Protected by the Biker

by Savannah Rylan

  Some of the students scribbled on their sheets of paper while others sent their eyes wandering around the room like a lost child. I let out a slight sigh. “I know you all know this. It is not as hard as you are making it. What am I asking when I say multiple five times four?”

  A few more seconds ticked by on the clock, echoing in the midst of the silence that flooded the room inside of Madison Prep Elementary. Finally, one student’s hand slowly lifted from her desk and extended into the air like a flag. I smiled as her long, blonde pigtails dangled over her shoulders. I winked at Sarah as she prepared to give her answer. “The floor is yours, Sarah. Go ahead.”

  “Um,” she looked at her paper as I patiently waited in the front of the classroom for her answer. “Five groups of four? Um. Is it twenty?”

  A smile flashed across my face like lightning. “Excellent job, Sarah! You’ve got it. Five groups of four makes twenty!”

  Her rosy cheeks pushed towards the bottom of her eyes as a bright smile jetted across her face. Those types of expressions were just some of the things that kept me happy at my job. Sometimes, the days could be long and tiresome, but when I saw comforting smiles of proud children, it made everything worthwhile.

  Just then, the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Chatter filled the room like a cloud of smoke as the children gathered their things from their desks and loaded their book bags. “Alright kids, don’t forget to study chapter 8 of your lessons this weekend. I won’t let Sarah answer all of the questions Monday,” they began funneling out of the classroom as I spoke, “so, don’t be surprised if I call on you, even when your hand wasn’t raised.”

  I was sure that only a small percentage of them heard anything I said as they trailed each other out of the room. “Um, Miss. Dellucci?”

  I looked down at Daniel as he stood by my desk. His snaggle-toothed mouth hung halfway open as he waited for my response. “Yes, Daniel?”

  “Um,” he pulled out his book and placed it on my desk. “I am having trouble with that one right there.”

  He pointed to a division problem, much like the one we just went over earlier in class. I smiled and sat down in my chair, “grab a seat, Daniel. It is not as hard as you think it is, ok?” He pulled his chair across the tiles, creating a dull, dragging sound until he plopped into the seat. I explained to him the division problem, occasionally catching his google-eyed glance aiming in my direction. He tried to quickly look away once I noticed it. I smiled. It was flattering whenever one of my little third-graders had a crush on me.

  After I finished explaining the problem, I sat the pencil on his paper. He smiled at me, “thank… thank you, Miss Dellucci,” he said, tripping over his words like he was walking down a dark hallway. “That helps.”

  “Good, Daniel. I am glad I could help you understand that better.”

  Just to our right, Freya stood in the doorway, leaning against the post with her arms folded over her chest. A smile escaped the corner of her lips as she stepped to the side and let Daniel past. “See you tomorrow, Daniel,” she said as he scurried past her. He waved at her, then me, before he sprinted down the hallway.

  Freya laughed as she walked closer towards me, shaking her head. “Really, Carina? Another one? You have at least 4-5 crushes every school year.” She grabbed Daniel’s chair and slid it back behind the desk.

  I smiled. “Well, what can I say? I mean, at least I know these little kids’ minds haven’t been polluted by the world yet, so their little crushes are genuine. Unlike most of these so-called grown men who like to play games just to get inside our pants.” I opened my drawer and grabbed a few stacks of papers that I had to take home to grade.

  “Oh, Carina, come on! I know you can’t still be hung up on the last guy you dated.” She sat on my desk and crossed her leg over the other. “You can’t let one bad apple spoil the bunch. That was, what? Over a year ago?”

  “Yeah, it was, but still. He left a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “Literally, huh?” she asked with a smirk.

  My eyes narrowed in her direction as I took the couple stacks of papers and slid them into my tote bag. The last guy I was with was Owen, and he was an ass. Sure, he was hot as hell, but he only wanted sex, and he made that pretty clear as he shoved me out of his bed every morning. It just took me a little longer than I would have like to catch on.

  “Ha, ha, very funny. Are you sure you are in the right profession? Maybe you should be a comedian instead of teaching second grade.”

  “Loosen up, Carina! You have been the same way since middle school. We should head out tonight and grab a few drinks. I think you need to get a little bit of fresh air. Get back out there and get your feet wet again.”

  I slid my chair behind my desk. “Did you see this stack of papers I just removed from my drawer? That is at least three days’ worth of work right there that I need to get caught up on.”

  She stood up and grabbed the tote before I could put the strap over my shoulder, “No. Carina. Listen, the weekend is two days. I think you can get that work done in that amount of time, so that gives you time to hang out tonight. Come on, girl, you can’t be a hermit crab for the rest of your life. You need to get out of the house and let your hair down. The only people you hang around are 4-feet tall.”

  I exhaled and folded my arms across my chest as Freya stood in front of me with her hand propped on her hips with the other still clutching my tote. Her foot slowly began to tap on the ground as she impatiently waited for me to fold.

  Freya and I had been friends since seventh grade. Our bond started during volleyball season and extended when we both made the girls’ basketball team the next year. We were always into sports, and our bodies reflected much of the same. We both stood between 5’6” and 5’9” with athletic builds. Her chest was a bit larger than mine, but what I lacked up top was made up for in my thighs and lower body. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail as her hazel eyes glared back at me, and I knew not matter how hard I tried, she wouldn’t let me say no.

  “I’ve really got a lot of papers to grade, Freya,” I said in a last ditch effort to try and convince her.

  “You also only have one life to live, and I refuse to let you bury yourself in your house, grading papers. So, are you going to come with me willingly, or do I have to take your work with me and lock it up in my safe until you come out with me?”

  I smiled. She was so persistent, and deep down, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew she was right. I could grade all of those papers by the time the weekend was over.

  “Fine, Freya. I’ll go,” I said with an exasperated sigh.

  “Yay,” she said with a grin and handed me back my tote. “I really didn’t want to have to carry this tote home. Besides that, I don’t even have a safe to lock it in,” she said, smiling. “So, I will come to your place at around 9-ish? How does that sound?”

  “It sounds like you twisted my arm behind my back.”

  She winked, then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Well, I know you like it rough, sweetheart, so I can’t imagine a time that you would object to something like that. Be ready by 9 pm,” she said as she sashayed out of the room.

  “And please look nice. I don’t want to go out with someone who is dressed like my 72-year-old grandmother.”

  Her high heels clicked with each step she took down the hallway until the noise vanished into thin air. Welp, I guess I am going out tonight, I thought, looking at my tote bag of ungraded papers. Our date night will have to wait until tomorrow.

  Ever since my last breakup, I had turned into a bit of a homebody. A great weekend for me consisted of cuddling up on my couch, surrounded by a sea of ungraded homework and tests while I sipped coffee and searched for new shows to watch on Netflix.

  Now, I was going to have to go out and field questions from thirsty men while pretending to be interested, just to give them a fake number by the end of the night and never see them again. My last relationship with Owen made me not want to ge
t involved with anyone anytime soon. I grabbed my tote and headed out of the classroom.

  The sun beamed down on me from above as I walked through the parking lot to my car. As I pulled open my door, my cell phone rang out from my purse. It was my father. I quickly got inside my car before I answered.

  “Hey, Daddy.”

  “Hello, sweetheart. How are you today?”

  I pressed the button on my keys to unlock my doors. “I’m good. Just leaving school.”

  “Good. Everything is going alright there?”

  “Yes, daddy. Everything is fine. Is something wrong?” My mind flashed with the possibilities, and a slight panic set in my stomach. Since I was younger, I had an idea about what type of business my family was involved in. We were a large Italian family in Chicago, and while my father liked to claim that he dealt in the waste management industry, I knew that everything he did was not exactly legal. Not that he would ever actually talk to me about it unless something was terribly wrong. He and my brothers had successfully kept the wool over my eyes when it came to the family business, and in all honesty, I was fine with that. The less I knew about things going on, the better.

  “Oh, no, sweetheart. I was just calling to check on you. You know, I don’t care that you are twenty-six years old, no matter what, you will always be my little princess. I just want you to know that alright?”

  I eased into my car and turned the key into the ignition. As tough as my father was, I was always the little girl in his eyes. It came with the territory of being the baby girl of the family.

  “Yes, daddy,” I said, letting out a breath that I was holding in.

  “You doing anything tonight?”

  “I am hanging out with Freya tonight. She conned me into going out with her.”

  “I see. Well, you be safe out there, Carina. Papa loves you, alright?”

  “I love you too, daddy.”

  As I hung up the phone, I looked down at the screen and saw his picture before it faded away. His lips were pursed together as he glared right into the camera as if he was trying to shake the soul from the lens. He never smiled. His life rarely gave him the opportunities to do so. His thick eyebrows sat just above his dark brown eyes like subtraction signs with a thin hairline connecting them from the middle.

  His cheeks drooped down a bit like a bulldog on his cleanly shaved face. He was built like a polar bear. Intimidating. Unmovable. Ferocious. I guess he had to be that way, though, because of his position.

  Even though he and the rest of my family did their best to shield me away from the crimes that they were involved in, I knew the truth. I loved my family to death, but I wanted no part of their mob mentality. Even though they were extremely successful at what they did, I stayed out of it.

  Over the years, I had successfully distanced myself from the family business. Even though I had the same last name as my father, I had convinced every employer I had since I was sixteen that I had nothing to do with infamous Dellucci family. I had created my own life and my own career. No one could ever know that I was actually the daughter of one of the fiercest mob boss’s in Chicago.

  It would ruin everything.

  Chapter 2

  Harrison

  I woke up in my high-rise apartment building near downtown Chicago. The sun found a way to slide through my blinds and shine directly in my face like a flashlight. I squinted, then buried my head beneath the pillow like trying my best to hide from the light. Minutes later, my alarm clock squealed on my nightstand. I took three swipes at it until I finally gave up and smacked it forcefully onto the ground, pulling the plug out of the wall on its way to the floor.

  I exhaled as I tried to force my eyes open. This was the toughest part of waking up for me, but there was a shit load of fuckery going on in Chicago that I had to take care of, and it wasn’t going to stop just because I didn’t feel like peeling myself out of bed.

  I reluctantly removed the covers and sat upright on the edge of the mattress. The dresser’s mirror was directly in front of me, reflecting the tattoos on my bare chest that scattered across my pecs and extended over my shoulder and down my arm like a sleeve. My abs were hard as I ran my hand over my buzzed haircut. I was in shape, but it wasn’t by choice. My line of work forced me to keep myself up because I never knew when I would have to use brute strength to get myself out of a fucked-up situation.

  I was a detective with the Chicago Police Department, and for the past several months I had been placed on undercover operations. I was the only one left of the squad that didn’t have a wife and kids at home to take care of, which meant I was a perfect candidate to be thrown right into the line of fire.

  I glanced down at the alarm clock as it laid helplessly on the floor. On my nightstand, my cell phone was dangerously close to the edge as well. I quickly removed it before it plummeted to disaster. As soon as I unlocked it, I scrolled through my emails, checking to see if Captain Mark O’Malley had sent me some briefings about any new cases this morning. My inbox populated with junk mail and other bullshit that I had no interest in, but nothing from him yet. Once I cleared everything out, I tossed my phone onto the mattress and made my way to the bathroom.

  My one-bedroom apartment was cheap, but I wanted it that way. I didn’t give a fuck about where I lived because I knew that if shit went down, I could handle myself. My assignments rarely kept me at home anyway, so now, I was all about saving money. Besides that, I had four registered pistols and two shotguns at my disposal, so I was daring anyone to try to run into my place unannounced. It would be the worst decision of their life.

  As I walked into the bathroom, I removed my boxers and turned on the shower water so I could wash myself up and get ready for my day. As usual, I was just ready to get it over with. As much as I liked my job, the stress with always being undercover had started to get to me. I moved to Chicago almost four years ago. I was a part of the Miami police department for ten years until I got the opportunity here to become a detective. The transition was seamless for me because I had no problem changing my personality like a chameleon to fit whatever situation they decided to plug me into.

  I’d played everything from a drug lord to a petty thief and murderer for hire. With all those faces, I’d never once been made as anything other than who I claimed to be. They said I had a gift, but to me, it was just something that came naturally. I never had to work at it, and I think it had a lot to do with how I grew up and who I grew up around. Crime was always a part of my life, dating back to my days in high school.

  I never expected to end up on the right side of the law, but sometimes, shit worked out the way you never expected it to. That was life. After I finished cleaning myself up in the shower, I stepped onto the rug as the steam filled the air and fogged the mirror. With three swipes, I made a small circle so I could see my reflection clearer. My five o’clock shadow was thickening by the second on top of my high cheekbones. My blue eyes reflected the idea of a pure past life, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

  The razor blade sat on the counter, waiting for me to pick it up and apply it to my cheeks, but I passed on it. I didn’t have anybody to impress, and I wasn’t looking for anyone. My type of work didn’t allow for serious relationships, and with the way things had gone in my love life, I wasn’t in a rush to go down that road again.

  I slid on some jeans and canvas shoes, then put on a white tee-shirt and made my way to my car. A few of the tenants nodded their heads at me as I walked past. I hardly said much to anyone, and I wanted to keep it that way. People talked way too much, and if word got back around to what I did, my whole cover could be blown in less than a second. I didn’t want to take that risk, so I’d rather be seen as an enigma than someone who came off as being too friendly.

  I arrived at the precinct nearly forty-five minutes later. “Hey, here comes this pretty boy looking mother fucker right now. Glad, you finally decided to show up, you piece of shit,” one of the officers said as soon as I walked into the office.


  I removed my shades as he stood next to his buddy. The main room buzzed with police officers. I hated the stereotype that all police officers ate doughnuts, but I did see at least one or two boxes on different desks as I walked through the building.

  “Fuck you, Mason,” I said as I hung my glasses on the top of my shirt. “I’ve always wondered why you were so worried about when I showed up, but now I know why. You’re just an ass.”

  “Yeah, if I’m an ass, why the fuck did your mother leave my house last night claiming how much she loved me? Oh, by the way, tell her to make sure she brings some cookies next time. And not that fat-free shit, either.”

  “My mother would never fuck someone with titties bigger than hers, you fat son of a bitch.”

  The rest of the officers in the room laughed as we berated each other. It was always harmless between Mason and me. We had been friends for the last two years. At 27, he was three years younger than me, but he had just made it out of the academy one year ago, so he was still pretty much considered a rookie by our standard.

  A trio of female officers walked past us. One of them covertly winked at me as she perused through the maze of desks in the room. I smirked as she quickly turned away from me before anybody noticed our silent interaction. Mason nudged me on the shoulder with a doughnut in his hand.

  “Hey, nice work on that last assignment. I overheard the Captain talking about it the other day. You keep that up, you’re going to be a fucking legend out here in Chicago.”

  I removed a cigarette from my pocket and flicked the lighter. The butt of the cigarette glowed just beyond my eyes as I inhaled and blew the smoke in the opposite direction. “I’m just doing my job. I get paid to get the fucking bad guys, so I get the fucking bad guys.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Mason responded with a mouthful. Bits of his doughnut trickled from his lips like tiny sprinkles of raindrops. “You can be modest all you want, we know the truth. You are a fucking animal, man. Seriously.”

  Captain O’Malley opened his door, and the men in the room hushed to a silence.