by A. J. Downey
“There’s a slight problem,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. “As her boss, I don’t feel it would be appropriate that I go.”
“Aw, hell, didn’t expect you to,” Reflash chimed in. “That would just be… weird.”
“Reflash is right,” Skids said. “If it were one of our employees,” he looked out of the glassed-in box over the busy floor of his restaurant and bar outside, “I’d do the same thing. Ask for help, but stay the fuck out of it. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed.”
I was relieved to have allies on the matter in the president and vice-president but didn’t expect to escape the reminder that I would owe the brothers who went to help. Youngblood killed two birds with one stone for me.
“Call us even for all your help with Chrissy and I’m in.” He winked at me and I gave him a stiff nod.
“Shoot, I ain’t got nothing planned,” Oz chipped in.
“Wish I could, but I’m on shift,” Golden griped, and Angel, his twin, echoed the sentiment.
“I don’t think she needs all of us,” Skids said. “I’ll go, the bar is pretty dead during the day on a Saturday. As long as I’m back in time for the evening rush, I’m good.”
“It’s a girl and an old lady’s two bedroom apartment. Where is the rest of her shit supposed to go?” Oz asked.
I shook my head and shrugged, glancing at Backdraft, who had a sour look on his face. “What’s the matter with you?” I demanded.
“Is it bad I’d rather move a strange girl’s shit rather than do what I’m supposed to be doing on Saturday?”
“Depends on what you’re supposed to be doing,” Blaze said.
Backdraft sighed. “Torrid and I are trying to sort our shit out. We’re supposed to go for a ride and maybe hit up one of the local farmers’ markets or something.”
“Eugh,” Oz made a noise and visibly cringed. Backdraft scowled and opened his mouth to say something but Skids cut him off.
“I think Youngblood, Oz, and myself will be plenty. Don’t want to overwhelm her.”
“Thank you,” I said, and we moved on to the next order of business.
The meeting felt like it dragged, and by the time it was over, despite how grateful I was to my brothers for their help, I just couldn’t wait to get back out to my bike and ride home. Youngblood came around and knocked his shoulder into mine.
“You good, Yale?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
He chuckled, “Liar, what’s going on, brother?”
“Between you and me? Definitely can’t get back to Chrissy.”
Youngblood frowned and searched my face. Finally, he nodded slowly. I sighed and stated bluntly, “I want her.”
“Chrissy?” he asked scowling.
“No, dumbass! Ally.”
He looked surprised for a second and then his brow crushed down. I huffed a little bit of a laugh and said to him, “Exactly.”
“That’s on you, brother… you're part of the system, hell, your whole world – it’s not like ours. You don’t have the same kind of luxuries that we’re afforded.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, and he shook his head.
“Be careful,” he admonished, and I nodded.
“Always am.”
I knew precisely what he meant. I wasn’t just a prosecuting attorney for Indigo City; I was also one of the wealthy set. We were under a microscope, not only for corruption of any kind but also any image of sexual impropriety. I was a fucking deviant on the inside, never felt freer than when I had a beautiful woman under my control. The sweeter, and more innocent, the better… but I was Ally’s boss, her employer, and that fell under current sexual harassment laws. But by some older laws, it could, given the circumstances ‒ me being in a position of power over her ‒ be considered a statutory rape charge. If the wrong people with the right kind of hard-on for me got wind of it, there would be a lot more than just my job at stake. My reputation, my entire livelihood as a prosecutor, could and, most likely, would go up in smoke.
If I went anywhere with Ally, I had better ensure she was trustworthy ‒ implicitly so. Which is precisely why I shouldn’t go there. Why I wouldn’t be going anywhere near that girl, no matter how much she lit a fire inside me when she looked at me with those hallowed green eyes.
8
Ally…
A knock fell at my door, and I got up from the living room floor where I was wrapping the last of the dishes and boxing them. I opened it, expecting Mr. Comey but that wasn’t who was on the other side. My eyes widened and I went to slam the door shut, but the big biker stuck his booted foot in the way.
“Ms. Ally Blaylock?” he asked, and I stammered out a careful, “Y-y-yes?”
“We’re the movers.” A bald black man with wraparound sunglasses, in the same imposing leathers, said from behind him.
“Movers?” I squeaked.
“Relax, honey. We’re police,” the third man, probably between the two in age, with kind blue eyes, said to me.
“The police?”
“Yeah, the police. We’re here to help you move.”
I frowned, and let my natural suspicion of my surroundings prod me into asking, “Can I see a badge or some ID or something?”
The younger white guy pulled out his badge and showed it to me, Tony McCormick, a homicide detective. The other two pulled out identification cards. The black man, Hector Jones, his ID said he was a correctional officer with the ICPD city jail, while the oldest man was an ICPD retiree.
“Don’t you be callin’ us by those names, either,” the black man said as he took his ID back. “I’m Oz, that’s Skids, and this here is Youngblood.”
“How did you know I was moving?” I asked, and Skids said gently, “Best have that conversation inside if you don’t mind?”
I nodded and wished that Dawnie were with me; she would know if these men were trustworthy or not, but for now… I opened the door and let them in, but then I kept the door open to the hall and stayed near it.
When they passed me, I saw the backs of their leather vests, and something about the design, the knight’s chess piece picked out in indigo thread against a silver shield background, tickled my memory. Whatever it was, it set me further at ease because I remembered seeing it, and I remembered that wherever I’d seen it, I hadn’t felt frightened.
“So, where is all this stuff going?” Oz demanded.
“Um, some of it is going to storage in the basement, some of it to the new apartment on the sixth floor.”
“Shit, we gotta take all them damn stairs?” he asked.
“No, Mr. Comey said I could use the freight elevator.”
“Okay,” Skids said, “Where’s that at and where did you want us to start?”
“Allison, are you okay?”
I jumped and whirled, Mr. Comey startling me. Dawnie had a hand in the crook of his elbow and said, “Woah, who’s in here with you, Ally? Two of them smell great.”
I laughed nervously and squeaked out, “Um, three men from the Indigo Knights motorcycle club?”
“Shut the front door!” Dawnie cried.
“We’re here to help get this stuff moved,” Skids said behind me, and Dawnie cocked her head.
“Oh yeah, who sent you?” she demanded.
“A friend, that’s all you girls need to know,” Oz said curtly. Dawnie frowned and said, “And what about you? Dude with the girlfriend. She’s got a nice perfume.”
Youngblood laughed, “Here to help.”
“Uh huh…” she pondered a minute and sighed, “You look at their ID?”
“Yes, of course!” I answered.
“And?”
“I think they’re legit, Dawnie.”
“Her boss is an ADA, you know.”
I blinked, long and slow, and realized where I had seen the logo on the back of their jackets. It’d been hanging in Mr. Parnell’s hall closet.
“I think they know that,” I said abruptly. “They’re the police.”
“Oh, well… The poli
ce don’t necessarily equate good things in the Point Side,” she reminded me.
“No, seriously, Dawnie, it’s fine now.” The three men exchanged a look and Dawnie, ever on the defensive when it came to outsiders said, “Okay, girlfriend… Spill.”
“I can’t,” I said pointedly, and she got it right away.
“Oh… oh! In that case, where are we starting, Mr. Comey? I’m your lead stupid-visor!”
The guys laughed a little and I blushed furiously. I think they knew I’d figured out where they came from, but why wouldn’t they say? It was another strange kindness Mr. Parnell had done for me, and I didn’t know why.
I didn’t get to think about it, either. We had a lot of work to be done and a lot of stuff to move, the vast majority of it being my grandmother’s furniture to the basement. Her bedroom, most of the living room, and the dining room set all had to go. I just had room for my cast iron daybed, the television and its stand, and one tall dresser in the single-room little studio downstairs.
I had been slowly moving boxes down there and stacking them. At the last minute, I decided that one of the tall book cases would fit, and the guys were nice enough to go all the way back down to the basement to get it for me.
Mr. Comey was kind and no one judged when I cried at having to let this place go. I mean, I had grown up my entire life in this little apartment; just me and my gran for the most part.
“It’s okay, Ally Cat,” Dawnie whispered, hugging me tightly.
“I know, goodbyes are just hard.”
“Well, you ever need anything else, you call one of us, okay?” Youngblood asked, and he, Oz, and Skids all handed me their individual business cards with their contact information.
I nodded, and Dawnie said, “Cool, thanks, now, no offense, but try not looking like cops when you get out of here. The last thing we need is anybody thinkin’ Ally Cat’s a snitch.”
“Dawnie, don’t be rude!” I snapped.
“Look at them; I’m sure they get it.”
I did, and they all traded guilty looks. I smiled half-heartedly and Oz said, “I grew up on a block just like this. I do get it. Come on boys. Skids, you’re buyin’ our lunch.”
Skids laughed and said, “Reflash is fixing us all food, come on down to the 10-13.”
“Thank you all so much,” I said and they each took my hand and nodded and left, out my tiny studio’s front door.
“They’re good people, but we live around a whole lot of people who aren’t,” Dawnie said, worriedly. I looked at Mr. Comey who scratched the back of his balding, gray fringed head, his thick gray mustache twitching as he twisted his lips back and forth.
“She’s right, Ally.”
“The cops aren’t the bad guys though,” I murmured.
“We know that, but the ones who cause trouble?” He waved his hands back and forth, “They’ll cause it and make us the victims, guilt by association, you know how it is.”
I did, and it made me tired.
“It was nice to have the help, but if they want to hang out or whatever? They should do it at that cop bar in Old Town.” Dawnie shuddered.
“I didn’t know they were coming,” I murmured, suddenly feeling like they were mad at me for the men’s presence.
“No, I know, girl… but you don’t need anyone around here figuring out who you’re working for; it could bring a whole gang of trouble to your door.”
“Right, you’re right.”
She sighed, “I’ve harped on you enough. Let me get used to moving around this place…”
I smiled, “I want to get some of this put away.”
“Cool, Mr. Comey, thanks for everything, but I’m kicking you out. This is officially girl time.”
Mr. Comey laughed and said, “Okay, girls… Dawnetta, remember, you are on the sixth floor, now. You must find the stairwell and go up, not down.”
“Thanks for the reminder. I’m making Ally walk me the first couple of times.”
“I’d be happy to.”
9
Yale…
“I thought for sure you’d be here waiting for a full report,” Youngblood said jokingly, through the receiver. I leaned back against my bike and answered.
“Nah, I wanted to be there, but I needed to get out of the city at the same time.”
“So where you at?” he asked.
“Burnside’s Bridge.”
“Jesus!”
“Yeah, I need to head back.”
“Good thing it’s Saturday, you got most of tomorrow if you’re gonna recover from that ride.”
“Yeah.”
“Yale?”
“What?”
I was staring sightlessly at the picturesque bridge; the light hadn’t begun to fail yet, but it would, soon… I really should get back.
“You need to make the leap, my brother. You’re torturing yourself.”
“I can’t, Youngblood. There are too many reasons why.”
“You don’t, you’re gonna make some kind of a piss-poor decision in the moment.”
“I believe I’ve already done that by hiring her.”
“Then fire her.”
“I can’t do that, she needs the money and she won’t just take it, she’s not a charity case. Work, I could see her doing; handouts, I could not.”
“Tell me about it. She gave us a hell of a runaround when we got there, but I’m pretty sure she put two and two together, man. I could see it click, and then there was no more resistance. She fell right in line and let us help.”
“Shit,” I muttered.
“She’s a smart girl, Yale. She was bound to figure it out.”
“Right; well, I’ll deny it.”
“Dude, you’re a big fuckin’ boy. You’ll figure this shit out. Just know it doesn't matter what you do or what happens, we’re here for you. That’s how this whole thing works.”
“Yeah!” I heard Oz in the background, and I chuckled.
“You shut up!” I fired one of his signature lines back at him.
Youngblood laughed and said, “Ride safe, brother. See you next week.”
“Yeah, thanks. Next week for sure.”
We said our much shorter final farewell and I hung up the phone, returning my gaze to the idyllic scene in front of me: the old stone bridge, the water beneath it reflecting the sky. I sighed and pressed my fingertips into my eyes, rubbing before standing up. I turned back to my Harley Softail Deluxe and pulled on my gloves. I let out a hard, frustrated rush of breath before putting on my helmet with its full face mask and sitting astride the bike. The tank was a silky matte black and deep blue, the same with the tailpipes. I didn’t go for a lot of shiny chrome or flash. I liked keeping my profile low and my private life private.
I’d already taken a risk in trusting Ally with my privacy, but a risk that to date seemed to be well-founded. She had followed my instructions to the letter and I appreciated that.
Good behavior should be rewarded…
The inner voice was from the darkest part of me, and I resolutely ignored it. There was a difference between privacy and intimacy. A vast one. Still, I don’t think a day went by where I didn’t picture her nude and spread beneath me. It was wrong, for certain, but what would be really wrong would be acting on those urges. I leaned the bike up, heeled the kickstand back into place, and started the bike all in one smooth motion.
The rushing pavement did nothing to soothe me like it usually did: the wind, which normally calmed me, wasn’t up to the task. All I could think about was the curve of her cheek, those bright green eyes, and those pouty lips… which inevitably led to my imagining them wrapped around my cock, taking me deep until I hit her in the back of her throat. I couldn’t stop thinking of her long hair sliding through my fingers, of clenching it in my fist to control her head. Of the inevitable gasp, her breath coming shallow, her perfect tits rising and falling…
Fuck.
I would be riding all the way back to Indigo City with a raging fucking hard-on… but I could
n’t help it. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About what it would look like when her eyes fluttered shut in perfect trust. Of moving over and inside her.
Damn it. I had it bad for this woman, like nothing I’d ever experienced before. The urge to make her mine, to have her acquiesce and submit to everything I wanted to do to her, to let me take her, body, heart, and soul to places I know she’d never been ‒ it was a siren’s call. She had no idea how alluring she was. None, whatsoever.
It was killing me.
10
Ally…
I had fallen into an easy routine the last few weeks. Sunday was always dinner with my grandmother at the nursing home. It wasn’t an ‘assisted-living’ facility like they claimed. I think they just thought it sounded better, made it easier to assuage the family’s guilt, but it did no such thing for me.
Anyways, every Sunday, for a nominal fee, of course, I could join in on the slop they served the residents and have dinner with my grandma. I was allowed to bring outside food, and so it had become a custom that after dinner I would bring a treat for dessert. We would go back to my grandmother’s room to enjoy it because, sadly, I couldn’t afford to bring enough for everyone.
Everything I had that came from Mr. Parnell, and even some of what I earned from the café went to make sure my grandma was taken care of here. Even with her social security income and grandpa’s meager pension going to this place, it was amazing the costs associated with her being here and it had to come from somewhere.
“I wish you would work less,” she said, with a heavy sigh, and I snapped out of it for the moment and smiled at her across our cafeteria trays.
“I’m okay,” I said brightly. “Millie has been great, and Mr. Parnell is really flexible. As long as I get my work done, he doesn’t care what day I do it on.”
She frowned slightly, and I knew what was coming but didn’t say anything, letting her go on ahead with, “I don’t know if I like you working alone for a man like that,” she said.
I smiled and picked at my mashed potatoes from a box. “He’s never even home when I’m there, Grandma. He’s a busy man and still at work when I am there. He just leaves the money on the table.”
