I quickly look over my shoulder and Zach is shrugging out of his cut and pulling his sweater over his head. He’s obviously checking his wound, but my lips dry at the sight of his upper body. His flesh is covered in ink and his body is a piece of beautiful artwork.
“Take me to your place,” he orders roughly and breaks my admiration.
As I pull back onto the road, another dead Black Crow disappears into the bushes.
I started the day saying goodbye to my mom, and now I’m leaving with a biker bleeding out in the back seat of my car. It’s strange how men seem to come into my life.
* * *
PAST
“I hope the rain holds off till the fate is over, everyone has worked so hard this week.”
My mom is waffling on and I murmur my agreements and disagreements in the right places. Since I was twelve and started to question religion, my mom stopped forcing me to go to church. She said I could make my own choices about what and who I believed in. But, I still have to help out occasionally because it’s just being kind and helping our friends in the community. Today I’m being dragged to the church fate and I’m stuck on the cake stand. It’s going to be a long day, but my mom will appreciate my help and that’s the reason I’m out of bed before lunch on a Saturday. “It’s not forecast to rain till this evening, it’ll be fine, mom,” I assure her.
“The clouds are saying different, it’ll rain before the day is done.”
I tune her out and the morning passes by in a blur and I stick to my stand and smile and hand out cakes, take money and count out change, it’s repetitive and I swear I’ve nearly fallen asleep twice whilst working.
“How much for a lemon slice?”
I spin around after popping a mini cupcake in my mouth and go to apologise, chewing around the soft sponge.
“I’m sorry, how can I help you?” I smile and the man opposite me smiles hugely, showing a white, straight set of teeth. They’re almost too white if that’s possible.
“No-no. Don’t worry about it. I’ll wait for you to be ready for me.”
What a strange thing to say, or is it how he said it? The moment passes, and he leans over to hand me a twenty dollar bill.
“One lemon slice, please,” he says, and I busy myself preparing his purchase.
I count through his change and when I turn to face him, he’s gone. I can’t see him anywhere. Standing on the stool, I stretch my neck out and still can’t see where he went.
What a strange, strange man. Hopping off, I land on the grass and put his change in a separate jar. If he doesn’t pass the stall during the day, I’ll give it to mom and she can do whatever with it.
Another hour passes, and no one has stopped at the stand in over ten minutes, I sit down to rest and a chubby little hand snakes up from the other side of the table. I watch it pat its way around until it lands on Mrs Peterson’s angel cake. Chuckling, I drop to the ground and scoop up the table cloth.
“Hey, you little thief,” I grin and a little boy, no older than five or six grins back at me.
“Where’s your mommy and daddy?” I ask him.
“I don’t know, I lost them.”
“So, you thought you’d steal a cake instead of trying to find them?”
“I’m hungry.”
The boy is small, and he doesn’t move while I ask Mr Wright to watch over the cakes while I help reunite the boy with his parents.
“What’s your name?” I ask, as the boy takes my hand.
“Tommy.”
“I’m Nina, keep your eyes wide open and tell me when you see your parents, okay?”
“Okay.”
I think we see everyone but his parents on our rounds, and after the fourth time not finding them, he points to a car in the parking lot.
“That’s my car,” he says, pulling on my hand.
At least they haven’t left without their child. As we walk over to the dark blue vehicle, it occurs to me no one was frantically shouting for this child.
The closer we get, the better I can see inside. There are two adults in the front seats and then I’m stopping and shielding the boy from what I can see.
People are disgusting.
What is the point of being a parent when you lack the essential necessity to be a fucking parent. Perhaps I’m spoiled by own mother, I’m blind to how not everyone is as lucky as I.
“Are they in the car?”
Shaking my head, I try to banish the sight I just saw and lead the boy back to the fate. I see Father Greyson helping my mom by the face painting stand.
Both are concerned when they see me walking towards them and the boy gets excited when he sees another kid run off painted like a lion.
“Can I have that?” he asks, jumping up and down.
“Wait a moment,” I tell him, and he quietens down.
“What’s going on, Florentina? Who is the child?”
Smiling down at the boy, his cheeks bunch up as he smiles in return and my heart hurts for him. Such a sweet child and he has such dirty, selfish junkies for parents.
My mom has spent years installing not to judge others into me, yet, when I saw those two adults strung out, I judged them so hard I hate them.
Why bring him to such a happy event and then take him back to such darkness when the day is done?
Father Greyson takes the child from me, promising to keep him safe, but I see the concern etched into the crevice between his eyebrows.
My mom wants me to find God walking my own path, but with what I’ve just witnessed, it’s becoming harder and harder to believe in such a notion that would test a child to survive with depravity around him. That’s not something I want to believe in or follow. Heading back to the cake stand, the jar with the stranger’s change is still sitting by the cash tin and I look around once more. Today has been horrible and I can’t wait to go home, and then I feel guilty because what has Tommy got to look forward to?
Zachery
I sit at her kitchen table while she runs around collecting a bowl of warm water and the first aid box.
My arm is killing me, and I’ll be real grateful when I’m fixed up. She seems to know what she’s doing, and I continue to watch her as she pulls a chair next to me and sits down. She busies herself cleaning the blood away and then when she can’t find what she’s looking for in the first aid box, her eyes flick to mine briefly and then she pours the cleaning alcohol over her fingers.
I have no idea what she’s doing but something in my gut is not liking where this going.
“I’d apologise because this is going to hurt, but I reckon you can take it,” she murmurs.
“What is going to hurt?” I ask and then she answers me.
She digs her fingers in my wound and I can’t stop the roar that escapes from me.
Biting down on my tongue, I feel every inch where her fingers slide around deeper, harder, and then I feel her find the bullet. A sheen of sweat pebbles my forehead and a bout of sickness hits me.
This shit is not cool.
A brief reprieve washes over the pain as she pulls the bullet free and drops it on the table. She’s quick to cover the wound and put pressure on my arm and I scowl at her.
“Are you a nurse or something?”
“Something,” she mutters, not looking at me.
She doesn’t say anything else and I pull out a smoke from my pocket and light it, doing it all with my one good arm.
She doesn’t say anything about lighting up in her kitchen, but if I don’t smoke, I’m going to hurl.
“Still getting high?” she says, pressing down harder on my arm.
“It helps with the pain,” I smirk.
“Oh, so you carry around a spare in case you get shot?” she smirks back.
“Exactly,” I nod. “Why didn’t you leave when I told you to?”
She could’ve been hurt so easily, and I can’t have her on my conscious.
“Why did those guys want to shoot you?” she retaliates, ignoring my question.
<
br /> I narrow my eyes, refusing to answer her. She’s first to relent and answers.
“I didn’t think it was right leaving you alone with them. Three on one wasn’t fair,” she shrugs.
“Do I look like I can’t look out for myself?”
“Sure, you can, big man,” she snorts. “Let me just get you a band aid for your booboo from the big bad men.”
The kitchen fills with laughter that it takes me a beat to realise the laughter is coming from me. She’s funny and I like it. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. I can’t remember the last time I found someone funny. She wraps my arm in a clean bandage and I sober up, looking around. It’s quiet and the place is clean and tidy. I take one last puff on my blunt and drop it in the bloody water in the bowl.
“Where’s your mom?”
She was quick out of the door when we dropped Nina off last month. I reckon you’d know if she was in the house. She didn’t strike me as the type of person who would be a wallflower.
“She, um, died. I was leaving her funeral when I stopped to help you.”
Fuck my life. She’s already having the worst day of her life and I’m bleeding all over her kitchen table.
“I’m sorry, that she died and that you had to deal with that shit today of all days.”
“It’s the way of life, so I’m told.”
“Shitty fucking life for sure.”
A round of banging comes from the front door and she barely flinches at the sharp intrusion.
I stand before she does and wait a moment. Silence rocks through her house and my heart is pounding.
“Are you expecting anyone?” I ask her.
Perhaps she’s holding a wake somewhere and someone is noticing her absence.
She shakes her head and then someone’s knocking at the back door.
“Zach? Are you in there?”
It’s Mason.
“Open up, man.”
That’s Myles.
“Can you let them in?”
She doesn’t speak, but she rises to her feet and dumps a bloodied cloth on the table. She moves around the chair and walks over to the door.
It gives me a chance to breathe through the pain and check out her ass, and what a nice ass she has.
The twin’s barrel through the door once it’s open and Nina is quick to move out of their way. Once they see I’m fine, they relax, and Mason pulls out a chair, while Myles lingers near the door.
“Where’s Leo?” I ask.
“He’s outside, answering to Cas. He wasn’t meant to leave and now he’s getting shit. Plus, he’s letting him know what happened.”
“What happened after I left?” I ask next.
I immediately forget where I am, and that Nina is standing, listening to every word, soaking it in like a sponge.
“Nothing much,” both the twin’s say together. “How’s your arm?” Mason asks.
“He’ll live, I removed the bullet and cleaned it for him, also wiping his tears before you got here, didn’t think he’d want you seeing him being a little bitch.”
Instead of finding her insulting, she’s hilarious. Mason is first to laugh out loud and Myles, after looking at me, follows suit.
Leo breaks the moment when he pokes his head in the back door.
“Cas wants us back at the club, and we’re not to drag our asses,” he tells us. “Oh, and he’s sending out the prospects to pick up your bike.”
He looks around the kitchen and settles on Nina.
“Are you good to drive him back to the club for us?”
I look at her and she looks at me. It’s a brief moment but it seeps into me and settles deep in my soul.
“Sure.”
She passes me my bloodied sweater and my arm burns as I raise it to get dressed. She’s quick to take it back and winds it up my arm and then holds it up so I can shove my head through. She pulls it down and straightens the fabric out for me. She’s so close I can smell her perfume and it’s filling every pore on my body. Swallowing heavily, she steps back and grabs her bag from the counter top. She digs out her keys and we turn to see the twins and Leo all watching us.
“Let’s go.”
I find it strangely satisfying that I’ll be spending more time with her. Leo rides up in front of us on his old bike, since his is still in pieces in the garages, and the twins take the rear. Nina doesn’t say anything, but I see her watching them all.
“Do you think those guys have friends who will come for you?”
Probably. Instead, I say, “I doubt it.”
I don’t need to give her directions, everyone in town knows where the clubhouse is, even if you have never been there.
She drives through the gates and comes to a stop near the old garages.
“Do you need me to help you out, Princess?”
I raise my eyebrow and stare at her. Is she for real? Princess?
“I can manage,” I smirk.
“Still,” she says, opening her door. “I don’t want you struggling and bleeding again in my car,” she says, coming around to my side.
I sit there, watching her. She’s fascinating and I want her to stick around for a while.
She opens my door and holds her hand out. I could laugh at her, but instead, I take her hand and let her think she’s helping me. I like this. I like her.
She doesn’t help much as I heave myself out and come to a stop a mere few inches from her.
I don’t move and nor does she. I don’t release her hand and she doesn’t move to take it back either.
I catch my dad, or Slade, Cas and Sparky waiting on me by the benches and they’re all watching me real close with this woman.
“You should stay for a drink, I need to talk to my brothers, then I can thank you properly for helping me.”
“A simple thank you will be fine, I should get home. I have a few things to do after today.”
She takes her hand back and walks around the car. She waits a moment before climbing behind the wheel. I lean down and hold onto the still open passenger door.
“Thank you,” I say, and she smiles over at me.
This girl is unreal. She’s been to her mom’s funeral, witnessed me being shot and she’s still smiling. Un-fucking-real.
“You’re welcome, next time you get shot, go to the hospital.” She leans over to try and close the door but falls short. I stand and close it for her, and she wastes no time in throwing it in reverse and heading out.
I wait for her to disappear out of sight and turn to face the club.
“Who’s the girl?” Cas asks, wheezing sickly when I get closer to them.
“Nina Rollins,” I tell him.
“The girl I had to check on for Rose from the diner?” he says, mid coughing fit.
“Yeah, well, Rose from the diner died and it was her funeral today. That’s why Nina stopped for me, she was coming out of the cemetery where I broke down.”
“Yeah, I heard she died,” he murmurs, not really giving a shit.
“What did she see?”
He already knows, Leo would’ve told him when he was on the phone with him.
“Everything,” I tell him.
He nods slowly as he thinks over whatever is running through his head.
“Do you think she’ll say anything?” he asks next.
“I can’t be a hundred per cent sure, but I don’t think she gave a shit.”
Then again, she’s grieving for her mother, once the dust settles, she could freak and open her mouth.
“I’ll go and see her and find out for myself. Text me her address and I’ll ride into town later.”
That doesn’t feel right to me, before I can offer to go myself he’s moving on and he’s not happy.
“And what were you doing riding alone? You know we’re traveling in groups now, it was the only rule of coming out of lockdown.”
“Oh, I…”
“You were scoring?” Dad mutters, shaking his head.
“Not that it’s any of
your business, but yeah, and I would’ve been fine if it weren’t for my ride.”
“What’s done is done, and we now have three less Crows on the road so it wasn’t all bad. Just don’t do it again.”
Huh, that wasn’t so bad. I drag my ass up to my room and peel my sweater off and sneak a look under the bandage. It looks pretty clean but it’s aching to fucking hell and back.
Opening the drawer, I pull out my tin of blunts and light one up. I pull on the joint hard and long and let the weed seep into my muscles.
What a fucking day, my bike is fucked, and I’ve been shot in the arm, but it’s Nina Rollins I can’t stop thinking about.
Nina
I should’ve cleaned up the mess before I drove Zach back to the club. There’s currently one patch on my mom’s table spotted with his blood and it’s not coming out. I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed and it’s not budging. Falling back on the chair, I blow out a heavy breath and scrape my hair off my face. The bin is full of his bloodied rags and a towel I didn’t bother trying to wash. The bullet I dug out with my own fingers is still laid on the edge of the table and I pick it up. Rolling it between my thumb and forefinger, I inspect the small battered piece. These things kill people, what would I have done if it had hit him somewhere else and it had killed him? A thought that will never become reality because I know how it ended and where this little thing ended up.
I sat there and watched him get shot and then flew out of my car to help him. I don’t think I would’ve done that for anyone else, but there is something about him that screams he isn’t like anyone else.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts and I stand, shoving the bullet in my jeans pocket.
I didn’t show up at the wake, hopefully this isn’t Mrs Peterson coming to check on me, as much as I love her and admire her, I don’t have the patience for her today. It won’t matter how much I tell her I’m doing okay, she’ll hear what she wants to hear, and I’ll never get rid of her. Plus, if she sees the blood on the table, she’ll call the cops and be extra as fuck.
Only, it isn’t Mrs Peterson on my porch, it’s two men dressed in Lost Souls patches.
“Nina Rollins?” one asks, one who looks like shit.
His Ride or Die : Sons of Lost Souls MC Book Three Page 4
