I'm With You (Reapers MC: Shasta Chapter Book 1) Page 7

  Soon, my sister returns to dozing. River focuses on the movie, grimacing at an especially nasty scene. I sit in the dark room, texting Ramona to see if she’s okay. It’s only ten, and I assume she’s awake.

  But Ramona doesn’t respond for two hours. And when she does, her words are misspelled. I assume she’s half-asleep. Then I wonder if she’s on meds for pain.

  This thought returns my rage-boner to full staff. I wish I could see her or even talk to her. Based on her text, she’s barely coherent. Which makes her response even more satisfying. Ramona could easily have blown me off for the night. Or played up her suffering to get me riled up to go after her enemies. Chicks play a lot of games, but Ramona seems to suck at them.

  I head upstairs to crash on my king-sized bed that’s far too large for the room’s square footage. I had more space in my parents’ place in Ellsberg. One day, I might get a house of my own with more room to stretch out. I even catch myself imagining living with Ramona. Despite being half-asleep, I know I’m losing my mind a little with this woman. Fuck it, though. Sanity’s overrated.

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THEY DISAPPOINT THE HATERS

  THE LEGACY

  This morning, the mirror isn’t my friend. My top lip is busted, and my lower one is swollen. My left eye is bruised near the bridge of my nose, and my right eye is purple near my cheekbone. Makeup fixes a lot of those problems. My hair, though, is just short, and there’s no way to pretend otherwise.

  “Should I wear a hat?” I ask a sleepy Kelsi while she pees in the bathroom, where I beautify myself.

  “No.”

  “But,” I mumble, running my hands through my short, black bob.

  “If you hide your hair, people will think you’re embarrassed. If you wear it loud and proud, people will think it doesn’t bother you. Better to lie and disappoint the haters rather than to be honest and give them something to celebrate.”

  Flushing the toilet, she nudges me aside so she can wash her hands. “Are you going to have a problem with me hanging out at the Saloon this weekend?”

  “No more than usual.”

  “I won’t mess around with Shane.”

  I open my mouth to mention how she shouldn’t be messing around with any guy I might be dating. Then I catch her grinning and realize I’m an easily conned dipshit.

  “What if Shane doesn’t like my hair?”

  “Then he can dump you now and show up again when it grows out,” she says, walking into the kitchen, where we stare into a nearly-empty fridge. “What happened to our food?”

  “Max cooked what was left last night, and we never went shopping this week.”

  “I feel as if we should blame Hugh since he isn’t here to defend himself.”

  We pause to listen for him to complain. Apparently, he isn’t home.

  “I can’t keep his work schedule straight,” Kelsi says and reaches up into the cabinets for a pouch of oatmeal. “He’s picking up shifts at three different places.”

  Frowning, I remember a time when people in Shasta could get full-time work. Now the only ones with forty-hour weeks are at the plant, but it’s rarely hiring. The rest of us struggle to pull together thirty.

  “Don’t forget we have the wedding tomorrow,” I tell Kelsi once we’re eating our cereal.

  “No booze tonight. Gotcha.”

  I think to ask Kelsi for advice about Shane, but that’s lame. I’ve dated before. I’m also afraid to get too hung up on Shane and then look like a loser when he dumps me. Kelsi will still need to hang around him at the Saloon. No reason to create bad blood.

  While I hate Kelsi going to that place, I won’t ruin her fun. She isn’t like my mom, getting hooked on a single asshole, and losing sight of everything else. She’s more like her mom, looking for the kind of fun only a biker’s dick can provide.

  I’m not immune to the power of biker dick myself. I figured I was since I never wanted to hook up with any before. Yet the thought of Shane has me checking my appearance for like ten minutes before I go to meet him.

  I’m nearly shaking as I leave the ladies' room and walk outside. I want so badly to be cool about him rejecting me. Life isn’t all about hot men. I have great friends and a cool job. I don’t need a man to be happy. However, Shane is just too sexy not to want to keep around for a little longer.

  A lot of guys would meet me at the Emporium rather than waiting around at the front of the station. I don’t know why it makes me smile so much to see Shane leaning against the brick wall of my workplace. Maybe it’s his confidence. Men often want to seem as if they don’t care. It’s a con to make themselves macho or whatever. Not Shane, though, and I like the idea of him being different. People who are like other people don’t like me, and I really want him to like me.

  My smile fades when I notice the rage in his eyes. He gets one look at me, and all the softness disappears from his expression. I’m suddenly very aware that my hair is too short, and I feel exposed without it draping my shoulders. It acted as my armor in a world where everyone's always taking shots at me.

  Running my hand over my bare neck, I step back and struggle to return to my earlier cool chick indifference. On the radio, I even addressed the fight. Yeah, my sisters and I threw down. Yes, the jealous hags hacked off my hair. No, I didn’t lose any teeth. Yeah, I’m sporting the kind of short haircut that my sisters couldn’t pull off.

  I played my role well on air. Now with Shane, I’m unable to even fake a smile. “You hate it,” I babble, again messing with my hair.

  Shane snaps out of his angry stupor and moves toward me. I flinch instinctively. He’s a big guy, and my face already hurts. I know he won’t hit me, but backing away feels like the smart move.

  Hesitating now, Shane reaches out and lightly stroke my lips with his thumb. “This is what I hate.” His dark eyes find mine, and he adds in a softer voice, “Your hair looks sexy.”

  “No,” I babble, immediately flushed with confidence after hearing the word “sexy.”

  Shane sees his opening and leans down to press his lips against my bare throat. “Yes.”

  My entire body turns into silly string. I struggle to keep my knees from buckling and dropping my ass on the ground. Shane’s gaze finds mine again, and he studies me.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “No. I’m tough, you know?”

  “Oh, I know,” he says, sliding my hand into his. “Let’s get a cup of coffee.”

  We walk across the street to the Emporium, where a handful of locals stop talking and look at us. Shane locks gazes with a few people, forcing them to flinch. He’s impressively scary, especially wearing only a white T-shirt and showing off his club tats. If Shane wants to make a scene, he’s doing a fine job of it.

  “Do you want the same coffee as yesterday?” he asks me, sounding far softer than his menacing expression.

  When I nod, he orders our drinks and then carries them to a table. I follow him around like a clueless kid. I was so worried about his reaction to my hair that I hadn’t planned for anything past it. Now I sit across from him and stare at Shane’s handsome face.

  “Do your sisters pull this shit often?” he asks while I fight the urge to reach over and caress his bearded jaw.

  “People fight in Shasta.”

  “And fuck, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. There’s nothing to do around here except fight, fuck, and get buzzed on something.”

  “But do those fapsocks mess with you a lot?” When I just shrug, he leans closer. “Because this is feeling like a dig at me.”

  “How?”

  “You were seen with me. Those fapsocks attacked you. Unless you say they do that shit all the time, then it seems like they’re punishing you over dating me. That makes it personal,” Shane says and then adds in an icy cold voice, “And I don’t brush off shit that’s personal.”

  “It was more about me.”

  “Like how?”

  “They think of me as a traitor.”

  “How?”

&nbs
p; “Because I do traitorous things, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know,” he says, giving me a little smile. “What did they say when they attacked you?”

  “It was just a fight.”

  “Did you cut off their hair?”

  “No, but I made them bleed.”

  “Good,” Shane says, and pride warms his gaze. “But I still want to know why they came after you. What specific traitorous thing did you do to bring on their attack?”

  “It wasn’t really an attack.”

  “They jumped you while you were out walking Hilly.”

  First, I’m startled by how he knows my dog’s name. Then I remember that I babble in between songs on the radio.

  Second, why am I shocked that Shane knows the details about yesterday? People made videos, and he lives in Shasta. I guess I figured since he and I managed to never run into each other for months that we lived in two separate worlds.

  Of course, he learned plenty once he spotted me, and I could easily track down lots of info on him now. I’ve chosen not to since I’d rather only hear what he wants to share.

  I doubt Shane embraces my philosophy regarding gossip. Besides, no one will let him keep his head down. He and the Reapers run Shasta now. People will trip over themselves for a chance to kiss his ass by sharing details. It’s what the locals did with Fuse too.

  “They were angry that I was dating the guy who killed their dad,” I whisper, leaning closer. “Two coffees and people assume we’re together.”

  “We are.”

  I’m a little startled by his tone when he says those two words. There’s something endearing about his certainty. And a little scary too, if I’m honest. Shane wants what he wants, and I’m not sure what I want matters all that much. That’s how it was with Fuse too.

  THE ROMANTIC

  Ramona looks sexy as fuck with her short haircut. Then again, she looked sexy as fuck with long hair. I think maybe I just find her sexy as fuck.

  What isn’t hot is the bruising and swelling barely hidden under her makeup. My blood boils when I think of Fuse’s other daughters attacking Ramona. Ever after watching a bit of the video, I can’t picture the bitches well. My brain erases information on people I find uninteresting while memorizing everything about those who matter. That’s why I can remember exactly what Ramona wore the first day I saw her, but I still can’t fucking recall her fapsock sisters’ names.

  “They were angry that I was dating the guy who killed their dad,” Ramona whispers to me as if their accusation is a secret in Shasta. “Two coffees and people assume we’re together.”

  “We are.”

  Ramona looks startled when I say we’re a couple. I try to see shit from her point of view. When we met, I lied to her. The next day, I got real with her. On day three, I’m staking my claim. Seems about right from my point of view. However, apparently in Shasta, dating involves something more. Like maybe I need to feed her a few times for us to be considered a couple.

  Or maybe I’m just a dick. Like, for me, Ramona’s been mine since I first saw her, and that was weeks ago. I’ve been thinking about her every day, learning what I could about her from online postings and her on air time. Ramona doesn’t feel like a stranger. But to her, I’m a sexy liar who killed her dad and inspired two bitches to pound on her. I haven’t really done anything good for her yet. Paying for coffees doesn’t count.

  “Let’s have dinner tonight,” I say, reaching over to take her hand in mine.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you in pain? Is that why you’re unsure?”

  “No, it’s just that I’m really busy, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say, thinking hard about the right words. “But I feel we need to move things along. There’s a lot of pressure and eyes on us. We should go on a real date and hang out for more than twenty minutes. That way, we’ll know if being together is worth the trouble.”

  Ramona’s face is too fucking open. Everything she feels gets worked out for everyone to see. I hate that. She needs to hide better. Not from me, of course. However, I don’t want people taking advantage of her.

  Still, I can tell my words hit the mark. She likes me, but us dating will cause her way more fucking problems than it’ll cause me. What if I’m just using her for sex? Or if we quickly hate each other? Why not hurry up and figure out if we really click before she ends up suffering more than she already has?

  “Should I go home and change?” she asks, looking nervous.

  “You look perfect.”

  Smiling now, Ramona sips her coffee and admires me. She’s settling down, and I could watch her forever. My chest tightens at the sight of the little grin she wears when she thinks I’m not looking. It’s different than her casual smile. More like a kid excited about what happens next. Or a girl unaccustomed to nice things, and I’m the best damn thing she’s seen.

  “What do you like to eat?” I ask and then say before I can stop myself, “Besides tacos.”

  Ramona looks ready to ask how I know but then probably remembers how she talks about herself on the radio. The taco thing was something she said about her plans for the weekend. Apparently, her friend Max is a taco wizard.

  “I had them for dinner last night,” Ramona says. “What do you like to eat?”

  “Meat. Corn on the cob. Potatoes.”

  “What kind of meat?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Steak, hot dogs, anything will do.”

  Her vague smile tells me she’s thinking about places around here. “Do you mind eating in the Railroad?”

  “Why would I?”

  “You’re from the Boulders.”

  “You know I don’t care about that.”

  “Because you’ve got an Ellsberg's brain. In Shasta, people care.”

  “It’s dumb.”

  “Didn’t you have people in Ellsberg that were considered trash because of where they lived?”

  I think back to my hometown. Yeah, there are a couple of families that everyone looks down at—namely the Roches and the Mullens. I can also think of a few run-down homes that most townies mocked. Shasta just takes that judgment shit to the next level.

  “Do you dream of living in the Boulders?” I ask, and Ramona’s eyes widen.

  “Sure. It’s nicer, but no one will want me there.”

  “If you have the money to buy a house in the Boulders, who the fuck cares if they want you there? Do you think they want my crew and me living next door?”

  Ramona seems unnerved by my tone. Her body adjusts in the chair as if casually moving away from me. I don’t think I’m acting overly hostile, but her expression tells me otherwise.

  Then Ramona surprises me by smiling. “You live in the ghost house,” she says and starts laughing. “I can’t picture you in that fancy, old-lady house.”

  “Come over this Saturday and check it out.”

  “I’m working then. I could come by Sunday.”

  “Working how?” I ask, irritated for some reason.

  “I’m DJing a wedding. Max is catering, and Kelsi and Hugh are serving.”

  “I didn’t realize you did that,” I mumble, bothered by how I don’t know every single thing there is to know about Ramona Alberta Verhees.

  “I don’t get much work since I moved back, but I used to do two weddings a month.”

  “Do you like DJing?”

  “Usually. Sometimes, I get hired by a couple with crappy taste in music.”

  “Do you mean country?”

  Grinning, she looks at where I still hold her hand. “No, I mean black metal. No one can dance to that shit, and music at receptions is meant to inspire dancing.”

  “So, do they give you a list of what music they want?”

  “Sometimes or I give suggestions based on their tastes. Everyone is different. Some brides want to control it all. Others are so overwhelmed by important stuff like gowns and flowers that they don’t care about the music as long as it doesn’t offend anyone.”

  “I li
ke how your face lights up when you talk about work.”

  Ramona gives me a shy grin that makes my heart race and my dick harden. “My jobs don’t pay well, but they’re fun. I can’t imagine sitting in an office all day. Though I was a stocker at Walmart back in high school.”

  “See, this is why we’ll have dinner tonight. Then on Sunday, you’ll come over. We need to see if we keep clicking.”

  “Are we clicking, though?”

  Not answering immediately, I give her the blank expression I save for when people are pissing me off, but I don’t want to scare them. Ramona’s entire demeanor changes when she thinks I’m unhappy with her. I have to make sure she isn’t playing me. Chicks excel at games, and I might have created something in my head with Ramona that she isn’t feeling too. When I see her worried eyes, I get the reassurance I crave.

  “Yeah, we’re clicking,” I say as my thumb strokes her palm. “I don’t chase women. I don’t wait for them to get on the same page as me. But I’ll do both for you. So, yeah, we’re clicking, Ramona.”

  “Well, that’s good to know,” she says in a voice that trembles more than she likely wants. “I’m sure we’ll know by Monday. You know, after spending so much time together.”

  Ramona sounds nervous. I know how she feels. I’ve invested a lot of emotional energy into the idea that this woman is special, and we’re meant for each other. I’ve stalked, plotted, and lied to get to this moment. Soon, we’ll know if I was chasing a fantasy that’ll never become a reality.

  THE LEGACY

  I don’t like pushing myself. When I challenge myself with uncomfortable situations, I always regret it. I never build character or confidence. I don’t become a better person from facing something tough.

  Like I thought moving to Cleveland would help me improve myself. I just ended up sleeping for twelve hours on most days and barely remembering to eat. I fell into a deep funk that might have swallowed me up. Fortunately, Fuse’s death offered an excuse for me to return to Shasta.