Page 15

Nash

“Nash, are you ready?” Scribe knocked on my door.

Groaning, I got up from my bed and flung the door open.

“I’m not going.”

Scribe smirked as he leaned against the doorjamb. “Now, you see, that’s where you’d be wrong. Don’t mistake this handsome facade because I am more than capable of dragging you out of this room and kicking your ass all the way down the mountain. So, grab your shoes and get the fuck downstairs. Priest is waiting.”

Snarling, I challenged him, “Yeah. You and what fucking army?”

I watched as the laughter in his eyes turned dark and he slowly stood up straight. I didn’t know what it was about Scribe, but looking at him now had me taking a step back. Slamming the door in his face, I balled up my fist and roared as I turned and punched the nearest wall.

I didn’t want or need their fucking help.

I had everything under control.

Why wouldn’t they just leave me the hell alone? It was bad enough my fucking bio-dad showed up and then my stupid mother all but handed me off to him like I was some used dishrag.

Now I couldn’t go anywhere because I was fucking stuck here with all of them.

I couldn’t call my friends because dear old mom took my phone.

I couldn’t go to school anymore because that weasel Mr. Williams kicked my ass to the curb, and every time I fucking opened my mouth, these motherfuckers ran my ass all over that stupid obstacle course until I felt like dying.

My only freedom was when they allowed me one hour of free time, where I could go out back and listen to my music. It was the only thing that calmed me down lately.

Well, that and dancing.

There was no place for me to go here in this stupid town. I hated it here. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I wanted to go back to Chicago, where I could be me and no one cared. Back home, I had friends that accepted me and encouraged me. Unlike the fuckers here, who only cared about football and the next touchdown they would get.

I only joined the fucking team because there was nothing else to do here. There was no art department, no music class, nothing. Fucking Rosewood High School was all about its sports programs.

It was either join a fucking team or become an outcast.

Even when I made the team, certain players didn’t make it easy for me. Stupid motherfuckers thought they were all that because they could tear through the defensive line like butter.

Only because they were bigger than me.

Still, that didn’t stop them from harassing and belittling the others who couldn’t keep up. They were fucking mean as hell and I hated them the most. The ignorant coach did nothing to stop them. Instead, he’d just say I needed to workout harder and learn to get along with them.

What did he fucking know? He didn’t have to sit in class with them, eat lunch with them or see them after school.

If he fucking knew the truth, I bet he wouldn’t be so ignorant of everything going on around him.

After putting my shoes on, I headed downstairs to find Priest and Scribe talking with King. I knew they were talking about me because the second Priest saw me, he cleared his throat and everyone looked at me.

“You ready to go?” Priest asked.

“Don’t have a fucking choice in the matter.”

“No, you don’t,” Scribe said, placing his hand on my shoulder. Shrugging him off, I headed out front and waited for them to tell me which vehicle we were taking.

“You got your driver’s license or permit, Nash?” Scribe asked, stepping up beside me.

“Yeah. I got my license a few months ago, not that Mom lets me drive anywhere. Why?”

Throwing a set of keys toward me, he smiled. “You’re driving. My kid kept me up all night. Think you can get us down the mountain safely?”

Looking at the keys in my hands, then back up at Scribe, I nodded. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Good. We’re taking a club vehicle.”

After getting Priest settled in the back seat and his wheelchair secured in the back, I jumped behind the wheel of the large SUV and ran my hands over the wheel.

This was one sweet ride.

I always hated the small piece of shit my mom had. It was like driving around in a clown car.

I barely fit in the damn thing.

“Safety first, son,” Priest muttered from the back.

Nodding, I quickly put on my seat belt, adjusted my mirrors and made sure I could see everything around me. Putting the keys in the ignition, I started the SUV up and smiled when the engine purred to life.

“Holy shit,” Scribe gasped. “Is that a fucking smile?”

Frowning, I glared at him. “No.”

“I think we have another engine junkie on our hands, Priest. Sarah is gonna love him.”

“What does she know about cars? She’s just a girl.”

Priest chuckled. “That woman is the best mechanic in town. The club’s garage, she runs it. She knows more about engines than her old man. So, show the woman some respect.”

I said nothing else while I drove us down the mountain.

It was nice to get out of the clubhouse and while I still didn’t know where they were taking me, I was kind of looking forward to it.

Walking into Rosewood Studio, I stopped dead in my tracks as I looked around the massive building, not sure I was seeing things correctly.

It was an actual, honest-to-God dance studio.

“About time you guys showed up.” Pheobe smiled as her husband, Priest, rolled himself over to her. “I was getting worried.”

“It’s Scribe’s fault. He had to do his hair.”

“Did not!” Scribe huffed, leaving me where I was while I looked around the enormous place. “My hair is always perfect.”

“Says the man who spends more time in front of a mirror primping than I do.” Phoebe laughed, kissing his cheek.

“Well, kid,” Priest said, looking over at me. “What do you think?”

Shrugging my shoulders, I muttered, “It’s okay, but I don’t understand why you brought me here.”

“Because I’m going to teach you everything I know.”

“What? How to break my leg and roll around in a wheelchair?”

“No,” Priest growled. “Have you ever heard of the name Rosemary Shaw Dalton?”

I shook my head, not sure where he was going with this.

“What about Katarina Romanov?”

I nodded. “Banks said that was his mother the other day.”

“And your grandmother. What would you do if I also told you that your grandmother was the Prima Ballerina for the Russian Imperial Ballet Company? And your uncle, Banks’ older brother, was destined to be the next danseur at the Bolshoi before someone shattered his leg?”

“Are you saying that I come from a long line of dancers?”

Priest nodded. “And so do I. My mother, Rosemary Shaw, was a beautiful dancer in the New York City Ballet Company before she married and had me.”

“You dance?”

“He does.” Scribe smiled, looking down at his friend. “And will again, once his leg heels.”

Phoebe walked over to me and hooked her hand in the crook of my arm, walking me over to the far wall where pictures hung of different dancers in different poses. Pointing to one in particular, I studied the photograph when Phoebe said, “That’s Shaw and his mother. He’s sixteen in that picture. Same age as you.”

“But he’s a biker in a biker club?”

“Pyro is an architect. Frank has a Ph.D. in Science, and his brother George is board certified in three medical specialties. Just because we all wear a cut and ride around on bikes doesn’t mean we all don’t have other interests, Nash,” Scribe explained, walking over to me as I stared at the photograph.

“As for me, I’m about to publish my first romance novel,” he added, as I smirked, looking at him.

“Really?”

The man smiled. “Yep, and I’m proud of it, too. With my experience, who better to write romance for the masses? I’m all about giving back.”

“Please,” Priest groaned, rolling himself over to us, then added, “You just want to try out the sex scenes with Henley.”

“Well, who can blame me? My princess is smokin’ hot!”

Ignoring the hippie, Priest looked up at me and said, “The reason I brought you here is because I saw you the other day when you were out near the obstacle course. You are a good dancer, Nash. Better than good, and I would like to help you be better.”

Staring at the floor, I didn’t know what to say.

I knew what I wanted to say but didn’t.

Instead, I kept quiet.

“Look, Nash,” Phoebe muttered. “None of us will force you to do anything you don’t want to do. We just thought that you might like to get out of the clubhouse for a few hours a day and maybe come here and relax.”

“Plus, you will get school credit,” Scribe added. “I checked with that online school you’re part of and they said they would happily substitute dance for gym class. Unless you would prefer to have Frank and King run you through the obstacle course every day?”

I cringed at that thought.

Shaking my head, I replied, “No. I hate that shit.”

“So, what do you say?” Priest asked.

I shrugged. “This place is better than the other, I guess.”

“Not good enough, Nash.” Priest growled. “It’s either yes or no.”

“Fine,” I sneered at the man. “I’ll dance.”