Frost (EEMC)

by Hunter, Bijou

  Nodding, I back out of the elevator. He removes his foot, allowing the doors to shut on the sexiest man alive. I turn immediately and rush to Amity.

  “I knew it,” she whispers loudly while bouncing around as if she saved up all her crazy for this exact moment. “I mean, no offense to Lowell, but there was no way you hot for him over Conor. That’s just not remotely possible in any universe.”

  I run my RFID key fob in front of the reader, and our door unlocks. Soon, we’re inside the glamorous two-bedroom apartment. I hang my purse on the black coat stand in the corner while Amity keeps smiling at me.

  “I see it,” she says after we sit on the pale beige couch. “Your eyes.”

  “They’re brown. So are Bronco’s and Akron’s. I bet a lot of guys have brown eyes.”

  “No, but Lowell’s brown eyes have gold flecks in them. Bronco’s don’t. Neither do Akron’s. Trust me. I’ve gotten up close and personal with them. Well, some more than others.”

  “Even Conor?”

  “Of course,” she says, holding my hand and checking my recently painted nails. “Should I apologize?”

  “No. I never see him act sexually with anyone.”

  “He’s been very well behaved since you arrived, but he wasn’t celibate before. Want me to tell you how he is in bed?” she asks, with a devious light to her blue eyes.

  “No. I’d rather it be a shocking surprise.”

  Amity smiles softly. “Topanga slapped you,” she says, caressing my cheek.

  When I first moved in with Amity, I hadn’t known what to make of how affectionate she was to me. I’d never had anyone touch me like she did without expecting to fuck. Jena explained Amity grew up without boundaries. Suffering a childhood without owning her body definitely explains why Amity often cries at night.

  “I wish I did everything differently,” I share with a girl I barely know yet am already attached to. “But I messed up when I first got here, and I never knew how to fix it. Like could I just walk up to Lowell and admit what my mom said? Or should I go to his house so it’d be more private? In the end, Lowell wouldn’t have been happy no matter how it went down.”

  “Lowell doesn’t like people to notice him,” Amity explains while still holding my hand. “Bronco steals all the attention. Then, Anders arrived, and he’s gigantic. While people see the boss and the titan, Lowell hides in the background, keeping score. Also, his old lady draws all the attention away from him normally. Tonight, he probably felt on display.”

  “I can’t blame him for being upset.”

  Stroking my hand, Amity shrugs. “He’s the one with the power. Seems like he might be in a better position to be the better person.”

  I smile and admit, “I used to imagine him hugging me when he found out. Like he was upset over missing out by not knowing me.”

  “How come your mom never told him?” Amity asks as her blue eyes study my face as if once again memorizing every feature.

  “Needy told another bunny that she was pregnant. Nothing about who the baby’s dad might be. That girl ran to one of the old ladies who threatened Mom. Also, Needy heard about another girl who got pregnant and was disappeared by the club. She decided not to stick around and push her luck.”

  Amity studies the black coffee table as if she’s looking for clues. “I heard that story, too. Messy Bessie was a slob with big tits who hooked up with the club when they were first founded. I’ve heard versions where she was Rooster’s favorite and others where she was Akron’s. When she got pregnant, she thought the baby daddy would protect her. In some versions, the old ladies killed Bessie, and the men didn’t know. In others, the Executioners killed Bessie,” she explains and then adds, “Who would have threatened Needy? This was before Topanga. Lowell never had any other wives, so the old lady wasn’t his.”

  “I don’t know. My mom kept her secrets,” I say, sounding too defensive. “Her parents beat the crap out of her. She ran from problems and threats. I mean, that wasn’t dumb, right? You’re not supposed to stick around when there’s trouble. So, when the old ladies threatened her, she got scared and ran away. I bet she planned to come back when I was born, but things get complicated. Like returning with a baby to a place where she no longer belonged probably seemed dangerous.”

  Amity presses my hand against her cheek. “If I got pregnant, I’d be scared. I know that Bronco raised his daughters, and he didn’t punish their mothers. But there’s a lot of pressure not to be a drain on the club. And Bronco was also single when he knocked up those bunnies and then Lana. On an average day, I’m more scared of the old ladies than the club guys. So, I understand why your mom left. And why you were scared to speak up. People lash out without thinking. And these aren’t regular people. They can disappear troublemakers.”

  Amity sets my hand on my lap and then strokes my head. “And it’s not like we can complain. We aren’t here to whine. We exist to party and be fun. In exchange, we get a nice apartment rent-free and good-paying jobs. Like I waitressed before starting here, and I never made what I do at Rooster’s. So, I’m not complaining.”

  Amity’s troubled expression bothers me. She thinks I might rat her out. My rutting nature insists I make nice with those around me. I can do what I’m told as long as no one fucks with me too much. In every situation, I try to adjust to my surroundings.

  And in my new life, Amity is my closest friend. Not only because we share an apartment. I like how silly she gets when stoned and the way she always asks if I need anything when she goes to the kitchen. Some of the girls find her clingy, but Amity charmed me quickly. That’s why I reassure her by cuddling closer.

  “I like it in Elko. Living here with you and waitressing, it’s comfortable. I probably wouldn’t have said anything for months if Topanga hadn’t forced the issue.”

  Reassured that I’m not bothered by her earlier warning about the club’s rules, she relaxes again.

  “I worry about when I get too old,” Amity shares. “I’m not smart like Jena. I can’t be anyone’s assistant or manage stuff. Besides, she’s already doing that job. What happens to me once my time as a bunny is up? Other girls get married. A few ended up as honeys. I’m just going to end up alone. I can’t even get a cat because I’m allergic.”

  I don’t know why Amity is dumping all this on me right now. She’s normally upbeat. That’s why her nighttime sobbing moments initially startled me. She’s a sweet background girl who gets along with people but never makes a strong impression.

  “You won’t be alone because you’re beautiful,” I say, not really thinking of a good answer. “Beautiful women have more options.”

  “But I’ll be old.”

  “How old?”

  “Thirty.”

  “That’s not old for normal people. For bunnies and strippers and shit, sure, but normal people aren’t old at thirty. You’ll have money saved up, and you’ll find a guy who thinks you’re hot. Then, you won’t be alone. And maybe you can get a bird or a dog or something.”

  Amity grins, making her freckled nose crinkle. “Even if Lowell isn’t happy, Conor was holding your hand in the elevator. I’ve never seen him act like that with a girl. You know, like he’s dating. He knows you’re special even if Lowell doesn’t.”

  Her words hit me in just the right spot. Smiling like a fool, I say, “Conor and I are going out to lunch tomorrow. Or maybe dinner. I just know we’re getting sandwiches.”

  Amity’s expression shifts so radically that I flinch at the switch. “His mom is nuts. Not just wacky, but really crazy. It runs in the Parrish family. That’s what killed Conor’s grandmother. She thought someone was chasing her, so she started driving wildly to get away. The poor thing slammed into a tree or wall or something. But no one was even chasing her. Barbie isn’t that bad, but Conor is always making sure she’s okay. I see him at club functions, keeping an eye on her. Almost like he’s the parent, not her. It’s really sweet.”

  Despite smiling at the thought of Conor’s protective natur
e, I wonder if his mother is the real reason he’s drawn to me. Is train wreck the only kind of love he knows?

  CONOR

  Though I try to sneak into my house through the side door, Mom is waiting for me. Barbie’s tanned face is stuck on paranoid bitch. Her blue eyes flare with irritation. Her blonde hair is wild, even pulled into a ponytail. Despite her natural beauty, she looks crazy right now. Since my mother is of average height, she often gets on her tiptoes to intimidate people. I never understand why she thinks that’ll work with me, even if I wasn’t six three.

  “Did you know?” she demands, placing her hands on her hips.

  “I suspected. Didn’t you?”

  “Never.”

  “Did you really think Monroe found Lowell hotter than me?” I ask, turning around for her inspection. “All this hot young delicious goodness versus that old guy with the beard.”

  “Well, you’re not wrong,” Mom says, settling down a little as my logic takes hold. “But, weeks ago, Bronco did make a strong case for her wanting a sugar daddy.”

  “Well, he was wrong.”

  Barbie narrows her eyes. “I don’t like it.”

  “You claim Bronco’s wrong all the time,” I say, messing with her wild hair.

  “No, I don’t trust this girl. She’s dangerous.”

  “Do you remember her mother, Needy Hobbs?”

  “I don’t keep track of the bunny hos.”

  Walking to the fridge, I grab a root beer. “Technically, wasn’t that your job before Jena took over two years ago?”

  “Not back when Miss Lying Cunt’s mother was a bunny. Back then, I don’t know if anyone was in charge of them. They just did whatever.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Believe what you want,” she nearly hisses.

  “Why are you upset?”

  Shrugging, Mom struggles to answer. “I don’t like her.”

  “Yeah, because I do. You’re afraid she’ll steal my heart, and you’ll end up alone.”

  “I like being alone,” Mom mutters, taking away my drink before realizing she doesn’t know what she’s doing and hands it back. “That’s why I’m always pushing you to move out.”

  “You’ve never pushed me once.”

  “I do it subtly.”

  Chuckling, I can’t imagine what Barbie envisions as her being subtle. “Well, the Monroe issue isn’t really your problem, then, is it?”

  “She’s a whore.”

  “All women are.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Sure, sure,” I say, waving off her chastity claim. “You got around plenty before Dad.”

  “Who the hell told you that?”

  “You did,” I say, sitting in our two-story family room with the wooden beam above. “Your whispering skills are awful. I can hear you from across the house.”

  Mom flops onto the couch next to me. “What if she’s not Lowell’s? What if Bronco made another bastard girl? That’d make her blood to you.”

  “I’m okay with that. If Monroe and I stick, we’ll adopt kids rather than birth inbred weirdos. I don’t know if she even wants babies, and I’m in no hurry. Plus, you’ve said more than once how being a grandmother doesn’t interest you.”

  “No, not after Bambi’s shithead brat grandson. He called me fat the other day.”

  “What did you call him?”

  “Ugly,” she says and then grins. “Little fucker started it. I’m not standing down for a seven-year-old. He’s lucky I didn’t slug him.”

  “You seem tense tonight,” I say, patting her hand. “Vibrator in the repair shop?”

  Mom laughs hard at my question. “I’m going to miss you when you run off with that lying whore.”

  “I’ll miss you, too. Like probably not as much as you expect, but ditching your ass will definitely give me the feels.”

  “I raised you well,” she says and sighs. “If Monroe ain’t bullshitting about who knocked up her whore mother, then I guess she’ll need to be introduced around the Woodlands and moved out of the slut complex.”

  “We’ll see. She seems to like living there.”

  “That apartment is for whores.”

  Nudging her as she sits too close and tries to fix my flawless hair, I say, “Jena hasn’t sucked any dicks in a year, but she still lives there.”

  “I was under the impression she still agreed to backdoor action with Hoagie.”

  “No, I just started that rumor to upset his old lady.”

  “Good boy,” Mom says and pats my hand.

  “So, do you really not remember Needy Hobbs?”

  “I don’t care about those bitches’ names.”

  “It’s a pretty unique name. I’d think you’d remember.”

  “This was back when? Twenty-some years ago? I had a baby underfoot, and Bambi’s shithead kids were always around. Bronco needed tending to. I was busy.”

  “Well, Bronco was in his early twenties, which is when a man most needs his sister’s guiding hand.”

  Grinning, she playfully elbows my chest. “Smartass.”

  “If Needy got pregnant twenty-two years ago, who would have scared her off if not Lowell?”

  “Me or your aunt.”

  “But you don’t remember Needy?”

  Maybe sensing how she could have screwed Lowell out of knowing his kid, Mom shrugs. “I don’t remember a lot of shit.”

  “What would you have threatened?”

  “To make her disappear.”

  “Did the men know you did that?”

  “I can’t imagine they’d care.”

  “But those were their kids.”

  Mom rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically at my gullibility. “You saw Bronco welcoming Carina into his house and acting all happy to be a fucking dad. But Bronco didn’t jump for joy over Summer, and he was hoping Sidonie was Hoagie’s kid before they did the blood tests. Sure, he eventually got on board with playing daddy. But that shit wasn’t something those men wanted, especially if they were married.”

  Unable to respond, I can imagine my mother scaring Needy out of Elko. Monroe’s life took a wrong turn, and my family is likely the reason.

  “Don’t go sullen brat on me,” Mom mutters.

  “If she’s Lowell’s daughter, he missed out on two decades of her in his life.”

  “If he had that kid around, he might not have met Topanga or had Dunning. His life turned out fucking fine, Conor.”

  “But her life didn’t.”

  Mom waves off my comment and stares out the back doors to the dark night. “Spilled milk and all that shit. Don’t you always tell me not to obsess over stuff?”

  I think to mention how I’m not the one suffering from a mental illness. Or how she only takes her pills because Bronco put his foot down when Lana and Carina were in danger. My mother is actually the bad guy in many people’s lives.

  Of course, I don’t tell her that now. Barbie Parrish Jessup isn’t an easy woman to love, and I’m one of the few people who actually care. Kicking her ego won’t solve anything, anyway. She refuses to take responsibility for her bullshit. To this day, she thinks Bronco overreacted to her attack on Lana. No way will she feel guilty over assigning Monroe to a life of poverty and suffering. I don’t know my girl’s details yet, but there’s no way she grew up safe and happy. And that’s on Mom and Aunt Bambi.

  “Did any girl ever come up pregnant and say it was mine?” I ask after a long silence.

  “No.”

  “If that ever happens, don’t scare her off. I want to know my kid.”

  “Big talk now, but wait until some slut wants to raise your kid.”

  Again, I keep my mouth shut. My words would hurt Mom, but she understands how my silence is a dig at her, too. The longer I sit here, saying nothing, the more she knows I think poorly of her. Contrary to what the club guys and their wives believe, I’m no one’s emotional punching bag. My mom fucks with me plenty, but I know how to poke her right back. I’m just sneakier, meaning I g
et the payoff without the guilt trip or consequences.

  That’s my problem, though. I tend to analyze issues until the answers lose all meaning. I’m doing the same with Monroe—treating her like a dilemma to dissect rather than a person to know. Much of my hesitation comes from worrying she couldn’t live up to my fantasies about her. Not to mention, I worried about the ribbing and consequences of realizing she and I weren’t going to work. How does one un-call dibs on a bunny without looking like a fool?

  My life involves too much waiting, analyzing, and worrying. I’ve lost the impulse to take charge and chance fucking up. I got a taste of that rash side of myself while hunting the Killing Joes with Aja. Yet, I returned to Elko and fell back into my old bad habits.

  I need to accept Bronco won’t retire until I’m too old to care. I’ll never become the president of the Elko Executioners Motorcycle Club. And Monroe might be the opposite of everything I need. Those are the hard facts, but I need to own them and face the consequences of what they mean.

  Tomorrow, I’ll start risking everything.

  MONROE

  The word ‘grumpy’ doesn’t do my mood justice. All night, I tossed and turned. My mind replayed my life’s crappy parts. Then, I imagine learning my father isn’t Lowell and my mother’s been wrong—or lying—for two decades. I actually see the test results and feel the shock and disappointment. My brain swears I need to prepare, but my heart needs a break from worrying.

  Finally, I force myself to count down from a hundred while imagining myself back on Conor’s motorcycle. I zero in on every little detail—the heat from his body as I wrapped my arms around it, his rich male scent, the feel of his shirt’s fabric against my cheek, the powerful engine’s rumble between my legs. Yeah, that finally does it, and I crash hard.

  But morning arrives too soon, and I wake to an alert on my phone. Topanga sends a nearby testing clinic’s address. She says my appointment is at ten while Lowell’s is at eight.

  “I don’t think the test comes back that fast. It won’t be like Maury,” Amity explains while sipping her black coffee later.