I scramble over and pull the caught nylon out of the way. The zipper gives and he almost knocks the tent over in his struggle to get out.
Through the open flap I watch him run down to the lake. His form disappears and then reappears by the shore. The splash signals his dive into the water.
Zipping up the screen to keep out the bugs, I lie and stare up at the sky through the window at the top of the tent trying to figure out what the hell I should do.
No, I know what I should do. I should move out of Judge’s home, leave Fortune, find a job and start living a new life that doesn’t involve me screwing my stepbrother six ways to Sunday. I should forget about him, his big body and his even bigger heart.
Outside I can hear the faint splashes of water as if he’s trying to swim to Canada. After a long while, those water sounds stop and are replaced with the crunch of branches and dry grass under his feet. He pauses at the door of the tent and then moves away. The picnic table creaks as he drops onto it.
There’d be someone out there for me. Don’t know who, but someone. Maybe a guy who’d left an impossible situation, is still in love with that situation but agrees to settle with me. We’d live a quiet life—him fixing up houses or some shit like that and me cutting hair and doing nails. We’d live in a saltine cracker box house, have two quiet kids and all the while we’d lie on our cold bed, hanging off the edges dreaming about the love we once had but couldn’t keep.
I place my fist over my heart and thump it trying to beat the ache away.
“You trying to drive me out of your heart, sweetness?”
I look up to see Grant standing outside the screen. The moonlight isn’t bright enough for me to make out his features but I hear the tired frustration in his voice. He’s hurt and that I can’t stand.
I crawl over and unzip the screen. “As if that could ever happen.”
“Better not.”
He’s still wet from the lake, but I draw him down, not caring that he’s getting me and the top of the sleeping bags damp. Everything will dry out tomorrow. He kicks off his sodden shorts and kneels between my legs. Water droplets are dotting his broad forehead and the strong lines of his nose. He places both large hands on either side of my legs. “Let it go,” he begs. “Just for tonight.”
And then he pleads with his tongue against my center. His tongue and fingers and mouth work me tenderly, lovingly, erotically. He rears up and this time the wetness covering his face is from me, not the water. In one swift movement, he impales me.
“Sweetness,” he says, “I’m going to take care of everything. Let go.”
With him thick and hard inside me, when he’s hitting every sensitive nerve ending just right, I believe every word that he says. Winding my fingers into his hair, I close my eyes and do as he asks. I let go and allow him to take me to the place in my head that knows only pleasure.
Sean Ellerby gets to me before Grant can get to him. I know this because if Grant had spoken with him, Sean wouldn’t be between me and my car outside the Cut-n-Curl after closing. When I see him unharmed, I breathe a sigh of relief. No bruises likely means Grant hasn’t beaten him in violation of his parole. It doesn’t matter that Grant thinks he can scare Sean into keeping our secret. Sean is a weasel and worse, a meth head who is constantly looking for his next hit. He’d sell his mother or sister if he thought it could get him access to more drugs.
The backdoor of the shop closes behind me, locking into place. I have keys but I’d have to turn my back on him to open the door. I could run around to the front and wave for help but…he knows something about me that I don’t want him to reveal to anyone else. I decide to bluster my way through this.
Fisting my hand, I slip my keys between my fingers as Judge and Grant had taught me. Go for the eyes, throat, crotch. Those are the soft vulnerable places. Their words of advice pound at the back of my head. I clutch my purse tighter to my side.
Since I’ve come to Fortune, I’ve lived my life under the umbrella of the Death Lords MC. No right-thinking person would dare hurt me so I’ve never had to protect myself. But Sean Ellerby isn’t thinking straight which makes him dangerous.
I stop several feet away. The best defense is to never allow yourself inside the zone of danger.
“Shop’s closed,” I call out.
“Not here for a cut or curl, Chelsea.”
He steps forward and I’m surprised at how much effort it takes for me to stand my ground and not flinch backward. I do it because I don’t want Sean to see he scares me.
“What are you here for?”
“Money,” he says bluntly.
Oh, so this is going to be blackmail. Lovely. I don’t need the men in my life telling me that giving in to Sean’s demands is a bad idea but I tally up the money in my bank account regardless. I don’t have a lot. While I don’t pay rent, I have a car payment and my job as nail tech isn’t super-lucrative.
“How much?” It’s stupid. If I pay him once, he’ll come back. I know this yet I seem unable to extricate myself in any other way.
“Five hundred.”
“Jesus,” I gasp. “That much?”
“Two eight balls.”
“I’m not a user so I’m not hip to your street lingo,” I say sarcastically even though I know exactly what it means. An eight ball is an eighth of an ounce. It’s what heavy users buy. A single eight ball is around 60 hits but by the size of Sean’s buy I’d guess he needs a lot more to get high and sustain his high.
“Give me $500 now and you won’t see me for a week.”
“I’m not paying you $500 a week. I don’t have that kind of cash.”
“Better think about new employment opportunities then.” He takes another step toward me and despite the distance, the smell of him is so strong he nearly makes me gag.
“I don’t have the money on me,” I lie. I have the petty cash in my purse. It’s kept in the safe of the Cut-n-Curl. When Helen called to tell me she was coming over for some of the money, I’d taken it out.
“Hand me your purse.”
I’m not giving Sean my purse. He’d take all of the money. Knowing I’m dooming myself, I reach in and pull out five bills and lay them on the ground, holding them down with a rock. “Don’t come over here until I’m around the front,” I say.
He licks his lips eagerly and nods. It’s as if he can taste the meth in his mouth already. I turn around and see Helen driving down the opposite end of the alley.
Fuck me. Without turning, I call back to Sean. “Get going.”
He laughs at me. “Don’t want to be seen with me or afraid of what I might say? See you later, Chelsea.” His words sound as ominous as he intends.
I jog toward Helen’s car trying to cut her off before she can see who I was talking with. Her car slows down and then stops. Leaning out the rolled-down window, she peers beyond me. “Is that Sean Ellerby over there? What are you doing with that lowlife?”
Against my better judgment, I look over my shoulder. Sean is leaning against his car. The five hundred is fanned in his hand and he’s slapping it against his mouth. Forget Grant, I’m going to find Sean and beat him bloody.
“Nothing,” I say tersely. Helen looks at me with disbelief and suspicion. “Can you drive me home?”
“Sure,” she says drawing the word out slow. Reaching forward, she starts her car.
“How much do you need from the petty cash?”
“Fifteen hundred.” After landing
that bomb, she backs out onto the street and guns the engine.
“Are you kidding me?”
“We’re getting a full hog, steaks, corn on the cob, potato salad, desserts, and it all adds up.”
“I told Danilo that we should do a potluck,” I say grumpily.
“Why are you so tight with that money? It’s not yours. Judge told me you had two grand so you’ll still have some left over.” She slides me a glance. “Unless you’ve got your own expenses you don’t want anyone to know about. You should stay away from that Ellerby kid. Drugs’ll kill you.”
I lean my head into my hand. Great. Now the entire club will think I’m doing drugs.
4
WRECKER
“You know you can tell me anything, Chelsea,” Judge says as we’re clearing the dishes.
Chels made tacos for dinner which were great, as all her food is, but didn’t say a word. She’s got worry written all over her face and Judge knows something about it. He’s been talking around the edges the entire night but I don’t think it’s about the two of us because his questions have solely been directed at her.
“I know, Judge,” she mumbles.
“Spoke to Helen today. She said you didn’t give her all of the money she needed.”
Chels explodes. “It’s so wasteful, Judge. We could all bring food without spending a dime. Besides, I gave her five hundred.”
“I okayed fifteen hundred,” he says quietly. “I appreciate you being a good steward of the club’s money but I don’t want you slaving over a hot stove cooking for the party. I want you and all the other folks to enjoy themselves. We can afford to foot the bill for the food and everything else. This is a way for us to celebrate Wrecker’s release and strengthen ties with our allies. The catered food says we are flush whereas a potluck might signal we’re struggling. We need to make sure everyone knows we’re doing well.”
Chelsea clenches her jaw and then gives a short nod. “I’ll give her the money tomorrow.”
“Not to make you more upset, but I want you to give her the rest. The Williston club is having guests and I told them to bring everyone up.”