7. Squeak
“For someone dead set on proving they’re not a part of the club, you look like a walking poster woman for Baxtown Iron.” Tinker Belle smirks as I hit the parking lot, walking toward my candy plasma blue Kawasaki Ninja.
Tinker Belle not only helped me pick out a motorcycle after I got my endorsement, but she also recommended a body shop for me to have it painted. The original black color of the bike didn’t really appeal to me, and if I’m going to ride, I want something I love climbing on. After flipping through the colors the body shop had to offer, my eyes locked on the candy plasma blue, and I was sold.
“Girl. Don’t be dramatic. I just loved the color,” I say, grabbing my helmet and putting it on before securing the safety strap.
“So we’re gonna pretend like you’re not—you know what, never mind. I’ll play along for now. Anywhere in particular you want to go?”
My chosen outfit is nothing more than some black leather pants, a yellow top, and black booties. I don’t feel like I’m wearing the club’s colors, but maybe that’s how it looks, with the top and bike being the Baxtown Iron colors.
“Nope. I just want to feel the wind in my face and see the city from another perspective,” I say, climbing on the bike like the novice I am as Tinker Belle laughs while shaking her head.
“Why are you climbing on like that, Janelle? Get on that motherfucker like I taught you. Plant your left leg, swing your right over the seat, and you’re on. Don’t overthink or complicate this shit.”
Nodding, I slowly follow Tinker Belle’s instruction and grip the handlebars as my adrenaline increases with my heart rate. Something about being in this position on this bike makes me feel freer than I have ever felt. After standing the bike straight up, I lift the kickstand and start the engine. The purring coming from beneath my ass causes me to smile from the vibration I instantly feel.
“I’m following you, Ms. Tinker Belle. Let’s hit it,” I say, pulling the visor in place.
Nodding, Tinker Belle leaves the spot we’re in as I follow behind her as exhilaration soars throughout my body. Turning out of the complex, I grip my bars and effortlessly guide my bike, zooming past the cars in the left lane. A tinge of fear tries to enter my mind when Tinker Belle and I approach a light, and traffic begins slowing to a stop. Sitting up slightly, I look over at Tinker Belle beside me, and her smile calms me enough to release the pressure in my chest. Tinker Belle has been riding longer than I have so she isn’t wearing a helmet. However, I’m uncomfortable taking such dangerous risks with my life, so I’ll always be a helmet-wearing rider.
This is the therapy I need after spending days talking myself out of engaging with Deacon in any way. I had to work hard at pushing Mom’s words and requests to the back of my mind, which also took days to do. I’ve also been contemplating taking my car to a mechanic shop to have someone check it for tracking devices. Leaving work yesterday to another letter from my tormentor is the ultimate reason for asking Tinker Belle to accompany me on my road therapy journey today. Not wanting to worry or alarm Tinker Belle, I haven’t mentioned the letter to her, but my nerves are beginning to spiral. It feels like Chelsea’s killer has spent years getting off on taunting me. Frazzling my nerves seems to be his motivation, and I need to find a way to deal with this regular occurrence in my life. Chelsea had been twenty-four when she died, and here I am, fourteen years later, wondering why this devilish man won’t let me move on or live my life.
Lord, have mercy, when did we get here?
Between my overflowing thoughts and the speed of our bikes, I didn’t realize we had reached our destination until I pulled into a spot next to Tinker Belle.
“Where are we?” I ask, pushing my visor up after pushing my kickstand down and turning off my bike.
“This land is owned by the club, but I often come out here whenever I need to escape, think, or simply exist without interruption.”
My brows hike, a frown upturns my lips, and wrinkles dance across my forehead as I look at the expansive area. There’s a gravelly pathway with trees surrounding both sides, making me feel like Tinker Belle has brought me to a remote location used for dumping bodies. I might have been convinced it was a nature trail if it weren’t for the unkempt grass, overgrown weeds, and endless trees.
“Uh, bestie, what the hell are you talking about? I can only think about running like Jason Vorhees is on my heels.”
“Stop exaggerating with your dramatic ass. It’s the light of day. The freaks only come out at night. Come on. Let’s walk the trail so you can tell me why the light isn’t shining in your eyes.”
Without responding, I remove my phone from the fanny pack on my waist and dial a number. Tapping my foot, I turn slightly away from Tinker Belle as the ringing echoes in my ear.
“Hey, baby girl,” Dad says cheerfully when the call connects after the fourth ring.
“Hey, Dad. Listen, if you don’t hear from me… Robyn did it,” I say as laughter sounds from behind me.
“No, you didn’t. Ain’t nobody about to harm your scary ass. Hey, Dad,” Tinker Belle says.
“What’s going on?” Dad asks.
“Nothing. I love you,” I say, turning back to face Tinker Belle, who’s grinning and shaking her head while staring at me like I’m the crazy one in this scenario.
?
Do it, no hands, bend it over, look a nigga dead in his eye like a soldier
Yeah, do it, no hands, bend it over, look a nigga dead in his eye like a soldier
?
“Ewe, is that what type of time y’all be on?” I ask, frowning at the woman bent over in front of some guy whose eyes are full of lust while gripping her waist and pushing his pelvis into her.
“That’s light compared to what that ho normally does in this club. She’s a house mouse constantly on the prowl for cheese. Ole stanky neck bitch loves going for rides on the choo-choo express in here,” Tinker Belle says, rolling her eyes without breaking her stride.
After going home to shower after our walk in the Baxtown Iron hidden burial grounds, Tinker Belle talked me into accompanying her to a party held by another club. Unlike Baxtown Iron, this dwelling smells like weed and sour booty juices, making me wonder what type of debauchery goes on in here. The DaBaby cut playing loudly has me ready to turn around and take my ass home because I’m not sure if I’m up for this scene tonight. There are wall-to-wall people in varying places around the room, making it difficult to identify anyone. Not to mention the heavy cloud of smoke piercing my lungs and making me want to retreat outside so I can breathe easier. We haven’t been here very long, and I have been groped or grabbed by several men, inciting my need to showcase my resting bitch face. Unlike Baxtown Iron, this club doesn’t have people at the door checking for weapons, which makes me slightly uncomfortable the more we maneuver through the crowd.
Seeing two women practically fucking a skinny dude causes my eyes to balloon and my steps to halt to take in the scene to the left of me. Unfortunately, I also catch the attention of a man who moves quickly toward me.
Shit! He’s coming faster than I can run away. This should be interesting.
“What’s good, little mama. I ain’t seen you in here before. Let me be your tour guide.” A dark-skinned man with a nappy mohawk, unkempt mustache, and shifting eyes steps into my path while rubbing his hands together.
The frown quickly sliding into place can’t be avoided as something putrid hits my nose as I take in the man from head to toe. Not only is he not the most attractive man I’ve seen, but his ass has the audacity to have on pants tighter than the ones I’m wearing.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Your dick is showing, and on a good day, you couldn’t find what you’re searching for,” I say.
“What the fuck do you mean? Ain’t a nigga in here more capable of showing you some shit than me,” he says, tapping his chest as I lean away from him to avoid the spit flying from his mouth, deepening my frown.
“Why are you over here instead of the kennel, Ravish,” Tinker Belle says, standing beside me.
“Aye, Tinker Belle. Don’t play me in front of this beauty. I’m?—”
“Seconds from losing more than your willpower to be health conscious,” a familiar masculine voice says behind me in a profound yet dangerous timbre that moistens my center.
“What’s good, Deacon,” Ravish says.
“Nigga, read the room and move the fuck around,” Deacon says, pulling me into his chest, instantly heating my body and causing a shiver down my spine.
Wordlessly, Ravish walks away with his head hanging and his shoulders sagging while Deacon’s hand grips my waist protectively.
“Well, I’m gonna go find someone to occupy me, bestie. You’re in good hands now,” Tinker Belle says, reminding me of her presence as her fingers wave, and she saunters off without looking back.
“Now that it’s just us, let’s go somewhere so we can talk,” Deacon says.
My pussy starts purring and thumping wildly when Deacon taps my waist gently, and my feet move without direction or verbal rebuttal.
What the hell kind of spell does this man have over me?