“Listen, just stay here with Opal until this meeting gets over with and then we’ll talk. We’ll figure out someplace for you to go. Can you just do that?”
I nod slowly. What other choice do I have? I have certain death on one side and uncertain, but mostly probable death on the other. I can’t imagine what Opal went through living like this, in a place where she knew how to duck and cover from gunshots or where she spent her time walking over beer cans and syringes. She doesn’t get the option. I’m lucky. And it is my duty to stay here in this house for her, to make sure she was truly safe.
Noah outstretches his hand, and I take it. He zips up the rest of my dress and hands me my shoes and purse. Like an adult with a child, he smooths out my ponytail, making me presentable for his daughter and public consumption. I’m the teacher again – the demure, sweet little teacher who doesn’t belong in a place like this.
As we walk towards Opal’s room, I look down the banister to see the men filing in. They’re carrying guns and bats. Each is stopping to check out the damage to the walls and the windows. Opal’s notebook, the one her father gave to me to look through earlier, is being trampled on by huge boots and some heels.
Noah opens Opal’s door where she's sitting on the floor still, her drawing pad on her lap. She looks up at me with wide, grinning eyes. It’s like the shooting didn’t happen. She’s already over it. My heart weeps for her some more. Without instruction or prompting, I sit down next to her and pull out some color pencils from her box of art supplies. She rips me a piece of blank paper as I start to draw.
Her father looks over us – his two girls. He kneels down and pats Opal’s head affectionately. “Miss Harvey is gonna sit with you for a while. Griz’s downstairs so we’re gonna have a meeting. You’re cool, right?”
Opal nods without even looking up. But her shaking hand tells me Noah isn’t seeing the whole picture. Opal’s not the tough, take it all kind of girl he wants her to be. She’s breaking right here. Suddenly, I’m glad I’m here, locked up like a child with this girl.
“Good girl. Stay here until I come get you. You hear anything, you duck and get under the bed. Don’t answer the door to anyone.” Noah stands, taking one last glance at us before shutting the door.
Opal returns to her drawings, her eyes fixed on her page. But I can’t bring myself to draw anything. My mind is completely overwhelmed with the idea that this little girl knows to hide under the bed and lock her bedroom door to strangers. What else has Opal seen? What has her father put her through?
Chapter 11 NOAH
Griz slams his fist into the table as the room suddenly goes from frantic chatter to absolute silence. This is not the day to goof around or test those in charge. This is the time to come together as Disciples. United in war, divided by none.
He lowers his voice, forcing everyone from those flanking him from the front to those peons in the back to listen in, “Disciples, we're under attack. We won't stand for the shit that happened in our own clubhouse. Those Bonebreakers responsible for destroying our property and damaging our women will be punished.”
The men raise hell with their voices, sending shrieks of agreement and applause into the crowded basement gathering space. I clap my hands slowly, adding to the noise. I’m as angry as every man here, but part of me wants to slow this down and not raise hell until we know exactly what is going on. Between the news about the missing Disciple and my run in with the bumbling supplier, something isn’t right. Why would they attack tonight?
Griz turns to me and motions for me to stand. I approach where he is standing and nod in agreement. As the second in command, I’ve got to take his side on this. No questions ask.
He pats me on the back as he said, “Our Vice, Noah, was there when it happened. And not only that, he did some recon today. What did you find out, Noah?”
I'd called him on my way back about the things Brandon was telling me, but he didn’t seem that interested. It was if he had already discovered it for himself. Bringing me up here to tell the group was odd and totally out of place. Still, I clear my voice and loudly say, “Earlier today, I went to see Brandon Weaver, our supplier at the old repair shop. He was acting odd, almost more suspicious of me than anyone else. He hired two young guns to protect them, but they didn’t have any alliance that I could tell.”
“What about the missing kid? What did he say about our brother?”
“Brandon told me the Bonebreakers kidnapped one of our riders who crossed into their territory. Shot him dead…” Angry, aggressive voices begin to rise as some men stand to their feet. “He said he heard the boy’s body was dumped in some trash pile outside of town. I haven’t confirmed that, though.”
I added that last part not because I don’t believe Brandon, but because I don’t want an all out war with the Bonebreakers over the kid’s offense. If he really crossed over, he knew what risk he was running. And why would he be out there in the first place? He had no reason to be packing all the way out in Bonebreaker country. Our lines had been clearly drawn and even the newest members or wannabes knew where they shouldn’t ride if they didn’t want a bullet in their backs.
Griz changes course, “Do you want to tell the guys what happened tonight?”
“I was sitting in the kitchen when I heard a few bullets go through the window. I ducked and then heard the sounds through the living room. When I got up, I ran to the window and fired some shots at the bike’s back tires but he was already too far gone to catch. I then checked on my daughter. That’s the jist of it.” I eye him curiously. My account isn’t the important one. I wasn’t in the room where that girl got shot through the arm. And where I was sitting, I couldn’t have gotten a good angle on who the driver was.
Suddenly, Leo stands, pointing directly at me, “So who is that bitch you brought along with? What did she see?”
That asshole’s had it out for my position since Griz appointed me. He’s tried to call me out so many times, but he forgets that I’m younger, stronger, and smarter than he’ll ever be. Still, he tries to start shit he knows he can’t back up just to rile up the younger guys around him. I may have the fists and the attitude. But he’s got the ear for drama and the talk to back it up.
“She’s my daughter’s teacher. We had a teacher conference, Leo.” I pound my fist on the table for emphasis, “I don’t know why that fucking matters. She didn’t see shit. She wasn’t hurt. And she certainly ain’t no spy.”
“The girl conveniently shows up the night of a shooting looking like a whore, and I find her in your bedroom? Something’s going on with her, Griz. Go bring her down and question her!”
I push the table over, sending it flying to the ground with a bang. The other members back away, sensing danger. I scream at him, getting in his face, “You wont fucking touch her, you son of a bitch!”
“Maybe she wasn’t alone in this plot. Who knows if your story checks out from earlier. It would be so convenient that you happened to get that intel from Brandon. But how I hear it, you threatened him, made him tell you whatever you wanted to hear! How are we supposed to know if you’re not in it with the Bonebreakers and making up stories to start a turf war?”
Now I’m pissed. It’s one thing to threaten the girl I brought home and to get in my personal business. It’s another to call me a traitor or to question my loyalty. I was born in these colors, and I bleed with them.
In one swift movement, my fist lands in his face, sending him flying backwards. The men form a circle around us as he lunges at me, grabbing me at my waist. But I’ve got nearly six inches on him as I grab him by the back and slam him to the ground on his stomach. As he lies there, trying to get to his hands, I pummel my fists into his face. I can almost feel his teeth crack from the force, his men cry out before a few try to pull me off of him. Still, I manage to get two deep kicks into his rib cage.
The room settles as they cart his bloody body away. I turn to Griz who is still standing in the same spot before, chaos ensuing around him. He cl
ears his throat and once again the room is silent. He looks me up and down before giving his judgment, “I believe Noah is right. I think the Bonebreakers are playing the long game here, slowly taking over small vendors like Brandon. And now they are calling us out with the killing of one of our own and today’s attack.”
A few men nod while the other whisper their descent.
Griz holds up his hand for silence. He’s not finished with me yet. “However,” he shouts, “I take accusations like this seriously. Noah, I’m putting you in charge in getting justice for this group. You and your men will ride tonight. Strike during the early morning while they’re still sleeping. I expect blood for blood. Target their second in command, Zane Oaks. Do you understand me?”
I nod. In order to prove my worth and to show that I’m not soft or, worse, a traitor, I am going to have to kill a man.
Chapter 12 FAYE
Opal is snuggled up against me, falling in and out of sleep when we hear the noise. Thumping footsteps on the stairs coming closer to the room make both of us jump from our place on the bed. We watch in horror as the doorknob attempted to turn before the person realizes it’s locked.
“Opal! It’s Grannie Sylvia! Can you open the door?” I look over at Opal, who has a relieved smile on her face.
“Grannie Sylvia is my mom’s mom. She never comes here. Not since my mom died. Dad must’ve told her the story to get her over here.”
She walks quickly towards the door and places a hand on the knob. I have just enough time to ask her, “Are you sure, Opal? Your dad said not to answer it for anyone but him. He didn’t mention your grandma.”
“No, it’s cool. I recognize her voice.” She is plenty self-assured – I’ll grant her that – but I've had enough danger for the night.
I leap out of bed and walk towards the corner, eying the open window as an escape route. I’m certainly not going to die because someone has decided to play a sick head game with a little girl and her teacher.
Opal opens the door slowly and peers out. Confirming the person’s identity, she opens it wider and runs to an older woman dressed in black, holding tight to a cane. “Grandma! What are you doing here?”
“Your dad called me. He’s out on a ride with the rest of the club and asked if I would take you home with me for a few days. How could I say no to that?” She’s sweet, the total package of a grandma. It’s hard to picture this woman raising a girl who later got killed because she rode with a dangerous, drug dealing motorcycle club. Grannie Sylvia looks more like she’s ready to bake some cookies – not sit on the back of a Harley.
“Here, Grandma, I want you to meet someone,” Opal says hurriedly, motioning in my direction. “This is my teacher, Miss Harvey. She was staying with me while they had their meeting. She was here when they shot off at the house!” Opal says it so proudly, as if it is a badge of honor to wear. I more wanted to run off into the darkness screaming in fear rather than be here – but, I have to admit, it’s kind of sweet to be introduced like this.
I walk over slowly, outstretching my arm towards her. Grannie Sylvia looks me up and down, staring at my outfit. It’s obviously not what she had in mind for a teacher to wear – especially one doing house calls. It’s obvious she knows why I’m here and how I ended up becoming Opal’s caretaker. It’s equally obvious that she doesn’t like it.
“Opal,” her grandma says, “why don’t you run downstairs, grab a few snacks from the kitchen, and then wait for me there. I want to thank your teacher before we go.”
Opal obeys, running quickly down the stairs. We’re left alone, just the two of us. Something tells me this isn’t going to end well.
“So,” she began cautiously, “you’re Opal’s teacher? What were you doing here tonight so late?”
How did I end up on the interrogation seat? She’s already shooting daggers at me, like she knows exactly what kind of person I am. I quickly slip into defense mode. “Opal got into some trouble at school earlier this week,” I explain. “Her father and I were discussing her school performance and making plans on what we should do. That’s when we got shot at. I’m only here because he won’t let me go home.”
“I see,” she says, a frown of disbelief on her face. “Well, let me give you a warning about Noah, Miss Harvey. My daughter was his old lady for over five years before they had Opal. And in that time, she transformed into something dark hearted, evil. It’s no secret I blame him for who she became when she died. And even more so, I blame him for her death. His club and their war was the reason why she died in the crosshairs.”
I don’t see why this matters. I already knew about Opal’s mom dying, and her personality change seemed totally unimportant. What does it have to do with me?
“Listen, young lady,” she continues, connecting the dots for me, “You run with a motorcycle club man, you risk it all. You saw those girls down there. I heard one got shot. They get brainwashed and sucked in. And then they are the ones who pay for their man’s mistake. And Noah’s girls get the worst of it. You look like a nice girl, Miss Harvey. I suggest tomorrow morning, or whenever Noah lets you go home, you stay there. Don’t get involved with him. Don’t get involved with Opal. Do your job, and forget about both of them.” With that, she slowly turns and heads back down the stairs.
I stand still, motionless. Inside me, a million cogs turn rapidly as I tried to make sense of it all. This woman knows the dangers; she saw it firsthand with her daughter. And she saw it through to death. She knows exactly what she was talking about.
I stumble back towards Opal’s bed, unsure of what to do. The house is silent now. Not a soul in the house remains. I pull the curtain back from the window to see a few motorcyclists still lingering. They nod to Grannie Sylvia as she, as quickly as she could, walks Opal to her car. They let her escape, but me, I knew would be a nonstarter.
I lay back down, curling up to Opal’s pillows. It is late. It has to be at least midnight. Normally, I would be in bed with a cup of tea and a stack of papers. Now I am trapped in the worst safehouse in the world waiting for death or salvation. And now I have to think of the long term on top of all that. My mind drifted silently to the world I wanted to go back to as I hold back the tears I long to cry…
“Faye? Faye?” I'd fallen asleep and woken up to a commotion. I can hear the voices of men shouting loudly. They were celebrating. Noah tousles me some more, forcing me to roll over to face him, “Come on, get up.”
My eyes struggle to focus, but the dim sunlight from the window forces them alert. I make out his face, the stubble on his chin, the way his eyes lit up wildly. His black shirt is dirty, covered in what looked like mud. It’s caked onto his jeans and boots. His brown hair has pieces of whatever it was matted into the strands.
He looks back at me frustrated. I haven’t moved quickly enough for him. His arms scoop under me and lift me by my knees and shoulders. He carries me down the hallway towards his bedroom, shutting Opal’s door with his foot. Once in his room, he places me down gently on the bed and begins to remove his clothing.
I scoot back towards the headboard, unsure of what to do. When he takes off his top, I immediately spot the red, bloody marks up his chest, bruising his skin. They mingled with his black tattoos, making it look like some horrible modern art piece on his body. I sit up and lean in towards him, placing a hand on one of the bruises, “What happened to you?”
He withers away from my touch, clearly in pain. These are fresh marks, totally new. Taking a few steps away from me, “Nothing. Just riding stuff.”
“Noah, what happened? That’s not normal riding stuff.” The bruises were in circles concentrated on his chest and stomach. Some looked deeper than the others, but the worst were right on his ribcage. He would've had to crash his bike several times to get marks like those.
He looks back down at me, totally devoid of humor as he commands me, “Don’t ask questions.”
I cross my arms, completely and totally pissed off. I've had my fill of this secret cult gang. �
�Why the hell not? You lock me up in your daughter’s room for hours only to get a warning that I was gonna die if I stayed with you, and then you come back here covered in bruises and I’m not supposed to ask what happened? How in the world does that make sense? If I'm forced to stay here, I at least want to know what the fuck is going on!”
Noah bursts into a smile as he heads down next to my spot on the bed. He places his two arms on either side of me as he looks into my eyes, “I’ve never heard you cuss before, Miss Harvey. I've got to admit that it’s kind of hot.”
I push him off me as he leans in to nuzzle my neck. “Don’t play games with me, Noah! I want to go home or at least get some answers. Are you gonna tell the truth or not?”
He stands up, irritated that I rebuked him. “No. I’m not. The less you know, the safer you are.”
“More like the less I know the more you control me, right? After all, that’s what happened to Opal’s mom.” He takes a step towards me, his hands turning into fists. “That’s what her mom told me. She said if I stayed here with you, you would turn me into her, or at least what became of her.”
BIKER’S GIFT Page 34
