Chapter 21
STEVIE
For the past month, I’ve been all over town, filling out job applications.
Every time I leave the house, Kingston insists on knowing where I’m going.
Since it’s not a big deal, I tell him, and he appears hurt.
Actually, it’s probably just my imagination.
The guy only shows one emotion. Anger. My mind drifts back to the day we got stoned and had sex.
It was the only time Kingston showed signs of life.
Emotion. The memory pops up every now and then, except I repress it.
There won’t be a repeat, and this isn’t my life.
So far, my plans for work and buying my own place have fallen through.
This town and the neighboring towns are fully employed.
Even Matt, my old boss at the coffee shop, refuses to hire me.
He said there are no vacancies and he doesn’t want problems with bikers.
I could consider heading back to my old town, yet there’s no guarantee I’ll find a job there either.
Plus, Raven Town has too many sad memories for me. I’m at a loss.
And on top of that my body aches and I’m tired. Depression brings on all kinds of symptoms. Late periods. Fatigue. Body aches. I’m sick of feeling this way.
I can’t find a fucking job, the money I’ve saved while working at Times Up is dwindling, and I’m living at an asshole convict’s home.
Since I’m here, I do the grocery shopping because Kingston won’t accept any money from me.
It’s the only way I can pitch in. My unemployment and living arrangements have to change.
Kingston’s boots thud against the hardwood floor as he walks into the kitchen where I’m cooking dinner. He stops in his tracks, eyes drifting over my body, and continues toward the fridge for a beer.
Before he assumes the wrong thing, I say, “Don’t worry, King. I’m not pretending to play house.”
Leaning against the fridge, his mocking laugh grates on my nerves. “Good to know.”
The table is set for two and I bring over the casserole.
While tossing the salad in dressing, I say, “I need to ask you a favor.” King’s brow hikes up as he takes a slug of his beer. “Can you please call Jasper for my job back at Times Up?”
He pushes off the refrigerator. “Fuck no!”
I stop tossing. “Why?”
“Are you insane, Rebel? You’re on both the FBI and Cristo’s radar.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He slams his beer on the counter. “Forget it. Find another job.”
A tremor rides through my body. “I fucking can’t, King. No one is hiring.”
“I’ll talk to Lynette. Maybe—”
“Lynette can’t pay me what I was paid at Times Up.”
“Then you work two jobs.”
I throw the wooden spoons on the floor and yell, “It’s my life. My decision. I can’t live here anymore, and that job secured a future for me.” He shrugs off my comment, so I step toward him. “My fucking choices are none of your business.” Through gritted teeth, I add, “Call. Him.”
King turns his back on me, and walks toward the living room. “You call him. By the way, I suggest you hurry it up. We have to be at the club in an hour.”
My feet can’t move fast enough. “What do you mean we?”
He turns on his boot heels, glaring at me. “We. You and me. Don’t ask questions.”
“Who the hell do you think you are telling me what to do?”
King backs me into the wall, splaying his hands on both sides of my head. “This ain’t up for discussion. Come with me voluntarily or I’ll drug you. With the first choice, you’ll know what’s going on. The second choice, not so much. You might wake confused and bruised. Your pick.”
I shove him, except this muscle wall doesn’t budge. “You’re an asshole, King. There’s nothing nice about you.”
“You thought my dick was nice.”
I’m about to smack him, but he catches my wrist. “I suggest you think twice about hitting me because I hit back.”
I tug my wrist free from him. “Get the fuck out of my face you stupid piece of shit.”
King grabs my face hard, pressing my inner cheeks into my teeth, and says, “Call me stupid again, Rebel, and I’ll fucking knock you out and offer you to my club brothers.”
My hands scratch at his as tears pinch at my eyes. He finally lets go and I move my jaw around to make sure there isn’t any damage to it. I hate this sick bastard. Noel is a saint compared to this stupid convict biker who has absolutely no manners, morals, or conscience.
I slip out from under his arm, physically shaken, and go back into the kitchen.
Instead of eating, I cover the casserole and put everything in the refrigerator.
Ignoring King, who is in the kitchen observing me, I go upstairs to my room and slam the door.
In the washroom, I check my face, which is red from his thick fingers, tossing water on my face.
I lean over the sink and cry as quietly as possible. My life is shit.
After patting my face dry, I enter my bedroom to find King sprawled out on the bed. Again I ignore him, retrieving clothes, and returning to the washroom. Once I’m dressed, I stand against the wall in the bedroom, hands behind my butt, legs crossed at the ankles, staring at King.
He’s gazing up at the ceiling when he says, “Are you okay?”
Am I okay?
He did this to me, yet now he’s asking if I’m okay. Since when does he give a shit about mine or anyone else’s feelings.
“What do you think?”
Lifting from the bed, he comes over to me to inspect my face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“That’s exactly what you meant to do.” I swallow the tears and say, “If we’re going, we might as well go now.”
It’s raining again, so we take the truck. Neither of us say anything on the ride over there.
This is my first time in the club since I showed up after being fired while King was getting a blow job.
The packed place is loud and dim. I blink a couple of times for my eyes to adjust. Everyone greets King, giving me a non-verbal hello, and I step back into a wall for support.
This might come off as standoffish, but I don’t care.
I’m not here on my own accord, and there’s no reason for me to be here.
King’s hand is out to me, holding a beer.
A fucking beer. I turn my head, cross my arms, pressing closer to the wall.
From behind King, Smokey smacks him on the back, looking over his shoulder at me. “Hey, Stevie. I didn’t recognize you with clothes on.”
Smokey laughs, yet King’s face remains stoic, eyes locked on me. Smokey notices the lack of humor from both of us and disappears.
By the bar, a rugged bald guy shuts the music off, and whistles. “Hey! Shut the fuck up! Ladies, join us over here.”
I hadn’t noticed the back room where some of the salon women move from into the bar area. Lynette moves over to the bald guy, who places his hand on her little extended belly, kissing her. I’m guessing that’s Skull, Lynette’s husband.
He speaks again. “I’m sure you’ve all heard about the Grave Disciples wanting to get even with us.” Everyone nods in agreement. “Well, we’re going to buckle down on security. King has a plan for all the men and ladies of the club.”
Skull gestures to King, who approaches him, turns to the crowd, and says, “Things are gonna change around here and at your homes. Security systems will be placed throughout the clubhouse, inside and out. All the houses will also have security systems put into place. Everyone has to stay close to home and the club for a while. At least until we figure out Enzo’s next move.
It could happen in a week or months from now. ”
One of the women asks, “Where are we supposed to stay?”
“Old ladies stay with their men. Sweet Butts can sleep in one of the club member’s rooms, if they’re invited. We don’t have enough rooms for all of you.”
I don’t know what got into me, but I cut in, “I’m not either one.”
The room grows quiet, and King says, “You stay with me.”
With all the sarcasm I can muster up, I respond, “As wonderful as that sounds, I’ll pass. I’m sure there’s another option.”
King growls, shoving away from the bar, and stalking toward me.