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(Ziti)
Two months after leaving Stanley, Ziti Marks moved to a small town where she could regroup and start her life afresh. Thankfully, she and Stanley never had any children, so she had absolutely no reason to ever have contact with him again. The last time she did, he put her in the hospital for three weeks. He liked to have conversations in which his fists did most of the talking. The man was a horrible drunk and a worse sober person, so she couldn’t win.
At first, she’d been terrified of leaving him—he’d threatened to kill her if she ever tried. Then she had been terrified not to leave him because he had come so close to killing her several times, her loyalty earning her sometimes extended stays in the little county hospital. The last time was by far the worst, though. He’d broken her left arm in two places and had broken three bones in her left foot. The rest of her body had ugly blue and green and brown bruises that she knew would take as long to heal as the broken bones.
The divorce had taken eight months to complete even though nothing was contested, and Ziti had felt that pang of terror that lived in her chest on a daily basis. She’d moved in with a friend until the divorce was final—then she felt safe enough to flee Stanley and his hometown.
Carefree, Arizona was about as far away from West Virginia as she could get for the time being, and she liked the little town. Being in Maricopa County, it was still near a large and populous place, but it was off to itself and mostly quiet—that’s what Ziti wanted and needed after life with Stanley.
Settled into her new apartment, she focused on her job, her bills, her wants, and her needs. She had no man to worry about; and she wanted no man to have to worry about. At least for a good long while; long enough that she could heal mentally from all those years of severe abuse.
Ziti had taken a job working for Laney Warhurst, a lawyer in the larger metropolitan area. She’d been working a few days and was getting the lay of the land, when Laney invited her to go out for a drink at a little bar she liked. Hesitantly, Ziti agreed.
The night they went out, Laney came to Ziti’s apartment to pick her up. She was dressed in ripped and frayed jeans, a shirt so sheer that Ziti could see her bra clearly, her hair was spiked into an up-do, and her makeup was heavier than usual. Had Ziti not known Laney, she never would have guessed the woman was a power-suit lawyer five days a week.
Ziti laughed and gave her boss a thumbs-up. “You look so different, Laney! I like it.” She trotted to the car, eager to be on her way and see some of the nightlife around. She’d stayed pretty much at home because she didn’t know anyone there well enough to go out with them.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Laney laughed as they hit the road.
“Oh, it’s a good thing.”
“Well, now that makes me think I don’t look good during the week!” Laney feigned a pout, pooching her lips out prettily.
“You always look good, tonight you just don’t look like a lawyer.” Ziti laughed with Laney.
With her normally straight, smooth, blond hair, Laney was the epitome of severe beauty and great poise, never becoming riled in the courtroom. But tonight, with that hair curly in back, spiked in front and heavily sprayed into place, she looked like an untamable free-spirited nymph. Ziti was a bit jealous—she could never look that sexy and vibrant, no matter how many rips were in her jeans and she would only look clownish with her hair spiked and curly like Laney’s. And, if she put on more than eyeliner and mascara, she began to resemble either a hooker or a clown, depending on the lighting.
In fifteen minutes, they arrived at Marlowe’s Bar. It was a flat, long, wooden building that stood about twenty yards back from the road on an arid, barren strip of land that ended at the base of a stony rise. The only other cars there were a Mercury and a Volkswagen. Motorcycles, on the other hand, were everywhere. She didn’t count, but Ziti knew there were at least thirty—most were black and chrome.
A biker bar. She’d never gone to a biker bar before. Arizona was proving to be a land of firsts for her.
Sand and dust swirled up into the air as they parked the car.
“Laney, is this place even safe for us to be at?” Ziti, suddenly worried that neither of them had a gun or even a knife for protection, reached to lock her door.
Laney laughed as she touched up her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “Honey, the only protection you might need here is condoms. Come on! Let’s let our hair down and have some serious fun with some of the most seriously gorgeous men around!”
Stepping out of the car, still worried about the rough and tumble look of the place, Ziti hesitated to close the door and give up that tiny perceived sanctuary of safety offered by the car. Laney held out her arm and motioned for Ziti to come with her.
“Come on, Ziti. I never imagined you would be such a chicken-heart. I thought I saw a wild side in you, hidden, but there and in serious need of drawing out.” She took Ziti’s arm. “This is the place to let that side out to play.”
Ziti weaved through the rows of Harleys and Indians with Laney. “If you say so.” The hard rock music blared even out in the parking lot and Ziti barely heard the low rumble-growl of the approaching motorcycle.
Turning at the door, Ziti saw a tall, muscular man dressed in jeans, boots, and a tee-shirt put the kickstand down on his ride. Stepping away from the motorcycle, he cut a sexily dashing figure against the backdrop of yellowish light thrown from the lone streetlamp at the edge of the parking lot.
His long black hair fell almost to his shoulders. His leg muscles worked under the snug, worn jeans in a way that made Ziti flush hot as she could see his package was also pushing against those jeans as he walked.
Then Laney was pulling her inside the joint and the door was closing between Ziti and the stud.
