by Jc Emery
“Are you sure? Because if you’re not, Nic can go fuck herself,” he says. His eyebrows pull together as he looks me over.
“I’m fine,” I say a little stronger this time and pull myself up into a sitting position as best I can. Ryan’s hovering makes it difficult, and I have to elbow him in the stomach to finish the task. “And I asked Duke to bring her by. He says she’s been worried, and apparently it’s a big deal for her to come to the house, and she’s willing to do it to see me. So yes, I’m sure.”
“Don’t like it,” he mutters and crosses his arms over his chest. In the days since the club found me in that warehouse, so much has changed. Jim’s been nothing but kind, my mom’s finally stopped crying, and now she just walks around with a big, stupid smile on her face when I can see her, but I have it on good authority she’s worried about Michael. Despite everything, so am I. He’s my brother, and even if he was a serious asshole and I’d like to return the favor one day, he’s my brother. For the longest time, before I had the club and Ryan, and Nic—before I knew my mother—and before I found out Ian’s my brother as well, all I really had was Michael and Gloria. I have no idea what’s going on with Gloria, and the club’s got Michael locked in a safe house somewhere nearby. I’m just not allowed to see him.
“You don’t have to like it,” I say for about the tenth time today. The moment I told Ryan that I wanted to hang out with Nic—alone—he practically blew a gasket. I had to hold his face and kiss him for five minutes straight before he calmed down enough to be spoken to in a rational and calm tone. “You’ve been great, you really have. But I need a little girl time. I have a lot to talk about that I can’t say with you playing helicopter.”
“I’m not a fucking helicopter, and if you’re sick of me, Cub, just say so. You don’t need to play these fucking games like you need girl time or whatever bull shit you’re coming up with. Just tell me if I’m being annoying,” he says in a rush of words that are half mumbled. Throwing the covers off himself, he crawls out of bed on the other side and stomps around the room in his boxers.
“You’re being annoying,” I say plainly while trying to keep a straight face. It’s not so much that he’s cute when he’s like this as it is that he’s starting to drive me crazy. If I don’t choose to think it’s funny, I’ll have to ask my mom come to in and paddle the attitude right out of him. Because damn.
“Thanks,” he snaps and bends down, picking up his jeans and sliding them on. “I’m just trying to help, you know. You’re all clingy and shit, but whatever. It’s fine.” He plops down at the foot of the bed and starts shoving his feet into his boots. Very slowly, I lean over, ignoring the pang of discomfort in my ribs. Doctor James said it would be a couple weeks before I was back to normal, but I’m impatient. I’m not a cripple, but I might as well be with how little Ryan lets me move. Even when we make love, he demands that I don’t do much of anything. He’s totally turning me into a pillow princess, but if he’s willing to live with the consequences of his actions, I think I can live with being pampered.
Crawling up behind him, I wrap my arms around his neck. “Don’t be mad,” I say and give his neck a kiss.
“Get your ass back in bed,” he mutters and pulls away from me. I sit on my legs and pout at him. A dull ache gets stronger in my side, and, without thinking, I rub it softly to numb the pang.
“Now you’re hurting yourself,” he says and shakes his head. His eyes are narrowed and his pitch black hair is falling in his face. He pulls the covers back and points at my spot in bed and says, “Now.”
“You are so damn bossy,” I say and move too quickly. A sharp pain explodes in my knee and travels up to my hip.
“And you’re a horrible fucking patient. If you can promise me you’re not going to get up and start moving around like you just did, I’ll promise to leave you and Nic alone for the entire fucking hour you put the request in for,” he says. Carefully, I climb back into my spot and watch as Ryan pulls the covers up over me.
“And you just have horrible patience,” I say and fold my arms over my chest. He’s just grouchy because when I mentioned the idea of spending time alone with Nic he shot it down, telling me no way in hell was he leaving his room. Which is another thing. Since I’m not ready to move out and he’s not ready to leave me alone—and to be honest, I’m not ready to be left alone, either—he’s taking over my room. After he fixed up the mess my father’s men had made when they grabbed me out of bed, he then told me the room wasn’t working for him. The next day when I was sleeping, he took down my photographs of the pretty flowers that are out by the barn and replaced them with two posters of half-naked women draped over Harleys. I had to stare at those stupid bimbos for four days before I was able to yank them down, rip them up, and throw them in the trash. I can’t say he was happy when he found them, but I wasn’t exactly happy when he took my photographs down, either. As of right now, we’re at a decorating stalemate.
He just glares at me as he walks over to my—our—closet and pulls out a clean black tee shirt that my mom hung up there this morning. He’s grumbled a few times about being back in his parents’ house, but with all the attention he’s getting, I think he secretly loves it. When he’s not in here with me, he’s in the kitchen with my mom, and when he’s not in there—his words, not mine—he’s “taking a shit.”
“Come here,” I say as kindly as I can, but his expression doesn’t change.
“Why? So you can tell me how much I suck up close and personal?”
“Shut up and get over here,” I snap. I should know by now that being sweet doesn’t work as well as being bitchy does. For some strange, twisted reason, he responds to bitchy. He walks over and sits at the edge of the bed, scowling down at me.
I give him my best smile, bat my eyes, and say, “Say it again.”
“Uh uh,” he says, shaking his head. He moves to stand, but I put a hand over my ribs and let out a soft moan. His eyes dart down to my hand, and he covers it with his own. His eyes are pained as he looks to make sure there’s no additional bruising and the swelling’s gone down. “What’s wrong?”
“You pain me,” I say with a pout. It’s really unfair to pretend to be hurt to get my way, but if he’s going to act like a child, so am I. I tried being the mature one in this relationship and all it got me was bimbos on my wall.
“That’s really not fucking funny,” he gripes and pulls back. I catch his face in my hands and pull him down to me, placing a kiss on his cheek.
“Come on, baby. Please,” I whisper. His body drops to the bed, and I know I’ve won.
“Scoot over,” he says, and I do. I move over another foot so he can stretch out beside me. I wiggle down the bed and turn to face him. He huffs and then purses his lips. When he’s done fighting it, he smiles down at me and cups my face with one hand and pulls me flush against him with another. With his breath washing over my face and his arms around me, I almost rethink asking Nic to come over. Maybe Ryan’s right and I don’t want to spend an hour away from him. But I need girl time, I remind myself. I want to keep Nic as a friend, and that means letting her in—especially since word around the house is that Duke’s been sleeping in her bed almost every night—and O.M.G.— that’s something I have to talk to her about.
“I love you,” he says and kisses the ridge of my brow. “I love you,” and this time it’s a kiss to my closed left eye. “I love you,” and it’s a kiss to my cheek. More kisses follow all with more “I love you’s,” and I melt into him. I don’t let him see me wince when his lips trail over one of the bruises that hasn’t healed yet. My stomach flutters, and I lose my breath for a single second. It never lasts as long as I’d like for it to, but it’s worth all the begging and pleading I have to do in order to get my way. Because there’s nothing on this planet like hearing Ryan say he loves me. There’s nothing that comes close to him showing me that he loves me with every annoying question and every moment he spends hovering over me. When he’s done, there’s a smile on his face
that tells me that he enjoys that almost as much as I do.
“I love you,” I say and place a kiss on his lips that slowly turns to something more carnal than I had intended for it to. I don’t hear my bedroom door as it opens, but I do hear the throat clearing that makes me pull back from the kiss. Ryan’s head shoots to the door, and he glares at Nic, who’s standing there in front of Duke. Her nose is turned up, and she’s shaking her head.
“Ew,” she says. “I thought you said you were nobody’s girl.” The comment is intended for me, but she’s glaring and shaking her head at Ryan. Behind Nic, Duke lets out a heavy sigh and shoves her into the room, stepping in behind her.
“Right back at’cha,” I say. My eyes dart between the two. They look good together, even if she won’t admit it. Her eyes finally land on me, and while I’m smirking at her, thinking nothing of the fact that she hasn’t seen me since before everything that went down, I’ve totally forgotten about the bruises on my face. Her face falls, and she scowls. She crosses the room at a quick pace and crawls onto the bed on the other side of me. I turn her direction and, with Ryan’s help, I pull myself up.
“I knew you were hurt, I just didn’t know how hurt,” she says quietly as she gets comfortable with her legs crossed in front of her.
“I’m okay,” I say and look back at Ryan. Reaching out, I give his hand a squeeze. “Really, everything’s okay.” Ryan hops out of bed and greets Duke at the doorway.
“Sixty minutes,” he says with his eyes trained on Nic. She rolls her eyes, but smiles at him.
“Gosh, you really do love her, don’t you?” she says. His playful smile disappears, and he huffs as he leaves the room.
“Yeah,” I say. “He really does love me.”
The End
Ride Deleted Scenes
Chapter 6
Ryan’s POV
I LEAD MY brothers off the highway and into the dirt parking lot of a small gas station—the only structure for miles around—and thank a God I don’t believe in that I can finally take a piss. My back is killing me, my ass is numb, and my nerves are shot. I won’t feel better until we make it home.
I turn off my bike, push down the kickstand, and dismount. Our charter, the Fort Bragg Forsaken, pulls up beside me. Our Detroit charter, led by patch president, Rig, trails behind the van that carries Ma and her kid. But she’s not really a kid, now is she?
Barging into her bedroom back in Brooklyn took me aback. I knew going in that she was nineteen, but there’s nineteen and then there’s nineteen. Even free of makeup, with a braid running down the back of her head, and with her body covered up, she not a little girl. She’s on the verge of womanhood. I guess it’s been longer than I thought since Ma got a picture from Gloria. And fuck if it ain’t screwing with me. Now’s not really the time to think about getting my dick sucked, but it’s not like I’ve got much else to think about on such a long ride.
I weave through my brothers and head toward the black van, parked at the gas pump. Ian and Pop stride up behind me, stretching their tired muscles as they walk. The front doors of the van swing open, and Bear and Diesel climb out and head toward Rig’s crew is filling up the bikes. Reaching the van, I grab hold of the sliding door and pull it open.
Sitting on the long seat in front of me is Alexandra. Seated next to her is Ma, who looks like she’s in serious need of a drink and some bud. Alexandra’s eyes are wide, and the exhaustion from the situation shows on her face. In this moment, they look so much alike. Neither one is well rested, nor do they appear very comfortable around each other. I hate it when bitches are sad. They end up crying and shit.
I give them both a wicked smile and say, “Anyone who has to piss, come with me.” I turn around and walk toward the side of the gas station’s tiny store where the bathroom is. I don’t get far when Alexandra rushes up beside me. The faint scent of perfume wafts off of her, infiltrating my nose. It smells kind of like roses. Not too strong and fairly pleasant. You know, for a chick’s perfume.
“Hey, Trigger,” Ian says from behind me. I stop immediately. He never uses that stupid fucking nickname unless he’s trying to piss me off. Turning around, I give Ian a flat stare.
“Yeah?” I say. Ian’s frame is tight, and his hands are on his hips. Something’s pissed him off. But then, he’s been in one hell of a mood since we left Mendocino County. He doesn’t talk about it, but I know he has some fucked-up memories of Mancuso. Back when we were kids and my dad started hooking up with his mom, he used to have nightmares about how he got the scar that run from the tip of his left ear up to his eyebrow. He may be one disturbed bastard, but he couldn’t be more my brother than if the same blood ran through our veins. I hate that this shit is so fucking personal for him.
“Where are you going with the kid?” he asks. I shoot Alexandra a look, wondering what the difference is between him and me that he sees her as a kid. Then I remember that important little biological connection. By the time Ruby was pregnant with Alexandra and her twin brother Michael, Ian was old enough to know what was going on. My gut twists at the realization.
He loves her. He may not even think of it like that, but I see it in the worry lines around his eyes and the way he carries himself. She has no idea who he is, but he’s always known her. Every year that Ma lit two candles on Alexandra and Michael’s birthday, every Christmas that she pulled out those ornaments with their names on them, every time someone asked her about her kids…
In a way, we all love her. There has never been a Ruby without an Alexandra and a Michael. In that way, thinking of the weight of her presence in our family, I get why Ian looks like he can’t decide between barfing or starting a fight. We’re in the middle of nowhere and we have over two thousand more miles to log before we can chill out a bit. This somber shit has got to fucking go.
“Around back,” I say with a smirk. Ian’s expression darkens. Alexandra gasps, her wide brown eyes shooting up to mine. Her cheeks are beet red. She lowers her head back to the ground in obvious embarrassment.
“You’re not funny,” he responds. Ma scoffs from a distance and walks up to our small group. She gives me a light shove and turns, giving Ian a glare. Her face softens minutely as the pain in his features registers in her mind. Sometimes, when you know people well enough, you just know what they’re thinking. Mancuso, the scar on Ian’s face, the sacrifice she made so many years ago. It’s like I’m witness to the most excruciatingly painful moment either has ever experienced.
“You,” Ma says to Ian, “fill up the tank.” Wheeling around, she slaps my bicep. “I ought to rip your ear off for that comment, Ryan,” she says. And just like that, she’s back to being the woman who raised me—tough as nails and ready to take on anyone.
I walk away to check my phone for messages. So far, so good. The prospects know to call one of us if there’s a problem, and as of right now, I don’t have a single message. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I look up to see Ma waving me over to her. I close the distance between us, toss an arm over her shoulder, and bend down, kissing her cheek. Pop got it right when he hooked this one. She’s the only woman I think I’ll ever love.
“And this punk is Ryan, my step-son,” she tells Alexandra.
“Don’t let her tell you nothing,” I protest. “She lies.” Ma laughs loudly as Alexandra looks shocked as all hell. What kind of bubble has this chick been living in?
“See? A punk,” she says and jerks her thumb at me. “No respect.” For the first time since I saw her for the first time, Alexandra looks relaxed. A small laugh escapes her, and she shakes her head ruefully. Her laughter dies down quickly, and she shuffles her feet in the dirt before she spins around and rushes into the now vacant bathroom.
Ma’s smile falls as her eyes suddenly fill with tears. She wipes them away quickly. I can’t help but envelope her in a tight hug. With her head against my chest, I give her back a pat and kiss the top of her head. Sometimes I forget that this is hardest on Ma. I think we all do. She’s so fucking tough it’s
easy to gloss over the reality of what’s happening here.
“Chill out, woman,” I say. “She’s real. She’s not going to fucking float away.” Ma sniffles then pushes me away with a clipped laugh. Pop walks up, and I happily hand her off to him. He married her, he can take care of this weepy shit. If he weren’t here, I’d do it, but being in Ma’s arms makes me feel like I’m ten years old all over again.
A hard object rams into my back, sending me toward the dirt floor. Pain radiates from my shoulder blades and shoots down my spine. I catch myself before my knees hit the ground, and spin around to see Chief—whose real name is Charles—grinning at me. Once recognition dawns, I throw my fist at his face, connecting with his jaw. It’s barely a second before he flies at me, fists wailing and excitement in his eyes. I fly backward from the impact and hit the ground with a heavy thud, this stupid bastard on top of me. I manage to throw him off only to move the wrong way and end up in a headlock. I need this shit. The adrenaline keeps me awake, and aware.
Pop shouts, getting everybody’s attention. I shove Chief off me and stand, brushing the dirt off my arms. Rig’s crew and the rest of our charter stop what they’re doing and form a loose circle in front of Pop, ready to hear what he has to say. As usual, his speech is short, it’s just not short enough. “We’re making good time. We need to keep it up. If anybody can’t keep up with the hours we’re pulling, turn in your fucking patch. We didn’t get this far to fuck up now. Straight through to Nevada, boys.”
I let my attention wander from Pop to the men surrounding me. They’re all silent and respectful enough. Despite the bored looks and tired eyes, they remain silent and keep their focus on Pop. Off in the distance stands Alexandra. Her eyes travel through the crowd with a sense of wonderment on her face. After all of the change she’s endured the last few days, it’s a wonder she can stand there with such a look of both curiosity and confidence.
