“Someone clearly overestimated his ability this morning,” I chided.
He gave me a look that said, No shit lady.
I broke eye contact. Guilt washed over me. You sure know how to kick a man when he’s down. The barbell served as a cold hard unforgiving truth that rested on his chest. He didn’t need my two-cents.
I gritted my teeth and attempted to pull the bar again. No luck.
Where were the fucking gym staff?
With each passing second and failed attempt to lift the barbell, I started to doubt my helpfulness. When the barbell safely found its place on the ground, I would create a fuss big enough to disturb the staff’s ongoing game of Candy Crush Saga. Hell, I might even get somebody fired.
I made eye contact with the man and realigned my stance to give a better mechanical advantage. “I’m going to need some help. Lift on three?”
He nodded, his face no longer red, but a deep aubergine.
“One, two, three.” I bent my knees and used the power of my legs to pull the bar up.
Simultaneously, he pushed. The veins in his arms popped prominently to create a labyrinthine mosaic.
Finally, the bar inched upward and tilted to the left. The sound of the weights crashing to the floor barely registered above the beat of my heart.
The man sat up, his face rapidly returned to a normal color. He laced his hands behind his head and took slow deep breaths.
“Are you okay?” I crouched beside him and placed my hand on his back. “Do you want me to get someone?”
“No. No, thank you. The only thing hurt here is my ego.” He let out an embarrassed laugh and then bit his lower lip as his head shook from side to side.
“I guess you’re in luck then.” I stood up and for the first time since he called out for help, I really looked at him.
He was a magazine cover. Posed to show off his exemplary body and rugged masculinity. Long blonde hair haphazardly tied back in a man-bun. Strong jawline and cleft chin glistening with two-day old stubble. Green eyes that conjured the image of the endless sea of grass that made up the Scottish highlands. The color of his eyes alone could captivate me for days, but something else tore my eyes from his and drew me in close like a moth to a flame. An intricate pattern of tattoos covered his upper arms, snaking under his tee. I sucked in a deep breath. With one look at his ink, all of my fighting and resolve to live in the present and bury my past became useless.
His ink reminded me of the last time I ate dinner with my Dad. The last time we were a family.
***
“Have some steak. You need to put some meat on those bones.”
I stared in horror as my Dad dropped a giant slab of red meat onto my plate. “Dad, I’m a vegetarian!” I groaned. “I don’t eat meat, especially not steak dripping with blood.”
“Since when?” He stared at me through narrowed eyes. “Did your Mother put you up to this?”
“It has nothing to do with Mom,” I huffed. “I watched a PETA video on the Internet. After seeing the terrible slaughterhouse practices we have in this country, I decided to try vegetarianism.”
His eyes bore into mine. He didn’t have to speak to say: You will eat this steak. My daughter will not be a vegetarian.
I stared right back defiantly. Minutes passed with no sign that he’d back down. “You don’t actually expect that to work, do you?” I asked, breaking the silence.
He blinked.
I won.
Kind-of.
“What’s that?” He quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arm.
I had seen it too many times before. My Dad usually got his way with menacing looks alone. He rarely exerted himself by actually speaking. “You know what. Don’t act like you haven’t perfected it.”
“Are you referring to this?” He increased the scariness of his glare. “I’d say it’s pretty Damn good. Is it working?”
“No it’s not working.” I crossed my arms defiantly and leaned back in my chair. No amount of dirty looks could make me eat meat, not after I saw cows too lame to walk being carted off by tiny forklifts so they could make it to the slaughterhouse in time for dinner. No fucking thank you!
“It works on everyone else.” He grinned and put his boots up on a neighboring barstool. His posture let me know that he found this whole thing amusing. He found me amusing. “Why shouldn’t it work on you?”
I did my best imitation of his badass biker glare, replete with nose flares. The absurdity of it all garnered more than a few laughs from the club members milling about. “It doesn’t work on me, because I’m not like everyone else. As daughter of the Prez, I have immunity.”
He shook his head. “Vegetarian huh? Just promise me you’ll eat extra bunny food to make up for the lack of meat. Okay?”
“I promise.” I raised my right hand, imitating a scouts honor gesture. I never actually had the chance to be a girl scout. My Mother wouldn’t be caught dead taking me to a weekly meeting where she would have to play nice with others and exchange casserole recipes.
“Alright then.” Dad grabbed a beer and popped the cap off with the edge of the table.
I couldn’t stop grinning as I scooped a large helping of salad onto my plate. I won this battle without any major collateral damage. I doubted future battles would be so easy, especially when I asked permission to go on my first date.
“Don’t worry Jagger. It’s just a phase,” Slim chimed in, jamming a jack knife into my steak so he could transfer it onto his plate. “Until you grow out of it, I’ll have your meat.” He grinned, showing off his gold plated grill.
“Thanks.” I had fully expected to take some major ribbing from the MC brothers, especially Slim. Maybe somewhere inside his leather-clad heart he had a soft spot for animals too.
Dad cleared his throat and took another swig of beer. “Envy, why don’t you lead us in saying the blessing.”
I nodded and said our family’s version of a blessing, which consisted mostly of thanking various biker chicks for their contribution to dinner. Slim and Dad lowered their heads until I finished.
Dinner went by way too fast. I ate my salad and listened to Slim’s new stories from the road. He spun some tall tales, always far fetched, but with moments of truth.
At midnight, Dad’s parenting instincts finally kicked in. “Don’t you have school in the morning or something?”
Shit. I thought I could skate under the radar and stay up until everyone else went to bed. Since the divorce, I barely saw my Dad. When I got to stay at the MC, I vowed to maximize my time and stay awake as long as possible. Sleep was something I could do at school or Mom’s house. “Yeah, so,” I said, hoping my nonchalance was contagious.
“So?” He straightened up and put his beer down. “You need your sleep to get good grades. I’m not going to let you be a fuck up like your dear old Dad.” He stood up and pointed to the stairs. “Bed. This instant.”
“Come on,” I whined. “I don’t need excessive sleep to get good grades. My grades are perfect without even trying.” I stayed seated, hoping he would come to his senses.
“Just imagine what you could do if you tried,” he retorted, tapping his finger on my forehead.
“Please Dad, let me stay up a little longer?” I gave him puppy dog eyes. “I love spending time with you. It’s so much better here than at Mom’s.”
He sighed and rubbed his temples. I could tell he was mulling it over, weighing the pros and cons of Mom finding out that he let me stay up all night on a weekday.
“Come on Dad, please.” I stood up and hung my head, trying to appear hopeless.
“Your Mother would kill me if she found out you were even up this late.”
I shuffled toward the stairs. Right before I reached the landing, I gave one last appeal. “Tell me about your tattoos. You know, like you used to when I was a child, in lieu of a bedtime story.”
“In lieu of, huh?” He chuckled and turned to Slim. “She sure as hell didn’t get her smarts from me.”
&nbs
p; “Doubt they came from Bunny,” Slim muttered under his breath for my benefit, but I heard him anyway.
Instead of defending my Mom, I pleaded with my eyes.
“Okay.” My Dad’s smile betrayed the gruffness of his voice. “I’ll be up in five.”
“Yes!” I squealed and sprinted across the room, giving him a giant hug before skipping off to get ready for bed.
My eyes got heavier by the minute, but I held out until Dad finally made it to my room. Stress was etched in deep lines across his forehead. I heard him arguing with Nut earlier and wondered if that was the cause of his stress or if it was something else. He took a seat in the rocker near my bed and kicked off his boots.
I smiled up at him and giggled at the sight of his big toe sticking proudly out of a holy sock.
He sighed and relaxed a little, rolling up his sleeves and propping his feet on the ottoman. “This one,” he pointed to the burning skull at the top of his arm, “is the club’s symbol. Ride or Die is the code we live by.”
I smiled, familiar enough with the Hell’s Demons’ logo. When I was a child I couldn’t wait to have my own Hell’s Demons tattoo. I cried uncontrollably for a week when I found out that only men could be in the club and get the tattoo. My Dad tried to spare me the heartbreak and was pissed at the club kid who told me the cold hard truth. I had socked the kid in the face, hard. I think I even broke his nose, but I didn’t hate him. I couldn’t. He was my first love.
“And this,” he pointed to a date under the skull, “is the year I became president of the MC. This is your birth date.” He pointed to another set of numbers underneath a set of baby feet. “And the pair of green eyes on my Harley, are also a symbol of my love for you.”
“What’s that one for?” I asked, pointing to a crying eagle with a scythe in its mouth.
“That’s one I’ll tell you about when you’re older.”
***
“You like my ink?”
The man’s voice was smooth with a bite, like a tightly braided whip, it snapped me out of my daydream. I must have looked like I was channeling the mothership. I smiled, trying to cover up my momentary departure down memory lane.
His fingertips traced the pattern on his left bicep, as his eyes drifted from his tattoo to my face, stopping a few places along the way. His gaze caressed as assuredly as the skilled hands of the lover I never had but always dreamed about, betraying the innocence of the situation. His eyes penetrated, stripped away, left me naked, soul exposed. I was sure he could he see through my crumbling facade to the girl I fought to hide. Did he know her name? Everything about him beckoned to her like a siren song.
Envy liked his ink very much.
Did Anna?
Was there even a difference? I didn’t know anymore.
I crossed my arms to put some distance between us. He sparked something dangerous inside of me - a need to cling to my past, to remember. But I wanted to forget, it was the only way I knew how to move forward.
It was time to end the small-talk and part ways. A trip to my art studio and maybe even another run would straighten me out good.
I knew what I had to do, but my willpower decided to go out for lunch.
My eyes flicked back to his ink, tracing the intricate design that snaked its way around his biceps and plunged under his shirt. My brain wanted to complete the picture, to see what was hiding underneath.
Play it cool. Say goodbye now.
I dragged my eyes back to his face, trying not to look overly interested. “Yeah, it’s nice.” I smiled sheepishly and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear.
Your ink reminds me of my dead Dad.
It also turns me on.
The internal admission brought color to my cheeks and made me wish for a brick wall to hide behind.
The man said something. I didn’t hear him. He laughed, so I laughed too.
Why was I so nervous? What about this man had me so incapacitated?
Then it dawned on me. His ink also reminded me of the type of men who killed my Dad. I closed my eyes and images of my Dad’s last moments alive flashed through my mind until there was nothing left of him but a chalk outline and blood spatter. Reliving his death twice in one day jump started my heart and sent it thundering like the hoofs of a thoroughbred running down the final stretch of the Belmont. Perhaps even more powerful than my flight response, was the churning of my stomach contents, which threatened to spill out all over the rubber floor of the gym.
Forcing my eyes open, I stared at the man, half expecting him to pull out a gun and finish me off. With each passing awkward second of silence, my predicted imminent demise became less likely. I lightened up enough to stop staring at him like he was a lion about to pounce, but I didn’t totally trust him either.
“So, is this the first time you’ve had to rescue someone at the gym?” He grinned, dipping his head slightly in embarrassment as he rubbed the scruff of his neck. His hands were big, strong. I could almost feel them tracing the curve up my ass until he cupped my cheeks, hoisting me up onto his waist, where I belonged.
The errant thought sent a titter of nervous laughter escaping my mouth, startling us both. Could he sense my awkwardness? I wanted to slap my forehead. Of course he could. An agoraphobic stepping outside of her house for the first time in a decade possessed more social graces than I did.
“I would hardly call it a rescue,” I finally replied, shaking off his compliment. “It was no problem really.”
Breathe.
He’s just a man. A typical man, who overestimated his strength and needed some assistance. Not a killer. Not a Hell’s Demon. Not going to fuck you in the locker room.
For added piece of mind, I scanned his body for weapons. He appeared innocent enough, and more importantly, unarmed. Other than having an entire sleeve of tattoos, there was no real reason I should be afraid of him. Still, I couldn’t just dismiss the fear niggling at the back of my brain. The jeweled skin of an asp basking in the sun also looked pretty and innocent, until it took your life with one deadly bite. I had to find out more.
“You totally saved my ass,” he said. “But, let’s just keep it between you and me. If anyone found out, my reputation could be ruined.”
“Reputation?” I swallowed back the bile that rested in my throat.
“Biker badass.” His smile widened, showcasing perfect white teeth.
My heart stopped. Or maybe just time itself.
Coincidence? I didn’t think so.
He knew who I was.
I located the nearest exit. I could run the distance in forty-five seconds, round the building and be in my car in a minute and a half.
“What, you don’t agree?” He asked.
It took all of my willpower to stay put and see things through. If my cover were blown, I would fly out of town and never look back. But before I uprooted my entire life, I needed to know for sure. “You ride?” My voice wavered.
“Yeah, it’s part of who I am. It’s probably not everyday you meet someone like me,” he raised his eyebrows, “around here.”
“Someone like you,” I said slowly. “You mean a motorcycle enthusiast? Or someone who stacks three hundred pounds too much on the bench press?” A hired killer? Or someone from the Hell’s Demons MC?
“While both of those things may be true,” he laughed. “I was thinking more along the lines of doctoral student with more tattoos than the entire freshman class combined.”
“Oh, you’re a student.” Of course he was. This was a gym for students. Caught up in my overactive imagination, I had overlooked the most basic fact. I doubted the Hell’s Demons MC would actually have a guy get accepted into an Ivy League school just to track me down. Relief flooded my limbs, allowing me to relax for the first time since my mind went on its wild paranoia filled journey.
“I know I don’t look like a typical student. Don’t blame me. I just didn’t get the Memo.” He rested his elbows on his knees and grinned up at me like we shared a secret joke.
I grinned back at him stupidly. Maybe it was the effect of the fast dissipating adrenaline in my bloodstream, or that he appealed to the ideal male standard formed early in my childhood, but I wanted to prolong our time together and make a connection. God knew I needed one. “Memo?” I asked.
“Yeah, the one telling me to pack my salmon colored slacks, boat shoes, plaid shirts, and bow ties.”
“A very astute observation.” I giggled, remembering my first day walking around campus. I had wondered if Abercrombie and Fitch were sponsoring the school. “I’ll give you a week before you’re wearing pastels just like your fellow classmates.” I winked.
Did I just wink?
He sat up straighter and undid his man bun. The way he ran his fingers through his hair captivated, titillated, consumed.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in pastels, and you don’t look like the type either.” His gaze explored my body for the second time during our conversation, lingering on my breasts before settling back on my face.
Panty check. Black lace thong.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
“You got me,” I said. “My wardrobe is pretty much just grey and black.” I took a step closer and fought the urge to sit down next to him on the bench. His pull was gravitational. I could fight it or let myself float in his orbit for a little while longer. “So what’s your major?”
“Crop and Soil Sciences.” Pride laced his voice. “It’s kind of a family calling.”
“Following in your Father’s footsteps?” My eyes drank him in like a fine Bordeaux.
His jaw tensed, darkening his face for a split second before it relaxed. “No, my Grandfather’s.”
“Interesting, my…” husband teaches in the Crop and Soil Sciences program, “friend just graduated with a Master’s degree from the program.”
I glanced down at my left hand, grateful that my wedding ring was stashed in my gym locker. My husband, Aristotle Wharton, was cold, distant, aloof even. For all intents and purposes, our marriage was a sham, a shell of relationship perpetuated to maintain public appearances. But it served both of our needs. Aris needed arm candy for social functions and I needed a new life far away from the mean streets that I had inhabited as Envy.
Coming Undone (Club Voyeur Book 1) Page 15
