2. Brea
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The scent of coffee and aged paper wraps around me like a soft, warm hug as I step into the Red Room of Romance with Kiera. The faint sound of laughter dances in the air. It’s one of those chilly winter afternoons that calls to all book lovers, and today, it’s just us.
Kiera darts toward a display stacked high with novels featuring ripped men and sultry women on their covers. “Brea! Come look at this one!” Her voice sings out, bubbly and bright, pulling me from my thoughts. I follow the sound, navigating through a maze of colorful spines that seem to beckon me.
She holds up a book titled "Revved Up Desire," featuring a tattooed biker who looks like he could both ride through your dreams.
I roll my eyes. “Haven’t we moved past the stage of drooling over cover models? You’ve got enough boy-crushes in your collection to fill a library.”
“Oh, come on!” she shoots back, shoving it into my hands. “You know you love it! Besides, they’re so much more than just tattoos and leather jackets. There’s depth! Those bad boys always have a heart hidden beneath that tough exterior.”
I can’t help but laugh as I flip through the pages, catching snippets of steamy encounters that make my cheeks flush. Biting my lip, I glance at her from the corner of my eye. “Depth? You mean like how they ditch their girlfriends for ‘brotherhood’? You do remember my mom is married to a guy in a motorcycle club? None of the guys in his club look like this.” I point to the cover. “Trust me, I’d be much more interested in the family things Mom drags to me if they did.”
She grins cheekily. “Maybe you haven’t met the right one yet! Think about it. Motorcycles rumbling under the night sky, windswept hair?—”
“Yeah, still not seeing the appeal,” I interrupt.
“But… there’s also adventure and passion!” She leans closer conspiratorially, her green eyes gleaming. “You are still coming with me to the Motorcycles, Mobsters, and Mayhem signing next month, right? Eden Anderson is going to be one of the featured authors. You know how much you love her books, especially her new release.”
I shake my head firmly. “You know I can’t.”
Kiera pouts dramatically before throwing herself against one of the bookshelves as if she had been wounded by my refusal. “Why not?”
“Let’s see….my stepdad, my stepdad, and oh, my stepdad.” My stepdad, Tank, is part of the Hoosier Hellions MC. Stories swirl around him like smoke from his bike’s exhaust. He's been both hero and outlaw in my life. After my dad died in a car accident, Mom went off the deep end, emotionally. She didn’t go to work or get out of bed for months. We were on the brink of an eviction when Tank, one of my dad’s longtime friends, showed up and helped her pick up the pieces again. The next thing I knew, he was moving in and put a ring on my mom’s finger. He saved my mom, which I am thankful for, but when it came to me, he is more villain than savior.
“Come on, Brea,” Kiera nudges my shoulder. “You’re twenty-two years old and still letting him control your life? That’s not right!” Keira exclaims, her brows knitting together in concern. “You can’t let him dictate your happiness.”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, well, being an adult doesn’t quite mean much when you still live at home.”
“You know the offer to stay at my place is still there, right?”
As generous as her offer is, living with five other people in an overcrowded apartment is not exactly an upgrade from my current situation. Despite my stepdad and his bullshit rules, I still have my own space, and it’s not like I can afford to help pay the bills or the rent working at a coffee shop part-time when I wasn’t helping my mom around the house.
I sigh, running my fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the embossed letters beneath my fingertips. "I appreciate the offer, Kiera, I really do. But it's...complicated."
My mind drifts to the bruises I've seen peeking out from beneath my mom's long sleeves, the way she flinches when Tank raises his voice. The image of her tear-stained face, illuminated by the harsh kitchen light at three o’clock in the morning, is seared into my memory. That night, I had found her clutching an ice pack to her cheek, whispering that she had "just fallen" when I knew better.
Her lips press together, and she sizes me up like I’m her lifelong project. “You know what? It’s stupid that you’re missing out on something you love just because of your stepdad’s rules.” She gestures wildly, sending a paperback tumbling to the floor. “You need this! Imagine meeting Eden and getting a taste of that adventurous life she writes about.”
I draw in a shaky breath, caught between longing and fear. “I can’t, Keira. Please just drop it.”
“Might be just the thing you need,” Kiera shrugs.
Before I can retort, a thrumming engine fills the air outside. I glance toward the window, catching sight of a massive black motorcycle pulling up to the curb. The rider kills the engine, and I can feel the tension in my chest tighten at the sight of him.
“Please tell me that’s not your stepdad,” Keira remarks.
I don’t even have to take a closer look to know it’s him. “I’ll be right back,” I mutter under my breath. Stepping away from the bookshelf and Keira, I exit the shop and march over to Tank.
“Are you following me now?” I blurt out.
Tank kicks the stand down on his bike, his muscular frame casting a shadow that seems to swallow the sunlight. “Wasn’t following you, Brea. Just happened to be passing by,” he replies, his voice deep and gravelly like the rumble of his motorcycle.
I arch my eyebrow and cross my arms firmly over my chest. "Are you saying it was just a coincidence that you happened to be passing by the bookstore, which is miles from your usual route to the clubhouse?"
“Didn’t I tell you to stay at the house today? There’s shit going down with the club.”
“I’m at a bookstore, Tank. It’s not like some biker gang member is going to beeline for a bookstore to kidnap me.”
“Watch your tone with me,” Tank warns me.
I roll my eyes defiantly, refusing to back down. “What? Are you going to throw me on the back of your bike and take me home like a child?” The words slip out before I can stop myself, but there's an edge of defiance in my tone that feels liberating.
“Don’t fucking test me, Brea.” Tank's eyes narrow, and I can feel his anger pressing down on me like a physical force. For a moment, I'm tempted to shrink back, to apologize and follow his orders like Mom always does. But something inside me rebels against the idea.
"I'm not a child anymore, Tank," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "You can't just order me around and expect me to obey without question like you do with my Mom. What are you going to do? Beat on me like you do her?"
Tank is off his bike in one fluid movement. A movement so quick that it barely registers before he’s nearly nose to nose with me. Tank's eyes flash with a dangerous glint, and I feel my heart quicken. His massive frame towers over me, and for a split second, I wonder if I've pushed too far. But I stand my ground, refusing to back down.
"You think you know everything, don't you?" Tank snarls, his voice low and menacing. "You don't know shit about what goes on in this world. The things I do, I do to protect you and your mother."
I scoff, even as fear churns in my stomach. "Protect us? Is that what you call it when Mom's crying in the kitchen at night?"
His jaw clenches, and I see a flicker of something cross his face before it hardens again. "You need to watch your mouth, Brea. There are things at play here you don't understand."
"Then help me understand," I challenge, my voice wavering slightly. "Because from where I'm standing, all I see is a bully who thinks he can control everyone around him."
Tank's nostrils flare, his eyes blazing with barely contained rage. For a moment, I think he might actually strike me right here on the street. A part of me wants him to do it so that someone can see how much of a monster he is and report him like I’ve wanted to do since my mom’s first black eye. But, if I did that, it doesn’t solve the problem of his club if they found out it was me who reported them. Mom and I are trapped in their world with no way of escape. The bookstore door chimes next to us. Tank doesn’t take his eyes off of me but steps back.
“You okay, B?” Keira asks. Her eyes assessing the scene playing out on the street for anyone to witness.
“I’m fine. Tank is just leaving. Aren’t you?”
Tank’s expression morphs from steely resolve to a veneer of reluctant resignation, but I can see the storm brewing beneath his surface. He opens his mouth, and I brace myself for another lecture, but then he closes it again, fighting whatever battle rages in his mind.
“We’ll discuss this when I get back to the house tonight,” he declares through gritted teeth. “Go home.”
My breath hitches at the finality of his tone. “No. I’m staying here.”
Keira shifts beside me, shooting a wary glance between us. “Brea—” she starts, but I hold up a hand to silence her.
“Even prisoners get yard time, Tank. I am going to go back into that bookstore, and when I am done, then, and only then, will I go home.”
“Brea,” Tank repeats, voice low and dangerous. “You think this is a game?” He takes a step closer again, closing the distance, making my heart race. “Get your fucking ass in your car, or I will take you home myself. It’s not a request. It’s an order.”
“So, you’re ordering me around now like one of your prospects?”
“B, people are watching,” Keira quietly interjects into the conversation.
"Let them watch," I shoot back, fiery determination coursing through me. The challenge in my voice rings loud and clear, and I can feel Tank's gaze drilling into me like hot steel.
“Cute,” he responds, but an edge to his tone makes my pulse quicken. “But this isn’t a fucking game. I can make your life hell if you don’t comply.”
“You already do,” I retort, the words slipping out in defiance, and the moment they do, I wish I could snatch them back. But it's too late.
Tank’s jaw clenches tighter, the muscles in his arms coiling like springs ready to snap. “You and I both know how this will end if you keep pushing.”
“Then maybe it needs a different ending,” I shoot back.
I glance over at Keira for support but find her biting her lip nervously as she stands between us like a referee in this war zone. The bookstore's patrons now pause to witness our stand-off with wide eyes.
Taking one last defiant step forward, I shake my head vehemently before spinning around on my heel towards Keira after wrestling back control over myself just enough not to shout again, “I’m going inside.”
Before I can make my escape, Tank’s large hand closes around my wrist like a vice. “No, you aren’t.”
Tank drags me towards the parking lot where my car is waiting next to Keira’s pink Volkswagen. My heart thuds against my chest as we walk. Each step feels terrifying under Tank's unyielding grip.
“Let go!” I protest. He simply pulls open the driver’s door instead.
“No.” His one-word reply is firm enough to slice through any remnants of resolve bubbling inside me.
He watches until I'm seated in the driver’s seat before slamming the door with such force it rattles everything inside. The cup in my cup holder threatens to spill its contents all over the center console.
“Start the fucking car and go home.”
And just like that, he's heading back toward his bulldozer black motorcycle still parked in front of the bookstore. I watch in the side view mirror as Tank passes Keira without a single word passing between them. She watches him mount his bike before she shifts her gaze to me. Worry crosses her face. The roar of his engine startles her enough that I notice she jumps at the sound. I mouth sorry before putting on my seat belt and backing out of my parking space. Tank is waiting at the entrance of the parking lot, true to his word, to follow me home. I signal when the last car slips by and turns onto the street to head home with Tank hot on my heels, knowing that this might be the last time I see Keira or the light of day for a long, long time.