Chapter Four #3
“Your fingers will be bleeding by the time you finish sewing on your patch.” Jazzy handed him sewing supplies.
McKelle covered her lips with her fingers, and tears filled her eyes. “Kiss, tell me I’m having a bad dream.”
“What am I missing?” she asked.
“Saturday night seven bikers pulled a train on Jinx for Good Girl Studios,” McKelle said. “A favor to Bullet with a big payout.”
“Fuck,” Blue said. “That was Saturday night?”
“Did you know about it?” she asked.
Blue nodded. “Cruz was going to talk to you first.”
“He did. We fought, and he promised he wouldn’t fuck her, but we all know his promises don’t mean much.”
“Was he working for Bullet Saturday night?” McKelle asked Blue. “I promise—and I keep mine—he’ll never know I heard it from you.”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” His jaw ticked. “But Kodiak and Bullet were here late. Cruz was here, too. They were having drinks. But that doesn’t mean he was working for Bullet, that he was part of the seven.”
Her lips trembled, and her voice cracked. “We both know it does.” Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t understand him. Why promise when he knows he’s going to fuck us up? He doesn’t care.”
A woman in a tiny pair of shorts and tank top carried a tray of shot glasses. “First round is president’s choice. Whiskey shooters.”
“Have a shot,” McKelle said. “Take two. I want tonight to cost him everything in his bank account. Maybe one day he’ll realize he lost more than money on the night he earned his patch.” She glanced at me then quickly looked away. “I have to go.”
Kiss grabbed her arm. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m done, Kiss. I can’t do this with him anymore. I can’t stay and pretend I’m okay. Not this time.” She gave Kiss a quick hug. “When he figures out that I left, tell him I said congratulations. He fucked Jinx and earned his patch. He can celebrate with her.”
She jogged down the steps, sidled around the perimeter of the room, and disappeared around the corner.
“I’m going to go talk to Romeo,” I said. But first, I wanted to get to McKelle. I wormed my way through the crowd, offering an “excuse me,” as I bumped against bikers.
Outside, the parking lot was as packed as inside the chapel. Fire snapped and popped in the oil drum and meats were coming off the grill, stacked on platters, and taken into the clubhouse.
Because I didn’t really know anyone, no one stopped me as I quickened my pace and strode with purpose down the sidewalk circling the church. At the end of the building, I turned the corner and found McKelle at her bike, putting on her helmet.
She tugged it back off as I approached. Tears shimmered in her eyes and streaked her cheeks. I didn’t ask, I simply wrapped my arms around her and pulled her hard against me.
Folding her arms into her chest, she burrowed into me, and her body broke on a sob. Her shoulders shook with emotion. She cried with muffled breaths.
“I hate him,” she whispered.
“If you hated him, you wouldn’t care.”
But I hated this for her. I’d felt the pain of betrayal enough times in my life to know that there was no emotional armor against it. Betrayal hit hard because the pain inflicted was always by someone trusted. Hundred percent.
Her hair was like silk as it sifted through my fingers. For several long moments, we just stood there. Me trying to offer comfort, and McKelle soaking my shirt with tears.
Finally, she eased back and lifted her face. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“You shouldn’t ride when you’re upset.”
She dried her cheeks with her fingertips. “I know, but I can’t stay here.”
“I’ll give you a ride home. You can come back for your bike later.”
“I just want to go home.” She straddled her bike. “I won’t bore you with the details, but I think it’s obvious I’m not good company. I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back. Ever.” She pulled on her helmet, keeping the face shield open, and started the engine.
“I’ll ride with you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She revved the engine, released the clutch, and rode out of the parking lot. I headed back around the building. As soon as she cleared the compound, the scream of her bike’s engine echoed into the night, fading into the distance.
McKelle
Lights were on in the house. I couldn’t face my dad, not tonight. Not after I’d just begged him to be nice to my asshole, cheating, god-I-hate-him, ex-boyfriend.
Not when my eyes burned from crying and my heart was shredded by his lies. Instead, I rode my bike into the garage and parked it next to my dad’s Ducati. He didn’t race much anymore, but like me, the track was in his blood.
Life was strange sometimes. I was just like my dad, and growing up, my brother had been a mini version of my mom. He rode dirt bikes. He was so good, winning motocross championships. They said he had natural talent. He liked racing, but he loved animals.
I imagined he might’ve been a veterinarian. Those strays my dad bitched about were always pet projects for my brother. He never met a critter he couldn’t convert into a pet. Cece was going to be like me and Dad. She was already addicted to adrenaline. She loved bikes and racing.
I hoped she never fell in love with a biker.
Instead of going into the house, I shed my gear and climbed the stairs to the loft. I pulled one of the quilts my mom made from the stack in the corner, stretched out on the big leather couch, and snuggled under the blanket. A fresh wash of tears wet my cheeks. My phone vibrated in my pocket again.
I still didn’t want to look. Cruz was blowing up my phone the same way he’d blown up my life. I pulled it from my pocket and stared at the screen.
Cruz: Where are you?
Cruz: I just talked to Blue. Answer your phone. It’s not what you think.
Cruz: Micki please let me explain.
Cruz: WTF? This is the best night of my life. I need you here with me.
Cruz: Come on, McKelle. You know I haven’t fucked around on you. I promised. Are you home?
Blue: Will you please respond to Cruz? He’s been drinking, and he’s threatening to ride over to your house.
Cruz: Fuck, Micki, don’t do this to us. Let me explain.
Another text came through.
Cruz: Don’t leave me on read. I didn’t fuck Jinx. I never touched her. I didn’t break my promise.
I closed my eyes. There was something wrong with me. I desperately wanted to believe him. I could hear my conscience arguing with my heart, telling me not to be stupid. But I was stupid.
Nothing he said would change what I heard.
McKelle: Were you one of the seven?
Bubbles appeared immediately.
Cruz: Yes, but I can explain. I didn’t fuck her.
He was a liar.
McKelle: Stop calling me. Stop texting me. I’m done.
Cruz: I DIDN’T FUCK HER!
My phone vibrated. I declined the incoming call.
If I talked to him, I’d only be giving him an opportunity to gaslight me into believing he did nothing wrong.
Maybe he didn’t fuck her, but then why would he have been there?
Why would Bullet pay him? I was stupidly in love with Cruz, but he couldn’t love me if he didn’t care how he hurt me.
My hand shook as I opened his contact, changed his name to Liar, and blocked his number.
I closed my eyes and stopped fighting the tears. I hated this. Hated that I wanted more than he did. Hated that I was crying over him again. I hated that I couldn’t let him go.
I had to because I’d been here before. Cruz was never going to change. Wanting me, saying I was his, was never going to make him mine.
Minutes passed. If he was still texting, he’d see they were undelivered. If he called, he’d go straight to voicemail.
An insta notification lit my phone. I had a message from Cruz.
Cruz: Did you block me?
I deleted the message and unfollowed him. Then I quickly did the same on all my socials. I felt as if I’d carved a black hole in my chest to bury the carcass of my feelings for Cruz. I’d rather be numb than hurt like this.
Blue: I know you don’t want to talk. But I don’t think he’s lying. He didn’t fuck Jinx.
McKelle: Don’t lie for him…
I deleted that message. Did it even matter?
McKelle: Okay. He didn’t fuck her.
Blue: Will you talk to him?
McKelle: No. Tell him to stay away from me.
Because I still wasn’t sure I was strong enough to stay away from him.
At some point, I’d fallen asleep because when I woke, my eyes burned and the hollow ache in my chest had swollen to encompass my entire body.
Mom’s rooster cackled into the crisp early morning air. Predawn glow cut through the windows. I picked up my phone and squinted against the burn in my eyes from not getting enough sleep and crying my emotions out.
Of course, there would be no texts from Cruz. And there never would be again. No more fights. No more filthy fucks to work out our aggression. No more teasing. No laughs. No more tugs on my tummy as I melted under the heat of his stare.
I sent a quick text to Ryatt.
McKelle: Hi. It’s McKelle. Can we meet at Vintage Brew on Washington?
Not that Cruz would show for the meetup. He never did. Maybe, because of Ryatt, he would. I wasn’t taking the chance.
Ryatt responded.
Ryatt: Washington Street? Can we meet somewhere else? Crew Custom Cycle?
There must be a story in there somewhere. It would give us something to talk about besides last night. I responded with a thumb up emoji.
“Her bike’s in here,” Cece hollered from the swing-out doors. An engine rumbled, and metal rattled as my dad backed the Nitro Racing hauler up to the garage.
“Good,” my dad bellowed. “Let’s get loaded.”
I tossed off the blanket and scrambled down the stairs. “Don’t load me. I’m meeting Ryatt. I’m going to ride into town and have him follow me out to the track. He needs gear to race.”
My dad came around to the back of the trailer and dropped the door ramp. “Just Ryatt? What happened to Cruz?”
I shook my head. Heat built in my eyes as I fought a fresh wash of tears. “Just Ryatt. Please don’t ask because I’m not ready to talk about it.”