by Jc Emery
It’s not an apology. Or maybe it is in a fucked up way, but it’s not enough. I don’t have the energy or time for halfhearted bullshit. He’s not sorry for what he did. He’s only sorry he threw it in my face.
“She was my best friend, and you could have been my boyfriend,” I say and shove my elbow into his gut again. His legs kick up as he hunches in and whines in pain. I stand and watch him recover from his fetal position to straighten out, suck in a large breath, and stand beside me.
“I was wrong,” he says. His face has fallen, and he looks sorrowful all right. It’s just not enough. Ian’s words ring in the back of my head, and I find the strength to not let him suck me into his web again.
You deserve good, so don’t settle for fucked up.
“I deserve better than that,” I say.
“I know.” He stands and reaches to cup my jaw. “So I’m going to take you home because I promised you that I’m gonna make sure you’ll be safe.”
I could argue and tell him I’m taking my car home, but I don’t want to. I want him to try to show me that he can protect me, even if I know he can’t.
His phone beeps from his pocket, signaling that he’s got a text. It’s a little sad that I still remember the tones he has set for different notifications. He withdraws his hand from my cheek and pulls his phone out, reads the screen, curses, and sends a text back at a furious pace. I watch quietly as he curses again and makes a frustrated grunting sound.
“Let’s go,” he says as he takes my hand and drags me off the porch.
My hair and sweatshirt absorb the rain quickly, soaking me to the bone. I have to work to keep up as he pulls me toward his bike at a rapid speed. She’s drenched from the downpour, but she’s a trooper and will work just fine. He hands me his helmet, so I place it on my head and wait for him to climb onto the bike. He swings a leg over and starts her up quickly. Revving the engine, he pops up the kickstand, and I climb on, wrapping my arms tight around his waist. He’s without a helmet, which is hugely illegal in California, but nobody says shit to anybody in a cut around here. All it would do is earn them a headache to mess with the club. Still, I worry about him. Being on this bike with him feels like I’m home. I refuse to accept that has anything to do with Jeremy, but more to do with the bike itself. We speed away, passing my Bug on our way out. I don’t doubt that she will be returned to me soon.
Soon, we pull up the house, and the rain has stopped. Jeremy doesn’t even get the bike cut off before Dad’s outside and screaming at us. His deep, hysterical voice demands to know where we’ve been.
Jeremy coolly cuts off the bike. “Miss Priss’s car broke down. Had to pick her up.”
“You got shit to do, prospect,” Dad says.
Jeremy’s relaxed face hardens as does his entire body. I extract myself from him and his bike and take off his helmet. He puts the kickstand down and nods at Dad. “Yes, sir.”
“You tell me if my kid’s car breaks down. You wait for orders. You don’t go fucking missing on a job,” Dad screams a little too loudly. Our neighbors are cool as hell, but still. They know the club does some shit they probably wouldn’t approve of. At least, I can’t imagine they don’t, but that doesn’t mean we need to take out an ad on the highway to advertise it to everybody. “Get out of my fucking sight.”
I hand him the helmet and watch as he straps it on his head, gives the kickstand a shove, and then starts up the bike again and takes off all in a matter of moments. Jeremy’s gone, and I’m left with Dad, who’s pissed as fuck and wanting to know where I was that my car broke down. I could lie, but if he sends someone to get my car and it’s not where I said it was, I’ll be in even more trouble. So instead, I lie and say I have a friend who lives two doors down from the Jennings family. I don’t tell him that exactly, but I give him the address of my supposed friend’s house. His face pales and his breathing catches when I say the street name,
With a hard glare he points at me and says, “You’re not going over there again. I don’t give a fuck how good of friends you are with this bitch. No more. And especially not fucking again without a man on you.”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Do you understand me, Cheyenne? It’s not safe. It’s really not safe. I’m not fucking playing with you.”
“Yes,” I snap and throw my hands up in the air. “I get it. I’m sorry!” I stomp off in the house and up to my room. Something about Dad’s reaction makes me feel weird about having been over there, like there’s something more that I’m missing. I just wish I weren’t so dense and I could actually put my finger on the missing piece of the puzzle already.
CHAPTER 17
February
14 months to Mancuso’s downfall
It’s been a few weeks since I last saw Jeremy. And it’s killing me. He sent me one text message on Valentine’s Day. I’ve probably brought that text up and stared at it a hundred times since. It still gives me butterflies every time I read it.
STILL THNKNG BOUT UR ASS.
It’s not mushy or romantic or anything, but it’s perfectly Jeremy. I’m the biggest freaking idiot on the planet because I’ve convinced myself that was his way of telling me to have a good Valentine’s Day. I never responded because by the time I could breathe again, it had been so long since he’d sent it. I didn’t know if it was too awkward to respond that late or if I should just not respond at all. I still don’t know if responding would have been better. He didn’t try to text me again, so now I bet he thinks I’m ignoring him.
I should be ignoring him like I’m ignoring Daniel, who for some reason is still trying to talk to me. Despite the fact that I’ve made it super clear that seeing him screw someone on a picnic table was enough for me, he won’t let it go. He just pretends that we’re fine. He says we have plans to go out next week, but that’s so not going to happen.
I got ahold of Alex’s cell number from Ryan’s phone the last time he was at the house. I thought I’d been really sly until he tracked me down and yelled at me. Apparently Alex freaked a little when she got crazy excited text messages from me and didn’t really trust that it was legit. He said something about not getting laid that night because, once she knew it was me and not some crazed killer, she and I spent the entire night texting back and forth. I’m working up to asking Dad to let me hang out with her, but he’s been on edge about something lately, and I know better than to ask for shit when he’s in a pissy mood. It doesn’t matter, because we’re on our way to being besties—once I can knock Nic out of the top spot—and after I decide whether or not to give Jeremy another chance, we might be able to double date.
The loneliness from losing Tracie is clearly getting to my brain. If I don’t find someone else to hang out with soon, I might start accompanying Grandma to her flower-lady meetings where they sit around and talk dirt and plants all day.
I have tried to keep myself busy with helping the club put away all the Christmas decorations Aunt Ruby put up. For the most part, the clubhouse isn’t a place I spend a lot of time at, but during the holiday season, Ruby makes sure the guys keep it mostly family friendly. With one charity run after another and all the visiting family members that seem to make it into town, the clubhouse becomes a hub of activity for all ages. Aunt Ruby is typically one hard-ass lady, but during holidays, she turns into a leather-clad biker version of Martha Stewart, just with a foul mouth and a mean right hook. But once New Year’s Eve comes around, apparently all the family joy fizzles from the place, and it turns into a whorehouse for dick-sucking sluts.
Shoving a broken Santa ornament into the plastic trash bag I’m holding, I force myself to take a deep breath. Being reminded of Chel and her oral skills is not helping me get over all the bad shit that went down with Jeremy. It’s just that the day Jeremy picked me up at the Jennings’ house, he seemed so angry and worried. And he let me elbow him and snap at him. I know enough that Forsaken—prospect or not—don’t let a chick do that unless they care about them. So he c
ares about me, but the question is by how much.
I’ve stowed myself away in the game room, which is set behind the main gathering room at the front of the clubhouse. I chose this room because of the large, worn pool table that serves as an expansive table top for organizing all this junk the guys call memorabilia. There is everything here from old beer cans to women’s lingerie to Santa hats. I think I even saw a used condom earlier, but I threw that entire box in the dumpster out back. I don’t even care what was in there.
I’m a good two hours into the project when I decide to give up. I didn’t technically volunteer to help clean up, it’s more like Dad grounded me for distracting Jeremy and this is my punishment. But I didn’t argue, and that should count for something, so it’s kind of like I volunteered.
The clubhouse is quiet right now, with the guys all out doing God only knows what. Peeking around the corner, I double-check that I’m alone. When I’m confident I won’t get busted, I go for my best casual walk across the main room to the bar area and grab a cold beer from the fridge. I’m already grounded and expelled from school, so what can Dad really do to me at this point? Tell me I can’t see my friends? I mean, they’re all in school still, so it’s not like I get to see them much anyway. Still, I run back into the game room with the beer and use the bottle opener on my key ring to pop it open. I doubt Dad would let me keep it if he knew I had a bottle opener, but oh well. It’s not like he sets the best example. I take a sip of the beer and grimace. It tastes like total shit, but the guys drink it all the time, so maybe it’ll grow on me.
Hardened rubber claps against the concrete, growing louder with every step, in an unmistakable rhythm of a walk so distinctive that I already know it’s Jeremy. I shove the beer behind the box I was sorting pre-beer break. He rounds the corner at his usual gait, then slows, does a double take, and gives me the signature Forsaken chin nod. I sense his mood before I really see the expression on his face. I force my hands to start moving, organizing this crap so that I’m not as distracted with knowing that he’s here. Which is a feat in and of itself because he’s incredibly distracting, especially because he’s giving off these sullen vibes, like something’s wrong. He just keeps staring at me, and I’m doing everything I possibly can to ignore him.
It’s not working.
“Are you lost?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow as he retorts, “I work here.”
“Right.” I haven’t forgotten that he has as much right to be here as I do, but I’m more than conflicted about being in the same room with him. I don’t want to like him, but I do. Enough to argue with him over just about anything. He likes to argue. He talks when he’s mad.
“So—what do you want?” I ask.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and blows out a breath. He stares off into nothingness for a solid minute before he finally turns back to me and raises both eyebrows.
“You,” he says.
Now I’m the one raising an eyebrow and working hard to keep my composure. The butterflies are flipping the fuck out in my stomach, and I’m turning bright red. I can’t freaking breathe, and my hands are shaking. Dad always says to listen to the words that people speak, but take their actions to heart. Because people are full of shit, and they’ll tell you whatever they think you want to hear, but it’s the way they behave that will show you who they are. Jeremy acts like a dick, but he’s here. For me. And I want him. I want there to be an us. But I also don’t want to be a stupid girl who falls for a jerk’s lies.
“You could have had me,” I say. “Before you fucked my best friend. Before you let Chel suck your dick. Before you were a total asshole.”
I want him, but apparently I still have some anger issues to work out.
“We weren’t together,” he says and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He walks forward, casting a shadow over me. I prepare myself for him to bump into me like he did the last time I saw him. When he stops just before touching me, I fight back the disappointment. I was a little excited over the idea of him walking me back to the brick wall and mauling me. I’m ready for it this time.
“I still want to shoot you for it.” Because I do, but only just a little.
“Let’s get this straight,” he says. “When you’re my girl, you’re my girl. Stop texting that fucktard. You tell him who you belong to. When you belong to me, I’ll keep my dick wherever you want it—preferably in you—but I guess that can wait for a little bit. Point is once we’re together, we’re fucking together. Until then, you got no reason to be pissed at me, and if I fuck up when we’re together, then you can go ahead and fucking shoot me.”
Now gasping for breath, I look down at his boots to try to hide how his words affect me. He’s freaking insane. So bossy and assertive. He came in here looking like he was going to apologize and ask for forgiveness. This total alpha-male mood swing catches me off guard.
It’s hot.
Really fucking hot.
“Tracie was my best friend,” I say and look up to meet his eyes. He had me the second he started barking orders, but I’ll die before telling him that.
“Your friend is a whore,” he says. “She fucked Diesel right before fucking me.”
“Yeah, her place is on your dick, right?” My voice is so small. The words he said to me don’t make me angry. They just make me feel sad. Like there’s no way I’m ever going to get over that.
“That was fucked up.” He takes another step forward. He cups my face in his hands and forces me to look up at him. “I didn’t know Duke had set that blow job up for me. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Bitch out in front of the club? I look like a pussy in front of those guys and I risk my patch. They don’t tolerate weakness. You know that.”
“Not the point,” I say. Though I am losing track of what my point is. He’s a smooth talker, that’s for sure. He knows just how to redirect the conversation the way he wants.
“You’re done throwing shit in my face.” His voice is taking on that hard edge again. “And I’m done fucking pretending that I don’t miss you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.” I sound like a broken record, but I want him to admit that he’s fucked up. I mean, he kind of has, but it’s just not enough.
“Look, the chicks I normally go for are some dirty bitches. They’re down for whatever. I’m not used to feeling shit for someone, and I got a little... excited. I forgot how inexperienced you are.”
“You’re making this entire conversation worse,” I gripe. My cheeks heat as embarrassment floods my face. Intellectually, I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed for not being as experienced as him, but I can’t help it. I just wish we were on a level playing field, and his being a jerk and pointing it out doesn’t help one bit.
“Here’s what’s going to happen—I’m going to kiss you, and this time I’ll respect your boundaries. You say no, I’ll stop. You won’t throw your dad in my face, and I’ll try not to be an asshole most of the time.”
“But we’re fighting,” I say in confusion. When Dad and Holly fight, they can go on and on for hours. Dad and Mom don’t really fight because she’s never around, so I don’t really know how they fight, or how they used to. Aunt Ruby and Uncle Jim fight like cats and dogs, and Forsaken members fight one another all the time. But it’s just not the same as what’s happening here. Usually there’s a lot of screaming before they start making up. We’re not even screaming right now. I don’t know what to do with this.
“Not anymore,” he says.
Waiting for him to kiss me is beyond frustrating, so I take matters into my own hands and stand on my toes and press my lips against his. I don’t know that his explanation is any kind of apology, or even if it’s one that I should be forgiving, but I decide to let my heart lead. My head leads me to being alone, but my heart gets me to second base, God willing.
His arm circles my waist, and he draws me nearer. My arms wrap around his neck, keeping a firm hold on him. The kiss is mostly chaste, with a few peeks of our tongues her
e and there. His hand travels down to my ass, and even though my nerves are on edge with the idea of going there with him, I can’t bring myself to tell him to stop. My hormones are getting the best of me, but I don’t care. He grips my ass firmly and pulls me up against him. A tingly feeling starts in my belly and shoots down my legs, urging me to pull myself up his body. He bends slightly, not breaking the kiss, and grips me more firmly. He lifts me up easily as I wrap my legs around his waist. He turns us to the side and sets me on the pool table.
He pulls away and pecks at my lips as he whispers, “You have beer.”
“Not important,” I whisper back and peck at his lips.
He kisses me again and nibbles at my bottom lip with teeth. With ragged breath, he pulls back and says, “Shut it.”
“Excuse me?” I ask him between pecks.
“You’re ruining”—peck—“this for me.”
“What?” I nip at his lower lip.
“Talking,” he says and kisses me in a much less chaste manner. His tongue slides between my lips. My thighs clench around his legs, and it’s getting harder to breathe. I just want to kiss him until I’m numb everywhere. I choose to ignore his comment even though he was the one who started talking first. He can win that battle because I’m about to win the war.
“Who do I belong to?” I whisper as I pull back from his lips. He sucks in a ragged breath, and his cheeks are flushed.
“Me,” he says and leans in to kiss me again. I lean backward and shake my head.
“And who do you belong to?”
He smiles wide. “I belong to you.”
“Don’t forget that,” I say and smash my lips against his.
I’m finally letting myself believe that this might work out between us when I realize that we have company, and I pull away. Ryan is like a spider, the way he sneaks up on people. It’s like, you may not have proof that he’s in the room, but you just know he’s there. Watching and judging and plotting. And then you see him, and all your suspicions are confirmed.
