by Celia Loren
Bean grabs my arm and hustles me away. I struggle to keep up with him as he pulls the door open. I see Drifter by the main door and he glances back at me, frowning. We make eye contact just as the main door flies open. Sheriff’s deputies wearing bulletproof vests burst in.
“Get on the ground!” they yell as they swarm through the lounge. Bean tries to pull me through the stairwell door but one of them sees us and points his gun at us.
Bean releases my arm and we both lie flat on our stomachs. I wrap my hands around the back of my head and look around cautiously. The deputies are clearing the first floor, moving up each floor methodically. One of them stands over us, gun drawn.
“What the fuck, Greeley?” I hear Bean growl angrily at him. The Son’s bought cop looks down with a guilt-stricken face.
“Sorry, I was out of the loop on this one. Shit’s been crazy ever since you offed Santiago,” Greeley whispers back.
Bean frowns up at him, then glances at me.
Greeley...Santiago...I’ve heard their names before, on my first night here. Bean, Flint, and Tag were planning out a hit on Santiago in the lounge, and I overheard them. That must be why Flint is so scared of me being here right now. And Greeley, this deputy, was feeding them information about Santiago’s whereabouts. But now he’s out of the loop, and couldn’t warn the Sons about this raid.
I let my cheek rest against the cool tile floor. At least I just washed it yesterday. I spot Drifter lying by the door, his hands placed calmly on his head. He almost looks like he’s just resting. His face is turned away from me. I wonder if he’s heard about my little escape attempt.
“Clear!” I hear the deputies calling from various parts of the building. We lie on the floor for a while, the cold of the tile seeping through the front of my shirt and chilling my skin as they thoroughly search the building.
Eventually, a small group of them forms about ten feet away from us in the lounge. I see a man with a Sheriff's badge in the middle of the group.
“Nothing,” I hear the deputies report to him.
“Shit,” the Sheriff swears. He looks around, then spots me lying on the ground. “I want to talk to her alone. That one was trying to pull her out of here—let’s find out why.”
I hear Bean shift almost imperceptibly next to me. I look up as the Sheriff and two deputies walk toward me. Greeley reluctantly backs away from us as they approach.
“You, get up,” the Sheriff orders me. I stand and brush the front of my shirt off. “Bring her back here,” he tells his deputy, and walks back into the office space. “Clear everyone out,” he orders, and two deputies escort Flint and Green out of Flint’s office and into the lounge.
I follow the Sheriff back into Flint’s office. He takes a seat behind the desk and indicates that I should sit in the seat opposite him. His deputies flank the door behind me. I smile inwardly at the fact that I’m repeating the exact same position I was in just an hour or so ago, except with completely different players.
It occurs to me as I sit down that this could easily be the end of my stay here. I could show him the ankle monitor, and tell him I’m a prisoner, and what I overheard in the lounge. I could do serious damage to this club.
But these men have treated me fairly. I’ve met bad men before, like Rooster, and I don’t think these are bad men. The hit I overheard them talking about...I don’t know what’s behind it, but I believe that they are living according to a code of honor. It might be different than the one that mainstream society goes by, but I still trust them implicitly.
The Sheriff studies me, and I adjust my expression slightly, trying to go for a dumb, deer-in-the-headlights look.
“I’m Sheriff Wilson,” he says. “If you don’t answer my questions truthfully, I’m going to make life very difficult for you. Understand? Good. Now, what’s your name?”
“Violet,” I say sweetly.
“Violet. You a sweet butt here?” he demands.
“More of a den mother, sir,” I answer meekly.
“That can’t be a good life,” he says with a cold smile, “Look at you! A pretty girl like you, you could be doing whatever you want.”
“Thank you, sir,” I chirp.
He nods, feeling like he’s paid me a great compliment. The idiot.
“I’m going to level with you, Violet. These bikers here, they’re really bad guys,” he goes on, speaking as if to a child, “I bet you’ve heard about a lot of the stuff that goes down around this place. You ever hear the name Santiago mentioned before?”
“No, sir,” I reply.
He sighs impatiently. “Never? You ever see anything around here? Anything suspicious? Anything that shouldn’t be going on?”
“Well...” I bite the edge of my lip, “There’s this one thing...”
He leans forward excitedly. “Yes? What is it, Violet?”
“I shouldn’t say...” I whisper.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he says, his eyes maniacally lighting up.
I pause for dramatic effect, hating his patronizing tone. “I have seen something, sir. In one of their bedrooms on the second floor. The one named Drifter. Fifth door on the right. In the top drawer of his dresser. Please...don’t tell them I told you about it, OK?” I raise my eyes to him pleadingly.
“Don’t worry, Violet,” he says oh-so-gallantly, “It’s just between you and me.” He stands up. “Take her back in the lounge,” he says to one of his deputies. “You follow me,” he orders the other one with a nod.
We all walk back into the lounge. One of the deputies orders me to lie back down on the ground, while Sheriff Wilson and the other deputy rush excitedly upstairs. The brothers turn their heads to me as I lie down, anger plastered on their faces. It’s clear that I’ve given Wilson some information. I catch Drifter’s eye and, forgetting my anger at him, I wink. He frowns at me in confusion. I smile back at him and bat my eyes innocently, then turn my face away from him before I can see his response.
I hear some commotion coming from upstairs and then hear Wilson yell, “Fuck!”
The brothers and the deputies alike turn toward the stairwell door. In a moment, the Sheriff and the deputy burst back into the lounge. Wilson holds Drifter’s pipe in his hand and shoves it toward me angrily.
“This? Are you fucking kidding me?” he yells.
“Oh, yes,” I answer dumbly. “Illegal drugs!”
“This?” he barks, shaking the pipe in his hand. “This is barely enough for possession, you dumb fucking bitch!”
He throws the pipe against the wall in anger. I hear brothers around me stifling laughter and I struggle to keep a straight face. I knew he wouldn’t care about finding a little pot, but it was fun to lead him astray for a moment.
“Oh, this is so fucking funny, huh?” he yells to the lounge in general.
“I’m—I’m sorry, sir,” I stammer, and the brothers really lose it.
“Let’s get out of here!” Wilson yells, as laughter bursts out around him. He storms out the main door and the deputies follow him. I even see Greeley trying to cover a smile on his face.
As the door closes behind them and we hear their patrols cars starting up and peeling away, laughter echoes throughout the lounge. Bean turns to me, shaking his head with a smile on his face. He stands up and offers me his hand.
“Good one,” he says, as I pull myself up.
I turn to the main door to see Drifter lying on his back now, wiping tears of laughter from his cheeks. Flint walks over to me, a smile breaking across his face.
“Alright, alright,” he says nodding to me. “I guess we don’t have to question your loyalty anymore.”
“But you owe me a pipe!” Drifter yells from across the room, and laughter breaks out again.
“Sorry about that!” I call back.
The brothers stand up, dusting themselves off. They pat me on the back as they spread out around the clubhouse to straighten up the mess that the search has created. I see Drifter cross behind me and go up
stairs. Sadness fills me up again as I remember why I really took that bike last night. I wonder if he and Cherish are official now. Either way, I feel like I owe him an explanation.
With a nod to Flint, who now clearly doesn’t feel like I need an escort everywhere anymore, I walk up the stairs and down the second floor hallway toward Drifter’s room. I feel a knot forming in my stomach again, as I try to figure out what I’m going to say and worrying about what he’s going to tell me. His door is open slightly, so I walk right in. He’s stuffing clothes back in his dresser drawers and looks up as I enter.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did yesterday,” I gush, “It was cruel. When I heard you’d told Cherish you loved her, I just felt so cheap and stupid. I mean, if you just wanted to sleep with me, you didn’t have to tell me you loved me,” I say as calmly as I can, but I feel a knot forming in the back of my throat.
Drifter rubs his face in frustration. “Violet, I didn’t just want to sleep with you! I did tell Cherish I loved her, but that was years ago.”
“What?” I say, frowning at him in confusion.
“I told Cherish I loved her after my first tour. I had just come back from a war zone, and I thought I was in love, but the more I got to know her, the more I realized it just wasn’t right between us.”
“Then why did you ask her to be your old lady?” I demand, crossing my arms.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks in frustration. He’s been trying to keep his voice calm, but I can tell he’s losing it.
“Last night, you took her to a fancy restaurant to ask her to be your old lady,” I clarify, though my voice starts to waver with doubt.
“To ask her...wait, is that why you stole a bike? Jesus, Violet!” his voice is still angry, but I can see a glimmer of a smile in his eyes. “I wasn’t asking her to be my old lady.” He takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself. “After I came back from my second tour, Cherish and I agreed that we wouldn’t be serious. And when I came home this time, after you rejected me in the bathroom that night, I slept with her again. I thought she and I were on the same page—it was just casual. But then I got to know you, and it was different, and I saw how angry she was when she walked in on us together. I felt guilty, so I took her out to dinner to explain to her...”
“Explain what?” I prod him.
“That it would never happen between her and me,” he says, “Because what I feel with you is so different, even if you don’t want me. I can’t go back to anything less.”
I feel the wind knocked out of me.
“But now I know how you feel about your husband. And I get it. I’ll back off,” Drifter says finally, trying to read my expression.
“No!” I burst out.
“No?” he asks.
“No—you don’t know how I feel about my husband,” I clarify.
He frowns at me, and I run my hand through my hair. OK—this is it. No going back now.
“My husband, Rooster...he’s not the man I thought he was when I married him,” I begin, “I loved him, or thought I did, but the man I married was just some persona that he had created to win me over. He only wanted to marry me so he could get ahead in the MC, because my dad was president.” The painful knot grows in my throat, and I have to swallow back tears to continue. “It hasn’t been good between us for a while. Actually, it’s been really bad. He hits me,” I can’t look at Drifter any longer, and stare at the floor as tears break free and stream down my cheeks.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I hear him ask softly. I keep staring at the ground, ashamed.
“He threatened me,” I whisper, “He told me all these scary stories about you guys, and I didn’t know whether or not to believe them. That’s why I thought you were just trying to get close to me, you know, to keep an eye on me, see if I’d been stealing the money. And he has Scout—”
“Scout?” Drifter asks.
“My dog. Scout,” I tell him, “My dad gave him to me before he died. He’s like my kid.” I finally raise my eyes to him. “I just, I was scared to tell you the truth. But I believe in you guys now. And I don’t want Rooster to double-deal you behind your back. Because the truth is that he doesn’t care about me either, so having me here as collateral doesn’t mean anything to him. He doesn’t care if I live or die.”
Drifter’s eyes are filled with sadness, but I watch a small smile form across his lips. He walks slowly towards me and wraps his arms around me. I sink into him, laying my cheek against his cut. I finally feel that there are no barriers between us, and I breathe in his wonderful scent as I release the many tears that have been pent up inside me. When he senses I’m done crying, he pulls my head back and wipes his thumbs under my eyes, clearing the tears off my cheeks.
“You could’ve told me all this before, you know,” he whispers. “I love you, Violet,” he adds tentatively.
I feel a wild grin break out on my face.
“I love you, too,” I whisper back.
He sweeps me up in a giant hug, lifting me off my feet and planting a kiss on my lips. He drops me back on the floor and we take a step back from each other. In a heartbeat, desire overwhelms us. Without a word, we immediately start stripping off our clothes as quickly as possible. I almost trip over my jeans in my haste to pull them off. I squeal as I try to right myself and yank my shirt off over my head at the same time.
Drifter is down to only his boxers and dog tags already and he pulls me toward him, his mouth greedily searching mine as his hands deftly unhook my bra and pull it off my arms. I feel him push my underwear to the floor and I step out of them, our mouths never parting. I yank down his boxers and he kicks them to the side as they hit the floor. I moan as our naked bodies come together. I feel him run his hand down the small of my back. His cock hardens against me as he presses a finger against that tight, forbidden ring of muscle between my cheeks.
“God, yes, now,” I moan, and he turns me around and pushes me toward the wall. I plant my hands high above my head and feel his cock drive into me. We press ourselves against each other desperately, wanting to feel more and more. I feel his hand slide around my body and knead my aching clit, driving me crazy.
I feel an orgasm building inside of me and bring my legs closer together around his dick. He moans and thrusts as hard as he can. I shout as he drills into me, feeling my hands sliding down the wall as I struggle to support myself. My knees buckle as I come hard. He thrusts deep inside of me and calls out, emptying every drop of himself into me.
Leaning on my elbows, I try to catch my breath. Drifter leans forward and wraps his arms around me. He drops toward the bed, taking me with him. He curls around me on the black comforter and I study his calloused, rough hands. I bring his fingers to my lips and softly kiss them, one by one. I feel so complete, lying here with him wrapped around me, still inside me. He kisses my shoulders and I sigh contentedly.
Eventually, he pulls away so he can see my face. I relax back onto the bed and play with his dog tags as he props himself up on his elbow, studying me.
“What did Rooster tell you about us? The club?” he asks softly.
“Mmm...nothing good. Underage girl was raped, a family’s house set on fire with them still inside as retribution.” I look up at him. “But now that I know you, I don’t think that the brothers here would do that kind of stuff. Hurt innocents like that.”
Drifter brings his thumb up to my mouth and runs it across my lips.
“Violet,” he says quietly, “How much do you know about your husband’s...how to put this... reputation?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, frowning.
“Those horrible things...They’re all things I’ve heard about him,” Drifters says.
“Are you serious?” I breathe, “I mean, after all he’s done to me, I shouldn’t be surprised. I keep holding on to some image I used to have of him when we were kids together. It’s stupid.”
He pulls away from me and stands to toss the used condom in the trash.
He keeps his back to me for a second too long. I can tell something’s off.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask tentatively. He shoves his hands through his hair, sitting next to me on the bed.
“What do you know about your father’s death?” he asks softly.
“What? Why are you asking me that?” I sit up and pull the sheets up over my breasts. I suddenly feel completely vulnerable, and not in a good way.
“Hey,” he says quietly, taking my hand in his. “I just...there have always been rumors about his death, and I wasn’t sure what you knew or didn’t know. I don’t want to hold anything back from you.”
“Well,” I begin, my heart pounding, “He was on a run with the Army’s vice president, and Rooster, and some of the other brothers. He was killed by these Mexican drug runners when they got spooked by something.”
“That’s it?” Drifter presses.
My jaw drops, “—What else is there?” I ask, only half wanting to hear his answer.
Drifter sighs. “Well, the drug runners who supposedly killed your father...the story is, Ox had always refused to work with them, but after his death, the Army started helping them smuggle drugs into the country. Now, why would they do that—”
“Unless it was part of some agreement,” I finish his thought for him.
“What I think happened is, Rooster made a deal with these guys. If they helped him take over the Army, he would help them smuggle in the drugs,” Drifter confides, “And it’s been a lucrative business for both parties.”
“One that Flint wanted to take advantage of,” I point out.
“Flint likes to make a deal if it can prevent violence,” Drifter says, “But if he can prove that the Army is the one stealing from us, the whole support chapter thing will be off. He’ll just wipe them out.”
A wave of nausea sweeps over me. What Drifter is saying about my father and Rooster...it has a ring of truth to it. I can feel it reverberating through my body. I bring my knees into my chest and curl over them.
“I’m sorry,” Drifter whispers, draping his arm over my shoulders.
