Four
Emery
Irun the roll of wire along the wooden frame and around the corner until I reach the beam that carries all of the wires to the breaker panel in the basement. Normally this is a two-man job, but Ron had called in today with a case of the flu, so I was on my own.
We had just one more week to get this entire place wired and ready for the walls to go up and I was already working my ass off even when Ron was here. It was going to be a tight squeeze to make the deadline, but I always do.
As I slowly back along the hallway, unspooling more wire with each step, I come to a stop when my body backs into a solid wall of muscle. I glance over my shoulder and my heart sinks when I see Randy grinning back at me.
“Nice bruise ya got there, sweetheart. I guess next time you won’t be so quick to jump into a man’s business. That’s how little girls like you get themselves hurt.” I don’t bother with a response and attempt to step around him, but he moves to the side and blocks my path. “Not so fast. I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.”
His words say he’s trying to fix it, but the look in his eyes has my body on high alert. I glance around the hallway, hoping to see someone else, but there’s nobody. It’s almost noon and from the silence that surrounds us, I can only assume that most of them are outside already, enjoying their lunches in the afternoon sun.
Randy’s arms reach for me and he yanks me to him so fast, I drop the wire and the spool rolls away from us. His hands grip my ass as he leans closer, his fingers digging into the muscle hard enough to cause pain. His hot breath reeks of stale coffee and cigarettes, causing my stomach to sour.
“Let me go,” I snarl, planting my hands on his chest. I squirm and thresh, doing everything I can think of to wiggle out of his grasp, but he just holds me closer.
“That a girl,” he says with a grin. “Fight it. I like it when you make me work for it.”
Randy lowers his head, his lips aimed at mine and I do the only thing a woman can do in my position. I pull my head back and then slam it forward, connecting the top of my head to his nose with a loud and wet sounding crunch.
“You bitch!” he screams, shoving me to the ground.
I scramble back on my ass like a crab, kicking and jabbing at his reaching fingers. And then Xander is there. He stands in front of me, facing Randy, his shoulders heaving and his voice low.
“Stand down, asshole.”
Randy glowers at him, his hand clutching his obliterated nose, blood running over his lips and fingers. “Fuck you,” he spits.
Xander looks down at me and then back to Randy. “Wrong answer, asshole.” I barely see him move. In the blink of an eye, the sound of fist against flesh fills the air, and Randy is on the ground on the other side of Xander, his wail of pain echoing through the empty house. “You’re done, Randy. I don’t give a fuck what your uncle says, but even he won’t tolerate laying hands on a woman.”
Randy doesn’t answer. Well, more like he can’t. He’s too busy crying at Xander’s feet, blubbering about a hospital and his nose and ambulances.
Xander turns and offers me a hand. “Nice head butt,” he says as he pulls me to my feet. “I only caught the end of it, though.” He takes a step back and looks me over from head to toe. “Did he hurt you?”
I glare down at Randy, hating him for making me feel like a helpless little girl. “I’m fine,” I say, finally meeting Xander’s eyes. “I stopped him before he could do anything.”
Xander nods, respect shining bright in his eyes. “I’m glad. I’m just sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” He winces. “How’s your head though? You hit him pretty hard.”
I grin and rub the tender spot on top of my head. “I’m good. I have a hard head.”
Xander grins back at me for a moment, but then Randy’s cries stop and he slowly rolls to his front, attempting to gain his feet. “You go,” he tells me. “I’ll deal with this asshole.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Thank you doesn’t seem like it’s good enough. So, I say nothing. I just smile and pick up the spool of wire, then go back to work without a word to either one of them.
∞ ∞ ∞
Xander
Nutsy takes a sip of his drink and nods toward the house. “Looks like we have company.”
I turn and watch as Emery makes her way through power tools and skids of building materials until she gets to us. “Mind if I sit?” she asks.
I hold out my hand, indicating the space around me. For days I’ve watched Emery eat her lunch by herself, her nose buried in a book, ignoring the workers that mill around her. To have her want to sit over here with us feels like a minor victory.
“Hi,” she says to Nutsy, leaning forward to offer him her hand. “I’m Emery.”
“Nutsy,” he says with a grin. He always gets a kick out of people’s reactions when he introduces himself that way.
Emery barks out a laugh, her eyes growing wide. She looks at me as if to ask if he’s serious, and when I nod, she just shakes her head and grin. “Nice to meet you, Nutsy.”
Nutsy’s name isn’t Nutsy of course. It’s a name given to him by my father back when we were children. His real name is Mark Marshall, but even as a kid, he’d been a bit of a goofball. Dad had taken to calling him Nutsy after he’d fallen out of a tree in my Gran’s backyard and broken his arm. He’d been a bit of a klutz back in those days.
“What about you?” she asks, her attention focused on me. “Do you have a weird nickname I should know about?”
Nutsy leans forward and grins. “We call him Crash.”
Emery pulls the lid off of her salad and pour the dressing over top. “Crash. That must have quite a story to go with it.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Nutsy beats me to it again. “Stupid fucker drove his motorcycle through the back of his Gran’s garage when he was a kid. The whole damn thing collapsed right on top of him. He’s been Crash to the club ever since.”
Emery laughs with Nutsy, the two of them enjoying a good old laugh at my expense. When the laughter fades, Emery stirs her salad. “What club?” she asks. “You said the club calls him that.”
“Satan’s Descendants,” Nutsy replies, pride clear in his voice.
I watch Emery’s reaction to that. You never quite know how people are going to react when they find out you’re in a motorcycle club. Especially women. They don’t get the beauty of it at all. They don’t understand the comradery or the brotherhood that comes from being in an MC.
“So you ride then?” she asks, this time looking at me.
I nod and point out to the road. My Harley sits alongside Nutsy’s, about fifty feet from the end of the driveway, it’s chrome gleaming in the sunlight. “Been riding since I was able to hold one up,” I tell her.
“It’s beautiful,” she replies. I don’t know that I’d call my ride beautiful. Badass maybe. Or sexy even, but I’m not sure I like beautiful. It doesn’t matter though. I can feel the weight of Emery’s stare on the polished metal as if she’s actually staring at me.
“You want to take a ride sometime?” I ask her, wondering what it would be like to have her on the back of my bike. “We can get that beer.”
Emery just grins and shakes her head. “Nah,” she says and points in the other direction. “I got my own.”
Sure enough, I follow the direction of her finger and see a red and black Harley Davidson Softail Deluxe parked under a tree in front of the house next door. I blink back at her at the same time Nutsy bursts out in laughter.
“Denied, fuck face,” he laughs, gathering his garbage and getting ready to go back to work.
Emery’s cheeks turn an intriguing shade of pink as he walks away and I turn my attention back to her. “You ride?”
“My father taught me.”
Goddamn. She really could be the perfect woman, if such a creature exists. “And you still won’t go for that beer with me?” I tease.
“Nope,” she says, popping her lips on the “p.”