by Jc Emery
“Off,” Duke says, hitching his thumb backward. “Before I break your fucking kneecaps.”
“Chill,” Jeremy says and gives Duke an incredulous look. As he pushes off the bike, a grating, scratching sound sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t move a muscle, nor do I take in a breath. Very slowly, Duke moves toward his bike and shoves Jeremy to the side. Before I can react, Duke’s got Jeremy by the collar of his tee shirt, and he’s holding him so they stand nose to nose.
“You scratched,” he says very slowly, “my bike.”
“Sorry?” Jeremy says in a casual way, like it’s a question he doesn’t really care about. Before Dad went away, he tried to teach Jeremy what it means to be a man, and part of that lesson was to never back down. Only bitches back down, and no son of his is a bitch. Actually, no daughter of his is to back down, either. But Dad isn’t 5’5” and barely a buck twenty. When you’re my size and going up against someone Duke’s size, it’s totally okay to back down and plead for mercy. It might even be okay to beg, I think. But does Jeremy do any of those things?
No.
He smirks.
He fucking smirks.
“You’re going to pay for this, shithead,” Duke says and shoves Jeremy away. The second I see the opening, I stand in front of my brother and stare up at Duke. He grits his teeth and, with rage in his eyes, says, “Move.”
Knowing that this could turn out to be a very bad idea, I take a step closer to Duke and place my hand on his chest. Leaning in, I say, “Please, we need to check your head.”
Duke shakes his head and pushes slightly against my hand. Being sweet is all I got in my toolbox to get Duke to chill out enough so that my brother can keep his teeth, and unfortunately for Jeremy’s smile, sweet doesn’t always come easy for me. Stepping off to the side, I remove my hand from his chest, and look at the pavement. Diesel said I just have to do better and demand better of Duke, and that’s all I really got. So I bite back my temper and gently place my hand on Duke’s back. His muscles tense at the contact. I keep my hand still, but make circles over his cut with my thumb. It takes a good, long minute before the tension dissipates and he screams, “Fuck!”
“He’s lucky he’s your brother or he’d be in the emergency room right now,” he says without taking his eyes off Jeremy. The words are clearly meant for me, so I give him an “I know, baby,” Grady strides up and grabs a hold of Jeremy by the back of his neck, giving him a menacing grin.
“I’ll babysit while you two talk your shit out,” Grady says then drags Jeremy, who’s finally catching on that he did something wrong, into the clubhouse.
Duke turns around and stares at me with a blank expression. I move slowly, reaching out and taking his hand. With a quick squeeze, he moves forward, and we walk into the clubhouse, hand-in-hand.
I’m sick of the walk down the hall to his room. Nothing good ever comes of us going to his room, but I have orders from Grady, and I don’t want to be the next person he babysits after he gets done with Jeremy. As far a I’m concerned, Grady and I can be like ships passing in the night. This time, though, it’s different. I lead the way, and I’m the one to open the door. I’m the one who waits until Duke walks in, and then I shut the door behind me.
He says nothing at first. He just walks to the dresser in the corner and places his hands on the edge, shoulder-width apart, and leans in. When he finally stops huffing and puffing like he’s a character out of The Three Little Pigs, he says, “My bike. He scratched my fucking bike.”
“He fucked up, and I’ll bet he’s paying for it,” I say. I feel like such a traitor, but really, how many times can I cover for his ass?
“My bike,” he says slowly. “There’s no paying for that shit. It’s about respect.” If I wasn’t so infuriated by how dense he is, I would tell him how hypocritical that is with a few choice curse words. Instead, I remain silent because I can’t even get my vocal chords to work right now. Dick.
“Have you taught him nothing?” he snaps. My fists ball up at my sides, and I squeeze my eyes closed for a minute to let out a silent scream.
“I’m trying here,” I say. I can’t stand here and talk about respect with him right now. Try as I might, I still see Dawn in my head, riding his dick, and smirking at me.
“What?” he grinds out and turns toward me with anger still in his eyes. Pushing off the dresser, he closes the distance between us and presses himself up against me while keeping his arms at his sides. “You got something to say, so say it.”
I keep myself steady and refuse to bend to his heavy frame as it pushes against me. “Your bike can be replaced, the scratch can come out. But that shit you pulled last night? That shit won’t come out.”
Looking down, his face softens, and he takes a step back. Screaming, he slams his fist into the exposed brick just once before pulling back and flopping himself onto the bed. He wipes his now bloody knuckles on his jeans and flexes his hand. With his elbows on his knees, he puts his face in his hands. I want to go to him, and comfort him, but I don’t. All of this frustration he feels needs to happen. He has to feel how much it hurt me to see that shit, how much it’s going to continue to fuck with my mind, and what that means for us. So instead, I stand here and watch as he freaks out.
It starts with the tapping of his foot, and then migrates to the shaking of his leg eventually becomes the scrubbing of his face with his hands. Outside in the forecourt he was losing his shit, but in here, he’s unraveling. When he gets a hold of himself, he stares up at me, elbows still on his knees, and says, “I fucked up.”
“Yeah, you did,” I say, but the words have no real venom to them. He lifts an arm for me to go to him, but I don’t. Keeping my eyes trained on his, I shake my head. He drops his arm and says nothing. He just stares at me. One of us has to give in, and since I know damn well it’s not going to be him, I go first.
“We both fucked up, but that was not okay,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Yeah,” he says and stands to his full height. He comes to me and places his hands on my hips. “Past is the past.”
“No, that’s a fucking cop out,” I say. I’m not screaming and I’m not whispering. I’m neither livid nor afraid; I just feel kind of dead inside. “What you did was wrong.”
“Tried to call you, got no answer. Last I heard from you, you told me I’d never touch you again.”
“Since when do you listen to what I want or what I say? It’s awful convenient for you to start now.”
“I was pissed, okay? That shit you pulled pissed me off, and I fucked up, did something I regret,” he says, giving my hips a squeeze. “You shouldn’t have seen that shit.”
“Say it,” I demand and take a step backward. He pulls me back to him, and even though we’re quasi-fighting—I’m not sure this counts as fighting since nobody is screaming and no punches are being thrownI like being in his arms. It feels right and safe.
“Say you’re sorry,” I say again. His jaw tenses, and he stands stone still. I stand resolved even though I doubt this is going to end well. Forsaken don’t apologize, and they don’t beg. The silence in the room eats me alive while I wait for words he’s determined never to say.
“You have to trust me,” he says. “You gotta trust that from here on out I’m gonna do right by you.”
“I can’t,” I say. Trusting him isn’t that simple, not after what I saw. Leaning down, he kisses the shell of my ear and basks my neck in his warm breath.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m really fucking sorry that you had to see that shit.” I almost feel the victory of getting him to say he’s sorry, but it doesn’t happen.
“I don’t want you to be sorry that I saw it. I want you to be sorry that you did it,” I whisper. Letting my head fall against the crook of his neck, I close my eyes and breathe him in. Everything about him and this situation is painful. From the first time I saw him and he looked right through me, to the years he spent sleeping around and bragging about every Brenda and Amy
and Mandie he hooked up with, to us finally hooking up, to every fight, and every soft moment. It just hurts. And I don’t think relationships are supposed to be this hard or this painful, so I give up.
“And that’s why I can’t trust you,” I say and pull back. The disappointment tears at my open wounds and sends me reeling for something—anything—to make me feel better. He fights me, trying to keep a grip on my hips, but I shove him off while whispering the word no until it’s the only thing I understand about what’s going on.
Finally, he steps back and slowly shakes his head. “Don’t do this,” he says in a pained voice.
“This only works one way,” I say, feeding him his own club’s bullshit lines. “We have to respect each other, and I don’t respect you enough to be your woman.” I move around him, but don’t get very far. He reaches out and grabs my wrist. I don’t look back when I beg, “Please, just let me go.”
I asked for it, but still my stomach sinks when he drops my hand and doesn’t protest anymore as I walk out of the door. I walk quickly down the hall and into the main room. A crowd at the bar catches my eye. In the center is Jeremy and he wears a solemn expression on his face. Around him is Ryan, Grady, Chief, Diesel, and Wyatt. All their heads rise when I stop in the center of the room and turn toward them. Diesel lifts his chin in silent question and I just shake my head in response. Every emotion I’ve been keeping at bay wells in my chest, but I fight it back.
Diesel stands from his seat and grabs Jeremy by the back of his neck, escorting him out of the clubhouse. I follow behind, and when Diesel releases Jeremy and shoves him toward the car, I give Diesel a sad smile. He grunts and says, “Got his ass beat and he still fucks it up?”
“Nah,” I say quietly, “I’m just not his girl.” Diesel shakes his head and narrows his eyes. Turning around, I reach out for Jeremy, who’s stalled in place, and tug him toward the car and then peel out like there’s no tomorrow. Grocery shopping long forgotten, I speed back toward the house and come up with a game plan. Jeremy sits in his seat in perfect silence as I drive. He doesn’t dare utter a single word until we’re a block from the house.
“Was he serious about my kneecaps?”
“Yes,” I say, unable to lie to him.
“When he says I’m going to pay for it, he means with cash, right?” Jeremy asks. “A scratch can’t cost that much to fix, right?”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head, but I don’t say anything. There’s nothing I can say. Jeremy’s fucking clueless about how much it costs to fix that scratch. Granted, I know for a fact that Duke did the work on his Harley himself and he used club tools to do it, so for him it can’t be pricey. But that’s not the point. It’s Duke’s, and somebody dared to mess up something that’s his.
Passing one ranch house after another, on a street that looks exactly the same as every other, I bite my lower lip to keep from letting the pain of knowing that after all of this, that it’s not my attitude that’s screwed it up. I just was not enough.
I’m done with the club and all of this shit. I’m done with the macho crap. I’m done with parties and hooking up. I’m just done, and I need to keep it that way. Duke can have Dawn and every other whore in this entire fucking town. I have my brother and my job, and I remind myself for the thousandth time that it’s enough. But for the thousandth time I still don’t believe it. I only have Jeremy for a little while longer, and pretty soon I might not even have my job anymore. One day I might have nothing. At least when I was a Lost Girl I had the club, in a way. But not anymore. It’s too dangerous, and everything is so fucked up. All it’s done is stress me out, and tear me apart, and make me feel like shit, so I’m done.
Chapter 10
Duke
From my position on the sofa in Jim’s living room, I can see Alex at the kitchen table. She’s hunched over a bowl of cereal, and her eyes are down. Looking down at the floor at the collection of tennis balls the dogs have dropped by my feet, I consider throwing one at her. Ever since the fourth of July party the other night, she hasn’t really spoken to me. I guess she’s upset about the finger fucking.
I don’t know why. Her tight as fuck pussy practically broke my finger with how hard she came. Wasn’t right though, but it had to be done.
“Hey asswipe,” Ian says and throws a roll of toilet paper at my head. I narrowly dodge it and turn to give him a disgruntled look. I cast the toilet paper roll a sideways glance and dart my eyes across the room to look at Jim.
“Do you get the sudden urge to wipe your ass while watching TV?” I ask.
“Mom’s run us out of tissues,” Ian says somberly. I nod my head thoughtfully and rub my hands together.
“Still?”
“She feels guilty about Michael,” Jim mutters. Unfortunately, there’s no way around that. When Jim called Church and sat us down, telling us what was going on and asking the club what he did, I couldn’t fucking believe it. I still can’t fucking believe it. The shit we pulled off in Brooklyn to get Alex away from her father and out of danger was crazy, and all that time I spent on babysitting duty really fucked things up for me with Nic—not that I didn’t manage to fuck that shit up on my own again later.
Pumping Mancuso’s house full of bullets was a highlight. If the trip wasn’t so personal it might have been enjoyable. But it is personal. Princess isn’t my family in the way she’s Ian and Jim’s, but she’s Forsaken whether she wants to be or not, and that means something. She was Forsaken the moment Ruby made Jim promise that he’d always keep her children safe, and she’ll be Forsaken even when she’s old and gray and wants nothing to do with us anymore. And even though I voted against it and I was completely fucking pissed that Jim even asked us to risk so much for Ruby’s kid, I don’t regret it. It just took me a little while to remind myself what it means to be a part of this club.
It means I never have to stand alone again.
“No way around that,” I say quietly. I cast a quick glance at Alex. She’s still slowly shoveling cereal into her mouth with her eyes fixated on the table. I look back at Ian to find that he’s also looking at Alex. He almost looks like he’s in pain somehow. Both Ian and Alex have the same widow’s peak at the center of their forehead, which they inherited from their mother. I would have thought that he’d be relieved to have his sister here, but it seems to be fucking him up more than anything. I grab the toilet paper roll and throw it back at him and ask, “You talk to her?”
Without any emotion he says quickly, “No”.
“She’s your sister,” I say at a lower volume. Alex doesn’t know she’s Ruby’s kid yet. She still thinks her long lost aunt rescued her. I’ve almost slipped a few times, but we all made a promise that I can’t bring myself to break. If I’d promised Jim, I might be inclined to say ‘fuck it’ because I think she needs to know, but I didn’t.. On our last fuel stop before we hit Brooklyn, Ruby got us all around and begged us not to tell Alex who she is. With tears pooling in her eyes and fear covering her face, I couldn’t tell her no. Ruby’s a good mom, and if she needs time then I’ll give her that, regardless of what I think.
“Do you think anybody has let me forget that, asshole?” Ian says loudly, stands up, and storms out of the house. Alex’s head pops up from the kitchen table, and she watches him as he goes. Standing from my position on the couch, I stretch my back out and look at Jim, who’s shaking his head at Ian’s departure.
“He’s going to have to learn how to deal with this shit,” he says.
“Maybe he needs to get his dick sucked,” I surmise then smile wide at Alex. “Speaking of which—hey Princess! Guess who I met the other night?” Alex’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. Ever since the party she just hasn’t been the same. Her not talking to me has been ticking me off almost as bad as Nic fucking avoiding me. She said she was done, and damn if she ain’t acting like she is, too. I’m about to rectify that shit, though. Last time I left her alone, I really fucked things up. She can’t trust me right now, but she will.
&nbs
p; “Come on—ask. Go ahead,” I prompt and sit down across from her at the table.
“Who?” she asks with zero enthusiasm.
“My future wife,” I say. Alex narrows her eyes then rolls them. I keep a grin on my face despite the fact that I feel anything but. Maybe I can joke this shit out of my system.
“Whoever you marry is probably going to be a skeezy whore,” she says lightly. I find myself tempted to argue with her about it. I’m not real thrilled about the thought of Nic being called a skeezy whore. I’m close to reminding her that I’ve been in her pussy, so what the hell does that make her—but I decide to go easy on her instead.
“You should have seen her, Princess. She was sucking my dick like her life depended on it. Full on suction action. I’m telling you, if Hoover could patent that shit, they’d knock that rolly ball vacuum shit off the market.” Alex just stares at me as I go on telling her about the fantasy I have—Nic sucking my dick so hard I think she’s gonna inhale the damn thing—as if it were real. I’ve used this fantasy to jack off until my dick is sore each night since I fucked up and Nic left me.
“You’re disgusting,” Alex says in protest and scrubs her makeup-free face. Looking down at her bowl of cereal, she takes in another spoonful, refusing to look back up at me. This is a game we play, she and I. Well, she might not be playing, but I like talking to Alex. I’m kind of short on friends these days, and Alex is my kind of people. She says what she thinks most of the time, even though she keeps catching herself and waiting for punishment. I consider our conversations an educational experience for her. There can’t be all that much that she learned under the thumb of her bastard father. Still, she’s not my girl, and that reminder is wearing on me. I need to get my ass reassigned off babysitting duty so I have more time to figure out how to fix shit with Nic.
“You enjoy my company,” I say, flashing her a devastating smile. She looks up, her cheeks heating just slightly, but her face remains flat.
