3. Crystal
3
CRYSTAL
I stare up at the clubhouse gates. Okay, there’s no getting in here unless I use my powers of persuasion.
Ryder isn’t answering his phone, and he didn’t wait for me to finish my dance. I figure he owes me a birthday wish, and I’m here to collect. Really, it’s the least he could do for basically ghosting me the last five years. I sent him texts for years, and he never responded. Maybe once, just after he left, but after that, it was radio silence. I know Ryder wanted me to forget about him, to go on living my life, but that was extremely difficult given the reason he got kicked out of our house.
Now I’m here, I’d better do something about getting inside because I didn’t haul my cookies all the way over here in the dead of night to stare at a gate.
I press the intercom. It takes three tries before someone answers.
“Hello?” I say when someone grunts something intelligible into the speaker. “I’m here to see Ryder.”
“Who?”
“Ryder!”
“Who’s askin’?”
“A friend.” I roll my eyes. What the hell are they doing in there that’s so secretive anyway? I mean, a biker clubhouse isn’t exactly where I saw myself spending tonight, but there are things to say. We’re not done. I wasn’t even mad at him for not texting me back all those times, and I want him to know that deep down, I still care for him. Even though I’m in Arizona, and he’s here.
“Name?”
“Crystal. He’s expecting me.” Okay, that’s a lie, and I had to text Torin to ask him the address. He was still at the club, so essentially yes, I ditched my friends.
A few moments later, the gates begin to open and I slide through. I don’t get very far. A man wearing a cut-off motorcycle jacket with the word ‘Prospect’ on the front left pocket stops me. Underneath that his name reads: Jett. He’s cute, but not my type.
“You Crystal?”
“Who else?” I snark.
He rubs his chin, not hiding his amusement. “You really gonna waltz in there like that?” He notions to the wings.
“Why not? I can take care of myself.”
His eyebrows pique. “This I gotta see.”
I point toward where the loud music is coming from. “I take it Ryder's in there?”
“Uh, huh.”
“So gentlemanly of you to show me the way.”
He rolls his hand in a sweeping motion. “Pardon me, my lady, right this way.”
I feel like giving him the one finger salute, but I refrain. It’s dark out here, and I don’t really know this guy.
I pull my phone out and shoot Ryder a text, hoping he’ll get the idea and come find me.
Me
Looks like I found your hideout, pretty boy
I glance around and see about fifty motorcycles. For the first time since I stepped through the gates, a spike of fear runs through me. I mean, I don’t know for sure he’s back here yet, but Torin said this is where he lives, so where else would he go?
Maybe he found a chick to hook up with? I don’t like that idea one little bit. Instead of showing fear, I do what I always do; I straighten my back and hold my head up high. Strutting across the lot, I hear a couple of wolf whistles. Seriously, dudes, grow up.
“You from around here?” Jett says behind me.
“Nope.”
“How do you know Ryder?”
“That’s a lot of questions.”
“Well, it’s only two questions.”
I sigh. “We grew up together, back in Greenlark. Anything else you’d like to know?”
“Spicy little thing, aren’t you?”
“When people annoy me.”
“You always come to a biker clubhouse talkin’ like that?”
It’s bravado, asshat.
“Talk is cheap, Jett. I prefer to flutter my wings and get what I want.”
He chuckles. “I’m sure you do.”
As we approach the steps, I hear my phone buzz.
Ryder
What?
I smile. He can run but he can’t hide.
Me
I’m here
Ryder
Where?
Me
Out front, with Jett
The gray bubble appears, then disappears, and I can’t help but feel a little triumphant. That’ll teach him to ditch me for the second time. Or maybe it won’t. It could be a character flaw in Ryder that I never realized before.
I don’t even get up the steps and the clubhouse doors are thrust open. Ridiculously loud music sounds, then softens again once the doors close behind him.
His eyes bug out of his head. “Crys?”
“Hey, honey.” I wave at him. “Just hanging with my friend Jett over here.”
“She’s a pistol,” Jett laughs as Ryder shoves him in the arm.
My my, have the years been kind to him. He’s more solid than I remember. Muscly with broad shoulders, short, cropped hair and that fucking baby face that haunts my dreams. He’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, that hasn’t changed, but he’s rougher somehow. Sexier in ways I only dream about. I can just imagine all the fun he’s had in the five years he’s been gone, and who could blame a girl? He’s gorgeous.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here?”
“Uh, looking for you.” I check my watch with a little dramatic flair. “It’s still my birthday, Ryd. You didn’t say goodbye or save me a dance.”
Was that an eye roll? Still, it’s better than being kicked out. Then again, the look on his face isn’t one of being happy to see me. “I don’t dance.”
“Figured that when you left me in the club,” I mutter.
He glares at Jett. “I got it from here.”
Jett snorts. “You sure?”
“Fuck off.”
Jett waves his hands in the air, taking off back inside, his shoulders shaking as he disappears.
Ryder turns his glare back to me. “How’d you find me?” I pretend to seal my lips. He just sighs and mutters, “Bronco.”
“Can we call him Torin already?”
“No.”
“Fine. I’m here now, so why don’t you show me around?”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why? It looks inviting.” Of course I’m being sarcastic, and on cue, he narrows his eyes.
“I’m callin’ you a cab.”
“No!” I need to stall. I want to see Ryder in his environment. I don’t want to go back to my hotel room right now. Plus, it’s my night. I’m supposed to get all the things I want, at least until midnight. “Don’t. I just thought we could have a drink together, for old time’s sake.”
“We already had a drink.”
“So that’s it?” I can’t even stop the hurt sound in my voice. It’s natural when it comes to him. “You just kick me to the curb once again?”
“It’s not the kind of place a girl… woman like you should be, Sugar.”
As soon as he says it, my old nickname, it all comes flooding back. I may have been young, but I’ve always held a flame for him. I always will. Maybe I did come here with an agenda, I’m not gonna lie about it. Seeing him again was just too hard to pass up. I ignore the thought that if he really wanted to see me again, he would’ve stayed, and plow on.
“Why not? Do you have mud wrestling pits and stripper poles in there or something?”
“You’re not gonna find out.”
“But—”
“Well, well, what do we have here?” A man’s voice assesses me from behind.
I turn to meet a sharp gaze, then a large chest, as my eyes keep traveling north.
“She fender fluff?” His eyes are still on me, but he’s talking to Ryder.
Fender fluff?
“No, she’s a friend from my hometown.” Ryder’s voice is contrite, polite even.
I look at the man’s patch, it reads: Harlem — Enforcer.
“Fender fluff?” I fold my arms over my chest. “I don’t know what that means, but I sure as shit don’t think it’s any kind of compliment.”
He smirks. “You lost?” He nods to my wings.
“That depends on this dipshit.” I thumb to Ryder and Harlem laughs out loud.
“You been keepin’ her a secret,” Harlem goes on. “I can see why, with a mouth like that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my mouth,” I tell him defensively.
He grins. “Got a daughter, always taught her to speak her mind. Now she’s fourteen, that’s all comin’ back to bite me in the ass.”
My smile betrays me. “Well, I guess you taught her well then.”
The man is larger than life, but he has a kind face and soft, brown eyes. Maybe the bikers aren’t as bad as I thought? “I’m a single dad. Kids have had me on the bench for years.”
“Her parents would agree with you, right, Crys?” Ryder says.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Very funny.”
Harlem looks between us then shakes his head. He takes off, giving Ryder a hard pat on the back with one of his meaty hands. “She’s all yours,” he laughs, heading inside toward the thumping music.
“Well, that was, um, different,” I snort. “What does Enforcer mean?”
“Never mind.” He runs both hands through his hair. “Crys?—”
“Show me your clubhouse, please.” I pout again, tempted to make prayer hands.
“The guys inside… they’ll be knockin’ each other out of the way to get to you,” he says. “And in there, I hold no weight. You’re not my ol’ lady.”
“Ol’ lady?”
“My woman.” He clears his throat. “If you come inside, you’re fair game.”
“Meaning what?” A slight panic runs through me. “Will I be unsafe?”
“Not with me around. They know I can fight dirty, nobody will try anything you don’t agree to. But they will try and I’m a prospect — a nobody until I earn my patches.”
“I trust you.”
He looks torn, palming the back of his neck. “Crys.”
God, I love it when he calls me that.
I tug on the lapels of his motorcycle jacket. “Show me your place. Then I’ll leave.”
Is it just me, or is the tension around us swirling? He has to feel it, too. The spark we always had that he denied. I realize now he was being a good guy. I understand now that it would have been completely crazy for him to take me up on my offer. I was sixteen, sure, but I was very much still a kid at heart. It would have been a mistake because I’d lived a sheltered life. I’d never had a real boyfriend, or kissed a guy properly. I was a late bloomer. I had spirit, yes, but was I ready for sex? No, I don’t think I was at sixteen.
He was being a nice guy, doing the right thing, and I acted like a brat when I didn't get my own way. And all he got for his efforts was a punch in the face. I still cringe at the memory. Not that I want to remind him of that anytime soon.
“You wanna see where I live?”
I shrug. “Why not? I came all the way out here.”
He looks more unsure than I’ve ever seen him, but eventually, he holds out his hand to me. I take it, reveling in his warmth as he pulls me behind him. “Stay close to me. Don’t look at anyone, or make eye contact, got me?”
Shit. What was I getting myself into? Still, I manage to say, “Got it,” as cheerfully as I can.
Seeing Ryder in his own environment is thrilling to me. As kids we’d always played at our house, or outside, but never at his place. I’d never once seen him in his home. He didn’t have the upbringing we’d had, I got that, but kids without money could have loving parents. It isn't rocket science. When I think about the bruises I used to see on him as a kid, it makes me sad. I know if my parents had seen them, they’d have reported it. Even though they were strict, they weren’t bad people. They wouldn’t agree with child abuse. They’d just been ripped off by his dad. They hated his family, but it wasn’t Ryder’s fault. He got very good at hiding a lot of things, until one day a teacher saw and got involved. It only made matters worse at home, and then we didn’t see Ryder for weeks. I’ll never know what happened to him for those few weeks, but when he returned back to school, his stutter had returned.
Tears well in my eyes, but I hold them back. Approaching a wild, crazy MC clubhouse in the middle of a party isn’t the time to go down memory lane.
His hand tightens in mine as he pushes the doors open. Inside it’s dark, kinda dingy, and people are swaying drunkenly to the music. Some guys play pool, others throw darts, but I don’t see much because Ryder’s pulling me through the room like his pants are on fire. When one of the bikers’ eyes meet mine as we pass, I immediately cast my eyes downwards. He calls something out, but Ryder keeps moving toward a set of stairs. Then we’re taking them in a rush, managing to get to the top of the landing before anyone stops us. My heart is racing from the adrenaline.
Well, not just that, if I’m being honest. Ryder has his back to me as he shoves one hand into his jeans pocket and rummages around. I stare at his profile, unsure how I lived without seeing his face for five whole years. Handsome doesn’t even seem to cut it.
He’s like the James Dean of motorcycle bad boys. I snort at my own joke.
He turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be here.”
My eyes meet his. “But I am.”
He tugs me along to the far end of the hallway, the last room on the left. He shoves the key into the lock, then pushes the door open and pulls me inside. It’s quieter up here. The thumping music barely makes a dull roar, and I’m thankful. I’ve had a couple of drinks, clearly — I wouldn’t have had the liquid courage to come all the way over here myself — but the pounding in my head isn’t from any of that. It’s because I’m in Ryder Cane’s bedroom.
I glance around. His bed is unmade and there are clothes scattered on the floor. He lets go of my hand and reaches to pick them up. I smile to myself.
“So, this is the love shack?” I roll my lips. “It’s quaint.”
“It’s a shithole, but it’s free, and usually I’m here pretty much by myself unless there’s a party.”
I look around the room. It’s small, but other than his unmade bed and the clothes — which are now stacked in a pile on the floor — it’s not so bad. There’s a huge picture of a Harley Davidson on a poster above his single bed. I wonder if this is where he brings chicks up. Do they share his bed? Does he give them something to dream about? I’ll bet he does… There’s a small bookshelf crammed with books. I forgot about Ryder’s fascination with novels, though I never actually saw him read one.
“You like thrillers?” I thumb to the bookshelf.
“Why’d you really show up here?” he demands.
Okay. Not exactly the cheery reunion I had going in my head.
“I told you. It’s my birthday and you owe me a dance.”
He levels me with his gaze. “You came here to dance?”
My cheeks heat. Oh. I mean, it wasn’t my sole reason for being here, but I’ve waited five years for this opportunity to finally be alone with him, and he isn’t pushing me away.
If he wanted me gone, he would’ve called that cab downstairs.
“What if I did?”
He sits on the edge of his bed, then rubs his face with his hands. “You don’t know what you almost did out there. Luckily that was Harlem and Jett?—”
“Explain it to me then.”
He lets out a long puff of air. “Babe, you’re too pure for this club.”
It’s not the first time I’ve folded my arms over my chest tonight, and I’m sure it won’t be my last. “I’m not a child anymore. I can take care of myself.”
“I can see that,” he mutters.
I don’t know what he’s going to do with me, but I don’t want him to take me back downstairs and call a cab — so I do what I always do when I get nervous about something. I talk.
“Do you bring women up here?” I avoid his gaze.
“If you’re asking if I’m a virgin, sweetie, the answer is no.”
I smirk. “And here I was thinking Ryder Cane was the ultimate angel.”
“I don’t know where you got that idea, definitely not from me.”
I touch one of the books on the shelf, wondering where Ryder reads. In bed? In the rickety chair in the corner? Does he find a quiet spot to himself? Or read in a cafe? I can’t imagine him doing any of those things, but I know looks can be deceiving.
“This one looks old.” I trace the lettering of The Merchant of Venice . Not something I’d expect to see on his shelf.
“Picked it up in a secondhand store. Probably worth somethin’.”
Then a memory jogs. Ryder was dyslexic as a kid… I remember helping him with reading a few times so he could understand the words before reading them aloud in class. He used to dread having to do that.
“You loved reading,” I say quietly.
“You remember helpin’ me?” he asks before I can change the subject.
I turn back to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“That I’m dyslexic? It’s okay, I’m better at readin’ now. The readin’ with you part was good, the readin’ aloud? Not so much.”
“Well, you’re reading Dickens, so I’d say that’s an improvement.” I smile.
He shifts on the end of the bed. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but if Ryder didn’t want to talk about something, he wouldn’t.
“Don’t get me wrong, I still read a page over and over until it makes sense in my head. If I’d have listened to that asshole Wayne, I never would’ve amounted to jack shit. He told me reading was for sissies. Dumb fuck.”
“Man, he was such an asshole. Do you ever hear from Stu?”
He grimaces. “Nope. Last I heard he was livin’ somewhere in bum-fuck nowhere sellin’ drugs. Knew that kid had issues, but he’s spent more time in jail than I’ve had hot dinners.”
“I never had a good feeling around him.”
“You can spot an asshole a mile away. We’re gettin’ off topic; why are you here, Crys?”
I part my lips, not ready to tell him the entirety of the truth. I mean, where’s the fun in confessing my crush for him never faded? And now seeing him again, it’s only lit the fire even more intensely than ever before. Calm your farm, Crystal. Don’t go getting all googly eyed in the first five minutes…
Though when it comes to Ryder Cane, who the heck am I kidding?