CHAPTER EIGHT
Fringe
Brilliant.
Just fucking brilliant.
After waiting six years, I finally meet Rachel St. Claire and now she hates me.
It’s been a week and I’m still not over that disaster.
Fuck! Caught in her seventeen-year-old daughter’s bedroom. We couldn’t have looked guiltier if we’d had our pants around our ankles.
I tried to be polite. I tried to greet her like a gentleman.
She wouldn’t even shake my hand.
Dawn texted me shortly after to say she was sorry. She didn’t mention what kind of hell she was catching and hasn’t wanted to talk about it since. In fact, I haven’t seen much of her since then. A lot of texting, a couple of phone calls. She stopped at the garage once to say hi, but it was a hit-and-run. She didn’t stay long enough for us to even catch up.
Busy girl.
While I work on another Low Rider at the garage, my brain continues churning. It doesn’t seem to want to stop.
She’ll be graduating high school soon. Then what? Off to college? While I’m stuck here in my sad little rut.
I’m happy for her, really. What I also am is disgusted with myself. I wanted so much more, but someone like me doesn’t get golden opportunities handed to them. Fuck, I should have sold out and tried to get on “Canadian Idol” But I was just a kid when the show went off the air.
The one and only golden ticket I ever got was meeting Dawn in the first place. Just my luck that I value her friendship over using her to get to her rock star mom.
So, what now? What’s left?
Dead-end job. At least I like fixing bikes, but I have a feeling the job is going to get me in hot water sooner rather than later. Lucifer’s Angels want me and dear old fucking dad is on my ass about it. If I can’t stay neutral, I won’t be able to hold on to this job. I’ll have to hit the road, become the drifter everyone expects me to be.
At least I can do some good before that happens. I can stop Dawn from losing her virginity to the biggest asshole since my dad. Lobo? She can’t be serious. She just can’t see how she’ll regret that later. Regrets don’t take long to manifest. I’ve seen the look of regret and self-loathing in the eyes of some of the girls I’ve bedded the very next morning. It’s not fun being on the receiving end, so I can only imagine how much it sucks to be the girl.
I don’t want that for Dawn. She deserves so much better.
Grabbing an old rag, I wipe grease off my hands. I’ll take a break and call her—set up a time to meet, maybe take her to dinner. Talk some sense into that stubborn head of hers.
That’s when I hear them. The roar of motorcycle engines. A lot of them. Harleys.
Fuck. This can’t be good.
I head to Frank’s office just as he’s coming out, no doubt to talk to me. A bunch of bikers revving their motors in front of the shop, it must be my fault. Isn’t everything always my fault?
“What in the hell…?” There’s a hint of worry on Frank’s weathered face. He knows as well as I that more than one or two club members making noise could mean trouble.
“Stay here.” I hold my hands out, palms forward. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Now, now, wait, Fringe. I know I ride your ass but I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
I smirk and half lift a shoulder. “Nothing will. They’re not here to hurt me, just mess with me.” I don’t wait for a reply and walk with a brisk step through the door to the parking area.
I’m right. It’s the LAs revving their engines, looking for attention. Looking for me. They have their helmets off, they’re not going anywhere. The group spots me right away and Skull breaks into a broad grin.
“Hey, hey, my man, Fringe.” Skull doesn’t dismount but motions for me to come closer.
I don’t move, stay firmly planted where I am in front of the door to the shop.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” My shout is just loud enough to be heard over the rumbling noise and my breath comes out in a plume of vapor. It’s cold out here but I don’t let it show that I feel it. Got to play the tough guy, so it wouldn’t do to start shivering, even if these cement heads are properly bundled up.
“Aww, Fringe, don’t be like that.” Skull puts a hand to his black-leather-jacket-covered heart like I’ve wounded him. “We’re all friends here, ain’t we?”
All the bikes go silent. “Sure, sure.” My ears ring in the abrupt silence. It’s not a comforting feeling. “Need help with one of your bikes, brother?”
“Nah, we’re good.” He chuckles. “We stopped by to chat, is all.”
“Look, brother, I got work to do. I’ll catch you later to chat.”
“No, we’ll talk now.” He sits up straighter and all the others come to attention.
Shit. This got serious fast.
“Alright, it’s cool,” I say to diffuse the tension.
Skull nods and takes his time lighting up a smoke.
All I’m wearing is a t-shirt. I’m fucking freezing but resist the urge to wrap my arms around myself.
He takes a long drag and blows out a couple of smoke rings before looking back at me with slitted dark eyes. “So, it’s like this, Fringe. You’ve already been hanging around Lucifer’s. It’s time to move to the next stage. Time to become an associate, my man.” He smiles like he’s just awarded me a Nobel Prize. “We’re throwing a monumental party next week. As a new associate of Lucifer’s Angels, you ought to make an appearance. Have a beer or ten. Bed a couple of our fine young biker bitches. Have fun. Get to know us better. Ya dig?”
This is trouble. Bigger than I expected. I was just given a high honor. To turn it down could be a death sentence. Fuck.
“I’m honored, brother, really, but you know I gotta stay neutral or I’ll lose my job.” I jerk a thumb back in the direction of the shop office. “He won’t let me only work on LA bikes.”
Skull scoffs and a couple of the others openly laugh. “My man, we’ll take care of that, don’t you worry.” He nods, starts his engine and it roars to life. “If you want this pissant job you can keep it, for now.” He makes a hand signal and everyone turns their engines over. He starts to pull away but looks over his shoulder at me. “Get yourself a Harley. Can’t have you showing up to the party on that trike you ride around on.”
I’m given no time to reply, to accept or decline the invitation. In a roar of powerful engines and exhaust smoke, they’re gone.
I go back inside and stalk off to the bike I was working on. Picking up a wrench, I bend to the task but, instead, throw it across the garage. It hits the back wall with a loud crash and sends other tools flying. Moving to pick them up, I wind up throwing them as hard as I can back onto the shelf. They clang and bang in time with my heartbeat as I growl out my frustration.
What the fuck am I going to do?