Big Daddy

by Alexis Abbott

  I can’t see it any other way. She’s got to get out of here, no matter what she’s here for.

  A little after lunch time, just long enough that my own stomach is starting to growl and get me restless, she pulls into a gas station on the outskirts of town across the street from a burger joint whose freshly grilling meat makes my gut roar. I slow down as I approach, meaning to pull over behind the restaurant parking lot, but something else at the gas station gets my attention.

  Juliette has the gas nozzle in her car, but there’s a huge truck with four back tires and a set of truck nuts swinging under the hitch at the one opposite her. Standing around it are four local guys, probably none of them older than twenty, all in thick blue jeans and boots and camo long sleeve shirts. A couple of them are even wearing caps with a hunting logo on them.

  I don’t have to be close to know they’re checking her out, and I know the looks on their faces. I see one of them calling to her, and as I near the turn to pull into the gas station, I see Juliette noticeably tense up and avoid eye contact as they start to try to get her attention.

  “Hey there pretty little thing, you look friendly!”

  “Ain’t seen you before, new around here?”

  “Gonna get hot in all that black, sweetie!”

  Revving my bike as I coast into the lot while they call at her, I slowly rolled up between the two gas pumps, giving the local boys a stony glare as I came to a full stop. As my boot hits the ground, all of them have their eyes on me, and they can see my kutte just fine where they are. One by one, their faces pale at the sight of me, and after a few quick looks to each other, most of them pile back into the truck. The driver averts his eyes but gives a curt nod in my direction as he gets into his seat, and their eyesore of a ride roars off.

  I watch them go before the feeling of being watched makes me turn around.

  The gaze that met me hits harder than any of those local boys put together could have.

  She has warm brown eyes that are so dark they might be black, like everything else she’s got on her--just like everything I’ve got on me, for that matter. The slight curls that spiral at the ends of the hair that hangs well past her shoulders make me want to run my thick fingers through them and ask her whether she remembers the coal-black eyes looking back at her.

  I know she does. It’s written all over her face, in the surprised silence that hangs between us. That gaze flits all over my body, and the surprise on it isn’t the same kind of surprise as when you see a stranger. She wasn’t expecting to see me, all right, but I wonder if the memory of me has aged as well as mine of her.

  But the second she realizes she’s staring, a faint blush crosses her cheeks, and her full lips turn down in a frown as she furrows her brow.

  “You a friend of my brother’s? He didn’t send you to follow me, did he? I noticed you after the grocery store, tell Diesel he can fuck off.”

  “Friend of Diesel’s?” I ask, chuckling darkly. “Not for a long, long time.”

  The hostility in her eyes seems to fade, but she still looks suspicious. I can’t blame her. I’m not the most trusting guy myself, either.

  “So what, you know him but you’re not close?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. After a tense pause, she cracks a shadow of a smile. “Well in that case, you sound alright. Thanks.”

  I couldn’t help but snort a laugh at that, and my heart races, but she’s not so quick to warm up.

  “But then why were you following me?” she asks. “...and why do you look so familiar?”

  “So you do recognize me,” I say, and when she answers only with that steady, suspicious gaze, I nod across the street to the restaurant. “Yeah, I know Diesel. And we need to talk. Let me buy you lunch. For your trouble,” I add, nodding to where the truck nuts crew had been.

  Her gaze is hard to read for a few moments, but finally, she gives a soft nod. “Alright. Half an hour, no more. I’ve got to get back home.”

  “This place is fast,” I assure her.

  A few minutes later, she’s staring at me with a raised eyebrow across the booth at the burger joint after putting in a couple of easy orders. “Big Daddy?”

  “Didn’t choose it,” I grunt. “Long story. Besides, I’m here to talk about Diesel, not me.”

  She seems to have relaxed a little the more clear it becomes that I’ve actually got something to tell her, and that I didn’t just swoop in to snatch her up for a cheap date. That just happened to be a perk on the side.

  “Oh my god, I was joking earlier,” she says, grinning. “Does he seriously still have everyone call him that?”

  It’s hard not to laugh, despite the fact that this is a damn serious matter. Even though I’ve always known Juliette as Diesel’s sister, it never really struck me that she must know a side of him I’ve never seen or even thought possible. The Diesel I know is singlehandedly responsible for the spike in sex trafficking and murders across the Great Plains that we’ve been fighting back for months.

  The Diesel she knows might well be the boy she grew up with.

  “Yeah,” I say simply. “We use our riding names for club business.”

  “And you’d say you know my brother in a business way?” she asks, folding her arms in front of her and tilting her head to the side.

  She seems at least interested in her brother, and if that’s keeping her attention, all the better. I wonder how much they’ve kept up over the years.

  “You could say that,” I say, resting my fist in my hand as I lean on the table. “The last time you saw us together--the last night we met--was one of the last times we were in the same room together. You remember that night?”

  “Hard to forget my own eighteenth birthday,” she says smoothly with a joyless, sarcastic smile that tells me it was anything but a happy one. “My mom had guilted me into visiting him out in Table Rock on my birthday because he wouldn’t come up again that year. Yeah, I know, TMI, I’m not bitter,” she added.

  “Damn, I remember it was your birthday, but I didn’t know that,” I said with raised eyebrows.

  She seems to notice the first part of that sentence, and I could have sworn her eyes soften just a hint at it. I didn’t even think about it when I let it slip, but how could I have forgotten?

  “Yeah, my brother had...promised me a drink or two under the table,” she said, averting her eyes for a moment but hiding any more embarrassment. “Said it was practically his place, he could do whatever he wanted there.”

  “I bet he did say that,” I grunt.

  “Without mentioning making me pay for them,” she added with a tight smile that soon softened. “You were-” she stopped herself and started again. “You getting the tab was honestly the nicest surprise of the day, sad as that sounds, so thanks for that.”

  She said it almost sardonically, but she averted her eyes as she spoke and ran a hand through a lock of hair as she looked up to the two massive burgers getting carried over to us and set down in front of us, making both our eyes widen.

  I nod to the waiter, but my eyes are still on Juliette, and my heart is racing. This is almost too good to believe, but Juliette seems to remember me a lot more than I expected her to. I didn’t even know she knew I’d covered her drinks for her that night. Diesel had just been an enforcer back then, and I’d thought of him as a scummy dick for the way he treated the knockout who had walked through the doors to see him.

  Hiding how much the memory had stuck with me all these years almost made me forget the way she held my attention whenever her eyes were on me. I could have picked her up effortlessly, and I had half a mind to do so, but I felt like I was spellbound.

  “Well, happy birthday,” I say with a shadow of a gruff smile.

  A hint of color crosses her cheeks before we start eating. Despite the joking, the way she looks at me is as suspicious as I’d expect anyone to be after getting pulled into a diner with a biker my size. I can barely leave the clubhouse without the dense tattoos covering my sleeves from shoulder to wrist dra
wing looks.

  “But that was a long time ago, Juliette,” I said after we’d scarfed down enough to shut our stomachs up and slow down. “A long time. Me and my friends, we split from the Buzzsaws.”

  “And that’s...Diesel’s gang?” she asks between bites, narrowing her eyes.

  “You two don’t keep up much, do you?” I ask, and she shakes her head. “Yeah, sort of. That was the old Buzzsaws, but the new ones are worse, and they’re the ones your brother is tied to.”

  The last two words of that are a lie of omission, I’ll admit.

  How could I tell Juliette her brother is the leader of a sex-trafficking biker gang? Would I believe that about my own brother if a stranger told me? I have to measure every word carefully here. I can tell she’s not the type that scares easily.

  As a guy people call scary, I can appreciate that trait in a woman.

  “I’m not going to bullshit you, Juliette,” I say, lowering my voice in the din of the bustling diner’s lunch rush so that only the two of us can hear us talking. “The Buzzsaws are bad people. Real fucking bad. And they’re not friends with me and my people.”

  Her eyes slowly widen, and I notice her almost easy posture start to grow tense as she watches me suspiciously before swallowing a bite. “So...you’re from a rival biker gang?”

  “Easy, it isn’t what you’re thinking,” I say, holding up a large open hand. “If I had a problem with you, you’d know--I don’t. We’re having this conversation because you are in danger.”

  “Me?” is the vague sound she makes through a closed mouthful of food, looking surprised, then swallowing. “Why me? I-I’m not a biker, I don’t even know anything about this stuff. I live in Denver, I’m just visiting here to take care of my mom. She’s...not doing great,” she says, trying to sound mild, but I can sense the thick layers of stress and worry in her tone.

  They’re so strong she can barely hide them. So, she’s here to take care of family after all. That makes sense. From what I’ve kept up about her, I last heard she was working as some kind of caretaker herself. She’d be the perfect person for a sick parent to want nearby. And that explains the errands...as well as the stress that I can sense crackling around her like tight static electricity. She must be under an enormous amount of pressure.

  I can’t say I know what it’s like to have a parent to care for, but it clearly means a lot to her. That can’t change things, though. She needs to get out of here.

  “Because people who are close to the Buzzsaws get hurt, Juliette,” I say bluntly. “And you’re Diesel’s sister. That means something, more than you want to know.”

  Those last words were probably a mistake, but maybe I just have a hard time keeping the girl I’ve been waiting to talk to for seven long years in the dark.

  “Is this some kind of threat?” she asks, lowering her burger.

  “It’s a warning,” I say firmly, leaning forward. “I’m giving it to you straight because we’re both adults now, Juliette--the Buzzsaws are doing bad shit, and my people are trying to stop them. It’s going to turn hot, and we’re not the ones making the first move. They are. Including your brother,” I say slowly, so she doesn’t misunderstand a word of what I’m saying.

  Unfortunately, she doesn’t, but neither does she seem to like what I’m saying.

  “So yeah, a threat,” she says, furrowing her brow.

  “I’m trying to look out for you, Juliette,” I say, lowering my voice but putting more force behind it.

  “I don’t need anyone to look out for me,” she snaps, jabbing a thumb at herself. “I’m the one looking out for my family. It always has been, and it always will be. And look, I know you’ve got your gang rivalry or whatever, but my brother isn’t that stupid!”

  “No, he’s not,” I say, trying not to sound impatient, but the tension between us has shifted, and it’s impossible to ignore. “That’s my point, Juliette. Your brother knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s going to get you hurt. You need to go back to Denver.”

  “You don’t know what I need to do,” she says matter of factly. “I don’t even know how you found me, but what I need to do is look out for my people. Thanks for the help with the assholes, but despite your name, you’re not my daddy, so don’t act like it,” she finishes pointedly.

  You want to change that, little girl?

  The silence that hangs between us for a moment seems to have something similar on her mind too, because I see the goosebumps on her arm even though her brow is set.

  “You think your brother is your people, Juliette,” I say slowly in a low, gravelly voice. “He’s not. And you need to stay away from him.”

  “I can handle myself, thanks,” she says, getting up from her seat after wiping her hands off on a napkin and picking her purse up, glaring at me, cheeks burning. “And I can do that without some biker’s thoughts on my family.”

  She storms out of the diner, leaving me calmly watching her leave. She throws the door open and marches down to her car while I casually wipe my own hands off, toss the napkin down, and laid a $50 on the table, giving a nod to the server nearby.

  I seem to have struck a raw nerve, to put it lightly. Since Diesel was part of that nerve, that makes this a little more complicated. I don’t want to have to take more extreme measures than this. I hoped she’d see reason--one conversation with her is all I need to know she’s smart as hell, just like I remember. I’m used to women looking up at me all doe-eyed. Juliette has fire in her, and she’s not afraid to use it.

  In all the time I’d had to stew on that memory of her, I’d never been more into her than now.

  As her car roars off, I watch her go until she’s out of sight, then take my phone out of my pocket and give Tank a call.

  “Hey,” I grunt. “Listen, I need to call in that favor we talked about. This one stays between us. And you’re going to get the hard part, so take notes.”

  Juliette

  I feel like there might as well be steam coming out of my ears, I am so angry. I fume as I walk briskly out of the diner and get in my car. I jam the key in the ignition and fire up the engine, all but peeling out in my haste to put distance between myself and that jerk. I can’t believe the nerve of him, accusing my brother of being some heartless villain. Who the hell does he think he is? I have no reason to believe anything he says. He doesn’t know jack shit about my family. I almost wish I had stayed a little longer at lunch, though. Just long enough to tell him off. Instead, I just mumble angrily to myself as I make the drive home.

  “What does he know?” I grumble, shaking my head. My knuckles are white curled over the steering wheel. I force myself to take a deep breath.

  I know the truth. Right? My brother may not be the nicest guy you could ever meet. I mean, he’s been a biker for god knows how long. For all I know, that clubhouse he hangs around could be filled with rough characters who are most definitely a bad influence on him. I’m not totally naive. I’m well aware that some bikers do get into serious stuff. But not Clint. Not my brother. I can’t even entertain the idea. The cheeky bastard who rolled up to our childhood home to startle me and criticize my cooking while tracking mud through the clean house is no more than that: a cheeky bastard. He’s just another fabric in the unchanged tapestry of this town and the memories I built here. Just like the house creaks and settles the same way I remember it growing up, my brother is the same. A little rougher around the edges, worn away by years of gritting his teeth on the highway, no doubt tons of sleepless nights and hard rides.

  But I still remember the lanky beanpole he was as a teenager. The goofy, rebellious, sarcastic big brother who used to blow through the house like a tornado, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake. The loud music he used to blast from his bedroom, which shook and trembled the floors and kept me awake at night. I remember the nights when he would sneak out the window, drop down to the front yard, and run off into the dark with some of those unruly friends of his.

  So, sure. He’s no angel. But that
doesn’t mean that guy in the restaurant has any idea what he’s talking about. He seemed awfully confident about his assumptions regarding my family, which naturally pissed me off. I’ve always been the kind of girl who likes to form my own opinion. I don’t rely on what random guys tell me I should believe, even if they are ruggedly handsome, undeniably charming, and impressively muscled. Even if I can still give myself the shivers just thinking about the heat rolling off his powerful body, the faint masculine scent of him, the way his intense gaze penetrated straight through to my very soul.

  Okay, admittedly my little lunchtime chat with Big Daddy might have done more than just incense my self-righteous rage. Sitting so close to him reminded me just exactly why my fantasies tend to be studded with these big, burly biker guys. There’s just something about them that draws me in. Despite Clint’s involvement in the scene. Or maybe because of it?

  “Oof,” I murmur to myself.

  I decide not to go there. Not right now. I have other things to do. I have a relative at home who needs my help, so maybe this isn’t the best time to psychoanalyze my sexual fantasies and try to pinpoint their origins in adolescence. That’s a path to wander down some day in the eventual future when I’m not sleeping in my childhood home, in my childhood bed. Besides, it’s not like I have time to entertain a suitor or whatever. I haven’t had time for anything like love for a while now. I keep myself busy, I guess. It’s just easier that way. I’ve been let down and disappointed by too many men in my twenty-five years to give them any more opportunities.

  So I won’t let myself dwell on how badly my body aches to be closer to Big Daddy. Isn’t that basically like dating my brother anyway? I mean, he used to run with a similar crowd. I have a clear memory of him on a specific and fateful night when I was seventeen years old. Back then, I was just on the cusp of spreading my wings and taking to the sky. I was still a bird in her cage, wings kept neatly tucked down at her sides. I was trying to be a dutiful daughter, but I was fed up. I was tired of seeing the same old places, same old faces. I wanted more than my little hometown could offer, and that restlessness I probably inherited from my father pulsed hotly in my veins. I was seventeen, but teetering on the brink of eighteen.