Chapter Two
G
“Watch out, Teddy. Momma’s late,” I growl as I close my bedroom door behind me, almost tripping over the little asshole.
In true shithead form, my little Persian prince slows his steps and meows over his shoulder, letting me know that I’m a mere peasant, and he rushes for no one.
“You’re a real diva, ya know that?” He continues to weave between my feet as I’m trying to step around him. “I’m starting to think you’re trying to kill me.”
Meow.
“Of course you are,” I sigh, stepping out my door and locking it behind me.
It’s a good thing I love that little shit. I adopted him a few months ago from the shelter after I moved out of the clubhouse.
I wanted to prove to myself that I was strong enough to stand on my own two feet, and I have — mostly. I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but after a week, I realized I wasn’t a fan of being alone.
I had gotten used to cooking, cleaning, and having people to take care of, but I also knew going back to the clubhouse wasn’t an option. Not after I’d caused so much trouble between Rock and his club.
He was up in New York now with the Rochester chapter. He made a point to check in with me every couple of weeks, and he seems happier. I have a feeling it may have something to do with a woman, but I don’t want to pry.
“Hey, girl!” I can see Creepy Craig in my peripheral, but I keep moving.
You’d think he’d know hollering at a woman in the early hours of the morning isn’t a good idea. Sadly, he’s not that bright.
Without making eye contact, I quickly jump in my car and back out of my driveway.
Not today, asshole.
My neighbor’s a perv with a carousel of women that come and go, and for some reason, he thinks I’d be interested in joining the rotation.
Not a freaking chance.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” I’m going to be late for work, and Carla is going to fire my ass. Then I’ll end up homeless and won’t have a choice but to beg Viper to let me come back to the clubhouse.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the club and everyone in it, but I need to prove to myself that I can stand on my own two feet.
The black sedan in front of me hits its brakes again.
“Come on!” I throw my hands in the air. It’s probably not the smartest thing to do behind the wheel, but I’m really starting to think this asshole is intentionally trying to make me late.
He hits them again. “What the hell are you hitting your brakes for? There’s nobody else out here! ”
“Fuck it.” I turn on my blinker and switch lanes. As I pass the guy, I flip him the bird.
Jerk.
I grin when he honks his horn.
It’s immature, but I really can’t be late for work again. I have bills to pay and a cat to feed.
Pressing on the gas, I hope I can make up some ground now that I’m not having to hit my brakes every thirty seconds.
“Please don’t let Carla be there.” The whispered words are a plea to the gods. My boss is an unforgiving cunt when it comes to tardiness. Since she found out that Harley and I are close with the Miami Saints MC, she’s acted like it’s her sole mission to make our lives hell.
I’ve heard over and over again how the bakery runs on a very strict schedule, and one slip in her finely oiled machine will cause the place to go to hell in a handbasket. I’ve also heard how “hanging out with biker trash” makes her bakery look bad.
My personal thoughts … She’s full of shit. The woman is nothing more than a narcissistic control freak on a power trip afforded to her by her wealthy husband, but I digress.
The fact of the matter is, she’s the boss, and she makes the rules — rules the rest of us have to play by.
I cross my fingers and toes when I turn off Elm onto Main Street. “Oh, thank God.” I laugh shakily. By the grace of the gods, Carla’s car isn’t in the parking lot.
However, my relief is short-lived when I spot Harley’s beat-up Nova already in the lot, and she’s kicked back against the windshield with her arm draped across her face.
This can’t be good.
A feeling of dread starts to fill my belly as I coast my car into the parking spot next to hers. The last time she was out here asleep, she’d had a huge fight with one of her brothers, and he’d thrown her out of the house. Hopefully, things aren’t as bad as I’m making them out to be.
As I open my door and climb out of my car, I take in the sketchy neighborhood we work in.
This really isn’t a good place for her to be sleeping out in the open.
My hands smooth up and down my arms. Anything could happen out here, and she’s a pretty girl.
There are sketchy characters in this neighborhood that wouldn’t think twice about hurting her.
When I round the hood of my car, I freeze mid-step. My hand flies over my mouth as bile churns in my gut when I get a look at the tear in Harley’s shirt, the bruise on her cheek, and her lip that’s split.
“No,” I croak.
My mind flashes through memories like an old movie reel with images of Rick in the throes of rage. His arms swing violently, delivering blows of devastation.
Blink.
My belly rounded with a baby boy soon to come.
Blink.
Rick’s rage. A fight. Pain.
Blink.
My son’s life was extinguished by a monster.
Blink.
“G?”
My head slowly swivels.
Blink.
“G. You’re scaring me.” My eyes flutter rapidly as the flashback fades into the recesses of my mind. Harley’s looking at me like she’s afraid to say or do the wrong thing.
Shaking off the ice in my veins, I dart around her car to get a better look at her. “Are you okay?”
She snorts. “Peachy.”
“Harley…”
“I’m fine,” she answers, trying to wave off my concerns, but I know she’s not. “I was just trying to catch a few Zs.”
“I can see that, but why are you sleeping out here? And who did that to your face?” My hands fist.
The backseat of her car is filled with her belongings.
Looking back at her, I ask, “Did your brothers throw you out of your house again?” I’m probably crossing a line, but Harley and I have grown close over the last few months we’ve worked together, and I’ve started to think of her as a little sister.
If she needs help, I want to be here for her.
“Something like that?” She covers her mouth and yawns.
I lift a brow. “What do you mean ‘something like that’? Did one of them do that to your face?”
Her head tilts from side to side as she contemplates a response. “Look. It’s better this way. They’re into some shit that I don’t wanna get caught up in.” She’s not making any sense. What stuff are they into?
“Harley, if someone hurt you, we need to call the cops. If not them, then let me call someone at the club.” Whoever hurt her needs to be punished. An eye for an eye and all that jazz.
“No. I don’t want any drama. I’ll find somewhere else to crash,” she says, pushing up from the windshield and pulling a joint from behind her ear.
When she lights the tip and blows out a plume of stinky smoke, my nose wrinkles.
“You lived at the clubhouse but can’t stand the smell of weed?” She laughs, waving her hand through the air to push the smelly smoke away from me.
I shrug my shoulders. I’ve never been fond of the smell.
“You really shouldn’t smoke that out here. Carla will fire you if she sees it.” I jolt when I hear a gunshot ring out from somewhere nearby.
“Fuck her,” Harley says, unfazed by the sound. I wish life were that easy, but it’s not. We both need this shitty job.
“So what’s the plan? You’re just going to live out of your car?” I wouldn’t put it past her. Harley has shared her war stories of growing up on the eastside of town where sirens are heard twenty-four hours a day. Sleeping in her car would probably be a cakewalk.
“Until I find somewhere else to crash,” she says, nodding her head and taking another hit.
I knew it wasn’t that easy, but for whatever reason, she’s trying to play it cool. I look back at her stuff piled up in the backseat, and an idea hits me. I do have a spare room that nobody’s using, and having a roommate would be nice. I do get lonely sometimes.
“What if you moved in with me?” I blurt, waggling my eyebrows.
Harley laughs. “You’re such a nerd.”
“You wound me,” I giggle, placing my hand over my heart.
She runs her hands through her hair. “You sure you’d want me as a roommate?”
“Hell, yes! You’re quiet, a little OCD, and you cook those chimichangas I love. If I don’t wife you up, someone might take you off the market,” I tease.
“Wife me up?” Her brows lift. Her head shakes as she slowly covers her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Seriously, G? Such a nerd.”
I shrug my shoulders. I’ve been called worse.
Harley’s eyes search mine as she puts the joint out on the end of her boot and slides noisily off the hood of her car. When her boots hit the concrete, she places her hands on my shoulders and smiles. “Absofuckinglutely, I’ll be your wife.”
I throw my head back and laugh. That’s not exactly what I mean, but fuck it. I’m glad she’s on board. It’ll be good for us both.
“Who’s the nerd now?” I snort, making myself giggle.
Still giggling, I wrap my arm around her waist for a hug.
“Thanks, G,” she whispers into my hair as her arms lock around me.
“Don’t mention it.”
When my phone starts to blare in my pocket, I pull away and look up at her. Our celebration is over. “Time to go to work.”
“Yeah,” she groans. “We better get in there before the she-bitch shows up.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Here.” I tap Harley on the arm with the bottle of spiked lemonade dangling from my fingers, then bend at the knees and sit on the concrete step beside her.
I peek around her and sigh when I see Creepy Craig’s car in his driveway.
Great. It’s only a matter of time before he sees us sitting out here and comes outside.
Craig moved in here a month after I did. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless, but he doesn’t seem to be accepting the fact that I don’t want to go out with him. It seems like every day he has a new strategy.
“You know …” My head shifts back to her as she holds up a finger and proceeds to take a long pull, damn near emptying the thing. “… I’m not twenty-one yet, right?”
Taking a sip of my own drink, I search my memory. I’m almost positive that she told me she was twenty-one. “Really?” I finally ask.
“No,” she snorts, finishing off the dregs in her bottle as I tip my head and take a generous swig of my own.
“So …” I lift a brow.
“You wanna know what happened.” She sighs heavily, picking at the label on the bottle.
“Yeah.” Usually, I wouldn’t pry into anyone else’s business. Lord knows I have my own closet full of skeletons that I don’t want anyone sorting through, but with her now living with me, I needed to know what was going on and if I needed to be on alert.
Harley was a good kid, but her brothers were into some sketchy stuff. I would never judge her for their shit, but I also wouldn’t pretend like I was capable of taking on a grown man.
At a whopping five feet tall and a buck fifteen soaking wet, if a man was intent on hurting me, there wasn’t a damn thing I was going to be able to do to stop him. The scars on my body and the hole in my heart were proof of that.
Harley blows out a heavy breath and scrubs her hands across her face.
“My brothers are addicts. Have been for years. They got mixed up with some shady fucking dealer down in Little Haiti. I’ve always stayed away from the shit they get up to, ya know?
I don’t want to end up locked up or dead like our parents, so I’ve kept my nose clean and head in the books.
Last night, things changed. Their new crew has invaded our family home, and they’ve turned the shed out back into the spot where they cook. ”
“Cook?” Why would anyone want to cook in a shed?
“Cook meth…” she clarifies.
“Oh!” My eyes widen. Well, hell. No wonder she packed up her stuff and got the hell out of there. If something went wrong... I shake my head. I don’t even want to think about how bad that would be.
“Yeah, oh,” she says, turning her head to avoid me. “My brothers are manufacturing meth. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
I bump her elbow with mine and wait. I know none of this is easy for her. She was forced out of her home, but even before that, she’s been wading through the shit life’s thrown at her alone.
When she finally looks at me, I gently remind her, “None of that’s on you, Harley. You’re not responsible for anyone but yourself. Don’t take that on yourself.” She can’t control what her brothers are doing, but I get it.
“Easier said than done.”
“Yeah.” It sure as hell was.