FOUND: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (12 page)

“I do!” Shaun jumped to his feet. “And that's exactly the answer I would expect from her boyfriend!”

My head sank when he started dancing and pointing more like a chimpanzee than the middle schooler he was supposed to be. But it wasn't over. Oh no. His excitement only encouraged the other two.

“Princess! Princess! You're a princess!” Anita's gaze was full of absolute hate.

“Where's your robe, princess?” Even Kenny, who usually followed me around like a lovesick puppy, tore into me. “Where's your crown?”

All I could do, crouched on the canvas covering the grass, was stare down into my lap.

Anita jabbed me in the shoulder. “Hey princess! Answer me!”

My eyes lifted, though now they were full of tears.

“Is the princess crying?” Shaun laughed anew with the others crumpling with him. “Have we made her cry?”

“Shut up!” Boyd shouted, jumping to his feet and shoving his friend. “You've got to take it too far, haven't you? She's not a guy, you can't treat her like that!”

The others were stopped dead in their tracks by Boyd's reaction.

Shaun, knocked on his ass, raised a hand. “Don't get all caught up! Why do you care?”

“Tell her you're sorry,” Boyd demanded.

I rubbed the tears from my cheeks, trying to collect myself.

Shaun's eyes met mine. “Cassie, you know I didn't mean it. I'm sorry...”

“Thank you,” I replied nearly silent.

Then he cackled and revealed his prank, “...sorry you're a princess!”

Boyd screamed, “You evil...”

But I didn't hear the rest. What he said, that stupid juvenile meanness, sent the tears trickling down my face. I rushed out the tent without looking back. I ran across the yard, street, and behind my parents' place. The evening was getting dark, but I didn't want to go home and let mom see me with red eyes. She would have asked what happened and I couldn't cope with telling her. Instead I sat behind the big oak tree that backed onto our property. Out back here I could be alone.

When you're an adult you understand moments like this are only a case of kids being cruel. Shaun and the others, my friends, didn't mean to hurt me, they were only having fun. Yet, when you're a child and the joke is on you it stings just the same. I sat crying, stewing, wondering why everyone hated me, and then crying some more. I don't know how long I sat there for, but it was long enough to lose track of.

“Cassie?”

By now it was fully dark and I had to strain my eyes to see who was approaching. It was Boyd.

“I looked everywhere for you.” He sat down next to me. “I thought you would have run off somewhere far. This is about the last place I thought of.”

I gazed down to my feet. I didn't want to talk.

“What have you been doing here?”

I shook my head.

“Don't want to talk?”

I didn't reply.

He twisted his feet in the dirt next to mine. “Wanna hear something funny? When I was creeping past your house your old man was sitting watching TV in his underwear again. This time his beer was on his belly and he still had his socks on.”

I smiled. Of course in my mood I didn't want to smile. Yet I have to admit it was funny.

“I know you're smiling. I can see your neck moving.”

I corrected myself, I was supposed to be upset, and scooted away from him.

Boyd sighed. “Come on... You can't still be upset can you? Everyone's forgotten what happened now. They were all sitting around picking on Shaun again when I last dropped in on them.”

My eyes welled up again. “It doesn't matter... They hate me. That's why they're like that.”

Boyd moved towards me. His body rested against mine. “They don't hate you... They're just messing. Being stupid. I've set Shaun straight. He won't call you that again. The other two haven't got the balls to start again. Now come back to the tent. It's getting cold out here and you need something proper to eat.”

I whined, “But they know they got me... They'll call me a princess again.”

Boyd nodded along understandably, to his credit. With how I was overreacting to such a silly word, I'm surprised he kept a straight face.

He asked, “What's wrong with being a princess?”

“I---”

“...I know it's only my opinion, but being a princess ain't no bad thing... After all, Cassie, what's a princess?”

This time I sighed. “I don't know...”

“Come on, she's royalty! She's special, powerful... and what princess do you know that isn't beautiful?”

He was right. They're all beautiful. I could see what he was doing and where he led me, yet it was still nice to hear.

“See? Being a princess ain't a bad thing. It's good. Who cares how they say it? Just own it.”

I took in what he said. His words made me feel better. A lot better. Boyd always had a positivity that made the good of any situation.

He stood up and reached for my hand. “Ready to come back?”

I nodded and sought him out him. We walked across my backyard and then past the house. Only when we came to the living room window did I fully warm up. Mom and dad sat together on the couch. She with head thrown back, mouth open and snoring. He scratching his crotch, cigarette in hand, with a tall boy precariously balancing on his round belly. It was funny. I'll give Boyd that.

When we got back to Boyd's yard all the name calling was a forgotten memory. Together we had a fun night together, talking and having fun until we couldn't keep our eyes open any longer.

Princess
, my nickname, did stick and never left me until my family moved from Midnight. But from that day forward being called it never bothered me again. Being called it simply reminded me of the kind words Boyd spoke to me that night.

~ Chapter Thirteen ~

We arrived back in Midnight later than planned. The journey back to the Valley was a long one and traffic wasn't good. The thumping beat in my head made driving difficult.

Jerome, sitting next to me in grim-faced silence, didn't seem to care. Though I could tell by the way he held his forehead a headache from the memory of last night weighed heavy. Yet sympathy was the last thing on my mind after what he did.

Throughout the many miles of interstate all I focused on was what I needed to get me out of this relationship and how quickly I could grab those things from our apartment. Bags, clothes and the few photographs still left from my childhood was all I required. I reckoned I would be able to get in and out, taking the most basic of essentials, within five minutes. Quicker than he could piss. Beyond that I didn't consider anything else. Only leaving him mattered. I didn't know where I would be sleeping tonight, but, after what I have been through, the sidewalk would have been preferable to a bed next to him.

“Hey...” Jerome buzzed suddenly to life and waved his hand across my vision. “Head over there. I want to hit McDonald's before we head back to those dumb bikers...”

We were driving along the main strip of stores in the center of Midnight and heading to the drive-through would have taken us in the complete opposite direction to the clubhouse.

“You sure you want to get something to eat? We're already late getting to the drop off,” I asked keen for nothing to slow us down. The rhythm in my head from his blow reminded me of the ticking seconds.

“I don't care! I'm hungry like a mother fucker... I need something,” he replied before lighting up his tenth cigarette of the journey.

So much for professionalism. Jerome might have got in on this deal due to knowing Ez down in Crenshaw, but the Midnight Sinner's certainly had no clue to the bum they were doing business with.

I hit the indicator and followed the sign towards McDonald's. Of course, I didn't need to be told where we were going. It was the exact drive-through my family took me to every Friday night when I was a kid. Passing under those golden arches I was reminded of some things never changing. Sure it was older, only aged by the passing of years. Though the red and yellow one story with its high neon sign guiding me to the window hadn't been remodeled one bit in the passing decades. In a world where everything moves so fast, it was good to see that some things always stay the same.

I drove to the window. Jerome leaned across me and ordered three cheeseburgers with a coke. When the food arrived he pulled a bill out of his pocked, unrolled it and passed it over to the uninterested staff member. Before I even wound up the window he was snacking in next to me.

“Want me to drive us there now, or wait until you're finished?”

“Park here,” he told me with his mouth stuffed with bread, meat and cheese. He didn't like gherkins.

We didn't speak again. Apart from the tapping of my nails on the steering wheel and his shoveling of food, no other sound filled the car.

I couldn't wait for him to be finished and for us to be headed back to San Francisco. Everything inside of me made me want to grab him and slam his head through the dash. Beating it down until there was nothing left except a bloody pulp.

But I didn't.

I couldn't. Even with these violent fantasies running rampant, I was scared. I would never beat him in a test of strength.

In the dark corner of that parking lot, I watched his reflection in the glass. Without a care in the world, he stuffed his face with each bite of burger. Forcing more food than his mouth was capable of with each mouthful, he destroyed the burgers in three bites one by one. The way he ate was more pig than a man. The longer I watched him, the more resembled a real pig. His lips got longer, his face got fatter and his gorging grew. Jerome was a pig, in more ways than one. He disgusted me.

“OK,” Jerome said, mouth clogged, the instant he took in his last ounce. “Let's move. Don't wanna be late.”

I started the engine and reversed. He placed a hand in my vision on the bonnet. His knuckles from where he punched me were bloody and red.

It was only a short journey to the clubhouse. Winding away from town and down those dusty paths, the night was quiet. Instead of the thundering music and row of bikes that greeted us before, there was nothing in the innocuous building that hinted at life except the faint glow of the windows at the front and a few motorbikes.

Jerome pulled his cellphone from his pants and scrolled through before I heard ringing. “Yeah, it's me Young. I'm here with the delivery. I'm outside pulling in.
Open
? Yeah, I'll come through.”

The bruise around my eye burnt, and I hoped he would ask me inside with him. I looked in the mirror to make sure I had done my job in hiding it. I couldn't have dealt with anyone, least of all a face from my past in Boyd, seeing it and coming to a conclusion of what went down. Luckily the foundation I layered on thick earlier still held. Outside of the sealed cut, hidden by my glasses, no one would tell.

Next to me Jerome pulled his gun from his jacket pocket and shoved it in the glove box. He reached under the seat, presumably to check on the hidden coke he had stashed there.

“You sure you wanna go through with this?” I asked while we came to a stop. “You've taken a lot down there.”

He stared at me like a piece of shit. “You think you know better than me, bitch? I ain't got nothing to worry 'bout. I'm smarter than these motherfucking white boys up here. They won't know anything is out of place. I know what I'm doing.”

I tapped my fingers on the wheel and shook my head.

“Bitch, you don't believe me?”

I turned, unfaltering in the face of his aggressive tone. “Shouldn't you be getting out? You've got business to finish.”

Jerome gripped my wrist firmly. “Bitch, you coming too. I've had enough of your shit today. Maybe a drink at the bar in there will do you some good.”

“I don't want to go.”

“Too bad.”

As I've said, with the remnants of his fist on my face, the last thing I wanted was anyone else seeing the damage. I've noticed many times the questioning looks that cover someone's expression when they see black and blue. But, just wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, I took a path I had walked too often – the path of least resistance.

Before my heels hit the concrete a familiar bald head appeared at the door. Anton stood with his arms folded below the sign featuring the club insignia. A tilt of his head backwards told us everything we needed to know.

“Where do you want it?” Jerome called out. “I got all the merchandise in the trunk.”

“We need some privacy. Bring the car to the garage round back. I'll guide you over. Tell your woman she can wait inside.”

“You heard him,” Jerome whispered through teeth across the bonnet to me, “Get inside.”

He took his position on the driver's side and guided the car towards Anton's waving hand. The garage, a large industrial block with a metal door, was attached to the side of the building. Getting inside somewhere like that to make the exchange was a lot smarter than Ez's parking lot. That's for sure.

The second I walked through the clubhouse entrance a familiar voice greeted me. “Hey sugar.” Blanche stood at the bar polishing glasses. “Get you a drink?”

“I'd kill for one... It's been a long day.” I stepped across the room relieved that the lights were down. It was just her and me in the large room and only the dim neon lights behind the bar lit the both of us.

“What can I get you?” Her southern accent was as thick as ever.

I sat down on a bar stool. “Something hard.”

She reached up and took down a bottle from the shelf. She wore another figure-hugging red dress. While it might have been late on a Friday night with no semblance of anything going on, she was dressed to perfection without a single hair out of place. I could only be impressed.

“Whiskey it is,” she replied. “Tough day?”

“Yeah,” I answered while knocking back the shot of whiskey before it barely hit the glass. “Very tough.”

“Let me get you another.” She smiled and poured one out expertly before making herself one. “Need a refresher myself. The babysitter has been calling pissed.”