Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 38104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
He frowned and moved out of earshot, clipping answers into the phone.
I watched while I stirred my sauce. I was yet to ask any further questions about his role in the club, about the club in general. I knew the bare minimum that they owned the garage downtown, they fixed cars and bikes. I also knew they did a lot more than that. They did things that had got them raided twice in the past year. Granted, the cops didn’t find anything, but I didn’t think they went around raiding people for shits and giggles. I was under no illusions, they were a one percenter gang. They worked on the wrong side of the law most of the time. Lived by their own rules. I didn’t exactly agree with it, but I got it. I didn’t have any high hopes about the club turning legit like I’d heard the Cali chapter was moving toward. I fell in love with Hansen, with the club warts and all, I’d continue to love them. That’s how family worked.
I just didn’t know if I could handle being in the dark. Having to understand ‘club business’ served as an explanation, or as an excuse.
Hansen walked back to me, his face hard. “This shit is reheatable, right?” He nodded to the sauce.
I nodded.
“Okay, I’ll have it later. Got to go, club business. Go do shit with Arianne, or the girls,” he said. “Don’t wait up. Want you to go to bed naked,” he ordered.
He kissed me soundly, squeezed my ass, then left. I stood in the same spot and heard his Harley rumble away.
The cold reality of my life as an Old Lady began to sink in. I had a feeling I would have to cook a lot of reheatable dinners in the near future. I couldn’t find it in myself to get pissed. It was part of the life. Part that I’d have to live with. A part I’d live with happily if it meant a life with Hansen.
So I finished cooking dinner, ate some, wrapped up the rest and settled in at my computer. I toyed with the idea of calling Arianne, but I was happy to have a night of solitude to escape into my computer, and get a head start on some projects.
My phone ringing an hour or so later jerked me out of the trance I got into whenever I lost myself in my work.
“Macy?” a familiar voice greeted once I answered.
A familiar voice that made my stomach drop. “Please tell me you’re calling to catch up and tell me you’ve decided to name your first born Macy,” I said weakly.
“Sorry sweetheart,” Jim said in a hushed tone. “I wanted you to hear it from me…” he paused, I knew what was coming before he even said it. “He got parole,” he said finally.
My breath left me in a whoosh and I felt like a thousand little pinpricks pierced my body. “I don’t…” I took a breath, “…I don’t get how that happened. He got life. He took two lives. That should mean life,” I said fiercely. A hatred that I didn’t even know I was capable of bubbled up inside me.
I heard Jim sigh into the phone. “Yeah, girl, if there was such a thing as justice, they would’ve fried him the day I arrested him,” he said with fury.
I struggled to get my heart from beating out of my chest. “So he’s going to be free,” I said finally. “The man who shot my parents in cold blood is going to walk around breathing the same air as me after twelve years,” I said flatly.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Jim spoke softly.
I jerked out of my cold rage. “It’s not your fault, Jim. Thanks for calling.” I mustered up some warmth for the cop who still called every year on my parents’ anniversary.
“We’ll meet for coffee tomorrow,” he said firmly. He was a good guy. A good cop. Too bad that meant shit in this crappy world.
“Yeah,” I said weakly.
I hung up the phone. Feeling everything—pain, anger, hurt. Anger—that was it. No—fury. I couldn’t swallow it, couldn’t let it go. It seemed to consume me.
I needed numbness.
“Your phone’s ringing for the millionth time,” Arianne slurred.
I squinted at it. Hansen’s name came up on the screen. I ignored it as I had the other five calls. I couldn’t deal with him. Couldn’t deal with myself. I needed my best friend and a bottle of vodka. I just needed numbness and Hansen made me feel. I couldn’t feel right now.
“You should answer that,” she said, pointing at the now silent phone. “He’ll get all…” she waved her hands dramatically, “…psycho biker.”
I inspected her reasoning. Yes, most likely Hansen would get all psycho biker, considering I’d left his house and driven straight to Arianne’s, where we’d almost demolished a bottle of vodka and I had embraced the numbness.
My phone dinged. Another text.
Hansen: Macy. Answer your fucking phone. Tell me where you are.
“He could probably have him whacked you know,” Arianne informed me, making me look up from my phone. “You tell him and…” she made a finger gun with her hand and pointed it at her head, “…scumbag down.”
I shook away the bitterness that came with that thought. “I’m not asking my boyfriend to whack someone,” I slurred.
Arianne’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a someone. He’s not a person, the man that did this. He’s an animal. Plus, you tell Hansen, you probably wouldn’t even have to ask,” she commented.
My phone dinged.
Hansen: Macy. I’m getting seriously concerned. Where the fuck are you?
Arianne’s words resonated. Because I feared they were true. The world I’d found myself in was a world of loyalty and love. With that loyalty came the need for revenge on anyone who hurt the club. With that love came brutality.
I typed into the phone.
Me: Need numbness. You make me feel. I’m okay. Safe. Just need to be numb for the night.
I read over my text with drunken eyes, deduced it made sense, then switched off my phone. Arianne watched me. She didn’t say a word, didn’t judge, just passed me the vodka bottle.