by M. N. Forgy
A ridiculous smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.
“What?” Darting my eyes from my plate, Zeek is looking at me puzzled.
I shrug, my cheeks warming. “It’s just that you cooked for me.”
He pauses. Looking at his food, his eyes slowly sweep upward to mine.
“Yeah, I guess I did.” His words come out like he didn’t even think about it.
“Your brother Lip, he just got out of prison?” I change the subject, but by the look on his face it was the wrong one. I grit my teeth. Me and my big mouth.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. Yeah, he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’m such an idiot. Zeek and Lip are related, but that’s about as far as their records go. I wonder if something went wrong between them.
We finish breakfast, both of us stealing quick glances at one another here and there. I wash my plate, and he washes his… still naked.
Turning where I stand, I rest my hands on the counter behind me. “So, do you have to go do club stuff?”
He rubs the back of his neck, looking at the ground. His reaction makes me think he’s leaving, that he does, in fact, have club things to do.
“No, I’m staying here.”
I can’t stop the look of surprise on my face.
“What?”
His hair falls in his face, his eyes peeking out from between the strands.
“I’d ask if that’s okay, but you don’t get much say in it, I’m afraid. Not this time.” He steps forward, his semi hard-on, which he’s had the whole time, quickly becoming a full one.
“Do I ever get a say-so?”
His large hand grips my waist, his thumb trailing circles on the skin right above my panties.
“No. We’re going to start by watching movies, and you’re going to relax. I’m going to try really hard to make it through one movie without taking you to bed. But no promises.”
I laugh softly. Scruff scratches the delicate skin on my neck, plush lips kissing my throat.
“You laugh like that, in something as cute as these?” His fingers snap the elastic band of my panties against my skin. “We won’t make it out of the kitchen.”
“You’re hopeless.” I smirk, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Go pick some movies out. I’m going to put on my boxers so you’ll stop seducing me with your eyes.”
He gives my ass cheek a slap and steps past me.
A knock sounds at the front door, and we both freeze.
“Expecting someone?”
I shrug. “No.”
The front door swings open, and my eyes go as wide as saucers.
My mom.
TWELVE
JILLIAN
“Jilly Bean!” my mother calls, stepping into the house. She turns, shutting the door with her shoulder, her hands full carrying a casserole. All the blood in my face drains, and my lips part.
Zeek is standing feet from her, and I’m right behind him in the doorway of the kitchen. I look around for something to give Zeek to cover his junk.
“Your father told me about your—OH, MY GOD!” She screams, dropping the casserole on the floor.
Too late.
Zeek, still cupping himself, raises one hand and waves. He fucking waves!
“Hey.”
My mother turns, facing the front door. “Oh, I didn’t realize you had company, dear.”
Shoot me now.
She’s wearing khaki-colored pants with a white shirt, a blue sweater thrown over her shoulders. She keeps readjusting the sleeves of the sweater nervously, her face as red as can be.
Zeek lowers himself, picking up the glass casserole dish. Some hash brown with melted cheese falls out of the side of it, landing on the floor. Darn, I really liked that recipe.
Jinx meows excitedly, prancing to the spilled food.
Zeek holds the dish over his cock, the melted cheese and hash brown that have stuck to the plate giving him some coverage.
“Hi. I’m Caroline, Jillian’s mother. I just wanted to drop off a casserole, wasn’t sure how well Jillian was getting around.” My mother gives a little wave, her back still facing us.
“Um, yeah. The doctor gave me some meds, and I’ve been doing hot soaks to help with the tension.” Zeek turns my way, a big, arrogant smile on his face, and winks. His cocky expression conveying he’s helped in my recuperation.
“Mmhhm. Right, darling. I’ll just come back by later.” She opens the door and steps out.
“Just… call first!” I holler.
“It was nice meeting you, um…” My mom is trying so hard to avoid looking our way, it’s almost funny.
“Nice meeting you, too,” Zeek replies, his voice smooth as silk.
The door slams and I fall against the doorway, humiliated.
“She seems nice.” He shrugs.
***
Sitting on the floor, Zeek thumbs through my DVD’s. He is clearly not amused by my selection of movies.
“That is your third time going through those.” I giggle. All the movies I own are classic romances, or chick flicks. The look of disgust on his face is quite amusing.
“I need something with some action.”
“We can rent a movie.”
“No, going out in public is too risky.”
“No, I mean I have Vudu.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Seriously, you’ve never heard of it?”
“Unless it’s the magical power your pussy has over me that we’re referring to, then no. I have never heard of ‘Voodoo’.”
“Not that kind of Voodoo. It’s got a lot of movies you can watch on demand.”
“I don’t usually get to watch movies. Hell, I don’t remember the last time I even had a day off,” he responds quickly, as if he’s thinking out loud. “What does it have?”
I click the TV on, and pull up Vudu. “We can watch Southpaw. It’s about boxing.”
“Never heard of it, but it sounds like my kind of movie.”
I rent it.
Twenty minutes in, I’m crying. I don’t mean those cute little sniffles and hidden tears, either. No, I’m full-on sobbing.
Zeek tenses. I can tell he has no clue what to do. Awkwardly, he wraps his arm around me, pulling me close. By the end of the movie, I’m practically in his lap, our bodies tangled together. His hand is cupping my tit, his nose against my neck. You can’t really tell where he begins and where I end. It’s warm, and the most comfortable spot in the world.
After the movie finally ends, I blow my nose and try to get a handle on my ugly-cry face. Reluctantly, I pull myself from his clutches, my body instantly cooling.
“Oh, my gosh, that was just so sad.” I rest my head on his chest, and I can literally hear his heartbeat speed up. The whole time during the movie, I could feel him becoming antsy. Him sitting down and watching a movie, I don’t think he’s ever done it. Doing something so normal, and calm… It’s killing him.
I sit up and start rubbing the heels of my palms under my eyes. “Gah, I hate those kinds of movies.”
He stretches his arms and yawns.
“It was –”
“I mean, if I were that woman, I would haunt his ass. I would be so furious he let everything go to shit,” I interrupt.
He scowls.
“I don’t think that he let everything go to shit.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was head over heels. Had his heart broken. You can’t replace that kind of love, obviously. He was stuck in time. He couldn’t go backwards, couldn’t go forward. He had to learn how to live again. To make time resume its normalcy.” His eyes flash with something unfamiliar before scowling. As if he didn’t mean to open up to me. How can he say stuff like that and not be taken by someone?
“Have you ever been in love?” He untangles from me and exhales, irritation and anxiousness radiating off him in waves.
“Why do we keep coming back to me and my life? I thought I said it was off-limits.” His tone carri
“I guess because I feel like I don’t know you.” I know what his file says, but I don’t know anything past that. “I want to know what makes you the way you are. Why you’re so brooding and pissed off all the time.” I shrug.
We sit in silence, my eyes avoiding him. I like him, I do. But I need more than what he’s giving me. I want to know what makes Zevin Deluca. Why he’s so angry all the time, and what makes him happy.
“It’s better that you don’t know. It’s safer.”
“You know, if it’s trust that’s the big issue, I can assure you that I’m not going to repeat anything. It wouldn’t do any good anyways. I’m sleeping with you, which is a conflict of interest. It’s inadmissible in court. Plus, everyone’s scared of you anyway, so they would turn a blind eye.”
He runs his hands through his hair, sweat building on his forehead.
“That’s not the point… I just can’t,” he murmurs.
Pissed off, I stand. I’m jealous those club bitches get to know more about him than I do. Furious because even though he’s here with me, I don’t feel like he’s really here.
“So, you can have sex with me, be that controlling asshole you are, but you can’t tell me anything about you? It’s not fair.”
“I’m just going to go.” He stands, and I feel my face turn red.
Is he serious? He’s just going to leave?
“What? Why?”
“Because I can’t do this!” he yells, little vessels popping from his forehead. Anger slams forward, devouring my senses.
“Fine. Go!” I stomp toward him, shoving him in the chest. Even with all my might, my push only makes him take a step back.
“You better watch it.” He lifts a sharp brow at me.
“Or what?” I shove him again. “You’ll handcuff me again? Kill me?” I know I’m pressing my luck, but I don’t care. I’m pissed off. I hate him, and I want him. He makes me crazy, and that, most of all, makes me go mad.
“Fine,” he grits. Turning, he strides into my room and starts putting his clothes on.
“We can’t do normal. Look at us, we can’t even sit down to watch a movie together. Something couples do all the time.” A half-laugh, half-cry spills from my lips as I pull on my bangs in frustration.
Ignoring me, he steps around me, grabs his cut and leaves.
ZEEK
I ride through town, the fresh air just what I need. My mind is racing, my emotions like a game board that’s been overturned. I’m everywhere. I don’t feel like I can play house; I’m not bred to do that.
Sitting there watching that movie, I nearly came undone. I became anxious, needing to fuck, or kill. Do something.
Then when she started asking me questions, stepping over that last boundary, I could feel the walls closing in.
Maybe it’s because even though I care for Jillian, she’s still law enforcement, and talking to her about me or the club steps over that line that is scarred into my soul.
It’s a rule I killed my own blood for breaking. I’ve not only broken the rules thus far, I’ve literally thrown the fucking rule book out the window.
To step over that last one, though, it’s going to take some time. Otherwise, killing my own father would’ve been in vain. Becoming who I am today would’ve been for nothing.
But worst of all, if anyone catches me with her, they’ll torture her.
She’ll be another one I care about that I burned, and it will be my fault. I’m not sure I can take hurting someone else I care about.
I need to tread lightly, at least until I can figure out how to get my club separate from my uncle. Once I do that, I will kill that motherfucker. It won’t be slow. It won’t be humane. It’ll be animalistic.
I ride to the club, needing to clear my head. No matter what kind of mood I’m in, the club has acted as a refuge. It’s a sanctuary, taking my thoughts and anger, and placing them where they’re best needed.
Ruling. Killing. Fucking.
Heading inside, the lights are dimmed, the music loud. It’s packed with bodies from one end to the other.
Pushing through the doorway, people start to move out of the way, some giving me a nod, some smiling.
“Zeek!” Some drunk girl I don’t recognize stumbles into me, her beer spilling on my boots. My lip curls in distaste, and I shove her out of the way.
“There he is!!” Turning my head, I find Machete sitting on the couch, a beer in one hand.
Striding toward him, he shoves some drunk girl off the cushion. She lands on the dirty floor with a thump, passed out. I step over her and sit next to him.
“Hey, Tinker! Get us some beer!” he hollers above the music.
Pop Evil’s “Torn to Pieces” plays on the speakers, and my mind immediately shifts to Jillian.
Trying to be a man of feeling is tearing me apart. I want to walk away from her, want to tell her to screw off like I do every other female… but I can’t. She’s a dream in my nightmare. The path of light I’ve been silently seeking, but never knew… not until her.
“Oh, come on!” Tinker shouts, her hands outstretched. At closer inspection, some guy is throwing up over by the bar.
I don’t feel relaxed. I feel tenser than before, actually.
“You bitch!” a young woman screams, slapping the other across the face. Seconds later, a catfight breaks out.
Shaking my head, I sit forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
Come to think of it, this club hasn’t felt like that for a long time.
This place used to be my home.
It feels cold and empty now.
Out of order.
This isn’t my club anymore.
This is Uncle Frank’s.
“You all right, man?” Machete asks, nudging me in the arm. I ignore him.
Tinker hands me a beer. I grab it in a trance and set it on the coffee table.
My eyes slowly sweep up, catching a couple of guys wearing prospect patches with our club’s colors. I don’t recognize them.
“Who is that?” I nod toward them.
“Oh, yeah. Frank patched them in this morning.”
My head snaps in Machete’s direction.
“What’d you say?”
“Yeah, patched them in this morning. We tried to call you. Felix threw a huge fit, and Cross pistol-whipped him. It was a goddamn mess, man.” Some girl with leather chaps and no panties on slides onto his lap.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He smirks, running his hand over her ass.
My inner beast paces back and forth within my chest, waiting to be released as I watch the posers. Stepping over the coffee table, I stride toward the men I’ve never seen before and fist the back of their leather cuts.
The beast is out of its fucking cage!
Shoving one to the ground face-first, I press my boot into the back of his neck hard and tear the cut off his back. Turning to grab the other guy, Machete is already on him. The guy’s face pressed into the wall with force, he tears the patch off.
I release my foot from the first dipshit’s back, and he stands. Pulling my piece from my waist, my finger rubs along the trigger. Tears stream down his face, his bottom lip trembling. He’s young, maybe eighteen. Clearly not cut out for this kind of life.
“I’m… I’m…” He stumbles on his words.
“I don’t allow just anyone into my club.” He wipes his eyes and looks the other way. “The fuck? You crying?” He shakes his head quickly, denying it.
“Get the hell out of my club. You come here again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?”
“Frank—”
“Frank doesn’t run this club, I do. Wearing colors or patches that weren’t given to you by the president of the club, or voted in by said club, will get you killed!”
“Take note,” Machete sneers.
“Fuck you, man, you ain’t in charge of shit!” The one Machete was holding spits at my feet. Looking at my boot, I curl my lip. He disrespected me, in my own club, wearing my colors.
Both of them race out of the club, nearly pushing the other out of the way to get to the exit quick enough.
Fisting the prospect’s top rocker in my hand, rage makes my blood roar in my ears. My uncle has used me since day one, his mission to take over the club in full effect… and I let it happen.
I was a boy before, not seeing my uncle for the fuck he was.
Not anymore.
“Machete, get that mouthy punk.”
THIRTEEN
JILLIAN
Pacing my living room, regret starts to surface in my chest. Why did I push him? It’s like I’m not happy unless I can run a background check on someone, and have them fully interrogated.
My ways are why I was single for so long. I’m pushy, come on too strong. I normally don’t care; however, Zeek is different. I don’t want him to walk away because I can’t get over my control issues.
Picking up my phone, I call his cell. It goes to voicemail.
Running to my room, I throw on ripped jeans and a hoodie. Grabbing my keys, I get in my Jeep and drive toward Sin Casino.
A motorcycle cuts in front of me and turns down a dark alley next to the casino’s valet. Biting my cheek, I follow the motorcycle. He leads me into the shadows of the casino, where a dozen motorcycles are parked. This must be where the club resides.
I watch the guy park in the garage behind the casino and head into a building.
My back starts to sweat, my hands gripping the steering wheel. I know being here is beyond dangerous. I shouldn’t be here. It’s suicide if I’m recognized. Jesus, look at me. Seems like weeks ago I was pissing myself just going to a party that was potentially unlawful.
Now, I’m about to walk into a notorious motorcycle club. Willingly putting myself in danger, and accepting I can’t do a thing about it if I get caught. Zeek is changing me, and I didn’t even realize it.
I just need to go in, find Zeek, and make things right. Then, I can get out of there. Losing him, it will be my fault. The things I feel for him, they may never come again. I’ll be that old lady with her cats.
I shiver at the thought.
Stepping out of my Jeep, the music from the club tunes out the night of Vegas. A large man in a suit stands guard at the door, but has his back turned talking to some girl.
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