9.

Elise

 

We fell asleep doing exactly what he said we were going to do, lounge in bed, talking mostly about club life and my time in Illinois and how I dealt with the panic attacks, watching movies and eating pizza. All naked. He wouldn’t let me get dressed even if I’d wanted to, which truth be told, I really enjoyed our day of nakedness.

Mark’s a thing of beauty. Tall and strong and his tattoos. Lord love a duck, those tattoos.

As he sleeps I turn to admire him some more, touring and tracing the roadmap of ink all representing his life with meaning. And that’s when I see the most breathtaking, startling piece of artwork on his body. Small. All black. A literal heart torn in half inked over his heart. The two pieces have been held together, wrapped several times with barbed wire. But the closer I study it, I see it’s not just barbed wire holding his heart together, it’s… that couldn’t be me, could it? My name?

I wish he felt ready enough to tell me his last name. After seeing this, knowing how I affected him so long ago—I need to know him.

Each of his gorgeous eyes opens one at a time to the relentless screaming ring from his cell.

“Talk to me,” he answers as his greeting. His voice gravelly from sleep.

While he talks, I kiss. His chest. My name. His Adam’s apple. His jaw.

“Mmhmm…” he practically moans into the receiver when I suck his earlobe in between my teeth. “Fuuuk—” he groans then and I hear a man’s laughter. “I gotta go,” he tells the man on the other end, hanging up on him just that quickly.

Then the man is on me. He’s not fooling around, either. I go from kissing to coming just that fast. First his fingers, then his mouth. Once I’m liquid in his arms, he slides all that hard manliness inside me. My man is hung. Thor’s mighty hammer between his thighs. I lose myself to him as he fills me totally. We aren’t making love this morning. We are hardcore fucking and it’s glorious. Exactly what I need to forget I’m burying my father tomorrow.

He thrusts.

I moan.

He thrusts.

I pant.

He thrusts.

I come.

Long and hard.

Once he’s finished and holding me so I’m practically laying on top of him, he kisses the top of my head. “That was Duke,” he tells me.

“I suppose he needs you, club business?”

“Yep. I don’t wanna go. Not after this. As much as I love my club, nothin’ feels as good as being in bed with you. Even just loungin’.”

“Can’t he ask someone else?”

“’Fraid not. You be okay here by yourself?”

“Will you be home tonight?”

“You’ll be here waitin’, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then damn straight I’ll be home. We share a bed. Period. I’ve always done runs for him. Sometimes we have shippin’ issues. But we’re gonna have to figure this shit out. I won’t stay gone from you.”

He won’t stay gone from me? Meaning he’ll consider relocating closer to home? “Don’t get yourself in trouble on my account.”

“Baby girl, I took over for him when his wife got sick, I guess about three years ago now.”

“Duke has a wife?”

“No,” is all he says, and I can see from his pained expression that she’s a rough subject to broach even today.

“Okay baby. You do what you have to do. Don’t worry about me.” He stares at me. “And quit looking at me like that. I haven’t grown horns.”

“No. But you called me baby. It’s the first time you’ve used an endearment. I like it.” Then he smiles. “And for the record, tellin’ me not to worry about you is like tellin’ me not to breathe.”

“Those might be the sweetest words anyone has ever said to me.”

For some reason, his words affect me deeply. I feel so stupid for giving in to the emotions. It’s all I can do to escape and I start to roll to get away. The roll gets me nowhere as his arm tightens around me to hold me in place while he silently watches my reaction. The tears just start to collect in the corners of my eyes when he clears his throat, and not from sleep, from his emotion.

I know it’s emotion with one answer. “I meant every word, darlin’.”

There’s a pause as we both continue to lay, watching one another before he gives my waist an affectionate squeeze and gets up to shower. I throw on his T-shirt from last night and head to the kitchen. Stupid smile perma-glued across my face. By the time he joins me the coffee is steaming in his mug and piping hot bacon and eggs just came to rest on his plate.

“You are really makin’ it hard to leave you this mornin’.”

“Well, I guess now that I’ve had your penis inside me, I don’t want you to meet some other woman while you’re out doing biker things, and forget about me. Not until I know if this is going to last.”

“Elise,” he says. So many words coming across in just my name. And I can guess every single one of them when he finishes, “one of these days you’re gonna believe me. I’m doin’ this biker shit for you. So I can afford to take care of you. I’m yours. You’re mine. Bossman and Elise. Period. Nobody’s ever gettin’ in the way of us again.”

Except maybe him. But I don’t tell him that.

 

***

He left me finally. Our goodbye takes far longer and with three more orgasms than either of us meant it to, two for me and one for him. In the end, he had work to get done and I knew exactly what I needed to do today.

So now here I am walking through the cemetery gates. They placed him only three rows back in the family plot. I wish I didn’t have to be here. I wish I could go on pretending life is as it always was. Without him muddling my brain, the world starts coming into focus again. Mark, he confuses me. Makes me consider things I’m not sure I should consider because of his decadent, melty chocolate hold he has on me, which I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t fully understand. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time on a nice warm and sunny Kentucky day.

But I guess that’s what I’m here to talk about, Mark’s melty chocolate hold on me. That maybe if I talk I’ll get a sign or something telling me what I’m doing, giving in to Mark’s pull, is the right thing to do.

“Hey Lo,” I say to the headstone. “Most people won’t believe it, but I miss you. Even after everything you put me through. Those days with the three of us, you, me and Beau, were some of the best of my life. Oh—this is Elise. I guess I should’ve opened with that. Not like you have caller ID on that side.” I laugh to myself.

“So much has happened over the past five years, I hardly know where to begin. So I guess I’ll start with this.” I kiss the palm of my hand, laying it reverently on the rough surface of the monument. “I never stopped loving you. Our love might have changed, but it was still very much there. Even if we weren’t together anymore. It didn’t have to end the way it did. You can’t have shared what we shared and not retain the love, no matter what you thought.”

“Ain’t that sweet.”

My first instinct is to turn to the low growling of voice to see whose interruption I need to get angry about, but I don’t get the chance as his calloused hand grabs my neck from behind, shoving my face roughly against the pocked and grooved surface of the stone.

“What are you doing? Let me go.”

“Let you go? Is that any way to treat an admirer, Elise? Sweet, sweet Elise.” He pulls my hair at the nape while keeping my face planted.

“Please don’t do this. I have no money. I’m just here to bury my dad.”

“Butllshit. You’re here for more than that, you Hollister whore. First Logan, now you’re screwing Beau. ‘Course everyone knows you were doing that back in high school when you were only supposed to be screwing Logan.”

“I never screwed Beau. And I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back in town.”

“Liar.” He hisses, picking my face up and slamming it into the stone.

I whimper. “I’m not lying.”

He grinds his hard length against my rear. Grinding and grinding making me cry harder.

“I promise,” I tell him. “My boyfriend’s name is Mark.”

“You can’t be that stupid, so then I know you’re lying.”

“No. His name is Mark.”

“That what he tell you? You believe it, you are stupid. So let me clue you in to who you been fucking. Beau. Marcus. Hollister.”

No.

“It can’t be.”

But the man keeps me pinned to the headstone dry humping me. Violating me through my clothing. Finally after making a soft grunting noise, a sound like he actually got off, he slaps my butt and bends over kissing my cheek. His whiskers scrape against my neck.

“You tell your man Houdini paid you a visit today. He’ll know. Just like he knows he got Logan’s sloppy seconds. He tosses your ass aside, I’d probably fuck you. Pussy good enough for the princes of Thornbriar must be good pussy.”

He lets go of me, and I hear him walk away. I don’t even attempt to pick my face up from the headstone for a good five more minutes.

Beau.

Everything makes sense now. And it all points to one fact.

I’m an effing idiot.

The joking. The crooked smile. Why he wouldn’t tell me his last name. Why George and Margo showed up on his porch. Why everyone looked at me funny each time I called him Mark. How easily we connected. I think that’s the worst part, using our past against me. The bun. The beard. The tattoos. The attitude. He went from sexy football jock next door to badass biker. I can try to convince myself that these are good enough reasons to forget. But they aren’t, are they? Five years just is not long enough to forget someone I spent so much time with. But somehow, I did. Call it stress. Call it stupidity. Call it naïveté. I never saw it coming.

My face feels puffy and scraped and wet. When I pull my shirt back after patting it dry, the shirt has red smudges.

The sun still shines bright and warm, yet I’m freezing. Shivering down to my bones.

Thank goodness Mark—I mean Beau’s street is empty when I walk back, still being without my car. I can’t even think about dealing with him right now. Not until I’ve had the chance to regroup, form some sort of a game plan to get the hell out of here with as little interaction as possible. After I confront him, that is.

While I wait, I pack my bag then move to the bathroom to clean my face up a bit. It looks as bad as it feels, which is pretty rough. He finds me sitting on the bed when he returns home from whatever club business he’d been up to.

“Elise?” Maybe he should’ve been an actor instead of a bartender the way he plays the part of the concerned boyfriend so well. He takes two steps at me when I hold my hand up to stop him.

“No, Beau. I’m fine.”

The jerk winces. “Who told you?” There’s a hard edge to his voice now. What, he’s mad at me?

“You’re friend, Houdini. After he called me a Hollister whore and held me down while he dry humped me from behind. So there’s that.”

“What the fuck?” He’s squeezing his fists into white-knuckled fists.

Apparently someone threw a wrench in his plans.

“Yeah, you’d think that would be the low point of my day. But no—god, you had me fooled. Got your laugh, didn’t you? I spoil your fun? Found out too soon. See the way I figure, you and the rest of the town were really going to let me have it tomorrow, right? Way to put the fun in funeral.”

“Elise. Stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I trusted you! You and your, ‘I know what happened,’ ha! You sure as hell do. Nice touch getting George and Margo to show up. Standing up for me with them. And Tommy and Maryanne. I can see Tommy. He was always a good friend to you. But Maryanne? Hell, I guess she always did want you. Are they even really married? Maybe you’re screwing her too.”

“Stop.”

“Stop? Know what, you’re right. I will stop. All this.”

I stand from the bed, pick up my suitcase and sling my purse around my shoulders. It takes me a couple of breaths to mentally prepare, but I find the courage to walk past him out of the bedroom. Predictably he follows.

The jerk face reaches me as I hit the front door, trapping my shoulders. “Get your hands off me now or I go to the state police and tell them you did this to me.” I threaten through gritted teeth, lightly touching my face.

“You don’t have to do this.” He drops his hands at the same time he drops his head.

“No. You didn’t have to do this.” Opening the door, I step outside with exactly zero ideas what I’m supposed to do next.

He watches me. I feel him watching me walk away but don’t chance a look back until I’m down off the porch and safely a house away down the sidewalk. Just like I thought, he stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, face as hard as steel, showing no emotion.

How could I let myself fall for his lies? I knew better. This town hates me and I walked right into it. Right into the belly of the beast.

Five looks over my shoulder later, I find myself ducking behind a large black walnut tree in the park across from the courthouse at the rumble of bike engines taking up the entire street, riding in the direction of Mark, I mean Beau’s house. Brimstone Lords, his club’s patches visible on all their cuts.

The sight of them heading to him has me so upset I almost blow my cover to yell at them. He wanted to embarrass me. Would I like it? No. But why did he have to break my heart? It’s five years ago all over again. I hardly had any heart left, and he destroyed it.

My eyes. My throat. My lungs start to burn as I know I’m about to lose it. I know I’m about to lose it, and I know I don’t want to which means once the street clears, I hump it away from the park, out of the center of town keeping a low profile the three miles it takes until I find myself standing in the parking lot behind the funeral home.

What do I have to lose? Nothing. Literally nothing left to lose for me in this town anymore. So with that thought weighing heavy and nobody around to stop me, I tug on the handle of the back metal door. It actually opens for me to walk inside. The spring on the door strains and snaps back closing me in the foyer at the mouth of a dimly lit hallway.

Situated running perpendicular not parallel to the back door, the first room I come to has a flat stainless steel table and next to it sits an open cosmetics case. They’ll most likely bring my dad in here before his showing in the morning. Lord knows I can’t stay here.

The next door to open smells strongly of bleach and has shelves with open bottles of various cleaners, an industrial mop bucket with a couple of mops inside it, leaning against one shelf. Since the place is closed now, I figure they’ve already cleaned for the night and drop to the floor resting my back on the wall next to the shelf, pulling my earbuds and phone from my purse.

Listening to Vivaldi, trying to calm my nerves, I close my eyes and hope for sleep to find me. I’m tired. My body. My mind and my soul are all more tired than I think I’ve ever been in my life.

Vivaldi surprisingly does calm me enough to fall asleep despite laying on the cold, hard concrete or knowing I’m surrounded by dead bodies.

Though I don’t know how long I’d been out for, I find consciousness again at the sound of a woman crying. Each eye pops open independently, foggy and full of crust. I’ve woken with a kink in my back, in my neck and a severe headache.

No one sees me peek out of the closet or move down the hallway to where the crying grows loudest right outside one of the salons. When I poke my head inside, it’s Hadley I see crying over my father’s body. Her tears, her pain—it’s all real.

Seriously, I never thought I’d ever do this but I go to her, taking her in my arms and just hold on while she grieves the loss of her love.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“He’s my dad.” I shrug. “I never hated you, Hadley. I know how much you love him. We never had to be enemies, even when he chose his love for you over me. We never had to be enemies.”

She stares as if I’d grown two more heads.

“I’m not staying for the funeral,” I tell her. “You don’t need to deal with the town drama today. So if you don’t mind, I’ll talk to my dad and be on my way.”

“I’ll leave you then.” She moves to the doorway of the salon.

“Thank you. And Hadley…” She looks at me like it’s the first time she’s seeing me. “Thank you, you know, for taking care of him.”

She blinks, walking then out the door without saying anything in response, leaving me to stand with my dead father.

“Hey dad,” I say to him, reaching out my hand, but stop short dropping it to my side because I can’t get myself to touch him. He looks like he’s sleeping. Clean shaven. Just like the last time I’d seen him five years ago. Though slightly older. We look alike. The same sandy blond hair as my natural color. The same eyes I can’t see because his lids are sealed. God, damn it. How did we get here?

I have to grip the side of the coffin to stabilize myself, and take in a few shuddering breaths to clear my head. I have things to say, and he’s going to hear me out. Even if he can’t actually hear. “I don’t understand why it had to be her or me. You knew why I couldn’t come back here. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t come to me, not once in five years. I lost you the same day I lost Logan and Beau. But I always thought that as long as you were healthy, I wouldn’t be alone in the world.

“Never thought I’d lose you in such a freak accident. Made a fool of myself with the town again. Beau this time. So yeah, I really am alone in the world.” Finally tears fall freely for my father, but crying gets you nowhere. “Oh, and now I hate chocolate, too.”

Scrubbing my hands down my face, I collect myself. “Love you anyway, dad. Always will.” Even though it creeps me out, I complete the reach inside the casket patting his arm before going, wheeling my bag behind me. Because I know if I didn’t I’d regret it for the rest of my life.

When I slip outside the backdoor, Hadley leans against the side of the building smoking, sucking back long nervous drags until she sees me and drops the cigarette, snuffing it out with her toe.

“If you ever need anything, call me, okay Hadley? And I mean it.”

She smiles, but it’s weak, and nods. “How will you get home? Heard about your car.”

“I’ll walk until I reach a Greyhound.”

“It’s too far.”

“I’ll be fine. You take care now.”

But before I can get two steps, Mr. Delavigne stops me. “That was very sweet of you. Jimmy, my custodian, will drive you to the bus station.”

It was very nice not to mention super helpful of Mr. Delavigne to have Jimmy drive me to the bus station since the closest stop was the next county over. We saw some of the Brimstone Lords out riding, and I couldn’t help wonder if Beau had them out looking for me since the best part of his revenge plot had been spoiled. They didn’t see me because who would think to look for me in a funeral home van?

Since I’m on my way home now via bus, I’ll have to figure out another car. Perfect. Another thing to worry about. But ain’t that just my luck? I’d only finished paying that one off two months ago. I guess dropping another twenty grand on a new set of wheels is a small price to pay for not having to see Beau Hollister or his club ever again.

And I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him. Attacked because of him. My heart broken because of him. I’m the laughing stock of Thornbriar and had to avoid my own father’s funeral because of him. Yet the way he held me. Like no time had passed. Like he was still my Beau.

Get it out of your head, Elise. He was using you.

Logically I know he was. But when does the heart ever concern itself with logic?