“Take me home,” she said again.
“Or we can let ’em sleep. Go to your dad’s room,” he suggested, and that did it.
With a violent wrench, she tore her hand from his, turned on her foot, and raced from the room.
Much more slowly, Shy put the bottle on a dresser, snapped off the lights, and followed her. He wasn’t alarmed. She didn’t have wheels and she was in high heels, there wasn’t far she could go.
Surprisingly, when he exited the Compound, she was sitting in the passenger side of his truck, her head turned to look out the side window.
Yeah, she was ready to go home.
He didn’t delay in moving to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting her up. Tabby didn’t look his way as he reversed out and headed toward Broadway.
They were well on their way through Denver to the foothills where Tack and Cherry lived, where Tab still lived with them and their two new boys before he spoke into the heavy air in the cab.
“You’re a good kid, Tabby. Don’t let your mother treating you like shit kick your ass. Get off that path.”
“You’re on that path,” she whispered to her window.
“Babe, I’m not. I’m a man and I got brothers. I chose a lifestyle and a brotherhood. It’s different for you and you know it. The bullshit you’re pullin’, the path you’re on, no joke, even if you wanted the life, wanted to be an old lady, that wouldn’t work for you no matter what respect we got for your dad. The path you’re on heads you straight to bein’ a BeeBee, and you know that too.”
She didn’t speak but Shy figured his point was made. Tabby knew BeeBee, everyone did. BeeBee had been banned from spreading her legs and spreading her talent throughout every member of the Club after she stupidly went head to head with Cherry. But even gone, she was not forgotten. Back then, Tabby had been way too young to know BeeBee in any real way other than seeing the way BeeBee hung on and put out. But there was no way to miss her use to the Club, even for a teenage girl.
His point made, he also kept quiet the rest of the way to Tack’s house.
He parked outside the front door and she instantly undid her seat belt and threw open the door. He turned to see she’d twisted to jump out and opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t get it out. He had no idea how she explained it to her father when a brother brought her home, but that was her problem, not his.
She turned back and all words died in his throat when he saw by the cab’s light the tears shimmering in her eyes and the tracks left by the ones that had slid silently down her cheeks.
His body went rock solid at the evidence of the pain his lesson caused. Deserved, he knew, but it still hurt like a mother to witness. So when she leaned in, he didn’t move away.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered. “But now, I know you, and, Shy…you’re a dick.”
Even with these words, she still lifted her hands, placed them on either side of his head and angled closer. Pressing her lips against his, that sweet, pink tongue of hers slid between his lips to touch the tip of his tongue before she let him go just as quickly as she’d grabbed hold. She jumped out of the cab and ran gracefully on the toes of her high-heeled sandals up the side deck and into the house.
Shy had shifted to watch her move, his chest and gut both ablaze, the brief but undeniably sweet taste of her still on his tongue.
The light on the side of the house went off, and he was plunged into darkness.
“Shit,” he muttered before he put the truck in gear and turned around.
As he drove home, he couldn’t get her tear-stained cheeks and wet eyes out of his head.
He also couldn’t get her taste off his tongue.
* * * * *
Five months later…
The bell over the door of Fortnum’s Used Books rang as Shy pushed it open.
Shy came to Fortnum’s for one reason, and it wasn’t to buy used books. It was because they had a coffee counter and seating area in the front of the store, and everyone in Denver knew that the man named Tex who worked the espresso machine was a master. Shy liked beer, bourbon, and vodka, occasionally tequila, sometimes Pepsi, but with the way he lived his nights, his mornings always included a whole lot of coffee.
Tex’s eyes came to him as he moved through the tables and armchairs scattered in front of the espresso counter and he boomed a “Yo, travelin’ man! Usual?”
Shy jerked up his chin in the affirmative, but something caught his attention from the side, and he looked that way to see Tabby sitting at the round table tucked in the corner.
The fire hit his chest.
She had books and notepads stacked around, two empty coffee cups on the table, one half full. She was bent over a book, elbow on the table, hand in her mane of hair at the top of her head, holding it away from her face. Her concentration was on a book and a notepad in front of her, pencil in hand.
He hadn’t seen her since that night he gave her the lesson and took her home. She wasn’t a regular at Ride or at the Compound, but she was around. She was tight with Cherry; they went shopping together a lot, and Tabby met Cherry there when they went. Sometimes she studied in the office while Cherry worked. She was tight with some of the brothers, particularly Tack’s lieutenants, Dog and Brick, and Big Petey, one of the founding members who took a break from the Club for a few years to go be with his daughter while she was fighting cancer. He came back when she lost that fight and Tab, being how Tab could be and growing up with Big Petey, moved in to balm that hurt. So it wasn’t unheard of to see her shooting the shit with Pete opposite the counter inside the auto supply store, teasing him by his Harley Trike in the forecourt or sitting close with him and talking on one of the picnic tables outside the Compound.
Then, for five months, she’d disappeared. Not a sign of her. Shy wasn’t on Chaos every minute of his day but when he was, she wasn’t there.
She hadn’t been to one of the three hog roasts they’d had. She didn’t even go to the party they threw when they took on their new recruits, Snapper and Bat.
And there hadn’t been another Tabby Callout since that night.
Now here she was, studying. Business was bustling and Tex seemed to need to make as much noise as possible when forcing a coffee drink out of the espresso machine, and yet she didn’t look around or break concentration at all.
And, Shy thought, there it was. He’d made his point. She’d learned her lesson. Focus on the shit that mattered. She was taking the opportunity her father was offering to set herself up with a good life, getting control of that wild side and cleaning the trash out of her life.
He paid the knockout redhead named Indy who owned the place for his drink, got it from Tex at the other end of the counter and moved to Tab’s table.
He pulled out the seat opposite her and twisted it around to straddle it, saying softly, “Yo, babe,” before her body jerked with surprise and her head came up.
Her eyes hit him and he saw something that made him uneasy flash through them before she shut it down. Her face went blank, and her eyes slid through the room before coming back to him.
“What’re you doin’ here?” she asked quietly.
He lifted his to go cup. “Coffee. Best in town. Come here all the time.”
She looked at his cup then at the two coffee mugs on the table in front of her before her fingers slid through her hair and she straightened in her chair.
When Shy recovered from watching her thick, shining hair move through her fingers and he realized she wasn’t speaking, he asked, “Studying?”
Her gaze went to her books like she’d never seen them before, it came back to him and she answered, “Yeah. I’ve got two tests this week.”
“Harsh,” he muttered, though he wouldn’t know. He’d never studied for tests. The fact that somewhere in the junk in his apartment was a high school diploma was a miracle.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I need to get back to it.”
“What?” he asked.
She looked d
own at her books, turned her pencil in her hand and tapped the eraser end to her notepad before repeating, “I need to get back to it.”
“You don’t want company,” he surmised.
“Um…I have two tests. I have a lot of work to do.”
Shy nodded then asked, “You come here a lot?”
That sweet, pink tongue came out to touch her upper lip, the burn in his chest magnified before her tongue disappeared and she answered, “No, just trying out places where I can get my studying groove on. It gets a little insane at home.”
“The boys,” Shy guessed. She had two new brothers: Rider, who just turned three, and Cutter, who was one, meant home was not where she could get that particular groove on.
“Yeah, they’re little kids but they’re also Allens, so things can get rowdy,” she muttered.
He heard Tex banging on the espresso machine, and he knew Fortnum’s could get a little insane too.
Thinking that, thinking that it was cool Tabby was finally focused on the right things, and trying not to think about how much or why he’d like her at his place, he offered, “You need space, babe, I got an apartment. I’m never in it. Can’t say it’s clean but it is quiet.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
He pushed up from the chair, righting it at the table, saying, “Anytime, Tab, you need it, it’s yours. Just give me a call.”
She nodded, swallowed then mumbled, “Later,” to his shoulder before she looked back down to her books, curling in her chair, slouching back to her elbow, hand back in her hair.
It was the swallow, the mumbling, and the talking to his shoulder that drove Shy to round the table, lift a hand, and pull her hair away from her face.
Her head jerked back as her eyes shot to him.
“We good?” he asked.
“Sure,” she answered, too quickly.
“You sure about that?” he pressed.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked back, too casually.
“Babe, the last time I saw you was extreme.” His eyes went to the table then back to her. “I see you got my point but it’d be cool to know we’re good.”
“We’re good,” she assured him, again, quickly.
He studied her face. It was carefully vacant.
He didn’t know her all that well, but he’d been around her often enough to know Tabitha Allen was never expressionless.
Fuck.
He let it go and reiterated, “You need my place, babe, just yell.”
“I’ll do that, Shy,” she replied quietly.
He jerked up his chin.
She turned so her back was to him and slouched back over her books.
Shy walked out of Fortnum’s feeling that familiar burn. Except it wasn’t in his gut this time.
It was around his heart.
She never called to use his space.
She never called at all.
And he never again saw her at Fortnum’s.
* * * * *
Six months later…
Shy sat outside the Compound on top of one of the picnic tables, feet on the seat, legs spread, elbows to his thighs, bottle of beer held loosely in his hands, watching.
Tabby was on Chaos for the first time in nearly a year. She was walking out of the office and down the steps, Rider’s hand in hers as she steadied him while he struggled to get his little legs to negotiate the stairs. She had Cut on her hip, and Shy could see Cut was slamming his little fist into her cheek as she walked.
She got them safely to the bottom of the stairs but stopped, and Shy watched as she turned her head, jerked it forward, and captured Cut’s fist in her mouth.
He squealed. Tabby let his little fist go, and her peel of musical laughter shot across the forecourt and hit him straight in the gut so hard it was a fucking miracle he didn’t grunt.
Then it happened.
Rider tripped and Tabby bent to right him and on her way up, her eyes moved through the forecourt, across the Compound, straight through him.
Through him.
Like he was fucking invisible.
Jesus.
Fuck.
Jesus.
There was a time, he caught sight of her, her eyes would shift away quickly and he knew she was watching him. Anytime she’d been around before he did what he did that night, if he saw her, her eyes were on him.
Now he was invisible. It was like he didn’t exist.
She moved the kids to her car and strapped them in the car seats in the back, and Shy kept watching, his gut tight, that burn searing his heart.
She had a great ride. Her dad gave it to her when she was sixteen, and she took care of it like it was one of her little brothers. Its electric blue paint gleamed, clean and pristine, in the August sun.
Sweet ride but Tabby, wearing one of those flowy, flowery, loose dresses that went all the way to her feet, so much fucking material, you couldn’t begin to guess what lay underneath it, didn’t look like she belonged to that car. The dress was saved by being strapless, the top essentially an elasticized tube top covering her tits, but still.
It wasn’t cutoff short-shorts and rocker shirts like she used to wear.
And her hair wasn’t down and wild. It was braided in thick plaits close to her skull on either side to flare out in a mass of hair at her nape that only hinted at the dense, glossy mane Tack’s good genes had bestowed on her.
Yeah, he’d made his point.
Fuck yeah, a year ago, he’d really fucking made his point.
She got the kids strapped in and Big Petey exited the office, lumbered down the stairs, and Shy watched Pete and Tabby engage in a playful argument he couldn’t hear. Tab lost, and she faked being pissed as she handed over her keys and stomped around the car.
Pete had one child, his daughter, now under dirt. When he came back after her funeral, he was shattered. The man was not young, but after he lost his daughter and returned to the brotherhood, he looked a thousand years old.
Now, Shy saw, he was grinning as he folded his huge beer belly behind the wheel of Tab’s car and adjusted the seat.
Tab did that. Tab brought him back. Tabby put together those pieces and gave Pete something to grin about.
The Tab who looked right through Shy like he didn’t exist.
Petey pulled out and he, Tab, Rider, and Cut took off, where, Shy had no clue. Shy’d heard Cherry and Tack talking about it enough to know that Rider and Cut’s big sister doted on them and spoiled their asses rotten. So he figured ice cream, park, but whatever it was, it was filled with their sister’s love.
He watched the car until he couldn’t see it anymore.
Then he jumped off the picnic table and walked inside.
In the cool dark of the Compound, he stopped in the common room and stood, staring at the Chaos flag mounted on the wall at the back of the room.
Cool and dark while his gut still twisted and his heart burned.
He lifted his bottle and with his arm slicing through the air in a sidearm throw, he sent the bottle sailing across the room to smash in a foamy explosion of beer and brown glass on the wall opposite the door by the Club flag.
“Jesus, brother, what the fuck?” he heard rumbled from the side of the room. He turned and looked to see High sitting on a stool at the bar with Snapper behind it.
Shy didn’t answer. He prowled behind the bar and nabbed a bottle of tequila.
On his way back around the bar, heading to his room, he ordered Snapper, “Clean that shit up.”
Then he disappeared into his room.
* * * * *
Seven months later…
He rolled his truck to a stop behind the electric blue car on the side of the road.
Shy had gotten his first Tabby Callout in eighteen months.
She wasn’t out on the prowl.
She had a flat.
She was standing, jean-clad hips against the side of her car, thermal-covered arms crossed over the poofy vest she was wearing, low-heeled booted feet crossed at the
ankles, head turned to him, eyes hidden behind a pair of mirrored, wire-rimmed shades, face vacant.
He’d seen her once since she took off with Petey and her brothers, and that was at the Chaos Christmas blowout at the Compound. He’d shown with a woman on his arm. She’d left fifteen minutes later.
That was it.
Now, as he angled out of his truck and moved toward her, she didn’t twitch. Just watched him.
When he got close, even though he hadn’t spoken a word to her since they saw each other at Fortnum’s over a year ago, she announced sharply, “I know how to change a flat, but I can’t get the lug nuts to move.”
He stopped a half a foot away from her, looked through his shades down his nose at her and growled, “I’m doin’ fuckin’ great, babe. Thanks for askin’. How the fuck are you?”
Her head jerked and her shoulders straightened like a steel rod had been jammed down her spine. “Pardon?” she asked.
“Nothin,” he muttered. “Do me a favor, step away from the car. Don’t need it sliding off the jack while I’m dealin’ with your tire because your ass is leaned into it.”
She pushed away from the car and Shy headed to the flat. She’d pulled out the spare, had the car jacked up and the lug wrench lying on the tarmac. Shy crouched to it and was grabbing the wrench when she spoke.
“Roscoe phoned. He’s ten minutes away. If this is biting into your schedule, he said he’d be able to help out.”
“Take me ten minutes. Then you can disappear again,” he muttered, putting the wrench to the nut and finding she was not wrong. Those bitches were on there tight.
Tabby fell silent. Shy worked.
He switched the tire with her spare, dumped the flat into her trunk, and was slamming it closed when he stated, “Get to the garage. You got time, now would be good. Don’t drive too far on that spare.”
“I may be a girl, but my dad’s a biker and a mechanic. I think I know enough not to ride around on a spare,” she returned. “Though,” she went on when his eyes cut to her, “you’ve given me an idea. All those silly women out there who don’t know better, I could give a helping hand, design some leaflets. Pass them out all around Denver. Explain about spare usage. How dangerous it is. I’ll be sure to put a bunch of butterflies on it and douse it with glitter so I can keep their attention while they’re reading it.”
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