Thrash (6 page)
Authors: Kaylee Song
“Yeah. I’ll try.”
I turned the ignition and hung up the call. I’d done what I was supposed to do. I hadn’t been followed. And I hadn’t totaled the truck, talking on the phone and driving. Those were three things that were going my way.
I glared at the phone. I hated using it while driving. Mostly because it was people on phones behind a steering wheel who were most dangerous to me when I was out riding. I felt like a damned hypocrite having done the exact same thing.
Never again, I thought, scowling.
Focus
, I thought, pulling out of the lot carefully. These old trucks were made fully capable of mowing a man down. Or a child.
I missed my bike.
Hell, I needed to get back to the clubhouse. I had a lot to get ready for. An event. A war. A date.
I needed to get my shit together quick.
Now I was just uneasy.
I’d come to work in jeans and a loose shirt. My mind had been on surprising my date as I’d laid down two more coats of primer, and I had made a bit of a mess.
Standing there in the lot, waiting alone, I felt silly and a little worried. It wasn’t just the dress. I was no closer to figuring out what to paint for the club. It was easier to use their bathroom to clean up than it was to envision what belonged on that wall.
Walking out of the bathroom, I had gotten a wolf-whistle. The old man with the oxygen tank had grinned at me. He hadn’t been nasty about it, but I still felt suddenly shy. I hurried, out of the main room, feeling every single skitter of my heels as I went.
Walking out of the clubhouse and into the light of day had been surprisingly terrifying.
I hadn’t dressed up like this in years, and I definitely had never had to wait in a parking lot for my date.
I felt the air on my legs and wondered if I should be wearing hosiery. No. No way. I wasn’t going back to all that. Just a touch of make-up. A cute dress. Heels.
Should I lose the heels? They were bright red, relics from my graduation. I had only worn them once. They were still in pristine condition. It was a little ridiculous, actually. I had chosen to take them with me to the co-op because I had liked the curve of each shoe. The toes were rounded and adorable, but the curve was sleek and sexy. They were just shoes, but they had been designed with care. They screamed, “I am cute and mysterious and sexy!” and as shy as I had always felt when I dressed up, I prized little bits like this for helping me face the world.
So, no, I was not going to lose the heels. Even if they were starting to hurt.
My mouth twitched and I held onto the rail to keep my balance. It was almost funny. I was stressing out like a teenager on her first date.
At least, I thought I was. I really hadn’t cared for my first date much. My mother had arranged the match, and I hadn’t liked the guy to begin with. He was an insecure, mouthy shit with big biceps. His only good point was that he had known when to shut up around his betters, but I’d taken a guess that wouldn’t last much past graduation.
Still, he’d been from a suitable family, and the wedding had required a date for the young ladies…
Blah blah. Remembering it actually made me feel tired and a little ill. There was no point thinking about it now. None of it had meant a thing then and it certainly wasn’t relevant to my current date.
Date! I’m Thrash’s date! My insides squealed like a delighted child at the thought. It wasn’t that I’d been asked out that pleased me. No, this was the first time anyone had actually asked what
I
thought. Asked whether I
wanted
to come.
I smiled quietly and stifled a giggle. So this was my first real date then. I thought of Thrash and kind of liked that idea.
When I saw him my heart jumped up into my throat. It shouldn’t have. I barely knew him. But it did. It leapt up and it refused to go away as he crossed the lot. When he drew near, he looked me over.
It was silly, but I guarded my thoughts, afraid he could see right them. And if I crossed my ankles, it had nothing whatsoever to do with the need to hide the tingling in my thighs…
His smile made me glad I had kept my hand on the railing. “You look damn good. I asked you to dress up, and you did.”
That… was an odd choice of words.
I kept my voice steady, trying to keep it light. “But?”
He looked a little embarrassed. “But now I can’t take you on my bike.”
“What?” It really was amazing how disappointing that news was to me. “Why not?”
A faint smile crossed his lips as his eyes wandered up my legs, but he shook his head. “No skirts on a bike. I said I’d keep you safe. The skirt could catch. They can fly up, too. Pretty sure you aren’t interested in flashing traffic?”
I shook my head dumbly, wishing I had thought of that. “What should I have worn?” I asked, trying to be practical, even if it was after-the-fact.
“You want pants, jean or leather, because otherwise, if we did go flying, you’d get all torn up.” He cleared his throat. “And to be honest, I really don’t want anything bad to happen to those legs.”
God help me, I blushed. Bright as my heels.
“So…” I cleared my throat too, if a little less obviously. “Skirt… My work clothes are splattered with primer. What do we do?”
“Well, we don’t take the bike.”
“Okay… So, how do we get to the charity ball?” I stumbled over the last word, realizing a sounded like a royal twat. “Event,” I corrected, and then just shut my mouth.
His lips quirked. If his eyes grew a little shrewd, there was nothing I could do about it then. All he said was, “We’ll take my truck.”
He pulled me into the lot, seeming as pleased as a man could be to have one hand on my arm and the other around my waist.
“Ah,” I said quietly, trying to breathe through the weight that had just settled on my chest. “And where was this truck last night when I asked last night?”
He shrugged. “I wanted your arms around me.”
If my cheeks flushed, I couldn’t feel it. I felt a little numb actually.
“You lied?”
I wanted to swallow the words the moment they came out, but I didn’t apologize.
“Not exactly. You just asked if I had another vehicle. This one really wasn’t for driving around in before now.”
He pulled me toward a vintage Chevy truck, the kind that I’d only ever seen at old car cruises. A deep royal blue, it was in pristine condition, all the emphasis tucked into its antique design and unique structure. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was that struck me about it, but it definitely suited Thrash.
Had he repaired it? Why hadn’t he at least mentioned it?
Perhaps I should have left it alone, but I had gotten tired of that trick a long time ago. “Am I going to have to read the fine print all the time with you or was that a one-time thing?”
His smile wavered slightly, but he looked me straight in the eye. “What? Riding the bike instead? That bothered you?”
Nothing in life had taught me to argue with a guy I liked. My entire upbringing had revolved around being as likeable on first impression as possible – and that included surgical enhancement. I had been lucky enough in my youth that my features and body had passed the beauty standards of my strata. But, like any good family girl, I had always known that as the years went on, surgery would become a must. I must reflect well on my man. I must be the standard of beauty in my house until we had a daughter to debut or a daughter-in-law to pass the mantle on to.
All the little lies that built up into one gigantic mess of one. And that didn’t even account for the husband’s behavior. I might have gotten ‘lucky,’ but knowing my mother, that was unlikely.
Just remembering it all made me feel even colder, and I was glad when Thrash’s warm hands took my own in spite of my worries.
He looked down at me and said plainly, “I’ll tell it to you as straight as a can, okay? And if I can’t… I’ll tell you I can’t.” I looked up at him and realized that whatever he had seen on my face had concerned him. He went on: “I don’t lie, but I can’t tell you everything.”
I wasn’t sure I liked that, but I understood it. He was part of a group. I wasn’t part of that group. I knew how
that
went.
I wondered vaguely if not telling me things would change if we became serious. Did the MC ladies get to know what their men were up to, or was it all guesswork and loyalty and… whatever MC women did?
First date or not, I was embarrassed to realize that I had no idea what I was getting into. I just kept remembering Layla and how happy she seemed. And Donna. Neither woman seemed the sort to put up with lies or bullshit.
It was a little ironic, but that was when I realized that I trusted Thrash mostly because I wanted to – and also because I trusted and admired the women around him. I saw how they genuinely respected him, and that made me think highly of him, too, in a way that our short time together could not justify.
Maybe that was why I followed him to the truck and waited for him to open the door.
“I understand,” I told him, mirroring his honesty. “Just know that you seem like a man worth trusting… And I know this is new, but it hurt to realize you weren’t honest with me last night about something so harmless.”
He paused, so close to me, and he blinked as if I had struck him. Or kissed him. Or both.
Of the two, I knew which I preferred. I could feel him. Smell him.
For a moment, time was frozen and we looked at one another. It was as though some invisible door had been unlocked and neither of us was sure how I had happened. Only that what lay on the other side smelled nice and sounded friendly. Did we want to walk through?
When he opened the door of the truck, the spell broke. We were in the MC lot, and I could hear traffic in the distance. I slid into the truck like I was supposed to, my lips sealed and my throat dry.
The truck was quiet as he walked around to his side, and I tried to get it together. I swallowed and worked to loosen my tongue behind my teeth.
“So where are we going?” I asked as he slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.
“Up to the high school. We’re hosting a benefit for soldiers in Pittsburgh who are suffering from PTSD. We’re hoping it’ll be a nice thing for them and their families.” He cleared his throat.
I bit my lip and tried to take it in. Everything I’d ever heard about this MC was less than glowing, but men like that wouldn’t support charities, would they? Especially ones that were so deep, so personal, so real. Pittsburgh was a city where so many men enlisted because they had few options beyond the military or government assistance.
Thrash’s truck roared to life, the rumbling diesel engine echoing in my ears as he shifted it into gear and took off down the road.
“Why this charity?” I asked, in part out of curiosity, and also to break the silence.
Thrash shrugged. “One of our own suffers from PTSD. He suggested it.”
“You let veterans into your club?” I asked.
“Some. Yes.”
“Which one was…?” I wasn’t sure how to put it. My rule had become to keep my mouth shut, but I had been breaking that a lot lately.
“We call him Wrath,” Thrash replied calmly. “You probably saw him yesterday. Tall guy, young, got a hard look about him.”
“All muscle?” I muttered and then blushed bright red. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.
Thrash eyed me, and I stumbled for the right words.
“They would love him in class,” I explained, sure I was making it worse but trying to tell him what I meant anyhow. “It’s just… he looks like a statue.”
That didn’t help.
Thrash just looked out at the road. His voice sounded friendly, but I heard the change in it. “The guy works out constantly. I could introduce you, but I’ll warn you, he has a woman.”
“I didn’t mean…”
He cut me off. “That’s your business.”
I sat back and mulled on it a few moments. Finally, figuring I didn’t have much outside a ride to lose at that point, I decided to just talk. “Did you know people can’t stay in that peak condition constantly?”
“Hmm,” was all he offered.
I ignored him, determined to at least make sense. “The Institute brings men and women in when they hit that point in their workout routine. And then sometimes, if we’re lucky, they come again, when they’re coming down off the peak. The athletes and body builders make a little extra money for posing for us. We get to learn how the human body changes, even month to month. There are other people who come in to teach us the variety of body types that exist. It’s all very interesting, but to be honest, it’s weird to sexualize it. At least, it’s weird to me. Maybe that’s a good thing. If statue bodies was my thing, I might have a harder time.” I smiled, glad that I actually got to say that out loud.
Thrash said nothing at first, then: “Well, Emma will be glad to hear that.”
“I don’t take other women’s men,” I said simply. “And while I don’t judge, I personally don’t run after more than one man at a time.”
“Did I say you did?” he said.
I just gave him a look, my brow furrowed and my annoyance palpable. We were on a date. Did he really think…?
“You think too much,” I muttered.
He turned at the light. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He was lucky he had to focus on the road. To be fair, I probably was, too.
“Do you want to draw Wrath?” he asked.
In a way, it was a very juvenile question, and I answered it as such. “Not really. I’m supposed to be learning who your mates are, not drawing them in the nude.”