By the time he got to his bike, his guts were aching. How stupid of him to let her get to him like that. To let her in and make him feel something. This was why he stayed single and liked it that way. No chick around to tangle him up and piss him off. He’d done nothing wrong. She hated him just for being who he was. And that pissed him off more than anything.
He slammed his helmet on his head and jumped on his bike. He hit the gas hard, flying through the streets, weaving between cars. There would be no riding slow today.
If he’d done something stupid, that would be fine. If he’d said something insensitive, dropped a curse word in front of the kid, or was mean to the kid. If he hadn’t come to protect her, if he had been too rough in bed. Anything. That would be okay. He’d fix it. But how could he fix who was? He’d always been this, and this was what he was meant to be. He had never been able to hold a traditional job and didn’t want one. Why work for some ass eight hours a day when he could work just a few hours and make more money? It made no sense. Legal jobs made no sense. Break one or two little laws and the money could pour in. He’d seen both ends of it, and no way was he ever going back to working for the man.
A shame, too, because he could afford to give her a nice life. Get her out of that tiny apartment, let her quit her job and stay home with her kid and maybe make a few new kids with her. He’d always take care of her. He’d treat her special and make she sure knew how important she was to him. She’d be safe and respected. The guys in his club would worship her like his queen. But she didn’t give him the chance to show her any of that. She’d decided he was no good and that was that. Nothing he could do to change it, short of leaving the MC and getting a straight job. And there was no way either of those things were going to happen. She’d have to accept him as he was or not at all. And she’d chosen not at all. Fine. Let her stay in her shoebox being afraid for the rest of her life, judging all men like they were her ex.
As hard as he shouted these thoughts in his mind, he couldn’t deny the ache. His chest, his guts felt like they would implode. The heavy weight brought him down and he even thought if he sat down and let it happen, he could cry right now. How had she gotten to him so badly so fast?
Little flashes kept coming to him. He’d see her smile and a sting would follow in his heart. Then he’d hear her say, “I feel sick to my stomach that you were around my daughter,” and the rage would tear through him again. And the kid? Emma? He’d see her, too. The way she’d asked him to help her and to play. How she’d accepted him just fine. She was a cool kid and though he hadn’t thought much about kids in general, he liked her. He even missed her a little and the way she wanted to include him in everything already.
He turned down an empty street, the one he’d been racing to through the twists and turns of traffic, and really opened his bike, the scenery flying by too fast to see. He loved this road. And it was like the cops wouldn’t go there because he never saw them. Never got pulled over or anything on this road. It was exactly what he needed to clear his mind.
But his mind wouldn’t clear. Becca. God. He wanted to turn around. But he wouldn’t. She might have left for work anyway. Could he go there? Talk to her in the gift shop with people around so she couldn’t get mad? No, that would make her mad. And he didn’t want to discuss his business in public anyway.
He could maybe call her. Though he’d rather see her face to face and know what expressions she was making. But maybe the phone would be better because he wouldn’t be in her presence to scare her. What could he even say to her, though? Was there a way to convince her he was better than she thought?
Well, he was a criminal. He did steal and sell illegal things and stuff off trucks and the black market. That’s just how business went. No guns, though. Drugs were lucrative enough and guns were a hassle. Too hard to get, too hard to make sure they were clean, too hard to move. Drugs were easier to come by, took seconds to test for purity, and moved faster than they could supply it. He’d only been joking about the hooker thing. They’d never considered dealing in girls. Too much hassle again. You had to train them and hope they didn’t rat on you. Had to keep some level of control over them, and it wasn’t worth it. Plus, after seeing his mom be controlled by his dad all those years, he couldn’t do it. Abram did some of that, but not the Jagged Rebels. Leave that to the Scared Birds to deal with. They’d only kill him even faster if he stepped on that territory anyway.
So, there would be no convincing her he wasn’t a criminal. Though she had mentioned something about violent crimes. And, really, his weren’t. He only killed people when he had to, only fought them when it was necessary. He didn’t rob at gun point, the Rebels were strongly forbidden from rape of any kind, and he didn’t do anything else violent. Maybe if he explained all that, she’d come around on the criminal activity. She’d said she was okay with the drug dealing.
Then she’d mentioned the fighting. Well, okay, so they did a fair amount of that. But it was mostly bar fights. Nothing serious. And no one ever pressed charges because you’d only get beaten worse if you did. Besides, that was a pussy way out. Then there was the rival MC stuff. He’d have to take out Abram and his guys, but that was only going down because they’d tried to kill him and would again. That was self-defense. Even in a court of law, he’d be let off for that. In fact, he’d have to make sure it looked like that when they took care of the Screaming Griffins. That way, if any cops sniffed around, they’d come out okay if it came down to it.
Maybe there was no way she’d be okay with that, but if he assured her they mostly only fought casually for fun or seriously for self-defense, he could make it seem like they were less violent. Most of them didn’t hit their girls or wives or kids or anything, if he found out they did, he always made sure they knew it was not okay. He’d send them home bloody and limping, and in one case, on the second warning, he hadn’t sent a guy home at all, but to the hospital. His wife had been awfully grateful. Maybe that story would mean something to her. That the Rebels didn’t stand for mistreating women. They didn’t pick fights often or without good reason. They didn’t do violent crimes usually. What else was there for her to complain about, then?
She’d probably find something. Some reason to hate him. Didn’t they always? The last one complained he wasn’t home enough. The one before said he wasn’t romantic enough. Whatever that even meant. Nothing was ever good enough. Well, the one who went totally crazy on him hadn’t complained. But then she’d gotten into more fights than he had. That was why he was so hooked on Becca. She was normal, calm, gentle. She was a mom and had been an awesome wife—even if her ex was a total dipshit who couldn’t see that. She could cook and clean and wasn’t afraid to work hard to pay her bills or get up and leave the bad situation of her marriage. She was strong, like his mother.
Crap. That was it, wasn’t it. She completely reminded him of his mother. No wonder he was already falling for her. And his mother would love her like she hadn’t liked any of his other girlfriends. And she came with a built-in grandkid? Practically a guarantee she’d go nuts. His whole family would love her. He pictured her there on holidays or Sunday dinners. How she’d help his mother in the kitchen, how she’d look so pretty sitting beside him at the table, how Emma would play and make a mess and everyone would think she was so cute.
The ache came back and ripped through him. He needed a plan. Either he’d talk to her, try to win her back, or he’d have to find a way to not think about her and to move on. Maybe he needed a booty call or something to take his mind off her.
He heard the whoop of a siren and glanced behind him. No. Come on. Not today of all days. There were never cops on this road. Never. He pulled to the side of the road and put down the kickstand. Then he slid off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. He watched the cop approach.
“Morning,” the officer said. He looked at him through dark sunglasses.
“Morning,” Rowan grumbled back. He squinted at him, wishing he also had sunglasses.
“You were going a bit fast there.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s been kind of a day.”
“Well, let me see your license, insurance, and registration.”
Rowan set his helmet down carefully, opened the zippered pouch on his bike, and took out his insurance and registration, then dug into his wallet for his license. As always, he ran through his recent activities, wondering if he could possibly have any warrants. Should he just hop back on his bike and take off? This was not a good time to have a warrant and go to jail. That’d ruin things for sure with Becca. If they weren’t ruined already.
He handed over his info to the cop and watched him walk away. Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. How long was this going to take? The sun was already getting hot and beating down on him.
After ages, the cop came back. Rowan’s stomach tightened, waiting.
“Okay, just sign here,” the officer said.
He handed him a pink slip of paper attached to a metal clipboard and a pen. It was only a ticket. He signed on the line.
“You have ten days to pay or dispute it,” the officer said.
Rowan nodded. He had someone who would take care of this for him.
“Any questions?”
“Nope.” Rowan picked his helmet back up.
“Have a good day and slow down. Be safe out there.”
Rowan nodded and slid his helmet on. He started up his bike and drove off, keeping his speed down until the cop passed him. Then he turned around and zoomed off at the same speed he’d been pulled over at.
Didn’t this just make a great day. Ricky could probably take care of the ticket. He had family in the local police, but it was still a hassle. Was the whole world out to get him today? His mind drifted back to Becca and again, the ache was there.
Screw it. Why not make the day as awful as possible? He headed toward the gift shop where Becca worked. If it went horribly, it would only fit everything else.
As he got closer, he started to feel nervous. That was ridiculous. Why should he feel nervous? Several possible conversation starters went through his mind. Should he just outright try to convince her? Play it cool, like she hadn’t affected him at all? What would work on someone like Becca? Did he need to do some grand romantic gesture like bring her flowers? Seemed like that would be sweet, but probably not enough.
He zoomed by a flower shop and turned at the next block to circle around. Every little bit helped, right? He needed anything to give him extra brownie points right now. He went inside and looked at the flowers. Roses seemed too…already in love or something. He spotted some flowers that were colorful and cheery-looking. The sign said chrysanthemums. Sure, whatever they were, they looked good.
“Can I get a bunch of these?” he asked the woman, pointing.
“Any certain arrangement?”
“Uhh…just something bright and happy.”
“Sure.” The woman selected several flowers and put them together in a bundle, then wrapped them with tissue paper. She handed it to him and he gave her cash.
He walked out and tucked the bunch onto the back of his bike, making sure it was secure in his bungees and wouldn’t be damaged. Then he drove slowly through town toward the shop. He turned into the parking lot and sat facing the store.
Becca was in the large window at the front of the store, setting up an arrangement. She wouldn’t be able to see him where he sat, so he watched her for a while. She placed half a dummy on the floor and turned it so it faced at just the right angle. Then she hung scarves and necklaces on it. At the base of the floor display, she set up other items. A lamp with a decorated shade, an arrangement of silk flowers in a tall vase.
She looked peaceful. Happy. Serene. Some other woman came up behind her and she turned to talk to her, then broke into laughter. God, that smile. He wanted to be the one making her smile like that. He glanced back at the flowers. They seemed small and dull. A pointless gesture. What was he thinking?
She didn’t want him. She wouldn’t find his gesture romantic. She’d never be convinced he wasn’t just another bad boy like her ex. He’d never have her. She’d never be his.
The feeling in his stomach settled into a rock. It felt hard and heavy and weighed him down. He wouldn’t go in there. He wouldn’t make a fool of himself. He just needed to forget her. And she was right about one thing he’d refused to think about: he had brought danger to her and Emma. That man who’d followed her and put a gun to her head was because of him. It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t picked him up on the street and cared for him. She wouldn’t have felt that fear or had to do things like push her couch in front of her door at night to feel safer. He was bringing bad things into her life. He wasn’t making anything better and he was a fool to think she’d ever see something good in him or in them being together. He would only bring her more trouble. He needed to leave her alone. He needed to move on.
Rowan unhooked the flowers from his bike’s seat. He walked over to her car, checked back to make sure she couldn’t see him, and set the flowers on her roof. Maybe they’d be there later, maybe they wouldn’t. He stepped back and looked at them sitting there, lonely. He closed his eyes for a moment, then walked back to his bike.
Before he drove off, he took out his phone and called Nate. If he were going to get Becca off his mind, the best way to start was to focus on his guys and the club and getting the Abram junk taken care of.
“Hey, man,” Rowan said to Nate. “We need a meeting. Can you set one up for tomorrow?”
“Sure thing.”
“Thanks.”
“Everything cool?” Nate asked.
“Yeah. Just want to finalize the plan and get things moving.”
“Gotcha.”
Rowan hung up and drove home. He was there long enough to change and go right back out the door. He couldn’t just sit around, and he had far too much negative energy that had to be burned off.
At the gym, every time a thought of Becca came to his mind, he added more weight to the machine and pushed himself harder. He sweated and grunted through the exertion, forcing his muscles to work as hard as they could. At the end of an hour, his shirt was soaked through and he felt better.
But in the locker room, as he changed to drive home, he wondered if Becca had left work yet and if the flowers had still been there. What had she thought when she saw them? Would she have guessed they were from him? Did they make her happy or more upset? Would she throw them down on the ground and trample them or take them home and put them in a vase?
As he was leaving to head home, he remembered he’d never given her money for the towels and blankets and things he’d ruined while she was taking care of him. He hadn’t sold that old bike yet. Well, he did have a good bit of money saved up in his stash. That’d cover the damages and then some. He’d always planned to hand her a nice chunk of change, and now it was even more important that he followed through. He couldn’t have her thinking that, on top of everything else, he didn’t follow through on what he said. Or that he was ungrateful for all she’d done to care for him when he was near death.
He stopped at home and went right to his bedroom. He bent down and pulled up the heating vent. Behind the wall, out of sight, was one of his stashes. He pulled out the wad of cash and counted it. Several thousands of dollars. This would be enough. He had hoped to buy her a car, but she could do whatever she wanted with the money. Pay bills, buy Emma something nice. It would help her and that was all that mattered to him at this point. That he kept his word and helped her one last time.
Rowan didn’t know what time she’d be done work. There was a possibility she was already home. He’d have to be careful about this. The money was tucked into an envelope with her name on the front. Inside, he’d a left a note that simply said, Becca—for everything. Thanks, Rowan.
At her house, he didn’t see her car, which was good, but he’d need to be quick so she didn’t turn up while he was there. He went to the block of mailboxes at the side of the apartment building and found hers. He opened the box, slipped in the envelope, and hopped right back on his bike. He took off, looking around as he did, and made sure no one had seen him.
He’d wished he could be there to see her open the envelope. He’d almost wanted to hide in the woods and spy on her, watching until she got home and opened the mail. But that would be creepy, and he really didn’t want to hide for who knew how long. Could be hours. Would she be mad about the money? Feel like he was buying her off or giving her dirty money or something? She might. But being in such a hard position as a single mom, she’d probably not be able to turn it down. Wasn’t like she had a way to give it back anyhow. She didn’t know where he lived. She’d have to call him. Which might be okay. Any excuse to talk to her would be fine. He’d never accept the money back, but she could try. If he hadn’t been worried about tracking, he’d have written her a check so he’d know if she cashed it or not. But that wasn’t an option for him. Most of his money remained in cash form. Hopefully she’d get the envelope and feel relieved or happy. Hopefully it would somehow make her think better of him for it, not worse.
He got home feeling worse than he had before because now he was also tired and his muscles were started to get stiff and sore. Nothing left to do with this day but crawl into bed and hope it was better in the morning.
###
Rowan woke up and stared at the curtains, where the sunlight made the black and gray stripes lighter and faded. He felt sore, but it was a good sore. He’d worked hard yesterday.
His mind jumped right to Becca and he forced the thought away. He wasn’t going to ruin his day first thing. He’d put off thinking of her as long as possible. Today, he had the meeting with his club, and he had a pickup to do. First thing, he’d need a shower to wake up.
He threw back the covers and got out of bed to stretch. The soreness rippled through his legs, then his arms as he bent and reached. The hot water of the shower felt like heaven and he stood there longer than he normally did, letting it wash away everything he didn’t want to carry around today.
He pulled on jeans and a clean shirt from his closet. He turned to leave his room, and there she was. Sudden and vivid in his mind. He’d tried to ignore her too long. Becca’s face, smiling and happy in the store window. He shook his head to clear it. But it was too late. The rock settled back into his stomach. He breathed deeply, trying to breathe out the dread.
In his kitchen, he made coffee, extra strong. He pulled a protein bar from his pantry and stared blankly out the window as he ate it. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, hoping it was Becca. But it was Nate, telling him the meeting was set for later today.
He left the house, mainly for something to do so he wasn’t sitting around trying not to think of Becca. He had to focus. He did need to scout some locations. If they were going to take out Abram and his guys, they’d need a solid place to put the bodies afterward. Maybe his guys had found a good spot, but it wouldn’t hurt to check himself. It’d give him something to do.
What was the best way for this to go down? It was easiest just to shoot them, but there was one good reason not to go that route. The traceability. If the bullet was found, it could potentially be linked back to him if he weren’t careful. He was good with a knife, though, and he’d have a gun as a backup if things were too complicated. He could always dig out the bullet, he guessed.
They’d have to track Abram’s movement for a few days. He wanted to get him as alone as possible. No reason to involve a bunch of extra guys from Abram’s club or his own. And the other guys who’d attacked him could wait until later. Really, he just wanted Abram. The Scared Birds would crumble without him. They were barely a club as it was. Little organization, little heart. Once they took out Abram, Rowan would inspect every remaining member, choose who he’d recruit and either kick the rest to the curb or take them out, depending upon whether or not they’d attacked him or had any other strike against them. How many could he add to his numbers? Two or three at least. Maybe not too many more, only because most of them were useless. But a few new guys would be cool.
He pulled up to a spot where the road fell away on one side. There was a guardrail, leading him to believe whatever was over the edge was far down. He parked and walked around to see. Below was just rocks and grass. Too exposed. He got back on his bike and drove off.
He still had a little while until the meeting, so he kept driving. A few more spots, a few more options and that’d be good. That way, if something went wrong when it all went down, they’d have a backup.
There was a large cement pipe at the bottom of an overpass, near the river. This might be a good spot. He didn’t want to walk down there and leave his shoe prints, so he stopped on the overpass to see what could be seen from the road. Not too much. Only part of the cement pipe. One end was completely obscured from the street, and the end that could be seen was only visible from far away. If anyone saw, they would be far enough away to get little detail of anything. This was a good spot. The water would wash away evidence, though they’d need to be cautious of the mud. Too easy to leave behind perfect shoe prints. But other than that, it was a good spot. Perfect backup if the guys already had a better place for the drop.
He glanced at his phone. Every time he did, he wished there’d be a message from Becca. He went to his pictures and looked at the one photo he had of her. One he’d taken without either her or Emma knowing. While they were making breakfast, Emma and her mom were looking at one of Emma’s stuffed animals and he’d caught a shot of Becca smiling at the bunny while Emma held it up proudly. It was a cute picture and he’d looked at it too many times. He put his phone away. The battery was already getting low and if she did call, he didn’t want it to run out mid-conversation. He thought of calling her or texting her, but reminded himself he’d decided to leave her alone. To get over her for good. He wouldn’t go back to the mental place he was in yesterday. He couldn’t survive there in that awful, lonely, cold place, missing her and wanting her like that. Feeling like he wasn’t good enough. He was more than good enough for some awesome lady out there; he just needed to find her.
It was time to start heading back to his house, also the Jagged Rebels headquarters. The guys would probably be there already. He liked to come in later. It made him feel more in control somehow. He still needed to gather his thoughts and make a note of everything he wanted to cover with them. Mostly, it was the plan for Abram and his club. But he made a mental list of a few other little things to discuss.
As he rode, Rowan tried to take note of his surroundings. He looked at the trees and the cars around him, felt the warm sun on his body as its heat seeped through his jacket and jeans. He still needed a new Rebels jacket to replace his damaged one. He’d need to order that today. He hated riding around without it.
The sun glinted off his deep gray bike, the light tinted by his helmet’s face shield. He wished he could feel the wind on his face, but he was going so fast the wind would make his eyes water, so he kept the shield down. He inhaled and smelled the flowers and plants around him. Connecting with nature usually made him feel better, but it wasn’t something he could manage to do easily. There was always so much going on that it was difficult to take time to just sit in the grass and watch the world go by. But maybe he needed that. Maybe tonight, after the guys left, he’d lay out in his backyard under the stars and stare for a while. Maybe work out some of these feelings about Becca.
He looked ahead at the road and noticed the air seemed thicker than normal. It was too late in the day to be fog, and it was also too high in the air and too restricted to one spot. Not fog. Smoke. And the thing that made him speed up was that it was in the direction of his house.
Those asses wouldn’t go that far, would they? No one had called him or messaged him. His phone was in his pocket and he would have felt it vibrate. Maybe it was okay. Maybe it was just a house nearby and his place was fine.
He turned onto his street and saw that the smoke was thick and filling the air quickly. He could see his house. And from its roof poured white streams of smoke. It was his house on fire. Abram and his gang had struck again.