7. Shane #2
Once outside, gunshots start back up, and more tires screech as the Iron Angels flee.
“Motherfuckers!” Jon shouts, kicking the tire of the van.
“What just happened?” I ask.
“What happened? Those fucking pricks got here before us. They just stole our fucking shipment,” he shouts, tossing his gloves down in the dirt.
Between gritted teeth, he whips his head toward Dean.
“Find Levi. I wanna know how Tony and those fucking asswipes found out about our drop, and I want my shit.”
Dean nods, and he and a couple of guys jump on their bikes, peeling off.
“Back to the club,” he snaps. “We have shit to do.”
No one says a word before getting on our bikes and heading back. The journey home is a lot less peaceful.
Jon barrels ahead of the pack, riding like his ass is on fire. Gabe shoots me a look. This isn’t good. We normally coexist pretty well with the other clubs, but no way Jon’s going to let Tony get away with this shit.
As we pull into the parking lot, Colette jumps out of her car.
“You motherfucker! I told you not to take them!” she shouts, racing toward us.
“Fuck,” Jon groans, hopping off his bike.
“I fucking told you, Abbott! Goddamn it!” She runs straight past her husband, instead barreling into Gabe and wrapping her arms around his neck as tears streak her face.
“Which one of you punks called your ol’ lady?” Jon says, glaring back at the rest of us.
They’re like a pack of wolves. You tell one, you might as well tell them all. If you hurt one, they will hunt you down.
“Oh, don’t you start. You’re lucky I haven’t murdered you yet.” She releases Gabe, moving to hug me next. “If you’d come back without one of my boys, you’d be dead before you climbed off that fucking bike.”
My boys.
He rolls his eyes and storms toward the club.
Releasing me, she grabs my face and winks before taking off after him in her high-heeled black boots.
“Hey! I’m not done talking to you.”
“Don’t you mean bitching at me?”
“They could have been killed, Jon.”
He stops his trek to the building and turns to face her, putting his hands in his pockets.
In a calm voice he says, “They’re in the club, Cole. Shit could always happen. It’s part of the gig. I’m sorry.”
She scoffs, crossing her arms.
“What? You wanna pull them out?” Then turning to us he says, “Sorry, boys, you’re out.”
“Mom, chill! We’re fine,” Gabe groans, walking past them into the building.
“If something happens to either of them, it’s on you.” She points a finger at him before stomping away.
“You’re all dismissed. We’ll meet tomorrow after I talk to Dean.” Jon waves a hand in the air before taking off after Colette.
Gabe turns to say something, but I turn and jump back on my bike. My heart’s in my throat and my hands shake from everything that just happened.
I want to drive straight to Marcus’s, and if I don’t clear my head, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
I swore I was done after Ash was attacked, and I’ve managed to stick to it up until now, but I’m desperately close to that edge.
Trying to resist that urge, I take off without a destination. The wind blows against me, carrying away some of the anxiety trying to boil over in my chest.
I’m halfway across town when I reach the Ravens Ridge bridge.
That’s when I see her sitting at the edge and staring down at the water below.
What the hell is she doing?
Her blonde-and-pink hair blows in the breeze, and her feet swing over the side.
Walk away, Shane. Not your problem.
I park the bike and stroll toward her. The sound of the water rushing from the creek below drowns out my footsteps. Her sharp features are encased in sunlight, but it does nothing to make her appear any softer.
Nik’s never been a fan of me, but after the incident with Max, I’m sure I’m really on her shit list now.
Join the fucking club.
I sit beside her, draping my arms over the rusted metal railing.
She scowls. “What are you doing?”
I have no idea, honestly.
“Sitting? Is that okay?” I ask as her green eyes meet mine. When the wind blows, coconut fills my senses. She’s in a black tank top, denim shorts, and chunky Dr. Martins that aren’t tied.
“I’d prefer you didn’t.” Her full pink lips curl.
“That’s rude.”
She just shrugs.
“What are you doing anyway? Thinking about jumping?” I joke, expecting her to laugh or give me a shitty look, but she looks down at the water. Her usual mean mask slips for a second, and she just looks sad.
Then, it clicks.
“Oh shit. Is that actually what you’re doing?”
I glance around like maybe I’ll find the reason somewhere, or maybe someone will jump out and stop her.
Obviously no one’s around, and because I’m an idiot, I ask, “Why?”
Her head whips around to look at me. “What do you mean, why?”
“What are you… seventeen? How bad could it be?”
I regret saying it immediately because I know how bad things can be. Contrary to popular belief, I actually do know how to not be a dick, but it just doesn’t come naturally. I’ve spent so long being hateful to everyone around me that I have to make a conscious effort to be decent.
I’m wishing it were easier right now, though.
“I’m eighteen.” She rolls her eyes. “And you don’t know anything about me.”
And that’s somewhat true, but I do know what it looks like to be broken and alone. I look at it in the mirror every morning.
There’s something about this girl that feels familiar. I can’t really explain it in a way that makes any sense, but I just know we’re cut from the same cloth.
That we have the same darkness.
“Does your mom know?”
What the fuck is wrong with you, moron?
If she’d talked to someone about her feelings, she probably wouldn’t be contemplating jumping off a fucking bridge. Plus, who am I to judge someone for not talking to their mother?
“What?” She looks annoyed. “Does your mom know about your bullshit? I bet not. I heard she doesn’t even give a damn about you.” Looking me up and down, she says, “Can’t say I blame her.”
I rear back.
That was really mean.
I know what they say about me. My mom sent me away because I’m a heathen.
My dad beat the hell out of me because I’m out of control.
I’m a druggie and a troublemaker. I get it.
They have every reason to think that, and maybe I am all of those things.
I don’t really give a shit, though. I hear what those people say about everyone else in town, too.
“You’re kind of a bitch,” I say.
“Yeah, well aren’t you a fucking scumbag?”
I should be offended, but instead I smile.
I’m not used to people calling me out on my shit. Most of the time, they make excuses for me or just ignore it because that’s just the way I am, but not this girl. She doesn’t take any of it, and I kind of like it—I think.
“Yeah, I am.” I nod.
She grimaces. “There’s something wrong with you.”
“Yeah? That’s grand coming from the girl about to jump off a fucking bridge.”
“Fuck you. You know what?” She stands, brushing off her hands. “Congratulations, I no longer want to off myself. You saved a life today.”
Rolling her eyes again, she throws her hair over her shoulder and turns away.
“What?”
She spins, walking backward as she says, “Yep, I can’t imagine the last interaction of my life being one with you. I’m cured.”
She storms away.
I’m not stupid enough to believe that shit. Watching her walk away, something in my chest constricts. I can’t come up with an explanation for it, but there might as well be a rope tied around my neck tethering me to her.