TODAY’S MY DAY OFF, and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. I’ve taken my phone out a dozen times, fingers hovering over Mom’s name, but I can’t bring myself to tap call. I know nothing I say can make it better. I’m afraid if I tell her how much Springdale feels like coming home—it would break a piece of her heart that would never heal.
The coffee maker beeps, and my flip-flops clack across the worn linoleum floor as I reach for my favorite chipped mug I received as a teacher’s gift my very first year from Bradley Jenkins.
Its heavy ceramic handle always felt sturdy in my hand, and it’s oversized; one cup is more like two. That boy had a mouthful of braces and copper hair that flopped over his face.
I’ll never forget that kid.
He had the goofiest grin and carried his favorite worn comic book with him everywhere. Last I heard, he was in Silicon Valley at some tech startup.
The kid did good.
I pour the coffee into my mug closing my eyes at the heavenly aroma wafting from it. I bring it to my lips, taking a tiny sip. It’s burning hot, but I needed that first taste of morning and it’s a beautiful one. On a whim, I pick up my phone and library book and take them outside. My feet practically hop down the steps to the back deck overlooking the grassy yard.
I fell in love with this place the second I clicked on it online. It’s cheap compared to Chicago, is on the outskirts of Springdale, and felt wild. Like if I took one step off the lawn, I’d fall into the mystical forest turning into the wood nymphs I used to read about.
I laugh out loud, why not take a stroll and find out if I would? Feeling silly, like the little girl I once was, I kick off my flip-flops, feel the dew on the bare feet, and smile. The steam from my mug rises in front of me, leading the way across the yard. The sounds of morning greet me. Birds chirping, leaves rustle in the wind, as my feet sink into the damp earth covered with grass as green as sparkling emeralds glittering in the morning sun.
A twig snaps and my eyes cut towards the sound expecting to see one of the many deer that venture out looking for the apples I’ve been sneaking from Roger’s kitchen.
A scream bubbles up from my throat, but never makes it out.
I’m walking straight towards him.
The man from the cemetery.
He’s standing just beyond the clearing, hiding behind the brush. I pretend not to see him and drop my hand in the grass pretending to pluck a wildflower. Turning around slowly, I pretend to drink my coffee.
Feeling afraid for the first time, I understand this MC stuff isn’t from a TV show. But is this actually happening in real life? I take my phone from my shorts and call Roger on his cell.
“What?” He asks sounding like he’s out of breath.
“Rog… he’s here. I can see him standing out in the woods looking at the house.”
“Toad still with you?”
“No. I don’t run on Saturdays.”
I feel his sharp intake of breath coming through the phone. He’s breathing hard. “Bolt your doors. I’m coming sugar. And stay the hell away from the windows in case he decides to start shooting.”
“Rog?”
“Yeah, sugar?”
“D-don’t hang up. S-stay on the line with me?”
“It’s gonna be okay sweetheart. I won’t let that piece of slime get near ya’.”
I shriek hearing more twigs snap. He comes out of the woods standing in plain sight.
“What do you want with me?” I yell.
He doesn’t answer but smiles slowly. His eyes telling me everything I need to know. This sick fuck wants to hurt me.
Badly.
The mug falls from my hands, shattering on the cement walk as I run for the door.
“Dev?” Roger roars in my ear. But I can’t answer him. I’m running for my life.
I make it up the stairs to my apartment bolting the door. I drag a chair over and place the back under the handle.
“ANSWER ME GODDAMMIT DEVON!” He roars as I hear the engine of his truck start up. I nod as if he could see me and sink to the floor. Crawling on my hands and knees down the hall, to the bathroom door, I turn the knob and crawl in.
“Dev? What’s going on sugar?”
“I’m in the bathroom. He has a gun.”
“Good. Stay put, I’m on my way.”
A hard pounding starts on my apartment door.
“Open up sweet thing. It’s the big bad wolf sweetheart. Come out now, and I’ll go easy on ya’.”
“He’s trying to get in.”
“I’ll be right there sweetheart. I swear to you—you’ll be safe. He can’t get in. There’s no going through that door and I installed the best locks money can buy on all my properties.”
My breath comes out in pants; I’m sweating as if I worked out. Huddled, in the far corner of the bathroom next to the toilet—I pray he’s right.
I can’t talk.
I can barely think, I’m so terrified.
My heart’s pounding, adrenaline coursing—it’s a terrible rush of panic welling inside, wondering if this is how my story is going to end. At the hands of some crazy ass biker using me as payback for something I know nothing about?
Minutes tick by.
The pounding ends.
I rock back and forth trying not to cry. Either he found his way in, or he’s waiting to ambush Rog.
“Be careful…”
The phone call ends, muffled cursing and yelling comes from outside. I jump to my feet hearing quick pops of gunfire followed by squealing tires.
Without thinking, I bolt up from the floor unlock the door and run to the front window just in time to see Roger charging like a grizzly bear, gun in hand, running into the woods.
Heart pumping, I unbolt the door, dash down the steps—grab the garden shovel leaning against the side wall and race across the field after him, shrieking as more gunfire erupts from the woods.
Before I can cross the yard, he’s back.
“Get back inside,” he roars.
I sink to the ground instead, hands still gripping the shovel hard. He strides towards me, tucking his gun into the back of his pants.
“What were you gonna do with that sugar?”
He pries the shovel from my grasp and tosses it aside. He swoops down picking me up and swings me into his arms. My head falls to his shoulder. The heavy patter of his heart comforts me as much as his embrace. He climbs the stairs, kicks the door open and carries me inside.
I’m in shock.
I can’t speak.
My body trembles and shakes.
The sob that’s been trapped finally breaks free. My hands cling to his soft cotton shirt, my nose buried in his chest. I breathe him in wishing he’d hold me like this forever.
He mumbles sweet nothings and strokes my hair. He sighs, sits down on my couch, stroking my back and my heart stops as he buries his nose in my hair and his arms tighten their hold on me.
I’m not sure how much time goes by, and I don’t care.
Neither of us speaks. I’m afraid if I do—the spell will be broken, and he’ll realize his touch has changed from comforting to caressing. My legs shift. I pull back searching his face as my hands cup his cheeks and softly strokes his beard. His erection boldly nudges me, and I move to straddle him, letting it press against my core. His eyes briefly close feeling the contact. I bring my face down to his and stop, hovering above his lips.
My eyes beg his for this kiss.
“Devon girl…,” he groans pulling back. He lifts my hand off his cheek and places a rough kiss in my palm, “we can’t sugar.”
He lifts me off his lap and takes out his phone. “Smith? That bastard was at Dev’s. He showed up threatening her. Yeah, she’s okay, but I want a guard on her 24/7. He got away, had his ride stashed in the woods on the old logging road… yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’ too sounds good brotha.”
He hangs up, pacing and takes a deep breath. Hands on his hips, he stops and stares at me for what seems like minutes. His gaze is burning hot, cheeks taunt and jaw ticks as he breathes hard.
“What?”
“Dammit, girl. Either way, you ain’t gonna walk for days.”
“Excuse me?” I squeak.
“I can’t decide if I’m gonna spank ya’ or bend you over that couch till you scream for me to stop, just because you want me to keep going.”
His words make me wet in an instant. My nipples tighten, begging for his mouth on them as he lowers his gaze.
“But I ain’t gonna do any of it,” he mutters slamming his fist into the drywall. I gasp as pieces crumble to the floor. “I told ya’ to stay put. You put yourself at risk going out there—with a goddamn shovel, no less.”
“I-I needed to help you.”
“It’s my job to handle the bad guys, not you. Christ, he could’ve taken a shot at you from his position in the tree line.”
The door slams in his wake, rattling so hard the pictures on my wall shake.
“Hot damn,” I breathe, “he does want me.”
My heart leaps in my chest, and I have this sudden urge to come clean and tell him everything.
After a few minutes, I pull myself out of my stupor and run after him. My hair flies all around me, as I reach the landing. I stop short seeing Smith and Toad standing right next to him. Three sets of heads swivel in my direction, each looking at me like I’m something to be protected. But Roger looks at me with eyes full of scorn. He shakes his head, climbs into his truck and slams the door. “Make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”
Confused, I stare at the dust his tires kick up, as he pulls out onto the road. His eyes don’t check the rearview. Not even once. But I know what I felt. We have a connection… it was in the way he touched me, the way he spoke my name in my ear as his hands stroked my back.
I’m under his skin. A man like Roger doesn’t get easily affected. If he doesn’t hate me for that, he will soon when he finds out whose daughter I am.
Damn the man. He’s just not under my skin; he’s snaking along inching his way closer to the center of my heart.
My hands grip the wheel. If I let go, I’ll turn this truck around and race back there, haul her in my arms and take her straight to my bed. I’d lay her down gently but make love to her hard. I’d pin her hands above her head, and my lips would burn a trail of fire across her skin.
I shake my head, foot slamming on the brakes at the stop sign.
She’s too young for me and too good for a quick fuck. Which means it’s never gonna happen. I need to get these dirty thoughts out of my head right motherfucking now.
My eyes glance to the broken pieces of the mug I found in the grass. I traced her steps, seeing the scene play out in my head as that pencil-dick terrorized her. The rage I felt still sings in my blood. I need to hit something; fuckin’ punch something until my knuckles break open and bleed. But it’s too early. The gym doesn’t open till noon. I’ll go home and chop wood. There are at least three logs that need to be corded for winter. I’ll swing my ax down pretending it’s that fucker’s face.
My hands clench the wheel, and I shut my eyes for a few seconds. I know these roads so well; I could drive them half blind and half in the bag. The oversized tires on my Dodge RAM easily churn through the mud as I turn right onto a dirt road barely visible from view.
Overgrown pine trees hug the curb, their long flowing branches hanging low. A mile and a half of bumps, rocks, and potholes would deter anyone from driving down here. It’s black as shit at night. I never put up any lights, not even solar ones. I value my privacy and never have people over. Hell, it was always safer this way when I was the MC’s enforcer. They can’t kill ya’ if they can’t get to ya’.
My small log cabin by the pond comes into view. I turn the truck around and back it into the converted horse barn made into a triple wide garage. Climbing out of my truck, I inhale deeply letting my lil’ slice of paradise, calm me down. My cabin sits in the middle of a small clearing, the porch wrapping around to face a small pond I fill with trout. Tucked away within seventy acres of buffer; there’s nothing out here but me and the wild.
My boots trudge up the steps and I unlock the door. The inside of my home is simple, rustic, earthy… just like me. No woman’s ever been inside, except Shanna, the girl I helped raise. I had the kitchen and bathrooms renovated a few years back after she joked I was livin’ like a grandma. I told her, grandmas don’t have balls of steel and a back full of ink. She shook her head and bought me a few design magazines.
Opening the fridge, I get my kale and greens out and place them on the counter next to my juicer. I hate this shit but damn if I don’t feel better after sucking it all down.
My cell rings from the back of my pants.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Dev was pretty shaken up. I left Toad with her. The bastard got away.”
“Think he’s going north?”
“Yeah, I’d bet my left nut he’s going to Canada. The Prez there was always sympathetic to Zach.”
“Yeah, probably ‘cause his girl eye fucks Duke every time he goes up there.”
“Shit. They all do. Can’t hold that against him when he only has eyes for his woman.”
“True. But last time he was in the clubhouse in Vancouver, the Prez’s old lady got drunk and broke into Duke’s room. She was already naked and slithering on him before he came to. They came to blows, and we left. That was the last straw for Duke. He never wanted the Prez patch anyway.”
“I know. But Zach attacked Shanna, in the founding member of Creed’s home. That shit couldn’t fly.”
“I know brother and now Zach’s six feet under.”
“Well, hell if anyone else is going to be too. We need to shut his brother down. Go to Canada and make our case.”
“I’m already on it. I’m putting shit together on my end.”
“Good,” I grunt, “this shit can’t stand.”
“Agreed.”
We disconnect, and my eyes stare into the backwoods. Once Dev is safe, I’ll be able to put some distance between myself and the girl and get the answers that I was originally lookin’ for.
Who is she?
And why did she come to Springdale?
More importantly, why does the thought of her leavin’ someday make me feel like I just got sucker punched in the gut? She signed a six-month lease; maybe I’ll apply some pressure and get six more.