by Jc Emery
Cracking a cruel smile and with cold eyes, he says, “Don’t you want to start them off right? You can show them how to be a Lost Girl so when I get my patch they’ll know their place.”
“You’re not getting a patch. You hear me now, and you listen good—you can be an asshole, you can use every girl in this town. I don’t care. But if you think you’re going to prospect, you are dead wrong, dude.”
“And who the fuck is going to stop me?” he says, smiling. “You’re not my mom. She ran off. You’re not my dad. He’s locked up.”
“Just clean up the kitchen, okay?” I say and push him back then slide out the front door. Walking to my car, I’m fuming mad. It feels like I’ve left the house a hundred times today and half of those have been after a fight with Jeremy. Five months—I remind myself—just five months until he’s eighteen. A sudden panic overtakes me at the thought of him being old enough to prospect. Then for a brief, selfish second I wonder what it would be like to only have to worry about myself. Having one mouth to feed would be a lot cheaper and certainly if he were patched, he’d be earning his own keep. But no matter how less stressful it would all be financially, it’s not worth what could and likely would happen to him. He’d be no better than the rest of them.
With irritated thoughts of my brother, I drive to The 101 Club on the other side of town, just beyond the bridge that crosses Noyo Bay. The 101 Club sits just off of South Main Street in a large dirt lot on the inland side of the road. The building looks small from the outside, with its worn paint and inconsistent flickering neon sign above the door that invites patrons to “Ente,” the R that nobody ever bothered to replace having been busted years ago.
I step out of the car and look down at my dark blue jeans tucked into three-inch knee-high black boots. Normally, if I was looking to have a little fun, I’d have gone for a suggestive top, but tonight I decided to wear a fitted, long sleeve, black top. It’s nothing fancy, but it covers up my ink. Not that I don’t love the artwork I’ve had done, but tonight it just feels too obvious. I highly doubt Ms. Mancuso has even an imperfect blotch of skin, let alone tattoos that trail across her arms and lower belly.
And just like that my bad mood gets even worse. I’m letting this chick and her presence in town really fuck with my head. I know damn well that it’s my own insecurities biting me in the ass, but that doesn’t put a stop to the incessant voice in the back of my head that won’t stop saying, “You’re not good enough.”
Inside the bar, it’s poorly lit, which probably helps its customers tie one on and take someone home they surely wouldn’t in the calm and sober light of the day. Horny customers make for spendthrifts, and spendthrifts are good for business. The decor leaves a lot to be desired with its mismatched furniture and torn fabrics, but it is comfortable and usually a decent mix between quiet and noisy. The likelihood you’ll have to shout to hear one another is low, but it’s not so dead that you feel alone. It’s perfect, and the owner is a friend of the club. He knows me and will keep an eye on me.
In the corner, shrouded in the darkness left by a burnt out bulb overhead, is Darren. He has a fresh beer, poured from the tap, still foamy on top, that he’s sipping from. In profile, he reminds me so much of who he used to be toward the end—grouchy, sullen, and mean.
Taking a deep breath, I give myself a moment to pause before closing the distance between us.
“Hey,” I say, sliding onto the stool beside him while keeping as much distance as I can. Setting down his beer, he turns to face me. All smiles and arrogance, Darren looks me up and down. With every mannerism and word he speaks, it seems like he’s stuck in a time warp. A few years older, likely a whole lot smarter after college, but still, just the exact same person he was back then—and here I was hoping he’d have changed.
“Something’s different about you,” he says, looking at my covered arms. I squirm a little under his gaze. Something about Darren Jennings has always been more than a little unnerving, and, yet, I have such a hard time having a backbone around him. Continuing to look me over, he reaches over and lifts the bottom of my sleeve. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you with this much clothing.”
The comment, as sly as it may be, hits me right in the gut. I just wanted to spend a few hours being someone other than a Lost Girl or a big sister, or even a crappy employee, and this is how he greets me. Signaling the bartender, I point at Darren’s beer and hold up my index finger in the air, asking for one for myself.
“So, about my dad?” I ask, trying to avoid talking about myself. As the bartender brings the beer over and I place a five dollar bill on the counter, Darren delves into his plans now that he’s graduated, which is not what I came here for. He wants to attend law school, but he doesn’t know where yet. He plans on taking a year off between now and then so he can choose a school, and this way he has the opportunity to spend a year volunteering abroad. I nod my head, unsurprised by his plans, and try to keep smiling.
Every now and then I interject a “That’s great” or “Very cool” so he thinks I care. It takes a while, but he eventually gets into my dad’s case. Unfortunately, his arrest was all over the news and The Gazette because he’s Forsaken. Darren asks me uncomfortable questions about my dad—most of which I can’t answer. The few questions I can answer, I think of how to word the answers, often times taking a long sip of my beer in an attempt to delay while I think. I can’t tell him most of what he asks about. Instead, I opt for half-truths that don’t get the club in any trouble. The thing I try to focus on is his parole hearing that just happened. We’re awaiting word on whether or not it was denied. Not that I expect it to be approved.
“More shit with Forsaken?” he says, a snide look on his features. I tense at the word and then slyly look around. Locals have incredibly strong opinions about the Forsaken Motorcycle Club. They either love them for everything the club’s done, which even I can admit is a lot, or they hate the club because they know behind all of the community activism is a very real, very violent, and very illegal enterprise. But they all fear the club, or at least they should all fear the club. Jim, the president of the Fort Bragg charter, has a very creative way of silencing its outspoken opponents.
“Something like that,” I say coolly, but he isn’t really having it. Darren doesn’t let things go. He’s always the one to decide when to end a conversation.
“You could have been something, you know,” he says. And here we go. “I’ve always believed in you. So have my parents. I remember back in high school how much you wanted to get out of this town and away from the club. I don’t know what happened, but I remember a girl who couldn’t stop talking about going to college and traveling the world.”
Feeling my temper rise, I say, “Life happened. I have a brother who needs me. Things could have been different, but they’re not, and I’d rather not talk about it.”
“You could have let the Stones keep him,” he says, referring to Jim and Ruby. I bite back the smart comment that’s sitting on my tongue. What a stupid thing for him to say. No, I never could have left my brother in the hands of the club—no matter how well-meaning they were. Darren sees something in my face that tells him he’s stepped on the wrong topic, and he gives me a soft, apologetic smile. He’s always been so careful about his public image. If only the public knew.
“Sorry. I just hate to see you waste so much potential. I remember what you could have been—what we could have been together.” I don’t bother to tell him that us together wasn’t going to happen.
“Yeah, but listen. I just remembered I’m supposed to pick Jeremy up from a friend’s house.” Sliding off the stool, I give Darren a quick look.
Reaching an arm out and grabbing my wrist, he holds me in place. Though he’s working to keep his face blank of emotion, there’s a small tick in his cheek. No, nothing has changed since high school. He’s still a total control freak, and apparently, even years later, he’s still upset that I broke it off between the two of us when I got Jeremy back fro
m Jim and Ruby in my junior year. Not that he cared—he’d gone public with that cheerleader a month before that anyway, and he was her problem.
“Remember the fun we used to have,” he says. It’s not a question, but a statement. It might even be a warning. Back in the day, Darren Jennings suffered many a private temper tantrum. Though you’d never know it by looking at him, he can be a real mean son of a bitch when he doesn’t get his way.
With that, I pull away, clear my throat, and straighten my spine. “You’d be surprised what I remember,” I say and walk out.
Chapter 6
MY LEGS SHAKE as I walk through the bar and out the noisy front door. There was a time when I wouldn’t have smarted off to Darren, much less walked out on him. But times have changed, and so have I, but apparently he hasn’t. Still, I walked away without even thinking about it. Neither of us are in high school anymore, and I’m no longer that terrified and fragile little girl I once was. She’s been gone a long time, and thank God for it, too.
Struggling with the key in the door lock, I waste precious time trying to calm myself down. Taking deep breath after deep breath, forcing myself to relax before trying to unlock the car door, I don’t hear the footsteps approach behind me. A large hand lands atop the roof of my car. I jump in surprise and drop my keys in the gravel below.
“You okay?” Darren’s voice travels through the tunnel of paranoia that overtakes me. He sounds so calm, and so nice, but I know better than to assume he’s not the same person he once was. Nothing he’s done is any different than it used to be. As I turn to face him, he brings up his free hand. I take a step back and press myself against the car. My stomach lurches at the movement, and my face contorts in fear.
Looking him in the eye, I see the softening of his features. His face falls and his forehead smooths. His thin lips turn down, and, for the briefest of moments, I feel sorry for upsetting him, which is beyond fucked up considering our history. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know I can be a real jerk. I’m just nervous and sad because I don’t want to mess this up.”
I almost believe him, but even I’m not that stupid.
“Okay,” I say. It’s all I can manage. I can’t bring myself to forgive him, and I can’t say that I trust that he’s being genuine. Not that any of it matters. He’s going to be gone in a few months anyway.
“Okay,” he says and turns around, walking across the gravel lot toward his shiny BMW. Maybe in the last few years he has grown. I guess it’s possible that he really is maturing.
With that, I regain my confidence and easily slide the key into the lock and crawl into the driver’s seat. I check my phone and find eight more missed calls and one from Duke that reads, FINE.
For once, the car starts up immediately. Without another cognitive thought, I pull out of the lot and head north on Main Street. Somewhere in the back of my head, I realize that I’ve missed my turn toward the house, but I keep going. It’s another few blocks before I swing into the left turn lane at Adler Street. I hadn’t really considered what I was doing when I got into the car, but apparently there’s something I need here. Maybe it’s the ability to forget what I’m searching for. Maybe it’s just Duke and all of his fake promises of being there for me that I want to hear. Maybe it’s his strong arms and his imposing size. So as the gates to the Forsaken clubhouse swing open, I don’t delay in hitting the gas and pulling in.
It’s a weekday, but the clubhouse is pretty active regardless. It’s a rare occasion when nobody’s around, and that’s especially true at night. The guys never seem to tire of one another, or at least they don’t very often. Before Dad got locked up, he was always at the clubhouse, and even more so after his bitch wife left us. Parking the car, I climb out, and take my time walking across the lot. Most of the party’s inside, but some of the guys have filtered out here. On a picnic bench between Chel and Bear is Chief. His dark brown eyes meet mine, and a smile spreads across his face. He gave up long ago trying to tell me that I don’t belong here. As my dad’s closest friend, he took it upon himself to try to care for both me and Jeremy. Chief and his absent wife— made evident by the way he and Chel were so close together— have always been good to me and Jeremy.
“Baby Girl,” Chief says. He moves his long, pitch-black hair over his shoulder and leans forward, swinging an arm over Chel’s shoulders. Chel smiles uncomfortably at me and then looks away, but doesn’t move. She knows how fond I am of Chief’s wife, Barbara, and it’s not cool for her to be with Chief in front of me. It makes me feel disloyal to Barbara and their kids, but that’s not something I’m allowed to even touch on, so I don’t.
“What’s up, Old Man?” I ask with a smirk on my face.
“Nothing good, that’s for sure. What are you doing here?” he says. I’ve never understood it— the blind loyalty to the club, but the often disregarded promises these guys make to their wives. How they hang around here and fuck whoever and however they want, totally turning their backs on the people who they’re supposed to love the most. But that’s the problem with club life— the thing these men love the most is the club. It’s always been that way and always will be. The women who marry these guys are just too fucking stupid to accept it.
“You seen Duke?” I ask, realizing a moment later that I’m showing my cards way too soon. I never ask for anyone. Normally, I show up just to hang out and sometimes end up staying over in one of the guy’s rooms, but it’s never planned out, and I never have a specific companion in mind. This is new not just for me, but everybody who’s witnessing it, as is obvious by the looks on their faces.
“Duke, huh?” Bear asks, quirking an eyebrow up at me. I shrug my shoulders in response. I may be stating my intentions, but I’m not about to give these guys ammunition to fuel their fire. They’re all a bunch of gossipy assholes. Bear clears his throat and looks me over—like every time he sees me. It’s useless. I’ve always told him I’m not going there. For one, he’s got a wife, and for two, she’s absolutely insane. “Thought after that fight today, he’d be done with you. He’s inside,” Bear says.
“Uh, I don’t think so,” Chief says. His eyes dart to the door. “I think he headed out already.”
“You been smoking too much bud, Dude,” Bear says, shooting Chief a look. “He’s inside.”
Chief’s eyes narrow at Bear’s then soften when they fall on me. I know those looks all too well. Bear’s mischievous smile gives him away, and Chief’s worried glances solidify my assumption. Duke’s inside with someone else. A knot twists in my gut, and I consider my options. I could go home and spare myself the irrational anger that’s going to flare at the sight of him touching some other chick, but maybe I need this. Maybe I need to see him doing his thing so I can stop pretending he’s my knight on shining chrome.
“Thanks, guys,” I say absently make my way inside the clubhouse. Smoke wafts up as I enter, filling my lungs and tickling at my nose. There’s nothing about the clubhouse after dark that is inviting unless you’re one of us. It’s smoky, dirty, and a hot spot for unparalleled debauchery. The only windows are wide and short and they line the wall at the ceiling, offering no light after the sun sets. Long rows of overhead fluorescent lights form an orderly design on the ceiling, but that’s where any semblance of order stops. From the front door all the way to the chapel and out the back door, this place is a mad house.
I find myself simultaneously loving and loathing this place as I search the room for Duke. In the corner, drinking a beer with some chick by his side is Diesel. He’s nodding his head as she talks in his ear, but his eyes are someplace off across the room. Jim is notably absent from the crowd. It used to be weird not seeing him here when all of his men were, but ever since the club got back from their trip to New York, it’s becoming more routine for him to be absent.
“I heard you’re looking for somebody,” a deep voice says from behind me. The words are laced with an arrogance that can only belong to Ryan Stone, Forsaken’s Road Captain. Like Duke, Ryan’s a few
years older than me, and is—by all accounts—Duke’s best friend.
“Yeah,” I say, deciding there’s no point in trying to cover it up. “You seen Duke?”
Turning to face Ryan, I see that he’s twisted his face up in a look of disapproval. Ryan Stone is a handsome guy. He’s well built, both by design and genetics, and he’s got the attitude to match his good looks. With pitch black hair that’s shorter on the sides and longer on top and a well-defined jawline, Ryan’s got everything a girl could want, including these gray eyes that used to make me blush when they fell on me. But that was a long time ago. That was back before any of us could drive a car much less ride a motorcycle, and that was back before he and Duke turned into the men they are now. Unfortunately for Ryan, he’s also a Grade-A dickhead with a mean streak a mile wide. I pity the bitch who gets saddled with his ass.
“Last I see him he had a face full of pussy,” he says thoughtfully. My stomach feels like it drops ten floors and slams into the concrete below. He leans his face in and eyes me suspiciously. “You gettin’ a thing for our boy?”
“No,” I lie. It comes out much too quick to sound truthful. The callous smile that spreads across his face tells me he doesn’t buy it.
“Tell ya what, I’ll bend you over the bar and fuck you raw and hard for everyone to see. Make sure you scream real loud, too—that way he’ll be sure to hear you.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” I say. I’m only mildly surprised by his comment, but it still bothers me. I don’t know exactly where Jim and Ryan’s stepmother, Ruby, went wrong with him. Back when he was in school, she would always show up to his shit. It didn’t matter how little he cared about the project or how poor his grades were. She always showed up for his and Ian’s events. I have half a mind to slap the idiot right out of him, but I’m not stupid enough to think whatever history we have would save me from the repercussions of such an act.
