by Naomi West
I feel my cheeks heat. I feel stupid and ashamed for making assumptions.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Of course I don’t think that.”
“You need to be rid of that twerp,” he says. “He’s no good for you.”
I push my lips into a flat line. “I know. He’s …” I sigh. “We dated all through high school. Moved here after finishing school about a year ago.”
“Where from?”
“Sandusky,” I say. “Not far at all, but it feels like a million miles sometimes. And Phillip was the only person I knew.”
“And now?” Axel asks.
“I have a few friends, a good job,” I say. I give a little shrug.
“That doesn’t sound like fulfillment,” he says. “Or happiness.”
“Thanks, oh wise one,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I suppose you’re just a fount of advice on how to add happiness and fulfilment to my life?”
“Nah,” he says with a bitter laugh. “I haven’t made the best decisions with my life, either. At least you went to school, got a good job.”
“Do I dare ask what you do for a living?” I ask.
“Little of this, little of that. Lots of work for the MC.”
“The … MC?” I ask.
“Motorcycle club,” he says, pointing to the patch on his leather jacket. “My club’s called the Rippers. We’re mostly East Side territory.”
“Like a … gang?” I ask.
He shrugs, pushing his lips out. “Kinda, yeah.”
I nod and take another swig of beer. Great. A motorcycle gang.
“I think I’ve had enough for today,” I say, suddenly bone weary. “Physically, emotionally. I just … need a break. Okay?”
“My cue to leave?” he asks.
“Yeah, please,” I say.
He regards me for a long moment. There’s something in those blue eyes that makes me think I’ve hurt his feelings, but I just don’t have the energy to deal with it right now. I’m really confused about how turned on I am by him, by how my body reacts to him. It’s a new feeling, this lust, and lightyears more intense than anything I ever felt when I was in bed with Phillip.
Still, a tattooed biker? A gang member? My grandmother is rolling over in her grave right now. There is no way I could take this guy home to meet the family. There is no future with a man like this, none.
Axel gets up and makes his way to where I sit. He leans in and kisses my forehead. It’s a tender gesture out of a non-tender guy. He leans close to my ear and whispers, “I’ll be back. And I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll forget your own name.”
I suck in a surprised breath, my nether regions tightening with want at the naughty promise. He winks and walks to the door, letting himself out, shutting the door behind him.
***
Axel
Well, that was fun.
Except for that skinny fucker, Phillip. I wanted to boot that guy into the next county for showing up at all, let alone when I was just about to get that woman off. Maybe I’ll have him killed. I’m sure I can find someone in the club to do it for me.
Still, as suspected, Millie and I have something crazy between us. I’d be happy to bury myself inside of her and never come back out. Nothing would make me happier than to make her scream my name over and over.
Unfortunately, I can’t really do that. I’ve got some shit brewing at the club. As I roll back into headquarters on a borrowed bike, I see a crowd in the backyard. I hop off and jog over. Two of our guys are in an all-out brawl. One is shirtless, the other’s shirt is ripped at the neck. Both have bloody knuckles, scratches all over their faces.
“What the fuck’s going on?” I ask Tommy, who’s gripping a ratchet in one hand, looking worried and slightly sick.
“Razor broke Dennis’ nose a few seconds ago. Pretty sure he’s concussed. He threw up and then hopped back into the fight. It’s been going on for a really long time,” Tommy says.
“Fuck,” I say, stepping out of the circle and into the makeshift ring with the two guys. I grab Dennis by his ripped shirt and pull him away. Razor, blinded by bloodlust, punches me in the cheek before I grab ahold of his throat with my free hand. They’re both big guys, but not as big as me, and not as strong. The fighting stops as they both come back to clarity.
“Hey, boss,” Razor says with a weak smile.
“Hey, boss,” I repeat, shaking my head. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”
“That piece of shit fucked my old lady then jumped in on my side gig,” Razor says, pointing at Dennis.
Dennis, black hair matted to his head, blood pouring from his nose and lip, can barely stand. His pupils are two different sizes.
“You want him dead?” I ask Razor.
“No, just want him to learn his lesson,” Razor says. He’s got a deep gash, probably from Dennis’ big high school class ring, on the top of his shaved head.
“I think he has,” I say. I turn to one of the onlookers. “Take Dennis to the infirmary. Concussion protocol.”
Dennis is led off, confused, and looking pretty beat up.
“The rest of you fuckers can get back to work,” I say to the crowd as they start to disperse. To Razor, I say, “Go clean yourself up. No more brawling.”
He says, “Sorry, boss.”
“No side gigs,” I say. “You know Rod don’t like that shit. It’s dangerous. Too much can go wrong. You need money, come to us. There’s always more to do.”
He nods and slinks off. Tommy’s the only one still hanging around, so I ask him how my bike is looking. He assures me the work will be done within the week.
I thank him but as I start to walk toward the house, he says, “Hey boss, you know this isn’t the first time Razor and D been in a fight?”
“I know,” I say. “I was supposed to check in on it earlier but I didn’t.”
“Where’s Rod been?” Tommy asks.
“He’s got some personal shit goin’ on,” I say.
“Well, I hate to overstep, but it seems maybe the club needs you around more, then. Nothin’ good comes when guys sit around idle.”
“Yep,” I say, walking away.
Nothing good at all.
Chapter 5
Millie
It’s been weeks since I’ve seen Axel. I don’t know a thing about him, other than the name of his club. I looked up the Rippers Motorcycle Club and found a couple of news articles about guys in the club getting arrested on weapons and drugs charges. It kind of makes me glad I haven’t heard from him. I don’t need drama in my life.
I meet up with Elizabeth, one of my few friends here in Cleveland. We’re having a drink at one of the hip downtown bars that line a street full of entertainment and food venues. It’s only a few blocks from the law firm where we both work.
“Can you believe O’Shea today?” she kvetches. “He thinks he’s God’s great gift to law and everyone should make a big fuckin’ deal about every case he wins.”
“He could stand to show a little humility, I agree,” I say, sipping my Jack and Coke.
“Did I mention I fucked him once?” she asks, winking.
I sputter. “What?”
“Before I worked there. I met him out at one of these places one night. Flirted over drinks, took him back to my place. Woke up to someone’s phone buzzing and looked over to find about sixteen texts from his wife. Whoops!” Elizabeth cackles at the memory.
“You don’t feel bad? You had sex with a married man?” I ask.
“What’s there to feel bad about?” Elizabeth asks, flipping her long red hair over one shoulder. “He’s the one married. I didn’t know.”
“Is it weird working with him every day?” I ask.
“Nah,” she says. “I kind of like the power it gives me. Notice he doesn’t ask me to do as much as he asks you and the other admins to do.”
I laugh lightly at this. “True.”
“I suppose you’ve never done it with a married man?” She prods me with her elbow.
“Nope,” I say. “Only Phillip.”
“Whoa! Really? Just the one dude. Ever?”
I nod. “We started dating at fifteen.”
She grimaces. “Yikes. No one should marry the guy they date when they’re fifteen.”
“Well, I didn’t marry him,” I say. “He screwed someone else in our bed.”
“I know, but it’s probably for the best, right?”
“It is for the best,” I say. “It is.”
“And since him? No rebound sex?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I’m just trying to keep my head above water. Except there is this one guy …”
“Oooh, give me the dirt!” To the bartender, she yells, “Another round!”
As we wait on our drinks, I tell her about Axel, about almost killing him. I tell her he was waiting for me at my house, that we made out, that I was totally turned on.
“Why didn’t you fuck him?” she screeches.
I turn about every shade of pink, peach, and red as several heads turn to stare at us. I bury my face in my hands while Elizabeth laughs wildly. She is so different from me, sometimes I can’t believe we’re friends. Where she is brash, I am quiet and shy. Where every other word out of her mouth is a swear word, I try not to say them at all. She is beautiful and curvy and always perfectly made up and I am on the skinny side, freckled, and usually forget to put my makeup on as I rush out the door each morning.
She pokes me several times with her index finger. “Tell me about this hunky biker dude who made you wet in all the right spots.”
“He’s big and tattooed,” I say.
“That’s it?”
“I don’t know. Blue eyes, one of those short on the sides, long on the top haircuts that are popular now. Smells like a mechanic, sweaty, salty, sort of like cigarettes. You know, manly.”
She starts fanning herself. “Tell me more.”
“Super big, muscular, huge biceps. Tall. Imposing.”
“Probably really well hung,” she says. “I’m swooning.”
“He’s sexy as all get-out,” I say. “But what’s the point? He’s in a biker gang, for Christ’s sake.”
“The point is that you get fucked properly and get the rebound out of you. Then you’ll be totally over Phillip, totally back on the sex train, and ready for your happily ever after.”
“Well, I owe the guy so much money for messing up his bike,” I say. “I’d rather just pay it off and never see him again.”
“That’s a lie,” she says. “The way you talk about him … girl … you better get on that big boy.”
I laugh out loud. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re sexy and you need to vamp it up and sex that love machine. Pay off your debts in a less conventional way.”
If only she knew …
I go through the next week thinking about Axel. A lot. Like, specifically when I’m alone and naked and have a vibrator within reach. I can’t help it; my body wants him. Yet he’s not been in touch once since I last saw him. It’s frustrating, actually, and it makes me anxious for other reasons as well. I owe him so much money; I really just need to get it together and get him out of my life and out of my head.
I gather the courage to go to my boss about a raise. My boss, Tracy, is the firm’s marketing director, and she doesn’t have much management experience. She’s smart and nice, but really has no clue how to manage people, so she often relies on my advice when it comes to making decisions about our rather large administrative staff. I am much younger than some of my peers, but in a sort of supervisory role because Tracy trusts me.
“What kind of raise are we talking about here?” Tracy asks.
“Well, I serve as an unofficial supervisor to the administrative staff,” I say. “I keep them out of your hair so that you can focus on the marketing side of your job, and yet I make the same, and sometimes less, than my peers.”
Tracy nods. “Well, I can’t guarantee anything, but let me check with HR and get back to you. Sound okay?”
“Sure,” I say. “Thanks for considering it.”
***
Axel
Tommy’s got my bike back in tip-top shape. That boy is a miracle worker, I swear. Magic man. She purrs happily as I rumble out toward one of our borders to talk to some of our guys.
When I get there, about three of our members are hanging out, smoking weed.
“What the fuck are you three doing?” I ask, as one of them tries to hide the joint behind his back. “Sampling the product?”
“Bought it,” one of them says. “Not part of our shipment.”
“Still,” I say, “What makes you fuckers think you can get high out here while you’re on shift?”
“It’s fuckin’ boring out here,” another one says.
“Well, it’s about to be more boring since I’m putting all three of you on suspension. Three weeks, no pay. Enjoy your vacation.”
They all try to argue with me but I stand firm. “Get out of my sight,” I say. “If you can’t be professional and do your job, then you don’t get paid.”
One of them kicks a garbage can, sending it and its contents all over the place. Real mature. Jesus.
I call the club and ask for three replacements. While I wait, I scope the area. There are several tags on the surrounding buildings. Some I don’t recognize and assume are either from street artists or street gangs. One, though, looks damn close to that of a rival gang, the Hounds of Hell MC.
The Hounds are a West-Side club but they’ve been sniffing around the western edges of our territory quite a bit lately. They lured two of our guys over to their club, and intercepted one of our deliveries out of Toledo. Of course, I’d already told the idiots to go south of the city and stay out of their territory but they didn’t listen, so I didn’t pay.
Tagging in our territory, though, is pretty bold. I mean, this isn’t prison. The guys can come and go as they please. If they want a change of pace, they can go pay dues somewhere else. Most of them are smart enough not to spill club business from one place to another. The few times our private business has been broadcast, we’ve dealt with the individual and made it clear to everyone else that it’s okay to leave, but it’s not okay to spill our secrets. It works the same the other direction. We get a guy from another club, we don’t want him if his lips are loose about his former boss and his former club’s business.
When my guys show up, I show them the tag and they agree, this is Hounds’ insignia.
“What is going on?” I ask. “You guys heard anything?”
“No, boss,” come two answers.
The third guy, though, looks jittery. I eyeball him and he won’t meet my eyes.
“Jackson,” I say, “What the fuck you hiding?”
He looks at his boots. “They got a trafficking thing going on through here.”
“Trafficking?” I ask.
“Girls. From Toledo, through here, up to Toronto.”
The hairs on my arms stand up at this. “Girls? Underage girls?”
He nods.
“Fuck!” I explode. “For how long?”
“Long time, boss,” Jackson says. “Years.”
“Under Rod’s nose?”
“Rod ain’t paying no attention and you know it,” he says.
My nostrils flare at this. He’s not wrong. Rod’s on border management. That’s always been his gig because he’d always wanted to know who is on what route and what shift. He was obsessive about managing border patrols for a while. But in the past couple of years, his focus has been on building new client relationships. New people to sell drugs and weapons to. New, bigger shipments. He’s let this part of the business lapse.
Still, I can’t let this kind of information fly by with no recourse. Jackson knew the Hounds were making routes through here and didn’t say anything.
“How much extra you make on the side, Jacks?” I ask.
He shifts on his feet, looking to his buddies for help. They offer none.
> “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” I ask.
His voice is like a whisper when he answers, “I didn’t make nothin’; I just knew.”
