by Jc Emery
Leaning over the counter with a rag in hand, Mindy nods her head full of strawberry blonde curls toward the back room. She knows exactly why I’m here because she’s the one who was cool enough to cover for me this morning when the principal of Jeremy’s high school called to ask me to come pick him up. Mindy’s cool and totally anti-Forsaken, so I’m thinking we might be able to be friends which is totally up my alley at this point. But then she’s also kind of a prude, so I don’t know what we’d even do if we did hang out.
“Thanks, Min,” I say, crossing the shop and squeezing behind the counter on my way to the office that’s in the back. I blow out a few heavy breaths and psyche myself up for the conversation, but don’t have much time. As I round the corner, I see the door to the office is open. Universal Ground’s owner, Eileen, is at her computer, typing furiously. I give a soft knock on the door frame before stepping into the small office. It’s more of a broom closet, really, but it serves its purpose.
Eileen looks up, her natural gray hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and she wears a sad smile on her face. She waves me in and I close the door behind me. I don’t even have to ask. We’ve been here before.
“Nicole,” she says as pleasantly as her mood will allow. “I assume you’re here to talk about why you left your shift early?”
Inwardly, I cringe. Setting myself in the chair across the desk from her, I nod my head and say, “Yes.” She waits as I collect my thoughts to present the most compelling argument for not writing me up.
“Principal Beck called, asking me for an immediate meeting and to pick Jeremy up for the day,” I say, figuring she’ll find out eventually. It’s near impossible to keep anything a secret in this town, and it really doesn’t help that Eileen’s youngest son is in the same grade as Jeremy. She’d likely find out by dinnertime even if I didn’t tell her.
Thoughtfully, she nods her head and leans back in her chair. She’s dressed in her usual attire— clean cut khakis and a colorful polo shirt. My eyes dip down to my ripped jeans and tight blank tank for only a moment before I stop myself from comparing us any further. She’s the epitome of class in a soccer mom uniform, while I’m… not. She’s always been good to me which is one of the reasons I hate ditching out on her so often.
“I’m sympathetic to your family situation, Nicole. I understand that occasionally things will come up when you care for a child. I’m not interested in making you feel any worse than you already do, but we need to figure out a way to limit the number of times you have to run off for a family emergency.”
“It won’t happen again,” I blurt out, knowing it’s a lie. Eileen knows it, too. I always tell her it won’t happen again, but then it does. Jeremy hits some kid in the hallway, or he’s been caught cheating on a test, or even worse, he’s at the police station for truancy. It’s one thing after another and no matter how hard I try to keep him in check, it’s useless.
“Okay. Let’s let Mindy finish out this shift. You can resume the rest of the week as scheduled,” she says in a kind voice. I mumble an incoherent “thanks” and stand from my chair and slink out the door. I’d thought I would ask if I could finish my hours this afternoon, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea to push it now, especially since she’s made up her mind about it already. Sympathetic or not, she kept the conversation short and to the point. Plus, I’m not in any position to be asking for favors right now.
Heading out of the backroom, I run into Mindy as she’s turning the corner. With a perky smile on her face, her eyes widen, and she gives a giggle-laugh. Between my boss, the soccer mom, and Mindy, our resident Barbie doll, I’m ready to just throw in the towel. Mindy ducks around me, mumbling something that has the words “silly” and “goose” in it. I try to ignore her despite the fact that her quirks are really fucking cute. What grown woman actually calls herself a silly goose-- Mindy, that’s who. I sort of envy her. Anyone who says shit like silly goose can’t be all that fucked in the head.
I’m almost to the door when the bell chimes and it door swings open. A man of average height and build stands in the doorway looking around. I can barely see his face, but I already know who it is: Darren Jennings. We used to date back in high school, and things had gotten pretty serious until it all went to hell. He eventually upgraded to some chick I didn’t really know, but I felt bad for her all the same. He’s got a little scruff on his face and a ball cap pulled over his brown hair. For just a second, I freeze. I can practically feel my face paling. Before I can duck around, recognition covers his face and he smiles at me. It’s never been an evil smile. It’s pleasant in that unsuspecting way.
“Nicole,” he says. “It’s been a while.” Checking out his khakis and polo shirt, I can’t see much change from high school.
Acting surprised, I say, “Darren Jennings?” as if I hadn’t already made the connection in my head. He swoops down and wraps his arms around my torso, pulling me into what probably looks like a friendly hug. My lungs feel like they’re shrinking down to nothing as a swell of panic overtakes me. I stay perfectly still and wait for it to end. I pause, then try to hug back, but my right arm is crushed between our bodies. I pat his back softly with my left and hope he lets go any second. I hate people who are huggers. It’s like they have zero sense of boundaries. And Darren has always been a hands-on kind of guy.
“How have you been?” he pulls back, holds me at arm’s length, and asks with a huge smile on his face. It’s a challenge to stop myself from telling him that I feel like puking all over his loafers because he’s touched me. I want to tell him that despite whatever was fucked up in my life before this moment, that shit just got a whole hell of a lot worse. I really just want to gouge his eyes out.
“Listen, I gotta go,” I say, refusing to have this conversation with him. I mean, if I tell the truth, it’s a pretty gloomy story-- and it’s half his fault-- and I’m not about to go down that road with him. Last time it didn’t end well. He narrows his eyes slightly at my response.
“So, I just graduated from USC,” he says like I’ve forgotten our long-lost plans or something. Darren was always supposed to go to the University of Southern California, as he did. He’s a legacy, meaning his dad graduated from there, and now he has too. I wasn’t ever going to get into USC, but I was shooting for a school nearby there. But that was before everything fell apart and I decided that I’d rather rot in this place than to spend anymore time in his presence than absolutely necessary.
I try to offer my congratulations as he continues. “I’m back home for the summer. We should hang out. We have a lot to catch up on.” The mere thought of hanging out with Darren turns my legs into Jell-O.
“I’ve just been really busy,” I say in an attempt to end the conversation without really pissing him off, not that there’s a formula for keeping him calm or anything.
“You were wild back then,” he says, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. It almost makes me sick.
“She’s wild now,” a deep, masculine voice sounds from behind me. I practically jump in place at the intrusion. Darren’s eyes jump from mine over my shoulder to the man behind me. Turning around, I see the person I least expect standing in Universal Grounds: Diesel. He’s tall and thick in every way imaginable; a little more portly than most of the club members, but he wears it well. His shaved head has a short black buzz growing in and he’s scowling at Darren like he’s a piece of shit that dared make its way to the bottom of his shoe. He may be a serious bad-ass, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Diesel.
Living in a small town like Fort Bragg, California, with a local motorcycle club like we have-- the Forsaken Motorcycle Club-- you’re either their friend or their enemy. There is absolutely no in-between, especially if you’re like me and you’re the daughter of one of their incarcerated members. It’s wise to make good with the club, and for lack of a better social scene, I’ve made real good with the club.
“Hey,” I say. Inside, I’m screaming at him to leave. Club members showing up at my work-- for t
he first time in as long as I can remember-- is not a good thing. I don’t care that it’s Diesel and we’re on good terms. I guess I can at least breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not Duke.
But today is not the day to show up at my work-- of all days. Eileen is as straight-laced as they come, and while she knows my dad’s Forsaken, it’s not something she’s keen on acknowledging. Knowing that mouthing off to Diesel won’t end well, I just bite my tongue and give him a pleasant smile while taking a few steps in his direction.
Diesel’s never done me wrong no matter how many times we’ve hooked up, but I’m not stupid enough to think he’d treat me any better than he did Julie if I start shit with him. “You want some coffee?” I ask, hitching a thumb toward the espresso machine. God, please tell me this man just stopped in for coffee.
Heavy boots clunk against the hardwood floor behind Diesel and a large, familiar form comes into view despite being partially obstructed by Diesel’s massive body. Wearing blue jeans, a black wife beater, and his leather cut, Duke strides up beside Diesel and place his hands on his hips. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in about two months-- ever since he claimed me when we hooked up. He looks damn good despite my frustration, and no matter how much I hate myself for it, I can’t help but let my eyes travel down to his hips where his hands rest. Those hips can perform magic tricks that would make performers in Vegas jealous.
“Where in the hell have you been?” he asks, irritation evident in his voice. It only takes a moment for my temper to rise, making me see red. He’s fucking joking, right?
Chapter 2
July (21 months to Mancuso’s downfall)
“WHAT?” I SNAP. I ball my hands into fists at my side as my blood pressure shoots through the roof. He knows the way this stuff normally works—hell, his club fucking invented how this works—so it’s not like he can play stupid. Two months and not a damn word and now this? The embarrassment I felt only grew as time went on and I hadn’t heard from him. I went from feeling a little too dreamy about everything to feeling a little ridiculous to eventually feeling like a stupid piece of trash. We could have fucked and left it at that, but no.
“Where have you been?” he says very slowly. His blue eyes are narrowed, and his strong jaw is covered by facial hair he’s let grow out. Though he commands the attention of everybody in his presence, for once he doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it.
“I’ve been around,” I say, trying to bite back my anger. “Where have you been?” I may be intimidated by Diesel, but Duke doesn’t scare me. No matter how big and tough he is now, I remember the days when he was just the awkward kid whose face hadn’t grown into his personality yet. And damn it to hell—I had a crush on him even back then.
“Yeah, you been around, all right, but you ain’t been where you should have,” Duke says. My entire body tenses, and I shoot a questioning glare at Diesel. He lifts his hands and shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t know what’s going on, either, then turns and stares curiously at Duke. At least I’m not the only one not caught up.
Darren lets out a sigh, and the very reminder of his presence has me taking a step closer to Duke. His eyes narrow in Darren’s direction and move between us. Though my movement was subtle, or so I thought, Duke’s caught on, and well, shit.
“Who’s this guy?” Duke asks, looking down at me. We’re barely two feet apart now, and, this close up, his question comes across more like an accusation than anything. Suddenly, it feels like I’m back in high school and Darren’s caught on that I hooked up with Ryan while we were broken up—and he isn’t pleased. And unfortunately, that actually happened. I wish I could say that Ryan was a horrible lay, but even back then, that bastard knew how to move.
“Darren Jennings,” Darren says as he steps forward and introduces himself to Duke and Diesel. Diesel’s playing on his phone and couldn’t care less about what’s going on. I keep shooting him sideways glances to beg him for help, but the few times he’s looked over at me, there’s nothing but amusement on his face. Asshole.
Darren reaches his hand out, brushing against me, but Duke sneers down at it like Darren’s trying to shake his dick or something. Duke leans in just slightly toward Darren and hooks his arm around my waist, pulling me back, and says, “Too close, dude.”
Darren raises an eyebrow at that comment. Even though he was born and raised in this town, and the club’s been here longer than he’s been alive, Darren has never understood the fine art of dealing with the outlaw biker club. The more distance Duke puts between me and Darren, the more I’m able to relax, and the more comfortable I feel.
“Pardon?” Darren says with a raised eyebrow. He drops his hand and takes half a step back. “I’m speaking with an old friend, and who might you be?”
My eyes widen as Duke chuckles heartily from behind me. Oh, maybe if I’m lucky Duke will beat the crap out of him.
Diesel strains his neck, curses, and then shoves his phone back in his pocket. He looks at Darren with a flat expression and says, “Dude. I’m in the middle of level ninety-nine of Candy Castle. Now I gotta stop what I’m doing and deal with your mouth. Not cool.”
“I feel like I’m missing something,” Darren says with a confused look on his face. I bite my tongue to stop myself from telling him to give up the act. He knows damn well who the Forsaken are, and he knows damn well what they can do. But even in Duke’s grasp, where I feel braver than I have in a long time, I don’t have the courage to mouth off to Darren.
“You see our patches, your hear our bikes, you know who we are,” Diesel says. He lifts his chin at Duke and nods his head toward the back door.
From behind me, Duke bends at the waist and places his mouth right beside my ear, whispering, “Clubhouse. Ten minutes. You don’t show, and I’m going to hunt your ass down, you got that? It’s been a damn long time, and I’m tired of waiting for your sweet pussy.”
As much as I want to light into his ass like there’s no tomorrow, I can’t. I have to work here, and that’s assuming Eileen doesn’t fire my ass for all of this shit anyway.
“Whatever,” I say. I can’t bring myself to agree, and I can’t argue here. Without another word, Duke turns and leaves the shop out the back door. Diesel raises an eyebrow and shrugs his broad shoulders, then follows Duke.
I’m tempted to say something to Darren, whose eyes are fixated on the back door. Something snippy like ‘Well, it was nice seeing you, jackass’, but I’ve had enough drama for the morning and I’m not up to invite any more. I move quickly around him and slip out of the door. A large hand wraps itself around my upper arm, holding me in place. My chest constricts painfully. For just a moment everything stops. Even my breath.
“Wait,” he says. “Do you want to have a drink later or something?”
Darren turns me around, giving me a curious look. My eyes travel down to his hand wrapped around my arm and narrow instantly. Even after all this time, I still don’t like the feeling of him touching me. I pull my arm back and shove my hands in my pockets.
“Listen, Nic, I didn’t know you two were together,” he says. It takes me a moment to catch on, but when I do, I’m annoyed for a whole other reason. Of course Darren would assume I’m with someone and that’s why I’m less than thrilled about his presence. Never would he consider that I’d like for him to die in a fire. Slowly.
“I...,” I say and trail off. I don’t know what to tell him. I certainly don’t want to tell him the truth, but denying that anything is going on would be my best bet. Letting Darren think I’m hooked up with Duke would be a convenient excuse to get out of having a drink with him. Because it’s never just one drink with Darren and it’s never easy to tell him no.
“I don’t want to step on any toes, or get mine broken, but I want to run something by you,” he says. There’s nothing he can run by me that I want to hear. I fold my arms over my chest, which, incidentally, shoves the tops of my exposed tits farther out of my tank top. Darren’s eyes dip to my chest before he lifts his e
yes and gives me a flat stare.
I clamp my mouth shut before I say something I’ll regret.
“I’m kind of busy,” I lie, “but can I take a rain check?” I take a few steps back, unfold my arms from my chest, and dig around in my purse for my keys.
“It’s important,” he says. He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. When he lowers his arm, he smiles apologetically. “What I came here to tell you is that I’ve had a lot of time to think about the way things ended between us. We can’t go back, but I want to make it right.” If I could find the person who told him where I work, I could choke the life out of them. Finding my keys I grab a hold of them and give Darren my full attention. I shake my head and clutch the keys with all my might. How dare he think there is any way he can make that shit right? Because he can’t. “I talked to my dad, and he agreed to review your dad’s case and see if he can help get some of the charges dropped, or at least the sentence reduced.”
My heart swells for just a minute before I remember who I’m talking to. Darren doesn’t do things for people without an end game. He’s as selfish as they come, and a total bastard to boot.
“The club’s taking care of it,” I say. Because they are, but there’s only so much their expensive-as-fuck attorney can do for Dad after everything he’s done on the club’s behalf since he’s been inside. I can’t believe there’s much Darren’s dad can do to help at this point.
“Are they? Wasn’t your dad’s attorney that guy who represented Ryan when he made the paper a few years ago?” Darren asks. Of course, if he’s asking this, then he already knows the answer. And he would bring Ryan up. It doesn’t matter that Darren was off fucking around with half of the cheerleading team when I hooked up with Ryan. Ryan took something Darren considered his, and I guess he isn’t letting that grudge go.
