by Jc Emery
“I just confronted him about the checks and told him that I’m uncomfortable with it. He said he understands and he doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable. Then he just churned this out and told me to give it to Jeremy Whelan.”
“That sounds suspicious,” she says.
I shrug and say, “I think so, too, but what do I do? Do I tell the school board or do I let it go and let the kid have his permit?”
“That’s a hard one,” she says. “I can’t tell you not to let the school board know about your concern, but Jeremy seems to really need that permit.”
“I know,” I say. “As much as I’m not comfortable keeping this quiet, I don’t think I can punish the kid for this, ya know?”
And that’s why I’m doing this—to prove to not only Grady, but myself, that I can have his back as well as he’s promised to have mine. The club is important to him, and Cheyenne talks about the members like they’re blood to her, so I have to do something to help preserve Cheyenne’s family. If helping Jeremy helps Cheyenne, and that in-turn helps Grady, then I don’t really have a choice. I haven’t known them very long, but they’re my family now. I can’t go back to stiff dinner conversation and bullshit faux polite concern about which direction my life is headed in.
I tried to be good—tried to be what my parents wanted. I tried to live up to my older brother’s example, but I was miserable. It wasn’t until I ended up dealing with Grady’s crazy ass that I started to feel alive again. My parents, Mindy, and even Uncle Harry can take their disapproval and stick it up their perfectly tight butt holes.
Chapter 23
MARGOT AND I spend the next few minutes discussing Mr. Beck's behavior. I agree that he's acting strange and I drop a hint that I might not be the only person in town who thinks so. I let her think that she talks me into putting Jeremy's needs of my own concern for Mr. Beck's shady dealings. Sure minds me that I was just following orders given to me by my boss and that she has run a personal errand or two for him in the past as well. After all, she says, what does the school board expect us to do? Still, I express concern over being involved in something questionable. I just want to be proud of the job that I do here, I say.
If there is anyone that I feel guilty about involving in all of this, it’s Margot. She has nothing to gain if Jeremy gets his permit, nor does she have anything to lose if I choose to go through with reporting Mr. Beck to the school board. I trust that the advice she gives me is based purely her concern over the welfare of Jeremy Whelan and his family. Margot can be a little lax and her time management skills can certainly use some improvement, but her heart is solid. In talking with her, I wonder if she would ever be the kind of person to do something like I just did. I have my reasons for doing what I have; but if Margot knew the truth would she understand?
Those thoughts plague me as I make the drive across town to work Grady's house. When I enter the house, I’m more than a little surprised to see Jeremy and Cheyenne sitting on the couch, far closer than I think Grady would like, both zoned out with their attentions focused on the television. It’s the tail end of another news report about Darren Jennings.
“Who would do something like that?” Cheyenne says, almost absentmindedly. Jeremy’s knee bobs and he gives her a sideways glance.
“Maybe he deserved it,” he says. There’s something different about Jeremy right now—something throwing me off. I just can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s just his comment that’s unsettling me. I try to make nothing of it, but something is off about his response. The teller at the bank already made the suggestion that it could have been one of the students who banged the guy up, though I have no idea what a college senior home for the summer could have done to a high school student that would warrant the kind of violence he suffered.
Cheyenne, too, is surprised by his comment. She turns to her side and looks at him with her brows drawn together. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly and turns his attention back to the television.
“Oh no you don’t,” she says and elbows him in the ribs. “Do you know something the cops don’t?”
“I don’t know anything the cops need to know,” he says cryptically. It takes me a moment, but I look him over and realize what’s different about him. He’s wearing a leather vest with a few patches on it. Forsaken patches. A memory from that night, weeks ago, when that Italian had shown up at the high school resurfaces. I was here in Grady’s house and walking down the hallway. I didn’t know he’d be home just yet, but then as I was entering the living room, the shadow of a man with a guy had scared me. I screamed and both Grady and Jeremy had shown up. My brain didn’t make the connection then—maybe it just didn’t want to—but now I feel like an idiot. I should have known.
Jeremy needs his permit so he has an excuse to be on club grounds. He’s prospecting—a term that Grady taught me—to become a fully patched member. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before, but it all makes sense now. Jeremy telling Grady I was at the pharmacy. No wonder he’s been able to know when I leave campus during the day despite the fact that he doesn’t have a guy in the parking lot save for when I show up to work and when I’m ready to leave. Not that it’s any of my business, but I’m not entirely certain how I feel about the idea of a teenage boy prospecting to be a part of the club. I know Ryan and Josh joined the club when they were young—right after turning eighteen, in fact—but Jeremy isn’t even eighteen yet. He has like another month to go. How can a seventeen year old boy make a choice like this?
I just want to make my dad proud, he had said.
Of course. His dad’s in prison, I knew that. His mom is gone and his sister is his only means of support. Of course he’s prospecting for the club. He’s trying to earn a living the only way he knows how. I feel like I’ve been lied to. I try to remind myself of what Grady had told me about the club. If the club is the federal government, then our relationship is the state government. We can function entirely separately and on our own terms unless I ask shit of him that forces him to choose between me and the club. He’ll choose the club. I respect it, but I don’t know how I feel about knowing that I’m automatically on the losing end of a fight I didn’t ask for.
“Does my dad know what happened to that guy?” Cheyenne asks. I stay still in my spot several feet behind them and try to go unnoticed. Thankfully, I’ve had a lot of practice and neither of them turn around. Considering the fact that Grady never bothered to tell me that Jeremy is prospecting for Forsaken, even after I’d asked all those questions in order to help him get Jeremy’s permit, I’m willing to bet that if I ask Grady the same question that Cheyenne just asked Jeremy, he’d ever tell me the truth. I could have a stack of evidence against him, but he’d still lie about it—or worse—he’d tell me that it’s club business. That means that it’s none of my business.
“No,” Jeremy says in all seriousness. Only, I can tell that he’s lying. Cheyenne seems to pick up on it as well. She chooses not to say anything, and instead opts for turning her attention back to the television, but she doesn't lean in as close towards him as she did before.
I wonder if it's always like this, with club members, that the only people can truly be close to them are the ones who share their patch. So much of what Grady has told me about club life is shrouded in secrecy. That's the trade-off I suppose of being with a man like him. Never before in my life have I ever felt so free to be myself. It's not like my parents are so awful, even though I tend to think that they are, as much as it is that they are the kind of people who are only searching to make themselves better. They do community service because they don't want to be selfish, they go to church because they don't want to forget that they are not the center of the world, and they would rather let go the wrong done to them than to retaliate in any way and possibly regret it later.
So much of my insecurities about where I am in life what I've done and the choices I've made are tied up in the fact that I don't think I'll ever get their approval –
at least not the way Theo does. My older brother makes both Mindy and I look like a couple of lame ducks. He never did go to university like my parents wanted, but he did complete the two-year water treatment program at Redwoods College here in town, and he now has a good paying job with the city. Theo is not as straight-laced as my parents are, but he's definitely one of those people who feels bad if he misses church on Sunday.
“Hey,” I say as I approach the pair. They both turn around and give me a smile. Jeremy gives me a head nod and his eyes fix on the piece of paper in my hands. “So, here’s the deal. Mr. Beck made an exception to issue this work permit to you.” In a second, Jeremy’s on his feet and in front of me. For being just a teenager, he is awfully tall and broad shouldered. I can see what Cheyenne finds appealing about him. If I were his age, my heart would be in serious trouble because he’s all smiles when he likes you, scowls when he doesn’t, and the body mass to match his temper. The more I look at him, the more incredibly stupid I think I am for not assuming he wanted to be a part of the club to begin with. He even fills out his leather vest nicely
“Are you serious?” he asks, eyeing the permit in my hands.
“Yeah,” I say. He reaches out to grab it but I pull my hand back and shake my head. “Sit down. We need to talk before I hand this sucker over.” Ever the obedient one, he makes me wait a minute before he decides not to argue, and then reclaims his seat on the couch.
“I had to promise Mr. Beck that in exchange for issuing this that you both would be better behaved from now until graduation.”
“Why me?” Cheyenne says. She hooks her thumb in Jeremy’s direction. “He’s the one who needs the permit.” I rub my temples and take a few deep breaths before I figure out how to respond to that. What the hell does she mean by that? We’ve been at this for months. For the most part she’s compliant and at least pretends interest in staying out of trouble and bringing her grades up, but every once in a while something like this comes up.
“You’re trying to give me gray hairs, aren’t you?” I say. A devious smile appears on her face and she gives Jeremy a sly look before returning her attention back to me.
“Hey, then you and Dad would match. You’d be such a cute couple,” she says. “At least then people wouldn’t think my dad’s girlfriend is my sister.” The compliment isn’t lost on me. I give her a smile but shake my head.
“Blatant sucking up aside—both of you need to make a better effort to behave. Please. I promised my boss that I’d take a personal interest in seeing that you make it to graduation without incident.”
“But, Holly, you’re amazing. You’ve taken such a personal interest in my welfare that you’re even sleeping with my dad,” Cheyenne can barely get through the end of the sentence without giggling. Both of them manage to keep a straight face despite the intimate nature of the conversation, whereas I end up with red cheeks and hot ears from embarrassment.
“Okay, I’m done with you two,” I say and hand Cheyenne the permit to pass on to Jeremy. “Speaking of your dad, where is he?”
“Club business,” Jeremy says and turns back to the television. I bite back the comment that almost comes flying out of my mouth. I really hate the dismissal, especially from a kid, but fighting with him isn’t going to do me any good right now. Cheyenne, however, sees no problem with starting an argument.
“Not cool,” she says and stands up from the couch. She folds her arms over her chest and shakes her head. “He’s at the clubhouse. Uncle Rig just got in from Detroit. They’re having a party.”
“Uncle Rig?” I ask. I assume Rig is a club name and not his birth name. I don’t really care who Rig is or isn’t, the fact that Grady is at some kind of party without me hits me right in the gut. He told me before that he would always be as honest with me as he could be, barring club business that he couldn’t discuss. It’s not something I’m used to—being with a man who has such strict boundaries when it comes to sharing and privacy. Normal couples share things with each other. I already know the answer, but I feel the need to punish myself and ask anyhow.
“Is there a reason I wasn’t told about this party?”
“Old Ladies don’t do parties at the club house. Members only,” Jeremy says. Grady told me what it means to be an Old Lady, and I understand some of it, but not all of it. The emphasis on loyalty, I get. It’s the idea of being loyal in the face of disloyalty that rubs me the wrong way.
Jeremy fixes me with a hard stare, something that I suspect is supposed to convince me to drop the conversation. But I can’t. I put so much on the line this afternoon that I can’t lose him. I can’t lose what we have together. But if Jeremy is saying what I think he’s saying, can I really just sit here while Grady’s out doing God-only-knows-who.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Cheyenne says. “The only women there are super sleazy and not important at all. They just hang around for the guys who are single.”
“So there are women at the party?” I say. I already have the answer, but I feel the need to keep talking before I lose my temper and do something insane like driving down there. “Just not the women they’re committed to.”
“It’s just the way it is,” Jeremy says. “Get used to it.”
All the stories I’d heard about the club and the way the members behave—in and out of relationships—bubbles to the forefront of my mind. I’d never asked Grady if we were exclusive. I had just assumed. He told me he wanted me in his bed and by his side every night when he comes home. He’d said that when things calm down, he wants us to take a trip, just the two of us. We talked about the future with such certainty that I didn’t consider that I’d end up at home playing house with Cheyenne and Lisa while he was out doing whatever the fuck he wants.
And with every passing second, my temper rises more and more. I find that I’m breathing heavy and my heart’s beating in my chest. My muscles strain and my hands ball into fists at my sides. Jeremy loses his interest in me and once again refocuses his energy into the television.
Cheyenne though, she doesn’t take her eyes off of me. Her face is turned down into a pout and she whispers, “Holly.”
But I’m already gone.
Chapter 24
I’M TURNING OUT of the driveway by the time Jeremy notices I’ve moved. He’s on the front porch with his phone to his ear. It’s maybe five minutes door to door at the most, but every block feels longer than the one that came before it. The sun is setting now and the Forsaken Custom Cycle lot comes into focus under the brilliant orange hue. The gates are open halfway but manned by a couple of prospects who I’ve learned are referred to by their stature—Tall and Squat. The parking lot is almost full. A few pick-up trucks and sedans take up the spots on the far side of the lot while there’s a line of more than twenty motorcycles butt up against the brick exterior of the clubhouse.
I pull my Jeep into an end spot and barely remember to put it in park and shut it off before I run across the lot and into the clubhouse. I can hear my name being called by one—or both—of the prospects. Grady said there was extra security because of the Italian guy—whose relationship to the club I’m still fuzzy on—but I have a feeling they’re not after me because I’ve shown up without a prospect. No, they probably have orders to keep the girlfriends at bay.
I pull open the heavy doors to the clubhouse and immediately find myself embroiled in a thick fog of sticky-sweet smoke with loud music thumping heavily from high-hung speakers. Directly in front of me sits a pair of men with leather vests. They have a bottle of vodka between them and a couple of shot glasses. One of them has a joint in his hand that he brings to his lips and takes a hit. Is this what Grady wanted to keep from me? That they’re sitting around getting high?
The men don’t pay me any attention as I walk further into the room. I wish I hadn’t. One woman is on another’s lap and she’s not wearing a single stitch of clothing, not even a pair of socks. The man at the table with them has another woman on his lap, straddling him. Her hands work fu
riously in his lap. I easily imagine she’s got a hold of his dick. The further I get into the depths of the clubhouse and the more obscene it gets. It isn’t until I see a woman on her knees who is actually giving a blow job out in the open that I turn around. Familiar faces dot the scenery. Ryan is watching some chick rub her own nipples. He watches but never reaches out and touches her. It’s an interesting sight considering the reputation he earned for his sexual prowess in high school. I seem to remember rumors that he’d screw anything that moved, but then again, maybe she’s not his type these days.
Just as I turn around, I’m faced with a gorgeous woman, who is surprisingly, fully dressed. She has dark skin and long black hair with large dark brown eyes. She’s got light stone washed blue jeans and a black tank above high heeled black boots.
“You look out of place,” she says. I give her a moment to continue, but she doesn’t.
“Have you seen Grady?” I ask. She eyes me from head to toe before smiling softly.
“He’s around here somewhere,” she says and shrugs her shoulders. “But you shouldn’t be here.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Elle,” she says. Her stare turns flat, “And you’re Holly. Like I said, you shouldn’t be here. Go home and play house. The shit that goes on in this place is nothing Grady wants you to see.”
“I don’t know you, so please forgive me if I’m not too keen on taking orders from you,” I say. If Grady has some random woman telling me to get lost, I should assume that I shouldn’t be here. Not because I don’t need to know what he’s up to, but because if it’s bad enough to be warned away, it’s likely nothing I want to see anyway.
“Well, I know Grady,” she says. “Intimately.” Of course she does. Of-fucking-course she does. There’s a tirade going off in my head, but only one word that sticks out and repeats itself again and again until I’m consumed by it.
