Devil's Kiss (12 page)

“Has there been anything else?” Ratchet asks, leaning back in his chair. We’re in his office in the clubhouse, eating our lunch together.

“I’ve noticed a blue sedan following me on and off. Checked the tags. It’s a rental,” I answer.

“How’s the engine running?” he asks.

“It’s fine. Could’ve been a lot worse if whoever it was had known more about cars,” I reply.

Ratchet leans back, pulling on his beard. He helped me replace the Tahoe’s filter and found the mix of sand and dirt someone had dumped in the tank.

“Could be the Devils...” he muses, thinking out loud. “Stick said that some of their brothers weren’t too happy about the terms of the deal we offered them. Maybe some of them are trying to get us back in some way.”

“Yeah, it just feels...personal, somehow,” I tell him, “The Devils would be more likely to walk into the Black Rock and crack a pool cue over my head if they had a problem, not follow me around like some fucking pussies.”

“Well, let’s just keep it quiet until we know what’s happening,” Ratchet says. “I don’t want Trip or some of the prospects going down there all hopped-up on something and kicking ass if we don’t know what’s really going on. Do Stacy and Olive know?”

“Nah, we didn’t say anything to them,” I say, “Stick figured they were already worried enough with him out of town on a run.”

“Speaking of Stick,” Ratchet smiles, “I hear there might be cause for celebration this weekend.”

“Yeah,” I grin back, “He’s all worried, but she’s gonna say yes, no question.”

“So what are you going to do?” he asks, finishing up his sandwich and brushing the crumbs of his desk.

“What do you mean?” I ask him, “Hey, you going to eat that pickle?”

“Fuck, West, you eat more than anyone I’ve ever met,” He laughs, “Go for it. I mean, Stacy and Stick, they’re going to want to live together, probably not with roommates...” he gives me a meaningful look.

“Oh...” I say, his meaning finally dawning on me. I munch thoughtfully on the pickle. “Guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“I guess you could just stay with a different woman every night,” Ratchet says with a smile, “but eventually, it might be nice to stay in one place for a bit.”

“Maybe...” I say, standing up and tossing my empty brown bag in the trash. “I’m gonna finish up that radiator with Don. You were right, by the way, he’s pretty good.”

“All right,” Ratchet says, grabbing a pen and leaning over some paperwork.

The newest prospect Don and I work on the radiator of a shitty old Ford pickup for the rest of the afternoon. He’s ready to do most of the work himself, which is great, because I’m busy thinking about what Ratchet said.

Fuck, Stick and I were always a team. It was always us, hitting on girls together, having each other’s back. This house thing is just the beginning. If I’ve thought he’s been busy with Stacy lately, imagine what it’ll be like when they move into the house, have babies. They’ll have their own family, and I’ll be on the outside looking in, just like when I was a kid.

Don and I (well, mostly Don) finish up on the Ford, and I head home. I scan my mirrors for a sign of the blue sedan, but there’s no sign of it. I pull into the driveway and feel a deep weariness as I walk into the house.

When I step though the front door, I see Olive at the kitchen sink, her hands buried in soap suds. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me, though her eyes have a distant look in them. All I want to do is bury my face in her neck, take her back into my bedroom and feel her body underneath mine. Everything just felt simple and easy for a couple weeks, and now it all feels complicated again. I haven’t even touched her since Stick’s been home.

Tossing my helmet onto the floor, I cross the living room and move into the kitchen. I walk carefully up behind Olive, as though she might disappear if I take my eyes off her for even a second. I wrap my arms around her waist, pleased to find that she’s real, and warm, and here. Her body stills under my touch, her hands dropping in the sink, still covered in soap and water.

Closing my eyes, I feel her rest her head back against my chest, her body relaxing in my arms. But only for a moment. She stiffens, and I feel her gently press her elbow into my abdomen. What the fuck? I step away from her, frowning down at the back of her head.

I hear a floorboard creak in the hall behind us, and turn to see Stick standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Shit...how long has he been standing there? His expression is blank, his head tilted slightly to the side in consideration. I hear Olive begin to wash off the plates in the sink again.

“Hey, Olive, want me to drop you off at work on my way to Stacy’s?” he finally asks.

“Yeah, that would be great,” Olive says, turning off the faucet and drying her hands. “So, tonight’s the big night, huh?”

“Yep,” Stick says, grinning nervously.

“I called the restaurant, the private room is all set up,” Olive says. That’s news to me, though I guess I can understand why Stick would rely on Olive and not me for something like that. I’m not exactly known for my prowess in romantic gestures.

“I’ll ask one of the prospects to pick you up tonight,” Stick adds. “I know West must have other things to do. We should get going.”

“Yeah, let me just grab my purse,” Olive says, walking quickly to her room without looking at me.

“Good luck tonight, man,” I say to Stick.

“Thanks,” he replies with a grin, the uneasiness gone from his eyes.

A moment later, Olive is back with her bag and she and Stick head out the door with a wave.

The house feels empty and quiet all of a sudden. I walk to the fridge and grab a beer, then reach back in and grab the whole six pack. I head out the sliding door to the back porch. I place the beers on the table, turn one of the chairs so it’s squarely facing the backyard, and drop into it, kicking off my boots.

I crack the first beer open and watch the orange sun set over the horizon. It’s a beautiful night, my best friend is about to get engaged, and I’ve got a full six pack by my side.

But why is it, then, that I still find myself scowling into the distance as the sun descends?

I lie on my back in Olive’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. I can see the remnants of small circular stickers up there. Probably from those glow-in-the-dark stars that girls were always putting on their walls back in the day, though it looks like Olive has tried her best to take them down.

Glancing at the clock, I see that I still have plenty of time before anyone is likely to get home. I love being in Olive’s room. I feel so peaceful here. When I first came out to Vegas, I was so angry with her. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I rented a car and drove out here to her house, only to find her living with two bikers. Olive’s mother forgot to mention that her son, the accountant, does the books for a fucking motorcycle gang.

So I bided my time. I knew that with these thugs in the picture I would have to plan carefully. And while I was following her, watching her, I realized that she had gotten involved with that asshole, West. At first I was angry again, then disappointed. Then I really just felt sad. Sad for Olive. Sad that this is what her life has turned into. I mean, dating some dumb fucking gang member? He could never appreciate her the way that I do.

That’s when I figured out what I needed to do. I needed—I
need
—to rescue her. Her life is spinning out of control, and she needs someone to step in and put it right for her. At first, she might be confused, maybe in pain, but eventually, she will thank me. And she will realize that I’m the one that’s been there for her all along.

I turn my head to the side, breathing in her scent from her pillow. A thrill runs through me, and I feel my dick getting hard.

It was amusing to realize that her brother didn’t know about his sister and good friend being together. I’ve been trailing her for days now, and watching them through the windows. As soon as her brother came back, Olive and West stopped touching. Lying to your own brother—not a good move. When Olive is back with me, I will never let her do anything like that. I will encourage her to always be honest and straightforward with people.

I stand up and walk over to her wicker clothes hamper. I take the top off and look inside. More dirty clothes since I was here two nights ago. I reach in and take out the black thong sitting on top. These are new, I think, as I rub the soft lace between my fingers. I definitely would have remembered seeing these while we were dating.

Carefully folding them, I place them in my back pocket. She won’t notice they’re missing. I walk to the cork board she has hanging on the wall above her desk. There are pictures and little notes pinned to it haphazardly. I run my eyes over the pictures. Mostly from high school, though there’s one new one. It’s of her, her brother, West, and her brother’s fiancé. Looks like it’s from some kind of backyard barbecue.

I reach up to take it, but hesitate. Probably too obvious. I choose a different one, one of the many photos of her from when she was younger that she’s not as likely to notice missing. She’s sitting on the first row of some wooden bleachers with other girls, and her legs are sticking out from her little shorts. I carefully fold that, too, making sure the crease doesn’t obscure Olive’s body at all, and tuck it in my back pocket with the panties.

Looking around the room, I take one last deep breath, trying to imprint her smell in my mind. I reluctantly turn to go, passing by West’s bedroom on the way. I stop. A flare of anger hits me, churning up from my gut as I look into his room. Piece of shit. I want to tear through his things, rip his pictures from the wall, set fire to his bed.

My hands twitch. I take a calming breath.
Patience
, I remind myself. I have a plan, and making my presence too obvious now would ruin it. Even putting the sand in their car—that was too much, and came out of rash anger. I’m lucky it didn’t give me away.

I continue down the hallway, back through the kitchen, and out the sliding glass door in the back. It’s amazing, they always lock the front door, but this door has never been locked since I’ve been coming here. Not once. I shake my head. The hubris of bikers. Thinking they’re invincible because of a couple tattoos and a leather vest.

Making quick tracks, I cut across a few lots to the street where I’ve parked my rental sedan. My cell vibrates in my pocket. I glance at the screen. Fucking Stan again. Jesus, that fucker is persistent. How many times do I have to ignore his calls before he gets the picture? He’s like a fucking woman, or something. I press ‘decline’ and stuff the phone back in my pocket. I unlock the car door and slide behind the wheel.

The manila envelope is lying on the passenger seat, carefully addressed to Drew Corder at his house. I start the car and drive into town, where I know there’s a post office box on my way back to my motel. I took many more photos than I needed to, and included them all in the envelope. I really hope I get to see her brother’s reaction when he opens it. If I drop it off today, it should get there on Friday or Saturday. I can just see him picking up the mail from below the front door where the mailman has pushed it through the slot.

What’s this?
He’ll wonder as he works open the flap. And out will come all the photos I’ve taken of Olive and West. Them fucking on the couch, her bedroom, his bedroom. They’ve really been quite inventive, far more than she ever was with me, though I’ll fix that quickly. I’m sure Drew will feel the same level of disgust that I felt when taking them. It’s amazing what you can do with a telephoto lens these days.

Then, when Olive’s world is crumbling around her, that’s when I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.