by DD Prince
I tied the sash as he finished getting his boots on, and then I followed him to the door, my disappointment impossible to hide.
“Lock up. ‘Night, babe.” He kissed me on the lips and it wasn’t a peck, but it also didn’t feel like the other times he kissed me.
This was it.
We were done; I could feel it. I could see it in his eyes, which weren’t the warm they typically were when he was looking at me. They were blank. Almost cold.
He got sex and now he was going. Done. Finito. And it felt like he was done in a way where I probably wouldn’t hear from him again.
He gave me a smile, but it was a little bit of a sad smile. It felt like a goodbye smile. I was also pretty sure I was wearing my heart on my sleeve right then and he was reading it and confirming my suspicions.
I stood at the door and watched while he walked the length of my patio, climbed down the stairs, and then I heard him start up his Harley and ride away.
He didn’t even glance back up at the doorway as he pulled away.
I went back inside, locked the door, and went to bed feeling empty and used.
***
I was not gonna cry. I was NOT gonna cry over a guy.
I cried over a guy once and he made me feel so small because of it that I’d vowed I would never ever do it again.
I was seventeen when it started and still seventeen when my heart got smashed. Michael was the bad boy of our high school. The James Dean.
He wasn’t Mike. He was Michael. And he was deep. He was the champion of the underdog. He played guitar. He was soulful and smart, though he ditched class more than he showed up. He challenged the teachers when he was in class and sometimes he flustered them, because he was smart. He smoked and drank and drove a muscle car he’d restored. He also broke my heart right after he took my virginity, because I’d found out he was sleeping with half the other A-list girls in the school. Well, Ella found out and broke it to me.
He’d wanted our relationship secret. He’d given me a line about it being just about us and not about what society thought relationships should be. I’d bought it. I later found out, after giving up my V-card, that he’d been seeing a bunch of other girls, all secretly, at the same time, and at least three of them had given him sex, two had given their V-cards, too. They’d all bought his lines, too.
I’d told Ella about my secret relationship, so when she heard another girl telling her bestie about her secret relationship with Michael in the girls’ change room, of course she had to tell me what she’d heard.
I had been madly, deeply in seventeen-year-old girl love with that v-card collector. I confronted him, tears in my eyes, and got so upset about it, behind the school by his car, that the confrontation drew a crowd. A crowd that meant other girls who were sleeping with him or fooling around with him also heard. It turned into a total Shit Show with multiple girls yelling and two of us crying. And he ridiculed me for it in front of a hundred other kids, laughing at my tears and calling me a traditionalist, saying it was sad and a total waste.
He had zero remorse for the lies he’d told about our future. He had no regrets about breaking the promises he’d made. Two weeks before graduation, he’d talked, with us naked under a blanket, about buying his older brother’s VW bus and us driving across the country together, so we could live free. Together. Or so he’d said.
Me and two of the other girls he’d fucked over got a bit of revenge. We couriered a positive pregnancy test to him anonymously (one of the girls had a pregnant older married sister) stating he was the father and that as soon as ‘Dad’ found out who the father was, he was threatening legal action or murder. One of the girls was named Jill and with my name being Jenna, we signed it J. He could wonder. We watched him sweat for two weeks until we confronted him together and told him he was a loser and would always be a loser.
But, the revenge didn’t stop me from spending the summer after graduation in a funk, a serious funk. Ella wanted to do Europe. I could barely lift my head off my pillow. Until the night I went to that party and made out with Ella’s cousin, which I had so much remorse for that I’d wound up back on the pillow for days afterwards, out of guilt.
And I won’t go back to being that lovesick and heartsick over someone who could potentially shred my heart into tatters again.
I told myself I’d never let a guy see me as weak again.
Telling Michael he was a loser wasn’t just wishful thinking. I saw him two years ago. He was working at the Shell, pumping gas. He had a beer gut. He’d lost his looks. He was only 24 and his hairline was starting to recede. He had lost all his appeal. He’d probably never even been out of the state. And I’d been in designer clothes, looking hot, in my shiny new convertible VW Jetta. It’d been completely by chance and totally random, and it felt fucking great.
He recognized me. It was all over his face. I drove away feeling vindicated. A few weeks later, that gas bar transitioned to ‘self-serve’ only and he was on the unemployment line. Last I heard, he still lives in a trailer behind his parents’ house, and it’s not a rock star trailer like Ella’s beautiful biker has, either.
And I hadn’t cried over a guy since him. I’d had relationships, but I’d never let anyone back in close enough to be able to annihilate me again.
And it wasn’t easy, because I really, really wanted to cry over what’d just happened with Rider Valentine.
What was I thinking?
I know what I was thinking. He was new and mysterious. He was sexy and different. He was not at all like anyone my mother would want me with. He was magnetically charismatic, and confident without being arrogant. He was amazing in bed that first time and even amazing the second time in spite of the hair pulling and trying to make me talk dirty. He was the kind of guy that could potentially give me the kind of big family happy that the Forkers had.
And I knew we’d look good together. I knew we’d be one of those couples that people look twice at.
And then he rode off five minutes after fucking me as if I was completely replaceable. Like my feelings didn’t factor.
Well, fuck him. His loss. I’d beat back the tears and find a way to forget he existed.
And I’d hope that he lost his hair and grew a beer gut while I busted my ass to keep looking half-decent, so that when we ran into one another in ten years, I’d be again thinking I’d had a good escape while he got to kick himself, realizing that he fucked up.
6
The salon had been open an hour when my 11:00 appointment sauntered in, a sexy Clark Kent-looking type with a smirk on his face as he looked at me. Like he had a secret.
Wait. He was familiar.
“Can I help you?” I tilted my head.
“Dan,” he replied and extended his hand.
“Hi Dan,” I said and shook his hand.
He smiled and tilted his head, mirroring me. Waiting. For what?
“Dan Sotheby,” he offered further explanation.
Oh. That was why he looked familiar. I’d seen his picture.
It’d just said “Dan. N (for new client). Haircut” in the book in Pippa’s handwriting.
“Oh,” I replied. “Hey.”
He didn’t want a haircut. He didn’t need one. His hair looked perfectly styled. He wanted to go for a coffee and decided to be bold in blocking off a bit of my time. In a rare light Friday, I didn’t have another appointment booked until 12:30, so I decided to take an early lunch.
He was great-looking. He looked at me like he was undressing me with his eyes. He was tall. Taller than Rider, even. Built like a personal trainer. And sexy. In a perfectly tailored suit, to boot. And, I just wasn’t feeling it. I was still feeling the effects of the heartbreak the night before.
Me and Daniel were at a table in the window of the coffee shop, four doors from my salon. He was talking about his job or something, I don’t even know, when I saw Rider get out of his orange old school Dodge Charger two spots over from the parking spot directly in view of where we were sit
ting.
I saw Rider’s eyes as he spotted me. I pretended not to see him. I laughed at what Daniel said, because his voice had humor in it, not even knowing if he said something all that laugh-worthy. I must’ve had good timing, though, because Daniel laughed too, and then his hand came out and his finger twirled a lock of my hair. I lifted my coffee and took a healthy sip and it was just a little too healthy for the temperature, so I coughed and let out a gasp.
Daniel’s face filled with concern. “Do you need water? Water!” he hollered to the barista who dashed over with a bottle of Fiji water. I cracked it open and took a sip, soothing the burn. He rubbed my back while I tried to recover.
He’d expressed a suitable amount of concern and chivalry, but my heart was not there. My heart was on the road, run over; biker road kill.
Rider didn’t even look my way when he came back out of the bank he’d gone into. But his face was like thunder, making my heart rate spike, watching him get into his very nice orange muscle car and drive away.
When I got back to my shop, I saw that my phone had been forgotten. I’d missed a text from Ella.
“Gotta go to Sioux Falls with Deacon for a family emergency so I can’t work today. Sorry! Call you when I know more. XO”
I’d completely forgotten I’d asked Ella to come do reception that day.
I didn’t think too much of it until much later, so far in my mental funk that it also didn’t occur to me that a Deacon family emergency would also mean a Rider family emergency, too. Was everything okay?
***
It was about 2:00 in the morning when there was a loud knock on my bedroom door. I sat up, gasping, startled.
“Jenna… Big ginger biker at the door for you.”
That was Joe. He must be sleeping over. I threw my robe on and went to the kitchen door, groggy, confused, greeting Bronto, the Dominion Brotherhood prospect.
“Hey Jenna. Sorry, I know it’s late, but did you get Ride’s text?”
I shook my head. “No. I was sleeping.”
“Can I come in? It’s important.”
I opened the door wider and let him in. He shut the door and locked it. And then he put the chain on.
He was a tall curly-haired redheaded guy with a baby face, dimples, and a gut. He was doughy but also looked somewhat muscled underneath the dough, like he used to work out but had let himself go, or like he’d recently started working out but wasn’t to the point of working the dough away yet.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and distractedly handed it to him. “Be back. Getting my phone.” I went to my room, grabbed my phone, and headed to my bathroom to pee while checking my texts.
There was a text from Rider.
“Hey. There’s an emergency. My sister was in a motorcycle accident and badly hurt. I have reason to believe they may target you next so I’m sending Bronto. I want Bronto staying with you and keeping an eye until I get back. I’ll explain when I see you. Let me know if it’s cool for him to crash on your couch and shadow you until then.”
What the heck?
I wrote back.
“Ok & I hope your sister is ok.”
That explained Ella’s text. And his thunderous expression that morning. It was also incredibly confusing. He was worried someone might hurt me, so he was having someone protect me.
This action certainly didn’t jive with the events of the night before… him leaving after sex like he had just picked me up as a random hookup at a bar and didn’t intend to ever see me again.
It also didn’t jive with him giving me that cold look that morning when I was in the coffee shop.
What on Earth?
***
The next day, Bronto, who was really named Ted, was still my shadow, and he was a helpful shadow.
I put him to work at the salon. He was tall, so he squeegeed my floor to ceiling windows and dusted all our ceiling fans. And then he did a lunch run, but he got that Jesse biker guy to relieve him. Bronto was a good guy. I didn’t take advantage; he offered.
I didn’t hear from Rider, though. And that was concerning. I asked Bronto what was happening, and he wasn’t real forthcoming, but he said Rider’s sister was reportedly going to be okay, but that another Dominion Brotherhood member had died in that accident.
My heart hurt for that. Bronto got me details, so I could have flowers sent to the hospital to Rider’s sister.
After the salon closed, I followed Bronto (he on his Harley, me in my car) to his house so he could pick up some clothes. Bronto lived with his grandmother, who was a sweet old lady. She insisted I come in and then she made me tea and fed me homemade snickerdoodles while Bronto packed a bag and I gave her two coupons for free wash and sets.
She was sweet and highly appreciative. And I could tell it was a real treat for her, because she said three times that she never spent money on her hair. I told her I did a day a month at Ella’s grandmother’s seniors’ home with free hairdos because I knew it’d brighten up the day of any of the senior ladies there to feel good about herself. Bronto’s Grandma sent us off with two dozen more snickerdoodles from her freezer.
Bronto had said he’d gotten the offer to prospect for the MC from a cousin who lived in Sioux Falls who was prospecting there and ready to get patched in. Bronto had spent some time with “The Brotherhood” when he visited his cousin and he talked about how stoked he was to be prospecting for them. They recruited him because of his shooting skills.
I quirked my eyebrows up at that and the fact that he’d said all this in front of his grandma who beamed with pride, talking about how great Deke and his boys were. She’d said that Spencer had come over the week before and helped Bronto clean her gutters. This surprised me about Spencer.
Saturday evening, back home, I got a text from Rider.
“Hey. Everything all right with you?”
Me: “Yep. I’m having a quiet night in with Bronto and Pippa. We’re doing facials, manicures, and pedicures. Not Bronto obviously. LOL. How’s your sister doing?”
Him: “She’s doing better. Thanks for the flowers.”
Me: “It was nothing. I hope she’s gonna be okay.”
Him: “Me too. Prognosis looks good.”
Me: “Excellent. I heard someone didn’t make it? I’m so sorry. Was he a friend?”
Him: “Yeah. Thanks babe. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
I stared at the phone a while and then wrote,
“Ok. Very sorry about your loss. Have a good night.”
Him: “Will do. You too.”
Okay, suffice it to say… I needed Ella.
I needed Ella, because I now needed to analyze every single thing that happened, so I could try to make sense out of this. But, Ella was in Sioux Falls with Deacon. I’d had a text from her that day, but I needed to actually talk to her.
I took my phone to the bathroom and called her. It went straight to voicemail.
Pippa was crashed on the couch, her feet on Bronto’s lap, separators still between her toes after pedicures, otherwise I could’ve talked it through with her.
He was eating popcorn and we were streaming Breaking Bad. His suggestion. We’d watched three episodes already, and polished off a dozen snickerdoodles. Pippa said she and Joe had had a fight and were taking a breather that night. But, she didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to talk about my issues, but I couldn’t talk the Rider stuff over with Bronto, and it was getting late, so I decided to crash.
We tried to wake Pip, but as per usual, Pippa slept like the dead, so I took her toe separators off and Bronto carried her to her room and put her to bed.
***
Sunday morning, I woke up to hilarious drunk texts from Ella. And that told me that things were probably more than good with Rider’s sister, otherwise no way would she be partying and texting me to tell me about what she ate and how she puked as well as the fact that she was in love with Deacon.
Me? This was braless Sunday, my new-ish tradition, and I was taking the day for me. I h
ad no idea why Rider was having me protected. I had no idea how to de-code biker hot guy actions, and so I decided to just keep busy.
The salon was closed Sundays. Pippa had gone to her parents for Sunday dinner, and I cleaned my apartment after Pippa’s early afternoon yoga class at a studio a few blocks away, with Bronto watching, and now I was home, in sweats, bra-less, and sorting out my make-up drawer, while washing my make-up brushes.
Bronto had shadowed me all day long, except now he was outside the apartment in some biker pow wow in the back parking lot with four other bikers, including Jesse and Scooter.
Scooter looked rough. Really rough. His face was purply and his lip was fat. He hadn’t arrived on his motorcycle; he’d been dropped off by a cab. I waved at the driver, not remembering his name, but knowing Ella knew him and he’d definitely brought me home from the bar at least a few times. He waved at me as I’d come out to the rooftop terrace.
I’d been thinking about asking the bevy of bikers to put up the rest of the lattice so that the terrace would be fully enclosed, and no one would dangle anyone again.
While I was having that thought, my phone made a text alert noise and I didn’t recognize the number.
“You with a dominion brotherhood biker? You need to watch this and know who you’re in bed with. From a friend.”
The phone made another noise and now there was a video attachment.
I sat down on the Adirondack chair by the chimenea and hit play.
My eyes were immediately assaulted by porn. Dirty rape porn.
I made a face of disgust at seeing a gang bang on my screen. A nude skinny chick with huge knockers and long straight blonde hair was roughly thrown over a double bed with the sheets half off in a shabby looking bedroom.
There were four guys in view, but just from the waist down. They were all advancing toward her and one grabbed his zipper and yanked it down and pulled out his dick.
I was about to exit out of the screen when I saw a black heart tattoo.
What?
And though he rolled on a condom fast, before I could get a good look, I knew. I knew there was a silver double stud piercing inside that condom. And I knew there was a name in that black heart.
