Chapter 6—Ruby
“You want to talk about it?” I give Natalie the side-eye as I pull out of the parking lot of the coffee shop we just left.
Today was meant to just be a chill day. Just take out the new girl, Jules, for a coffee with a few of the others involved with the club since she’s in and yet still on the outside till Flint claims her ass.
It’s coming; I don’t need to see it to know it.
Also helps that the boys don’t really keep their mouths shut about gossip at the club.
Maybe about club business, but not about who’s making out with who.
And the fact that the amnesia chick had her tongue down Flint’s throat before he left on some uber-secret mission is just juicy enough to get the brothers talking.
Even heard a few were taking bets on how long it would take him to put the old lady title on her.
I’ve got to admit, there are worse options out there for a guy like Flint. I like him. Always have. He can fuck up like the rest of us, but at least he’s good at groveling. Or, in club standards, dealing with bitch duty till he’s in the clear to go back to the way things were.
Nat continues to ignore my question. She ignored it in the shop when the old ladies asked about why she went crazy on some Asian woman who came in for a snack. She played it off well, though. Had me almost questioning if I had hallucinated her chasing the woman off and yelling at her from the door.
I kept my mouth shut then. I don’t want to scare her off. She might not know it, but I cherish our friendship. She’s the only person I know who became my friend because of who I am and not who my dad is or because I’m part of the club.
Nat’s never been inside. She might have come to town for a meal here or a bachelorette party there, but never to the clubhouse.
That’s people’s homes, and I would never invade a person’s home like that by inviting guests to it.
Now, if brothers do it, it’s whatever, but I’ve still got kid access.
Which is no access to anything other than getting myself through the gate, unless something’s going down.
Either I’m kicked out to keep it closed-door or brought in for my own protection.
It’s the president’s call, and I’m just the president’s kid.
Fewer rights than a tourist on a visa some days.
“I’m just going to keep asking. Might as well tell me,” I say in a sweet voice. Well, the sweetest I can manage. Some might say it’s cringy, but I’m not really known for being sweet.
“It was nothing. Can we just drop it?”
I feel my face pull back at her words. Natalie’s the quiet, shy one between the two of us. Well, frankly, everyone is shy next to my loud-ass attitude. But the sass she just threw at me is so out of character for her.
“Sure, we can drop it.” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “If it really is nothing.” My words are hard, letting her know I’m not about to drop shit.
Taking a deep breath, she shakes her head, then rests it against the side window and watches the trees as we pass.
“Just someone from my past who I thought I was free of.”
I keep glancing at her, but also keep my eyes on the road. Neither of us wants to be in a car accident ever again. The bruising lasted way longer for both of us than we were told by the doctors after our last visit.
“Want me to get the club involved? They can take this problem out if you want that. Just got to ask.”
She’s shaking her head even before I finish talking.
“No, it’s not their fight.” She looks over at me and reaches out to grab my hand on the steering wheel.
With a small smile, she says, “Thanks, though.” She pulls away but continues.
“This is something I have to deal with alone. I didn’t expect to see them again, and that’s on me.
But now I know they might be around, and I’ll have my guard up. ”
“Is this someone I should be worried might be of the ‘shoot first’ type?”
Now I get a full-on grin out of her. “Nah. They just talk. They’re all words, no substance. Just a headache, really. I promise, no issues you need to worry about or for your dad’s club to get involved in. Consider it family drama.”
“Except you don’t have a family,” I point out.
“Exactly.” She rests her head on the back of her seat. “That’s what makes it so complicated.”
I let her sit in her own head for the rest of the drive home while I try a breathing technique I read about.
I’m all for finding sensible ways to let my anger out.
Sometimes it doesn’t work and I end up hitting someone or something, but I just got this car, and despite Nat obviously hiding shit from me, I don’t want to hurt her.
And if I push too hard, I could do more than hurt her—I could hurt myself.
Right now, Nat is my safe haven. I’m not some girl who can’t do things on her own.
Who can never leave the nest or something like that.
I have friends here—well, acquaintances, really.
I can’t trust people outside the club most of the time.
Those I keep close are inside the club. My whole damn life is wrapped up in it, and I don’t even fight it.
But I know I need to be connected to those outside it as well.
I’ve got plans. Big ones. I’m going to start a physical therapy practice after college. It’ll take a few years, but you’ve got to have goals if you plan to go anywhere in life. And if I want to bring in clients from outside the club, I need to make nice with the civilians.
Natalie is my trial period. Sorry to say, but I’m using her.
I still like her, but I’m testing myself out on her, seeing if I can be reasonable long enough when people piss me off to keep going without breaking things.
’Cause I just know that the first Karen type to come into my place of business will not be leaving smiling.
And that’s going to cost me a ton in lawyers’ fees, I bet.
That’s why I already started saving. Not for the place to set up shop, but for the attorney who’ll take my case.
We all know it’ll happen; I’m just preparing for the inevitable.
If I were smart, I’d get myself caught by one of the prelaw kids around here.
Might save me financially, and if I can ease them into who my family is, maybe they won’t be such a punk-ass bitch around them after a while.
But so far, despite me forcing myself into situations to meet said students, I walk out with shivers of regret and disgust. I can barely last three minutes talking to any of them before I’m leaving. I can’t even imagine being intimate with one. Yuck.
I’m sure the “good old boy” type does it for some.
Most, according to the girly magazines in the checkout stands, but I’ve never liked clean-cut.
I’ve tried. A few times, actually. Each one left a bad taste in my mouth, and only one of them got close to actually trying to kiss me.
Emphasis on trying. He missed me and hit my fist. Several times.
When we make it back to our place, we dump our bags at the small half table closest to the front door that we jokingly call the foyer.
I grab us each a drink, her a water and me a Red Bull.
I don’t need the caffeine, but I like the taste.
It’s crap for my teeth and liver, but it’s better than cocaine, and that’s how I rationalize most things.
If cocaine is bad, then the other things that are bad for me are on that level.
But so far, nothing has been that harsh, so I like to think I’ve never had anything terrible in my life.
After parking my ass next to Nat on the couch, we put on a rerun of Friends we’ve both seen and just veg.
It’s a routine of sorts. No one really talks when we both get home.
It’s like a detox for having to go out and socialize or something.
I swear I got the best roommate, because she gets me on so many levels.
I need my quiet time, just like I need my ass-kicking time. It’s all about balance in my book.
“How did Tits—I mean Jules get two prospects kicked out of the club? You never told me that.”
Nice of her to remember some of the things we talked about at the coffee shop before she went apeshit on that customer. Which we’re meant to pretend didn’t happen.
I shrug but don’t look over at her. “It was a few days back. Dad asked me to come and do some work on her shoulder, and she was sitting at a table coloring. We started talking, and then some assholes used my favorite word, and shit went down.”
“Oh.”
I glance at her and notice her wide eyes as I nod.
I’ve got a problem with one word, and one word only: cunt.
I’ll use it myself, hypocritical bitch that I am, but I refuse to be called that or for another person I know, and like, to be called that either.
I knew instantly that Jules was one of the girls I could get along with.
So when a punk-ass wannabe biker opened his mouth, I shut it for him. His and his friend’s.
“Exactly. Koop was pissed when he saw what I did.” I smile as I lift the can to my lips and take a long drink. Seeing him mad makes me all tingly on the inside. I bet it’s how the devil feels when he pisses off God.
“Koop? You mean Kooper? The guy who’s like your babysitter or something? Why was he pissed at you?”
“Civilians ain’t meant to touch a brother, even if it’s a brother in training.”
“Civilian? Aren’t you club?”
Sometimes I forget that, like Natalie, I keep a lot of stuff about me and my past out of our conversations. She gets a few things, but not everything.
“Civilian can apply to many people. I’m part of the club because of my dad, but I’m not club.
I shouldn’t have touched them at all. Rules say if someone not club has a problem with a brother, they’re to report it to the person they’re connected to.
Like an old man, or in this case, my dad.
I should be kicked out, or my dad should be punished for what I did. ”