The Biker's Rules

Something real

Date = 6 November

Place = San Francisco (Mel’s house)

POV - Damion

BANG BANG BANG

“Go left,” Logan shouts, “we’ll attack from two sides.” I move my man to the left.

THUD

I’m hit.

“Fuck.” I duck my man behind an old car, trying to find the shooter.

BOOM BOOM

“It’s Sean … on that building,” I say.

“Keep him busy. I’m going in.”

I shoot to cover Logan so he can take out Sean.

BANG BANG BANG BANG

“Holy f**k!” Someone touches my shoulder.

I jerk and crank my neck, at the same time pulling off my headset. It’s Mel. She’s home. My mouth moves into an automatic grin.

Because of this planned game date, I was forced to leave her with that stuck-up trainer. The one that makes my gut turn. But now she’s here.

Logan notices her “Wait, guys, girl in the house. I’m going to pause,” he says into his mic and then he removes his headset as well.

“Hi, Sis, you’re home.” He says in the sweetest voice he can master.

“What are you doing in my house?” she pries, crossing her arms. Her eyes are balls of fire, and I notice that she’s shaking a little.

“We’re playing Call of Duty … duh,” Logan answers as if that was a rather stupid question.

“Great,” she hisses, “And you’re doing it here cause — " Well, I’m here to see her. Logan might have different reasons.

“Sean and his brother are playing in my house and Ilkay would not open the door for us.”

“Idiots,” she rolls her eyes and hangs up her keys. Then she walks away to her room.

“What’s up with that one?” Logan asks when she slams her bedroom door. Hard.

“f**k if I know. She’s your sister.” I’m pretty sure her mood has something to do with me. Which part of me — that is irresolute. He shrugs his shoulders.

“Maybe, but she’s still a girl.” He has a point.

“Sean, dude, we’re back.” I put my headset back on, but my mind is not on the game anymore. Niall, Sean’s brother, sneaks up on me and I lose my life. My Call of Duty one.

“Okay, you win this one … get ready for round two.” Logan is speaking to his roommate. Then he throws his headset onto the coach.

“What were you thinking? We had them.” I thrush my shoulders and go to the kitchen. I need some coffee. And it’s not as if I can tell him where my mind is at.

“Hey, guys,” Axel walks into the kitchen, throws his keys and wallet on the counter, and looks at Logan. “You called.” He’s freshly showered and I suspect he probably came here straight after his shift.

“Great,” Logan snips and stuffs the controller into Axel’s hand. “Here, I need to go. Problems at the club.”

I take the filled coffee cup from the Nespresso, hand it to the tired-looking, grateful, firefighter, and start making a new cup.

“Doesn’t explain why I’m here and not in my bed sleeping,” Axel grunts confirming my suspicions.

“I don’t want Mel to be alone —” he points at me, “He needs a new partner,” he grabs Axel’s shoulder, “And you’re it.”

“Maybe order some food,” he continues while opening the front door, “You know Mel is always hungry.” I’m hungry too, but not for food. Then he’s gone. I lock the door and meet Axel’s unimpressed eyes — staring as if I’m responsible for his fate.

“Hey, inviting you was not my idea. But Kiara’s bed is open for the night.” His mouth pulls into an almost smile. “And I won’t tell.”

I take a sip of coffee and my mind follows my eyes down the hall to where the sound of running water comes from. My eyes glaze over.

An image slips into mind … her in the shower. Hot. Naked. Wet. Shimmering. Soapy. Naked. Wet.

“Hey, dude,” Axel taps my shoulder, “Where is your head? I’ve asked like five times what pizza you want.” Oh, just on a run-of-the-mill male fantasy. About my best friend’s little sister.

“Greek with extra pepperoni.” He orders three pizzas before looking at me again.

“Next thing,” he beams, “you’ll start thinking about dating her for real.” Oh, that thought came and went already, but I don’t like where this is going.

“Huh.” The guilt must show on my face because Axel tips his head back and laughs.

He’s still snickering when I ask, “What do you mean?”

“Dating,” he says with a lot of amusement in his voice, “You know, seeing someone socially due to romantic interest, most often with the intention of evaluating each other’s suitability as a partner in a future intimate relationship.” I can get on board with the intimate part.

“I think you need some sleep,” I say, “Cause fatigue is eating away your brain cells.”

“Oh, come on dude, you know Kiara tells me everything —” Yeah, Kiara long ago adopted Axel as her little baby brother — even though she’s just about 3 months older than him. “And Mel shares with her.”

“Why are you not in bed yet?”

“I’m dead hungry. Besides that, it’s fun f*****g with you,” he mocks.

He takes a lengthy look down the hallway. “I hope you know what you’re doing, bro … because both Kiara and I have our doubts.” I have my own skepticism.

“Well, you and Kiara can both f**k off.” He eyeballs me for a vast beat that niggles me out.

“Oh, I’m just worried about you. Unlike the last time, Jackson will seriously hurt you.” Great. Seems he knows about the zoo incident too. I forgot that he’s the psycho twin’s confidant as well. I can just hope he doesn’t share these rumors with his bestie.

“Yeah, about that,” I say. “You think he’ll actually kill me or just maim me?” He chortles and raps me on the head with his knuckles.

“He’ll probably let you live, just so he can continue the torture on a daily basis,” he laughs again.

“You’re really enjoying this, ain’t you?” He shrugs.

“Yes, but I’m gonna enjoy it more watching you struggle,” he teases.

“Asshole,” I grimace.

“Stop brooding. You’re being such a headstrong coward.” I’m not scared. I’m trying to be careful and responsible. “If you really like her, and you’re not just f*****g around, go for it. True love comes but once in a lifetime.” I ignore his comment. What does he know about true love? As far as I know, his version of a relationship is planking one of his co-workers in the Station 34 broom closet when the need arrives.

“What about Jackson?” I say in a rather snotty manner while he continues to taunt me. And it’s bugging the s**t out of me. Or rather, his words are. It’s annoying cause it’s the truth. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“No, it’s not my place,” he says earnestly with a shrug, “But you know by now that you won’t keep him in the dark for long.” I know.

I nod, and knowing my eyes will give away my sudden anxiety in a heartbeat, I keep them averted while sipping the coffee.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s the pizzas.

“Okay, I’m gonna take this to go,” Axel grabs one box. I take the other two and walk to her room.

It’s empty. Someone is singing ‘Lost Control’ from Alan Walker in the bathroom. Off key. She can’t hold a tune for s**t and it’s f*****g adorable.

I pick up the soft toy from her pillow and stretch out on her bed, holding up the turtle to look for the red heart on its flipper. She kept the darn thing. Even after everything I did. I lay it on my chest with a huge winning smirk and a familiar scent tickles my senses.

Smelling it there’s no mistake — it’s my perfume.

Her phone on the bedstand makes a soft fart sound and without thinking I pick it up. There’s a message. From Ren.

Ren: I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight. I’ll pick you up — 2morrow at 4. Scoma’s. Talk then.

Douchebag. She clearly doesn’t love him so what’s there to talk about?

I notice another older message.

D Stalker: You are mine. Stay away from the biker! And the puppy lover!

Seriously. What does this man want? And the fact that he mentions Alejandro doesn’t put me at ease. It f*****g rattles me up. She’s mine. Belongs to me alone and I need them all to understand that. Most of all I need her to understand that.

The water turns off and I quickly put the phone back on the stand.

A minute or so later she strolls into the room, small but curvy in a pair of men’s boxers and a skimpy red tank top — and she’s not wearing a bra. Hello, I’m a male, and I’ve gone without s*x for a season-and-a-half.

“Shoot!” she yells when she sees me, giving a little jerky step back in shock. Then her face turns sour. Her hair is wet and wild, but her eyes are icy cold.

Look, I’ve seen her in bikinis over the years, I know what she looks like. But each and every time my jaw drops to the floor. Holy s**t this woman’s bod is f*****g smoking. Her n*****s ram against the thin material of her cami. She rolled the shorts over a few times to make them fit — who do they belong to? They’re not hers.

My throat constricts at the mere thought of her wearing another man’s undies. I stare at the black briefs with skulls and the word ‘Whatever’ on the front. Hugo Boss. Maybe Jackson’s. But I need to be sure.

“Nice pj’s. Let me guess, you stole Jackson’s pants?” The surprised expression that floods her face gives it away. And I can breathe again.

“Told you I can read you like a magazine.” I wink at her and love the way she tries to nib her blush in the bud, but fails.

“What are you doing here?” With flushed cheeks, she scans the room as if looking for something. “Where’s my brother?”

“He had to go to the club.” Her body flexes slightly as she opens a cupboard and reaches up to unhook a hoodie, giving me a heart-stopping view of her fine ass. One that will take me through a few new erotic dreams. But f**k I don’t want only to dream. I need it to be real.

Feeling a little flustered I get up and pace slowly through her room.

She slips on the top. Darn.

Secretly watching me with eyes filled with suspicion, she sits down on her couch and switches on her TV, tuning into Netflix. She clicks on The Vampire Diaries; but doesn’t start it up.

As if playing a game, I keep picking up random objects from her green dresser, looking them over, and placing them back, while she keeps her eyes on me without saying a thing.

I pick up a book. Moby d**k. I hold it up so she can see the cover.

“Tell me you see the problem with the whale’s name.” She frowns but keeps up with her end of the not-talking game.

“It’s a story about a huge white sperm whale.” Her laugh tells me that although she gets it, there’s no way in hell she’s going to say it.

“I’ve always wondered if Mr. Melville did it on purpose,” I say in a monotone voice. I open the top drawer of the apple green dresser to find it filled with teeny-tiny pairs of f*****g underwear. It takes me a second to digest what precisely I’m looking at. Just a second, and then my blood scoots downward, leaving me hazed and not in a mind frame to think very clearly.

I pick up a tiny lacy lavender cloth and hold it up in the air. My mouth waters. “Does this come with a bra?”

“Put it back!” she shouts.

“You should hold on to them.” For later. When she’s ready for me to tear it off her.

I stuff it back and close the drawer. I notice now that the dresser’s the same color as the opposite wall. I’ve picked up through the years that she likes green.

“What color is this?” I tap a finger on the dresser.

“Dulux Wicked Witch.” She answers without hesitation. That’s rather specific. “My favorite.” Good to know.

“It’s nice.”

“It should be, it’s the color of — " she brakes herself and looks away. “Apples,” she whispers then. But I’m sure it’s not what she was going to say. “Fresh apples.”

I walk to the open cupboard and something grabs my attention. There on a hanger is a black leather jacket with the Monster and Reaper logo on its sleeve. My jacket. The one from years ago. She kept that too.

“So … you and Ren had a fight?”

“What’s it to you?” She crosses her arms and glares at me as if contemplating doing something to me that will hurt. Badly.

“Just curious.”

I watch the expressions on her beautiful face. She regroups herself and then says casually. “He just wants different things.”

“Like?” I expect her to be stubborn and not answer.

“Marriage. A family.” No way in hell. “Hell, I’m not even legal to drink, and he wants me to be a mommy.” s**t no. The only baby she’s ever going to have will be mine. Someday.

“What do YOU want?” I turn to face her from across the room. “Really.”

She tops for a bit. “I don’t know what I want?”

“I think you want a love that engulfs you. With someone real. Someone who understands your soul.” Like me. My voice breaks. f**k I’m so hexed.

She tops some more. “Do you know someone like that?”

Yes. “Maybe.” I stopped breathing.

“I’m not sure you can find it all in one person.” My heart drops. I’m sure someday I can be that person to her. But it’s going to take some convincing for her to trust me.

I slowly make my way over to where she’s sitting. Very slowly. And with each step, her eyes grow wider.

“If you trust, you can.”

I bend down, placing my hands on the couch backside either side of her, leaving only inches between our faces.

“What are you doing?” Her voice croaks with anticipation, maybe a little fear. She’s not blinking.

“I’m trying not to kiss you.” She smells like flowery soap — and fudge. Her bottom lip quivers just ever so slightly. Moving away is one of the most difficult things I’ve done. I stand up straight and gaze down. She looks as thrown as I feel.

“I brought pizza.”