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4

Kensington

I n all the times my mother taught me never to answer the door without looking through the peephole to see who it is, apparently, I never learned.

I open my door as if I’m greeting a Girl Scout wanting to sell me cookies and find myself facing my pain.

“Need you to come for a ride with me, Kens.” His voice is a roll of thunder breaking out in the sky, sending a current of lightning through my body.

“No.” I cross my arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Sean.”

“I’m not asking, babe.”

Yeah, I’ve picked up on the fact that he thinks he can order me around and I’ll do as I’m told.

He’s not my boyfriend anymore, and I’m not that little girl.

The one so eager to please.

The one who would’ve done anything for him.

After what he did, my answer is and will always be no.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t get off my front porch in five seconds, I’ll call the cops.”

He steps forward and I’m suddenly frozen, locked in the past. My feet not feeling as steady as I get an up-close view of his gorgeous face.

His scent drifts in like a gust of familiarity.

Reminding me of a past I’ve fought so hard to forget.

He’s all rugged man now, but his deep blue eyes are still the same.

His nose still slopes to the perfect point.

Cheeks still angular.

The beard is a new addition.

Unfortunately, making him look hotter than he already was.

After all these years, he’s still undeniably the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

And I hate him for it.

“I’m going to count to five, babe. You get in my truck willingly, or I’ll put you in it. Five…four…three…” He’s serious.

The vicious gleam in his eyes is a threat.

“Two…” His head cocks to the side, giving me one final moment to make up my mind and decide what the fuck I’m going to do.

I’m not going anywhere with him.

I go to shut the door in his face, but his huge frame blocks it, looming over me.

And now he’s seething.

“Wrong choice.”

I’m suddenly upended, my body hanging over his shoulder as he storms from my house and straight to the biggest truck I’ve ever seen.

He shoves me up into the back and then climbs inside.

“I thought you only rode a motorcycle?” It’s the stupidest thing to come out of my mouth.

I should be yelling at him for manhandling me, but I’m so shocked by the fact that he’s not on his Harley, the bike he was obsessed with, that I can’t think past it.

He worked on that thing every day throughout high school, restoring it from a piece of scrap metal he found in the back of his granddad’s garage.

He turned it into something so beautiful it turned heads.

That’s how he got caught up with King and the Savage Knights.

Sean had it parked outside the grocery store and was approached by the gang of bikers.

They’d never seen such a beauty and were even more impressed when he pulled out his phone and showed them the before pictures.

They immediately asked him if he wanted a job in their shop, working on their bikes.

And that was that. He was in.

Went there every day after school, then came home, telling me all about the club and how powerful the men were.

I could see it in his eyes.

The gleam of excitement.

The thrill of being a badass.

And I knew it was happening.

The induction into the brotherhood.

Just like a cult, they were brainwashing him.

My sweet Sean was turning into one of them.

He started dressing like them and acting like them, and I stupidly thought it was a phase.

I thought he’d graduate and head off to college, maybe a little tougher and with a little more confidence and swagger in his strut, but I never thought he’d give everything up for the MC—for those men.

But he did. And I lost the love of my life to a bunch of lowlifes.

“Figured your stubborn ass was going to fight me, so I brought my cage,” he grits as he starts the thing up.

This is the point where I should be trying to climb out and stomp back into my house, but instead I ask another stupid question.

“Why did you come to find me?” Thought he’d take my not-so-subtle hint at the club that I don’t want to see him ever again.

“‘Cause you and I need to have a talk about what the fuck is going on. Why are you stripping at that club, babe?”

Babe? Really? He has the nerve to call me that after he fucked around with two girls right in front of my face and didn’t even bother to come and apologize until he’d had his fill. He’s a fucking asshole, and I am not his “babe” anymore.

And if he ever calls me that again, I’m liable to chop his dick off.

“I’m not your babe, Razor .” I use his stupid club name.

“And it’s none of your damn business. Now, drive me back to my house and get the fuck out of my life.”

He doesn’t.

He keeps his foot on the gas, driving out of my neighborhood, out of town, and up a mountain.

His hands gripped tight around the steering wheel.

His jaw locked. The glare in his stare leaving skid marks on the road as we sit in seething silence.

I don’t know where the hell he’s taking me.

I assume this is his way of burning off his anger, but when he pulls into a drive, winding up an old familiar road, I know exactly where we’re headed.

His grandad’s cabin.

Not sure why he brought me here.

If he thinks this place will remind me of all the good memories we had growing up, he’s wrong.

All the happy days where we’d spend our time outdoors, laughing and talking, fishing with his grandad, baking with his grams, all of that was washed away on the day he broke my heart.

Replaced with one dark stare as he turned his head, the pleasure burning heavy in his eyes, his hand tightening his grip on the girl kneeled before him, letting out an audible groan as he thrust forward, coming between her cheeks and not stopping for a single second.

He watched me stand there, being humiliated, my heart breaking into fragments, tears running down my cheeks, and he couldn’t even find the decency to stop.

To shove her off. No.

He proved exactly what kind of bastard he is that day, and the memories we had made up at this cabin and everywhere else disintegrated, along with my respect for the man.

I’d like to say that my love disintegrated too, but my heart still feels the aching throb of the loss.

Every date I go on, every boyfriend I ever had, every kiss, every touch, I’m reminded of the loss.

Reminded of what was ripped from me.

The future I’d dreamt of was torn away, and every time I tried to replace it, tried to create a new dream, my body rejected it.

I hate him for that.

For making it so hard for me to move on.

“Why are we here?” I ask, as he pulls me out from the back and starts carrying me inside.

I’d put up a fight, but I don’t have any shoes on, so I appreciate the lift.

He places me down on the old front porch and unlocks his door.

The place is like a time capsule, everything exactly as I remember.

From the antlers hanging over the fireplace to the old rocking chair sitting in the corner.

It’s exactly the same.

“This is my house. That’s why.”

“You live here now?” I run my finger over the white silk doily his grandma stitched by hand while sitting in that rocker.

She was one of the sweetest people I’d ever met.

“Thought you lived at the clubhouse?”

“Like I told you, I’m riding on my own for now.”

“How come?” My curiosity keeps taking control of my mouth, firing off questions when I should be telling him to take me home.

“Did they kick you out of the club?”

“No. Will always be a brother. But shit went down, and I needed some space to breathe.”

I wonder if that’s code for they got into trouble with the law, and he had to go into hiding.

“What kind of shit?” It’s not like he’s going to tell me.

He wouldn’t tell me anything before.

“Lost one of my closest brothers in a raid, and watched another get his legs blown off.”

I stop in place, shuddering.

He’s not just caught up with a bunch of criminals, but he could get killed.

“I’m sorry, Sean. But it doesn’t surprise me. When you mess with drugs and criminals, you put yourself at risk for bad shit happening.”

“Like I said, we don’t deal in drugs. We were trying to put an end to the fuckers.” He glares me down.

“Fuckers were selling bad shit that was killing people, so we stepped in. But things went south. Damn…” He shakes his head.

“You still think we’re a bunch of gangster thugs.” Well, if the shoe fits.

“Now, answer my question. How come you’re working at that club?”

Isn’t the answer obvious?

“To pay the bills.”

“Really?” His chin locks up.

“You couldn’t find a job with that college degree to pay the bills? What was the point in going then?”

That’s the problem.

I don’t have a degree.

“I didn’t get to finish college. Mom got sick and I had to drop out to come back and take care of her. Spent three years taking her to chemo appointments and to doctors across the country. Then after she passed...”

“Shit, babe. You serious? Fuck.” He moves in close, horror, sadness, and shock blanching his handsome face.

“I’m so sorry. Had no fucking clue. Your mom was such a good woman.”

He reaches out as if he’s going to hug me, but I step back.

I don’t want his pity or condolences.

It’s too late. My stupid heart had held out hope that he’d show up at the funeral.

That he’d come back and be there for me during the darkest period of my life, like I was for him, but he didn’t.

He never showed, and now I know he never even knew she was sick.

Guess he was too busy with his “brothers,” getting fucked by all those sweetbutts, to give a shit about me.

I had to bear it all alone.

“I spent another three years trying to figure out how to pay for all those appointments,” I continue, ignoring his apology.

“I was working three jobs and barely scratching the surface of the debt. Then a few weeks ago, Kitty showed up at the gas station where I was working the night shift.”

His jaw tightens, and I watch his fists clench by his sides.

“You shouldn’t have been working the night shift. It’s not fucking safe.”

Yeah, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Kitty said the same thing. She was horrified that I was running the cash register alone while the manager was asleep in his office. That’s when she told me that she could get me a job that was safe, and I could make a minimum of a grand a night.” I did the calculation in my head and figured out that I’d be debt free in eight months.

I decided in that moment that if I could survive eight years of hell, I could survive eight months being a stripper.

So, I sold my soul to the devil and took the job.

I may not like it, but it’s a hell of a lot easier, and I don’t have to work as hard.

I no longer have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to go stand on the corner of the street as a crossing guard.

Then go hang my sign for a few hours while I drive around the city and scrub floors, cleaning houses until my body was so sore I could barely stand.

Only to come home, get four hours of sleep, and then go in for the night shift at the station.

All I have to do now is show up at seven p.m., strut around the room serving drinks, then I get up on stage to do a dance and I’m done.

And minimum—until tonight that is—I’d walk out with almost two grand in tax-free bills.

Which means I’m even closer to getting out of debt than I expected.

I still plan on committing for the full eight months, because beyond paying off the bills, I’d like to save enough money to pay for my last two years of college.

“So, I took the job and have been there for three weeks.” And though it’s not what I imagined I’d be doing, it’s easier.

And as proven tonight with all the bouncers who protected me, it’s safer.

“I’m so fucking sorry, babe.” His voice is softer, gentle.

Reminding me of the boy I once knew.

I look up and it’s in his eyes.

The remorse. The sadness.

But I don’t want it from him.

It hurts too much as is; add in his kindness, he reminds me of the boy I once fell head over heels in love with, and the pain throbs deeper.

“I should’ve been there.”

Yeah, but he was too busy being a gangster, trying to grow hair on his chest with his criminal endeavors.

“How much debt you got, babe?”

I don’t want to have this conversation with him.

It’s none of his business.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Now.

If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I was a sinking ship, my entire life about to capsize.

If I lose my mother’s house, I’m not sure I’ll survive.

“The new job pays very well.”

“I’m sure it fucking does.” His sharp tone is back.

“But you’re done.”

And here he goes trying to boss me around again.

It almost makes me want to laugh.

“You rode off with your ‘brothers’ and your whores, Sean. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. My life is my prerogative. Now, you can take me back home. This little reunion is over.”

“Since your stubborn ass won’t quit, I’m going to have to keep you here. Once you don’t show up for a couple days, they’ll fire your ass.”

“You can’t do that! I need that money, Sean!” If I don’t pay the bank by Friday, they’ll start the foreclosure process.

“You want to earn money dancing? You dance for me.”

I throw my head back in exasperation.

Not sure why everything has to be so hard.

I was finally getting things in order, getting my life back on track, and now he’s shown up and is trying to screw it all up for me again.

“Sorry, but you can’t afford me. I make two grand a night at the club.”

“I’ll pay you four.”

The hell?

How the hell does he have…

No. I know exactly how he has that kind of money.

Running around with a bunch of criminals, doing Lord knows what.

“Sorry, I don’t want your blood money.”

“And I don’t want you stripping for those men. So, too fucking bad.”

I wonder why it bothers him so much.

It shouldn’t. He left over eight years ago and never came back or thought about me twice, so why the fuck does he suddenly give a shit about anything concerning me now?

“Like I said, you don’t have a say anymore. Now, I’m ready to go home.” I go to move to the door, but he steps in front of me, blocking my path.

His dark eyes pinning me in place.

“And like I said, you’re not going anywhere.”

“You can’t just keep me here. That’s kidnapping.”

“Call it whatever the fuck you want. I can and I will.” He turns and heads into the kitchen, giving me his back as though his word is final.

He pulls down a glass and pours himself a whiskey.

I walk over and snag it off the counter, tossing it back.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as the burn almost chokes me.

I breathe through my nose, trying not to look like a silly girl who can’t handle her booze.

His brow cocks and a smirk forms at the corners of his lips, angering every part of me.

“You want another, toots?”

I shake my head, handing him back his glass and then turn and storm out his front door.

I start marching down his drive, trying not to flinch as every rock digs into the bottom of my bare soles.

We’re a good thirty minutes from my house and twenty to the club.

But I remember a little fishing supply shack a few miles down the mountain.

I’ll have to go there and call Kat.

See if she can come get me.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Old Sal’s,” I throw over my shoulder.

“He passed away a few years back. Closest store is fifteen miles away.”

His heavy footsteps are getting closer.

“Then I’ll just have to bum a ride.”

I’m suddenly caught around the waist. Stopped by his huge arm.

“Don’t be stupid, Kens. You’ll get yourself kidnapped. Now, I’m taking you back inside.”

That’s rich.

I already am kidnapped.

He lifts me from the ground and marches back into his cabin.

If it weren’t for the truth of his words, I would put up another fight.

But I know what would happen to a girl like me.

Someone would offer me a ride and then dump my body somewhere in the woods once they had their fill.

Which means I’m stranded until the asshole decides to take me back.

Or until he falls asleep, and I get ahold of his phone.

“I’m not dancing for you,” I state as soon as he puts me back on my feet.

“It’s time for bed, babe.”

He suddenly sounds exhausted.

I feel it too. The stress seeping into my bones.

My mind dog-tired from my overwrought emotions.

It’s been a long night.

And the sun is about to rise.

“I’m taking the bedroom.”

I turn and stalk down the hallway back to the master, crawling right into the big bed, which looks exactly as I remember.

A blue and brown plaid comforter with a big fur blanket at the base.

But… it doesn’t smell like mothballs or detergent.

As soon as I climb in, I’m engulfed by the smell of Sean, sending me right back to when I was a little girl.

I’d bury my nose in Sean’s chest to breathe him in.

His smell always brought me comfort.

It was the smell of home, and it made me feel safe…

loved.

But in truth, he didn’t love me.

Or he wouldn’t have hurt me.

The door opens and in he walks, tearing off his shirt, dropping his pants straight to the floor.

The light of the moon is shining in through the window, making every ripple of his washboard stomach glow.

He’s covered in ink.

His tattoos run all the way down, a dragon breathing fire going straight below his boxers.

I wonder if its tail is wrapped around his…

It’s hard .

My eyes round in shock, quickly looking up.

There’s a smirk on his face.

He caught me staring at his crotch and now he’s gloating.

“What are you doing, Sean?” If he thinks he’s going to get some action, he’s wrong.

“Going to bed.” He lifts the comforter and climbs right in.

“If you’re going to keep me as your prisoner, the least you could do is give me your bed.”

“I am. You’re in it.”

“That means you sleep on the couch.”

He pulls the comforter over himself, plumping his pillow and completely ignoring me.

“Ugh… fine, you ass.” I grab my pillow and reach for the fur blanket, stomping back out of the bedroom and into the living room.

I set myself up on the couch and stare up at the wood-beamed ceiling.

At the cracks I used to study when I’d struggle to fall asleep, my thoughts spinning.

Wondering if the boy laying on the ground next to me would one day ask me to marry him.

I was so in love with him, it was all I wanted.

My only dream for the future.

But he didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was.

He grew up and changed.

Influenced by the wrong people.

The tear slips free, and I turn on my side, trying to tuck it all away.

Wanting to forget. I start counting sheep until the memories unhook their tight grip and finally let me drift to sleep.