by Jennifer Ann
Fisting my hair, I move out of Logan’s reach. “I have to go.”
“Go where?” he asks as I slide off the stool. “What’s wrong?”
The booze has hit me harder than I realized. Everything moves in slow motion as I find my way down the hallway to the bathroom. I knock on the closed door, though it seems my knuckles aren’t moving the way I want, and my hand simply flops against the wooden door. It seems like too much effort to try again.
“I need to lay down,” I mutter, floating along to the next open doorway to the spare bedroom in which I took many naps as a child. I make my way over to the unmade bed and lay down.
Several minutes later there’s a large figure standing in the doorway. “Harley, you okay?” a deep voice asks.
“I suck at this,” I say in a wavering voice.
The bed buckles with Logan’s added weight. “At what?” he asks with a chuckle. “Drinking?”
“No, life.”
With another chuckle, he lays down on his side to face me, and rests his hand on my hip. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“Not really. I just need to… I dunno. Fix myself. Learn how to feel again.”
“I can help you with that,” he offers in a low voice. He drags the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip, sending a wave of shivers rippling through me. I close my eyes as his hand traces the curve of my neck, down around my shoulder and past my breast. The feel of his thumb brushing across my nipple releases a sigh from my lips. “I can make you feel things you haven’t felt before.”
By the time his hand finds its way to the sweet spot between my legs, our mouths meet, and our tongues and lips dance together in what becomes a fairly epic kiss. My drunken thoughts ping between Colt and Logan until my head is spinning with confusion, and lust, and a handful of other emotions I can’t seem to process.
As Logan stops to pull my shirt over my head, I close my eyes, and give in to the dark wave dragging me under, hoping I don’t sink from deception.
When I wake to the sound of knocking and someone calling my name, the warm glow of dawn brings the details of the club bedroom’s ceiling to life. I start with the feel of a warm, hard body stirring against me, and realize we’re both completely naked.
The night comes back to me in distorted pieces. It seems I blacked out around the time Logan and I started kissing.
Holy shit, what have I done?
As I’m trying to process everything, the door to the room swings open. Cheyenne steps in with messy hair and weary eyes, looking like she was just run over by a truck. Her mouth drops when Logan snuggles close, nuzzling my neck.
“Harley,” Cheyenne sneers in a condescending tone, “better get dressed. Remmy just called from the hospital.” Crossing her arms and pursing her lips at Logan, her eyes become hard. “Colt was shot.”
Part III
Torture & Agony
18
After Cheyenne told me that Colt had been shot, Kandi insisted that I ride in her car to the hospital, but I needed the wind in my face and time alone to clear my head. More than anything, I’m terrified what she’ll say or even do when she discovers that I was with her brother after she warned me not to mess with him or Colt. Though Cheyenne swore up and down that she’d keep the discovery of me and Logan in the club’s bed a secret, I don’t know her well enough to assume that she’s trustworthy. How ironic that I'm worried about Cheyenne being trustworthy, when I'm the one who cheated on Colt, betrayed his trust, and acted like a slut.
It was a colossal mistake to sleep with Logan, and I can’t even really use the excuse of being drunk, even though I basically blacked it out. The unshakable feeling that it’s not something I can simply sweep under the rug has my head all messed up. I know I deserve every bad thing headed my way. Karma is a bitch, and, apparently, so am I.
By the time I wind through the massive hospital parking lot and dismount my bike, my heart is racing so painfully hard that I have to stop several times on the way to the building, resting my hands on my knees as I attempt to catch my breath.
If Colt dies, I’ll never forgive myself for betraying him. What the fuck was I thinking?
Remmy, Thunder, and Ranger are easy to spot pacing in the busy waiting area outside the ER. Covered in tattoos and wearing the matching leather vests bearing the MC logo, they’re by far the best looking men in the room, and their presence demands attention in addition to respect.
Racing over to them, I blurt, “What happened? Where is he?”
Ranger’s scowl softens when his kind, brown eyes land on me. He offers an unspoken apology with a dip of his chin.
Remmy, however, gives me a cold, hard stare. “What are you doin’ here?”
Honestly, I’m past caring whether or not he finds out I’ve been having sex with Colt and Ranger. I’ve made such a mess of things that I don’t see how I can stick around much longer anyway. How can I stay there when I feel like the latest club whore?
Tired of the MC’s president telling me what to do, I narrow my eyes. We’ve only recently made amends and he’s already acting like my father. “Maybe you forgot that I’m living with Colt. Where. Is. He?”
“In surgery,” Ranger answers.
I turn back around to face him. In reality, I want to throw my arms around his neck and beg him to tell me Colt will be okay. “What happened?”
“There were more of ‘em than we figured on,” he says, glancing Remmy’s way as if waiting for permission to continue. “They caught us by surprise when we moved in on the truck, and came up from behind. Colt must’ve froze up because he didn’t fire back. They got a few shots in before Thunder shut ‘em down. Hit Colt in the back, and he wiped out in the middle of the road.”
Something deep inside of me breaks with the visual of Colt being shot and tipping his bike. Pushing through a sudden burn of tears begging to spill, I ask, “What are the doctors saying?”
“Too early to tell,” Remmy answers, wiping at his wrinkled face. “When they wheeled him in for surgery, they were just hopin’ it missed his spinal chord.”
The antiseptic smell of the hospital becomes stifling when I inhale a sharp breath. What if Colt comes out of this paralyzed? All at once my knees threatened to buckle, and my stomach lurches angrily.
Ranger moves into my side in a quick but subtle move, as if sensing I’m about to lose it. He casually reaches for my elbow. “I was just goin’ down to the cafeteria for coffee. Wanna come?”
Relieved when Remmy looks away, I nod and silently walk away with him. My legs shake as we weave a path through hacking patients and crying children. Once we’re through a set of doors leading to an empty, sterile hallway, I finally give in to my wavering emotions.
“Fuck! He has to be okay!” I yell, almost collapsing to the tiled floor. Strong arms wrap around me and I fist Ranger’s shirt beneath his jacket, pressing my face into his hard muscles as his enticing scent fills me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose my shit and cry now, though it feels like a title wave of emotions is about to break free.
“He’s gonna be fine,” Ranger coos, bending to kiss the top of my head. “Colt’s tough. Not much can stop that stubborn son of a bitch.”
I lose myself in his warm, safe embrace for a few minutes, trying to fight past the sickness building in my gut. Ranger doesn’t let go, and strokes my hair the way my mother would before she died.
When I can breathe again, I mumble, “Get me outta here. I can’t sit around while he’s…I have to go.”
“Sure, baby,” Ranger answer, planting a kiss on my forehead before taking my hand.
We slip past Remmy and the others in the waiting area, and hit the parking lot where I grab my helmet on the way to Ranger’s bike. He holds my hand as I mount his Harley, then helps me secure the strap on my helmet before pressing a soft kiss to my lips.
As we pull onto the main road, we pass Kandi’s car with Cheyenne in front and Lacey in back. I don’t draw attention to myself by waving, and pray to the gods of motorc
ycles that they somehow missed us. I can’t deal with Cheyenne’s judgmental looks on top of everything else. I just need to get away.
I don’t mind riding bitch with Ranger, especially not now when I’m barely keeping it together. Despite whatever unusual relationship we’ve formed in our sexual conquests, it comes as a major comfort to wrap my arms around one of the few people I consider to be a friend.
Ranger heads straight out of the city toward the ocean, taking the scenic highway parallel to the water for a long stretch. As the salty air fills my lungs, I feel my anxiety melting away, though it doesn’t erase the disturbing memories from the night before. By the time Ranger finds a spot on a service road to park, I’m hit with a wave of nausea. I slip off the bike and bend in half, waiting for a surge of puke that never comes.
Colt won’t want anything to do with me once he learns the truth: I fucked up big time and risked one meaningless night for a man who means everything to me. Just how far up my ass has my head gone?
“You okay?” Ranger asks, rubbing circles against my back.
“No!” I yell, cradling my arm to my stomach. “I fucked up! I fucked everything up because that’s what I do!” Throwing my helmet to the sand and brushing my fingers through my wild hair, I feel a blinding need to hit something until my fists bleed. “Colt deserves so much better!”
“You’re fallin’ for him, aren’t you?” Ranger asks, lowering his eyebrows. My heart twitches painfully as the realization settles over his handsome features. He turns away from me, lacing his fingers beneath his man bun. “Should’a seen it comin’ when he nearly ripped me apart down in San Diego. Guess I thought he was just bein’ extra gentleman-like when he reamed me for treatin' you like a club whore. Explains why he’s always goin’ on about you.” That’s fitting, because I actually feel like the club whore.
“I didn’t plan for it,” I assure him, touching his lower back.
“Course you didn’t.” When he turns back around, his big brown eyes are bursting with understanding. “I ain’t mad. Just glad I got a chance to be with ya before Colt made you his old lady.”
“I’m not his old lady.” I shake my head as another wave of nausea hits me. “I don’t deserve his loyalty.”
He closes the distance between us, taking my face in his hands. “You deserve more than you think.”
Rather than soaking in his empathetic expression, I close my eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
“You get a pass for spendin’ time in prison, sweetheart. You haven’t even been out for a whole week. That shit takes time to sort out. Whatever it is that you think you messed up, there’s time to make things right.”
I pull away from him. “There’s no making it right this time. It’s best if I leave before this gets any more complicated.”
“I don’t care what the fuck happened or whatever the hell you did to think you don’t deserve him,” he growls, taking my arm. “I won’t let you just walk away like that. Colt’s gonna need you when he comes outta surgery. Now’s not the time to be selfish.”
My phone buzzes in my back pocket with a text the same time Ranger’s rings with a 70s rock melody. After Ranger releases me to grab his phone from his vest, I check my phone and find a new message from Logan.
Dick move 2 sleep with u drunk. Want a chance to apologize. Promise to behave myself this time.
Stomach clenched, I shove my phone into my back pocket, unanswered. Knowing Logan’s interested in more than a one-night fling only manages to make everything worse. How did I let things get this complicated so quickly?
“She’s fine,” Ranger says into his phone, drawing his dark brown eyes over to me. “She came with me for a ride to clear her head. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Probably won’t be for at least an hour.” He listens to the person on the other end for a drawn out moment, nodding. “Yeah, okay.”
After ending the call and slipping his phone back into his jacket, he grabs onto my arms. “He’s outta surgery. Bullet missed his spine, and they don’t think there’ll be any long-term damage. But he’s in bad shape and feelin’ a lot of pain. Kandi said it won’t be long before they’ll let him have one visitor at a time.”
My shoulders drop, and I take a deep breath. I hadn’t realized how tense I had become, stomach tied in knots while fearing the worst. Now that I know he’s going to be okay, the best thing would be to let him go. He doesn’t need my bullshit in his life.
“Drop me at my bike,” I mutter, looking away.
“No.” Ranger’s grip tightens, forcing me to meet his narrowed eyes. “Your hot ass is going into that room to see him. Whatever you did, keep it to yourself. He doesn’t need that kind of complicated shit right now.” With a softened expression, he touches my cheek, and the atmosphere between us immediately morphs into the deepest of intimacy. “He just needs you by his side, baby. There’ll be time to make things right later.”
There’s hesitation in his gaze when he bends to kiss me. His lips are so soft and tender that I fear it’s his way of saying goodbye to our affair. All at once I become even more guilt-ridden. I’m not the only one getting hurt by my epic mistakes.
On the ride back, I try convincing myself that Ranger is right: I should keep my indiscretion to myself. By the time we pull into the hospital parking lot and I’m led by a nurse to Colt’s room, guilt has festered a hole in my gut the size of Texas.
The sounds of beeping machines and the smell of medicine are unsettling as I enter the room to find a man laying in a hospital bed, face partially wrapped in gauze, barely unrecognizable as the one I’m starting to feel as if I can’t breathe without.
But the most unsettling sight before me is the way Cheyenne sits on the bed at his side, big breasts nearly busting free from a skimpy top as one hand strokes the side of Colt’s jaw, and the other holds his hand. They’re engaged in an intense eye-lock that makes my stomach lurch. What the actual fuck is this?
“I know, baby,” she tells him in a quiet voice. “Everything will be okay. I’m here now.”
When she bends down to press her lips to his, he doesn’t push her away. He even brings his hand up to touch the side of her face.
I grip the metal frame of the threshold. She told him. It’s over.
I’m numb as I burst through the door to the stairway, leaving the person I care about, yet hurt the most.
19
The last time I remember my mind flipping into full-on autopilot mode was the afternoon I was admitted to the prison three years ago. It started the minute I walked into the giant concrete building among a line of women, well before I was subject to a humiliating search, and made to shower in front of a smirking female guard. That day was nothing more than a blur of surreal moments, never-ending until a blissful sleep finally came to me several hours after the lights went out, and my cellmate stopped tormenting me.
It’s nothing short of a miracle that I make it to the hipster tattoo parlor deep in the heart of LA without crashing my bike. Not a single lucid thought processes through my brain until I’m cut off beside the reception desk by a blue-haired woman with ink covering nearly every inch of her skin. Her pierced brows raise. “Hold on. Where you going? Do you have an appointment?”
“Jesus H. Christ!” a deep voice rumbles behind me. “Harley?”
I spin around to meet the wide smile of my oldest friend from high school, the only one who was still there for me while I did my time. Time has been generous to Jimmy. His upper body has become broader and his handsome, freckled face has filled out considerably, shedding the image of the cute boy I once knew. The same shade of wild, strawberry blond hair jetting out from his head covers his jaw in a couple day-old stubble. With a quick assessment it, would seem he’s added more tattoos to his vast collection. The usual mischievous glimmer lights his green eyes, reminding me of his unfaltering spirit.
“Figured it was time to stop by and thank you for having my bike delivered to the prison,” I say in a monotone voice I barely recognize as my
own.
Brawny arms collect me and lift me off the floor before I have time to brace myself. As he’s stronger and smells like a delicious blend of man and cologne, I wonder if he’s become more of a ladies’ man than ever. When he sets me back on the ground, warm lips press to the side of my forehead before he collects me under his arm.
“Chlöe, I’m heading out for a break,” he tells the receptionist.
“But you have an appointment,” the woman reminds him in a whiny tone, hands set on her hips.
“See this gorgeous specimen right here?” he asks her, tilting his head toward me. “I’ve waited three fucking years to freely wrap my arms around her. It can wait.”
I laugh as Jimmy steers me through the high-ceiling parlor, past a lot of curious glances from both his coworkers and their clients, and out a metal door in the back. The sour stench and obnoxious noises of downtown LA greet us full-blast in a narrow alley lined with patches of different colored bricks.
Jimmy releases me to pull a pack of light cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “Want one?”
Though I can count on both hands how many times I’ve smoked, and I’ve been dead set against the filthy habit since Jawa was diagnosed with lung cancer, I take one and set it between my lips, eager to feel something other than the bitter burn of betrayal searing my heart. At the rate things are going, I’m tempted to become a heavy smoker just to shorten my shitty life.
After lighting each of our cigarettes, Jimmy pulls in a long drag as he studies me. “You look so much better than I had imagined.” Rosy lips set in a deep smirk, he tugs at a lock of my hair. “Must found yourself a helluva stylist on the inside.”
I inhale the cigarette, savoring the crackling burn that rips through my lungs. “My aunt took all my shit.”
His face blanches. “What do you mean? From the storage unit?”
“She said she sold it all to pay for the funeral. She even took the cash I had left from my grandparents’ estate.”
