproof” scheme-of-the-day backfired and blew up in his face.
All of Laurent’s ruses cam to that sooner or later. They always depended on him outsmarting someone, and most people turned out to be a lot smarter than Laurent planned for.
When it all went south, Laurent would barge back into the apartment, mean. Anger stepped out from behind cheap whiskey. Then he’d find something to blame me for.
Anything would do. It didn't have to be something I said, or even something I had actually done.
Could be the dishes or the way that a man had looked at me. I learned that if I said something, anything at all about Daddy at one of those times, it would save me the anxious wait, get the thing over and done with.
“You bitch, you fucking whore!” He'd come at me with his fists balled. His neck would stand out red, his face would flush and the vein in his temple throbbed.
When his arm shot out, his hand would be open. Most often he struck me backhanded across my face. Once or twice it was a wide swing and an open-handed slap.
My head snapped around and my neck jarred at those. Once, the back of my neck felt twisted for a week, and I thought he'd done me some real injury.
Most times, though, I played it up. Made like he’d hurt me much more than he really had. He stopped as soon as he thought he might have done some damage or when my crying brought him back to his senses. Not like Daddy.
Daddy wasn't all tied up in knots and conflicted about it. When he hit you, it was meant to cause you some pain. Getting the pain into you would help get it out of him. He was a bad man, and he wasn’t all twisted up and confused about it.
He knew what he wanted, and all of his thinking stopped right there until he got it. Then he’d figure out whether it was a good idea or not. “Win first. Plenty of time to examine the prize when it's yours.”
I wondered, not for the first time: had I endured violence because I was drawn to violent men? Men like Priest. Men like Laurent. Was I drawn to the men who would give me what I was accustomed to? Did I grow up with the feeling that that it was normal, or that I deserved it?
Or was there a deeper reason? Deep down, did I think somehow that I could have been the reason for Momma leaving Daddy, or whatever it was that happened to her?
There was no memory of Momma. I never remembered seeing her. I didn’t know the sound of her voice.
Daddy only ever said “your momma” three times that I could remember. Those were the only times I saw his eyes mist over. The only times I heard his voice catch. The only moments I ever saw Daddy’s lips tighten and his jaw muscles clench as he turned to look away.
Did I welcome the punishment because inside, I believed it was my due?
Or did I simply get hooked on a fix of pain every now and then?
Chapter 7
LAURENT’S LOOK HARDENED AS he patted the barstool next to him. I didn’t move.
“Didn’t see a ‘property of’ stamp anywhere on her.” Beanie’s voice made Laurent turn. “We gave her a pretty good look over last night.”
As he said it I was remembering some of that. Beanie’s eyes glistened and he looked at me. His voice reminded me of our night’s explorations. Beanie’s and mine, Priest’s and Carlie’s.
The hot scent of the four of us in the room came back to me, and my stomach fluttered.
Laurent narrowed his eyes at Beanie. Beanie’s young, strong, tattooed torso rippled and flexed in the low light. He lifted his eyebrows to meet Laurent’s gaze. Beanie seemed to be growing up right in front of me.
The challenge between Beanie and Laurent grew and it hung in the air with a weight, almost like a solid object. Priest and Carlie both straightened a little, like they were making room.
Priest said that he was going to play pool. Carlie went with him, and I asked Beanie to come along and make a four.
I told Laurent that I would see him later on. When he moved to get up, Beanie looked in his eyes. Laurent stayed on the stool, but I could see he was getting steamed.
That was okay with me. I wanted him to see me having fun, to watch me relax and live the new life that I’d begun to build, right out of the wreck he’d made of my old one.
I hoped that he would feel bad. I wanted him to. I knew it meant that I wasn’t completely done with him, and I wished that I was, but it couldn’t be helped. At least, not right now.
While Priest and Beanie and Carlie and I moved around the pool table taking shots, it felt like we were in a bubble. Something invisible connected us—a bond from the night before, perhaps. Maybe something else, something stronger.
As we played and drank and Carlie and I played songs on the jukebox, Laurent slumped lower on his stool and his face darkened.
As we fetched beers to the pool table, Carlie told me, “Priest’s definitely got an eye for you.” She watched my reaction. I was looking to see if there were traces of jealousy or rivalry—simple envy, even—but I didn’t see any.
“His name means something around here. Not just the club, you know—he’s respected all the way to Vegas. Priest’s not what you’d call a sentimental man, though, Belle.”
“You mean…” I’d started, but I wasn’t sure how to finish. Carlie did it for me.
“I mean he doesn’t get attached.” I looked at Priest and wondered as I handed him his beer. I watched him as we played. Leaning over the pool table, he was certainly a gorgeous hunk of a man.
Next time we went to the bar, Carlie said, “Beanie, now, I think he really likes you,” and there was surprise in her voice. “Belle, nobody gets close to Beanie. Far as I know, nobody ever did.” She looked at me with a kind of curiosity as she said, “Beanie lives for his bike and the club. Nothing else matters to him. Nothing at all.” She looked me up and down. “Until now.”
While Beanie stretched over the table, his leg lifted and his fine ass tightened. Carlie and I both drew a breath.
Later she leaned to speak in my ear, “Gotta say, though, I seen how you and Hawk look at each other.” Her eyes were wide and her mouth made an “O.” “Sneaking little peeks and glances when you don't think the other one's watching…”
She bit her lip as she shook her head slowly. “You’re an earthquake on legs, girl.” And she punched my arm playfully.
When Hawk showed up at the clubhouse later on, Priest and Beanie both looked surprised, but we carried on playing. He waved a greeting, but then he went to the bar.
Jascinta—tall, olive-skinned, and elegant—swished over to Hawk almost as soon as he was in th
e door. I was beginning to see that as well as managing the girls in the clubhouse, Jascinta acted as a kind of a house-mother.
She might have approached Hawk to offer him company from one of the dancers, but she was just as likely to be giving him an earful. Representing the club and taking care of Hawk as a guest, while she watched out for signs of him causing trouble. Taking care of the club’s interests.
It struck me as odd when later I saw Hawk in a huddle with Laurent, but I thought no more about it.
Beanie and I stepped out for a spliff in the hot night air.
Chapter 8
PASSING THE JOINT, HE asked me, “You made enough to fill up your Honda yet?” I looked into his pale, liquid eyes. “Or do you think you might stick around a while longer?”
Beanie touched my neck and my eyelids fluttered as he stroked behind my ear. Pulled gently on the lobe. Tugged a little in my hair.
He held my chin in his hand while he searched in my eyes. I watched his strong lips. My nipples prickled and stung inside my bra, rubbing hard against the fabric. My lips were dry and the tops of my thighs quivered. My body wanted him so badly.
“Beanie, I have feelings for you, I think you know that.” I stroked the pattern on his scalp, dragged my fingers over his hard jaw. “But I’m in a transition right now. My emotions are all mixed up. I’m volatile, Beanie.”
As he reached toward me, I had to stop him. I wanted his hands to find me. I wanted him to take me, to lift my skirt and open me up. To stretch me out and fill me, right there in the desert moonlight against the wood walls of the clubhouse.
Where my juices heated my aching softness. Where my weeping core called out and yearned to close around his hardness.
It took all of my strength to say, “Beanie, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“The frail blow-in with no money for gas protects the big, tattooed biker. How weird is that?”
I said, “Beanie…” As a small grin spread, his lip trembled.
He said, “It’s okay. I know. I saw how your face when you saw Laurent in the bar. I get it.” He reached to touch my neck, but I pulled back. Right then, I couldn’t stand to feel his touch unless I could feel him all the way. Tenderly, he said, “I saw how you looked at Hawk, too.”
The heat of his strong body was too close. I shrank back against the timber side of the clubhouse wall. My breath was hot and heavy. I wanted out of my shirt. I wanted to wrap myself around him, to draw him into me.
His eyes blazed. His hips and mine were no distance apart. I felt his heat rise. I saw the denim stretch. My knees shook. His big hand cupped my neck and his thumb held my chin.
I tasted his breath. My tongue moistened my lips and my eyes started to close. He was so close that his body warmed my stomach. And my hips.
Laurent’s voice shook me like a slap. “Good to see you’re making friends, Belle.”
His face was near and I wanted to smack his grin right off. My whole body shook. Beanie offered him the joint. “Chill, bro.”
Laurent’s face tightened and his eyes stood out even more than they had before. Through his teeth, he said, “I’m not your bro,” and he was gone, back inside.
Chapter 9
MY HEAD WAS FOGGED with more confusion than ever. When Laurent hissed at Beanie, my knees almost gave way. Even after he was gone, my throat was still thick and my breath was heavy.
Beanie looked at me with such a tenderness that I couldn’t bear it. I ran inside. If I hadn’t gotten away that instant, I would have welled up and lost it completely.
Whirls of thoughts and feelings stormed through me as I hurried to the bar. I got a bourbon. Crosscut, the barkeep, watched as I tossed it back.
The fire of the whiskey seared my throat, and it spread like fire as it coursed down through my body.
I should have been helping Crosscut behind the bar, but he said, “Take a little time, Belle. You look like you need it.”
“That’s kind of you,” I said, “but I need to earn. I’m in a hole, you know?”
He put his big hand on mine. “We take care of our own, Belle. Take it easy for now, all right? Get your head straight.”
Our own. Could these people really be so ready to accept me? In the short time I’d been in the clubhouse and around these bikers, I had learned one thing: when they said a thing, they meant it.
Chapter 10
JASCINTA CAME TO THE bar and stood beside me. I expected her to give me a tough time for not pulling my weight in the club.
She leaned toward me, watched my hair as she touched it. She touched my face with a look of concern. She said, “I see turmoil, Belle.”
Still I thought she was talking about me not earning my keep in the club, but she said, “You need to discover what's in your heart and what's in your way. I think you’re in a kind of psychic shock.”
The words resonated inside me. I told her about how Laurent trashed my credit and ran out with the rent.
Jascinta shook her head and said, “This seems like an older wound to me, Belle. I think it’s something you may have carried a long time.” I was suprised by her kind tenderness. She said, “Find some peace, Belle, and try to see what’s really important for you.”
As she left, she added, “Avoid big decisions while you’re suffering this way.”
Some chance of that, I thought. I didn’t see how I’d get through the next twenty-four hours without some pretty big decisions. I thought about what she told me, though.
I felt as though she had seen me clearly., more clearly that I had seen myself of late. It was unsettling, but somehow I felt liberated by it.
I took the next bourbon slowly. I savored the warmth and the rich flavor. I seemed to glimpse myself in a new and different light.
Chapter 11
IT WASN’T LONG BEFORE Laurent dragged his ugly mood to me at the bar. He was tense, irritable, and twitchy.
“Belle, why don’t you just go outside, get in the car, and wait for me? I’ll forget all of this ever happened and we’ll be back on the straight in no time.”
Back on the straight was a refrain of his. He must have heard it at a card table and thought it sounded badass. I was pretty sure he heard it wrong, though.
He looked at me like he expected me to just do what he said. That was how delusional he was. I didn’t move. He reached out for my hand. I snatched it away.
Priest appeared at Laurent’s shoulder. “This is a thing between you and Belle.”
Laurent snarled over his shoulder. He didn’t even turn his head. “So why are you sticking your nose in, biker?”
Priest’s voice quieted a notch. “I give you fair warning.” Laurent’s eyes blazed. His lip tightened and curled as Priest spoke. “Beanie has taken an interest in Belle. I guess I have too, to some degree.”
Laurent’s lip pulled back to show more of his teeth. Priest told him, “You probably don’t want to be seen trying to harm her or take her against her will.”
Priest’s arm rested on Laurent’s shoulder. It looked friendly, but the gleam in Priest’s eye told another story. I sensed that he’d just love an excuse to rip Laurent apart. Knowing that and seeing the two men so close together made me so hot I could hardly stand it.
Beanie: Chokehold – A reverse harem MC romance (Steel Riders Book 3) Page 2
