Star
“Look, Martin,” Star told her skeezy, middle-aged, skin-and-bones landlord, “your money's coming, okay? I just finalized something yesterday, and I think I can get everything paid by the end of the month.”
He propped himself on the frame of her front door with one hand, barely concealing his leering appreciation of her body. “Yeah, believe me, I've heard everything in the book, sweetie. Had one guy tell me once that his grandma was on death's door, and he was getting her whole estate. Turns out he helped her progress along to get the inheritance. They found her chopped up and stuffed in her own septic tank.”
Gross. Star made a face, regretting so many decisions in her life, particularly the one where she'd moved into this furnished apartment that Martin owned. Cockroaches and ants she could deal with. Even the shitty, abusive neighbors next door. Hell, she even sometimes liked the loud music from the guy upstairs.
But, above and beyond all that, the worst part of moving in here had been Martin. The way his eyes were on her hips and breasts, leaving a cloying, filthy feeling behind on her skin as they swept over her body. She shivered inside, and fought to control her face.
“Just pointing out, I've seen it all and heard even more.” He slapped the door frame twice, punctuating his statement. “But, how's this? I like you, Star. You seem like you've got some shit luck, but you're alright. Look, I'll get you a payment plan, sorta, in the mail, alright? We go from there.”
A group of bikers rode by, sounding like a symphony of tailpipes as they ripped along the road. Their chrome shined under the afternoon sun, glinting like a million diamonds as they tore down the street.
Was that the Blood Warriors? Star's head involuntarily whipped towards them, trying to track their drive as she searched for Tanner amongst them. Her face fell as she realized that, even had he been amongst them, she wouldn't have been able to tell at this distance.
Martin laughed. “Into bikers now, huh, kiddo? Well, good luck on snagging you one of them, little Miss Priss.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Means you ain't got enough leather or black jeans in that wardrobe of yours to catch their eye.”
She thought to tell him off, that she would be with one tonight. Not that it was any of his business, of course. But, he wouldn't believe her anyways. Instead, Star just snorted her contempt of the skinny, sleazy man.
“I'll put the payment plan in your mailbox, alright?” he asked, ignoring her snort. “We'll get you caught up.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Don't thank me,” Martin said as he retracted his arm from the door frame and turned to leave, “just fucking pay me. Got it?”
Star nodded and silently watched as he headed out to his pickup. She closed her door as he climbed inside and drove away.
Now, the question was, what do you wear to an appointment like this?
# # #
Tanner
“It looks like Brendon's somewhere over by that damn college,” Tanner's mom said to him. They were both in the kitchen, Tova busily washing dishes in the sink and Tanner seated at the kitchen table. The old dishwasher had crapped out a couple weeks before. Just one more problem that needed to be fixed, and just one more reason why he needed to hurry up and get Star pregnant.
“One of Sandra's boys saw him when he was out picking up a load of scrap over that way. I asked Blade and the boys to keep an eye out for him. I hope they find something soon.”
“I know, Mom,” Tanner replied, irritation creeping into his voice. “I heard you the last time. You keep forgetting that I don't give a shit, though.”
“I know you don't,” she said, going back to scrubbing at one of her pans. “I just wish you would, though. He's your brother.”
“He fucking abandoned us. That's why not. He ran off with that skank of his and stopped taking our goddamn phone calls. It's his fault, not yours or mine.”
Tova dropped the pan in the kitchen with a loud clang. She spun around, scrub brush in hand like it was the paddle his father had used on them growing up. “Now, you listen to me. I don't think he's with that damned whore anymore. Blood looks after blood, boy. Whether they've forgotten you or turned you out.”
“Blood's not everything,” he snarled, suddenly livid, as he got up from the kitchen table. “Where is he now, huh? Where's your fucking golden boy right now? He won't even fucking call to see how you're doing. Was he even here when Pops died?”
Instead of answering, she gritted her teeth and turned back around to finish the dishes. A mean temper ran in their family, but Tova had always been able to control hers better than her dead husband, or her sons.
“You know who was here?” he continued, his volley of words aimed at her back. “The Warriors were fucking here, that's who. They were here for you, they were here for Pops, and they've been there for me every day since your sweet baby boy left.”
She slumped at the kitchen sink, her shoulders sagging as he berated her.
He felt regret for yelling at her like that. But, it was regret mixed with a certain sense of blood-boiling rage and satisfaction. Brendon was a piece of shit who'd walked away from his friends and family. The exact opposite of Tanner.
Worried about the time, he checked his phone. It was close.
“Look, I gotta go,” Tanner said as he grabbed his vest off the back of his chair and shrugged into it. “I've got an appointment.”
“At this time of night?” she asked, looking out the kitchen window at the darkening sky. “Who meets for business this late?”
“Not business,” Tanner said, even though he knew it was, or should have been. “But, I think it'll fix our problems.”
Sure, Star was attractive, and smart, and funny. But she didn't want a man like him, not forever. Just for as long as he could pay her bills and take care of his end of the bargain. She was just as desperate as him, just in it for the money like he was. Too bad, too. If she was half as hot under her clothes as he pictured in his mind's eye, she might be too good to just forget about.
“Fix our problems?” Tova asked.
“Yeah,” he said as he crossed to the backdoor and opened it.
Realization dawned on her face. “You're going on a date?”
“Not a fucking date,” he said. Then, before she could ask any more questions that pried deeper than he liked, he was slamming the door behind him and crossing the backyard to his bike.