by S. C. Adams
I join him in masturbation, rubbing my hand between my legs. What isn’t a secret is just how wet this man can make me without any effort at all.
14
Damon
I wake up the next day, still hard as hell from Noelle. Her text and picture messages would keep me fueled for months on end… she is simply stunning. After pleasuring myself to her again, I take a quick shower and get dressed with the intent of doing nothing.
I’m not expecting any visitors, so I’m put on edge when I hear a knock at my door before noon. I look out the window to the street and see it: a police cruiser with flashing lights on. They’re here.
I decide to go without a fight or a fuss. I’m being brought in for questioning without being told specifically why. I put on the right amount of coy with bemused irritation. Unlike a lot of fellow bikers, I don’t immediately overreact when cops get involved in my business. I find that it gets things done much quicker and easier, and before you know it you’re back on the road.
They escort me to a small, cramped dark interrogation room toward the back of the police station. They’re trying to intimidate me, but their little manipulation schemes aren’t working on me. A clear conscience floats on air, and that’s what I’ve got. I’m grinning and chilling the whole time.
They keep me waiting in the room alone for twenty minutes. I wonder who all is watching me from behind the door or behind the glass. I play out all the questions they’re going to ask me in my head, so I don’t mind that they’re taking their time. They’re not scaring me; I’m scaring them.
Two police detectives finally walk in, both sour-faced and determined to scoop the answers out from my head. They sit down across from me, staring at me with unblinking, squinted stares.
“Morning, Mr. Abrams,” says the cop on the right. “My name is Detective Fox, and this is Detective Raver.”
“Howdy,” I say.
“We just have a few questions we need to ask you,” says Raver. “I hope you don’t mind and can afford to take the time.”
“No trouble at all,” I say. “Ask me anything.”
My invitation is taken with great aplomb. They not only ask me every question they can think of regarding me and past cases they know little about, but they keep interjecting with:
“Who started that fire?” “You know who burned down Tom Wright’s place?” “We hear guns were going off that Sunday morning—know anything about it?” “Why would Wright and his gang want to start a turf war with you and your gang?” “What do you have planned for them next?” “Just tell us which of your guys started the fire and we can leave you and the Rolling Heads alone.”
It’s clear to me through all their obvious, limp-dick, ineffectual questions that they know nothing. They’re hoping I’ll say something stupid or slip up. It’s odd to me that the police haven’t even mentioned the cameras in Wright’s clubhouse yet—which makes me think… were the cameras even on? Or working?
“People saw all you guys riding off during the exact same time and day as the fire—what’s that about?” “Were you pissed that they were taking away a lot of your customers at work? Was this business?” “Kace seems like a really loyal guy… he’s a smoker, likes to light up… he like burning things?” “Where were you guys heading that morning?”
All the Rolling Heads think with a hive mind. We all have our stories straight, our alibis all in sync, and our attitudes never waver.
I don’t even need to confront the cops on it to know: there’s no evidence of me, or anyone else from the group, being at the clubhouse the morning it got burned down. My conclusion is locked, and I know the police are grasping at flimsy straws.
“We get that your loyalty is to your club,” says Raver. “We understand that you have to deny everything we’re saying.”
“I’m not denying anything. We attacked no one.”
“We understand that you feel you need to protect your little gang no matter what,” Raver presses. “But this will get back to you. Lying to officers isn’t a wise thing to do, Damon.”
“I completely agree,” I reply. “That’s why I’m not lying to you. It is strange to me how you want to protect the Hell-Snakes so badly.”
“We’re protecting the public from scum like you and the Hell-Snakes,” snaps Fox. “Stop wasting our time, Abrams!”
I stayed onboard the denial train for a solid hour of questioning. Once the hour concludes, the detectives step out of the room and lock me alone in the room once again. I’m becoming more annoyed than anything.
They were right about one thing: I do have to protect my gang. The only thing I care about is that the Rolling Heads keep on rolling, and that the people I care about can go about living their lives without being harassed by police or criminal. And I don’t trust anyone to take care of my Hell-Snake problem besides myself. I’ve known from the beginning that I’d always have to handle all the important things myself, and I’m optimistic, because I have the best gang.
After another ten minutes goes by, I slide out from under the table and stand up on my feet, looking around, waiting for someone to come back in.
I look to the camera in the corner of the ceiling and smirk.
“You’re wasting everybody’s time,” I say into the camera. “Quit jerking off and go after the real bad guys.”
Soon after, Raver and Fox return inside to glare at me.
“What up?” I ask them. “Am I being arrested or what?”
“We just came in here to tell you that you’re free to go,” said Fox.
“Boy, the way you boys were talking, it sure sounded like you were ready to convict me and throw away the key,” I chuckle. “So, I’m free to go?”
“Yes,” says Raver.
“Okay, I’m leaving, then.” I immediately walk past them and out of the room.
“Stick around!” Raver calls after me. “Don’t leave town.”
I turn and ask in a casual tone, “How do you spell ‘Raver’? Is it like it sounds? R-A-V-E-R?”
Neither of them say anything, and that’s the point.
I smile, and as I’m walking out I say, “You’ll be hearing from me!”
While chilling at the clubhouse later that day, I summon the courage to call Noelle again, hopeful. To my surprise and delight, she actually answers.
“Hello?” she says.
“Hi! Sorry, I… guess I didn’t expect you to actually pick up.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you… How’s your day going?”
“It could definitely improve.” I chuckle. “I could use some time with you, and I don’t care if it’s only for twenty minutes. Are you busy tonight?”
“I… why do you ask?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to meet for dinner tonight,” I tell her. “If you weren’t feeling like a big meal, we could meet down by the pier and have something light. Maybe we could watch the sunset together or something.”
“That sounds really lovely,” says Noelle. “But, I have to be honest… I’m really not feeling well. To be honest, I don’t really feel like leaving my place. I can barely go faster than a stroll and I end up throwing up.”
“Damn, girl,” I say. “What do you think it could be?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line before I get my response.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “I just don’t think I can make it out tonight, sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Is there anything I can do?”
“Don’t get arrested,” says Noelle. “Ask me to dinner another time.”
“You know, I can’t help but get the feeling that I’m being avoided,” I say slowly. “I won’t be angry or upset if you wanted to call things off.”
“I don’t want to call things off, Damon,” she assures me. “I’m not avoiding you at all. I’ve just been sick a lot lately.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of breaking some gangster biker’s heart.” I chuckle. “I can handle it.”
“That isn’t it
at all,” she says. “I want to see you again soon. I just want to feel good when I see you. I can’t exactly have fun with you when I can barely move. I haven’t showered in a day—”
“We don’t have to mess around,” I say. “We can just watch TV and chill. You don’t have to be afraid of getting me sick. I’ve got the immune system of a god.”
“I just want to get better at home for a while, okay?” she finishes. “Can we talk again later?”
After we hang up, I notice several pairs of eyes in the clubhouse gawking.
“Got anything to say, gentlemen?”
“What’s Noelle come down with?” Kace asks.
“I’m not sure,” I reply. “She just said she feels terrible and doesn’t want to move. She’s being really weird all of a sudden. I don’t get why she’s acting this way.”
“Maybe she’s pregnant,” he says.
I burst out laughing, finding the suggestion preposterous.
“I wrap it up, man. And I pull out.”
“Those ways ain’t always effective, bud,” he points out. “You never know.”
If either Kace or I knew just how prophetic his theory was, I would have surely become more alarmed than ever before. As it was, my mind returned to business.
Wednesday came and went, as did Thursday—anxiously waiting for something to happen—and Friday brought a major thunderstorm with it. The heavy thunder and rain represent well the conflict and change going on in and around me.
I sit by the entrance to the clubhouse, door open, wind and rain sweeping past us, contemplating it all. I’m aware that one day soon, something has to happen. Either the police are going to move in on someone, or the Hell-Snakes and the Rolling Heads would see combat yet again—and there would likely be mass casualties unlike anything Miami has seen in years. Turmoil.
Kace joins me, a strange look imprinted on his face.
“What’s up?” I ask him.
“Nothing,” he says. “You talk to Noelle at all since Wednesday?”
“Unfortunately not. I don’t want to come off desperate or clingy. That’s chick stuff.”
“I’m thinking maybe you two should get back together,” he says.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well… as you know, I’ve been seeing her friend Sabrina from time to time,” he says slowly. “She… well, she says that Noelle wants to see you. And… that she’s sick, and that it would be easier if you went to her place.”
“What did she say? Sabrina, I mean?”
“She said a lot, actually,” he chuckles. “She’s not avoiding you. You just need to be assertive and get over there.”
“I’ve been plenty assertive,” I say bitterly. “She’s told me that she wants to be alone. If I just show up to her place, won’t that come off like… stalker-ish?”
“Just tell her you wanted to come by and check on her,” Kace suggests. “You two are too stubborn. Just go fucking see her—man up.”
I punch Kace in the shoulder as I stand to leave. I’m going to go straight to her place. First, I’m going to get on my bike and ride down Ocean Avenue to think about what all I’m going to say to Noelle when I get there. I can’t figure out why I’m putting so much thought into what I would say to her, but it probably looks completely obvious to Kace and everyone else around us why we’re putting so much thought into each other.
15
Damon
I show up to Noelle’s apartment with some soup and crackers, unsure if it will cure what isn’t sitting well in her stomach but willing to give it a try. I linger by the front door for a few moments, feeling an odd nervousness that I haven’t before.
I knock on the door, just loud enough that she’d hear it if she was in the living room. If she was asleep in bed, I wasn’t going to wake her up.
Fortunately, she’s not asleep. She opens the door, shocked to see me.
“Damon,” she gasps. “What are you doing here…?”
“Hi, Noelle,” I say bashfully. “I brought you some soup and crackers. I figured if your stomach was bothering you, it would feel better to eat this than something… solid, I guess? Either way, I hope you like it.”
I hand her the soup and crackers, and she appears delighted.
“I’m sorry, I’m just surprised to see you!” she says. “Thank you so much for this. It smells amazing. What is it, I can’t tell…?”
“Broccoli cheddar. It’s really good. I’ve had it a lot. It tastes great when you’re sick. It tastes better with white bread, but crackers are really good in it, too.”
The thunder returns. Lightning can be seen in the distance. Oddly enough, there is also a storm raging behind Noelle’s eyes. I’m trying to read her desperately, but to no avail. Something really is going on with her…
“I really can’t believe you’re here.” She chuckles. “I just… what made you come by like this?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” I answer. “I’m not sure why, I just… I don’t like hearing you when you’re sick. It made me worried about you.”
“That is incredibly sweet,” she says, beaming. “I am okay, but… this actually should hit the spot. I’m going to go eat it right now.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy it.”
“Would you like to come in?”
Happily, I step into her apartment before I can even finish my sentence. “Absolutely. I would love to.”
I take a seat with her at the kitchen table, allowing her to eat and savor the food I brought her. I indulge in a cracker or two myself.
“I’m feeling better already,” she says cheerfully.
“I’m glad you like it. So, do you know what’s got you sick?”
She bites her lip, avoiding my gaze while she responds.
“I’m really stressed out,” she says. “There’s a lot going on.”
“Anything you’d like to talk about?”
She blushes before she nervously giggles. “Not really.”
“Well, what’s something you would like to talk about?”
She looks back up at me. We stare into each other’s eyes, both contemplating what routes our conversation could take.
“I want to know what your dreams are,” says Noelle. “Tell me something about you that I don’t know. In like… ten years, where do you see yourself?”
“Oh, is this a job interview?” I laugh.
“I just wanted to know more about you. Have you always just wanted to run a gang?”
“Well, not just a gang,” I stress. “I wanted to run the gang that my father ran. I always looked at helming the Rolling Heads as part of the ‘family business.’”
“What made your father want to run the Rolling Heads?”
“He started the Rolling Heads with Kace’s dad back in the ’80s,” I explain. “First it was just a bunch of guys riding bikes, looking tough and getting girls on the beach. Then, other guys with different bikes and different jackets would come in and start trying to take what was theirs. People are constantly trying to destroy the Rolling Heads, purely because they’re jealous that we get our way no matter what. It’s like that term—‘haters.’ I’ve got a bunch of fucking haters coming at me, hawks determined to kill.”
“How did that fire get started in the first place?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest,” I reply. “My boys and I went over to their clubhouse to talk with their leaders—”
“So, you were there?” She raises her eyebrows.
“We were all there,” I say. “We didn’t go there to create violence. We wanted to scare them and tell them to get lost. I have to admit, I had no idea the kind of madness we were dealing with. They were willing to burn down the entire building because it was filled with me and my men. These guys aren’t playing.”
“Do you think you might be going to jail?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I don’t think they got shit when it comes to proof. If those asshole Hell-Snakes did have proof, it would likely contradict whate
ver bullshit story they’ve been telling them. I’m still here; I’m a free man.”
“What if they find evidence?”
“They won’t,” I say with confidence. “How’s your soup?”
“It’s delicious,” she says. “Damon… can I ask you something, and please don’t freak out or run away?”
“You can ask me anything in the whole world. You can say anything to me—I’m not going anywhere.”
She hesitates for a moment before choosing her words.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asks quietly. “It doesn’t have to be a relationship. Have you ever been hopelessly head over heels for a girl before?”
“I think I’ll have to go with no.”
“Get out,” she says doubtfully. “You’re such a kind soul.”
“I have a pretty diverse soul,” I say. “Most women get scared once they get too close to me. Any woman that does get close enough is usually crazy, so I end up having to break it off.”
“That’s a shame,” says Noelle. “So, which do I fall under?”
“You tell me,” I retort. “Are you scared of me?”
“I’m scared of what you could be capable of,” she says slowly. “I don’t know what all goes into your… ‘business,’ and I probably don’t want to know. I guess… the only thing I want to know is…”
“Yes?”
“Can you even have a serious relationship?” she asks. “I mean, let’s say you fell in love. Couldn’t your rival gang use your girlfriend, wife, whatever, as a way to get to you?”
“Well… anyone could do that, couldn’t they?” I propose.
“I guess so… but, I think it’s more likely to happen in your line of work than someone that works at a candy store for a living,” she throws back.
“True,” I say with a laugh. “To be as blunt as possible: no one I care about has ever been hurt as a result of my, shall we say, extracurricular vocation.”
“Okay,” she says, seeming to accept. “I guess my next question would be… how do you feel about me?”
