by Carina Adams
“No!” I practically shouted.
Matty laughed. “Oohhhkkkaayy.” He stretched out the word. “Good.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t call last night, Sammy’s game ran late. Did you get my texts?”
“I didn’t!” I pulled my phone away from my ear and frowned at the screen before putting it back. “But, I didn’t look either.” I hesitated, not sure if I should tell him. Biting my lip, I decided to be honest. “Rocker kept me awake most of the night, and I didn’t even think about checking my messages. Sorry!”
The silence that answered me made me think he’d driven into a dead zone. “Hello?” I asked, sure I'd lost him.
“Sorry, it sounded like you said Rocker kept you up all night.”
I nodded to my empty room. “Most of it, yeah.”
“Doing what?” The voice was cold and agitated, and held none of the warmth it had only minutes ago. The memory of me sitting on Rob’s lap, snuggled against him, flittered through my mind. At the time it had been purely innocent, one friend wanting to comfort another. But, if someone had seen us, would it have looked that way? I swore under my breath. "Joes?" The tone of his voice sent shivers up my spine. This was scary Matt.
“Not like that, jeez!" I snapped, irritated. "We were up talking.”
He waited a few seconds for me to continue, but I stayed silent. “About?” he finally bit out.
“The Bastards.” I took a deep breath, trying not to read too much into his silence. “He told me about his childhood, about Hannah and Ali, and how the club got started.”
He swore. “That’s a lot of fuckin’ information to take in at once. How you holdin’ up?” I don’t know what I thought he’d say, but it wasn’t that.
I smiled, loving him even more. “I’m fine.” I shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to process it all yet. I was more worried about him than anything.”
“You don’t need to worry about him, babe. He’s been dealing with that shit for a long time.” He paused and I could hear him take a sip of his drink. I smiled, picturing him with his Dunkin Donuts coffee. “I wanted to tell you all of that shit, Joes, but I wanted to do it in person. There hasn’t been time.” He sighed. “That mind of yours must be running at full speed. I have about fifteen minutes before I get to my appointment, if you want to ask me anything.”
I smiled. He knew me so well. I had so many questions and didn’t even know where to start. Rob had told me a lot, but one thing worried me more than anything else, and I had focused on that most of the night. “The things you don’t want to tell me,” I swallowed, not sure how to continue. “I don’t need to know whatever it is. I love you. I trust you.” I can’t handle the thought of you breaking down the way Rob did. “But, is it always gonna be like this? Will I ever know what’s going on?”
“Jesus, Joes. I want to be looking at you when we talk about this.” He sighed. “There are some things I’ll never be able to tell you. Club business is for members only.”
“Ok. How do I become a member?”
“You don’t.”
“Why not?” He snorted, as if my question was absurd. I was instantly pissed. “Answer me, Matty!” I demanded, wanting an answer. “Why can’t I be a member?”
“Because you can’t. Women aren’t members. Let’s talk about it when we’re together, ok?”
I ignored his last question, hating that he was trying to pacify me. “That’s archaic and sexist!” He didn’t argue, irritating me even more. “Fine.” I seethed. “Then what exactly is a woman’s role?”
“Well,” he started slowly, and I couldn’t tell if it was amusement or worry in his voice, “there are a few different ones.” I waited patiently, expecting him to continue. He didn’t.
“So, what you’re saying is that the women that hang around the Bastards are either club whores or old ladies. All those women that were here Saturday are one or the other?” I didn’t buy that for one minute. I’d seen how they looked at him, how they were dressed. There is no way a woman that was attached to another man would even think about sending Matty the glances they were. And, there was no chance the club had that many ‘whores,’ right? I cringed at the thought, disgusted. “I don’t fit into either category, so what, I don’t have a role?”
“That’s not what I’m sayin’.” His voice was calm, but hard. “There are those women, yes, but there are others, too. Like the women that work for us and th..,”
“As in prostitutes and strippers?” I interrupted angrily. “I know I’m pretty clueless about this whole MC thing, but I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen Sons of Anarchy. I watched it with you after you got snipped, remember? So, unless I decide to swallow my pride and become a whore, or take my clothes off for money, there isn’t a place for me in your stupid club?”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna fuckin’ happen, so don’t even fuckin’ think about it. The only man seein’ you naked is me. And, no more HBO for you.” If I hadn’t been so pissed, I would have laughed. “The Bastards don’t own a strip club, even though I can see how that might be a great idea.” He laughed when I growled. “And we’re not pimps. What I meant was, the girls like Jessie who work for one of the businesses. There are moms of kids we’ve helped that come over and clean, or help us organize charity runs. There are friends that enjoy hanging around. And, there are sisters, like Cris.”
I mmhhmm’d, not sure I was going to accept his explanation.
“Ah, fuck, babe. You kill me. The Bastards aren’t your typical MC. We like to do things a little different. But, you’re right. There are club whores and ol’ ladies, too. Nothin’ to worry about, though. Jessie’s tight with those women, and they’ll love you.”
“You don’t get it!” I snapped. “Cris and Jessie, they have these cool names, just like the rest of you, and they know all about the club and what to expect when you go on a ride. Jessie called me a civilian, as if she was a member of some super secret cool club. Which, apparently she’s not. Because she’s a woman!” The jackass laughed hysterically. “Really? I’m glad you find this so fucking amusing! I like your friends, well, most of them,” I corrected myself quietly, “but I… Goddammit, I hate the fact that I have no fucking place in your life! Ok?” I threw a pillow across the room in anger.
“You’re mine, Joes. That’s your place.”
I groaned. “I’m not your property, Matty. We haven’t even decided if we’re going to try to make us work.”
“You wanted to know your role, Joes, and I’m tellin’ you that’s your role in my life and in my club. You. Are. Mine.” He enunciated each word. “That’s all you need to worry about. Everyone else knows it, too.” I started to snap back, but he interrupted. “I’m here, Joey. We’ll finish this tonight, ok?”
I scowled. It wasn’t ok. I wanted answers, but I knew he had to go. “Fine. I’m going to the gym with Cris today and need to get ready anyway. Call me later?”
“Absolutely. I love you like crazy, even if you are a giant pain in the ass.”
I smiled, all my irritation gone. “Love you, too.”
Chapter 16
Jo
“Am I dressed well enough?”
Cris grabbed her gym bag from the back and slammed the door of her Jeep Wrangler before coming around to my side and sweeping her eyes over my light grey yoga pants, unzipped Nike Sweatshirt, and black exercise tank that proclaimed “Sweat is Fat Crying,” in bold letters over my boobs. With a sassy smile that mirrored one I’d seen from her brother at least a thousand times, she nodded. “It’s a gym, Joey. How else should you be dressed?”
I rolled my eyes as we turned towards the building. “Well, considering the vehicles I see in the parking lot, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t underdressed.” There were two Jags, a Mercedes S Class, and a Porsche mixed in with another wrangler and Volvo.
Cris snorted as she swiped a card in front of the door. Looking down at her very tiny sports bra and boxing shorts, she smirked. “If anyone’s underdressed, it’s me.” She held open the door fo
r me, dropping her voice. “They’re a bunch a nerds that made their millions and now they need to come here to keep their trophy wives happy. Trust me. You’re fine.”
The Beginner’s class was exactly how it sounded. A group of eight men, all dressed in baggy tee shirts and shorts, concentrating on learning stances and footwork. Muay Thai, we were told, is the art of eight limbs. It has an eight-point fighting system and uses every part of your body. Unlike traditional kickboxing, you can use fists, feet, knees, and elbows to hit your opponent. First, though, you had to learn how to control your body and work on core strength.
Cris was teaching the class standing with her back to a wall of mirrors that reminded me of a dance studio, so that we could see ourselves and watch her at the same time. The school’s co-owner, Nick, walked around while Cris yelled, helping us move our bodies into a new pose and offering suggestions. My fat was most definitely crying today—I was sweating buckets.
The class ended with us watching a sparring match between Cris and the other instructor. She was tiny compared to him. Even with her headgear and boxing gloves, he was a few inches taller, maybe 6’1, and had a good fifty pounds of pure muscle on her. They were obviously not trying to hurt each other, explaining each move as they went, laughing and taunting each other. Someone could do serious damage with this method of fighting. I was impressed.
After she climbed out of the ring and pulled off her gear, she dragged Nick over to meet me. His dark brown eyes sparkled at me. “When Cris told me she was bringing her friend Jo today, I assumed he’d fit right in with the rest of the class.” He shot her a dirty look. “Jesus, Cris, thanks for warning me! I’da shaved.” He ran his hands over the dark hair on his chin.
I gave him a small smile, not sure what to say. He winked in reply, a beaming smile splitting his cheeks. He was every woman’s fantasy, dressed only in red boxing shorts, his tanned, toned body was glistening from the workout, and it only emphasized his bulging muscles. He wasn't as tattooed as Matty, but he had plenty of ink running along his arms and a giant minotaur, dressed as a boxer ready to pounce, took up his entire back. You could tell by the way he held himself that he was proud of his body.
“So, whatdidya think?” He tipped his head over towards the studio part of the building, where class had been held. “You comin’ back?”
I nodded. “I had so much fun! I may never get to the sparring level, but I’d like to know more.”
Nick nodded. “Good.” He leaned his upper body towards me, eyebrows waggling friskily. “If not, I’d have to beg ya not to leave until you’d given me your number.”
Cris groaned, playfully annoyed. “Jesus, you're an idiot! This is Joey,” she said, pointing at me. Nick didn’t take his eyes off me. “As in Joes.” Her tone turned snappy. Nick raised his eyebrows, still not understanding. “As in Mateo’s girl.”
Nicks eyes widened and he jerked back. “Oh!” He met my eyes, shrugging. “Sorry. Didn’t realize.” It was like flipping a switch. He went from flirtatious to polite and accommodating before my eyes.
I turned to Cris, raising an eyebrow, sure I was missing something. She just smirked and nodded her head at him. "Jo, meet Neo. Matty's brothah." I scowled, confused for a split second. Matty didn't have a brother, unless you considered the club. Then it all made sense—Nick was a Bastard.
After chatting a few more minutes, I explained what I really wanted to learn. Nick took me back to the studio to show me a few easy moves to use to ward off would-be attackers while Cris went up to her office to deal with paperwork. He promised that the next few classes of Muay Thai would help, but spent the good part of an hour teaching me how to punch.
“No.” He laughed when I showed him how I would make a fist. Opening my hand, he pulled out my thumb and then closed my fingers. “If you keep your thumb on the inside, you’ll break it.” It took a few tries, but I was finally able line my knuckles up the way he wanted and put my thumb in the safest place.
Next, we worked on wrist alignment and where I should aim. “You’re a little thing,” he said, laughing when I gave him a glowering look. “It’s not a bad thing,” he corrected. “It just means that you’re going to have less targets than most. Aim for the throat. The nose, if the guy is short or sitting. But the throat any other time.”
He was in the middle of showing me how important follow through was (“It’s the most important thing when you’re punching someone,” he’d said) when Cris came in, freshly showered and looking fantastic in tight jeans and a tank.
“I’m sorry to cut your session short, but we have to go, Jo.”
I dropped my arms, turning to her. “Everything ok?” She only shook her head no before hauling Nick up to the office.
Five minutes later, we were in her Jeep. “Do you have time to drop me off at the house first?”
She zoomed through a yellow light as she shook her head. “No. Unfortunately we’ve both been summoned to Bury.”
“Summoned? By who?”
She gave me a sideways glace. “Who do you think?”
I scowled. Rocker. I wondered what was so important that he needed us in the middle of the day. I watched out the window, trying to keep my bearings as I wondered if we were going to his office. Cris headed towards South Boston, but then turned again towards Roxbury.
I tensed a little when I realized we were headed into the part of the city Will and our college friends had called Glocksbury. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been here. It was supposed to be scary as hell. The apartment buildings were nice, though, not at all what I expected. But as we drove they started to disappear, replaced by businesses and warehouses that got further and further apart. The property on my left was huge, but I couldn’t see much more than a building or two through the privacy fence that surrounded it. Cris slowed suddenly and put on her blinker. “Where are we?”
She turned into a paved driveway and stopped at a camera that sat outside the fence. Opening her window and reaching out, she finally replied, “The clubhouse.” There was a loud beep and then the gate swung inward. I glanced around, trying to take it all in. It was a large parking lot, with one huge building and two smaller ones. Between the smaller buildings was a giant playground and a picnic/grill area with deep green grass that seemed out of place amidst all the asphalt.
She parked in a space near the large red building and sighed. “I forgot you haven’t been here.” She glanced around the lot and then nodded. “You’ll be fine. There aren’t that many people here.”
“I can’t go in!” I exclaimed, shocked. I stared at the sign that took up most of the outside wall in front of me. It matched the back of the Bastards’ jackets. A silver Itus, wearing an ancient Roman helmet, in front of two jagged swords, each dripping red blood, ready to viciously slay anyone that threatened those he protected. ‘Bastards MC’ arched above him in bold red print, and ‘Boston’ curled below him in the same red letters. It was intimidating as hell. “I’m all sweaty and gross.”
She opened her door and then pointed at me. “Out. Now. If I have to face him, you do too.” I glared at her, but got out. “This used to be an elementary school,” she explained as we walked toward the door. “The city sold it when they upgraded. Perfect place for the club, tons of space for everything they want or need, and easy to get to.”
It was dark once the door closed behind us, and my eyes needed a minute to adjust. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we were in a bar. The room was decent sized, but full. There were at least twenty-five high tables, each surrounded by three or four black padded bar stools. In the corner to my left, there were four black leather couches and a couple of chairs set up in a large square. In the corner to my right, there were four pool tables. At the end of the room, a long wooden counter came off the wall in a U. Behind it there were hundreds of bottles of liquor and a stainless steel refrigerator. Above them, stretching the length of the bar, was a sign that proclaimed to the world, “GOD FORGIVES. BASTARDS DON’T.”
The bottom
of the walls were wood, the top painted a light silver. Everywhere I looked, the Bastards insignia seemed to be present. The walls held framed newspaper clippings, pictures, and framed leather jackets. Every inch of the space was colored in black, red, silver, or polished wood.
“Wow.”
Cris gave me a disgusted look and rolled her eyes. “I need a fuckin’ drink.” She strode across the room and behind the bar, grabbing a glass. “You want?”
“It’s two in the afternoon!”
“Exactly!”
I shook my head in exasperation, promising myself I wouldn’t say anything else, and took a seat, leaning onto the counter. “Water?”
She turned and grabbed me a bottle from the fridge, then downed her shot. Bracing her arms on the counter, she leaned forward and gave me a wry smile. “I better go back. Stay here. I won’t be long.”
I nodded. She walked back around the bar and down a hallway that I hadn’t noticed earlier. I wondered what was down it, half-tempted to go exploring. I turned in my chair, awed by not only the size, but how nice this room was. There were two closed doors—one right behind the bar and one over by the pool tables. She’d told me to stay here, but I wasn’t really leaving if I just peeked in them, right?
I slid off my stool just as a man walked out of the hallway. He had a glass tumbler in one hand and held a phone up to his ear with the other as he talked loudly. He slowed and gave me a curious look. I smiled and offered a pathetic wave. He smiled back and then walked towards the couches. I turned back to the bar feeling like an idiot. I stood, tapping my foot and sipping my water as I replayed everything I’d learned earlier, trying not to listen to his conversation.
“Babe? I said I need a refill.” I jumped when a hand touched my arm, the other hand flying to my chest. His eyes followed the movement and lingered on my breasts as he smiled sarcastically and held up the empty glass. “My glass is empty.”
