Chapter Nineteen #2
That entire period in my life was part of the reason I bonded with Eloise. She understood my pain when she saw my work. Obviously, that was all bullshit and part of her sick games of wanting to know everything about me, so she could stalk me and ultimately try to hurt me.
“Kinsley.”
His voice breaks through the fog of memories, and I blink his face back into focus. He doesn’t say anything else, he holds my eyes and my body captive.
A door slamming behind us has him break our stare. He shifts his body to keep me hidden from whoever it is. They pass by but don’t speak. As soon as they’re gone, he takes my hand and leads me to a door with a keypad.
I’m not numb to the onslaught of memories, but I am allowing him to lead me.
We go through the clubhouse, some men look up as we head for the main door. We’re moving too fast for anyone to say anything, I don’t think Rebel would acknowledge them if they did.
I’m grateful that it’s these strangers watching and not Raven. I don’t want her to think she has done anything wrong. This is all on me.
The icy wind slaps me when we get outside. Great, looks like another storm is building. That means I’ll be putting the mural on hold again. When we reach his bike, Rebel takes out a helmet and steps up to me.
“Have you ridden before?”
It took a lot for him to ask that question, but I will not shy away or hide my past. He already knows I’ve been around another MC before. And I know what it means to have a woman ride on the back of your bike.
“Once.”
“So you know what to do,” he clips out.
I take the helmet and smirk, finding some amusement in the situation. I hold it at my thigh.
“It was with one of my friends from college. He rode because it’s easier than driving a car in LA.”
He doesn’t try very hard not to hide that made him happy, but he’s Rebel so…
“He was an amateur then, I’ll do your helmet, and when we ride, make sure you hold on tight to me,” he adds, taking the helmet back.
“Where are we going?” I ask before he plops the helmet down and tips my head back to fasten it.
He makes sure it’s secure, then snaps the visor down so he can’t see my face. “A ride.”
There are a lot of things I could say, but I ignore the urge and keep my lips closed. Despite having some experience, I’m not graceful getting on the bike, but fake it till you make it. At least Rebel doesn’t laugh.
I clasp my fingers together over his abdomen and press my thighs against his as the engine rumbles beneath us. He twists the throttle, revving it up before clasping my hands tighter, then he takes off, making me jolt and squeeze myself around him.
He did it on purpose, but I don’t care, I’m enjoying the feel of his stomach muscles flexing beneath my palms, his muscular arms guiding the bike and thick thighs tight up against mine.
It keeps me from thinking about how he saw my distress and got me out of the situation.
I wasn’t about to spiral or anything. I don’t think.
Shutting off my mind, I enjoy the ride. He’s going faster than the speed limit, but I expect nothing less from Rebel.
At one point I think he’s talking to me, but when I tap his hand, he shakes his head.
I guess that means he is talking to himself, or singing?
Probably asking himself what the hell he is doing.
I’m stupidly tempted to throw my arms out and tip my head back, but not only would I fall off, if it killed me, Rebel would follow me into the afterlife to give me hell for being so stupid.
He takes us all the way to Fell’s Point and pulls up outside a Mexican restaurant.
The dismount is more graceful, thankfully, and I get the helmet off before Rebel has to do it for me. He takes it and stows both.
“Food?” I ask. This was the last place I expected him to take me.
“One thing I’ve learned, food is always better than alcohol.”
“Not sure about that,” I scoff.
My lips slam shut and my brain loses the ability to think of anything else to say when he grabs my hand and leads me inside. There is a takeout collection window before you enter the actual restaurant where he heads and gives his name.
“You ordered for us? When?”
“On the way here.”
“I thought you were talking to yourself.”
He gives me a funny look, then hands over his card when the food comes out. I’d offer to pay, but he brought me here, and I’m not even hungry.
Until I get a sniff of the food as he guides me back outside. Not sure how he knows I love Mexican food.
Instead of going back to the bike, he walks down to the water’s edge and finds a bench.
It’s been forever since I was in this neighborhood.
Since coming home, I’ve stayed in Locust Point.
I forgot what a vibrant city it is. I didn’t get to experience the nightlife, legally anyway, when I lived here.
Rebel sets a box of fries between us and offers a vegetarian or meat quesadilla.
“You can take the meat.”
“Do you want the meat, Kinsley?”
“Why does everything you say sound like an innuendo?”
“That’s your filthy mind,” he holds up both packets. “Meat or vegetables.”
“Vegetable. Yes, I mean it,” I take it out of his hands when he gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. “I rarely eat meat anyway.”
He chuckles and unwraps his food. "That can be changed."
Thoughts of sucking him off make my underwear grow damp. Damn him. We eat in silence for a while until I can’t stand it any longer.
“Why did you do this?”
“You won’t find peace at the bottom of a tequila bottle.”
“I wasn’t planning to get drunk. The bar opened, and I wanted to hang out with Raven. Your sister is awesome.”
He grabs a napkin and leans over, wiping my chin. Maybe it wasn’t the whole using his thumb to get it and lick it off his finger, but it was still hot.
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“Don’t lie. You love her and you think she’s awesome, but have to protect your bad boy image.”
“My bad-boy image?” He takes another bite of his food.
“Did you kill anyone today?”
He chokes on the food, and I pat his back twice until he gets himself under control.
“The night is still young,” he mutters, making me laugh.
His gaze lingers, and my cheeks heat. I’m blushing right now and he can see it even in the dim light as dusk settles.
“Why are you staring?”
“You never laugh.”
“Ditto.”
He makes a face that says he agrees with that. What have we got to laugh about? Both of us have shit going on.
Colt keeps telling me to look for the joy in life, to put the past behind me and focus on the here and now. My here and now involves a grumpy, shady biker who fucks like a God but at the heart of him is a demon. Or one who does bad things, at the very least. A criminal.
“Your brain is working hard over there,” he interrupts my thoughts. “Is this about that painting?”
“No. I haven’t seen it in a while. And…” He knows my history, all of it. I can talk about this. “My parents have been brought up a lot. I purposely shut them out of my head, they’re not worth thinking about.”
“You got handed a bad deal.”
Nothing puts me off my food most of the time, but I pick at the lettuce instead of taking another bite. He isn’t trying to placate me, or tell me other people have worse parents than I do, which I’m grateful for. I’m aware other kids suffered more than I did.
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Rebel.”
He screws up the wrapper of his quesadilla, which he finished in record time, and sighs. “Good question.”
“An answer would be helpful.”
He shifts in his seat so he’s facing me better. “We’re dealing with a lot right now and finding a solution is fucking frustrating.”
He will not tell me the details, which is fine, pushing him to give away anything on that side of things will only piss him off. And as much as I enjoy annoying him, he’s opening up and sometimes that is all we need. Someone to listen.
“Some of us aren’t seeing eye to eye on what to do about it, and the way I deal with shit is to get angry. Putting that anger on the wrong people won’t help. I’ve never had a place to get away from it. I’ve always done reckless shit instead.”
“Taking me for Mexican food is a place to get away from it?”
“That, or letting you draw me,” he says, a rawness to his tone, but his eyes are still hard, as if he’s annoyed with himself for even saying it, never mind thinking it. “Sitting still is not something I’m known for. This kind of thing isn’t me.”
I’m so desperate to ask if I’m the reason why, but I don’t want to put that out there, I don’t want to be disappointed in his answer.