I tossed my phone to the other seat, ignoring the message. I closed my eyes for another fifteen minutes before my alarm went off, warning me to get back to my classroom. I left my phone in my car, hoping that doing so would allow me to leave my time with Brock behind.
Unfortunately, just as the explosion of the bomb had stuck with me, the explosion of chemistry that we’d shown before then had also etched itself in my mind. It’s far from over. Goddamnit, it’s not even close to being over.
3
Brock
The sun had set. I’d eaten dinner, although I didn’t have the appetite I usually did. I sat in the club hall with the rest of the officers, planning our attack.
And I still had not heard back from Heather Richards.
It was my fault. I hadn’t told her everything in the buildup to yesterday evening, and I had come on too strong in the aftermath. I had failed the first rule of leadership I had given myself—just because I could compartmentalize incidents easily didn’t mean everyone else could. My failure to understand what exactly Heather needed in that moment had cost me any chance of being with her.
I wasn’t willing to give up on her so easily. I was going to send another message to her eventually. If I had to, damnit, I was going to go to that fucking coffee shop at 6 a.m. again. This had more to do with my refusal to lose than it did to my attraction to her, although I recognized that that may have just been a convenient excuse for my actions.
Nothing with Heather, though, mattered right now.
What mattered was sending a message to the Anarchists that their bullshit had to stop—now.
“I don’t think I need to tell y’all that we ain’t waitin’ any longer,” Parker said, having received the right to speak first. “Our plannin’ on strikin’ tonight was based around us havin’ our guns stolen. Ain’t no reason for us to back down now after last night.”
“The only devil’s advocate position is to wait so that we can make sure they see it as a surprise,” I said. “However, I think that’s a bullshit position. They’re trying to escalate. Why, I don’t know—maybe they think they can take over the town in some fashion. Maybe they want our profits. I don’t know, and I really don’t give a shit. What I do give a shit about is taking out these assholes tonight. I think I speak for Parker when I say we don’t need to hear anything else. All in favor of an attack at 4 a.m.?”
I didn’t even need to count the individual votes. It was all one general shout of “yay!” from a bunch of Savage Kings’ officers hungry and eager for revenge. I slammed the gavel.
“Parker, you’re in charge of organizing the run,” I said. “We meet at 3:30 a.m. outside. Let’s teach the fucking Anarchists who runs this fucking city.”
The officers got pumped and slammed the table with their fists. It was just the kind of fire and fury I needed to stoke.
I needed something, after all, to go as I hoped it would.
At 3:29 a.m., I was on top of my Harley motorcycle, the engine off, but my hand by the ignition, ready to ignite it at any second.
In moments like these, I liked the silence of the night. It felt like the calm before a Category 5 hurricane hit. Above me were the stars, around me was a sleepy town, and beneath me was the secure ground of the Savage Kings’ clubhouse.
It was my refuge, my place where I could get away from all that had afflicted me in life. My parents’ death. My breakup with Heather ten years ago.
The connection between the two…
“Let’s go!” Parker yelled as he emerged from the clubhouse.
On cue, I ignited my engine, revving the motorcycle to life. The calm had ended. The peace had come to a close. Now, it was time to use the AK-47 on my bike, the bulletproof vest on my chest, and the skills and cunning I had developed from a decade of being in the MC world.
It was time to enact my bloody revenge on the Anarchists.
About twenty headlights came on behind me. All of the officers except for Petey, along with a dozen or so club members and prospects, were joining me for this strike. Petey was our “in case everyone died” backup, but in all the runs we’d had in my time as a club leader, we’d only had one death, and even that was less the cause of our enemies and more his reckless driving leading him to crash and perish from the blunt trauma.
It was a militia of sorts. And I was their fucking general.
I raised my hand, encouraging the others to do the same. I saw all the fists rise, barely visible in the darkness. It almost gave the illusion of a hundred fists rising, ready to do battle. Let’s fucking go.
I revved my engine, feeling the missile between my legs accelerate, and we charged ahead into the night.
These rides also gave me a chance to feel at peace, but it was a different kind of peace than the silence in the parking lot gave. That peace gave me a chance to silence my mind and to not think of anything at all. This kind of peace focused my mind and told me exactly what mattered, nothing more.
So when it started to think about trying to get Heather back, though I initially resisted the thought at first, that fight ended quickly and quietly. It confirmed what I already knew, that despite my reasons for leaving Heather behind all those years ago, at 28 years old, she didn’t have the ties that she did then—and even if she did, she could more easily reject them than she could once have.
We pulled up to the warehouse in question about ten minutes later, having encountered no traffic and no resistance along the way. I swung my legs off the bike, leaving it on for a quick getaway, and held out my AK-47, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. I scoped out the area closely, Parker and Landon by my flanks in a matter of seconds.
“Clear,” Parker said.
He waved for the rest of the Kings to get off their bikes and follow him in. The sound of guns being raised just barely came above the engine bikes, still chugging along. I was paranoid that we were walking into a trap, but so far, nothing had happened to indicate that that was going to happen.
“You’re sure this is the spot,” I whispered just loudly enough for Parker to hear.
“That’s what Ty and Will said,” Parker said. “And I verified them good and through before promotin’ them. I ain’t think they lyin’.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I said. I just don’t know if it’ll be this easy with the Anarchists picking up their game.
We came to the door in question. Parker motioned for me to step back. We all gathered around the door, taking care not to stand directly in front of it. Parker chambered his foot, kicked the door down, and roared. No shots were fired.
“Clear,” he said. “And I found the goodies.”
I smiled as I followed him inside. Maybe things would finally be looking up.
“Let’s grab ‘em and get out of here,” I said as I entered. “We oughta—”
BANG!
Parker grabbed me by the neck and threw me to the ground as gunfire broke out outside. I didn’t stay down for long, though, crawling to the entrance as Parker stormed out.
Outside, about a dozen Anarchists were laying fire out on our men.
“Shit!”
Unaware of my presence in the shadows, I lined up my rifle and took out about three Anarchists before the rest noticed me. The hit was only meant to be quick, though, as they simultaneously fired and drove away. The incident had ended before I had even realized it had begun.
But in the process, we’d lost two men. One was a prospect, and one was a club member named Don.
“Fuck…”
They were the first members I had lost under my watch due to violence.
They were my biggest failure to date.
“Let’s get back to the clubhouse,” Parker said. “Ain’t no good lookin’ at their bodies here. Prospects!”
Four prospects came over in a hurry, rushing as quickly as they could.
“Get these guys back to the clubhouse,” he said. “We gonna give ‘em a proper funeral when we can.”
“Yes sir,” they all said, hurrying
to carry Don and the prospect to their bikes. Parker turned to me and put a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Welcome to war, brother,” he said. “It ain’t pretty. This is the side no one glorifies. But it’s the side ya better get used to. You’re gonna need to be more of a leader than ever.”
That’s the hope. I nodded to Parker, patting his shoulder, but as much to act like a leader as it was to genuinely be one.
“Let’s get all these guns back to the clubhouse,” I said. “And let’s get the hell out of here.”
As soon as I got back to the clubhouse, I slumped into the bed of the president’s room. My actions had cost the lives of two men tonight. I’d never had death on my conscience quite like this before.
And you want to play games with yourself and others? Especially Heather? You want to play it coy, act like it’s all just one big dance? Are you crazy?
For nearly two hours, I held a bottle of whiskey in my hand and drank straight from it. It seemed like the last day and a half hours had really gone a long way to shaking everything that I thought I believed.
I thought that I was going to seduce Heather. Nope.
I thought that I was a good leader, someone who could lead his men perfectly. Nope.
I thought that I could prove to Heather that, even though I wanted sex, I wanted more—
My phone buzzed.
I put the bottle of whiskey down, looked at my phone, and read the text message about ten times before I even began to formulate a response.
“Been thinking about what you said… you really sure it’s a good idea for us to hang out?”
4
Heather
Mornings and late nights had a way of cutting through the bullshit.
At both of those times, the mind was not at full capacity, which meant that it couldn’t throw up the usual mental blocks and protective measures it had to prevent itself from getting hurt. When I woke up on Saturday, even though I had no school, it was six in the morning. I had become a creature of habit, and the weekends were no different.
In this particular instance, as soon as I woke up, I grabbed my phone and went to my conversation with Brock. I’d fought like hell the rest of Friday not to say anything. I changed my mind multiple times, at various points believing that I needed to respond to him and at other times believing that engaging him would only get me hurt.
But once my eyes fluttered open from my shallow sleep, I knew I had to see him. I had to give him the chance. I didn’t have to sleep with him if things went badly, but I needed to see what he could do. We were adults now; maybe he had grown up and he really would treat me better.
Or maybe I was just too horny and too attracted to him to just let something like that go away. My arousal and excitement for him was overshadowing the fact that our past would prevent us from ever being whole.
Maybe—
My phone rang. Rang? Brock King was… calling me? This early in the morning?
I grabbed the glass of water on my counter, chugged it, nearly choked on it, and grabbed my phone. I swiped the symbol to answer, missed, and then swiped again.
“Brock?” I said, concern in my voice.
“I just figured a call was better than a series of texts.”
He didn’t sound quite like himself. He sounded like me—like he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, if he had at all. In fact, when I took just a second to think about it, I realized that Brock was probably the equivalent of a vampire—fully awake at night, hidden from the world during the day. The run-in at the coffee shop had probably come at the end of his day, not the start.
“So, you’re thinking about what I said.”
There was a hint of boldness in his voice, but it was pretty heavily covered by whatever had happened yesterday. I thought about pressing him.
“A little,” I said. “What would you do if I gave you the chance, Brock? How would you prove that you want more than sex?”
Brock gave a short, weary chuckle.
“You act like I’d have to put on some sort of dog-and-pony show to make it work,” he said. “But you forget, I know you well, Heather. We dated for two years. They were two of the best years of my life. That’s not something you forget.”
They were two of the best years of my life as well.
But the two months after you left me were some of the worst I’ve ever had.
“I would remind you of what it was like for us to be together,” he said. “I would take you to the places that we used to frequent. With some modernization, of course.”
“Of course,” I said with a short laugh. “And when would you take me out?”
“Tonight, of course.”
He said it as if it was such an obvious answer, he couldn’t believe that I hadn’t considered it myself.
“That’s pretty quick, isn’t it?”
“Do you know me any other way?”
God, how true of a statement that was.
“I’ve had a crazy Friday, Heather. I’m not going to lie to you. I’ve had a little bit to drink. But you know that I would be saying the same thing if I was chipper and sober.”
I do. I very much do.
“So let’s say 5 p.m. tonight. I’ll grab you from wherever. Doesn’t have to be your place if you don’t want it to be. We’ll go around town just like we were teenagers. We’ll catch up on each other’s lives. And then… when that’s done, you can decide if we continue or not. If not, then I’ll understand. If yes, then I won’t try to understand, I’ll just enjoy it.”
Even at six in the morning, even having only been awake for less than ten minutes, Brock had a way of making me laugh. I guess the odds were shifting in his favor. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing.
“Deal,” I said. “We can meet at Porter Ridge Brewing.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Then I won’t disturb any more of your day. Have a good night.”
“Good night?”
But Brock hung up before I could say anything more, leaving me to stare at my phone in amused disbelief.
It sure seemed like for whatever warnings I told myself about not being with Brock and staying away, I kept finding my way back to him. Either I was terrible at getting myself to do what my mind wanted, or I needed more evidence for why to stay away.
I was beginning to think, though, that maybe I just really wanted him, and that was the part I was terrible at embracing and listening to.
5
Brock
The alcohol helped me fall asleep shortly after I spoke with Heather, but as soon as I woke up, I felt energized and roaring to go.
I needed something to go right, and I needed something to replace the thoughts of the previous day and a half. The death of the prospect and Don still weighed heavily on my mind, but in one respect, we had accomplished our goal—we’d gotten our guns back. The war with the Anarchists—it was now certainly worthy of that title—was soon set to pick back up, but for at least one night, I wanted to get away from it all.
Hey, even the actual president of the United States had a golf course. Why couldn’t the president of one local MC have a date night?
Planning helped with the compartmentalizing process. I thought of the places that we liked to go as kids. Some of them, like the movie theatre and the mall, weren’t exactly prosperous places anymore, and even if they were, they weren’t really the spot for two adults in their late twenties to hang out.
But a lot of good ideas came, ideas that, as I pondered the possibility of them, seemed like things worth pursuing. And I knew just where to start.
At 5 p.m. sharp, I pulled up my bike in front of Porter Ridge Brewing. I remained on the bike, holding a spare black helmet in my hand. I didn’t call or text Heather, but something told me the putt-putt-putt of the bike right outside would announce my arrival better than any electronic communication would.
Sure enough, within just a few seconds, Heather emerged from the brewery. She looked stunning—she had on a red top that hinted at the c
urve of her breasts, tight black pants that displayed her figure perfectly, and black heels that, though perhaps not the greatest choice for a bike ride, nevertheless added to her allure. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail and sunglasses on her face.
She waved for me inside. I smirked, raised the helmet, and shook it, signaling for her to come down and join me. Poor Heather couldn’t hide her nerves—I could see her swallowing and pursing her lips from here. But this was part of the plan; having her on the bike was just the first of many steps of the evening. She walked down to me and put her hand on the handlebar slowly, as if it were a dog that would bite her upon any touch.
“You’re not scared, right?” I said with a wicked grin.
I gently pushed the helmet into her chest. She took it from me and stared at it like I’d handed her a meteorite.
“You really want me on the bike?” she said. “You’ll drive safe, right?”
“Of course,” I said. “For a lady like you? I want people to see that I’m transporting you around Romara. That’s not going to happen if I speed. So if anything, I’ll go even slower than the speed limit.”
Heather still stared at the helmet, biting her lip nervously. I just sat there, letting her parse out her thoughts however she needed to. I knew by now that Heather just needed to convince herself of the ride, and I knew she would.
If worse came to worse, I’d demand it. She was getting on my bike. It was just a question of if I forced her to or if she got on willingly.
“Please drive safe,” she said as she slowly raised the helmet to her head.
“Good girl,” I said in a deep, almost purring voice. “Hop on behind me. Keep your legs close to the bike. And wrap your arms around me tight. Don’t let go until you hear the engine cut off. Understood?”
Stained Reunion Page 2
