My Inked Neighbor (Summit Hill Vipers: Mayhem Makers)

Chapter 10 Xiara

“ A re you gonna explain what’s going on with you and Bullseye or what?”

Xaden sits on a stool at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee as I enter. I jolt as he catches me unaware, pinning me with a look that I know means he’s not giving up until I answer him.

“I don’t know,” I reply with honesty. “It’s complicated.”

“Bullshit, Xi.”

“Fine. I can’t tell you because we haven’t gotten that far. There’s nothing to confess or reveal.”

He scoffs and finishes his coffee, slamming the mug on the counter. “This sucks. You never used to keep secrets from me.”

I flinch like his words slap me. “Xaden, I don’t have any secrets. I promise.”

“You’re gonna tell me that nothing is going on when I catch you two making out on the porch the other night? I saw his fucking hand in your pants.”

My face burns hot as I flush, mortified that he witnessed an intimate moment and I wasn’t more careful. “Xaden.”

“Do you even know his real name? It’s not fucking Bullseye.”

I know his first name. Xaden doesn’t give me time to answer.

“It’s Drew Blade. He’s a fucking Blade , Xi.”

Everyone in Summit Hills knows about the Blade brothers. Seven siblings who own an empire. They’ve had offspring that are all male. Not a single daughter. The Blade family has a reputation for being cutthroat, eliminating any enemy, whether that’s professional or private. I’ve always doubted the rumors. Gossip spread easily in Summit Hill.

There’s nothing for me to say to my brother. I feel stupid that he saw me making out with Bullseye. Now, to learn he’s a Blade? I don’t know what to do with that.

A sigh escapes as his shoulders slump. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Xi.”

I don’t correct him on his language. It doesn’t seem important right now. “I’m the one that’s sorry. You shouldn’t have seen that.”

“Do you regret it?” he softly asks, holding my gaze.

“No,” I reply firmly. “I just wish I had been more careful.”

My brother nods. “I already warned him. If he hurts you, I’ll kick his ass.”

My lips twitch as I try not to laugh. It’s not funny, really, but it is adorable. “I love you, Xaden. You know that, right?”

“I do. That’s why you need to understand that I don’t care if you wanna hook up with the biker or marry him. You deserve to be happy, too.”

My breath catches. “You don’t think I’m happy?”

“No,” he replies, reaching for my hands and holding them. “With me, sure, but not with your life. I know how much you give up for me. So go ride that Harley and fuck a bad boy and drink until you puke. Make some memories and have some regrets. It’s fucking okay, Xi. I’m not a little kid anymore. I can handle shit.”

It’s the first time we’ve had a conversation so raw and open. Tears spring into my eyes, and I blink them back. “I think you’re right. I need to have more fun.”

“Yeah, you do, sis. So don’t worry about me. I’m fucking awesome.”

I slide my arm around his waist as he drops my hands, and we hug. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“Oh, if you keep cussing, I’m going to make you put money in the swear jar.”

Xaden chuckles. “Dad used to put money in it when he came home from work. He knew he wasn’t making it through the night.”

“He did,” I laugh.

“I miss them.” His voice cracks, and I squeeze him tighter.

“Me too.”

“We’re gonna be okay, Xi. I feel it.”

“I do, too.”

Xaden releases me, and I step back, smiling at the young man he’s become. He’s handsome, charming, and far too intuitive. My parents would have been so proud to see the athlete and scholar he’s become.

“I’ve got the guys waiting,” he announces with a grin. “We’re playing COD.”

I wave him off. “Go.”

“YOU SURE YOU CAN’T come in?” I ask, glancing at the clock. It’s supposed to be my day off. I just woke up. It’s only a little after eight.

Xaden left for school fifteen minutes ago.

“No,” Brooklynn confirms. “I’m sick.” The last word leaves her mouth with a cough.

“Okay. I’ve got you.”

“Thanks, Xiara.”

I end the call and sigh. There’s nothing worse than having to replace a shift on a Friday night. Brooklynn is scheduled to work two to ten. I’ll be busy, and unless I find another person, I’ll only have one employee with me tonight. Please don’t call off, too , I beg in my head.

On a whim, I dial Brian, the other supervisor. His phone rings forever before going to voicemail. I know from experience that he won’t listen to my message in time, so I don’t bother leaving one. Instead, I text him, notifying him of the shift change. Hopefully, he’ll see it and respond, if only with a thumbs up.

I spent the next few hours cleaning the house, doing a load of laundry, and making crockpot lasagna so Xaden has a warm meal tonight and won’t have to order pizza. He loves lasagna, and I made it extra cheesy, adding spinach and Italian sausage to the hamburger so there’s plenty of protein. My brother works out and watches his diet, so the grocery list is long and pricey. I don’t mind, though.

He can have whatever the fuck he wants.

It’s only noon when I decide to drive to work early. I’ve got to submit the next stock order, and I know there won’t be time later. It’s already busy when I park at the side of the building, close enough that I can see my vehicle through the monitor in my office. It’s nothing fancy, but I worked hard for that Chevy Trax. I’ll lose my shit if someone dents it.

Kevin is working the morning shift, which means he’ll clock out at two. He waves as I walk in, smiling as he cashes out a customer. He’s a great employee—one of the best we’ve got.

It takes me nearly an hour to fill out and submit the supply order. I leave the office, glancing at the clock. It’s nearly one. Brooklynn, Pete, and Josh are scheduled for the afternoon and evening. With Brooklynn calling off, it’ll leave me with the two guys, but I don’t mind. They’re both upbeat and don’t mind helping with cleaning, stocking, and closing down the machines at the end of the day.

We only keep coffee on all night. Everything else is taken apart, and the parts sanitized. People don’t usually want hot food late at night. The sales aren’t consistent enough, and we waste product. Even hot dogs and pizza. It’s okay with me. The less to worry about, the better.

When it’s one-thirty, and Pete hasn’t shown up, I begin to worry. He’s never late. When I try to call him, all I get is voicemail. I leave a message, but I’m not hopeful he’ll return my call. He’s been known to blow off a shift here and there, especially on a Friday.

Two o’clock hits, and Kevin clears his drawer. He’s standing beside me, glancing at the clock. “You want me to stay with you until three? I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“It’s okay. It’s only an hour. Josh will be here at three.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. Thanks.”

He’s gone by two-ten, and it’s just me. Luckily, it’s not too busy. People fill their tanks at the pumps with consistency, but they don’t enter the store. I only have a handful of customers, and it’s not been too stressful. About a minute before three p.m., my phone vibrates in my pocket. I don’t check it until I’ve finished with the last customer. It’s about eight minutes later when I check the screen.

“Shit,” I mutter. Josh fucking called off. By text.

Why does anyone think text is an appropriate way to communicate with an employer or supervisor? It’s not. Sure, some companies have call-in lines where you can leave a voicemail before your shift starts and take sick time. My friend who works for the city has that luxury.

Not with my company.

Irritated, I text him back, stating that he’ll be written up for missing his shift. I don’t get a reply.

Three hours later, I’m handling a long line of customers, and I can barely keep an eye on the ones roaming the store. I figure it’s not my fault at this point if someone steals. One person is ill-equipped to handle this place on a busy Friday night.

I finally catch a break around seven-thirty. It’s a much-needed lull. I grab a snack and a drink and run to the restroom. For the next hour, I don’t have any problems, and the customers are friendly. I never get backed up with a long line, and even though it’s hot out, only a handful of people come inside the store. I sell a few cold drinks and ring people out, hoping the night shift will be here on time.

When it’s quiet for another thirty minutes, I take the time to brew fresh coffee. I always make sure we’ve got both decaf and regular. The customers appreciate it since we’re a stop along the road that’s popular with people who love to travel. Ohio can be beautiful if you don’t mind the cornfields and flat land in spots. Summit Hill draws in crowds once Motocross season begins in May. It won’t be long before all that traffic keeps local businesses booming.

It’s funny how everything can go from peaceful to alarming within the span of a heartbeat. All it takes is the rumble of motorcycle engines for me to freeze in place. I’m standing behind the register when I see a row of bikes gliding across the pavement. Please don’t be Murder.

It’s so bright inside the store I can’t see the back of the leather vests when the riders park and stand. I have no idea if it’s Vipers or Crimson Heretics. For once, I’m hoping I have good luck. This day can’t possibly get any worse . . . until it does.

Someone approaches the front of the store but doesn’t come inside. I notice the same guy who stole the candy bar and stood beside Murder before he shoved me into the drink case. Lefty stares at me through the glass, and I resist the urge to shiver. I’m so fucked.

The panic button is within reach, but I don’t have much confidence in the police. Officer Hannigan never returned any of my calls. She’s not concerned about my safety, that’s for sure. I’m not confident that law enforcement will arrive in enough time to help.

There is one person who can make it here in minutes. He said to call if I ever need help. I don’t want to pull Bullseye into this, but I don’t think I have a choice. If there’s ever a time that I need his assistance, it’s now.

Leaving my phone on the counter, I casually dial Bullseye, placing the call on speaker.

He answers after one ring. “Hey, Beautiful.”

“Bullseye.” My voice betrays me, and I know I sound as terrified as I feel.

“Babe, you safe?”

“No,” I answer, keeping busy so Lefty won’t know what I’m doing. I never take my eyes off him, so I know when he decides to move. If he moves. He seems to enjoy staring at me through the window like a creep.

“Are you at work?”

“Yes,” I manage to croak. I’m afraid and emotional and struggling to stay in control.

“I’m six minutes away, but I’ll be there in less than two. You keep your cool. I’ve got you, Baby.”

“Okay.”

“Not hanging up. You keep the line open until I get there.”

“Bullseye?”

“Drew, Babe.”

Damn. He’s using this moment to prefer his real name over his road name? “I’m scared.”

“I can hear it, Xiara. You just keep breathing. I’m close.”

It feels like an eternity before I hear his motorcycle. It’s another couple of heartbeats before I can tell that it’s not one bike but several approaching the gas station.

Lefty grins as he ticks his head at the other Crimson Heretics members. He doesn’t leave until I can see headlights from Bullseye’s bike, causing a glare in the storefront windows. Lefty’s movements are unhurried. He’s barely on the seat of his motorcycle as Bullseye rolls to a stop by the pumps.

I’ve never seen a standoff like this before, with two rivals facing one another and the threat of violence imminent. It’s Lefty who signals to his guys to leave first. I can tell this isn’t over. I have no idea why Lefty stood outside the store unless he meant to intimidate me. That probably means Murder sent him.

I’m trembling as Bullseye parks his bike and rushes inside the store.

I don’t want to cry. It will ruin my makeup, and I’ll get hiccups with a stuffy nose. But there’s no stopping it. When I see my biker, I lose it.