MALICE (A HOUNDS OF HELL MOTORCYCLE CLUB ROMANCE)

by Nikki Wild

  I could already feel the tension building.

  “No,” he told me, a hint of his arrogance shifting back into his voice. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re driving like a crazy person,” I pleaded. “They’re not going to leave without us, right? Just…please, please slow it down. For me.”

  He coldly turned to regard me for a moment, but then visibly softened. “You haven’t met my band manager…the guy’s a complete prick. He all but has it out for me. Thinks I’m a hotheaded, egotistical jerk.”

  “Are you?” I asked, trying to swallow the mounting pit in my throat. I could feel anxiety begin to take its hold.

  “Of course I fucking am,” Trent grinned. “But our manager is paid to handle that. If he can’t then, well, tough shit.”

  I struggled to nod.

  “Listen, I don’t think I can stress too much how little time we have here, so I’m going to need you to be in-and-out when we arrive,” he reiterated. “We don’t really have the time to hang around, alright? If you need to say some goodbye’s you can do it by phone once we’re on the road.”

  “Trent,” I croaked weakly.

  “You run in, take care of what you’ve got to and lets get out of here.”

  I was getting tunnel vision now.

  Please, not now.

  Be strong.

  Be brave.

  Trent was saying something else, but I couldn’t hear him.

  I focused on the first thing to jump out at me – the logo on the glove compartment. I made it my core, my stone, mentally latching onto it with all of my strength.

  It’s okay, I thought to myself.

  Just keep it all together.

  You’ll be so happy if you just hold on.

  He’s taking you away from here.

  His voice came through again. He sounded urgent. I wondered what the matter was.

  I faintly felt something around my face. I was being tugged away.

  No! My stone! I need it!

  I panicked, trying to flail.

  Trying to tug at what was holding me.

  My fingers clawed wildly at my face.

  “…Down, Angel! Calm down!”

  I paused, feeling my chest heave over and over. I realized that I was holding his hand – rather, that Trent was holding my chin in his fingers, his eyes locked onto mine, and that my fingers were trying to pry him free from me.

  We weren’t moving.

  “Angel, what’s wrong? What is it?”

  “I…I just…so fast…I can’t…”

  “Angel, settle down…we’ve stopped.”

  I focused on that, pushing down the crippling anxiety that had infiltrated my mind. I clamped my eyes shut and bit down on my lip, concentrating on our immobile position.

  A car rocketed past, and the jeep swayed slightly. I almost leapt back into gripping terror, but Trent was pulling me close, stroking my hair.

  “Look, it’s okay, Angel, everything’s okay…it’s all fine now. I’m here.”

  I fought back a sob.

  Be brave, Angel.

  “Are you…can you tell me what’s going on?” He asked quietly.

  I shook my head.

  No. He can’t know.

  He can’t know that I’m a freak.

  “Okay,” Trent whispered, allowing me to slide back into place. “I know the jeep rattling like that must have been scary. We’ll just have to deal with my manager when we see him.”

  I nodded aloofly.

  My stone, I thought, looking at the logo on the glove compartment again. My stone’s back.

  We rode in silence for the rest of the trip, never going higher than sixty miles per hour. After about forty minutes, we arrived at the Riverton Bar, and I extracted myself from the jeep and let myself in through the back door.

  “We’re going to be running late,” Trent reminded me. “Do you need me to give you a hand?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

  “Okay,” he nodded. “Once we leave, we’re not coming back anytime soon. If you can’t carry it, leave it. Clothes, books, just leave it all. I’ll take care of anything you need.”

  “Ok,” I answered, rushing inside.

  I knew I didn’t need much.

  A moment later my hands descended upon my backpack, and I quickly checked through the contents.

  I liked to call it my Breakaway Bag. A sturdy, waterproof backpack, it contained everything that I needed to scamper off under the moonlight. I checked for a few discreet pockets – social security card, state ID, shit like that – and then did a very brisk inventory of the rest.

  Towels.

  A few changes of clothes.

  Extra socks and underwear.

  Pads and tampons.

  Cheap first-aid kit.

  Throw blanket.

  Folding knife.

  Taser.

  Yeah, I was golden.

  I had just enough room to shove in a couple of small items of some sentimental value – a birthday card that Old Greg had given me – when I realized that I was abandoning him.

  He’d done so much for me.

  He’d never know what happened.

  I snatched one of my old notebooks back out of the trash, tracking down the only writing implement I could find – a thick permanent marker. Hastily, I scribbled a clumsy note for him:

  Old Greg,

  Thank you for everything, from the bottom of my heart. I’m going on a little adventure and I might not be coming back. I’ll call and tell you all about it…

  I’ll never forget you, and I wish you the best.

  Angel

  I pinned the note up above my cot, grabbed the trash bag, slung on the Breakaway Bag, and locked up on my way back out.

  He’d be here in a few hours probably. That was his routine on the weekends, after all. Luckily, I didn’t work tonight either, so he had time to find someone to replace me.

  I hoped, at any rate.

  After turning the key in the lock for the last time, I realized that I didn’t know what to do with it. Thinking quickly, I slipped it beneath an easy chair by the door.

  Hopping back into the jeep with Trent, I avoided his glance. I knew he’d be mad that I took so long.

  “No second thoughts?”

  I looked back up at him.

  He wasn’t furious.

  He was pleased.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Good,” he smiled, twisting the key in the ignition.

  His hand clasped onto my thigh as we kicked out gravel from beneath the tire. My hand rested upon his, enjoying his warmth, his pressure, and his companionship.

  I felt like I was where I needed to be.

  I felt like, just this once, I belonged.

  Seventeen

  Trent

  It was well past daybreak by the time we finally pulled up behind the RipFest venue, parking with the other rental cars. It appeared that half the busses had already left, eager to make distance on the day.

  Predictably, Steven flew out from my tour bus as soon as we were within earshot. With his trademarked hands in the air routine, he was even more livid than before.

  “Alright, you dumb fuck, you and I are gonna have some words,” my manager angrily declared. “And without the company of your dumb bitch here.” He turned to her. “Babe, show’s over. Your sweetheart’s getting back to work now, bye.”

  I poked a firm, commanding finger into his chest, and let my anger be known.

  “If you ever call her a ‘dumb bitch’ again, I will shatter your bones under one of these tires,” I practically spat at him.

  He didn’t back down.

  “Cut the shit, ass-wipe. We were supposed to be on the road over an hour ago, right? Why the fuck ain’t you picking up your goddamn phone?”

  “I forgot my phone,” I answered unapologetically.

  “You…you forgot your phone.” He was dumbfounded. “That is the stupidest goddamn shit I’ve heard out of your s
mart mouth yet. You fuckers never leave your phones out of sight.”

  “Yeah, well, I was distracted,” I told him, pushing past to bring Angel to the bus. Within the instant, I knew the mistake, but it was too late to backpedal.

  “I see that,” he coolly observed. “Speaking of distractions, I can’t wait to see you explain why you’re dragging a…an associate onto the bus.”

  “She’s my guest now,” I gruffly replied.

  “That’s not gonna fly.”

  I opened the door for her.

  “Just head to my room. Do you remember where it is?”

  Angel nodded quietly.

  “Good. Go.”

  She pushed inside, her backpack catching on the door for a brief moment before she disappeared through the door.

  “She looks primed and ready to hit the nature trail at a fucking campground,” Steven muttered. “You turn down a whole bunch of groupies, but you get your dick wet with a hitchhiker? Bitches literally throwing themselves at your cock not good enough?”

  I grabbed him by the cuff of his shirt, tugging his face disgustingly close to mine.

  “You want to talk? Let’s talk,” I coldly started. “You have been a fucking thorn in our side from the start. I have no idea what your goddamn problem is, but you need to cut your bullshit and start acting like a fucking manager instead of a spoiled little bitch.”

  Steven’s eyes flared with anger, but he didn’t dare try to tug away from me.

  “I promise you, Steven, I will work on being easier to deal with. In exchange, I bring this girl with us. She stays out of the way. No problems. No distractions. She’s gonna be great for morale, and she’s coming back home with me. Okay?”

  His beady little eyes positively glowered, but he didn’t lose his temper. However, he did seem to evaluate the circumstances, because there was a pause before he finally opened his fat, ignorant mouth again.

  “Okay. Fine. Be the fucking prima donna,” my unsightly manager finally muttered. “The bitch – the girl stays,” he quickly corrected himself, “so long as she ain’t a liability. She stays out of my way, she doesn’t interfere with the band, or your performance, and she can stay.”

  I let go of his cuff. “Deal.”

  “We’ve only got, like, five or six shows left anyway. Don’t go fucking this up for some pussy.”

  I contemplated knocking him out, but chose to take the high road. I met his sneer with a furious curl of my lip before letting myself onto the bus.

  The others were loitering around the kitchen and entertainment areas. Dylan and Terence were playing Mario Kart on one of the game consoles we kept hooked up to the big-screen TV.

  Waylon, however, was contemptuously watching me with a disdainful frown. As I tried to walk past, he stepped in front with his arms crossed, his greasy, lean frame almost comical in threat level.

  “What’s this fuckery about you coming in late with some wet-behind-the-ears chick?” He asked me pointedly.

  “It doesn’t concern you,” I told him distantly.

  “Actually, it does. It means I’ve gotta miss lunch. You know how much I hate missing lunch? It makes me all cranky, you know?”

  “Yeah, I’m aware. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Right…”

  He let the thought trail.

  With a sigh, I took the bait.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “What was your rule with the bus?”

  I fucking knew he was going to pull this.

  “…No girls.”

  “Right…” the thought trailed again. “Except, funnily enough, just saw one. Only, the rest of us? We’re already here. She came from your direction. Wanna, you know, clue us in on that?”

  The others were listening now.

  I growled inwardly.

  It was time to lay down the law again.

  “She’s not going to be a problem. I’m taking her home with me. She’s going to stay out of sight, you understand?”

  Waylon deliberated on this for a moment.

  “Yeah. Guess so. Even at the shows, right?”

  “What?”

  “Well, you know, special treatment and all. Unless you want to rub it in our faces, that is. If she’s staying out of sight, that means she’s not leaving the bus for the shows. That’s only fair, wouldn’t you say?”

  “What difference does it make if she watches us play?”

  Waylon smiled cruelly.

  “Well, here’s a scenario: I’m playing. I’m rocking out. Having a good old time.

  “I look over, who am I gonna see? Bam. It’s your broad. I lose my focus. I start missing chords. What a distraction, am I right? It’s just a total slap to the face. Here’s the fearless leader’s girl, where’s mine? Oh right. Can’t have one. My thoughts start wandering, my fingers start missing chords…”

  I swallowed back my burning temper. I’d have been more up for this shit if Steven hadn’t already put me in a filthy fucking mood. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to assault my guitarist, then go back outside and lose my shit with the manager.

  Neither of which were acceptable.

  “You see where I’m going with this?” He asked, feigning politeness. “It’s just a total bummer, but easily avoidable.”

  “Fine,” I growled. “I’m too tired for this shit. You win. She stays on the bus during shows. On one condition.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “She stays out of your sight? You stay out of hers. Don’t go near her, don’t speak to her, don’t even think about messing with her. You understand?”

  Waylon smiled wickedly.

  “Heh. Yeah, all right then. Have it your way, boss. The girl and I steer clear of one another. She stays in that cage of yours until we’re home, I don’t mess with her.”

  “Thanks,” I grumbled.

  It made me look weak to give into his demands in front of the others, but I was exhausted.

  I was also struggling to understand what I was really hoping to accomplish with all of this.

  Seriously? Bringing her onto the bus?

  Taking her back home with you?

  What the FUCK are you thinking?

  I couldn’t explain it, but I barely had the energy to keep standing. Instead, I gave a brisk nod to the others – who quietly returned my acknowledgement – and stumbled towards the back of the bus.

  Once in my room, I spotted Angel seated on the edge of my bed. Her backpack was slumped in a corner, still zipped up and ready to go.

  With a heavy sigh, I let my fatigue finally settle in. Was it worth it? Was it worth ostracizing my band, my manager, and my entire meal ticket for this chick?

  Angel looked up at me softly, a few strands of her hair falling in front of her eyes. It was clear that she sensed the conflict – hell, maybe she’d even heard that asshole talking shit.

  “I can go if you need me to,” she whispered sadly.

  “Where I need you is here,” I murmured.

  What? Seriously?

  It was like my mouth was running without me. First, there was my hesitation with the sex when I climbed back on the bus, and now this. My brain wasn’t participating in any of this, not since I’d descended upon her in the middle of the night.

  But is that better, or worse?

  I didn’t really have an answer. It seemed like my heart and my tongue had grown cozy together – too cozy. I needed to be smarter than this. I knew that I had to think rationally about this sudden change in the dynamic… after all, I’d just invited who was supposed to be a victory fuck onto my bus for the rest of the tour, alienating my band and our manager in one fell swoop.

  But the way that she looked at me, and that pain in her eyes, told me that somehow… somehow, I’d made the right decisions.

  Maybe because I didn’t think about them, I wondered.

  Angel was looking at me, watching me think to myself. As the fatigue of the night finally overcame me, I sank down to the mattress and pulled her into a deep embrace. With m
y mind finally quieting down again, I collapsed into the bed with her, allowing the world and its stupidity to fade into blackness.

  Eighteen

  Angel

  I slept the best I’d ever slept when I woke up that afternoon, curled up in Trent’s arms. He was knocked out solid, quietly snoring away, and I watched this beautiful, strange rocker murmur and shift in his sleep.

  This had been fast, but it had felt real.

  I didn’t quite understand it, and I could tell that he didn’t, either. Not really, at any rate. He seemed the impulsive type, and he’d completely thrown me off-guard by almost backing down from the sex last night… and by inviting me into his world like this.

  I’d heard his bandmates. They’d sounded pissed.

  But he’d stood his ground, the alpha male that he was. It was clear what he wanted, and that he’d make concessions with them to have it. He could probably have told them all to go to hell, but I’d seen that he did care about them – especially onstage.

  Do they fight a lot when they’re not performing?

  Is that what it’s like to work with people like this?

  Eventually, he woke up too. Once we’d climbed out of bed and freshened up a little, Trent laid down the single ground rule: stay back here. He made it clear that other members of the band had expressed some discomfort in having me around, and that he’d had to agree that I’d stay in his bedroom or in the adjacent bathroom.

  I’d been too tired to really think much of being a complication, particularly in the madcap dash to get back to the bus and finally rest. It wasn’t hard to figure out the math once I dwelled on the details.

  After all, I was on a bus with a bunch of guys who probably didn’t appreciate someone being thrust upon them at the last second – especially not a girl, regardless of the fact that I was apparently fucking their leader.

  It was fine by me. I liked his room – it was kind of sparse, and not terribly big, but that seemed like the kind of thing Trent would favor. It was a little larger than my small backroom at the Riverton Bar, but it was free of the odds and ends that cluttered and dominated the space.

  “I don’t need much,” he told me at some point after we’d woken up. “Not on the road, at any rate. My place is a little different…but I like to keep my distractions minimal when I’m on tour.”