Reckless

by Priscilla West

  "I don’t know who lives here now, but my dad used to live here—before he went to prison. He was always into something or other," he said, each word halting. "He lived here with me and he never . . . ever . . . let me forget how angry he was at me."

  I approached closer. We were in the place Jax had run away from, the place where his nightmares had started. But what had happened in those walls?

  "Why was he so angry at you?" I asked.

  "It started when . . ." he trailed off. Suddenly, his face became a mask with a thousand-yard stare. "Look, I thought I knew, once. But after a while, I stopped asking. He didn’t have to have a reason. I think he was just . . . like that."

  "God, Jax," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I pushed you."

  "You didn’t know. You were trying to do the right thing. I’m just too fucked up to talk about it. That’s what this house did to me, Riley."

  I shuddered. My parents had always been there for me, helping me when my life became chaotic, supporting me when I went to therapy to get over Connor. I couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to have grown up in a house like Jax’s.

  "So you just stayed here until you could run away."

  "Yeah," he said, his eyes haunted as they roamed over the connected trailers. "It was my own personal hell."

  "And I forced you back here," I said, wincing with a sudden rush of shame as I said the words. I’d thought Jax’s problems were on the same level as mine—a bad ex, or a stupid mistake when he was young.

  He turned around, looking at the neighborhood. "I never wanted to come here again," he said, his voice threatening to crack. "All I ever wanted to do was forget. Start over, you know? But the closer we got to Los Angeles, the harder it was. Every venue, every mile driven, it all brought us closer to right here. To where it all started."

  I stayed silent, waiting for him to finish. His piercing eyes studied the mishmash of trailers intensely.

  "This morning," he said, his jaw working, "I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw—I saw his face and I—I had to go for a ride, clear my mind. I knew I could have told you or maybe Sky or Chewie but I just—I couldn't"

  I put a hand on his back. Even through his clothing, I could tell that his muscles were tense.

  "And that thing yesterday with Kev was," he started, but then took a deep breath and shook his head, "it was stupid. Just stupid bullshit. It had nothing to do with him."

  I nodded softly. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been, or how pushy I must have seemed to Jax. "I should have listened to you more. I’m sorry."

  He turned back to me and stepped close, until we were almost toe to toe. Looking into my eyes, he said, "I know you wanted to help. You thought you could help me move on if I faced the past. You thought you could help me make sense of it." He wrapped me in his arms, and I buried my face in his chest. "And I know you meant well, but . . . I don’t want that. What happened to me didn’t make sense, and it never will. I buried my past because I wanted it to stay dead."

  His words tore at my heart. I stepped back to look at him. "Do you just want to bury it forever?"

  Jax looked away. "I knew it would happen. As soon as I told you, it’d be alive again. All of it, my whole past—"

  "No!" I said vehemently. "I won’t bring it up. I won’t even mention it, not ever, not if you don’t want me to. I promise."

  He touched my cheek and his face was so sad that it made me feel like crumpling to the street. "It doesn’t make any difference," he said, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. "Even if you never talked to me about it, I’d see it in your eyes. In the way you look at me."

  The words hurt, but his face made it clear that he truly believed it wouldn’t be the same after this. I wasn’t sure if he was wrong.

  "Jax, I—"

  He lifted my chin until our eyes were inches apart. "So I couldn’t—I couldn’t tell you before and still look in your eyes. But I had to make a choice. It was either my past or you. And I chose you."

  My eyes filled with tears. "That means a lot. It means everything."

  His dark features hardened. "If you’d asked me before the tour started whether I could look someone in the face who knew where I came from, who I was before . . . I’d have said no. But that was then."

  I realized that I was holding my breath in.

  "Now . . ." He pondered for a moment. "Now I couldn’t stand to lose you."

  The humid night air felt still and quiet around us. Only reedy cricket chirps and distant motorcycle engine rumblings disturbed the silence as we looked into each other’s eyes.

  "I won’t keep asking about the past anymore," I said. "I promise."

  A half-smile moved across his face. "You can ask whatever you need to. You just need to understand if I don’t always want to answer."

  I looked up and moved my lips closer to his, hearing the distant rumbling of motorcycle engines. "It’s a deal."

  His mouth felt like being reborn. Jax’s lips were urgent, eager, fierce—I wanted his kiss desperately, but it was clear he needed mine. We lost ourselves in each other, right there on the lawn in front of Jax’s old house, ignoring the revving engines and the insect buzz.

  He wrapped me in his arms, kissing me with the intensity and joy I’d been missing for days. There were no more secrets between us, no more lies, and as his lips searched my mouth, I moaned with lust and relief.

  When our lips finally broke apart, I looked up at him almost shyly. For once, he had an almost boyish grin on his face, innocent and playful.

  We were going to be alright.

  The distant motorcycle engine noise suddenly got louder and headlamps illuminated us as a group of bikers turned down the street. Both of us turned to look at them, but as soon as I did, I was nearly blinded by the bright lights.

  Jax’s face tightened, and he moved between me and the bikes. One of the bikers, a guy with a red bandana and missing teeth, rubbed at his scraggly beard in a way that made me shudder with disgust.

  "Can we go back to the bus Jax? I don't feel safe here," I said.

  He looked slowly from them to me, and then back to them. "You’re right," he said at last, casting a sidelong glance at his bike, easily twenty yards away. "Come on. We’re getting the hell out of here."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THE REAPERS

  Jax grabbed my hand and we hurried across the dirt yard, heading toward the curb where he’d parked his bike by the sole streetlamp that was lit on the block.

  "Hey, ain't no need to go nowhere, honey," the biker with the red bandana shouted over the roar of their six idling motorcycles in the middle of the street. "We're just 'bout to get the party started."

  I shivered in revulsion at Bandana's drunken drawl and picked up my pace as I sidestepped empty beer cans.

  Jax must’ve seen the worry on my face because he said, "They're probably local drug dealers. This neighborhood was overgrown with them when I was a kid. It's why most people stay inside." He squeezed my hand gently. "They’re just trying to mess with us. Ignore them."

  Everything about Jax's childhood filled me with more and more grief. But his calmness kept me steady, even if an inkling of apprehension bubbled just under my skin. I tried to make the best out of the situation. "Well at least they can't rob me since I left my purse on the bus. But let's just get out of here."

  We finally reached his motorcycle and hopped onto the cushioned seat. Safely on his bike, I rested my head on his back and took one last look at the jerry-rigged trailers that served as his childhood home.

  I was grateful that Jax brought me here and opened up to me, even though the story about his dad left me completely heartbroken. But that was the past, and we still had our entire future ahead of us.

  A sudden silence filled the air as the bikers all turned off their bikes and left them parked in the middle of the street. The way they aligned their bikes looked like it was going to be tricky for Jax to weave his bike through.
I was about to tell him that backing up might be a good option instead, but a quick glance behind me revealed some deep potholes in the street.

  The sound of shattering glass echoed through the neighborhood. One of them must’ve thrown a bottle.

  Twitching with an urgent desire to flee, I wrapped my arms around Jax’s waist. "I’m ready whenever you are."

  He jammed the key into the ignition and kicked down on the bike's starter.

  The engine revved for a second but quickly sputtered out. The failing motor sounded like a dying animal and I desperately hoped it was just a one-time glitch.

  "Uh . . . Jax . . . ?" I asked, trying to mask my concern.

  "It can be a little tricky sometimes," he said coolly. "No biggie."

  All six bikers simultaneously slithered off their bikes and started strolling towards us. One had a long, braided goatee, another was bald with a drooping mustache that covered his mouth. Another had a face completely covered in tattoos. One wore a sleeveless leather vest covered in patches, while one wore a spiked helmet. And then there was Bandana, who seemed to be the gang’s mouthpiece. Wearing faded leather and ripped denim adorned with chains and spikes, they seemed more dangerous than any other bikers I'd seen before. And every step across the potholed asphalt they took made my heart pound harder and faster.

  I gripped onto Jax even more tightly and he kicked down on the bike’s starter again.

  This time there was only a soft click, and it sounded as if something important was broken. I gulped.

  "Boss didn't say he was inviting over any fine-ass foxes tonight," Bandana said as he rubbed his chubby belly. "But I can't say I don't like it."

  My skin crawled at his skeeviness. Why the hell are these guys bothering us? We weren’t there to bother any of them. Jax was right, maybe if we just ignored them, they'd leave us alone.

  "Everything okay, Jax?" I asked softly, trying to ignore the approaching thugs, but the quiver in my voice betrayed my nervousness.

  "Everything's fine." His voice was sharp and low, but he thankfully didn't sound discouraged.

  "Everything sure don't sound fine," Bandana said as he led the gang towards Jax’s stalled bike. "Tell you guys what. We'll entertain the fine lady while you go take a walk. Maybe you'll luck out and find a mechanic to fix up your Big Wheel."

  I felt Jax's body flex up at the guy's words. "My bike’s fine," Jax said back to him. "We’ll be out of here in a second."

  The bikers let out spine-chilling laughs as they stopped in the street and formed a semicircle around the bike. Up close under the streetlamp, they seemed even more intimidating. They all had faces made for mugshots, with wild eyes that seemed to act like radars for mindless violence. I could make out a big patch they all wore on their chest of a skeleton in a purple hooded robe clutching a sickle with one bony hand and a naked lady with the other. It had the words The Reapers written beneath it.

  My stomach twisted. We needed to get out of here now.

  "Hurry, Jax," I cried, patting his arm.

  "I’m trying," Jax replied. He was beginning to sound frustrated. Once again, he turned the key and kicked the lever, but the bike failed to start.

  "See kid, the thing is," said Bandana, "the cops don’t come around here, so we gotta solve our own problems. And when little shits like you start snooping around, that means we got ourselves a problem on our hands. So, first things first, we’re gonna hold you two under a citizen’s arrest and give this little tart here a thorough strip-search."

  "Back off," Jax barked.

  Bandana took a mean swig on a bottle of booze, but kept his beady black eyes trained on Jax. He pulled away the bottle, wiped off his scruff, and said, "What the fuck you say to me? Who the hell you think are, trying to boss me around? We just told you that we’re in charge around here. Looks like we’re gonna have to teach you how to respect the local authority."

  His threat sounded real, and I feared if Jax didn’t get the bike started a fight was going to break out.

  The thugs started tightening the semicircle around us. The thug wearing the spiked helmet whipped something out of his pocket and started flailing it around, making metallic clinking sounds with it. His hand stopped moving and a piece of metal protruded from his fist. I gasped when realized it was a butterfly knife.

  Jax suddenly leapt off the motorcycle and grabbed my arm, pulling me off with him. My heart felt like it was pounding in my throat. I held onto Jax as we stepped away backwards, not wanting to take our eyes off the thugs. They blocked off the street and sidewalk, and the only direction available to us was back toward the trailer homes of Jax’s youth.

  Jax shielded me with his arm as we backed up. "Stay close, Riley."

  "Look, we don't want any problems," Jax said, "but if you think you're going to start something, we're sure as hell going to finish it."

  I pulled on his arm and whispered, "I think we can make a dash for it if we head to the left."

  His dark eyes darted to the side and he nodded slightly.

  He nudged me, and we turned and hurried past the left edge of the thugs’ semicircle, as I snugly held onto Jax’s strong arm. I held my breath, hopeful we’d make it past these thugs and their bullshit.

  I suddenly felt a hand wrap around my arm, yanking me back.

  "Leave me the fuck alone!" I shouted as I spun around and tried twisting my arm free from the biker with the gross face tattoos. I lashed out like a caged animal and tried kicking him in the balls, but he dodged my foot.

  Like a flash of lightning, Jax's arm shot out and clocked the guy, sending him staggering back. I tried to stop myself from trembling in fright, but I knew these guys were going to be seriously pissed.

  "Stay there, Riley," Jax said, stepping forward and forming a human barrier between the bikers and me.

  "Looks like we gotta teach you some manners now," Face Tattoos said. He cracked his knuckles and spit blood. "We're gonna fucking break you in half now. And if you're lucky, we'll even let you watch what we do to her."

  They all swarmed closer in on us as an anxious shaking rippled through my body. Jax reached beyond me and held out his hand. He turned his head back quickly and whispered, "Keep trying to start the bike, I'll draw them away."

  I reached in his hand and found the motorcycle keys.

  Spiky Helmet swirled around his butterfly knife. Jax got into a fighting stance and drew them out further into front yard, away from the street and the bike. The glint of the streetlight reflected off the blade’s sharp edges and a panicked breath caught in my throat.

  Holding up the knife, Spiky Helmet charged at him. Jax stood tall until the last possible second before sidestepping the charging biker. But he left his foot out and tripped the thug. It sent the biker’s helmet flying off as he fell forward. His chin smacked off the sidewalk and scraped against the concrete, leaving behind a trail of blood.

  I yelped at the cracking sound of jaw hitting concrete. No. I had to keep cool and get this bike started so we could get out of here. I slammed the keys into the ignition and gave the throttle and gave the pedal a vicious kick. A weak sputtering sound came from the engine, even worse than before.

  Shit!

  Turning towards the fight, I saw Jax leap forward and tackle one of the bikers. He held down the thug with one hand and pummeled his face as the other bikers rushed towards him.

  Even though I knew I had to keep trying with the bike, I wasn't going to let Jax take on the thugs alone. Looking around for something I could use to my advantage, I noticed that next to the street was a gravel driveway filled with sharp heavy rocks. I hustled over, squatted down, and held up the bottom of my blouse, filling it with as many rocks as I could fit into it and then quickly ran back to the bike and tried the starter pedal again. This time, the engine rumbled more loudly, but still didn't start

  Over on the front yard, the burly bald biker ripped Jax off his buddy, and him and Jax wrestled around in the dirt of the front yard as the other bikers kicked them.

>   I picked out a jagged rock from my blouse, took aim at the bikers, and launched it. Miss. I did it again. Miss. Everyone was moving around so fast that it made it difficult to hit them.

  I whipped another rock and finally managed to hit the guy with the long braided goatee in the eye. He clutched his face as blood splurted out.

  I stepped closer and hurled a handful of rocks at the bikers. They rained down like meteors, nailing a few guys in the head.

  Bandana turned and saw me. "Now you think you’re tough shit?" He threw his bottle of booze at me.

  I ducked and the rocks fell out of my blouse as the incoming bottle went twirling over my head, landing in the front yard a few feet away.

  Howling and grunting, Jax went absolutely apeshit on Bandana. Thankfully he was beating them so badly, they all forgot about me.

  Frantic, I tried the bike again, panic rising in my chest. Nothing. Dammit! When were we going to catch a break?

  Jax was still holding his own against the bikers, but they just kept getting right back up and going at him. They must’ve been so drugged up that they weren’t feeling any of the pain Jax was dishing out.

  I knew Jax was a fighter, but I didn’t know how much longer he could keep fending them off. He wasn’t superhuman. Yet there he was, with blood splattered all over his white tank top like a butcher after a hard day’s work.

  The bike didn't seem like it wanted to cooperate and I didn't know if Jax could hold out forever. Even though I didn't have my purse or pepper spray with me, I wasn't going to sit on the sidelines and watch these animals beat the man I loved to death.

  I distantly registered the word love in my mind before adrenaline surged into me as I rushed towards the bikers.

  A loud rumbling sound suddenly filled the humid air and I stopped in my tracks. I turned and saw an old beat-up Cadillac with a fucked up muffler spewing smoke out the back. It stopped in the street by the row of bikes with its headlights illuminating the fight.