Chapter 4
I’m drying the coffee mugs when I hear those beautiful twin motors pull up. One thing about Stanton is the fact I know he cares for that bike. He takes damn good care of it. I can tell just by the sound alone.
I turn my head and watch him gracefully park his bike in the same spot he does every day. The diner’s east wall is full of windows and it’s a perfect view to look out at the parking lot. The sky is starting to turn the shade of blue that lets you know the sun is waking up. It’s like Mother Nature’s alarm clock.
The wind chime on the door rings and I look up and the smile I have ready for him slips.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I see the annoyed look on his face.
“Some asshole spilled their makeshift ashtray on me and I didn’t have time to stop and change. So, we gotta stop at the clubhouse so I can do that.” The roughness of his voice slides over my skin and warmth seeps through me.
“And is that bad? That we have to stop? Like, you just wanna go do that first and then come back? I don’t wanna get you in any trouble if you can’t take me there.”
“I think you’ve been reading those books too much, woman. I can bring anyone I want, whenever I want. I just didn’t wanna scare you because they had a party last night so there is bound to be some dirties there.” He shrugs.
It isn’t my books that have caused the thought to enter in my head. It’s the actual experience from my dad. I brought a friend from school to our clubhouse once and almost got beat because I didn’t ask for permission to do it. Nobody enters my fucking place without me knowing it. I shudder at the memory. That was the first time I got the gift of one of his backhands.
“Those curb monkeys don’t bother me at all.” I smile at him.
Chuckling, he nods. “Maybe they do teach you something in those books you read, then.”
I laugh awkwardly while nodding. I need to remember to keep my motorcycle club terminology to myself. They aren’t always going to believe that I know them because of my books.
“Maybe.” I wink. “I’ve still got about ten minutes. Sabrina isn’t here yet.”
“No worries. We can wait.”
As soon as he says that, the door opens and my favorite Texas tornado comes barreling inside.
“I hate those damn wind chimes, Schuyler!” she whines.
I snicker as I look up at them. It’s a small chime that only has four of those metal rods on it, but they are hanging from a pink trailer. The trailer has a glitter door and if it turns into the sunlight, it lets off the prettiest sparkle. I love that damn trailer wind chime.
“You love it. Don’t lie,” I tell her as she passes behind me.
“No, you love it.” She rolls her eyes. “Sorry I’m a bit late. That sleazy sleaze ball of an ex-boyfriend of mine kept me waiting. Doing that whole ‘please babe, she meant nothing to me’ speech. No fucking thank you.” She sings the last part.
I stand there, smiling, and when she pops her head up from digging through her purse for her name tag, her whole face turns ten shades of red. Her eyes go back and forth between Stanton and me, at a loss of words. Oh, how I’m going to store this in the ‘never forget’ spot in my brain, a wordless Sabrina is a once in a lifetime occurrence.
“Ohh…Damn it, Schuyler! Why didn’t you tell me the motorcycle model was here? And why are you standing so close to him?” She looks back and forth between the two of us again.
I’m not too sure how to even answer her. What are we doing?
“We are going for a morning ride,” Stanton replies and looks out the window. “Speaking of, we gotta get going. Time’s running out,” he says cryptically.
“Okay. See ya, Sabrina!” I say with a huge grin.
Her eyes are bugging out of her head as she watches us go, demanding I fill her in when I come to work the next time. I give her a nod and wink as I walk out of the door after the man who has my inner slut already on her back moaning. Hush, girl. Hush.
“Have you ridden a bike before?” he asks.
“Once or twice.” I smile up at him.
“Okay. Well, that’s better than never. Put this helmet on. Do you need help?” he asks after he swings his legs over.
“Nahh, I think I can manage,” I say as I loop the strap with the metal buckles.
He holds out his hand for me and when I place my palm in his, I pause. The warmth from his palm has my whole body sagging in emotion. Excitement. Nerves. Dread. Hope. Acceptance.
Excitement because it’s a new adventure. With every new adventure comes that freeing feeling. That feeling of finding yourself again.
Nerves because feeling free after a year of hiding is so scary. I know it’s just a stupid motorcycle ride, but to me it’s so much more.
Dread because a year of hiding, and my heart wants me to open up to someone. And the traitorous bastard chooses a mother fluffing vice fluffing president of a mother fluffing MC. Dread fills me if he ever finds out my past, and I pray I can keep my secret. I’m praying this relationship, friendship; whatever-it-is-ship won’t go that far. And yet, a part of me hopes it will.
Hope because for once, I can feel what hope is. Hope that someone could accept my past in the future. Hoping that someone might want me for me. Not to get close to my father.
Acceptance because for once I feel like Stanton would be able to handle my secret and still accept me for it. My gut never lies, and right now it’s telling me that if I was to tell someone about my past, he would be it.
I step on the back peg and swing my leg over. My heart flutters when he puts his hand on my knee to help steady me.
“You comfortable?” he asks.
“Yep,” I pop out the word because I don’t trust myself to think, let alone talk right now. My heart is beating so loudly that if we were vampires, he would be deafened by it.
He starts the beautiful white bike with blue custom painted designs on it.
“Ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I respond, more to myself than to him.
“Better hold on tight,” he says. “I don’t ride slow.”
Awesome, I think as I wrap my arms around his body.
As soon as my hands reach around his middle, my eyes prickle with tears.
This is the first time in a year I’ve touched someone. The first time I’ve felt another human’s warmth. I rest my head on his back as he takes off and close my eyes. My mind drifts to day dreams, and for once I let them take me away. I imagine his hand holding mine. His lips warm on my temple. His soul making mine feel whole. My past long forgotten.
I breathe deeply, imprinting his scent in my memory. His hand comes down and squeezes my thigh that’s hugging his hips and I want to cry out at the unfairness of it all. I don’t even care if I pretend I’ve never been on a bike before. Any excuse to glue myself to his form is fine by me.
My inner hoochie is begging me to grind up against him. She is basically purring to herself, just thinking of the idea.
He turns into a huge parking lot and parks next to a solid matte black bike. I lift my head and look around, eyebrows scrunched together; I wonder why these two bikes are isolated from the others. These two sit in the first row, and the others are one row back. There are three spots to the right of Stanton’s, but no bikes are parked there.
I feel a thumb press between my eyebrows, smoothing out the wrinkle there. My eyes meet those of the deepest brown. They remind me of a grizzly bear in the winter time.
“The officers park here. The brotherhood parks back there. It’s not written in stone, just a show of respect on their behalf for us. Still gives me chills.” He smiles.
“Oh. That’s pretty neat.” I smile back at him.
He takes my hand in his and my palms turn sweaty as he leads me up to the front entrance. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, waving it against the lock, and the door beeps and then clicks. He pulls the door open and ushers me inside, still holding my hand.
We walk along the hallway and around the corner, where three guys lean against the wall. When they all turn their heads our way, their eyes bug out of their sockets.
“Do we have an issue here, boys?” Stanton asks.
“Uh, no, just thought you had gone home for the morning,” one of them stutters while looking at our hands.
I feel the heat in my cheeks as I remember he grabbed my hand when we walked inside. I pull my hand away and Stanton looks back at me, down to his now empty hand, and then back to the guys.
“Don’t even fucking think about it. She’s not a curb monkey, so any thoughts you were having, you better get rid of ‘em now,” he barks out.
The guys don’t even say anything – they just nod before they turn around and walk away. On the back of their cuts, it says they are prospects.
They are allowed inside here? This must not be the real clubhouse then. This must be the party den or something.
“So, what is this place?” I ask while wrapping my arms around myself to keep from reaching out to grab his hand again.
“This is our clubhouse. We do all of our important club business here,” he says. I can’t believe there were prospects in here.
“Oh. It’s nice. And huge,” I say, looking around. This club house is bigger than my dad’s, not to mention nicer, too.
I shake my head at the thought of my dad. I am stepping right back inside what I left behind.
“You okay?” he asks me as he puts a strand of my hair behind my ear.
I look up into his eyes and as much as my head is screaming for me to run, my heart is begging me to stay. Why did this man have to walk into my diner? Why did I agree to go on a ride with him?
“Yeah, this is just all so… I don’t know. Crazy.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit different than your books, ain’t it?” he asks.
“Yeah, something like that,” I mumble.
“Let’s go up to my room so I can grab a shirt, and then we are out of here,” he says as he puts his hand on my lower back.
“Do you stay here?”
“Nah. Well, yeah but I have my own house, too. When I wanna take a break, I go home. If I’m busy, I stay here.”
“Oh, that’s pretty cool,” I say, intrigued.
We walk up a flight of stairs and when we get to the landing, there is a room on each side. He turns to the right and unlocks the door, letting me go inside first.
I walk in and I’m blown away. He has a king-size bed against the wall underneath a huge window overlooking the clubhouse floor. There is a long, black dresser with a huge mirror on it across the end of the bed. He has a loveseat against the wall and a full bathroom on the other side of the room. It’s surprisingly very clean in here, as well as relaxing. Not what I expected at all.
Stanton walks over to his dresser, pulls open the drawer and grabs a heather grey thin t-shirt. I can’t stop staring at him as I lean my hip against the wall by his closet. I watch him grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it off in one swift pull.
My eyes are glued to his reflection in the mirror. His abs ripple as his arms move. He has scripture tattooed down each of his sides. The shadowed room makes it difficult to make out what the words say. He also has his MC logo tattooed in the middle of his back with a scripture in Latin running underneath it. That’s a huge piece, and I know it was painful to get. My own back tingles at the memory of getting mine.
My gaze travels up to his face in the mirror and our eyes meet in what feels like a head-on collision. The air is sucked from my lungs and I’m left standing there, staring into the eyes of this man. My heart is beating a million beats a minute, all the while holding my breath. I can feel the connection we’ve had since the very first day he walked into my diner burn brighter. It’s like when two exposed wires are put together.
He turns around, and his hip rests against the dresser. His arms cross and the inner hussy of mine glues her eyes to the muscles bulging from the movement. She has no shame.
My gaze travels up and the wicked smirk plastered on his face has me wanting to bitch slap her. I hate making a man’s ego any worse than it probably is.
“Stanton!” a female voice hollers up the staircase.
Her voice rips me out of my trance and I pull my phone out of my back pocket pretending to text someone as she blows through his open door as if she lives here.
She moves past me and stops right in front of Stanton, pops her hip out to the side and plants her palm right on it. I have to throw my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Stanton’s face is a mix of ‘you-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me’ and humor. I’m not sure what emotion is closer to the surface.
“Stanton, I thought you were leaving for the day,” she whines.
“Why does it matter, Anne?” he asks, annoyance coating his words.
I slide down the wall and leave one leg bent at the knee. I start picking at the worn denim trying to tell my head to explain to my heart that this conversation doesn’t matter to me. I don’t know Stanton like that. We are basically strangers. Yeah, so what if he comes into the diner four or five times a week for four or five months now? And we chit chat for hours? He’s still a stranger. And I should never have agreed to hang out with him today. Never.
“I thought we could hang out,” she replies in that same whiney tone. I wonder if that’s her real voice, or if she just sounds like that with Stanton.
“You thought wrong,” he states flatly.
“I thought there could be something between us.” She tries to sound seductive but it just sounds trashy. I’ve never heard a girl try so hard over a man. Wowzers.
I pull my pocket knife out of my pocket and flick it out to cut the loose threads off my worn jeans. Just as I go to get rid of the first thread, I hear a gasp.
I look up and Anne is looking at me with wide eyes.
“What?” I ask while standing back up. I brush the not-really-there lint off my jeans and then look up again. “Well, if you’d like, Stanton, I can wait outside while you and Miss Thang sort this out. Then you can take me home.” I yawn to push my stance further. “I’m tired anyway, ya know.” I shrug and start to head for the door.
“Stop, Schuyler.” His deep voice coats my skin and I soak up the feelings it brings forth inside of me.
Want.
Want for someone to desire me. As much as I hate to be vulnerable, that’s what I am. I want someone to put their foot down and fight for me. I’ve been alone so long, and the only people who have fought for me, only did it because I refused them. They didn’t love me, they didn’t want me, they just didn’t like that I didn’t want them.
“Nah. It’s cool, Stanton. Really. It seems like, Anne, is it? Yeah, Anne has a really important conversation to have with ya,” I say, as I try and shake off the weird feeling I’ve met her before. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck are prickling with the thoughts.
“It’s not like you weren’t trying to eavesdrop anyway. If I didn’t catch you sitting there like a freak with your knife, you would have stayed in here listening to the whole thing,” she snubs. Again, I try not to giggle.
“Yeah, you’re probably right there, sweet cheeks.” I snicker.
“Really, Stanton, why do you insist on bringing in strays?” she whines at him.
On that note, I’m outta here. Even if I have to walk myself.
I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, but I’m not a stray. I might be a loner, but I’m not a stray. I chose this life of loneliness. It fucking sucks, but I chose it.
As I walk out the door, I hear Stanton tell Anne she was out of line and never to talk to him again, or else he’ll throw her out on her curb monkey ass. I don’t hold back my giggle. It’s funny, because the term curb monkey is so degrading. In the motorcycle world, it means a girl who hangs out in the clubhouse in hopes of catching one of the patch members. They sit outside on the curb when the members go for a ride, and if a member wants a passenger, they pick one of the girls on the curb. Their hopes and wishes are to make one of the members fall in love .So they open their legs and put out to all the patches in hopes one will claim one of them as their old lady.
Some women are just plain desperate. I stop and giggle again while shaking my head. I left my home to get away from this life, but here I am, smack dab in the middle again, visiting the hell I once lived. Yeah, no fucking thank you.
“What’s so funny it has you stopping to laugh?” Stanton asks when he catches up to me.
“Oh, nothing. Just ironic. You wouldn’t understand,” I say.
“Try me,” he replies as his warm eyes study mine.
“Nahh. That’s not something I talk about anymore. Ready to take me home?” I ask as I start to head outside again.
“No. We are gonna take a ride and hang out for a while,” he replied brazenly.
“What? No. I want to go home now,” I tell him, feeling a little annoyed.
“I thought you didn’t let curb monkeys get to you like that,” he pops off at the mouth.
“I don’t,” I say stubbornly.
“Then why do you want to go home all of a sudden when before she walked into my room you were looking at me with fuck me eyes?” he asks with a tilt to his head and a wicked gleam in his eyes.
I’m sure my face is about ten shades of red right about now. This man is an ass.
“Maybe because it's personal for me. And I shouldn’t have even agreed to this in the first place. And maybe I’m tired. And I had a long night. And I don’t want to deal with curb monkey bullshit this early in the day. However you wanna look at it, Stanton.” I babble on and on. Now I’m angry I just ramble like that. Ugh. Men are stupid.
“Well, you didn’t deny my comment about the fuck me eyes.” He laughs as he walks to his bike.
I grumble, calling him an “asshole” under my breath, as I walk after him.
He hands me the helmet. As I go to take it from him, my hand brushes his, my chest hurts from the powerful warmth of his touch. I look up into his face and his eyes are glued to the spot where our hands meet.
“Vice!” a guy shouts and I pull the helmet from his grasp.
Seems like there is always someone saving us from getting in too deep.
Stanton mumbles something under his breath about fuckers keeping him from what he wants.
“Vice, I’m glad I caught you. There is a guy in the guest wing who wants to speak with you,” the kid says while turning to point at, what I’m assuming is, the guest wing.
“Too bad. I’m leaving. Tell him to come back tomorrow and I’ll chat with him,” he tells the prospect. I know he’s not a patch member because his cut says ‘Prospect of the Fallen Angels’ on the back.
My dad would never have put his club name on a prospect cut. I’m reeling a bit. Could this club really be any different than his? I’ve seen so many different things already.
“Alright, Vice. I’ll let him know. Have a good night, well, morning,” he laughs and walks away.
“I intend to,” he says while looking at me. I swallow as I put the helmet on.
I’m not sure what exactly I’m feeling. My insides are screaming so many different things, I don’t know what to think.
I’m scared to get back into this motorcycle life. I’m scared to get attached to a motorcycle club member, because I know they don’t stay faithful. I know it. I’ve seen it. Was nearly forced to accept it. I’m scared my father will find me. I’m scared as shit he will hurt Stanton, or threaten him.
I’m scared when Stanton finds out about my family that he will want nothing to do with me. With all the other things I’m scared of, for some reason that one hurts the most.
I feel safe with Stanton. And I know that’s crazy. We hardly know each other. But one thing my aunt and uncle taught me was my gut is always right. Trust it. Go with it.
So, I am.
I snap my helmet strap and place my hand on his shoulder, stepping up on the back pegs of his bike. Once I throw my other leg over, my whole body sighs in happiness to be wrapped around this man again. I wouldn’t ever ride in a cage again if I got to ride with him everywhere.
His hand comes back to rest on my knee.
“Ready, sweetheart?” he asks.
“More than ready,” I reply with a smile.
Because it’s true. I’m excited to take this journey. I wrap my hands around his middle, and bask in the warmth he provides.
Right before he takes off, I flip the visor down to shield my eyes from the wind.
As we circle around the clubhouse, a man is walking out to his bike. I’ve seen that bike before. I turn my head and look at the guy and when his eyes come up and run over my body, my breath is robbed from me. My arms involuntarily grip Stanton harder.
He can’t be here. He just can’t.