ABBIE

 

Groaning, I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Some jackass outside revved up his motorcycle again, and a few others joined in on it. Their raucous laughter and loud voices carried into my bedroom and seemed to bore directly into my brain. I ground my teeth and sighed. These morons acted like they were the only people in the world and that the rest of us didn't matter. To those jerks, we probably didn't. Well, some of us had jobs. Actual jobs that required us to be awake and alert. And people like those rude idiots were making it extremely difficult for those of us who had to be at work the next morning to get any damn sleep.

 

It was futile, but I went over to the window anyway. Pulling it open, I stared down at the misfit gang of unruly motorcyclists in the street outside. There were too many to count, but their leader always stood out to me. He was tall and blonde, but he mainly stood out to me because out of all the jackasses down there, he was the only one who had the balls to smile at me. Every time. He smiled at me whenever I told them I needed to sleep and asked them to please quiet down.

 

It wasn't just the need for sleep that had me on edge. Though that was enough in and of itself. Having been elected to my apartment's association meant that I was expected to deal with that kind of crap. And if I didn't and wasn't able to make them stop, I was going to lose my seat on the board and the nice little discount on rent that came with it. The reason there had been a vacancy on the board to begin with was because the last person resigned simply to avoid dealing with these assholes – not that I blamed her.

 

I'd tried to be nice and cordial to them, at first.

 

“Hey guys? Could you please keep it down out there?”

 

And as always, the leader of that band of thugs smiled and waved at me. But when that didn't work and they kept being loud and obnoxious, I turned into a mega-bitch.

 

“Hey fuckers!” I shouted. “Some of us have jobs to get to in the morning, so could you please get the hell out of here and find some other apartment complex to terrorize?”

 

Their leader smiled up at me again and blew me a kiss. I could see it all the way from my apartment window upstairs. My blood boiled and my head hurt from the surge of anger inside of me. He was an arrogant, condescending asshole and I hated him for it. The others laughed. All of them did. The big, burly men with tattoos and scars didn't care about little old me. I was no threat to them. My shouts and idle threats were about as effective as somebody shaking their fist at a tornado.

 

Not that I necessarily blamed them. When they looked at me, all they saw was a little girl whom they could brush off and laugh at. Yeah, I was petite, but I was also fierce. I thought maybe they underestimated me. But then, I thought maybe a little stupid – or a little bit insane – because I knew what I had to do and was going out there to do it. I was slipping into some pajama pants, ready to rip them a new one, when I heard more bikes approaching. Looking out the window, I saw a dozen or more bikes pull up, the roar of their engines almost deafening. I saw a bunch of Latino men climbing off their bikes and greet the others who'd been partying in the street below my window.

 

Great. More of them. And these guys were new, so it was probably some sort of drug deal or something. I sighed. I didn't look like I'd be getting any sleep after all. Not there at least.

 

Grabbing a backpack, I stuffed it with a change of clothes and some toiletries. I knew my lecture wouldn't make them stop. If anything, it would probably just make them mock me and get even louder and more obnoxious – if that were even possible. So I figured that after I gave them a stern talking to, I would head over to my best friend's place down the street and spend the night. I knew that, at least there, I'd get some damn sleep. Michelle would still be up; she was a night owl. I sent her a text message and she responded right away.

 

“Sure, come on over,” her message read.

 

With my backpack slung upon my shoulders, I stepped out of my apartment, making sure to lock the door behind me. And then checking it again, just to be sure. The moment my feet hit the sidewalk, several of those pigs in leather jackets started hooting and hollering. They catcalled and whistled, calling me shit like “baby” and “sweet tits.” I glared at them. I didn't think it was possible, but these pigs made me hate them even more.

 

“I ain't no one's baby, you fucking pigs,” I yelled back, giving them the finger.

 

Their leader was a huge man who had blonde hair that fell almost to his shoulders and had a mass of tattoos that covered his bare arms. He was built like a house and was possibly the largest man I'd ever seen. He was probably twice my height and triple my weight, but I wasn't about to let that towering, hulking cretin intimidate me.

 

I walked right up to him and was so angry that I was ready to smack that smug, arrogant smile right off his face. His eyes were a soft blue that seemed somewhat kind – which seemed out of place on the rough, scarred up face. But those same eyes seemed to laugh at me as he watched me cross the parking lot. Wagging a finger in his face, I started in on him.

 

“Every night, you jackasses come out here,” I said, shaking with my barely controlled anger, “And every night I ask you to leave. I tried to be nice. Hell, I was nicer than I should have been. Yet you're still here, night after night, making all kinds of noise and, in general, being rude, obnoxious douchebags. Some of us have to work in the morning and need to get some sleep. I realize that most of you dirtbags probably don't have real jobs, but some of us do and we don't appreciate you assholes making all this goddamn noise.”

 

A crowd of men swarmed around us, and that was the first time I felt anything resembling fear. Yet, the anger within me lit a fire that quickly moved from smoldering to inferno and I couldn't back down. Couldn't stop. Wouldn't let them see they were getting under my skin.

 

Some of the Latino men were also watching me from a distance, scowling, with their arms crossed in front of their chests. A large man with dark, slicked back hair looked at me and was smiling. He seemed to be laughing at me. I took him to be the leader of the other gang based on the fact that the rest of his crew were standing behind him protectively, leaving him out front and in the center.

 

“You think this is funny, asshole?” I shouted. “Because I don't. What if I went to your house while you were sleeping and revved up my engine outside your window, huh? What if I played my music loud, made all sorts of noise, and acted like a rude, obnoxious jerk?”

 

The Latino man shrugged. “You can come to my house anytime you like, mi putita.” And then the bastard blew me a kiss.

 

Thanks to my high school Spanish class – but mostly my friends who spoke Spanish – I knew just enough of the language to be offended. I flipped the man off and gave him the dirtiest look I could muster. The blonde leader, who always smiled at me, let out a low whistle and shook his head. But he still hadn't said much. He seemed amused by my act, but even that last bit of ranting might have gone too far for him. Not that I really cared.

 

The leader of the Mexican bikers uncrossed his arms and started to walk over to me, but one of his men stopped him, giving him a pointed look. That's when I heard the sirens. Police sirens.

 

“Shit, did you call the cops, man?” one of the guys behind me said, grabbing my arm and twisting me around to face him.

 

“No, but I should have,” I spat, pulling my arm away. “Someone else obviously feels the way I do about you assholes.”

 

“Let her go, Jake,” the blonde man said. “That's not the way we roll. You know that.”

 

Reluctantly, the man he'd called Jake let go of my arm and gave me a very hard stare – a stare that said he'd love to get me into a locked room with no windows. Imagining what he might do if he ever got that opportunity set my stomach roiling and sent a cold chill across my skin.