by Ryan Michele
Two weeks, and the woman still won’t get out of my head. It’s like she’s glued and has adhered herself to me in a strange way. Now here she is, contacting me.
Rubbing my hand over my face, I collapse on the bed. The clubhouse is calm tonight. I didn’t want to go home with Ryker, Green, and Jacks. We rent a house five minutes from the clubhouse, each having our own space. That doesn’t mean that they leave me alone. I needed some time to myself to digest this sudden turn of events.
It’s funny because, last week, I thought about taking a drive down to Florida after a long-haired blonde came to the club and Bristyl immediately came to mind. Instead, I took a ride, needing to clear my head. Something kept me close to home.
Looking at her name on my phone, my finger hoovers over her name. That connection I felt with her, was it the moment or something else?
My father’s words haunt me. He’s right. Damn.
I type: Hey, are you there?
The clock reads midnight, so the chances of her responding are slim, especially if she has to get up and work tomorrow.
What do you want? Surprisingly, my phone lights up with her response, and I chuckle, liking her direct tone.
To talk.
That sounds so dumb. Having a conversation with a female over text is a new thing for me. If the guys knew, they would razz the shit out of me and I’d probably end up punching one of them.
B: I’m sleeping.
Me: No, you’re not.
B: I was.
Me: Now you’re awake. How are you?
My phone turns to black as I wait for her text. I kick my boots off and move up the bed, resting my head on the pillow, arm behind my head, holding the phone with the other.
B: Tired, but fine.
Me: Any explosions of water lately?
B: No, thank goodness.
A goofy-ass smile spreads across my face. All I can do is picture her in a damn wet T-shirt, cleaning up all the water. Damn, now I’m hard.
Me: Tell me something about you.
B: Like?
Shit, what do I want to know? I’m not used to actually asking a woman questions about herself. Hell, sometimes I don’t even get a name. That may make me a dick, but it is what it is. This is so out of left field for me, I should be in a different state. Maybe Florida.
My brother and sister come to mind.
Me: Do you have any siblings?
B: Three brothers.
Me: Damn, beat me. I have a brother and a sister—twins.
B: That’s kinda cool.
Me: They’re good kids, but a pain in the ass.
B: I know the feeling.
I sit there for a while, liking the conversation and trying to think of what to say next. Are you a true blonde? Definitely not asking that. Are your tits real? If this goes any further, I’ll find that out myself … Fuck.
Me: Why did you text me?
There’s a long pause, and the screen goes black again. It’s an honest question that I’d like to know the answer to. Have I been on her mind? Does she dream of me? Or am I just a biker for her to get her kicks on with. Okay, so I don’t believe that last one because she would have acted differently with me at the rally. Damn if I can get my mind to stop reeling.
The phone lights up.
B: I’ve been thinking about you.
Strange how those five little words fill me with happiness.
Me: Oh yeah?
B: Yeah.
Me: Care to tell me more?
B: Not really.
I full-out laugh, loving the way she says what she wants. That spark in her is an attraction I can’t hide.
Me: You’re making me bust a gut here.
B: Am I that funny?
Me: Yeah, and cute.
B: I’m not cute.
Me: Yes, you are.
B: No, I’m not.
Me: Yes, you are.
B: Are we really going to argue about whether I’m cute or not? Which I’m not.
Hell yes, she is. Even over texting. I can only imagine her in person or on the phone.
Flirting. That’s exactly what I’m doing, and it feels damn good.
Me: Yes, I like it.
B: You like arguing with me?
Me: What did you do after the rally?
B: Way to avoid.
I write nothing back and wait, wanting to know exactly what she did. The thought of some asshole getting with her doesn’t sit right with me one bit.
B: Dropped off Leah and went home.
Me: Home to …
B: You’re baiting me.
Yes. Yes, I am. I need to know.
B: To my house, ALONE.
At that, I reach over to my small nightstand and grab my old baseball. I lay flat on the bed, toss it up into the air, then catch it. It’s been a long damn time since I played. Luckily for me, I can text with one hand.
Me: Damn shame.
B: I’m used to it.
Me: Being alone?
B: Yep.
Me: Are your parents around?
I’m not sure why, but her saying that she’s alone doesn’t sit right in my gut. Her not having someone for any reason pisses me off. She has brothers, but are they not around or do they live all over the place?
B: My dad is.
I relate to this a lot. I have to ask …
Me: Your mom?
B: Died.
The ball drops to the bed as I stare blankly at the ceiling. Funny how this part of our lives is similar. What are the odds?
Me: Damn, babe. Sorry.
B: It’s the circle of life or whatever.
The urge to tell her about my situation hits me. I never shared that part of me with any woman before, and I’m not sure doing it over text is the right thing. It’s a bit heavy. Not everyone can handle the fucked-up story of my biological mother who didn’t care for me and ended up dead because she was stupid. My father only told me the full story when I got older. Truthfully, the entire thing only allowed me to appreciate my mother, Princess, all that much more.
It’s strange even contemplating talking to her about it. Deep inside, the words want to come out.
Me: Remind me sometime to tell you my story.
B: You assume there’ll be a next time.
Me: I can promise you that.
The feeling swirling inside of me from this one conversation feels too damn good to not have again.
B: My eyes are drooping. I need sleep.
Me: Get some sleep, beautiful.
B: Night.
I fall asleep with Bristyl on my mind.
Chaos surrounds me like a shroud of darkness. The weight on top of me pushes my small body hard into the linoleum floor of the clubhouse. All the while, screams echo the space.
Leggs slaps a hand over my mouth and whispers in my ear, “Shh … Cooper. You’ve gotta stay really quiet.” Her weight holds me down to the point I can’t move my legs or arms.
I squirm, wanting to get free.
I look around, lifting up to see a man holding a gun to my grandma’s head. He’s yelling, or at least with my one ear covered it sounds like it.
Fear hits me as the man holds the gun out, aims, and fires. The sound is loud and cracks like a whip.
My head jerks to the side as I watch my mother fall to the ground with dark red blood coming out of her leg.
“No!” the words are muffled by a hand that grips tighter, Leggs’ words for me to be quiet ignored.
I use every bit of strength from my tiny body to try to get free, wishing I was big like my dad, then I could move.
My mom is only a little bit away from me. I just need to get to her.
Tears spring from my eyes as she holds her leg, making sounds she shouldn’t be making. No, Mommy!
I bolt up from bed, gasping then blinking. A light sheen of sweat coats my skin.
Rubbing my hand over my face, the memories cling to me like a dark cloak. In that moment, I knew I’d do anything to protect those I love. Whatever
price. Whatever it took. My family comes first. We are bound together. If I could only shake the dreams.
The Ravage MC has two businesses. Besides Studio X, we have Banner Automotive. I work at both, but mostly at the shop. Since the time I could hold a damn wrench in my hand, my dad taught me how to work on bikes, cars, trucks—hell, anything with a motor. Luckily for me, my skillset is good at picking up shit quick.
Angel, GT’s ol’ lady, Deke’s mom, and my aunt, brought her ’56 Chevy in today for an oil and transmission fluid change. She insisted on helping, having once worked here when she was younger, hanging tough with all the guys. She knows her way around any type of engine. After Deke was born, though, she hung up her rags. Still, she comes in whenever her car needs something.
She loves that thing. Her and her dad Bam restored it. Bam was a member of the club, but died years ago. She keeps that car for the sentimental value.
She has a minivan, too. I think it’s hilarious seeing GT drive the beast. It gives all of us something to razz him about. His big-ass body climbing in and out of that minivan is a sight.
Angel works while I stand back and watch. Once she gets going, it’s best to just leave her be. She just pushes us out of the way, anyway. Hell, it’s her car, so why do I give a shit?
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, seeing “Bristyl” on the screen, and swipe the screen as the excitement hits. Damn, this is strange.
B: How’s your day?
Me: Working. You?
B: Me, too.
Me: At the laundromat?
I look around the garage, seeing everyone busy, including Angel, which is a good thing. No one needs to know about Bristyl.
B: And the storage units.
Me: ? Damn, you’re busy.
B: Always.
Me: You have storage units, too?
Storage units. That rolls around in my head. Empty spaces to rent out would be good if Ravage needs to store anything. That could be a possibility to our situation.
B: Yeah, about an acre of land with 220 of them.
Me: Damn.
My thoughts run with the storage unit idea. This could be what we need.
“Girlfriend?” Angel asks, wiping her hands on a cloth.
I stuff my phone in my back pocket, not realizing exactly how much time has gone by while my eyes have been glued to my damn phone. “Nah.”
“I call bullshit. I don’t think I’ve see that goofy-ass smile on your face before. Who is she?”
I look around, making sure none of the guys are around to hear me. One word of a woman, and I have no doubt that any of the brothers would put it together. It’s nothing, and I don’t need shit for it.
“No one. Keep your mouth shut.”
Her brow quirks. “Oh, man, you’ve got it bad.”
I get up in her space. “I mean it. Don’t give me shit, and do not tell GT.”
She uses her index finger and thumb to show me she’s zipping her lips, all the while wearing a smile on her lips. That’s about as good as I’m going to get with her.
Shit, it’s only a matter of time before my mother, Angel’s best friend, finds out. Too bad duct taping ol’ ladies’ mouths isn’t an option.
“Come on, let’s finish this.”
Me: Call me.
This text was sent to her about ten minutes ago, and not a word. It’s only eight, so I don’t think she’s sleeping. We did the text thing off and on throughout the day, but I’m over it. I want to talk to her and have a real conversation. One where her purring voice comes through the line, and I can distinguish her jokes, sarcasm, and seriousness without having to guess all the damn time.
The house we live in is your typical bachelor pad. Everything is industrial because shit gets broken more times than not. Hell, our coffee table, Green and I made it out of two-by-fours and sheets of plywood to make sure it was strong. I can’t tell you how many times Ryker has jumped on top of it when the Bulldogs scored a touchdown or won a game. It holds sound every damn time.
The couches are used and abused. We got them from Green’s parents, who were getting new ones. They’re comfortable, and that’s all that really matters. The best thing in the space is our eighty-inch television, which is in the center of the wall with all the couches facing it.
We have a couple of beer posters up on the wall, but not much else. The white is a bit dirty now that I look at it. We may need to repaint it at some point.
It’s not home. It’s more of a place to crash when we aren’t at the club. A home is like the place my mom and dad have, where I grew up.
Listen to me. I should smack myself in the head. Why my thoughts are going this way is up for debate.
“Bro! Heads-up!” Ryker calls out as he tosses a bag of chips my way.
I catch them with ease. Opening them up, I pop a barbecue flavored chip in my mouth.
“Wanna head out tonight?” he asks, plopping down on the couch next to me, grabbing the bag and taking some chips.
I think about Bristyl and wonder if she’s going to call. Maybe I should give her just a little more time before making any plans.
“Maybe later. I just need to chill.”
“Cool.” He shoves more chips into his mouth. “You think any more about the different businesses to approach the club with?”
Hell yes. The car wash was a good idea, but the moving parts are my hang up.
Bristyl. That’s my new idea. I’m actually stealing it from her. I began my search for information on it. It’s damn near perfect, and it will work all the way around. Storage units. It can be all cash for the most part, and we could put fencing around the place so the renters would need a security code to get onto the property. This way, it won’t have to be manned twenty-four seven, and Buzz can hook it up with security. I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but it’s definitely workable. My goal for the club is to work smarter, not harder.
“Yeah, I think I’m going to bring it up to my dad first and see what he thinks. Then go from there.” I gave Ryker, Green, and Jacks a bit of a heads-up on my thoughts, but I haven’t told them any of my plans yet. Making sure it’s feasible before giving it to the club is important to me.
“Good idea,” he mumbles around a mouthful of chips. “He’ll give it to ya straight.”
Damn right he will.
My phone begins to ring. Bristyl. She fucking called back, and the stupid-ass grin on my face cannot be stopped.
“Be back in a few.” I charge into my room and lock the door, knowing Ryker’s nosy-ass will be in here if I don’t.
Chapter Eleven
Nerves hit me like a lead weight. I’m actually calling him. It seems weird that my anxiety is so high, considering we have been texting for a few days now. But with texting, I can think about what I’m saying and erase it quickly if it’s stupid. Which I took advantage of a lot in our chats.
Talking directly is a bit intimidating, knowing I’ll fuck up. That’s just me. I guess he better learn sooner rather than later that stupid shit flies out of my mouth before I can catch it pretty much eighty percent of the time.
The phone rings … and rings … and rings, and right when I think it’s going to voicemail, I hear, “Hello?” in the sexiest deep voice. It’s like velvet, soft yet, if you rub it the other way, a bit rough. The sound causes my skin to prickle in a delectable way.
“Hey,” comes out breathy, and I immediately want to smack myself.
Good job, Bristyl, going for the sexy voice. Perfect. Even clearing my throat doesn’t get rid of it.
“You wanted me to call?” See, right there, stupid. Duh, you’re talking to him on the phone, you dork!
I need my brain checked or transplanted. Probably both at this point.
He chuckles, and it warms me inside. “Yeah, texts are gettin’ a bit much. Not that I don’t like hearin’ from ya, but I’m more of a talk guy.”
“I figured that.”
“Oh, you did. Why’s that?”
My brain
screams, because you seem to be an action man, and texting is more of a passive thing, but it would be stupid tossing every card I have out on the table so early.
I begin to pace, looking down and noting some of the fluff has gone out of the carpet. “I don’t know, just the way you were at the rally. You seem to be in the moment.”
His laughter comes over the line, sending goose bumps down my arms. Damn, I like that.
“Somethin’ like that.”
“Yeah, something.” I sigh heavily, feeling like an idiot. “Look, I’m not good at this.”
“What a coincidence, neither am I.”
“You’re not?” This surprises me. I mean, come on, Cooper is a hot man. He must have women all over. That thought twists my gut.
“Beautiful, I’m a biker; we don’t chat with women.”
No, they don’t. They sleep with them and then move on to the next. I saw my brothers do it when they still lived in the house.
The idea of Cooper getting serviced by another woman sends burning fire through my veins. It’s not that I don’t like it …
I hate it.
After a pause, I’m relieved when he talks. “So, today I was at the shop.”
“Banner, right?”
“You paid attention.”
Boy, have I ever. Every little tidbit of information he gives me, I suck on it, wanting to know every detail.
“I was there with Ryker today,” he continues, “and this asshole comes in, demanding to get his car fixed immediately. He was one of those suit wearin’ types who has an office job and has never gotten his hands dirty in his life. Well, this doesn’t fly well. We get into an argument, and he calls me a pussy bitch.”
I laugh. “I bet that went over well.”
“Let’s just say the asshole won’t ever come back.”
“I bet not. I’ve seen the guys you hang out with.”
“My brothers.”
“Yeah, your brothers.” My mind spins at this revelation. It’s not that I didn’t know; it just hadn’t sunk in. Cooper has brothers, just like my blood does. They see me as an outcast. The pain hits me that Cooper would think the same thing. I’m in their world, but not. I know some things, but not most. I’m an outsider looking in. Cooper is going to realize that soon enough, and our conversations are going to be over.
