by M. N. Forgy
I thought he would paw me to death, fuck me into oblivion as soon as he got out, but that was hardly the case. He hung out at the club for a few days, getting patched in for his honorable duties. He had to learn the ropes. After that, the club had a big returning home party. I was nervous Lip would cheat on me. The way things were going I wasn’t sure where we stood. Instead, he came home drunk and screwed me on the couch. I didn’t realize how much I truly missed him until he was inside me. Him coming home after the party tucked all my insecurities away. His hands claiming me, and his hot breath whispering in my ear about how much he missed me almost put all the broken pieces of my heart back together. Almost. Things still aren’t right between us. He’s not the guy I remember. We are not how I remember.
“Heading to the club. Don’t wait up,” Lip states, striding through the bedroom. I sit up on my elbows and cock an eyebrow. His hair is wet and messy and my hands ache to tug on it. His arms bulge through his sleeveless black leather cut, revealing all of his tattoos and their vibrant color. My eyes sway down to his tight jeans that sculpt that sexy ass of his. His butt is fine, but not fine enough for me to forget him not coming home tonight—again.
“Don’t wait up? What’s that supposed to mean? What the fuck are you doing?” My face twists with anger. Lip has been a recluse since he’s been out of prison. He rides alone, watches TV alone. He’s … alone. I’ve been alone without him the last six years and want nothing more than to play catch-up, but he has different ideas.
He sits at the end of the bed and shoves his foot into his dirty boot. Turning his head, he eyes me with those drop-dead-sexy brown eyes. “Exactly what I said—I won’t be here.” His voice is deep and rugged, something I definitely missed hearing every day while he was locked up.
I roll my eyes and swing my legs over the bed to get up.
“Seriously? You’ve been gone a lot lately,” I cross my arms and pop my hip out. “I wish you would talk to me, Lip. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” I step up to him and run my hands through his wet hair from the shower. He’s hiding something; I can feel it in my chest.
Lip shakes his head from my grip and pulls on his last boot. “I ain’t got time for this shit this morning.” My eyes widen with his tone of voice, and my heart sinks. He’s been losing his temper with me a lot lately—with anything, really. The other day, the kitchen drawer wouldn’t open so he yanked it open with anger, breaking the entire thing. I’ve never seen Lip react like that. I’m starting to feel like maybe what we had before isn’t what we have now. Maybe we’ve grown apart. I mean, we only knew each other for a short time before he was locked up, and we didn’t exactly have a lot of contact over the years.
He stands up, taller than me by six inches. Stepping up to me, he looks down at me. His dark brown eyes pierce right through me, and I hold my breath.
“Don’t be a pain in the ass today.” He leans down and smacks my forehead with a kiss, his lip ring cold against my sweaty skin.
I follow him out of the room, my hands on my hips. I have so many things on the tip of my tongue just ready to spew his way, but I can’t open my mouth. I feel like I don’t even know this man anymore.
“Later,” he tosses over his shoulder as he slams the front door.
My breathing quickens, my nostrils flaring to allow the harsh breathing to escape. In a fit of anger, I grab the picture of me and Lip that someone took of us when he first brought me to the club and throw it at the door. The glass on the frame shatters, and it splits in two before falling every which way. I’ve waited for his ass for six years. SIX FUCKING YEARS, and this is what I get when he comes back?
He won’t even tell me why he went to prison. Club rule. If it’s club business, it’s none of the ol’ ladies’ business, meaning none of my business. The time I spent with Lip before he went to prison, he was sweet and would spend every minute of the day he could with me. Most of those tangled in sheets, screwing my brains out, telling me how perfect I was. Sometimes it was as if it were too good to be true. But since he’s been out of prison… I haven’t seen that man. Prison changes people; that’s what I was told over and over by the girls at the club. I refused to believe it … until Lip got out. He went in a sensual man, but he came out something darker than the caverns of Hell. He’s not Lip. When I look in his eyes, I see secrets, I see … something unfamiliar.
I blow out an irritated breath and look at the clock.
7:00 AM
“Shit.” I hurry into the room and pull on a black tank top with a white skull printed on the front, and shimmy on some shorts. I can’t say anything about Lip having secrets… ‘cause I have one. A big one.
One that is six years old and looks just like me, and I still haven’t told him about her. How can I?
***
Sitting in my car, I watch the little girl with strawberry-blonde hair trot down the stairs of her house. She’s wearing the clothes I gave her yesterday: a green skirt and a white top with a watermelon on it. Her father is a fucking douchebag. He had her in clothes two sizes too big again, and they were boy clothes at that. I’ve wanted to tell Lip about her so many times over the years, but I just couldn’t. I was going to tell him about her, but I couldn’t while he was locked up. I should tell him now, but it doesn’t seem like the right time. I groan in frustration.
I drive to the trailer park, thoughts of Lip and Piper filling my head. Over the years, I came often during the week to see Piper; of course, it was in the morning after Eric left for work. I would see her off to school, and to see her grow over the years is a bittersweet moment. I bought a book about lawyering, trying to figure out a way around whatever I’m in, but I can’t even read the first fucking chapter with so many legal terms. I pull up to the gas station across from the trailer park and turn the car off. I hate this fucking trailer park. I will not leave my daughter here to grow up. I will figure something out. But that’s just it, I gotta figure it out, be smarter than Eric and that piss-brain judge. It’s risky showing up here, I know, but I can’t stay away. I’m her mother, and Eric obviously is not taking care of her like he should.
She looks up and spots me, her cute little freckled face beaming with energy.
I can’t help but smile and climb out of my red bug.
“Hey there, Piper! You look beautiful today.” She looks down at herself and smiles a toothless grin. “Did you lose a tooth?”
She touches the empty spot in her mouth and nods.
“It came out last night,” she slurs. I laugh, but a piece of me breaks. I should have been there to place her tooth under her pillow with her. I rest my hands on my hips and lift my head to the sky, trying to draw strength from the gods.
“Are you okay, Cherry?”
I blow out an emotional breath and muster a smile.
“Mmhmm. What did your dad say about the clothes?” I bite my lip, nervous.
Piper’s light of innocence fades into something sad. She shrugs, kicking the rocks in front of her.
“He didn’t even notice. He was drunk last night, and was passed out in his puke this morning.” I grind my teeth. I should kill him. I should take Piper and just run, goddamn it.
“Wait, is he home right now?” My body goes stiff.
“Yeah, but he’s passed –”
“I gotta go.” I give her a kiss on the forehead and turn to leave. The hair on my neck is raised in alarm, heart slamming against my chest in fear. He can’t know I’m here, that I’m alive.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” she yells. I turn my head and look over my shoulder. I try to see her every day before school, sometimes after. It’s hard because she’s not supposed to know about me. She doesn’t know me, actually. She knows Cherry… the biker lady who saved her from bullies and became her best friend. I’m all she has.
“Yes, I’ll be here.”
I climb in my car and peel out of the trailer park before Eric sees me.
LIP
I bring the cup of iced tea to my mouth and
take a cool sip, the ice cubes sliding against the glass and cooling my lips as I watch a bunch of club whores washing the guys’ bikes. I’ve been at the club a lot lately. I can’t be around Cherry. Those eyes, the way they see right through me, cuts me. I’ve been meaning to sit her down and tell her something that has turned into the blackest lie, but she pins me with those gray eyes, and that loving smile, and I just… I fucking can’t. I wanted to tell her before I was locked up, back when I realized I really cared for her and needed to get shit out in the open, but I kept telling myself one more day, or I’ll tell her tomorrow. Now that lie has grown from a small storm into a violent hurricane. I know I’m being a fucking prick to her lately, and it pains me. But I’m in over my fucking head. I can’t stand to lie to her anymore, but I just can’t be that guy she fell in love with either. It’s not me. I’m not gentle, and I’m not sweet. I have a filthy mouth, the urge to fuck hard, and pull the trigger on my gun at any bastard that crosses me. I am not the man any woman should love, especially Cherry.
“Who’s that chick?” Bobby points out, grabbing me from my dark thoughts. I glance at him, curious how long he’s been standing beside me. He is the prime example of what a surfer should look like, only he’s got tattoos and a leather cut on.
“Which chick?” I reply, looking at my glass uninterested. I got enough shit to deal with right now.
“The one who looks like a fucking doll.”
I raise my stare and look at the bunch of half-naked girls. One with dark hair that falls just above her tits stands out above the rest. Her cheek bones are a slight pink, standing out amongst her smooth porcelain skin, and her hair curls in the front. Just from standing back here, I can see her thick eyelashes. Her frame is slender and small, sporting a Harley Davidson bikini perfectly.
“Jesus, she does look like a fucking doll,” I mutter, taking the last sip of my drink. She’s hot, though; if I could, I’d fuck her.
“Dibs,” Tom Cat claims, walking up beside Bobby and slapping his shoulder. Tom Cat was patched in not too long ago; he’s all right as far as they go.
I laugh, because Tom Cat obviously knows nothing about women. If a woman heard you call dibs, she’d laugh in your face and walk away. Well, the kind I’m interested in anyway. Feisty, stubborn, hard to get.
“Yeah, good luck with that.” I chuckle.
“What, you want her? You hopping off the ol’ Cherry train there, Lip?” Tom Cat taunts, running his hand through his brown hair. I glare in reaction.
“You best shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for ya, Tom Cat. What I do is none of your fucking business.”
His face falls flat, and Bobby looks at me with confusion. I hand Tom Cat my empty glass and stride past the girls.
“Lip!” I stop and look at the group of girls, curious who called my name.
“Hi, I’m washing your bike and was curious if there was anything,” she bats her baby doll lashes at me, “special you might need.” I inhale a strong breath, not sure how to handle the first piece of ass that has thrown themselves at me since I’ve been out. She obviously doesn’t know Cherry, because every girl who has strutted into this club knows Cherry and I are together.
“Yeah, clean it. You missed a spot, Dolly,” I reply coolly, pointing to my Harley tank. Her eyes widen, and she looks back at my bike. The guys laugh behind me, clearly amused by my assholery.
“Where’s Bull? I thought we had church this morning,” I ask Shadow as I walk into the kitchen of the club. Shadow is the VP now, and is also married to the president’s daughter. Yeah, who knew Bull had a fucking daughter? That was one of the not-so-fun events I missed while being locked up. I’m not saying Bull favors Shadow now… but Bull favors him. After I got out of prison, Bull was waiting to pick me up, my patch in hand. Best fucking welcome home gift ever. We had a small party, naked chicks, booze, drugs—all of it. I didn’t fuck around, though; my mother taught me better than that. Seeing the pain she went through when she found out my father messed around on her, I couldn’t do that to anyone.
“He had an emergency this morning,” Shadow mutters, pulling out a tub of ice cream.
I turn and lean against the counter. When I was locked up, a lot of shit went down in the club. FBI was knocking on our door, and I mean that literally. Babs was killed in a hit-and-run, and we even found out that Locks, our previous VP, was a rat. I never did like that guy. During this time, Bull stepped out of reality, too. I got orders inside of prison from Shadow for the last several months I was in the joint. His orders were different then Bull’s—more digressed, more violent. Things I never had to do before, Shadow ordered me to do. He was the VP, so I did what I was ordered.
Lots of shit can go down in a six-year period, but it was all worth it because I got patched in as soon as I walked out of there. I look down at my cut and smirk. Feels good to be a member, to belong. But prison changed me in a way, the things I did and saw; my mind slowly became as tarnished and marred as the walls that imprisoned me.
“Bull’s gone? What about the drop tonight?” Bobby questions, digging in the fridge.
“It’s all set up. It should run smoothly.” Shadow shrugs.
“Suppliers paid?” Bobby asks, pulling out a tub of coleslaw.
“Shit!” Shadow exclaims.
“I’ll take care of it,” I offer.
Shadow looks at his phone and shakes his head.
“If you can, man, that would be great. I need to meet Dani about Zane’s school,” Shadow states. Dani is his wife, and Zane is his little boy. Shit has changed since I was in prison. I never would have thought Shadow as the prime example of a happy family. I mean, his kids are cute, but I don’t want any. Fuck. That.
“Can do,” I reply.
“Want me to come with?” Bobby asks, diving a fork right into the container.
“Nah, I got it. I gotta go to my mom’s afterward.”
“See ya tomorrow, brother,” Bobby sounds around a mouth full of food.
***
The sun is hot on my arms, and the wind is sweeping through my hair. In prison, I thought about a lot of shit. Pussy, good food, a nice bed. But what I missed the most was my bike. There is no therapy like wind therapy. Having the open road at my mercy, my thoughts free to roam where they please. It’s a freedom I longed for.
I pull into the shady-looking bar and turn my bike off. Striding inside, the smell of mold and stale beer is strong.
“I was wondering when you’d be here,” a guy sitting at the bar states. He looks Mexican, with short, dark hair. He has a tattoo of a marijuana leaf on his dark tan skin. He’s wearing a white shirt and black jeans, a gold Rolex shining amongst the shitty bar lights. This place is clearly a front, a way to hide the outrageous amounts of money he’s pocketing. I step over to him and slap the envelope on the counter.
“You Bud?” That is obviously not his name, but what the fuck ever.
“Yup. That two thousand?”
“Yeah.”
He slides his hand over and grabs the envelope.
“Everything’s on schedule then.”
“Great,” I respond, tapping my knuckles against the counter.
Stepping out of the bar, I inhale a large breath, taking in the clean crisp air. That was easy—no bullets, no hustling. Guess I’ll be arriving at my mom’s earlier than I thought. I clench my teeth. It’s as if I long for violence now. I hate it. Taking pain from another is similar to doing drugs. You’re nervous at first, thinking of all the things that can go wrong, but then you push through those unsettling nerves and just do it. You come to find out it’s not that bad. You actually get a high out of it; feel fucking great. You do it again, and then again, and the next thing you know, you start craving it.
I glance over and find a black shiny car parked next to the curb with a man leaning against the hood, his legs crossed out in front of him. I squint, trying to figure out if I recognize the man when he turns his head and looks right at me. Fuck.
“Phillip. You h
aven’t been answering my calls.” It’s Stevin, the FBI agent who hounded me in prison.
“Get the fuck away!” I yell, pointing off into the distance. Stevin grins and stares off. He knows he’s putting me at risk.
“So, you’ve been ignoring my calls.”
I shake my head before turning and walking toward my bike. “This ain’t prison. You have no leverage over me anymore.”
“I’d think again. I want you as my informant!” Stevin hollers.
“Not my problem.” I step up to my bike, ready to throw my leg over it.
“Yeah, but it will be your problem if your club knows you’ve been talking to the FBI inside of prison.” I stop, my blood running cold as my heart beats to a dangerous level.
“What about the pretty little redhead, huh? I wonder what dirt I can dig up on her.” He lifts his shoulders with a Cheshire grin plastered across his arrogant face.
I nibble on my lip ring, not sure what to do. He’s threatening not only my woman, but my club. I flick my eyes to his and start my bike.
“Fuck you,” I mutter, deciding he’s fucking bluffing. If he were going to do that shit, he’d have done it.
***
Four hours later, I pull up to my mom’s house and see Zeek’s bike already parked in the drive. Zeek and I don’t get along. He’s was my father’s pride and joy, running the Sin City Outlaws in Vegas, carrying on the DeLuca title. I said ‘fuck you both’ and turned my back on them. My uncle is just like my father, and I want nothing to do with any of them. They shoot now and ask later; family is of no importance to them. They care about leverage, rank, and money—nothing else.
“Phillip!” my mother cheers, rushing out of the front door. Her brown hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she has on a Levi shirt with gray sweats chopped off mid-leg.
