Alice
Today is not off to the best start. It’s my day off, a day where I’m not at the bar earning money or even running errands for Hammer. Days like these — where I don’t feel productive or like I’m earning my way out of this hole that I’m in — are the worst.
I’m not in the best mood when there’s a knock at the door that pulls me from my cup of coffee and the newspaper that’s spread out in front of me on the kitchen table. I’m doing my best to relax. And failing miserably at it.
Then I answer the door.
Things don’t improve.
“What are you doing here, Thrash?”
He’s out there, on my front porch, with a couple of paper bags in his hand and a grin on his face. Dressed in his cut, with a t-shirt on underneath that temptingly clings to every muscular inch. I wish things with him were simple and straightforward; that I could just enjoy him, how handsome and fit he is, without having to worry about ulterior motives.
Why is he here?
What is he up to?
“Bringing you bagels, Ms. Alice. I’ve also got bacon, some cheeses, and there’s some smoked salmon, too. It’s from Diamante’s Bakery, that new place that opened on Main Street.”
He holds out the two paper bags of goods, clearly marked with the Diamante’s logo. The bags are still warm and the irresistible aroma of fresh-baked bagels wafts from them. It’s enticing, but not enough to get around my suspicions.
He’s always working an angle.
Why the hell is he really here?
“Ok, let me rephrase that: why are you here?” I say, frowning.
“We went over this already: to bring you bagels.”
I could slap him right now.
“Stop talking in circles. You are pissing me off.”
“This is exactly why I’m here — you’re stressed, you need a break. That’s why I’ve brought you bagels.”
“So, some boiled and baked dough, and some smoked salmon, is supposed to help with my stress?” I say. Though the audible rumbling of my stomach doesn’t do much to bolster my argument.
“You’re really not from around here, are you? You don’t know shit if you’re turning down Diamante’s — they always have a line out the door and sell out of most things in an hour. I nearly had to kill someone to get you these bagels. What were you going to have for breakfast otherwise?”
“Probably toast,” I say. I can’t help casting an anxious look over my shoulder. My mom is somewhere back there tottering about, getting her day started, too, and I sure as hell do not want her to meet Thrash. Knowing her, she’d either invite him in for coffee and talk his ear off, or she’ll give me one of those ‘deeply disappointed’ looks that parents always keep in their arsenal. Neither option is that appealing.
He takes a step closer, nudging his foot into the opening in the door. “That sounds like a shit breakfast. This is better. Open up.”
A clattering crash and the sound of something shattering to pieces comes from behind me and I can’t help turn around and shout.
“Mom! Are you ok?”
“Oh, good morning, dear,” comes her reply. She sounds like nothing’s happened at all.
“Mom, what happened?”
“It looks like someone broke a plate. Don’t worry about it, honey, I’ll go get a broom.”
Great. She’s having a senior moment this morning.
Thrash pushes at the door a little. “Why don’t you let me? You’ve got enough to deal with.”
I push back and pray he’ll take the hint. Why is he so persistent this morning?
“No. You stay here. I’m at my wit’s end already, the last thing I need is you in my house.”
He doesn’t take the hint.
“You need to relax. There’s no chance they’ll be calling you in to work later, is there?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
“What’s with being so evasive? I thought we were partners. Or do you suddenly have regrets about making money?”
And he hits me where it hurts.
“Fine. No, I’m not working today. Hammer gave me the day off. I’m just waiting for Eleanor — my mom’s nurse — to come by. She should be here any minute. I was planning on just relaxing, maybe seeing a movie or something by myself.”
He shakes his head.
“No, you’re coming with me,” he says, like it’s a foregone conclusion.
“Oh, I am?”
“Yes — I have bagels. All you have are toast and shattered plates, which sounds really fucking depressing. And besides, you need to do something more relaxing than sitting alone in a dark theater by yourself. Eleanor will take good care of your mom — I know her — so you should take a ride with me.”
My eyebrows raise.
“What are you planning?”
“To help my business partner unwind. The last thing I want is to be in bed with someone who’s stressed and distracted and can’t even get the job done,” he says. There’s a smile on his face that is just maddening.
“Stop talking like I’m going to sleep with you, it’s never going to happen,” I say. He knows exactly what he’s saying.
“Again, I don’t know why your mind keeps going there. This is just business, I take no pleasure in dealing with you.”
“What the hell? No pleasure? Are you saying I’m unpleasant?”
“Right now? Extremely. Now, come on, I see Eleanor’s car coming down the street, so we are good to go.”
I hesitate a moment, suspicious, but I’m also already looking around behind me for my coat. It would be good to get out of here and spend time with someone other than myself — in the mood I’m in, I wouldn’t be very good company on my own.
“How do you know Eleanor?” I say.
“It’s a small town. It pays to know people. Now come on.”
I follow Thrash outside to where his Harley is parked in my mom’s driveway. He lifts open the saddlebag he’s got strapped to it, takes out a helmet, and puts the bagels and spread inside. I slip on the helmet, and he helps me adjust the helmet’s straps to get a snug fit. Then he throws one leg over the bike and pats the seat behind him.
“Hop on,” is all he says.
I sit up behind him and wrap my hands around his torso. He’s all muscle. Muscles on muscles. Firm and solid and comforting and warm. This feels better than I thought I’d be.
“Ready?” He says.
“Ready.”
The bike rumbles like some kind of beast and he pulls us down the drive and onto the road. Wind whips at me, fluttering my hair and, as we get out of town, the green scents of the forest fill my nostrils as we roar down empty roads and around winding corners and I cling tight to Thrash as he speeds faster and faster.
“Hold on,” he says above the roar of the wind, and he guns the engine and I lose myself in the utter joy of the experience.
It’s freedom. And it feels so damn good that I let out an ecstatic ‘whoop’ as we go particularly fast down a straightaway — the forest sliding by us so fast it’s almost a blur.
It’s a wonderful feeling — all of my troubles seem so far away as the world slides by in this ultra-vivid blur.
For nearly an hour, I hold tight to him and let my heart feel lighter. It’s the shortest hour of my life and, when we come to a stretch of beach lined by bluffs, I’m almost sad to hop off. Thrash parks his bike at a stretch of trail, grabs a small backpack from the saddlebag on his bike, and, beckoning for me to follow, leads me down the trail and to the ocean.
“Take a seat,” he says.
Then he opens his backpack and sets out the food he bought earlier and then pulls from his bag a couple red picnic cups and two bottles. One, champagne. The other, whiskey.
I raise an eyebrow and give him a questioning look.
“You’re going to need to explain this to me.”
“You don’t know how breakfast works? Are you sure you went to college?” He says, teasingly.
“I know what breakfast is. But this-” I say, pointing at the spread he’s set out, “this is just fucking bizarre. I’m eating brunch with a biker. I feel like I’m in some kind of Twin Peaks alternate reality.”
“I’m doing this because I care about you. As a business partner,” he says. “You’re under a lot of stress, and there’s a chance things will get more difficult the deeper this relationship goes. That light at the end of the tunnel isn’t so easy to get to, and I don’t want you forgetting to take care of yourself while we fight to get there. So, pick a drink.”
I sit down beside him on the sand. “In that case, I’ll take the whiskey.”
He pours me a generous amount and we start in on the food. It’s both a comfortable and unnerving experience. The scenery is beautiful, the lapping of the ocean waves and the call of shore birds. The food is delicious and I eat more than I should. That, and the whiskey Thrash brought is pretty good, too. It’s peaty and smoky in just the right amount and it definitely comes from a much higher shelf than I’d expect Thrash pick from. But the atmosphere between us is awkward. I keep thinking I should talk — that I should find out more of what he’s planning and how we’re going to get ahold of the Reaper’s Sons money — but I don’t want to disturb the peace.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
“Tell me something, Ms. Alice: when this is all over, where do you want to see yourself?”
“Are we discussing five-year plans, now?” I say.
“Just answer the question. Stop being such a smartass.”
“When this is over, I see my mom being healthy. Fully recovered. Not nauseous every day, not so skeletal-skinny that it breaks my heart to look at her. I want my old mom back. She used to speed-walk so fast I almost had to run to keep up with her. But now…” I pause. It hurts thinking about how much she’s changed. I take a breath to steady myself before going on. “And I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder all the time because I’m worried some creditor is going to sneak up on me and literally steal my purse or try and drug me and steal a kidney to cover my debt.”
Thrash ponders his whiskey for a long moment.
“How is her treatment going?”
I shrug. “She’s making progress. They think she’ll make it through this. It’s just so scary. And it’s hard. I didn’t think I’d be taking care of my mom until I was a lot older. Until I’d had the chance to make something of my self and actually have the resources to provide for her. But that’s not how it’s meant to be. My mom was so vibrant and now she can hardly eat a bowl of oatmeal because she gets so nauseous.”
“I might know something that can help.”
I laugh. “Is this where you try and sell me back some of that Molly?”
“No, but that would be a good idea. I have to get rid of that shit somehow. Look, my MC is running a grow operation. With Marijuana becoming legal, it’s going to be a decent venture and it’ll bring some money into the club. Pot’s also supposed to be great for the side-effects of chemotherapy.”
“You want to sell weed to my mom?”
“No. But I would give you some, or some cannabis oil if that’s what she’d prefer.”
“Look, right now, I’d prefer to just leave the talk of drugs and money and everything for another time. I want to enjoy the beach and the sun and just relax, ok? Let’s talk about something else.”
He nods. “Fine with me, Ms. Alice. What do you want to talk about?”
I think on my question for a while. There’s so much about Thrash that’s a mystery and, even though there are some qualities to him that I find infuriating, overall, he is the kind of man that I want to get to know more about. “Why are you in the Rebel Riders?”
“I’m in because I joined. I told you — I wasn’t cut to play drums in a punk band, so I joined the MC. It’s pretty simple,” he says.
“No, it’s not,” I say, giving him a hard look. “You could’ve found some regular job, you could’ve gone into construction or firefighting or something. But you didn’t. You joined the MC. And now you’re working this whole drug angle and risking a lot. I’ve heard the talk around the bar — there’s a truce between the Reaper’s Sons and the Rebel Riders — and what you’re doing — whatever it is — risks tearing that apart. So, tell me why.”
That all comes off a lot harder than I intended it to sound, I’m just so frustrated with his dodging questions and dancing around the truth.
Thrash looks at me for a moment, this mix of irritation and respect on his face. In one motion, he finishes his whiskey, pours himself another, and finishes that before he looks ready to talk.
Then he doesn’t say a damn thing.
My desire to be polite completely falls away.
“You need to talk to me. I’m not blind, I’m not stupid, I am fully aware that what I’m helping you with could turn out to be very dangerous for me. I’m risking it because I’m not content to stay stuck in this limbo, being afraid of going broke. You’ve promised a way out. Tell me the truth,” I say.
“I joined because I’m not cut out for a regular job. I love working with my hands, I love fixing shit, and I’m sure I’d do great in construction or as a mechanic. For a while. Then I’d get fired because I have this need to get ahead in life, I have to be making something out of myself, and there’s only so far you can go when you’re flat on your back underneath someone else’s car. The MC gives me the chance to go further.”
“So why are you trying to tear this truce apart?”
“Our club has an ex-member, Reggie. His road name is ‘Quick’ and he’s an old-timer who hit retirement and took a step back from the club because he couldn’t hack it anymore. He lives alone, no family but the club and that’s when he bothers to come around, no income except the pity-kickbacks we throw his way every once in a while. He is miserable, and I’m certain that one of these days he’s going to off himself and the old bastard will be better off for it.”
Another drink. Another pause. Then, he fixes me with a look with his intensely green eyes and his voice burns with honesty. “I don’t have any family. My father was a drunk, a beater, a brutal bastard, and my mother his groveling enabler. I’ve only got myself to depend on. I wake up every day with the mortal fear in the back of my mind that, if I don’t work my fucking ass off, I’m going to wind up just like him. Scraping by. Wanting to kill myself. I’m not going to let that happen.”
“What about your friends? What about the other people close to you?”
“Like Riot’s family?”
“Yes. You’ve got to have people around you that you can depend on.”
“Riot’s family has done enough for me. And his parent’s will pass on long before I hit retiring age. There’s no way I’m going to allow myself to be a burden to anyone. I work my ass off now – I fight for every fucking cent – so that when I’m an old man, I can live without wishing I were dead. There’s no retirement plan in this life, there’s no benefits, no insurance, you get what you fight for, and I’ve got ambition. I’m going to fight harder than anyone.”
I listen to him, I hear the fear that’s plain in his voice – though he’d never call it that. The fear of growing old, alone, and falling into impoverished obscurity.
I squeeze his hand.
I feel that same fear – of losing it all and never getting it back – every day. That same worry echoes inside me, drives me, haunts me.
He’s suddenly so much less a mystery. And so much more a person I feel like I can trust. He wants what I want, there’s something reassuring in that.
Thrash tosses his head back and down goes the whiskey. “Your turn. Why are you working at the Smiling Skull?”
“You know why,” I answer.
“I know part of it. Drink some more whiskey and give me the full truth.”
“Excuse me?”
That teasing grin is on his face again, the solemnity of earlier gone in a flashing smile and humorous light in his brilliant green eyes. “If we’re going to be in bed together, Ms. Alice, we’ve got to be able to bare it all to one another.”
“I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Take another drink. Think about it.”
“No amount of drinking is going to make that happen,” I say.
“But if the drinking doesn’t open your legs, it’ll open your lips and maybe I can get some of the truth out of you. I show you mine, you show me yours, remember?”
I do it. I down the whole glass. Not because I need the help to tell the truth — thank you very much — but I need all the help I can get to deal with his maddening taunts.
“Why am I working for the Reaper’s Sons?” I say, musing out loud. “Here goes. I used to be on the track to making something of myself. I was managing at a tech company that I was positive was going to be making a real impact in a couple years. It was hell. Long hours, I was wearing multiple hats — recruiting, HR manager, office manager — but I had respect from the people I worked with and I was dead-certain that it was all going to pay off. When my mom got sick, I was responsible for training the person, Jackie, who was going to cover for me while I was on leave. A few months ago, Jackie did what I knew she was going to do: she sent me a dismissal letter.”
“Fucking hell, they got rid of you just like that?” He says, incredulous. He drains his glass and pours himself some more, shaking his head as he does. “After you helped build that place? “
It feels good to have someone new to vent to. Someone that understands my frustrations and fears at being forgotten.
“I felt so disrespected. All I got was a fucking form letter — a form letter that I fucking wrote in the first place for the company — and that’s it. No phone calls, no nothing. Just a letter in the mail and a packet detailing when my benefits and pay would be shut off. Working at the Smiling Skull is the first opportunity I’ve had to not only make money, but also feel even the slightest bit of respect,” I say. “I need that. I need to feel valuable outside of being someone’s caretaker. I need to feel like I matter.”
I didn’t know how hungry I was for that until they hired me and I got my first taste of that after a long time.
Thrash raises his glass in a toast.
“Ms. Alice, I’m going to be asking a lot of you in the near future. It’s not going to be easy, and it won’t be safe, either. But I’m going to make you this promise: you’re going to get an equal cut of what we make, and you’re going to get all the fucking respect and appreciation you deserve. We’re partners.”
I raise mine, too. And I smile.
“To respect.”
There’s a light in his eyes as we tap glasses, something that tells me for all the scheming and planning and all the danger he’s involved in, he really does mean what he says. It’s an irresistible feeling of respect and equality and desire that draws me in to him.
Almost by compulsion, I set my empty glass down on the sand and lean forward.
We kiss.
I don’t know who makes the final move, him or me, it’s an answer that’s lost in the electricity that lights my body when our lips first touch.
It’s been too long since I’ve kissed someone.
Too long since I’ve given myself over to temptation.
Too long since I’ve felt my heart come alive with excitement.
Too long since I’ve let out a moan as a man nibbles at my neck and whispers with hot breath into my ear about what he wants to do to me.
On that beach, I kiss him until I’m lost in the swirl of emotions that consume our shared moment. Until worry and frustration are just words on the wind and the only thing I give a damn about is how fucking good it feels to have his fingers exploring my bare skin.
And how hard he gets when I grasp his cock through his jeans.
It thrills me in ways I haven’t felt in a long time just touching this man.
Thrash is muscle, through and through. Hard and strong and indomitable. Inked and scarred. He’s real. And he’s temptation in human form. Charming and irresistible. A man who knows what he wants and will move every mountain in his way to get to it.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I whisper.
“We can stop any time you want, Ms. Alice,” he answers.
“I didn’t say I wanted to stop.”
He chuckles and I kiss his bare chest, my lips working their way down his chiseled abs until I get to the buttoned clasp of his jeans.
They don’t stay buttoned long.
A throaty moan comes from him as I wrap my lips around him. It’s encouragement, a pull to further temptation, an urging to release my inhibitions and let go of my frustrations, to give myself fully to every drive and desire in my body.
And I do.
Teasing, toying, tempting, taking my time with my lips against his cock, I savor every moment. Every groan and every shudder I draw from him is validation.
I work him until he can’t take it anymore.
Until he has to sit up and forcibly pull my hungry mouth away from his cock, with his eyes burning and a warning on his lips.
“My turn.”
I shiver as he strips away the last of my clothes. My castaway shirt and pants becomes a blanket on which I lie as he positions himself between my legs.
He starts at my thighs. A kiss here, a lick there, just enough of a prelude that my body blooms in readiness — hot and wet.
I’m aching for him.
“Are you ready?” he whispers.
“Please.”
His tongue finds its place and my cries and moans drown amongst the roar of the crashing waves. My body pulses in time to the tides and I clench my thighs against his face. He knows exactly what to do, listening to every ecstatic sound I make, adjusting his tongue, the pressure, the speed, to push me as far as I can go.
My thighs clench harder against his face and my hands clutch at his head, drawing him into me as I crash into climax.
My mind shatters into a thousand prismatic pieces.
It takes ages for me to come down and even longer for me to open my eyes.
I look down at him, bleary-eyed. Happy.
He grins back at me from his place between my legs.
“Ready?”
I’d answer, I’d scream ‘yes’ if I could, but he doesn’t wait, and all I can do is gasp and moan as sensation surges through me and I have to clutch at him just to have something steady to hang on to.
My body is overwhelmed, every sense and synapse firing haywire, and Thrash is taking me like he owns me — and like he knows exactly what my body wants and just how to push me even higher into ecstasy.
No hesitation.
He takes what he wants.
And right now, what he wants is me.
It’s all I can do to breathe and hold on while I twitch and shake beneath him, my legs twittering and my hands clawing and clutching at whatever purchase they can find.
“Let me-” ride you, I want to say, but the two words barely escape my mouth before he flips me over.
He’s in control.
Face down, my moans are muffled by the sand.
I come again, thrashing and clawing at the sand. My body sucked into a maelstrom of pleasure and I drown in ecstasy.
I hear him gasp and feel him firm within me.
He is close.
“Should I?” He asks with an urgent gasp.
I don’t hesitate.
I know what I want, too.
“Yes. I want it.”
And I take it.
That’s all he needs to hear.
I shut my eyes and throw my head back as I feel him let go. It’s satisfying on such a deep level to hear him let go and to hear how primal his ecstasy is. There’s no hesitation, no doubt, just him turning himself over to the utter pleasure I’m giving him.
He pulls free reluctantly, and we entwine together on the beach, in each one another's arms and listening to the vast sound of the ocean around us.
We’re in this together, now. Wherever it takes us, whatever the consequences, this is real. He needs me. I need him.
But just as much, I want him.
There’s no turning back now.