One Week Later
“Who’s home?” Emmalee asks me with a panic in her voice rushing in my room. “Where’s your phone? Are we alone, like really alone?”
Her face is pale and the look of fear has me instantly on alert. Emmalee is never wound up like this.
“What’s wrong, Emmalee?”
She shakes her head. “Who is home, Diem? Right now, who is here?”
“I don’t know,” I reply sitting up in the bed and looking to the clock. I’m groggy from sleep and worried for my friend. “It’s not even eight in the morning, my parents are both probably home.” I start to look for my phone because both my parents text me when they leave so if I look I will know if they are home or not. “My phone is in my purse or on the charger. Damn it. I need to see if they text.”
“Ahhh,” she cries out in frustration. “Never mind. Forget who is here or not,” Her eyes grow wild. “Get up now!”
“What?” I screech as she tosses my robe at me.
She throws her hands up frantically. “Someone keyed our cars! I came over to hide mine from my dad, but when I pulled up, Diem, they got yours too. What the fuck?”
My car.
Someone keyed my car!
My dad is going to flip the fuck out.
No wonder Emmalee is freaked. Our dad’s may spoil us but they expect us to take care of the things they give us. Emmalee’s dad is more of a hard-ass than my own, but still, we will most definitely catch it for this.
In a rush, I don’t even look to see if anyone is home as I go outside with Emmalee. Sure enough, her Mustang is scratched all to hell. The hunter green paint job with custom gold flake in it is scratched all the way through the clear coat and color down to the primer. A paint job that her dad had done custom before Emmalee even got the car. He had the dealership work it in to the purchase price. The gold flake is real gold imported in or something crazy like that. Not only did Emmalee’s dad pay a steep price for the car, but Emmalee truly loves her ride.
I do too.
As if seeing her car isn’t bad enough, I turn my head to see my Mediterranean Blue BMW 3-series scratched all to hell, too. Worse than that, in silver paint on the hood is the word whore.
Anger.
Embarrassment.
Fury.
More anger.
All these emotions overwhelm me.
“Emmalee, what,” I don’t get to finish my sentence as my father walks out the side door into the driveway where I stand.
Thomas Reigns, the business mogul who no one can read, stands in front of me studying my car, and I swear there is steam practically coming out of his ears. He is out here in his navy blue suit with a crisp red shirt under it. His bald head shines under the morning sunlight. The reflection of my car in his glasses only stresses me more as he continues to stand there without speaking.
Silence is deafening, there has never been a truer statement than right now.
He reaches into his pocket, removing his wallet. He hands me two cards; one is a business card, and the other is his credit card.
“Take both cars to the shop. Get them redone, no matter the cost. Until your cars are ready, Emmalee, you can drive the Prius, and Diem, you drive the Range Rover. I want both cars gone now.” He lets out a frustrated groan. “Fix it, and I don’t even want to know what the two of you have done to stir this shit up.”
He doesn’t say another word as he walks back into the house. Contained fury is the way to describe my dad. While he’s intimidating to most, he’s always simply been dad to me. Right now, this side of him scares me. I don’t know who did this or why, but my dad obviously thinks I’m in some trouble.
Emmalee takes the cards from my hands and her mouth drops open. I don’t have time to think about any of that as my father’s words play over in my head.
What we’ve done? The words repeat over and over in my head. We haven’t done anything!
Emmalee and I have had trouble with other females being jealous in the past. Since her dad works for my dad, we have always attended private school together. As soon as people realize who my dad is the rumors start. It’s always something ridiculous like I’m a bitch to someone I’ve never even spoken to. It was so bad my freshman year of high school, Emmalee and I would eat lunch in the counselor’s office because the cafeteria was pure hell with the mean girls. This isn’t the first time someone has keyed my car, called me a whore, or worse. And I’ve never even cussed a person out.
I’m not a whore in the sense that I sleep around or I fuck other women’s boyfriends or husbands. I’ve never even kissed someone else’s boyfriend. Actually, I believe in the power of women being kind to one another. If a guy will cheat on his chick with me, then he’s going to cheat on me, so I don’t even go there. I’m clear headed enough to know I may be cute, but I’m not special in a way that makes me better than another person. I’m simply not that woman, the kind that tears other people down.
I thought being out of high school the nonsense would stop. Looking at my car, I can see I’m obviously wrong.
“He’s sending us into the lion’s den,” Emmalee states with shock written all over her face as she continues to stare at the business card..
“What?” I ask, overwhelmed by the sight in front of me. My car is a mess and she’s talking crazy. Why did someone key my car? Why touch Emmalee’s? Why? Why? Why? And to paint the word whore on it, who does that? While I’m not a nun, I’m not a whore either.
“Your dad is sending us to the Hellions’ garage.”
I am truly speechless. Okay, Emmalee is right, my dad is sending us straight into the lion’s den. I know where the garage is. And while driving my car with the word whore into a biker compound is embarrassing, with the reputation of the Hellions work, I know my car will be fixed like brand new. I also know it’s going to cost a lot because the Hellions aren’t cheap.
My dad is a serial entrepreneur. I can’t even pinpoint his exact businesses, but I know he has investments in everything and runs multiple businesses from his office in Morehead City. Emmalee’s father is my father’s attorney. I don’t know specifics, only that her dad works exclusively for my dad and has for as long as I can remember.
“Well, I don’t care where we have to go, we just have to get this done.”
That’s the thing about Thomas Reigns. When he tells you to get something done, it’s expected. I’m certainly not about to disobey him. My dad and I aren’t super close, but we get along, and I, for one, don’t want to rock the boat.
Rushing around, we go back inside. Running upstairs, I slide on some jeans and a sweater before throwing my hair in a messy bun.
In moments, Emmalee is following me to the Hellions’ garage in my currently messed up BMW. Our plan is to drop my car off, then come back and get hers. Since we have extra cars we will just leave them until they can fix them. While it sucks, this isn’t the end of the world.
We pull up to the building with five bays directly beside a completely gated compound. The only thing that is visibly from outside the gates are the three flags that fly in front of the big building. One is the Hellions flag, one is the American flag, and the last one is a POW/MIA flag. Unless you are part of the club, you don’t get to see behind the gate.
Everyone knows the Hellions in Haywood’s Landing. This garage is a staple, and so is their entire complex behind the chain-link fence lined on top with barbed wire. The mini storage facility lines up to the right of the garage. There aren’t many things the Hellions Motorcycle Club don’t have their hands in business wise.
More than that, it’s the way they carry themselves. Always together, rarely do you see any of them out alone. They are all confident. For being bikers, there isn’t a single one of them that isn’t sexy in this mysterious way.
The story around town is they were started by Blaine “Roundman” Reklinger and Rhett “Danza” Perchton as a way to protect their business and our town. Over time, the club has grown and now they cover all of the Carolinas. I don’t really know what any of that means, but I can say in Haywood’s Landing no one locks their doors because crime for the most part is non-existent here and that fact is one-hundred percent because of the Hellions Motorcycle Club.
I climb out of the car thinking I’ll just head inside and leave my keys. The quicker I get this done, the faster I can have my car back, and put this all behind me.
Except, Emmalee and I don’t make it to the door before two men emerge, meeting us in the parking lot.
There is a winter chill in the air so I wrap my arms around myself wishing I had pulled on a jacket over my sweater. Winter in the Carolinas is a mix of hot and cold. The nights are chilly and the days can range from thirties to sixties easily. Today obviously isn’t going to be all that warm.
My eyes catch the first man wearing jeans and a normal garage shirt with the sleeves cut off. His arms are huge and covered in tattoos. As I take him in, I realize I know this man.
My cheeks heat.
Someone put me out of my misery. This day is bad enough without seeing him, no matter how hot he is.
I want to crawl in a hole.
This cannot be happening.
Of all the things to be keyed on my car … the man who probably thinks I am a whore stands in front of me looking even better in daylight than he did in the club.
Regret is something I don’t like. This moment, I kind of regret hooking up with him. Not because it was irresponsible but because I don’t want him to think I really am easy. I already felt ridiculous about the night, and now it’s like I can’t escape him.
Frozen in place, I’m grateful when Emmalee steps in front of me and extends her hand to greet the men.
“I’m Emmalee, this is Diem. We need to drop off our cars for a repair.”
Neither man returns the gesture. Emmalee ungracefully pulls her hand back and shoves it in her pocket.
“Kick,” the other guy says, pointing in reference to the man I know far too intimately. “I’m Karma. You need mechanic work or body work?” he asks studying my car.
“Someone damaged my car and hers. We need them painted,” I finally manage to mutter.
Kick moves to my car, running his fingers over each of the scratches. “Body work, to blend properly we’re gonna need to strip it down, putty it, and bumper to bumper give it a coat.”
I nod my head, not sure what I should be saying.
“Budget?” he asks on a clip.
Emmalee hands him the credit card from my dad since she still had it from my house.
“Whatever it costs, that card should cover it. If not, call Mr. Reigns, and he will pay the bill. Also, my car was defaced as well,” Emmalee explains, “so if you have the time, we will be dropping it off as well.”
“Reigns is just getting this fixed, no retaliation? Hmm,” Kick says more to himself than any of us, still studying my car. “Shit’s deep. You know who marked it?”
I shake my head as the man who called himself Karma begins to take pictures of my car. “Not a clue. We woke up this morning and found the damage.”
“Reigns give you any clue if he knows who did it?” The man who called himself Karma asks, and I shake my head.
“You a whore?” Kick asks, lifting his head and looking right at me.
My cheeks flush. How dare him question me like this. I don’t care that I did hook up with him like a whore, he is just as equal a participant so why does he get to judge me.
The anger hits me, and I react. My hand hits the flesh of his cheek before I can stop myself. Instantly, I regret the move, but he doesn’t get angry. In fact, he smirks like he’s proud. He steps closer to me.
Inside, I want to turn and run, but I’m my father’s daughter, so I remain in place. How angry is he? I shouldn’t have slapped him. The man towers over me. This is ridiculous, I know better than to provoke a man like him. Yet, I lost my cool and smacked him. He’s got no reason to smile, but he is. I take a deep breath waiting for his retaliation.
“Never let anyone question a damn thing you do, spitfire. Hot as fuck watching you get angry. You give ‘em hell.” He nods proudly, “ I’ll get your car done. Leave your number in the office.”
Then, before I can form a reply, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Best pussy I’ve had all year. You were tight, spitfire. Far too tight to be a whore. I can still feel you around my cock.”
My entire body heats. My nipples harden, and I feel butterflies inside. At first, I’m flattered by his statement, but then it hits me—today is only the ninth day of the new year. Then the questions run through my mind. How many women has he fucked? Is this common for him? Is he the reason someone tagged my car? Are all bikers this crass? Will he actually fix my car? Does he know what he’s doing?
I stand in the parking lot dumbfounded.
Kick turns and walks away without another word to either of us. Karma begins to walk back to the garage behind Kick as Emmalee calls out, “What do we do next?”
Karma shouts without turning around, “Bring us the other car. Pami’s in the office, she’ll set ya up to get a call when we finish. Be ‘bout a month.”
My head spins.
The man who gave me the best orgasm of my life is part of the Hellions MC. Was I so drunk on New Year’s I didn’t pay attention? I remember the leather vest, but I never bothered to actually look at it. I was intoxicated by him, and frankly, the details didn’t matter at the time.
Now it’s all back in my face.
What a way to start a new year. Fuck my life.