Clutch

by Drew Elyse

  Just as I was prepared to excuse myself, Nathaniel spoke. “Well, I think that concludes this evening,” he said, his bitterness not even slightly disguised. He looked at me directly. “I need to speak with David Lynch for a few minutes. I will find you in the lounge when I am finished.” He stood, and then looked to my dad. “Greg,” he said curtly with a slight nod. Then, he left.

  Dad said nothing as he walked off. Once Nathaniel was a reasonable distance away, he leveled me with a serious look. “Cami—”

  “I know, Dad. Really, I do. He earned what Gauge said,” I cut in. “Can we drop it?”

  “Honey, that’s not what I was gonna say,” he replied. “I was going to ask you a question.”

  “What?”

  “Are you sure that man is who you want in your life? Do you want a man who doesn’t respect others and makes no effort to understand how you grew up or where you came from?”

  “Dad,” I started, but I could not find anything else to say.

  “I’m not lookin’ for an answer, I’m only asking you to consider that,” he said. “I don’t see him when y’all are alone. Maybe there’s a reason you want to be with him. Honestly, baby girl, I’m not seein’ it, but you’re a grown woman. I ain’t gonna tell you what to do. I just want you to be sure of what you’re doing before you tie yourself to that man.”

  “Okay,” I said quietly. It was all I could muster. “I…I need to use the restroom.”

  “Alright, girlie. I’ll wait here for Gauge, then we’ll head out to the bikes. Come find us there.”

  “Right, of course.” I walked away quickly. Dallas could only get away for so long. I needed to find him immediately.

  It took me a little bit of searching to find him. When I did, he was around the corner from the bathrooms. It was less private than I preferred, but I could not be choosey given the night I was having.

  “I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” Dallas drawled.

  “Sorry, I had to get away.”

  “Looks like things aren’t going too well.”

  I snorted. “You have no idea. There is a circle of Hell inspired from my evening.”

  “I could relieve some of that stress if you gave me a chance,” he said, one of his hands coming up to trace down the side of my neck. His fingers skimmed across my skin as they moved lower to the open top of my shirt, inching closer to my breasts. He tapped the first closed button before I pushed his hand away.

  “You know I am not going there,” I reminded him. “Do you have what I am actually here for?”

  “Of course,” he said, producing the baggie I needed from his pocket.

  I dug in my clutch for the cash, handing it over as I accepted the package. “Thank you,” I said, kissing his cheek. “You are a lifesaver.”

  “I need to get back. Call me anytime you need anything,” he said as he walked away. I chose to ignore the innuendo. Harmless or not, Dallas’ flirting did not hold a candle to the onslaught I had experienced all day.

  I continued to face the spot where Dallas had just been as I reached into the open neck of my top and situated the baggie into my bra. I took a deep breath, preparing myself to go outside and face my dad and Gauge again. I briefly considered going into the restroom and taking the edge off with a hit, but shut that down. If there was any sign I had used, Dad would be able to pick up on it. I turned to head outside and nearly jumped out of my skin. Gauge was standing a few feet away, his gaze more intense than I had seen all day.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Is that how you make yourself into the woman he wants you to be?” he asked, ignoring my question. He took a few steps closer to me, and my pulse quickened.

  “What are you talking about?” My voice sounded breathy, even to my own ears.

  He did not answer me right away. Instead, he continued to move toward me. He stepped in close, and I scrambled backwards, until I was against the wall. The moment I realized I had trapped myself, I noticed the corner of Gauge’s lips rise. He took advantage of my mistake, coming so close, he was pressed against me. I had nowhere to go, no way to escape what he was doing to me.

  One of his hands settled on my waist. The warmth of it seeped through the top of my skirt and satin shirt. The way his large hand engulfed me made me feel more delicate than I could ever remember. The power he exuded was enough to consume us both, until the entire clubhouse melted away. The heat suffusing my body felt dangerous, out of control. He hardly touched me, yet he was redefining attraction.

  “I’m talking about that shit you got.” His words cleared enough of the fog from my mind for me to answer.

  “I have no idea what ‘shit’ you are talking about.”

  “Really, darlin’?” He smirked at me, but there was something derisive about it. His free hand was suddenly at my chest, reaching beneath my shirt into my bra. I felt his work-roughened hands against the skin of my breasts. There was nothing sexual about his touch. It was quick and determined. Still, I was caught between fighting him and pleading for more.

  Then, his hand was gone. He brought it up next to his face, the baggie of cocaine pinched between his index and middle fingers. “I know blow when I see it.”

  “You would,” I accused, trying to reach up and snatch it back.

  “You and I both know the club doesn’t deal in that shit anymore,” he growled. He was right. It was unfair to say that. The club had fought hard to get clean of that sort of work.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I muttered. My arms collapsed to my sides. There was no point in trying to fight Gauge. If he wanted to hold onto the baggie, there was nothing I could do to stop him.

  “I ask again, you use this to put up with all this stuck-up shit?”

  I bristled. “It is none of your business.”

  “That won’t give you what you need,” he said.

  “And what is it you think I need?”

  “Something big and powerful between those sweet thighs.”

  Holy. Shit.

  I didn’t know whether he was talking about him or his bike.

  I was ready to beg for either.

  Or both.

  At the same time.

  I think my brain might have short-circuited because the next thing I knew, Gauge was nuzzling my neck before moving up to my ear to whisper, “I’d gladly take care of you, darlin’.”

  A part of me—a desperate, crazed part—wanted to say yes to his indecent proposal. I had never known desire to be so all consuming. It took everything I had to keep myself from making a colossal mistake. “Gauge, I can’t.”

  “Leave him. He’s no fucking good for you.”

  Was he being serious? “Leave him? Then what? Ride off on the back of your bike? Be your piece for a while until you get tired of me? What do I do when you get your fill of me? I will not be one of the club whores!”

  “Jesus, fuck!” Gauge snapped, pulling back so his hot glare was on me. “You think I don’t know that? You think Tank would ever allow that shit to happen? You’re not fucking free pussy like that.”

  “So, you want to give me your patch? That seems extreme seeing as we just met. You don’t even know me, Gauge. I am not going to uproot my life to be your fuck buddy and see if maybe we actually like each other.”

  “What life do you even have to uproot here? The one where you walk around every day like that asshole’s puppet? A life where you keep using this shit,” he brandished the cocaine in front of me again, “until you end up so messed up on it, it kills you?”

  I started pushing against him, trying to get away. I did not want to hear the things he was saying. “Let me go,” I snarled at him.

  “You’re right, babe. I’m not ready to make you my old lady. I’m perfectly happy with club pussy giving me what I need when I need it, but at least I’m man enough to admit when there might be something better. I’m willing to fuckin’ try. You’re too scared to take a chance.”

  Something inside of me crumbled apart at his words, but I would
not let him see that. Instead, I lashed out again. “You know nothing about me.”

  He shook his head in a resigned way, so at odds with his domineering presence. “You might be right there. I really didn’t think the woman I met earlier was a fucking coward.”

  Whether he intended it or not, the blow hit harder than anything he could have said. Was that really who I was? I had no delusions of being happy with Nathaniel, but had I really let fear keep me from finding something better? When had that become me?

  Unable to take any more of his verbal assault, I told him, “My dad’s waiting outside.” Without another word, I turned and walked away.

  I nearly made it through the club and to the front doors before Gauge grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me around to face him. His face still showed frustration in the tight lines around his eyes and subtle clench of his jaw. Yet, he did not seem outwardly angry anymore. There was a sadness where the fire had been, concern instead of accusation.

  “Look, you’re right. I don’t know you, and it’s not my job to tell you what to do with your life.” It was not an apology, but I knew it was a lot from him. Bikers are not the sort of men who apologize for what they say or believe. At least Gauge had the grace to offer me that, many of his club brothers would not. “Can you do one thing for me?”

  I was hesitant to say yes, unsure if his request would launch us into another battle of wills, but he seemed to be serious about backing off the Nathaniel fight. “Okay, what?”

  “Where’s your phone?” I produced it from my clutch, holding it out. He snatched it and fiddled with it for a few moments before returning it to my hand. “You have my number now. If you ever need me, use it. Fuck, use it just because you fuckin’ feel like it, I don’t care.”

  A part of me wanted to retort, to tell him my dad would be there if I needed help, but I trapped down that hateful remark. Gauge had me firing off at the slightest word, but he was being kind in that moment. And though I was loathe to admit it, the idea of being able to contact him if I felt the urge was not an unpleasant one. “Okay.”

  We made our way outside, finding my dad leaning against his bike with a cigarette at his lips. His free hand rested on the tank shifter, an all too familiar sight. I think the simple action of placing his hand there helped him feel connected to my mother. I moved right into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Thanks for coming to see me, Dad.”

  “Anytime, baby girl.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground, wrapping both of his still-muscular arms around me. “You say the word, and I’ll be here.”

  “I love you,” I told him.

  “Love you, too,” he answered. He held me for a moment longer, and I wondered if he might say something else. Then, with a tight squeeze that had me laughing, he released me.

  I stepped away, watching as he and Gauge mounted their bikes. The roar of the engines in the quiet night caused heads to turn our way, but the judging eyes meant nothing to me. I loved that sound. I continued to watch as my dad pulled away, turning to Gauge when he stayed idled for a moment longer. His eyes were on me with the same shining intensity I was coming to expect from him. He gave me a final once-over, winked, and then followed my dad into the night. It took me until the sound of their bikes began to fade in the distance to realize he had never given me back the cocaine I purchased from Dallas, but I was not upset. He was right. Using was only going to destroy my health.

  Hours later, after Nathaniel found me in the lounge and led me to the car, after I listened to him complain the entire way home and longer about bikers and what an atrocious upbringing I had, and after I told him I was not feeling well and went up to get ready for bed early, I finally retrieved my phone to charge it for the night. I could not say what possessed me to do it, but I found myself opening my contacts and scrolling down to Gauge’s name. Only, I did not find it. It took me a few minutes to realize there were no new entries in my contacts at all. But there was a text to an unsaved number. Gauge had sent himself a message from my phone. I went to save the number, pausing when I saw what he sent.

  Me: Gauge, you are so fucking sexy. I want your huge cock.

  I did not know whether to laugh or roll my eyes. The man seriously needed to be taken down a peg or two. With that thought, I sent him a text of my own.

  Me: Keep dreaming.

  I meant to tease him, yet, once I finally drifted off, I was the one who dreamed about Gauge and all the illicit things he could do to me.

  Cami: Have you ever had sex on your bike?

  Jesus. Fuck. That damn woman was going to be the fuckin’ death of me. It had been three weeks since the day I met her, and I’d talked to her almost every day since.

  When I gave her my number, I honestly hadn’t thought I’d ever hear a damn word from her. I’d already been prepared to let that shit go. She was engaged—albeit to a total fuckwit—and unhappy or not, she didn’t seem like she was in a hurry to change that. I figured the next time I heard anything about her would be from Tank mentioning something. Then, I’d gotten a text from her that same evening in response to the one I’d sent myself from her phone. Even then, I’d anticipated the line of communication going dark real fast. Still, I’d taken advantage of the door she opened.

  Me: I will, babe.

  She hadn’t responded that evening, and I’d planned on taking cues from her, so it was a serious fuckin’ surprise when my phone went off the next day with a text from her.

  Cami: Any club girls thanking you this morning?

  She was flirting with me. Shit, she was playing with fire. Somehow, I knew I was the one who would get burned if I played her game, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

  Me: Nah. Just me thanking my hand.

  Cami: Disappointing.

  Me: You want me fucking the patch whores?

  Cami: No. I meant for you.

  Me: Trust me, you didn’t fucking disappoint.

  Cami: Me?

  Me: Told you I’d be dreaming about you.

  Cami: You’re disgusting. And I am oddly flattered.

  Me: You should be.

  That was how it unfolded, day in and day out. Sometimes the conversations were harmless. That first day, we eventually switched gears and talked music for a while. Other days, we talked about movies, bikes, random things that happened during the day. I was really getting to know her. It was normal, more normal than anything I’d ever known. Then, one of us would blow that all to hell.

  It would be simple, sometimes just one fuckin’ text.

  Cami: I hate having a housekeeper. It makes me seriously uncomfortable that she cleans and sorts my panties.

  I could claim I tried to be good when she sent that one, but that’d be a damn lie. First thing I did was picture what sort of panties Cami had—I figured lace, skimpy but nothing like the pussy ‘round the club wore. Hers would be classy shit. Picturing that ass of hers in lace, my dick got hard real fast. Before I could fuckin’ consider whether I was making a big mistake, the fucker was out and in my hand as I texted her back.

  Me: What kind of panties?

  Cami: Wouldn’t you like to know.

  Me: Fuck yes I would.

  There wasn’t an immediate response, but I didn’t need one. Just the image my mind conjured up of her in lace, moving the material aside so I could fuck her while the little panties stayed on, had me close to blowing my fucking load. Her teasing only pushed me closer. Then, my phone went off again.