“So, I was thinking maybe it’s time we used those fake IDs you had made last summer,” McKenna said casually.
“McKenna,” Lex purred approvingly. “Good girl gone wild?”
“No, not wild,” McKenna declared. “I’ve just decided to sow a few oats.”
“Yeah, sounds fun,” Lex shrugged. “But how are you going to get away from you-know- who? That woman sees all.”
“She’s blind as bat where Kenyon is concerned,” McKenna retorted grumpily. “It doesn’t matter. I already asked Mom and she said I could spend the night at your house tonight. I’m sure you can think of something to tell your parents.”
Thirty minutes until midnight, Lex, who was usually always up for a good time, gulped as she looked up at the bar in question. “Are you sure you want to go in there?”
“Oh yeah,” McKenna responded gleefully. “This is definitely the place.”
“It’s a biker bar.”
“Whatever gave that away?” McKenna chuckled innocently.
Although very reluctant, Lex agreed to go inside but only for a single beer. Once they crossed the threshold and the bouncer, who hadn’t even bothered to check their IDs, a few things became blatantly obvious. First, the only thing more prevalent than the chrome wheels and tailpipes that lined the lot was the tattoos inked over every inch of exposed skin. Secondly, McKenna was reasonably certain that she and Lex were the only two people in the whole joint who hadn’t spent time in prison. If only Mommy and Sam could see her now! The hell there would be to pay would almost be worth seeing the expressions on their faces.
Lex tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, but McKenna welcomed the roughnecks’ leers. She wanted them to look at her and think their nasty thoughts. Hannah had always said she was a princess, but she was a liar. If McKenna had her way, which she had no doubts that she would, she would return home a soiled dove. Then she would revel when she told Hannah all the dirty little details. Maybe just for kicks, she would take on two bikers and let them fuck her any way they wanted just so she could rub it her face. It would devastate her. Good. She wanted Hannah to bleed just like she had bled her dry with her deception.
She followed Lex up to the bar and copied her longneck order. As they were waiting, she noticed that biker’s musical choices seemed to fall on both ends of the spectrum. The jukebox sound system was either blaring heavy metal or those sad, my dog was shot and my woman ran off with another man, country songs. Neither suited her personal tastes, but she doubted the jukebox had anything she actually enjoyed listening to. That was a different bar, a different night, if, of course, her mommy didn’t permanently lock her in her room after tonight.
When the bartender served their beers, McKenna tried to remain mature and adult-like as she sipped the bitter brew, but she couldn’t hold back the cough that escaped her lips. Only ever been allowed to occasionally sip wine, it didn’t taste at all as she expected. Just as she was about to try again, McKenna heard a deep, gravelly sounding laugh rumble behind her. She turned around to see who had dared to laugh at her, and in an instant, her whole world changed.
He was like nothing she had ever seen before. He wasn’t a boy—he was a one-hundred percent, hot-blooded man. At once, McKenna felt flustered and nervous, as if a thousand butterflies danced in her tummy. His inky black hair hung loose around his face. When he pulled back the wayward strands, the clearest blue eyes, the shade of the summer’s sky, were revealed. His full lips were pulled back in a devilish grin. As if McKenna couldn’t spend an eternity staring at his beautiful face, his sculpted, tan flesh was ripped with muscles and sprinkled with several little inked masterpieces.
McKenna gulped before she managed to mutter, “Hello. What is your name?”
His smile pulled wide. He then bit his lip and stared at her for several long moments as if he was trying to decide whether or not to answer. Finally, he relented, “My name is Trevor Dean.”
“Nice to meet you, Trevor Dean. My name is…”
“Jailbait,” Trevor interrupted.
McKenna gasped with outrage. “That’s not true.”
“If you’re a day over sixteen, then I’m a virgin.”
“Are you ready to get your cherry popped?” McKenna sassed back.
Trevor chuckled. The deep sound reverberated down McKenna’s spine and didn’t stop until she felt the tips of her toes tingle with delight.
“Now I know a good girl like you wouldn’t be offering that particular service,” Trevor retorted. Leaning down, he whispered into her ear, “I think you took a wrong turn. The dance club and girlie drinks with their little paper umbrellas is a little further down the strip.”
His hot breath struck against her skin and left her feeling feverish. It was hardly a stretch to envision his smiling lips tickling against that same piece of sensitive flesh. Then he was gone. Stepping back, he turned and walked away without another word.
“Wait,” McKenna yelled as she jumped off the barstool and started to follow him. “Where are you going?”
“Away,” he answered drily.
“Can I come?” McKenna asked.
Turning around, Trevor held his arms wide. “If you want me, you’ll have to find me first.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sure a grown-up woman, such as yourself, can figure that out,” Trevor chuckled and then left.
Once he was gone, McKenna realized she had to reevaluate her downfall. Any man would do, but now she only wanted one, Trevor Dean. Her heart beat with a strange little gallop as she realized he wasn’t just the one—he was the one.
She returned to the bar and threw down a twenty-dollar bill. “Tell me everything you can about Trevor Dean,” she demanded of the bartender.
The bartender pulled the money out from under her palm. “He’s a bad man,” he answered shrewdly.
McKenna rolled her eyes with frustration. “I didn’t ask for a character assessment. I want facts,” she rushed as she pulled another twenty.
The bartender took the bill and carefully tucked it away in the inside pocket of his leather vest. As he was doing it, McKenna noticed an impressive-looking blade strapped against his ribcage.
“He runs with the Devils Kin,” he said quietly.
“What is that—some sort of motorcycle club?”
Lex pinched McKenna’s arm and vigorously shook her head in denial.
The old, grizzly looking man chuckled. “I guess you could say—about one percent.”
“What is it with everyone talking in code around here? Am I the only one that doesn’t speak motorcycle language?” McKenna groaned as she pulled out another twenty-dollar bill. He started to reach forward, but she quickly pulled it back. “For sixty dollars, I expect something that could actually be useful.”
“Last I heard, he was staying at his uncle’s bike shop over on East Eighth Street. Can’t miss the place, just look for the giant pitchfork.”
“Thank you,” McKenna retorted coldly and then turned back to look at Lex. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Yes, please,” Lex squeaked.
“You can’t be serious about tracking that man down,” Lex chided as soon as they were safely locked inside the vehicle and heading back to their side of town.
“He was divine,” McKenna said dreamily.
“He is a member of the Devils Kin,” Lex declared emphatically.
“What is that by the way?”
“They’re only the most notorious outlaw motorcycle gang in Texas. Their founder and president was just released from prison last fall after spending the last ten years in prison for multiple drug trafficking and assault charges. It was all over the news,” Lex answered.
“I must have missed it that day.”
“Look, I’ll be the first to admit he was hot. Testosterone-drenched, biker-badass, habanero-pepper, yummy-tummy hot, but there is no way you’ll ever slip him past your mommy. Trevor Dean isn’t sowing a few wild oats. One night with him and s
he’ll ship you off to a convent or call in a priest to perform an exorcism. You might as well get those thoughts out of your head now because heaven help you if she finds out what you’re thinking,” Lex cautioned.
Chapter 8
Lex was right—Hannah was a smidge on the overprotective side. And she was so smart that it was practically impossible to pull anything over on her. Yet, somehow, Kenyon had been doing it for years so McKenna knew it could be done. The trick was to behave as normal as possible. If she detected even the slightest shift of mood, she was all over it faster than a school of hungry sharks surrounding their victim, ready to strike for the kill.
As scheduled, McKenna returned home from Lex’s house Saturday morning and promptly went to her bedroom, where she stayed for the remainder of the weekend. That was normal. That was what they were expecting her to do because that was what she had been doing since the disaster of last weekend.
When Hannah brought up trays of food, McKenna said as little as possible because she still wasn’t technically speaking to her. On Sunday when she brought up a tray after brunch, a small smile escaped her lips. Of course, the food looked scrumptious. Hannah was the best cook since forever. But it was sight of the Monarch butterfly cloth napkin that caught her attention. Whenever she or Kenyon was sick or feeling blue, Hannah would serve dinner with napkin animals to cheer them up. She had outdone herself this time. It must have taken quite a long time to weave the yellow and brown napkins together so delicately.
“Hmm… that’s nice,” McKenna shrugged indifferently.
Hannah was unfazed by her lack of enthusiasm. Instead, her eyes zeroed in on McKenna’s computer. “Why do you have your laptop in here?”
“I was working on my history report,” McKenna answered.
Hannah walked over and started searching through her browsing history. There was no such thing as privacy in their house—at least as far as the twins were concerned. Hannah had a strict rule that they were not allowed to be online unless either she or Willow were in the room. The only exception was homework.
“As soon as you are finished, I want you to bring your laptop downstairs,” Hannah murmured and then left McKenna to sulk in private.
McKenna picked up the butterfly to admire it once she was gone. How ironic Mommy would pick a winged insect to make me feel better. Was she trying to subtly remind her that freedom was just an illusion? That no dream or disillusion could pull her away from the path she was destined to migrate? The path that she had chosen for her daughter.
Well—she was wrong. McKenna was tired of playing by the rules. She had spent her entire lifetime trying to mold herself into Hannah’s image, and even that wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough for her to tell McKenna the truth. If she couldn’t be enough, she wouldn’t be anything at all.
Hannah might have had her own intentions for the butterfly, but to McKenna it symbolized her rebirth. It was time to break out of her shell and fly away, or perhaps more appropriately, ride away on the back of a motorcycle with nothing in front of her but Trevor Dean and the wind in her face.
Her parents always said that God puts people in your life just when you need them the most. Maybe they were right about at least something? Her Friday night plan hadn’t been carefully thought out. It was reckless and foolish. No doubt, she could have been greatly harmed, but then he appeared like a guardian angel.
As the seed of thought sprouted in her mind, her plan became less about self-destruction and revenge and more about discovery. In all of her eighteen years, McKenna couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t basked in Hannah’s light. Although it was frightening to consider, the notion of being McKenna, just McKenna—not Hannah Mallory’s daughter, made her insatiably curious. Who was she when she slipped away from her parent’s constant guidance and direction?
Obviously, Trevor Dean held the key that revealed the answers to her question. And she would find him. She already had. They might have thought she wasted the hours pouting behind her closed door, but in truth, she had been quite productive. Her new plan, although not entirely foolproof, was very exact and precise. Given no unforeseen variables, she was reasonably confident that she could pull it off with no one being the wiser. She would just have to wait until Monday to know for certain.
McKenna thought it was terribly unfair, considering their parent’s yearly gross income, that she had to share a vehicle with Kenyon. Unlike most dictates in their house, that one had come from Willow. She believed it would keep them more grounded. She also thought it would keep McKenna from behind the wheel as she drove too much like Hannah. To be fair, Willow also wanted to keep Hannah off the road as much as possible. McKenna didn’t believe there was anything wrong with either of their driving styles. In her opinion, traffic lights were nothing but polite suggestions, and stop signs were optional.
Kenyon was such as asshole that he rarely let her drive their Cadillac Escalade, which had taken months to agree upon, to school. Most mornings, she didn’t mind being chauffeured as she was applying the finishing touches to her face. One day, he thought it would be funny to hit a pothole as she was putting on her lipstick, but he wasn’t too amused when she reached over and tattooed his face with the red gloss. The incident had caused their first near-miss collision. Since then, there had been several more as their arguments frequently grew physical. The school officials were so accustomed to them entering the building yelling and swatting at each other that they no longer phoned home. Nor did they try to lecture Kenyon about hitting girls. The schoolmaster saw firsthand how that piece of advice bounced off a brick wall.
“She isn’t a girl. She is my sister, and she is a bitch,” Kenyon roared.
McKenna had launched herself out of her chair and slapped his face. By the time it was finished, it had taken two additional staff members to pull them apart, which was kind of strange because either Hannah or Sam could do it single-handedly. Maybe they were just used to it?
On Monday, McKenna kept her commentary to herself. She didn’t mention his choice of music or the fact that he insisted on slowing down to a stop at each and every yellow light. She needed to be as calm, focused, and fabulous as possible, but Kenyon was itching for a fight.
He turned down his death metal and muttered, “I don’t see why it matters so much.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” McKenna said flatly.
“About Sam,” Kenyon groaned.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Whatever,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “You know, you’re not his only…”
“Stop,” McKenna demanded. “Don’t say it. He is our donor and nothing more.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Kenyon hissed with frustration. “Look, he seemed really upset yesterday, and I know they’re all worried.”
“He’s upset,” McKenna jeered. “He has been lying to me since the day I was born, so right now, I don’t really give a damn about his feelings.”
“It’s us, not me. The day we were born,” Kenyon gritted through his teeth. “And I don’t think you have ever given a damn about anyone else’s feelings but your own.”
McKenna clamped her lips tight. She wasn’t about to let Kenyon ruin a perfectly good plan. If she were to argue back, she might mention something about the fact that he had stolen all her friends. Did he ever once consider how she might feel about him screwing all of them? Probably not, because he was a self-centered asshole.
She waited until the beginning of second period to make her move. Although she was very anxious to find him and had thought about little else since Friday night, first period was too risky. There were too many adults roaming the halls and attendance had not yet been registered. She approached Mr. Walker, the senior physics teacher, with her hand on her belly. Mr. Walker was something of a science whiz, but he was still just a man and uncomfortable discussing womanly matters.
“Mr. Walker, may I please go to the nurse? I’m having really bad cramps,” McKenna groaned as she lean
ed heavily against his desk.
“Of course,” he answered promptly and quickly scrawled a pass to the nurse’s office.
For dramatic effect, she limped towards the door. The hallway was empty. Walking as swiftly as possible without breaking into a jog, she made her grand escape. McKenna figured that by the time she drove across town and back that she would not return until the middle of third period. That didn’t leave a lot of time for idle chitchat, but that wasn’t really the point. The point was that she had found him, and it would be up to Trevor to make the next move. Unless, of course, he didn’t make the next move and then more drastic measures might be called for.
The grizzly bartender had been right. The motorcycle shop had been easy to find. What he had failed to mention was that the giant pitchfork was situated between a nearly naked, red, demon lady’s legs. The graphic and somewhat tasteless image was painted on the side of the building.
She pulled up as close to the entrance as possible. McKenna wasn’t expecting to find too many criminals up and about at this time of morning, but it was the kind of neighborhood where you could not tarry too long without finding a few tire rims missing. If that happened, Kenyon would have a shit fit.
Entering the shop was like opening the door to a world she had only ever heard whispered about. Places like this only existed on cop dramas or true crime documentaries. There were a few, bikers she presumed, sitting around the shop, but none of them had noticed her. If they were employees, they had to be the most unprofessional crew she had ever seen unless leather vests, tattered jeans, and half-empty beer bottles were part of the uniform.
Baby Bitch (Bitches and Queens) Page 4
