Forbidden Crush Page 7

“I’m hungry. Let’s get a burger at Flop’s.”

  Brick let go of me. The pain in my arm where the crowbar had struck suddenly flared back up, and I cradled it with my other hand. Sid sauntered up to me on the way back to his bike.

  “Next time?” He tapped the crowbar gently against my skull. “It won’t be your truck I smash.”

  I kept my head high as I returned to my truck.

  12

  Charlotte

  When I was a little girl, my momma worked part-time at a music theater in Atlanta. They had a live band and singers who would perform oldies from the 50s and 60s, big-band style. Momma sold tickets before the show, was an usher when folks were ready to take their seats, and worked the concession stand during intermission. It didn’t pay well, but it supplemented dad’s sheriff income enough for us to enjoy some luxuries, and Momma loved listening to live music and meeting new people.

  When their shifts overlapped and there was nobody to babysit, Momma took me with her to work. “You can sit in the back,” she would tell me. “But you have to be a quiet little mouse. Can you be a quiet little mouse while I work?”

  I didn’t mind it. I enjoyed watching all the customers slowly fill the theater, and then listening to the show itself. The alternative was sitting up in the manager’s office, which was boring. So I was Momma’s quiet little mouse in the back of the theater, watching with my eyes and sitting very still.

  As Hawk walked down the row of bikers with Sid, I was that quiet little mouse again. I picked up trash slowly and smoothly, making as little noise as possible. I stayed mostly hidden behind the truck where I wasn’t directly in view. And I didn’t say a word.

  Just like Hawk had commanded. Something in his voice told me I would regret it if I didn’t.

  It was my first run-in with a biker gang, not counting seeing the guys at the jail. I wasn’t impressed. Tattoos were sexy on a good-looking guy, but most of the Copperheads were far from attractive. They were either too fat on their bikes, or so skinny they looked malnourished. It was an alarming contrast.

  But what I did respect was their weapons. Each of them carried a pistol on their hip, displayed prominently with their jackets flared open. Some had special holsters built into the side of their bike to hold pump-action shotguns. Sid didn’t have anything but the silly crowbar strapped to his back, but then again, a general didn’t need to carry a weapon when he was surrounded by his army.

  Everything was quiet. I was too far away to hear any of their words—all that drifted across to me was the general tone of their conversation. It seemed light. Like two friends discussing the weather.

  It took everything I had not to scream when Sid swung the crowbar into Hawk’s arm. He dropped to one knee and I tore my eyes away, focusing on the trash underneath my stick and trying not to whimper.

  Quiet as a mouse, I thought, repeating the childhood mantra in my head. I promised Hawk I wouldn’t say a word.

  Sid laughed. The sound sent a shiver up my spine.

  If I were certain nothing was going to happen, then I would continue silently ignoring the situation. But what if they broke Hawk’s arm? Or smashed his knee?

  What if they killed him?

  I could call the police. My phone was in my pocket. The only thing stopping me was that they could see me.

  I bunched up the rest of the trash bag to make it look full, then began walking back to the truck. Once I was right up against it, I could make a phone call without them seeing me. I walked slowly, trying not to attract attention. Quiet as a mouse.

  I tried not to think about the fact that copperhead snakes ate mice.

  When I reached the truck, I took a peek around the side. Hawk was back on his feet but a biker was restraining him. Sid was walking back toward me.

  And he had the most sickening smile on his face.

  I slid the phone back in my pocket as Sid paused next to the truck. His face might have been handsome if not for the hideous tattoos covering one side, and the ugly white-guy dreadlocks hanging down the back of his head. He stood like a man who had nothing in the world to fear.

  One minute he was totally calm and in control, and the next he was swinging the crowbar like a madman. He smashed Hawk’s windows, then tore a gash in the front tire. Moments later, he was back to being totally calm.

  He took a bite of Hawk’s sandwich, paused to grope me with his eyes, then strolled back to his bike. I was close enough to hear him tell Hawk, “Next time it won’t be your truck I smash.”

  Hawk ignored him and walked toward me, arm hanging at his side. I remained completely still until he reached the truck.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he whispered, although his face told the truth: he was in immense pain. He glanced over his shoulder and then said, “Don’t look at me.”

  His pride was wounded along with his arm. I could understand that. But he didn’t need to act tough around me. Not after taking a crowbar to the arm.

  “Let me see it,” I said, reaching for his arm. “We should get you to a hospital while—”

  “Don’t touch me,” he hissed. Now Sid and the others were watching from their bikes. Hawk glanced at them and then stuck his middle finger in my face.

  “Fuck off, cunt,” he practically shouted. “I don’t need your pity.”

  The words were like a dagger to my gut, one which twisted and twisted with every passing second. I’d never been called the c-word before. It was like being doused with ice water. My entire body froze in place, confused.

  Hawk walked around to the back of the truck while Sid and the Copperheads roared with laughter.

  I stood very still by the truck as the Copperheads mounted up and rode past us, disappearing up the road as quickly as they had arrived. When their rumbling bikes faded into the distance the only sound remaining was Hawk wincing with pain as he iced his arm with a water bottle from the cooler.

  “What was that for?” I asked in a quavering voice.

  Hawk shook his head without looking over at me. “They’re just trying to scare me. I don’t think my arm’s broken. Just hurts like a bitch.”

  “No,” I said. “I mean what was that for? What you called me.”

  “Oh.” He looked at me with guilt in his eyes. Then the guilt disappeared and his face hardened. “It was for your own good.”

  He came back around and knelt by the wheel, fingering the gash in the tire wall. He cursed under his breath.

  “Is that all you have to say?” I asked in a small voice.

  “I told you to be absolutely silent.”

  “I was.”

  “No,” he said. “You talked to me while they were still watching. Sorry if I hurt your feelings, but I did you a favor. Now hand me the tire iron out of the truck bed. If Mindy or the sheriff come by and we’re not working they’ll dock our time. Well?” he snapped. “What are you waiting for?”

  Feeling numb, I went to get the tools.

  Hawk replaced the tire with a spare, then insisted on finishing our hours despite his lame arm. After the way he’d treated me, I took a small amount of pleasure in his pain. He’d shown me who he really was: just another biker jerk who only cared about himself. Someone too prideful to accept help from anyone.

  We worked in silence. Hawk refused to even look at me, either out of annoyance or guilt.

  And then the one thing happened that could make my day worse.

  13

  Charlotte

  It was 4:55 and our shift was nearly over when my phone rang in my pocket. I pulled it out.

  Scott.

  I stared at the name on the screen. I wasn’t emotionally prepared to deal with him right now.

  “Well?” Hawk snapped. “Are you gonna answer it, or make me listen to your ringtone?”

  I hit the ignore button and shoved it back in my pocket. “It’s a spam call.”

  He grunted and bent back to his section of the road.

  The phone was silent only for a few seconds before
ringing again. Hawk glared over at me. “I can’t control who calls me,” I snapped back.

  “You can control whether your phone is on silent, Peaches.” His tone made the lighthearted nickname into a curse, said through gritted teeth.

  I switched it to vibrate and shoved it back in my pocket. Then I waited to see if it would ring a third time, or if it would vibrate once to indicate a voicemail. 20 seconds passed, then 30. If it was a voicemail, it was a long one.

  Finally it vibrated once. I pulled my phone out, but instead of the voicemail notification I saw a text:

  Scott: Can we talk?

  I ignored it. My nerves were still frayed after what had happened with Hawk and the bikers. I definitely wasn’t prepared to tackle the knot of snakes that was my ex.

  My ex. I hadn’t really thought of him that way until now, but that’s what he was. My ex-boyfriend. Someone who used to occupy a huge part of my life. The hole in my stomach twisted even worse.

  I just want this day to be over.

  We drove back to town in silence, except for the wind howling through the broken window. We could barely see through the smashed windshield, but Hawk managed. He still held his injured arm against his body like a wounded bird, but he wasn’t wincing with pain anymore. He pulled up next to the community center and slammed on the brakes. I opened my door and wondered what I should say to him, but the moment my foot hit the ground he was already driving away.

  “Long day?” Mindy asked inside the diner.

  “Something like that.” I started to tell her what Hawk had called me, but didn’t want to sound like I was whining. “I met Sid today.”

  Mindy’s eyes widened.

  She sat across from me in the booth while I told her everything that had happened. Her lips pursed more and more to the point that I thought her mouth would disappear inside her face by the time I was done.

  “You’re lucky,” she said. “Hawk’s lucky, really. Sid could kill him any day he damn well pleases, but he’d rather toy with Hawk. I don’t know why that boy doesn’t just ride out of town and never come back.”

  “He does have the community service to finish.”

  Mindy snorted. “The penalty’s a small fine. Nothing worse. That ain’t worth dying over.”

  A motorcycle rumbled in the distance, but it was a different sound than the Copperhead bikes I’d heard earlier today. Hawk’s motorcycle came into view down the road, distinctly him thanks to his flowing sandy hair and the way he held the handlebars with just one hand, cradling the other in his lap as he rode. He passed the diner, rode another block, and then turned down a small dirt road that led into the forest.

  “What did he do?” I asked. “To upset the Copperheads. Did he backstab them?”

  “Something like that.” The kitchen dinged to announce a plate of food was ready, and Mindy rose from my booth. “Now you see why I told you to stay away from him?”

  I smiled up at the hard woman. “I can’t stay away from him when we both have community service.”

  “That,” she said, “is not what I meant.” She gave me a long look before going to get the food.

  Hawk’s motorcycle reemerged from the dirt road a few minutes later. It slowed down as it turned onto main street, then shot away with reckless speed.

  Why don’t you run? I wondered as I ate my food.

  *

  “Hi sweet pea,” dad said on the phone. “I’ve got bad news.”

  I groaned as I sat on the motel bed. “Don’t tell me.”

  “There’s nothing I can do. Nobody will go anywhere near Eastland, not even to cash in a favor. The law isn’t very strong there, I hear.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said.

  “I’m so sorry,” dad said. “You know if I could do anything I would…”

  I didn’t blame him. After what I’d seen today, I was beginning to understand why everyone steered clear of Eastland. The last thing I wanted was for my dad to poke around asking for favors and upset the wrong guys.

  “I’ll be okay, dad. Honest.”

  “Have you noticed anything dangerous?” he asked in a different tone. The voice of a sheriff casually brushing someone for information. “Or anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Not really,” I lied. “It’s just a quiet little town with a power-tripping sheriff. You know the kind.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was a dig aimed at me.”

  “Just teasing, dad.”

  He put Momma on the phone. “Do you want us to come pick you up this weekend?” she asked. “Bring you home, give you some home cooked meals. Are you eating well? What is the food like in that town?”

  “I’m eating fine, Momma.” I sighed. “And as tempting as it is to go home for a weekend, I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I’ll never want to come back. It will just remind me how crappy I have it here. Plus, Mindy says I might be able to get some community service hours on the weekend. Better to knock as much of it out as I can and come home sooner in the end.”

  “Will arguing with you about it for another 10 minutes change your mind?”

  “No, Momma.”

  “Then I accept your decision. Have you talked to Scott?”

  I rolled over on the bed and buried my face in the sheets. “He called me today,” I said, voice muffled by the pillow. “Didn’t leave a voicemail. Sent a text saying he wanted to talk.”

  “And did you?”

  “I don’t want to talk to him, Momma.”

  “I know,” she said in a soothing voice. “But eventually you’ll have to. What’s going to happen with your business? The food truck? Have you broken your shared apartment lease?”

  “I don’t know, Momma.”

  She let out the sigh that meant she knew she wasn’t going to get through to me. “Take all the time you need. But you know you can’t run from your problems forever, sweet pea.”

  “I know, Momma.”

  We chatted about more lighthearted things for a while. Momma had a way of talking about her day—her Meals on Wheels route, the post office lady whose son was accepted into Georgia Tech, the arthritis in dad’s knee—that was soothing in its normalcy. It helped me pretend like everything was going to be all right. That there were things going on besides the crappy little town of Eastland and the 100-some hours of community service hanging over my head.

  After that, I went back to the motel lobby to buy something sweet. There was a new six-pack in the cooler, which I eyed for a moment, but then grabbed a diet coke and a pack of M&Ms instead. I carried them over to Billy, who was surfing the web on the old lobby computer.

  “You checkin’ out?” he asked without looking away from the screen.

  “No, why?”

  He looked at me like I was an idiot. “You ain’t paid for tonight. So either you’re checkin’ out, or you’re tryin’ to stiff me.”

  I groaned. “I’m not trying to stiff you, Billy. I forgot.” I pulled my wallet out.

  “Good,” he said with a harsh nod. “’Cause it’d be a real mistake rippin’ off the sheriff’s motel.”

  “The what?”

  “He’d hunt you down across Georgia to get you to pay your bill. Seen him do it.”

  “The sheriff owns the motel?” I patted the desk. “This motel?”

  He blinked as if it was never in doubt. “Of course. Not that it means much. We don’t get hardly any business except when he catches some fool speedin’ through town.” He chuckled. “Like you.”

  I bit back a curse. So that explained why he’d found an excuse to pull me over on a rainy night, and why the judge had suspended my license and given me so many community service hours. To essentially condemn me to this town for a few weeks.

  “On second thought,” I said, “I’ll take the six-pack instead of the soda.”

  I cracked open the beer in my room and thought about what momma had said. She was right about how I was running from my problems. That was exactly what I was d
oing. It was easy to pretend like I was focusing on getting this community service out of the way before dealing with the rest of my life, but deep down I knew that was just an excuse to avoid Scott.

  I drank half my beer while staring at his text. Can we talk? Simple. No greeting or apology. That was the thing about Scott: he knew when to get to the point.

  After thinking of half a hundred ways to text him back, I decided to listen to the rest of the voicemail from the other day instead.

  “Hey,” came Scott’s voice. Even though it was the same message, tonight it sounded uncomfortable and regretful. “It’s, uh, me. Listen, Charlotte. I didn’t want you to find out that way. I should’ve told you about Tammy. We’ve been seeing each other for a month. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but we just sort of hit it off. You know? I wasn’t sure how to tell you because I was afraid of hurting you. That was my biggest concern in all this. You know I care about you very…”

  I hung up and drank the rest of my beer. I couldn’t listen to any more of it. They just hit it off? When had he found the time? We’d been working 18 hour days since buying the food truck. Was he seeing her in the middle of the night, slipping away while I was asleep?

  I drank half of another beer. Like the first one, it didn’t seem to have any answers. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Scott was seeing someone else, and it was over, and I was stuck in this crummy motel in this backwater town.

  I heard a rumbling. The same sound I’d heard earlier today, like a swarm of bees, but deeper. More ominous.

  I went to the window and drew back a sliver of curtain.

  A line of motorcycles approached in the darkness, two-by-two based on their headlights. Just like today when they’d visited Hawk. But this time there was something else with them. In the middle of the pack was a larger vehicle, its headlights spaced too close together to be two separate bikes. As it came into the light of the motel sign I realized it was a huge construction vehicle. A cement mixer, with a football-shaped drum on the back.