Breed Me On The Bike

WILL NOT

CORA~

I swallow hard and stare at the man I have known since I was seven.

A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I do not wipe it. Instead, I turn around.

I am not going to stand in this shop and wait for him to hand me over like a finished ticket. They are here. He said they were here. Fine. I am going to talk to them.

I do not care if he owes them a million dollars. I will find the money. I am not getting traded to a biker club. Iron Dominion. Not after everything I have heard. I have never met them, but Chicago talks, and Chicago does not talk about them like they are men you negotiate with over coffee.

Knox. Rhett. Nash. West. The four presidents whose names I have heard attached to the most powerful biker club in Chicago.

I push the door open. The stuck bell gives one weak click, and then I am outside in the late heat.

Four bikes are parked in a line across the lot, nose-out, like they do not plan on being here long. Four men stand with their backs to me. Even from the sidewalk, I feel their presence. The kind that makes the air seem to sit differently around them.

I swallow hard as they turn, almost as if they sensed me.

I see the names first, painted clean across each of their tanks.

KNOX.

RHETT.

NASH.

WEST.

Then I see them one by one.

Knox is the still one. Black hair pushed back like he did it once this morning and forgot about it. A thin, pale scar cuts through his left eyebrow. He does not smile. He looks at me the way a man looks at a problem he already solved last week.

Rhett is the one whose mouth is already halfway to a grin. Honey-brown hair looks like he ran a hand through it and called it done. Rings sit on two of his fingers. He looks at me like this is the best thing that has happened to his afternoon.

Nash has cropped dark hair and a sharp, impatient face. His green eyes go straight to my unclipped badge, then my work blouse, and finally back to my face. He looks like he is already tired of a conversation we have not even started.

West is the tallest by an inch. Light brown hair, short stubble, calm mouth. He looks almost polite.

That is the part that throws me off.

I walk toward them because if I stand by the door, I am going to look like I am hiding, and I am not hiding.

“I want to talk,” I say.

Rhett’s grin spreads. “She wants to talk.”

“I can hear,” Nash says.

Knox does not speak.

West watches my face like he is reading it.

“I understand my dad owes you people,” I say, keeping my voice level. “I know that now. I did not know this morning, but I am not going with you. I will pay it. You can take the money, but you cannot take me.”

Rhett tips his head. “Can we not?”

“No.”

Nash glances toward the shop window. “He tell you the number?”

“Yes.”

“And you still walked out here like you have it in your purse.”

“I do not have it in my purse,” I say. “But I have a job. I have time. I can work, sell things, and figure it out. What I am not doing is getting handed over because he made a mess and decided I was the cleanest way out of it.”

Rhett laughs quietly. “She is cute when she is budgeting.”

“I am not being cute.”

“You are a little cute,” he says.

Knox’s voice comes low. “Enough.”

Rhett lifts a hand, still smiling. “I am being friendly.”

“Be less.”

I look at Knox because he is the one the other three seem to answer to without even thinking about it.

“I am serious. I will pay you.”

“You cannot,” Knox says, and there is something almost too honest about the way he says it.

“You have not even heard me.”

“I heard you.”

West’s voice is softer. “Your job and your paycheck do not cover this.”

“You do not know what I make.”

Nash answers before West can. “You work in customer accounts. Mid-range firm. Direct deposit every other Friday. You put yogurt pretzels back at Target today.”

I go completely still.

My heart jumps.

Rhett’s eyebrows rise, clearly delighted. “Oh, she hates that you know that.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

Nash shrugs one shoulder. “We know what we took as collateral. That includes you. That includes your day.”

Heat rushes into my face. “That is my life.”

“That is the debt,” Knox says.

I laugh, but it comes out too bright. “So the four of you rode over here to stand in my dad’s lot and tell me I am a line item.”

Rhett puts a hand over his heart. “When you say it like that, it sounds rude.”

“It is rude.”

“It is accurate,” Nash says.

West keeps his eyes on mine. “You came out here anyway, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Because I am not going to let him do this to me. This is my life.”

“And what did he tell you to do?” Knox asks.

I do not answer.

Rhett fills the silence for me, cheerful as ever. “Pack a bag. Do not run. Do not call the cops. Did I miss a verse?”

“Stay out of my conversation.”

“Baby, this became our conversation the second you opened that door.”

“Do not call me baby.”

Rhett’s grin widens. “Give me a better one, then.”

“Cora.”

“I know your name.”

“Then use it.”

Nash looks at Knox. “She is going to argue until the sun goes down.”

“I can hear you,” I say.

“I know,” Nash replies. “That was the point.”

I step closer to the bikes because I need them to see I am not backing up. I am close enough now to smell hot metal, road, and whatever soap West uses that is much cleaner than I expected.

“I will get the money,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady.