“How can I know?”
“Am I wrong?” It’s a quiet question. Simple.
He’s not.
I hesitantly reach for him.
His hand envelops mine, and he drags me to stand between his legs. The towel drops. He wraps his strong arms around me and squeezes tight. His beard bristles against my collarbone, and he presses soft kisses in the divot where they meet.
Eventually, he eases up an inch and cradles my cheek.
“I’ll talk to her. She ain’t gonna say shit to you again. Okay?”
It’s not about Sharon. She’s a piece of work, but she’s not anywhere near the meanest bitch I’ve ever dealt with. She should meet Stephanie, my old manager at the Gas-and-Go.
But I don’t know how to explain the feelings crashing into each other inside me like possessed bumper cars of emotion.
The grief I’d been holding off while I worried about food and the cold, it’s broken through and hit me in a wave. My family’s messed up, but I always thought that push-come-to-shove, they loved me. They just don’t know how to show it.
That wasn’t the case.
My family might care, but the feeling is shallow as shit. And it hurts, knowing you’re not worth looking for.
And here’s this man, offering me everything, and how do I trust him? I can’t.
But I want to—so, so bad.
I have sympathy for my sisters that I never had before. It’s not weakness to believe in a man. It’s surrender. You can only stay out in the cold so long before warmth is irresistible.
I don’t know if Dizzy’s serious, or if I’m one more in a line of half-naked chicks buying into his bullshit ‘cause she’s too damn tired. I’m rollin’ the dice, and it doesn’t feel like a safe bet, not at all. Not because Dizzy seems to me like a liar, but because I know how the world works.
But he’s right here. Patient and quiet. Waiting for me to make the next move. And I’m not made of stone.
I nestle closer to him and nuzzle my nose in the crook of his neck. I inhale, soap and gasoline and his off-brand shampoo.
I can feel the tension leave his body.
“You want to go out to dinner, baby? We can go to Broyce’s. Get steaks.”
“Okay.”
First, he carries me into the bedroom and makes love to me, tender and sweet, his eyes dark and unreadable. He whispers in my ear.
Beautiful.
That’s it, baby.
Open for me.
I’ve got you.
It’s okay.
He knows this thing we have is fragile and balanced precariously, and it won’t take much to knock it over and send it crashing to the ground.
But not tonight.
And if I’m lucky, not tomorrow, either.
The next few days are peaceful. Nice, even though the house is dead quiet without the boys. Dizzy spends most of the days in the forbidden garage, working on his secret project, bopping over to the house every few hours to check on me.
The only thing he asks me to do is put together a grocery order for pick up. I can’t believe that’s a thing. You go on the internet, pick what you want, someone packs it up for you, and you go get it. Bernice at the Compare-n-Shop won’t even hit her light if a price tag is missing. You can go back and get another one your with a sticker on it your damn self.
Even though Dizzy doesn’t ask, I scrub down the kitchen. Then I get bored, and I clean the bathroom. After In the Arms of Love, I’m at loose ends, so I start organizing the lower level. When the boys come back over, I’m gonna take Carson up on that five bucks he said I could hold. I’ve earned it.
At night—and at lunch and on his breaks from work—Dizzy and I fuck. Dirty, sweet, kinky, fast, slow. And then he hauls my exhausted body onto his chest, and he turns on wrestling or racing. He strokes my hair or rubs my back, and if I’m inclined to talk, he listens.
He’s easy. I didn’t know men came in that variety. If he’s fed and fucked, and if I came hard, he’s good.
He misses his kids, though. Every so often, I find him in one of the boys’ rooms, straightening up. But it’s more like he needs to be in there, around their things. I watched him pick up a matchbox car. He spun the wheels, held it up and squinted into the teensy, tiny windows. Then he polished it up on the hem of his shirt and set it carefully on a shelf.
Dizzy and the kids text each other. It’s adorable. Dizzy sends them pictures of vehicles. Parker sends Dizzy videos of him playing his games, and Carson sends terribly-executed selfies, always during times he should be in class from places he has no business being. Dizzy doesn’t seem to notice. He always replies with the thumbs up emoji.
My dad bailed when I was few months old. He was an addict. He disappeared one day. No one in Dalton’s heard from him since. Based on what happened to me in the shed, I wonder if Mama even bothered looking for him.
I think Dizzy’s a good dad. That’s a mixed-up feeling, too. I love the way he cares about the boys. But it’s kind of emotionally awful, too, getting a front row seat to what you missed. It’s totally fucked up envyin’ a kid ‘cause he has what you didn’t.
Maybe that’s why I’m out of sorts. Or maybe it’s the weather. It’s been gray and gusty. Pretty soon it’ll be winter. I’ll have even fewer choices if this situation goes south.
It’s after lunch, and I’m unloading the dishwasher when there’s a growl of engines in the front drive. My heart leaps to my throat. I’ve got no reason to be spooked, but a voice in my head whispers, “This is it.”
It’s the same feeling as when I tried to open the shed door, and I realized that snick and rattle I heard hadn’t been my imagination.
Boots hit the gravel. Dizzy calls out a greeting from the garage.
I hustle to the living room and peek out the picture window. Three bikes. Heavy. Jed. Nickel.
Their faces are hard. Dizzy joins them, wiping his hands on his dark blue coveralls.
The men dismount, and they gather. Heavy’s doin’ the talkin’. Dizzy folds his arms, sets his jaw, and glances at the house.
Shit.
What’s goin’ on?
Dizzy’s face is grim. He’s shaking his head no and widening his stance. Something’s wrong.
I scramble for my stash, fishing out the butterfly knife and the ring. I jam them in my pocket. I’m wearing skinny jeans, sneakers, and a pale blue hoodie. It’s cut too tight for me to hide a can or two of food in the pouch. Damn, damn, damn.
The front door opens. “Fay-Lee! Can you come out here?” Dizzy’s voice is stern, but calm.
This can’t be about me squatting at the clubhouse. Three of them wouldn’t come out here for that.
But I don’t think it was ever just about me stealing some food and trespassing on their property. I didn’t quite understand back then, but hanging with Dizzy, it’s clear. These guys are businessmen. They aren’t lookin’ for drama like the bikers I knew back in Dalton.
They wouldn’t have hustled me into a basement to interrogate me over a missing can opener. Not with the kind of cash they’re flashin’.
My eyes burn, and my pulse kicks up a notch. Fuck them. I didn’t do anything wrong. Not really wrong.
“Fay-Lee? You hear me?” Dizzy hollers.
“Yeah. Coming.”
I fight the overwhelming urge to run. Dizzy won’t let anything happen to me. I think.
I blink until the prickling in my eyes goes away and take a deep breath as I head downstairs, hands shoved in my pockets. My jeans are tight, and I don’t want them to see the knife bulge.
When I get out front, the men spread, pivoting to face me. Sweat breaks out behind my knees. These are scary men, and they don’t look happy.
Dizzy’s expression is inscrutable. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s stiff and sober, the way he was in the framed pics of him in his Marine Corp uniform.
“How are you doing, Fay-Lee?” Heavy asks. He peers down at me from on high. I swear, he reminds me of a character in Parker’s vide
o game. You just know he makes a crunching sound whenever he walks, no matter what he’s walking on.
“Um. Good?” I look to Dizzy. He’s glaring at Jed.
Heavy shifts until he’s in my line of sight. “Dizzy treatin’ you well?”
Dizzy’s temple pulses. Tension radiates from his squared shoulders.
“Yeah.”
“We got a question for you, Fay-Lee.”
“Okay.”
He holds up my phone. I can’t help but reach for it, but he pulls it back.
“Where’d you find it?” I ask.
Heavy holds it high, out of reach. Like we’re playing keep-away. What is this?
“Harper said you were looking for this at the clubhouse.”
“Yeah. I lost it at that first party I was at.”
“Dizzy says you didn’t mention losing a phone.” Heavy raises his thick eyebrows. The resemblance between him and Dizzy is uncanny. But if this were a fairy tale, Heavy’s the beast version, and Dizzy’s the man once the spell wears off.
“I guess I didn’t.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t come up. Can I have it please?” I hold out my palm.
Heavy makes no move to hand it over. “This is your last chance, Fay-Lee. If there’s something you need to tell us, now is the time.”
What do they want from me? Dizzy’s no help. He won’t meet my eye. He’s at my side, glowering at the others.
“I don’t know what you want.”
Heavy flips open the phone. “Put in the passcode.”
“Why?”
Heavy appeals to Dizzy with a silent glance.
Dizzy snarls. “Do it, Fay-Lee.”
Shivers zip down my spine. Is he mad at me? I don’t think so. I think that tone of voice was meant for Heavy.
I take the phone and type in 1–2–3–4. Heavy’s got a reputation as a genius, but he can’t be that smart.
Shit. I have a ton of texts and missed calls. I go to check, but Heavy grabs the phone back. He taps and scrolls, his mouth turning down.
Then he holds the phone up for the others to see.
It’s a text. It’s from a guy named Rab I met when I first came to town. He’s a biker from another club. Chaos hung out with him while Jed and I played horseshoes at a bar outside town. Afterwards, we all did shots and danced to the jukebox. I vaguely remember drunkenly adding him to my contacts. He said he owned a tattoo parlor, and he’d give me a discount.
The text reads where is chaos bitch?
Nickel cracks his neck and skewers me with a death stare. “I told you.”
“This don’t mean nothin’,” Dizzy says.
“Brother—” Heavy shakes his head. “She’s got dozens of messages from Rab.” He hands me the phone. I start scrolling.
where’s chaos?
what you done with him bitch?
pick up the phone you dumb hore.
“I didn’t do anything to Chaos. He left me. I don’t know where he is.”
Heavy doesn’t even acknowledge what I’m saying.
“She’s got to answer for herself,” Heavy says to Dizzy. “We need to know.”
“I talk to her. No one else.” Dizzy steps forward until he’s blocking me from the others.
What do they think I did? My heartbeat breaks into a gallop.
“You’re too close, Diz,” Heavy says. “You got to let us handle her.”
“The fuck I do.” Dizzy puffs his chest. Nickel balls his fists, his black eyes glowing with unholy glee. That dude is insane. And Heavy’s huge. Jed’s kind of doughy, but he makes three against one.
I can’t let them fight.
“What do you want to know?” I pipe up, my voice wobbling.
“Don’t say nothin’,” Dizzy warns.
“I don’t have anything to hide.” As it leaves my mouth, I realize it’s the exact thing every guilty person says.
“What did I say, woman?” Dizzy shifts on his feet. Nickel bares his teeth. They’re gonna fight.
There’s a long moment when the men glare at each other, shaking out their arms, fingers twitching. A showdown in the driveway.
Then a neighbor drives by, honks, and waves.
Heavy sighs and shakes his head. “Dizzy, let’s take a minute. Walk with me.” He jerks his head toward the garage.
Dizzy doesn’t budge.
“No one will touch her. You have my word. We need to talk, brother.”
Finally, Dizzy gives a curt nod. Heavy, Nickel, and him head off and go into the garage, stone-faced. I’m left alone with Jed.
“What’s happening?”
This guy was an asshole to me in the basement, but he was nice the first time we met. He’s like most of the men my sisters date. Buzz cut. Clean-shaven. Showered, new boots, nice jeans, and bad teeth.
Jed pivots so his back is to the garage. He pulls a gun from his waistband.
Oh, fuck.
My hands fly up, and I open my mouth to scream.
“Shut up and put your damn hands down.”
“Put that gun away.”
He isn’t aiming at me, but still, blood swooshes in my ears. What the fuck is going on?
“Hands down.” He waves the gun at me. I drop my arms.
“Now, listen. I don’t have time to explain this twice. This is your lucky day. Right now, Heavy’s over there convincing Dizzy to let us kill you.”
I swallow a whimper. Dizzy wouldn’t agree to that. Never.
“I bet you’re thinkin’ he’s your man, and it ain’t gonna go down like that. How long you been spreadin’ your legs for him, girl?”
He waits for me to answer, but my mouth is bone dry, and my brain’s disconnected from my voice box. The gun is dangling between us. His finger is on the trigger.
“A few weeks? A month? I don’t see no ring. I don’t see no cut that says Property Of. I see a runaway who no one would miss if she disappeared.”
The words are a direct hit. I sway from the impact.
“Let me explain how an MC works. You hear Heavy call him ‘brother?’ That’s what we are. Brothers. And blood is thicker than water. It might take Heavy a little talkin’, but Dizzy’s gonna hand you over. We’re gonna take you back to the basement. And you ain’t comin’ out this time.”
I stifle a moan. Every nerve in my body shouts at me to run, but there’s nowhere to go. The gun has me pinned on the spot.
“Now, I know you got nothin’ to do with this. But Heavy don’t know that. Dizzy don’t know that. What’s on your phone is mighty fuckin’ incriminating.”
Incriminating what? Do they think I did something to Chaos?
“But like I said. This is your lucky day. You’re gonna run. Start hitchin’ as soon as you hit the main road. I’ll give you as long as I can. Then I’m gonna fire this gun. I’m gonna say you grabbed for my piece, we grappled, it went off, and you ran that way.” He points into the woods across the street.
What? This is crazy. Dizzy will talk sense into Heavy. I didn’t do anything.
Jed’s studying my face, and he’s growing more impatient by the second. Finally, he shakes his head.
“You dumb bitch. Don’t you get it? Chaos was stealing from us. Steel Bones killed him. And you’re the only one who can put him at the clubhouse. You’re a material witness to murder, and if the Feds get ahold of you, your testimony could prove racketeering. You could put the entire club behind bars for life. Put a needle in Heavy’s arm.”
I’m shaking my head. I’d never rat.
Jed keeps going. “And that guy Rab who’s texting you? He knows somethin’ happened to Chaos, and he knows you were the last to see him alive.”
Jed glances toward the garage. They’re still in there.
“Dizzy might love your pussy, but you really think he’d risk all his brothers’ lives for you? You think he’d risk jail for you? Risk his kids growin’ up fatherless? For some gash he’s been bangin’ a month or two?”
Oh, God. I’m go
nna puke. I fight down a wave of nausea. I don’t have time to panic. I can lose it later. They could come out at any minute.
Dizzy. My heart cracks.
It was too good to be true. Of course, it was.
I spin on the ball of my foot and sprint down the drive, pumping my arms. The cold November air burns my lungs. As I turn onto the main road, I skid on loose gravel, almost fall to me knees, but my forward momentum keeps me barreling ahead.
I don’t want to die.
I’m not gonna die.
I escaped that shed, and I’m gettin' out of this alive, too.
I run, and when I can’t anymore, I jog. After a mile or so, a gunshot rings out behind me, a sharp crack muffled by the low gray clouds. I push harder.
I lift my knees, and I keep going. Faster. Faster. I didn’t survive two days without water in a heat wave to get run down on the side of a rural highway in nowhere Pennsylvania.
Sweat rolls down my face, stinging my eyes. A motorcycle engine growls behind me, closing in, and I reach in my pocket for the knife, knowing it’s useless against a gun, but I’m not going down easy.
A bike pulls off onto the shoulder ahead of me. There’s a man I’ve never seen before. He’s wearing a denim cut with the red-and-white Rebel Raiders’ insignia. He’s got a paunch, a gray, braided ponytail and beard, and a red Willie Nelson bandana headband.
He grins. “Hey, sweet stuff. Jed called me. You need a ride?”
He shuffles forward on his hog. It’s gonna be a tight squeeze.
“Can you take me to the pawnshop?”
“How ‘bout I take you to my place? Lay low for a spell?”
Ugh. No.
“I need cash. I got to get to the pawnshop.”
His brow furrows, but eventually he nods. “All right. Don’t think it’s open, though. Saddle up.”
I hop on, and we peel off, my Mama’s voice rattling in my head about the devil you know versus the devil you don’t. For the life of me, I can’t remember which is worse, but if I have a choice between going with this guy and watching Dizzy choose to hand me over to his club, I’ll pick this guy every time.
I can deal with a broken heart. Broken dreams. It hurts, as if my chest has been sliced open, but I’ll endure it.
But I can’t handle more concrete proof that ultimately, I mean nothing to anyone in this world. There’s an orneriness that kept me alive in that hundred and five degree shed. It gave me the courage to leave Dalton. Maybe it’s survival instinct. Maybe it’s grace. I don’t really know, but it’s damn clear about one thing.
Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel Page 18
