Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Winter
Jelly and I sit at the bar nursing our spiked Coke.
Tonight, has been one nightmare I wish to forget.
If I never hold another gun, it will be too soon.
When the door opens and Fang walks out, I jump out of my seat and run toward him.
It’s strange, really, this feeling I have for Fang that I never felt for Billy.
I watch with a mix of fascination and horror as the doctor stitches Fang’s wound.
In the back of my mind, I take notes on the technique in case I decide to add this to a future novel.
Does that make me sick and twisted? Possibly, but it will bring great detail to any book I decide to write that into.
The entire time the doctor is working on Fang, I caress his face.
It’s like he’s a magnet. I’m drawn to him and have an urgent need to touch him in some form or fashion.
“Okay, you’re all set.” Reaching in his black bag, the doctor pulls out a bottle of pills.
“Take these for the pain.” I notice he doesn’t mention how many or how often to take them, and I wonder how many times these men have been in this same situation.
After the doctor packs up, Fang says goodnight to the remaining members in the room.
Then he ushers me upstairs. Opening the door, I notice two things.
First, his room is tidy. Second, it smells like him.
A combination of cool spices, lavender, and musky wood.
Taking a deep breath, I savor the scent that is Fang.
Cupping my face in his large hand, he says, “You’re safe here, Winter. I swear to you that no one will harm you. Not as long as I live and breathe.”
He says it with such conviction I can’t help but believe him. Resting my head on his shoulder, I let him know just that. “I believe you, Fang.” There is so much we need to discuss, but the events from tonight are catching up with me. Tomorrow we can talk about what happens from here.
When I wake all is quiet. Not eerie, just the calm of the early morning. Like the world is taking refuge in the calm after the violent storm that shook our lives last night. Beside me, Fang snores softly.
With one arm bent behind his head and the other resting on his stomach, he almost looks angelic. Not like a bad boy biker, but beautiful and perfect. A man who loves hard and protects those in his inner circle.
How is it that I’ve known this man for less than twenty-four hours and he has already become my safe haven?
Slipping out of bed, I stretch my achy body. Padding across the cool wooden floor, I open the door and go in search of the bathroom. At the end of the hall is an open door, and thankfully I can see a sink on the other side.
When I trek back to Fang’s room, I wander over to the built-in bookshelf. Running my fingers across the perfect bound books, I take stalk in his reading interest. There is a good mix of thrillers, mysteries, and to my utter surprise, romance.
Interesting.
On the edge of the shelf is a worn leather-bound journal. Curiosity gets the better of me and I pick it up. It has creases on the cover from overuse. Opening the book and invading his privacy is not my intent, but my hands can’t seem to stop themselves.
The first page has a name written on it.
Justin Lee Armstong
AKA—Vile
Beneath the name, in cursive handwriting:
I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.
Oh no, I wonder if this is his brother. He did mention that the Willow Bones, no it was Hollow Bones, had killed his brother.
My chest tightens as I reread the name and his confession, over and over again.
In that one line he wrote, I feel the weight of his world.
His grief. If I could make this all better for him, I would in a heartbeat.
“Winter?” His voice startles me, and I nearly drop the journal.
My face heats with embarrassment. Embarrassed that I’ve been caught red-handed.
Setting the journal back in its place, I spin around.
Heart racing at having been caught snooping.
Fang is lying on his side. His hand is reaching for the bottle of pain medicine.
Those brown eyes of his veer to the bookshelf then back to me.
“I’m sorry.”
Popping the top off the bottle, he shakes out a pill and swallows it dry. “What are you sorry for?” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stands. I can see the pain in his brown pools, but he never once winces. “Sorry for opening my journal and reading my private thoughts?”
I nod because I don’t know what else to say.
Fang smiles but it’s sad. “My brother’s name was Justin, but his club name was Vile. He was the better part of me. My twin.”
“Twin?” I can picture him sitting around drinking beer and chatting with his brother. A man that shares his eyes and his smile.
“Yeah.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers. “Identical.”
Identical twins. He had a brother that looked exactly like him. I wonder if they sounded alike. Did they have the same hobbies. Well, outside of the motorcycle club. “Wow. Did you guys ever try to fool each other’s girlfriend into thinking you were the other twin?”
Fang chuckles. “Actually, yeah.”
“I bet the two of you were a mischievous pair.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” There’s a pause.
A sparkle in his eye. Maybe a fond memory.
I stay silent and let him reminisce. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.
“We gave our parents a run for their money, that’s for sure.
” Sliding open the drawer on his bedside table, he pulls out a wooden picture frame.
“Vile was funny, loyal, and a fixer. If it was broken, he had to fix it. Bikes, cars, TVs, watches…even people.”
After staring at the photo for a minute, he hands it to me.
It’s like looking at a picture of Fang mirrored side-by-side.
Two identical men sit on the porch of what I recognize as the Iron Devils clubhouse, each with a beer in hand.
“Fang, he looks just like you.” I bring the photo closer for a better look. “Except he has a mole next to his eye.”
Fang smiles. “Not many people notice that, even some of our friends that we grew up with couldn’t tell us apart.”
“Well, I’m an observer.” It’s part of what aides in my writing.
“Can I ask about your brother?” He swallows and I track the movement of his Adam’s apple.
After a moment, he nods. “I know you said the Hollow Bones were responsible for his death, but how?” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Apparently, I can’t help being nosey. ”
“No, it’s okay.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he pats the spot next to him. Once I sit, he takes my hand and blows out a breath. “We, the Iron Devils, were riding through Dallas on our way to visit our Houston chapter.” He takes the picture frame from me, tracing the photo within.
“Fang, I’m sorry.” Placing my hand on his thigh, I give him a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
Putting the frame back inside the drawer, he scrubs his hands down his face. “I want to.” Haunted eyes stare back at me. “It’s been two years and you’re the first person I want to share this with. Well, outside of the club…and Sandra.”
Sandra? Makes me wonder about the relationship between those two. I make a mental note to ask about her another time.
“Dallas is the Hollow Bones’ territory. We stopped at a diner on our way through and were ambushed on our way out.
” Those brown orbs glaze over, lost in a memory.
“I was busy texting, so I was lagging behind. The first gunshot rang out, causing me to drop my phone and reach for my weapon. By the time I saw the glint of metal, they had already fired a second shot. The shot that killed my brother.”
“Oh, my god.” Scooting closer, I wrap my arm around him, offering comfort.
Leaning into my touch, he kisses the top of my head.
Something I’m finding I like. A lot. “Yeah, by the time I reached his side, he was gone.” There’s a long pause.
“Deep inside I feel like I’m the one who killed my brother.
I know it was the bullet of a Hollow Bones member, but I’m the one that was preoccupied with texting a woman instead of keeping my eyes peeled for danger.
In our world, danger lurks around every corner.
I should have been alert. Ready. I wasn’t and that’s on me. ”
“No, that’s on them. The Hollow Bones.” I can’t bear to see him torn up over an incident he isn’t responsible for. “This is not your burden to bear.”
“It’s a burden I carry anyway.”
I know what’s it’s like to lose someone, but not this tragically. This is a loss I’m not sure I would wish on my worst enemy. Especially to witness the violent loss your twin. A piece of your soul. That’s a pain I can’t fathom.
After a long pause, he asks, “You ever lose someone?”
“Yeah, I have.” Resting my head on his shoulder, I take comfort in our shared grief. “I lost my mom to ovarian cancer four years ago.”
“Damn, that sucks.”
“It does.” Tracing the lines on his abdomen, I confess, “She’s the one who encouraged me follow my dreams and write.”
“Wait, you’re a writer?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, romance.”
Scooting back, he arranges the pillows under his arm. His eye twitches as he lifts his injured arm, but he never gives any other outward appearance of pain. “When you say romance, are we talking smut or just good old fashion love stories?”
“Love stories.” I bite my bottom lip. “I’m not sure I could write those sexy scenes.” Hell, I blush just listening to Jelly talk about sex. “After last night, I think I have an opening for a new story.”
Fang huffs a laugh. “Yeah?” I nod to answer his question. “I hope this new story involves a sexy as hell Biker that swoops in to save the beautiful girl from a terrible ex and a rival gang.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Reaching out, I trace his strong jawbone. “He’ll be a sexy, strong hero that saves the girl from flying bullets.”
He winks. “Sounds like a book I need to add to my collection.”
Now that I know he enjoys reading romance, I will be sure to bring him some of my books. “You’ll be the first to read it.”
A smile stretches Fangs mouth wide. Resting his head against the headboard, he closes his eyes. Taking this opportunity, I trace the outline of the tattoo on his forearm. VILE takes up the entire length of his forearm in bold black letters.
Fang cracks an eye open and watches my finger with a hint of sorrow.
I wonder if he will ever look at this tattoo and not feel guilt for his brother’s death.
The sound of my text notification echoes in the quiet room.
Standing, I round the bed and snag my cell phone off the bedside table. “Oh, sheesh.”
Sitting up, Fang notices the blush heating my cheeks. “What is it?” he asks with amusement.
“Um, it’s just Jelly.”
When I don’t say anything further, he nudges me. “What about Jelly?” A smirk lifts his lips.
I glance away because I can’t look at him and say it. “She’s asking me about biker sex.”
Lifting a brow, he asks, “She have a romp in the hay with one of the bikers?”
“No.” I shake my head. “She’s asking how many orgasms you’ve given me so far.”
He laughs. “And what did you tell her?”
“Nothing. There is absolutely nothing to tell because we did not have sex.”
Holding out his hand, he nods toward my cell phone. When I place it in his waiting palm, he types out a text.
So many orgasms I won’t be able to function for a week.
It’s a fib, but she doesn’t know that.
There is no holding in the laughter that spills from my mouth. Jelly will have a hay day with that text. In fact, I bet she corners me the first chance she gets, demanding all the details from my night with Fang.
No doubt she’ll be disappointed in the truth.