Chapter 19
Poppy
Dancing In The Sky by Sam Barber
Iwake up convinced of three things. One, my head hurts from Pint pushing me in here and my head hitting the wall.
Two, I am absolutely being kidnapped. Three, my tire iron is still in my hands, clutched to my chest like a baby.
That’s my lifeline that will be absolutely used on Pint’s kneecap when he comes back, Nancy Kerrigan style.
Asshole. I’m getting a goose egg, and he’s going to pay for that.
And for threatening the innocent dog. Because who does that? A freak that’s who.
I have a weapon if I need one. I can take care of myself. Well, I thought I could anyway, but here I am trapped in a concrete room that apparently lulled me to sleep by the buzzing sound of a bug zapper or something.
I blink a few times, and the room swims into focus. Concrete walls. Low light from a single bulb buzzing overhead like it’s debating its life choices. Same, lightbulb. Same.
And two men are watching me.
One of them is the pint. I recognize him instantly.
Same greasy scowl, he looks like he’s barely older than some of my students at the school.
Same confused expression, as if he didn’t order this level of chaos.
Yeah, he definitely needs a tire iron to the kneecap.
But I don’t necessarily want to provoke someone with a gun, either, so there’s that.
The other one stops my brain completely.
He’s tall, broad, and scary in a quiet way where you can’t read what he’s thinking.
Dark hair pulled back and a dark beard neatly trimmed.
Tattoos peek out from under his sleeves, and his eyes are sharp and unreadable.
He has massive forearms and a very foreboding presence.
Unlike the pint. Douchebag. I narrow my eyes at the pint.
I think I’m going to call him the prick from now on.
But the other guy is hot in a terrifying way. I’m a married woman now, but I know a good-looking dude when I see one.
They’re both staring at me like I’m an unsolved mystery or potentially about to become my own Dateline episode.
I tighten my grip on the tire iron when I think of the last option.
“Jesus, Pint,” the hot, scary one says. “What the fuck?”
Pint huffs. “She’s alive.”
Something nudges my boot, and I yelp, curling around my tire iron protectively.
“If you’re gonna kill me,” I say quickly, “can I at least say goodbye to the dog first? I would really like to pet him while you take me out. It feels rude not to let me have a last dying wish.”
The older guy snorts before he can stop himself. He turns his head away and shakes it once like I’m a headache. “Get up,” he says.
Pint tries to grab me, and I slam the tire iron into his kneecap.
“That’s for hitting my head on that wall.
” Then I kick him in the nuts when he falls to his knees.
“And that’s for threatening Bandit.” The hot scary dude watches all this with fascination and then reaches out and hauls me to my feet like I weigh nothing, which I resent deeply.
He marches me down the hall while I drag my boots and glare over his shoulder at the pint who is yelling back to me and grunting.
“You know,” I say, “this is not how you treat a guest.”
He doesn’t respond, shoves me into an office and pushes me into a chair in front of a desk.
I look around in surprise. Wow. It smells like leather, smoke, and pine.
The hot, scary guy sits down in a chair behind the desk and leans back in his chair like he owns every breath in the room.
He slips a toothpick into his mouth and tilts his head, studying me. I’m guessing he’s the boss around here.
I cross my legs and tuck my tire iron into my lap, taking in the room. It isn’t really how I pictured a biker’s office to look.
He looks down at my coveralls. “Murphy’s,” he says slowly and then looks back up at me curiously.
I swallow. This guy is not the guy I need to provoke with a tire iron.
He is the human equivalent of big dick energy, while the prick is needle dick energy.
Pint’s mean to dogs, and that’s all I needed to see to know he’s a bad dude.
Anyone who means harm to animals is never good. I should have hit him in both kneecaps.
Then, the man before me widens his eyes slightly in recognition. “You’re Sully’s daughter?”
My jaw tightens, and I look away. “I don’t like being associated with him.”
That finally gets his full attention. He straightens a little, toothpick shifting. I can see the wheels turning. Measuring. Connecting dots.
“Why?” he asks quietly.
The room goes very still.
Finally, I say, “You want the long version or the short answer?”
He says nothing, the silence stretches, and I decide he’s getting the long version. If he’s associating with my dad, he should know what kind of shitbag he’s dealing with. Maybe he cares, maybe he doesn’t. But he should know. I wish I had known and had a chance.
My hands curl tighter around the tire iron, knuckles aching.
“Because he’s a really bad man,” I say quietly.
“The kind of man who abandons and steals from his own kids. He’s a bully who only picks fights he knows he can win with smaller people he thinks he can manipulate.
He stole my tools, my money, and ruined my childhood.
He hurt me any chance he could and called it ‘teaching me how the real world works’. ”
My throat burns, but I keep going because once I start, I can’t stop. Hot tears prick my eyes, and I don’t know why I’m confessing all of this to a scary stranger, but it feels right in this moment, and I feel like I can’t stop now. I have to get it all out.
“He drinks, gambles, and steals. He looks at me like I owe him just for existing. Like I’m his property. Like my shop, my work, my life is his, and he can show up whenever he wants and ruin my life over and over again.”
I glance down at the tire iron in my hands, then back up.
“He’s a scumbag,” I say, softer now. “And the saddest part is I spent a long time believing that because I’m his daughter, I was scum, too.”
I sniff and shake my head. “So yeah. That’s why I don’t like being associated with Sully.
Because I’m not a scumbag. I pay my bills, do honest work, and take care of my brother.
So, by the way, if you plan on killing me, he’ll be without a sister, and without a mother, so consider that before you murder me, scary hot guy. ”
His mouth twitches at the last part and he watches me for another long moment, then leans back again, eyes never leaving my face. “Well,” he says calmly, “this just got interesting.”
I swallow and wait for him to talk.
He watches me for a long second after I finish speaking. He doesn’t rush it. He leans back in his chair, leather cut shifting, the edge of a black T-shirt showing underneath. The toothpick moves to the other side of his mouth.
“So, what do you want?” he asks.
My throat tightens. This is the part where pride is supposed to stop me.
Or fear is supposed to tell me to run or not have come in the first place.
It’s too late. If I’m going to get my dad to leave us alone, I’m going to have to go to someone bigger than him.
Not the law, but someone who can make him stop.
The law is slow and won’t protect me. I want to be able to take my little brother to the grocery store without worrying about him showing up and trying to intimidate us. We deserve better than that.
“I want you to make him leave us alone,” I say. “I came here to beg you to make him stop.”
His eyes stay on mine, and I swear I can see his thoughts churning in there.
I keep going. “I don’t care if I owe your club. I don’t care what it costs. I can save up and pay you back. I just need help. I need you to make him stay away.”
The words come out smaller at the end, and I hate that. I hate how asking for help always feels like shrinking.
His eyes flick down to my hands. To the tire iron I’m still gripping like it’s a security blanket.
“How old’s your brother?” he asks.
“Eleven.” I tilt my chin up. “He’s a good kid.”
That changes something in his expression. Not softer exactly. Sharper. Focused.
“You know what you’re asking?” he says. “This isn’t a favor you pay back with cookies.”
I huff a weak laugh. “Yeah, but I bake really good cookies.”
That gets another brief twitch at the corner of his mouth. It’s gone just as fast.
“This kind of protection comes with rules,” he says. “No lies. No half-truths. If Sully comes around again, you call us first. Not after.”
I nod fast. “I can do that.”
“And you don’t owe my club,” he adds. “You owe me.”
“I’m married. Honestly, he’s probably going to kill me when he finds out I came here.”
Another twitch of his mouth. “Who’s your husband?”
“Ollie. He’s a firefighter in Bridger Falls.”
“Kendrick? Know his dad.” His eyes narrow.
Nope. Don’t like that. Damn it. Why do we both have to have asshole dads?
“Ollie’s nothing like his dad. His dad is as useless as mine.”
Grave nods in agreement.
I swallow. “You’ll make him stop?”
Grave leans forward then, elbows on the desk, eyes locking onto mine. “Something you should know is that Sully Murphy is no longer affiliated with my club.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. “So, that’s a no?”
He stands, and the room feels smaller immediately.
“You came out here alone,” he says. “That tells me two things. You’re either reckless or desperate.”
“Or brave,” I say quietly, tightening my grip on the tire iron.
His eyes darken. “Yeah,” he says after a beat. “That too.”
I stare at him, wondering what he’s going to do.
He turns toward the door. “I’ll handle Sully.”
Relief hits so hard, I practically drop my tire iron.
“You shouldn’t have had to raise yourself or your brother,” he adds over his shoulder. But, for what it’s worth, you’re doing a helluva job and you’re better off without him.”
The door opens and light spills in.
“And no one touches you or your brother,” he assures me. “Consider yourself club property now.”
For the first time since I got here, I let myself breathe. I don’t know what that means and that might sound equally scary, but Sully staying away sounds better. I can handle some cookies.
I stare at him for a second, not sure what to do with the relief pounding through me. My hands shake. My chest feels too full.
Something in me moves anyway. I step forward and wrap my arms around him, before I can overthink it. “Thank you, Mr. Grave.”
He stiffens like no one ever hugs him. Then he pulls back gently, steadying me by the shoulders.
“Just Grave,” he says. “This motorcycle club is under new management. We took out a lot of the trash. Your dad was trash.”
My stomach flips, like something awful is finally over.
“Thank you,” I say again, and I mean it with my whole soul.
“Don’t thank me. Be ready to pay up someday. You owe me.”
I turn and head for the door, and bend down when Bandit trots over. His tail thumps like he’s been waiting for me.
“Bye, buddy,” I whisper, scratching his ears. “Be good. And feel free to bite the pint.”
That makes a few of the guys behind me laugh.
I kiss the top of his head and stand, walking back toward my truck. I can feel Grave watching me as I go. When I glance back, he’s shaking his head slowly, like he still can’t believe any of this actually happened.
Neither can I. I think I probably just escaped being murdered.
The drive home is a blur. By the time I pull up to the apartment, my hands are still trembling as I park my truck in one of the empty bays.
The truck door flies open before I even shut the truck off.
Ollie’s there, pacing like a caged animal. His radio’s clipped to his cargo pants, boots still on, hair messed up like he’s been running his fingers through it.
“Where have you been, Poppy?” he demands, panic written all over his face.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I went to the biker club.”
His face drains of color. “Did they hurt you? What happened. Was it your dad?”
“I’m okay,” I rush out, stepping toward him. “I swear, I’m okay.”
He grabs my arms, checking me like he doesn’t believe his eyes. “Did anyone touch you? Why do you have a tire iron tucked in your pants?”
“No,” I say firmly. “Ollie, listen to me, this is a good thing.”
He’s breathing hard, eyes wild. “What the hell, Poppy?”
“I went there on my own,” I say. “I talked to the president. I told him everything about Sully. He’s going to help us by keeping Sully away from us.”
His jaw clenches. “Why would you go there alone at night?”
“Because I had to. He’s not going to leave us alone.”
He squeezes his eyes shut as if he might scream. “You could’ve been killed.”
I whisper, “But he’s done now. We’re under protection, now.”
That stops him cold.
He opens his eyes slowly. “Protection?”
“They’re done with him,” I say. “They’ll make sure he leaves us alone.”
Ollie stares at me, shock and fear and something else battling across his face. Then he pulls me into his chest so hard my feet almost lift off the floor.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he says, voice rough. “Don’t ever scare me like that.”
I bury my face against him. “I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted him to leave us alone.”
He holds me tighter, one hand cradling the back of my head, like he’s grounding both of us.
“You don’t have to do everything alone,” he says quietly. “Not anymore.”
I nod against his shirt, tears finally spilling.
And for the first time, I believe him.