Home > Bayonet Scars #2 - Thrash(7)

Bayonet Scars #2 - Thrash(7)
Author: J.C. Emery


My heart swells for just a minute before I remember who I’m talking to. Darren doesn’t do things for people without an end game. He’s as selfish as they come, and a total bastard to boot.

“The club’s taking care of it,” I say. Because they are, but there’s only so much their expensive-as-fuck attorney can do for Dad after everything he’s done on the club’s behalf since he’s been inside. I can’t believe there’s much Darren’s dad can do to help at this point.

“Are they? Wasn’t your dad’s attorney that guy who represented Ryan when he made the paper a few years ago?” Darren asks. Of course, if he’s asking this, then he already knows the answer. And he would bring Ryan up. It doesn’t matter that Darren was off fucking around with half of the cheerleading team when I hooked up with Ryan. Ryan took something Darren considered his, and I guess he isn’t letting that grudge go.

“Roger Sloan,” I say with a slight nod of my head.

“When is the last time you talked to Roger Sloan?” he asks. I really hate that he’s baited me into a conversation, but now I need to know where this is going.

“Never,” I admit. “The club’s always handled it.”

“Nicole, I’m sorry, but my dad talked to Roger Sloan yesterday. He said the club hasn’t retained his services in over a year.”

I shouldn’t believe him. The club is all about brotherhood and family. They do what needs to be done to help one another out. They wouldn’t just leave Dad in there without any help—would they? I shake my head in disbelief. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Whatever I may think about the club and certain members in the club, this isn’t how they work.

“Hey, I could be wrong,” he says. “I mean, maybe they got a lawyer from another area? My dad hasn’t checked as far south as San Francisco yet.” Something in the way he says that, like he’s trying to be reassuring, but he’s not all at the same time, makes me even more on edge. Not that I like talking to him or spending time with him, but what if he’s telling the truth? What if the club’s figured they’ve done all they can do and now they’ve stopped pouring money down the drain?

“I’ll go easy on you. How about The 101 Club? That’s your kind of place, isn’t it?” he asks. I have half a mind to be insulted. The 101 Club definitely isn’t Darren’s kind of place. I’m dive bars and stale cigarettes. He’s flashy sports bars and hookah lounges. I know we’re different, but the comment just makes me feel like trash, and that’s one feeling I’m not in short supply of. His eyes narrow, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he tries to comprehend the fact that I’m turning him down.

“Come on. Show me that we’ve both matured,” he says. Us maturing was never the problem. I may have been immature, but the problem was always that Darren couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“It’s just a drink. We can review a bit about your dad’s case and see what I can give to my dad that may help,” he says, flashing me that smile of his that used to melt me from the inside out. My heart drops a little at the realization that he’s found yet another way to get me to say yes to something he wants. After all of his charm wore off and his ability to control me waned, he searched high and low for ways to keep me in line. He’s baiting me, and I know it, but I can’t say no—for my dad’s sake. I hop from foot to foot before I finally nod my head.

“Eight o’clock at The 101 Club, okay?” he says. I nod my head again and rush to my car while trying to convince myself that Darren really is trying to help. As much as the thought of spending time, particularly time alone, with him frightens me, I decide to give it a shot just to see what this is all about. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I’m not the same girl I used to be, and I don’t need to fear him the same way I used to.

Once inside the car, I gently coax her to life then tear off down the street to step into the club’s world for just a few minutes. I put Darren out of my mind. I have other things I have to worry about right now. Like Duke and his bullshit. It’s a good thing the clubhouse is just a few blocks away or I’d never make it in under ten minutes. As much as I want to give Mr. Asshole the middle finger and ignore him for the next two months, I already know that’s not how this is going to play out.

This shit—me getting called to the clubhouse like a damn child—is exactly why I never wanted to hook up with Duke. He’s stuck in this sick cycle where he gets really fucking intense with any chick he’s into, and the more they protest, the more into the chase he gets. Nothing wrong with it, except he gets bored and then leaves a trail of chicks behind who all thought they had a chance to make him honest or something. And now, because I was too fucking drunk to stop myself, and way too fond of him, I’m one of those girls. I’ll just have to try to ride it out until he tires of me, I guess, and hope my heart doesn’t hurt too much when he leaves.

Chapter 3

Pulling up to the closed gates of the clubhouse, I brake while I wait for Rink, one of the prospects, to open them up and let me in. It takes a minute, but it feels like the entire world’s passed me by by the time I have enough space to squeeze my sedan through and into the secured Forsaken clubhouse. With the gate shut, I can’t even leave if they don’t want me to. This was a bad, bad idea. But I push myself to deal with it. I’m here now, and there’s no backing out.

Parking across the lot from the bikes that sit near the main entrance, I slide up next to Chel’s coupe and climb out. It’s still chilly as hell out here, and I’m not wearing a whole lot of clothing. Walking into the Forsaken clubhouse dressed like I’m ready to party is all any of the guys need to take advantage of my presence. And I’m really not up to party right now. It’s mid-afternoon and already I’m worn the hell out.

I cross the lot and open the heavy front door to find myself greeted by the sight of half the club sitting around on various pieces of furniture, drinking bottles of beer. Short windows line the uppermost part of the wall that curves into the exposed beam ceiling of the main room, streaming the only light into the room. Duke sits at a small round table in the center of the room. He turns just slightly and lifts his beer to his lips. Without looking away, he gulps down the remaining contents of the bottle then slaps it down on the table top. Across from him is Ryan, the club’s road captain. No clue how he earned that position since, last I checked, the boy couldn’t find his dick out of his own ass half the time. But I could be biased.

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