Scenic Route Page 10

  To one side was a doggie bed with a bunch of toys on it. Where was Spencer’s dog? Chakotay, his German Shepherd, is a great dog. And this dog loves me. He loves everyone, but he seriously loves me. The last time I’d seen him was at Ella’s parents while the Valentines stayed after the fire and he kept looking at Spencer and whining, putting his paw on me. I laughed at the time. We all did. Except Spencer.

  Me, Joe, and Spencer had also once gone camping with Chakotay, the past October for one night while they’d gone fishing, and Chakotay kept me company in the tent while they fished half the night. It had been a two-room tent of Spencer’s and it’d been a long night sleeping there, having just a bit of vinyl between me and Spencer, as I’d wound up against that vinyl wall and wondered in the night if the body heat I’d felt through the wall was the dog.

  In the morning, Joe had unzipped the wall to let the dog out and I got a glimpse that it had been Spencer only inches from me. I blushed about that at the time, thinking it was all sorts of kinky, me “technically” sleeping between two hot guys.

  I shook off those old thoughts and kept taking in my surroundings.

  There was a dresser against the wall with two of the drawers half-opened and bursting at the seams with clothes. An art easel sat in the corner by the window with a pile of colored pencils sitting in a coffee can on the floor. On the easel was a half-drawn motorcycle with a long chopper-style body. There was a closet that was open, and it was exploding with its contents. Clothes, stacks of video games and DVDs. Books. Art supplies.

  I didn’t intend to snoop any further, so I made the bed with its big black thick comforter, lots of black pillows, dark gray and black swirled jersey sheets. I flopped on it.

  This bed smelled like him. Even touching his bedding felt kind of… intimate. But I told myself that if I was stuck in here waiting for however long for him, I needed to make the bed. It wasn’t like I could sit on that chair unless I started rifling through whatever was on it, and I had no idea if the pile of clothes were clean or dirty.

  There was a half-finished package of Big Red gum sitting on the bookcase headboard. Cinnamon.

  The bookcase had a pile of comic books, a stack of skateboard magazines, a Zelda themed Nintendo DS and some DS cartridges. A package of cigarettes, glass psychedelic bong in yellow and blue swirls. Three cigarette lighters. Two leather bracelets. A big silver hoop earring.

  Umm…

  My eyes boinged and then I caught myself giving the earring a dirty look.

  Shake it off, Pip.

  The back of the door had hooks with his leather cut, a Dominion Brotherhood jean jacket, and two dog leashes. He’d been wearing his Dominion Brotherhood leather jacket when he left. I looked out the window and saw field and the construction zone for the new clubhouse. It was pretty dark out and not much to see out there, so I kicked off my shoes and lay back on the bed for all of one minute before there was a knock on the door. I went to it and opened, finding Scott standing there, still looking sleepy, wearing a t-shirt and track pants, offering me a can of Pepsi.

  “Thanks.” I accepted it.

  “Something stronger?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I’ll come out, keep you company.”

  He gave me a curt shake of his head. “Better you stay in here like Spence wants.” And then he backed out and shut the door.

  I blinked a couple times and gave my head a shake. Okay, then. No conversation. He was following orders, keeping me in here.

  Biker chauvinism at its finest, apparently. Keep the little lady in the big bad biker’s bedroom while he solves her problems? I felt myself turning a bit ugly at the idea, but shook it off. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t with a biker. It was just a case of me running into Spencer and him feeling some sense of … whatever … because he’d found me beat up that night.

  I knew I was lying to myself, but I shoved it aside.

  What I should’ve said to Scott was, “Spence might be the boss of you, but he isn’t the boss of me.”

  Instead, I drank the Pepsi and stared at the ceiling, and then I stared at my phone until it was nearly dead. I found a phone-charging dock on the headboard, so I plugged my phone in, then peeked at the pile of video games in the closet to see what he had. He had some good games. I then wandered over to look at the art easel, flipping pages carefully to see what else he’d drawn. It was almost all motorcycles, but there were a few pages that had skateboard deck designs on them.

  And, of course, while I was snooping, that was when he came in.

  He waltzed in and tossed his Dominion Brotherhood jacket to the already overflowing chair, then dropped his keys and his wallet on his dresser. He ran his hands through his hair and looked at me. His expression was angry at first, then his eyebrows popped up in question at my actions.

  He was wearing a soft-looking long-sleeved blue t-shirt that his muscles strained against, jeans, and old scuffed black motorcycle boots. He looked amazing. I had to not look at him.

  “Sorry. I was bored.” I fixed the paper on the easel. “I was trying to not freak out. You’re here and you’re not bloody, so what does that mean?”

  “It means I didn’t get my shot because Bronto took it.”

  I gave my head a questioning shake.

  “They were supposed to be detaining him ‘til I could get there to threaten him into never botherin’ you again, but, Bronto was with Jess and they got there first, and he didn’t follow orders, became unhinged, and beat the snot out of him.”

  My mouth dropped open. “No one stopped him?”

  “Deacon, Jess, and Pudge stopped it before it meant a trip in an ambulance or Hearse instead of a cab. Took all three of them to get Bronto off that fucker.”

  Oh my God.

  “I got there, and they were puttin’ him in a cab. Barely laid eyes on him. We rode, following. Cab got him home.”

  “The cab got him home?” I parroted.

  “Yep. Deacon laid it out. He comes anywhere near you, either the cops or the undertaker’ll be called. In fact, you might wanna tell the cops. That’s your call. You want, I’ll get Brice on the phone again.”

  “Again?”

  “Told him what happened tonight. He’s leavin’ it up to you. Said he got your message, said you were supposed to get a call when he was let out. He’ll look into it and call you or pop by to see you at the salon when he has more info.”

  I gave my head another shake. “Is Bronto okay? I asked.

  “He likely bought himself an extra six months of prospect duty by going off and not followin’ orders.”

  “Oh,” I said quietly.

  “If it’d been any other reason, he’d have likely been turfed, outta the club. We keep a short leash on prospects. But, given every fuckin’ one of us wanted to do what Bront did… he’s gonna get a pass, I’m guessin’. There’ll be a vote tonight.”

  Knocking on his door interrupted a moment of tension.

  “One sec.” He disappeared out of the room. I heard a quick few sentences exchanged, though I couldn’t make out those sentences, and then he was back.

  “You’re staying here tonight,” he informed me. He still looked amped. Angry.

  “Here?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Take my bed. I’ll sleep in the chair.”

  “That chair? Where will you put the stack of clothing that could clothe a small village?”

  He smirked.

  “I should actually go. Maybe I’ll go sleep at Jenna and Rider’s since they’re out. Don’t think I can go back to my brother’s tonight. Then I’ll have my car for the morning and I’ll go there in the light when I won’t feel scared.”

  “Stay here. I want you to feel safe. I’ll sleep on a couch in the TV room if I have to.” He made a face of distaste at that suggestion.

  I chewed my lips.

  “Sleep here, you’ll have not a thing to fear. Promise.”

  “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “Stay.”

  I yawned, against my will, s
tifling it with my hand.

  “Stay,” he repeated.

  I let out a slow breath. “Can I use your bathroom?” I asked.

  He opened the door and signaled down the hall. “Around the corner.”

  At the end of the hall and around a corner where there were restrooms and a staircase down to, I was guessing, Deke’s Roadhouse. I could hear conversations on the other side of the place and Lynyrd Skynyrd playing on low.

  There was a big room with a big screen television, a fireplace, and a bunch of couches. Beside that was a men’s bathroom and a women’s bathroom, a utility room with a washer and dryer, and two giant showers, and though utilitarian, like a shopping mall or restaurant restroom, it was all brand new. The ladies’ room was a lot like the change room at a gym: three bathroom stalls, two shower stalls.

  I did my thing and went back to his room. His dad, Deke, was coming down the hallway.

  He gave me a salute. “Hey there. You good?”

  I shivered and put my arms around myself, palming my elbows, leaning against the doorway of Spencer’s room. “Yes. Thanks. Thanks for everyone’s help tonight. Sorry for the trouble.”

  “Any time,” he said in his deep voice, looking into my eyes. “No man’s a man who lays a hand on his woman. Don’t blame yourself for his fuck up.” Deke reminded me of a cross between Sam Elliot and Richard Rawlings. Everything about Deke, from his salt and pepper goatee to his tattoos and silver rings on his hands was cool.

  “Spency,” he called while rapping on the slightly ajar door with two knuckles. Spencer came out, looking tense, angry.

  “Church,” Deke stated.

  Spencer waved me back into his room and once I was past the threshold, he said, “Club meeting. Go to sleep if you want. You’re safe, Sunshine.” He hit the light on the wall, leaving just a bedside lamp on, and shut the door.

  I kicked my shoes off and climbed into his bed, and turned out the lamp.

  I chewed my lip for a minute, trying to ignore that Spencer scent which was impossible since it surrounded me. I tried to not chew on the fact that he’d said that Bronto was supposed to wait for him to get there, which suggested Spencer was taking a lead on threatening Joe, which… either Deacon or Rider had more of a reason to do since they were boyfriends of my friends, but yet Spencer had said it like it was his responsibility.

  But, I did feel safe. Safe, for the first time since my life went out of control. I was out, like a light, in no time.

  5

  I woke up with a hard wall of warm muscle in front of me.

  What? I looked up.

  Spencer Valentine. In bed with me. Under the blankets with me. No shirt on. My arm was around him.

  Unbelievable.

  It was daylight. His eyes were closed, his lashes looking so thick and lush resting on his cheeks. His mouth, full and pouty, even poutier in sleep, one arm thrown over his head, the other wrapped around me.

  We’d been facing one another; my arm thrown over his middle, my cheek had been smushed against his naked chest.

  I lifted my hand and rolled away.

  I’d fallen asleep fully clothed and I was still fully clothed, thankfully. I got up and reached for my bag and my jacket and shoes, then quietly crept out of there.

  Walking down the hallway, I could hear snoring from at least two rooms.

  I got to the kitchen and saw Bronto standing at the counter, drinking from a black and green energy drink can. He was in his white Ramones t-shirt, a shirt he wore a lot, jeans, big motorcycle boots, his Prospect vest on. He turned to face me, and his cheek ticked, his mouth twitched, and then he crushed the can in his fist and let out a sigh.

  I put my shoes on the floor, my bag and jacket down on the old wooden farm table that took up lots of space in the kitchen, room for a dozen to sit around it, seeing a judge’s gavel sitting in a wooden tray there on one end.

  Biker church.

  I got my shoes on and then folded my arms across my chest and jerked my chin up at him. “What’s the attitude with me all about?”

  “You’re with him now,” he muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “Spence. You’re with Spence now, obviously. Missed my shot. My own fault.”

  “Your… shot?”

  He huffed and grabbed the can from the counter and tossed it into a recycling bin in the corner of the kitchen.

  “Your shot?” I repeated. “Am I a sport or something?”

  “I was planning on asking you out. Wanted to give it time, give you time to get over what happened. Missed my shot. Spence moved in. Figures. Good luck. He sleeps around loads and he’s an asshole when he drinks just like the guy that hit you, but yeah, good luck.”

  “Uh… sorry, but first of all, don’t presume things.”

  He gave me a dirty look. “Oh, you’re not with him? Just fuckin’ him? That mean I still got a shot?” He was filled with venom. I saw his knuckles looked bruised, scraped. My throat went dry at the sight of that.

  My mouth dropped open. It was like I didn’t even know this guy. This wasn’t the sweet, soft-spoken gentle giant that we all loved.

  “You’re an asshole,” I snapped, grabbed my bag, storming to the door.

  He followed me out.

  “Where you goin?”

  “Fuck you, Ted. None of your damn business.”

  “Pippa, I’m sorry. Let me drive you wherever you need to go.” He caught up with me at the bottom of the stairs and he put his bruised hand on my arm. I stopped and looked up at him.

  “Sorry, babe.” He swallowed and blew out a breath. “I haven’t slept. Things haven’t been good. I almost got myself kicked outta the club last night, and seein’ you come outta his room… I was a jerk and now you’re mad. I’m sorry. Lemme just drive you.”

  “Why’d you go and nearly get yourself kicked out of the club? You guys should’ve called the cops. You do realize he could get you charged.”

  “He won’t say shit,” he hissed.

  I shook my head. “Why’d you go and beat him up?”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “You. He fucked with you. You! You walk around with your head high, smiling, always. Happy. And now you’re… this…this sad-face with shoulders slouched, lookin’ like you wanna hide… he fuckin’ did that to you when you trusted him, when you gave him you. Do you know how hard most guys’d bust their backs to keep you happy, treat you like gold? He had that and look what he did!”

  I swallowed a lump down, feeling the anger drain out of me and turn to something…else. Something uglier than anger. Something like humiliation.

  Bronto wasn’t done.

  “Like this! This ain’t you. You were his to protect, not to hurt. Fuck that. He needed to bleed. He needed a kick in his fuckin’ ribs, a punch in his goddamn mouth. I did to him what your brother said he did to you, askin’ him how he liked it.”

  My chest ached. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, sourness working its way through me.

  “You with Spencer?” he asked, softly, taking a step toward me.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Do I got a shot?” he asked, his voice still soft. “After you have some time…”

  “No. you don’t,” I said and looked him in the eyes. “You’re my friend.”

  “I know you’re outta my league, but---” He had hope in his eyes.

  “No, Bronto. Sorry. It’s not happening. It’s not about anything to do with any leagues. Not with Spencer, not you, not anyone. I need time.”

  “I’ll give you time.”

  “You’re my friend,” I repeated. “Just keep being my friend, please.”

  His shoulders slumped.

  It dawned then that Spencer had never given me back my keys, so I couldn’t go home or get in my car. Shit. My phone was on his headboard, plugged into his charger. Double shit.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Almost ten,” Bronto replied with a glance at his wrist.

  Shit. How did I sleep that late? I was up
by six on weekdays, no later than eight on weekends. I’d really slept in.

  I didn’t have a phone or keys, but the salon would be open. Lulu and Deb would have it opened and though I was still in yesterday’s clothes, I could zip up to Jenna’s apartment and grab a shower and borrow something to wear. She and I were pretty much the same dress size, though I was bustier, and she was taller.

  I wasn’t going back upstairs to that clubhouse. No way.

  I’d get my phone and keys after. I’d think about the fact that I got a great night’s sleep, the best one in over a month never.

  “I gotta go,” I said.

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “Don’t bother,” I walked away.

  “Where you goin’?” he called.

  “I gotta get to work. I’m good. Go get some sleep.”

  I headed past the garage to the motorcycle dealership two doors over and saw that it was opened, so I went inside. Ella was sitting at the reception desk. She did not look surprised to see me.

  “Bathroom?” I asked.

  She pointed toward a hallway behind her desk.

  “Be back.”

  Ella worked here, as the office manager for the dealership and the garage. Spencer was the salesperson. My guess was that he’d wake up any time and be here to start his workday, so I had to get out of here, ASAP.

  I didn’t have an appointment until 11:45, so quick pee, get Ella to call me a taxi, and then go to Jenna’s and shower and change.

  “Hey,” I greeted when I came out. She had a cup of coffee poured for me.

  Sit,” she invited.

  “Can you call me a cab, actually? I have to get to Jenna’s to shower and change and then I have a client at eleven forty-five.”

  “You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” she asked, folding her arms across her ample chest.

  “I will, but I really wanna get out of here before he gets up and comes in. What time does he start work?”

  “We open officially to customers at 10:30. He’s usually in by now, but Deke told me he’d probably be late as they were up until 6:30 this morning.” She raised her eyebrows.