Celeste Chapter 2
Ahhh, the hot water felt amazing, and the wine tasted so good.
The only thing that would make it better would be if the tub were deep enough to get the water up to my shoulders when I slid down.
Oh, and if I had a hot man to wash me. Ha.
Wishful thinking, Celeste. Just drink your wine and be thankful you have what you have, my inner self chided.
Sighing, knowing my inner self was right, I took another sip of the wine. Soft music played in the background. Candles were the only light in the bathroom. They gave off the right amount of light. I leaned my head back to relax.
I planned to stay there until my skin pruned.
However, I couldn’t empty my mind. My workweek lingered with me.
It was what drove me to attempt this at-home mini-spa experience.
I couldn’t afford the real thing, though I did pray one day I could.
But it took money I didn’t have. Thinking about money led to thoughts of work.
My job as a court reporter, also known as a stenographer, didn’t pay a fortune. It was better than many people’s, and I was grateful. But once I paid for our necessities and helped with tuition, I was tapped out. Raising a young adult was expensive and exhausting.
It was only because of my niece, Capri, that I stuck to my job.
It was adequate, and I couldn’t go looking for another until she was through college.
That was a year away. I didn’t resent her for it.
Capri helped out by working part-time, but I forbade her from working full-time while in school.
She had plenty of time to do that for the rest of her life.
She tried to pay for part of her tuition and books, but I refused to accept her money.
I encouraged her to save it or spend it on things she wanted, such as clothes or going out with her friends.
I wanted her to have a typical young twenty-something’s life.
It was something I hadn’t had, but I would fight to give one to her.
Capri had suffered enough in her life. She deserved to be carefree at times.
It was hard to believe that it had been eleven years since I had taken over raising her.
She’d been ten, and I had been nineteen.
Neither of us expected her to end up with me.
At the time, she was the only child of my much older brother, Ambrose, and his wife, Chelsea.
They’d been the perfect poster family. Their home was filled with love.
That perfection was lost when Ambrose and Chelsea were killed in a freak flash flood in Texas. My brother had gone there on business, and his wife went with him. I’d kept Capri, thank God. If I hadn’t, my entire family would’ve been wiped out.
Even though I was young and still in college, I never once considered not becoming her guardian as her parents had wished and stipulated in their will.
They hadn’t thought it would happen, but they wanted to be prepared.
My brother was the king of being prepared for anything.
Lucky for us, they had saved some money, which helped me cover expenses and keep her fed while I continued my schooling until I could get a decent-paying job.
As soon as I did, the remaining inheritance money was left in the account for her future. I refused to use any more.
However, I couldn’t wait for her to graduate and get a job.
I had no expectation that she’d move out.
As far as I was concerned, she could live with me indefinitely.
I was anxious for that day to come so I could get a different job.
And it wasn’t because of a desire for more money, though it would be nice.
I’d come to detest what I did—day after day, sitting in those courtrooms, recording the testimonies and defenses of so many people.
When the system acquitted an innocent person, or convicted a guilty person, and sentenced them appropriately for their crime, it was a good day for me.
However, lately, over the past few years, it seemed that more and more criminals were dodging prison through technicalities or other stupid reasons.
Or they were sentenced to ridiculously light prison terms by pansy-assed judges.
I swear, I was convinced the judges were being paid off.
Or some of the jurors were. My cynicism was the reason I had to leave.
If I didn’t, I might stand up in court one day and scream at the top of my lungs what bullshit it was.
The urge was there, and it kept growing.
Not a good way to end a job or get a recommendation.
I’d had one of those cases of the person getting off when I thought the evidence more than proved their guilt this week.
The smirk the man wore as he left the courtroom made me grit my teeth.
I wanted someone to punch him in the face, beat the hell out of him, and then drag him off to prison.
It had been a waste of time, money, and energy for all involved.
I was emotionally drained. Hence, I was in the bath, drinking and listening to music. And you should stop thinking about it. Find something else to focus on, I told myself.
As I fumbled to find something different to think about, because clearing my mind totally wouldn’t happen, I stumbled onto an image. It was from earlier in the week, but had nothing to do with work.
I’d gotten out of court unexpectedly. The defense had requested an adjournment until the next day due to the presentation of new information, and the judge had granted it.
They needed time to review it, and if it were accepted as evidence, the prosecuting attorney would need time to conduct discovery.
With nothing else on the docket, I’d been allowed to go home early, a rarity.
I’d left Murphy, which was where the Cherokee County courthouse was, and returned to Cherokee, where we lived.
The cost of living was lower there. I liked the quaintness of the town, and it was only an hour’s drive to and from work.
I stopped in town to go into the bakery to pick up a few treats for Capri and me.
I try to do it at least once, if not twice, a month.
The small mom-and-pop bakery, Cake Walk Confections, had the most delicious pastries, desserts, and bread. It was hard to choose every time.
I’d made my selection and was leaving the shop when the roar of a motorcycle caught my attention.
It wasn’t unusual to hear that sound here.
The countryside around Cherokee was ideal for riding, I’d heard.
I’d never been on a motorcycle, though I was intrigued and wasn’t against finding out if all the things I heard about them were true.
The idea of feeling free held an enormous appeal for me.
I glanced up and watched a bike come closer. As it did, the bike, which was a beauty, registered, and so did the man riding it. My jaw dropped, and all I could do was stand there with it hanging open.
The first thing I noted about him was his size.
He was massive. There was no other word for him.
I had no clue how tall he was, but he looked very tall.
His body was powerful, composed of muscle upon muscle.
Even in the coldness of November, the guy had been in short sleeves.
His upper arms bulged so much that I waited for the fabric to rip. Powerful thighs filled out his jeans.
The helmet he wore covered the top of his head, the bare minimum he had to wear, no doubt.
I couldn’t see his hair under the helmet, nor his eyes behind his sunglasses, but the rest of him was on display.
His lower face was covered in a short-cropped black beard and mustache.
His ample, plump mouth showed through. His forehead was furrowed, as if he were thinking or perhaps unhappy about something.
His skin was a light cinnamon brown, clearly declaring he was at least partially Black.
His skin made me wonder what it tasted like.
I loved chocolate and cinnamon. He wore a leather vest, the kind bikers in motorcycle clubs wear.
It declared he was a Pagan Soul from here in Cherokee.
Hanging from around his neck was a thick length of chain.
He exuded power, dominance, and sexual energy. I literally gasped and had the crazy thought that I wanted him to stop and put me on the back of his bike. I’d go with him and let him do whatever he wanted with me.
The entire incident lasted no more than a minute, but the impact was intense. My reaction to that stranger was unheard of. I wasn’t someone who ran off with strangers or had sex with someone I didn’t know. After he passed by, I had to make myself walk to my car and drive home.
Everyone in Cherokee had heard of the Pagan Souls.
They owned numerous businesses in the area.
Their clubhouse was outside the town limits on the east side.
It was between Cherokee and Maggie Valley on a considerable piece of property comprising multiple acres.
A chain-link fence surrounded it. Behind the fencing stood an enormous building.
It reminded me of a warehouse. There were other buildings and even houses, as far as I could see.
I’d gone out there once because I was curious.
It had a gate keeping unwanted visitors out.
That was another thing everyone in Cherokee knew.
You didn’t mess with them, and women looking for a good time could find it with them.
They allowed women into their clubhouse to party with the guys, and the word was to have sex.
That idea had never attracted me. But the biker who’d ridden by made me reconsider.
I had lectured myself on my silliness all the way home.