Breaking Red
Chapter One – Red
Good God. Freedom. To say I was relieved would be an understatement. I was so glad I could cry tears of fucking joy. What I’d just endured was three hours of torture. First of all, the wedding was incredibly tacky, and I can say that: I used to be a wedding planner. I know tacky when I see it. From the lime-green and bubblegum-pink color scheme to the too-nice friend who actually was adhering to the dress code of said colors and attending this shit wedding. Who requests their guests wear lime green and bright pink? Sorry if this applies to you, but seriously. I can’t.
Secondly, we shouldn’t have been there. Period. I don’t know why I allowed Daniella to go. I don’t give a damn that she received an invite and was too polite to ignore it. She should have RSVP’d no, but she didn’t. Then she didn’t want to be alone, so she brought me as her plus one. I gave zero fucks about dress codes or formal wear and showed up as I was. The fact is that under no circumstances should you attend the wedding of your ex-husband. Especially when he’s marrying the secretary he swore you shouldn’t be worried about. That sucked, but Daniella went anyway and dragged me along with her to the shit show. Citing something about being the bigger person. Bless her sweet little heart.
Lastly, if you’re still keeping count, the wedding was dry. I don’t care if you’re religious or not, to have no alcohol, like literally nothing, not even champagne, at your wedding is sacrilegious. In my book, it just should not be done. Ever.
So when we broke loose, we were damn near running to the first bar we laid eyes on. It just so happened to be a biker bar. We climbed out of the cab like excited children ambling forward with no real sense of danger, intentionally ignoring the criticizing glare from the cab driver. The only thing on Daniella’s mind was a drink. The only thing on my mind was watching her back, and hopefully getting a drink too.
The door was scarred. Whether from knives, fists, or battering rams, it had character and years. I didn’t expect it to slide open on well-oiled hinges. The loud music mixed with the talking bikers was enough to cloak our entrance. As far as I could see, no one noticed as we slunk to the bar, which was saying something, given Daniella’s ensemble. She really did look like a Barbie.
“Bartender, a double shot, please,” Daniella said, sliding onto the first bar stool she saw.
“Of?” The young woman was in the equivalent of a string bikini top over huge tits and white short shorts. Her blonde hair was parted down the middle into two high ponytails that hung in two curled ringlets. Her face conveyed youth and her body screamed prostitute. Some men were into things like that. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to believe she was the kind of girl to let a guy fuck her while calling him Daddy. Which whatever. Who am I to judge?
“The strongest thing you got,” Daniella demanded, plunking over the bar until her cheek lay on the worn wood.
I tried not to think of all the things that could have been where her head currently rested. The scantily clad posters of women on the wall, the half-naked women on the laps of bulky bikers on the couch, and the suspicious material that I bet was a collection of thongs in a glass bowl in the corner by the pool table helped my suspicions. I imagined anything from blood to pussy could have been on the counters.
I kept my face neutral, not wanting to offend someone by scowling at the bar. My eyes looked around past the obvious adornments that screamed bachelor pad. The paint was peeling in some places, the outdated wood tables could use some shine, and I knew the couches had seen better days. Between the enormous weight they carried from bikers plopping down on them and invisible layers of cum shots, okay I know that’s gross but the club could probably afford to invest in some redecoration. Still, it had charm. I knew the walls would scream with stories if they could talk.
Between the loud hard-rock music, scantily clad women, men playing pool, and drinking, it was exactly what I imagined a biker bar would be. I almost felt uncomfortable considering how we were dressed, but it appeared no one cared what we were doing as long as we weren’t disturbing the peace. So I relaxed beside Daniella.
The bartender slid forward a tall cup with much more than a double shot of a dark liquid.
“What is that?” I asked, more out of protectiveness than curiosity.
“You don’t want to know,” she said, barely glancing over us before walking down the bar to serve another man.
She leaned across the bar, flashing her cleavage at him, both offering and inquiring what she could get him. I imagined if he asked, he could have things that weren’t on the menu.
“Ugh,” Daniella groaned as she chugged back the burning liquid before gasping. I slapped her back as she coughed, eyes clenched closed and gasping for air.
“What the hell is in that?” I yelled at the bartender, but she didn’t bother glancing in our direction.
“Paint thinner,” Daniella rasped. “Another,” she choked out loud enough to get the bartenders attention while holding up her glass.
“Holy hell. Girl. You need to chill.”
She shrugged. “What? I ate first.”
My glare was cutting.
“I need this, Ally. Just let me have this one night.” She turned to me, eyes wide and already glassy. Her lips were folded into a pout. “Please.”
I sighed. “Fine.” It went without saying that I would be looking after her. Who the hell knew what she would do if I left her to her own devices with that much in her system. “But I hope you know that you’re better off without that scumbag.”
I said it with such venom, she paused with her glass halfway to her mouth. I saw her head tilt, the barest acknowledgment that she heard me before she finished the dregs of her first drink to make room for her second.
The bartender obeyed, pouring the certain death into her glass while popping her gum. “You want something?”
I couldn’t help my eyes darting back and forth around the room, taking note of all the possible exits and possible weapons. It was the surest way for survival. Just in case. It is best to stay ready so you don’t have to get ready. I didn’t want to run into him here.
“Yeah,” I answered without looking at her. “Something to sip.”
“Same as your friend?”
“Hell no. Something smoother. You got brown?”
“Bourbon good?”
I nodded and tensed, sensing the bulk of a man beside me.
“Go away.” It was rude, but I figured in this place, being tough was respected. I didn’t have time to pretend to be an eyelash-batting bimbo. I was here for my drink, and once I got that, Daniella and I would be shipping out. No need to be inviting. She got her drink, I would get mine, then a cab would be called, and we would all leave without paying any bikers no mind.
“Now, Red, you don’t even know what I was going to say.” It didn’t matter what he was going to say: I didn’t want to hear it. Though his voice sent shivers down my spine, I tried to ignore the internal voice begging me to see the face that accompanied that baritone.
“Unless you’re offering free booze for the night, I don’t want to hear it,” I said, grabbing a napkin to dab at the horrific mascara smudges around Daniella’s eyes. Between the wedding tears and the tears from the nail polish she was drinking, she looked like a train wreck.
“I can arrange that.”
“Then do it,” I challenged, sure that he was bluffing.
“And if I do, do I get the opportunity to spend a little more time with you?” He was asking me but smiling at Brittany, though noticeably without the lust-filled leer most men had.
I went ahead and tossed back my bourbon I was hoping to sip on, sure that Daniella and I would be leaving in the very near future. I didn’t have time to entertain any man, especially a biker. A lying biker at that. I’d heard enough about the men and seen enough Sons of Anarchy to know I needed to be careful.
“Brittany,” he said with such authority, I knew she would do as he asked. “Make sure these ladies get whatever they ask for tonight. On the house.”
She nodded, not bothering to flirt as she had with the other male customers. I had to see the man who got what he wanted, just like that.
He was covered in ink. Some of it colorful, some of it pure black against his light skin. I recognized one on his arm that also inscribed his vest on his back, marking his allegiance. Starting above his shoulder blades and down almost to the hem of his vest was a leather billboard in ink of his affiliation. ‘The Bandits’ was written in an ark at the top. In the middle was their emblem of a cowboy’s face covered in a bandana, and just underneath it, in block letters: ‘for life.’ Even without leaning back to see the entire back I knew what he was.
I didn’t bother saying thanks. I let the coolness of my eyes convey what it was. I was thankful, but not enough to facilitate conversation. I turned from the hulking man beside me to survey Daniella. She was close to done. Her makeup was a shadow of what it was when we first left her house. Her lipstick was now matte, the shine clinging to the lip prints on her glass. Her eyeshadow was smeared with her eyeliner and the streaked mascara. She should have known better and worn waterproof. Her brown hair was frizzy from the heat and her curls hung limp against her shoulders. Yet, her sad state was safer to watch than the breathing mass of strength beside me.
“What’s eating you?” he asked, not taking my cold shoulder for what it was.
“Nothing.”
Brittany stepped out from behind the bar, following closely behind the man who had ordered a drink not too long ago. I guessed he ended up wanting something that wasn’t on the menu after all. Another biker with a vest took her place without orders, as if he knew to be on standby. He glanced to the man beside me before busying himself by concocting a drink
“And your friend?” He kept talking, clearly ignoring my commitment to not talk.
“She’s fine too.”
“Right, because being fine means sitting at a biker bar, drinking and crying,” he said, taking the drink the new bartender pushed his way. Their brotherhood showed in their familiarity.
I glanced at Daniella and sighed. To be fair, she wasn’t crying, though it was clear she had been, and she looked on the verge of crying again. Tonight had been hard on both of us. She watched her douche of an ex-husband pledge his love to another, and my nerves were fried from being on edge all night. It was not easy standing in a crowd, constantly checking your back. The biker was wearing on me. If I wasn’t sitting with a friend more focused on drinking than talking, maybe I could have held stronger for longer. “Okay. You’re right. Everything is not fine.”
“Want to talk about it?
That was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. I was sick of talking about tonight, and I wouldn’t dare lay out all my baggage for this man I just met. That was a sure-fire way to send him packing faster than I did when I ran away.
I scoffed. “No.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“To drink,” I said, repeating myself.
His lips pursed as he thought. “Okay. Tell you what: I’ll play you for it. If you win a game of pool against me, I’ll buy you and your friend drinks for the rest of the night.”
I didn’t bother pointing out that he’d already guaranteed us drinking for the night. Maybe with Brittany gone, that offer had been rescinded. “And if I lose?”
“You have to spend the night with me,” he replied with such arrogance that I laughed.
I shook my head no. “Drinking isn’t enough to risk that. Sorry.”
He sat before me, muscles taut, like he was ready to spring into action at any moment. He stared at me, waiting, with the look of a starving man on his face. As if he were standing before a buffet, just forcing himself to wait for one second longer. “Ok. What do you want?”
That was a good question. What did I want? I wanted so many things: to feel safe, to be happy and to do whatever I wanted. It was time I stopped being so scared of life. He took my hesitation in stride. “I want to ride on your bike.”
He bent his head back, exposing the long column of his neck as he gulped down his drink. His Adam’s apple, almost obscured by his long, thick beard, bobbed with grace as he swallowed back whatever was in his cup before slamming it down on the wood.
His brown eyes burned into mine as his lips stretched into a wide smile.
“Deal.”