CHAPTER SEVEN
Aggie
The rhythmic tapping of my fingers on the keyboard fills the air as I squint at the lines of code scrolling across my laptop screen.
The lecture hall buzzes with the low hum of students typing away, punctuated by the occasional cough or rustle of paper.
I inhale deeply, the scent of coffee and musty textbooks filling my nostrils—the obvious scent of higher education.
Ha, my humor isn’t like it normally is today.
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we implement a basic firewall using Triad," Professor Martinez announces, his voice cutting through my concentration. "Any questions before we wrap up?"
I glance up from my notes, eyes scanning the room.
A few hands shoot up, but I keep mine firmly on my laptop.
The material isn't particularly challenging—not after the hours I've spent poring over advanced cybersecurity forums late into the night.
As the professor fields questions, I can't help but feel a surge of pride.
A few weeks into my first semester at the University of Nevada, and I'm finally finding my groove.
The initial overwhelm of juggling classes, assignments, and my newfound freedom has settled into a comfortable routine.
My mind drifts to the upcoming weekend, and a small smile tugs at my lips.
Shiver and Siren are having their bachelor and bachelorette party, and I'm itching to blow off some steam.
It's such a change from the stuffy academic atmosphere surrounding me now, but that's precisely why I can’t wait until Friday night.
"All right, that's all for today." Professor Martinez's voice snaps me back to the present. "Don't forget, your network security projects are due next week. I expect great things from all of you."
The lecture hall erupts into a symphony of zipping backpacks and scraping chairs.
I shut my laptop with a satisfying click and stuff it into my bag, my movements automatic as my thoughts wander.
"Hey, Aggie!" a chipper voice calls out as I make my way down the stairs.
I turn to see Sarah, a petite brunette from my Data Structures class, waving enthusiastically. "A bunch of us are heading to the library to study. Want to join?"
I hesitate for a moment. Part of me wants to accept—to dive headfirst into the typical college experience.
But I can’t.
Not today at least.
"Thanks, but I've got plans," I reply, injecting warmth into my voice to soften the rejection. "Maybe next time?"
Sarah's smile doesn't falter. "Sure thing! Catch you later!"
As I push through the heavy doors and step out into the Nevada sunshine, I can't help but chuckle.
If only Sarah knew that my "plans" involved tinkering with a custom-built server in my bedroom while blasting Metallica at an ungodly volume through my headphones.
But first, I’m going to have some lunch in the cafe.
The campus is alive with activity, students sprawled out on the picturesque lawns, soaking up the last bit of warmth before cooler winter temperatures set in.
The ring of my phone cuts through my inner thoughts.
I fish it out of my pocket, my heart skipping a beat when I see the caller ID.
Dear old Da, but known to everyone else as Grim.
"Hey, Da," I answer, my accent thicker than normal.
It always comes out stronger when I'm talking to family.
I guess that’s because I’m more comfortable.
"Aggie." His gruff voice fills my ear. "How's my girl doing?"
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I continue my walk to the cafe. "I'm doing all right, Da. Just finished up my last class for the day."
"That's good to hear," he says, and I can picture him nodding, probably sitting in his favorite leather armchair at home. "How're things going overall? You settlin’ in okay?"
I pause at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. "Yeah, things are going pretty good, actually. I think I'm finally getting the hang of this whole college thing. It's a lot, but I'm managing."
The light changes, and I step off the curb, my boots scuffing against the asphalt. "That's my girl." The pride evident in his voice. "Always knew you had it in you."
I feel a warmth spread through my chest at his words. "Thanks, Da. Oh, and I've been hanging around the local clubhouse more, too. It's... nice. Familiar, you know?"
There's a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I worry I've said something wrong.
But then he lets out a relieved sigh. "That's good to hear, lass. Real good. I'd much rather you be there than mixed up with some of those frat boys."
I bite back a laugh, thinking about how some of the guys at the clubhouse are probably way more trouble than any frat boy.
But Da doesn't need to know that. "Don't worry, Da. I'm being careful."
"I know you are, Aggie. You've always had a good head on your shoulders," he says, his voice softening. "Just... don't forget where you come from, okay?"
I swallow hard, memories of my childhood in Scotland flashing through my mind. "I won't, Da. Promise."
There's a moment of silence between us before he clears his throat. "All right then, I'll let you go. You take care of yourself, you hear?"
My voice is barely above a whisper. "I will, Da. Love you."
"Love you too, sweetheart. Talk to you soon."
The line goes dead, and I'm left standing in front of the cafe, my phone still pressed to my ear.
I take a deep breath, pushing down the homesickness that threatens to overwhelm me.
This is my life now, and I'm making the most of it.
But it's nice to know that no matter how far I go, I've still got family looking out for me.
As I slip my phone into my pocket, my thoughts drift to Jolt.
His deep green eyes and mischievous grin flash through my mind, sending a shiver down my spine.
If only Da knew the kind of trouble I'm really getting into.
I can almost hear Jolt's husky laughter, feel the ghost of his calloused hands on my skin.
I shake my head, trying to clear it.
"Get it together, Aggie," I mutter to myself as I push open the cafe door.
The scent of garlic and tomato sauce hits me, making my stomach growl.
"What can I get for you?" the cashier asks, snapping me out of my Jolt-induced haze.
"Uh, the chicken parm, please," I reply, fumbling for my wallet.
As I wait for my food, I can't help but wonder what Jolt's doing right now.
Is he at the clubhouse?
Working on his bike?
My mind wanders to less innocent activities, and I feel my cheeks flush.
"Order up!"
I grab my tray, loaded with steaming pasta and garlic bread, and scan the cafe for an empty table.
As I weave through the crowded room, I can't shake the feeling that Da's words of caution are more prophetic than he realized.
But as I think about Jolt's infectious laugh and the way he makes me feel alive, I can't bring myself to care.
I slide into an empty booth, my food forgotten as I lose myself in thoughts of tattooed arms and the rumble of a Harley.
I'm about to take my first bite when a shadow falls across the table.
I look up, fork halfway to my mouth, and nearly drop it when I see Trevor standing there.
What in the hell, dude?
Trevor grumbles, stabbing at his salad. "...and then Professor Hawkins had the audacity to assign a twenty-page paper due next week."
I laugh, shaking my head. "Sounds brutal. So glad I dodged that bullet."
There's a calmness in the conversation, and I can see Trevor's eyes dart to the side before he clears his throat. "So, uh, speaking of dodging bullets... that guy you were with last weekend. Is he your boyfriend?"
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth.
Jolt's face flashes through my mind—that cocky grin, those piercing green eyes that seem to see right through me.
I feel a flush creeping up my neck.
"No," I say, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Jolt and I aren't dating."
Something flickers across Trevor's face—relief?
Satisfaction?
He smiles, but there's an edge to it that makes me uneasy.
"Good," he says, leaning forward slightly. "A woman like you doesn't need to be run ragged by a disgusting pig like him."
The words hit me like a slap.
My stomach churns, anger rising in my throat.
How dare he?
The Jolt I know—charming, funny, protective—is so far from the picture Trevor's painting.
I struggle to keep my voice even. "What do you mean by that?"
Trevor's eyes narrow, his tone dripping with disdain. "Those lowlife bikers, I mean, it's fucking disgusting how they are."
My fingers tighten around my fork, knuckles turning white.
The urge to defend Jolt, to defend my family, is overwhelming.
I spear a piece of pasta with my fork, buying time to compose myself.
The savory aroma of garlic and herbs wafts up, but my appetite has vanished.
I chew slowly, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
"Really, how so?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
Trevor's face darkens, and he launches into a tirade. "They're nothing but criminals, Aggie. Drug dealers, thieves, murderers. They prey on innocent people, terrorize communities. Those thugs think they're above the law, but they're just scum."
Each word feels like a dagger, twisting in my gut.
Images of my father—strong, loving, protective—flash through my mind.
I think of Jolt's easy laugh, the warmth in his eyes when he looks at me.
The disconnect between Trevor's words and my reality is staggering.
I can't listen to this anymore. "Did you know," I interrupt, my voice low and dangerous, "my family consists of 'lowlife bikers' like Jolt? Every single one of them."
Trevor's jaw drops, his eyes widening in shock.
He reels back as if I've physically hit him. "I... I wasn't trying to be offensive," he stammers.
I lock eyes with him, fury simmering just beneath the surface. "But you were," I spit out. "You were super fucking offensive, and I'm leaving now."
My chair scrapes loudly against the floor as I stand, hands shaking from how furious I am.
I grab my bag, not even bothering to clean up my half-eaten meal.
As I turn to leave, Trevor's hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.
The sudden contact makes me flinch, memories of a different, more violent touch flashing through my mind.
I jerk away instinctively, my heart racing.
"Wait, Aggie!" Trevor pleads, his voice taking on a desperate edge. "Let me make it up to you. How about we go to a party next weekend? The frat's throwing a rager, and I promise it'll be a blast."
I stare at him incredulously, my mouth hanging open slightly.
Is he serious?
After everything he just said, he thinks I want to party with him?
"I don't know, Trevor. I'm really not—" I begin, trying to find a polite way to tell him to fuck off.
He cuts me off before I can finish, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Come on, I made a mistake. Please don't hold it against me."
I can feel my jaw clenching, the muscles in my neck tightening.
The audacity of this guy is unbelievable.
My mind races, torn between telling him exactly where he can shove his invitation and the ingrained politeness my mom always stressed.
"Trevor, ye just insulted my entire family. My da, my uncles, people I love. And now you want me to party with ye?"
His face crumples at my words, the arrogant veneer slipping to reveal a glimpse of what I think could be genuine regret.
"I...I didn't mean..." he stammers, struggling to find the right words.
His usual confident demeanor is replaced by an awkward hesitancy that is almost pitiful.
"I let my temper get the best of me, Aggie," he mutters, his gaze dropping to his battered knuckles as if they hold the answers to his predicament. "I said things I shouldn't have... things I don't really believe. It was stupid and... and I'm sorry."
For a second, I'm taken aback.
The sincerity in his voice is unexpected, startling even.
But it's not enough.
Not nearly enough.
"Oh, so now you're sorry?" I retort, folding my arms over my chest defensively. My heart is still pounding, adrenaline fueling my anger. "Is that supposed to make it all better?"
He looks up at me then, his eyes pleading as he reaches out tentatively. "I know I messed up," he admits quietly. "And I can't take back what I said. But I can try to make it right. Give me a chance, Aggie."
The look in his eyes makes me think.
Is he sincere?
The blatant disrespect for my family and the life we've chosen is a bit much, though.
"Trevor," I say finally, stepping back out of his reach.
My voice is colder than I intended it to be but holds steady nonetheless. "I appreciate your apology and... and maybe on some level, I believe you regret your words. But ye don't just insult someone's family and then think an 'I'm sorry' will make everything all better."
Trevor's face falls further at my words but I can sense he’s not giving up so easily. "Then help me make it right, Aggie," he implores, stepping forward again as if the physical distance between us is what's keeping me from forgiving him.
It's not, but I appreciate the effort.
It's more than most would do.
"I'll do whatever it takes," he adds, his voice barely a whisper as he desperately tries to convince me of his sincerity. "Please... come to the party with me."
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me.
Trevor's face is a mix of hope and desperation, his bruised features making him look even more pitiful.
Against my better judgment, I feel a twinge of sympathy.
"Fine," I say, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'll go to the party."
Trevor's face lights up, and I immediately regret my decision.
I can’t shake how curious I am though.
Maybe this is a chance to understand the other side of campus life, to see what I'm missing—or not missing.
"But," I add quickly, holding up a finger, "this doesn't mean we're friends. And if I hear one more word against my family or the club, I'm out. Got it?"
He nods eagerly, relief evident in his eyes. "Absolutely, Aggie. You won't regret this, I promise."
I highly doubt that, I think to myself, but force a tight smile. "Right. Well, I should get going. Classes and all that."
He doesn’t know I’m lying, but I’m not heading to a fucking class.
I’m heading back to my sorority house, where I can get a damn break.