Promise Me Heaven (Reapers MC: Ellsberg Chapter Book 3)

by Bijou Hunter

  “What do you want to drink?” the guy asks, waking me from my worries.

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “After that workout,” he says, holding the door open and stepping back to gesture at the rows of cans, “you ought to get hydrated.”

  “I don’t know what we’re doing here.”

  The guy leans forward, and I instinctively step back. He might be wearing an admittedly attractive smile, and we might be standing in a public place, but I can imagine a dozen ways this man can effortlessly hurt me. If he’s part of that Reapers biker gang, no one will interfere. With his size, I couldn’t stop him even if I still had the bat.

  “See, you messed with my club brother, and that makes you my enemy,” he says and reaches into the fridge to grab a giant orange citrus Mountain Dew. “But I also get the feeling like you’re not such a bad chick, and maybe my club brother is in the wrong. So, we’re going to chill with a beverage outside while you explain why you roughed up his baby girl. Then we’ll see what we can do to settle shit between the two of you.”

  I run his words through my head twice before spotting the exit to my current situation. This tatted, muscled monster wants to help me—probably for the small fee of a blowjob or something of similar value—and I can walk away from the trouble I caused.

  “I can’t afford a drink, but I will sit outside with you.”

  “Oh, boy,” he says, chuckling as his massive hand rubs at his nearly bald head. “I think I can shell out the cash for you to get a drink. Just grab something, and we can get moving.”

  My foster mother, Laura, once said I shouldn’t take handouts because they’d make me weak. My other foster mother, Lara, claimed I should get what I could get from anyone willing to give me something. Another foster mother, Lisa, said the best things in life are free. That makes the vote two to three on whether I should accept his offer to buy me a drink.

  I lean into the fridge and grab a Coke. The caffeine probably isn’t a great idea after my earlier rage-attack, but I slept like shit last night and need help to keep me going.

  “Thank you,” I say while we stand in line. I study his bare arms, shiny from the heat. He’s handsome, but I’m mostly aware of his sheer size. Once outside, he sits at the circular, umbrella-covered table. “I’m sorry, but I forgot your name.”

  “Colton Johansson,” he says, cracking open his can. “Or Colt. Or Colt 45. Or Lily’s little brother. Or Cooper’s son. I respond to a lot of shit. Just pick one and look in my direction and it ought to get my attention.”

  I don’t want to smile, but he’s being sweet when I don’t deserve it. Even if he wants me to give him a handy at the end of this conversation, he doesn’t need to be friendly about it. He can demand whatever he wants because even a newcomer to Ellsberg like me is aware of the Johanssons’ place in this town.

  Deciding I’ll choose the name Colt since the guy looks like a weapon, I swallow two gulps of soda before he asks his first question, “How do you know Rod?”

  “Is that his name?”

  “Rodney actually, but that’s a nerd name, so he goes by Rod.”

  Fatigue and the heat cause my thoughts to wander until Colt taps the table near my hand.

  “So, you know Rod from where?”

  “The Red Castle Motel. He comes there to meet Patsy. I’ve seen him with her a few times.”

  “And you’re there, why?”

  “I live there.”

  “At a motel?”

  I hear the judgment in his voice and shrug. “We can’t afford an apartment in Ellsberg. The college kids take everything.”

  “Who’s we?”

  I hesitate. Should I lie? I know he can find out the truth, so there’s no reason not to share it? Except I still want to lie because I’m scared and lying is what I do when I’m afraid.

  “My friend Rae and her daughter, Kori,” I finally admit after Colt leans closer and I give up on withholding what I can’t keep secret. “She’s six.”

  “That’s like first grade, right?”

  “She will be this coming year, yeah.”

  “My mom is a fourth-grade teacher at Ellsberg Elementary. She’s worked there for nearly thirty years.”

  Colt’s a huge guy. Painfully handsome too, which will make any required blowjobs easier. Even attractive, he scares the crap out of me.

  That is until Colt talks about this mom and wears a silly, little grin on his macho face. Seeing him look so young makes me wish I hadn’t attacked his friend’s motorcycle. Maybe then Colt would like me for longer than it takes to settle shit with Rod and get his blowjob payment.

  THE HEIR

  Stella is an oddly quiet person, considering that less than twenty minutes ago she had no problem beating the crap out of Rod’s motorcycle. Usually, women with rage issues are chatty, “no one puts Baby in the corner” types. Rather than explain her situation, she dribbles out information until I realize the only answers I’ll get are in response to very specific questions.

  “Did Rod hurt you?” I ask as my gaze studies her flushed, sunburned face.

  “No.”

  “Did he hurt your friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  Her eyes meet mine, and she sighs. “Does it really matter?”

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  “He’s your friend, and you’re in that biker gang, and that means you’ll take his side no matter what I say.”

  “It’s a club, Stella, not a gang,” I explain while trying not to snicker at her wording. “And, while Rod is my friend and club brother, we have rules just like everyone else.”

  Stella doesn’t look convinced, and I catch her eyeing the nearby bus stop. If she thinks she can outrun me, I know the level of logic I’m working with when it comes to this chick.

  “The motel’s air-conditioning doesn’t work a lot of days,” she finally says after I scoot over and block her view of the bus stop. “We leave the door open during the day because it’s too hot not to.”

  “Okay. So, the door was open when Rod pulled his shit?”

  Stella nods as her gaze focuses on the can her hands are wrapped around. “He told Kori to go outside. I wasn’t there, but Rae said he said she needed to fix his problem. She’s easy to push around, you see? Rae’s not dumb, but she can seem that way because she doesn’t talk to people much. Like not because she can’t talk to them, but because she doesn’t want to. It's hard to explain.”

  “You’re doing fine,” I say in my softest tone. I see where this story is going, and my temper already burns deep in my chest. I wish I could reveal my anger, so she’ll know I’m not like Rod. I wasn’t raised to be that kind of man. But I fear if I show her even an itty-bitty fucking bit of my temper, Stella will run for the bus stop despite her ride being long gone. “What problem did he need her to fix?”

  “His dick,” she snaps and then flinches even though I don’t move a muscle. “He didn’t get what he wanted from that girl. I can’t even remember her name now. I just said it, and now I can’t remember. What’s wrong with me?”

  “She doesn’t matter. Your friend Rae is who we’re talking about.”

  Stella studies me. I can’t read her expression, but I don’t think she trusts I’m on her side.

  “Yeah, and Rae said no, but he’s big, and she got scared. Kori was right outside the door, and he said it would be bad if her little girl heard trouble between them and saw something. She didn’t think she had a choice. Rae acts like she doesn’t care about anything, but she does. She loves Kori, and she loves me, and she’ll do anything for us, and she did what she thought she had to, but she didn’t want to. Get it?”

  “I get it.”

  “He wasn’t done fucking up our lives, though. The prick felt her up and found the cash she hides in her bra. Now we can’t get our car fixed or even afford the shitty motel. That asshole is why we slept in the fucking car.” Stella stops talking long enough to angrily wipe tears from her sunburned cheeks. “H
e doesn’t even care. He probably blew our money on booze or some slut.”

  Whenever my sisters cry, I try to make them feel better. When chicks I bang cry, I try to distract them long enough for me to run. My track record fluctuates when it comes to women and tears, but I struggle with an incredible urge to hug Stella. Not just so she’ll feel better but to prove I’m not Rod.

  But he’s why I can’t even pat her hand. Stella looks at me and thinks I’m no different. In her eyes, we’re thugs taking what we want.

  “I’m going to help you out,” I say after a very long minute of silence.

  “Why?”

  “It’s not that I pity you.”

  “Why shouldn’t you? I’m pathetic.”

  “Fine, but pity sounds insulting. How about I’m sympathetic to your plight?”

  Stella wants to smile. I can see a hint of amusement around her eyes and at the corners of her lips. She doesn’t quite get a smile going, though.

  “My pop is the club president, and he’ll deal with Rod. I don’t know how long that’ll take or if Rod will agree to give back what he stole. Not that he can fix what he did to Rae, but you can’t be sleeping in a car and neither can your friend and the kid.”

  I pull out my wallet, relieved to have a stash of cash on hand or else my big gesture would be seriously fucking lame. Placing five twenties on the table, I watch Stella’s eyes widen with each bill. Poor people really have a scary love affair with money. It’s probably the part where they can’t eat or sleep indoors without cash. As someone who’s never worried about those things, I feel as if a hundred is probably not enough.

  Stella reaches for the money, pulls back her hand, and then looks at me with childlike fear. “I’ll pay you back. It’ll take a while, but I promise I will.”

  “No worries, little lady,” I babble before pushing the cash toward her when I realize she’s afraid to take it. “Is that enough?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” she says, shoving the bills into her shirt.

  I admittedly wish I could get shoved into her bra too but then feel guilty for getting turned on so soon after hearing about what Rod did to Rae.

  The thing is Stella is super-hot. Under her fatigue and possibly poor nourishment is the sexiest chick I’ve ever seen, and she’s now looking at me as if I’m a hero rather than a zero. Surfing an excellent damn feeling, I don’t know what to do next. Is asking to drive her home too forward? If Stella were any other chick, I’d unleash my charm until she tore off her panties and begged me to make her come.

  Instead, I’m confused about what to say and do next.

  “Rae and I share a phone,” she says, digging around in her ratty pink purse. “She has it most of the time because of Kori, but this is the number.”

  “I can drive you to the motel.”

  Stella looks up from the receipt she’s scribbling her number on. I realize immediately I’ve gotten her back up and she’s wondering if I want something for that hundred dollars.

  “Or I can hang out with you until the next bus comes by. You know, to ensure your safety from Rod.”

  Still watching me, Stella jots down the final numbers and hands me the receipt. She swallows hard and then exhales deeply. I brace myself for whatever she’s about to say—has a boyfriend, is a lesbian, suffers from an allergy to sexy men.

  “I could do stuff, you know, to thank you for the money,” she says, sounding nauseous. “If that’s what you want, I mean. It wouldn’t be like how Rod was with Rae because you’ve been nice to me, and—”

  “Let’s get this Rod situation out of the way before I hit you up for a date. How does that sound?”

  “A date?” she whispers as if she heard wrong.

  Taking her pen to write my number on one of her spare receipts, I flash her my best smile. “I’m a guy who digs hot chicks. You’re a hot chick. I can see this going well for us, but first I need to get my pop caught up on the Rod shit, and you need to get your living situation squared away. Then we’ll enjoy a meal, and you can listen to me talk nonstop about my guns.”

  When Stella only stares, I flex my arms for her. “My guns are fucking famous in these parts.”

  Stella has a sweet, rolling laugh that startles me as much as it does her. She covers her mouth but keeps giggling. I notice extra red on her burned cheeks and realize she isn’t laughing AT me as much as giggling over the idea of my sexy guns wrapped around her sexy self. Yeah, we’re most definitely on the same page.

  THE UNWANTED

  Colt doles out a hundred dollars as if it’s worthless paper. I feel like his offer is a trick. People are never this nice to me without expecting something in return. He likely wants sex, and I wouldn’t mind giving it to him. Colt is the best-looking man I’ve ever seen in real life and those good-looking men in movies wear makeup and use other tricks to hide their flaws. Colt sits across from me, looking perfect with only the help of strong genetics and time in the gym. Sure, those muscles might be a result of steroids, but I think he’s too mellow to be juicing for his buff body.

  I promise to pay him back. The smart thing to do would be to cry and see if he’d give me more money and then just disappear. I wish I were smart about playing men. I’m not unattractive, and I could make a better life if I used my looks to my advantage.

  But I’m horrible at using people. I crave their attention too much to play games. My desperation is too obvious, and men hate pathetic girls.

  Colt mentions going on a date, but that’s code. Men like him don’t date women like me. They fuck women like me. Every minute in his presence makes me more okay with this idea.

  I give him my number, and he walks me to the bus stop. His behavior is too cute. Fake maybe. Does he trick girls with his nice guy routine? I don’t know why he needs to do anything besides ask them to drop their panties. I’ve been in Ellsberg for nearly a month, and no one around here looks as good as Colt.

  “I’m going to come by tomorrow,” he says while we wait for the bus. “What’s your schedule like?”

  “I don’t have to work.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m the cashier at Armor Gas Station next to Walmart.”

  Colt chuckles, rolling back on his heels as he fights full-on laughter. “Isn’t that the station with the tiny store where maybe two people can fit inside?”

  “Yes, it’s small.”

  “Don’t you get claustrophobic in there?”

  “Small places don’t bother me. I grew up in little rooms, and I’m not large enough to feel cramped.”

  “Wait, did you just call me fat?” he asks, wearing a scowl that sends me into a panic.

  “No,” I croak out in terror.

  Colt’s face shifts effortlessly into a smile, and I realize he’s playing with me. I pretend as if I always knew that, but his gaze is too full of pity to believe my lie.

  “You need to learn to relax. It’s true I’m a big guy with tats and lots of muscles. So many huge muscles,” he says, winking. “Even my ass is buff, but that doesn’t mean you should fear me. I’m not Rod.”

  “No, you’re not,” I mumble as I spot the bus a half a mile out.

  I don’t want to tell Colt goodbye. The longer I’m in his presence, the more I feel like someone who isn’t me. The world is brighter around this muscled, tattooed man, but I can’t think of a reason to stay. Besides, Rae is probably worried since I’m late. I need to make myself get on the bus and leave behind the way I feel when Colt’s smoky brown eyes focus on me.

  “Thank you,” I say for probably the tenth time.

  “I’m gonna come around tomorrow when this thing with Rod is settled. If you need something, call me.”

  “Thank you,” I say, but this time I also reach forward to rest my hand on his chest before chickening out and patting his forearm.

  Colt’s gaze focuses like a laser on my hand. His expression is so intense that I fear I’ve pissed him off. Does he not like women touching him? I pull away my hand and flinch from him without t
hinking.

  “Loosen up,” he says and then frowns at the arriving bus. “Is that something you’re capable of doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s cool too. Loose isn’t everything. Some of my favorite people are tightly wound while a few are very odd and one of them even killed a man with a child’s glittery slipper. None of that stuff worries me. I see past the outer crazy to a person’s inner shit like their heart or brain or whatever.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You’re a cute chick, and that gives you a lot of power.”

  Smiling behind my hand, I wish I could think of amazing words to leave him with, but I just say “thank you” again and try not to blush any stronger. At this rate, he probably thinks I’m twelve.

  Once on the bus, I find an empty seat and look at Colt through the window. Waving is a goober move, but I can’t stop myself. The hunky biker effortlessly returns the gesture. Everything about Colt screams carefree. I bet he even beats up his enemies with a casual flair.

  The bus drives away, forcing me to leave behind Colt and his sunny world. Quickly, I return to my usual life where my heart is cold even when the weather is boiling.

  Forty minutes pass between leaving Colt and exiting the bus near the motel. By the final stretch, I’ve lost my earlier positive feelings. Instead, I’m painfully aware of how my hands felt beating on the bike. Now I’m embarrassed by what happened and nervous about what’ll happen next. The longer I’m away from Colt, the less real he becomes until I’m uncertain if what I remember is what actually happened.

  I’m relieved to spot our Kia Soul still in the parking lot. While the motel manager originally said he’d let it remain for the rest of the week, he then turned around and threatened to have it towed if we weren’t paying guests.

  Using the broken-down car to create shade, Rae and Kori sit on a beach towel in the fried grass. The ginger-haired girls are bright red even out of the sun. Rae reads from a tablet that I assume one of the motel guests charged for her. When Marylyn works the front desk, she lets us use the bathroom, fill up our water bottles, and keep our electronics juiced. When Lizzy works, though, she won’t allow us to enter the lobby unless we have the cash to pay for a room.