CULVER: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (16 page)

Was
any
boy
worth that?

Alicia would say that he absolutely
was
worth it, and that once this all
blew over it would make a fantastic story. She’d probably enjoy it while it was
happening, anyway. She’d
love
to be
speeding down the road in a stolen car with a heartthrob like Boon, on the run.
Becky, of course, would slap me across the face and drag me home by my ear. I
sighed. I wished they were in the backseat. I wished I could just call them. I
thought of my phone sitting on the kitchen counter, where I’d left it.

Panic gripped my heart again. If those guys found
it…it had all my contact info inside, including Becky and Alicia’s numbers and
addresses. What if they went after them? The more I thought of all the things
that could possibly happen, the more I felt my heart crawling up towards my
throat, anxiety flooding my nerves. I was shaking again.

Boon looked over at me, and noticed how my hands were
trembling. He slowed the car and placed one hand over mine. It was so big
compared to my little hands…it felt safe, but in my mind I had to wonder how
safe I could really be. I mean, Boon was clearly as afraid of his father as I
was…if not more.

“I’m sorry, Samantha. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to
drag you into this. I…fuck! I’ll never have a single goddam good thing. He’ll
make sure of it. Until he’s buried in the ground, he’ll never let me have anything
good,” Boon said, his grip on my hand tightening. “You don’t deserve this. I
don’t deserve you.”

The car was slowing more and more as he spoke.

“Don’t stop, Boon. Let’s just get there and get safe
and we can figure it out,” I said, looking at him in the rearview mirror. He
looked pained. Genuinely hurt. I knew I cared about him, then, because I would
have done or said anything to take that look off his face. It hurt me to see.

The car picked up speed again and I directed him to a
deserted country road. The Clamhouse was about twenty miles or so down the
road, which was potholed and bumpy. We rode in silence, watching the suburbs
give way to forest as the houses grew fewer and far between. Finally, we
arrived at the shuttered, boarded-up farmhouse. There was another car parked
out front. My heart skipped a beat;
fuck,
I thought,
this better just be some
teenagers.

“Who else knows about this place?” Boon said, a hint
of suspicion in his voice. While I couldn’t say I blamed him, it also hurt me a
little bit to hear that hesitation to trust me.

“Just kids, I think. I mean, maybe the cops know, but
they never come out here. Kids just use it for parties and…and stuff,” I said
as Boon parked and unplugged the wires, killing the engine. I got out, slamming
the door loudly.

“Wait, Samantha, are you sure it’s safe?” Boon asked,
leaning out the open door but not getting out of the car.

“Well, unless someone in your gang drives a Kia Sentra
and knows that this is where teenagers go to have sex, then yeah, I’m pretty
sure it’s safe,” I said over my shoulder as I approached the front of the
house. There was a broken window that people usually used to get in. I heard
the car door slam as Boon got out, then felt his presence behind me. I peered
through the window; it was dark inside, too dark to see anything.

“Let me go first,” Boon said. I heard a swishing
sound; turning to him, I saw he’d pulled a switchblade and had it open, ready
to go if the situation called for it. Seeing the blade reminded me of just what
sort of shit we were in.
There are
murderous bikers ransacking my house, I stole a car, and now I’m breaking into
the Clamhouse to hide,
I thought, tallying up the unbelievable chain of
events that had led me there.
I’m
Samantha Perkins, I’m 18, and I start school in September. I work at an
ice-cream shop. I’m not a virgin anymore. I own fourteen snow globes.

For a bunch of things that were true, none of those
thoughts made any sense when put next to each other. This couldn’t really be my
life.

I was snapped out of my reverie by the sound of Boon
hoisting himself through the broken window. He disappeared then reappeared on
the other side, and I watched him walk into the darkness. My heart sped up once
more as I tried to make out his figure amongst the shadows. There was the sound
of movement, then a banging noise.

“Get the fuck out,” Boon’s voice came, loud and
strained, from inside. It made me jump in place. Seconds later, there was the
sound of footsteps, and before I could even move out of the way I was knocked
over by someone vaulting themselves out of the broken window.

“Ooof! Fuck! Get the fuck outta here, there’s a guy
with a knife! Jesus, hurry up, Ginny!” The person who had landed on top of me
scrambled to his feet; he was wearing only a t-shirt and pair of boxers and was
already halfway to the car before his companion, a short brunette wrapped in a
sheet, fell out of the window behind him, squealing.

I lay on the ground, trying to get my mind together,
listening the Kia’s doors slam shut as the engine turned on. I leaned up onto
my elbows and watched the car screech away down the dirt road, bobbing up and
down and back and forth on the road. It all would have been comical under
different circumstances. Boon’s head popped back through the window. He nodded,
beckoning me inside.

I stood up, brushing dirt from my dress and crawling
in after him. Once inside, you could see a little clearer. Light streamed in
from spaces between the boards in the windows. There was a dingy looking
mattress in the corner, and some blankets and sheets strewn about it. I
shivered; it was much colder inside than the sunny day outside.

Being inside, I felt safe but depressed. All the panic
and anxiety had faded to a low hum of sadness. Being in the Clamhouse was
depressing. Knowing that boys took girls here to screw on the dirty mattress
was depressing. Not knowing what was going to happen was depressing. I wanted
to leave, to go outside and go home and hug my parents and call my friends.

Boon came close to me, reaching his arms around me and
pulling me into an embrace. I breathed deeply, his smell my only solace.
Everything was going wrong, but being in his arms felt so
right.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that I finally found him,
that we finally found each other, and that it had to happen alongside all this
mess. But I was so tired…too tired to be really angry about it. Too tired to
feel anything, really, but lost and sad. I let him rock me back and forth
gently, slowly. Looking up, his eyes were on mine. They were full of their own
sadness.

“I’m so sorry, Samantha. I’m so, so sorry,” he said. I
dropped my head again, pressing it against his firm chest, feeling his heart beat.
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but I knew it was. It was his fault,
and my fault, and my father’s fault, and his father’s fault.

You’ve really
done it this time, Samantha. Good luck good-girling your way out of this.

~
26
~

We sat on the dirty mattress and watched the light
change. We didn’t speak much, just held each other. Or, more appropriately,
Boon held me. He held me and listened to me waver between demanding to leave
and crying and bemoaning my future. I’ll give him that: he was way more patient
than he needed to be with me. He just held me, his presence constant and
reassuring.

When the light started to fade and the shadows grew
longer, I felt my stomach rumble. I was, in the midst of everything else,
hungry.
That’s the least of your worries,
I thought to myself, but Boon had heard it, too.

“We should have brought some food,” he said, his voice
low.

“It’s okay. I mean, we can leave soon, you think,
right? When can we leave?” I’d asked before, but he hadn’t given me any sort of
useful answer. Now, I hoped, with a concrete
reason
to leave, he would share his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” he said. I felt my irritation flaring
up.

“Well, we’re not just going to sit in this crappy old
house forever. I mean, my parents are probably filling out a police report
right now, and if your dad’s not in cuffs already…”

I was interrupted by a mechanical sound. At the same
time the sound buzzed through the air, I felt the pocket of Boon’s pants
vibrating behind me.

“You have your phone?” I said, louder than I meant to.
I whipped around to face him, staring at his pocket as it buzzed. He looked at
me, eyes wide with fright. “Take it out, dammit! Answer it! Jesus Christ, why
didn’t you tell me you had a
phone?!”

“He doesn’t know I have it, it can’t be him, this is
just a burner I picked up on the road! It can’t be traced to me!” He said,
rising to his feet. I followed suit, confused.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?
Give it to me, I need to call…”

“No way. We have no idea who’s calling! And who are
you going to call?”

“Uh, my parents? My friends? They’ll be wondering
where I am! They’ll be sick out of their minds!” I reached for Boon, grabbing
his jeans by the belt loop. He struggled, pulling back, but I was quick. I
reached into his pocket and grabbed the phone. Glancing at the cover, I nearly
threw the phone onto the mattress. The caller ID had my name.

“It’s me. It’s my phone,” I said, looking at Boon,
incredulous. It meant that
someone
had
found my phone and found Boon’s number in my contacts. But it could be
anyone.
It could be the police, it could
be his father, it could be
my
father.
And if I picked up…

“If you pick up and it’s someone we don’t want to talk
to, they could trace the call,” Boon said, finishing my own thought before I
could even think it.

“But if it’s someone we want to talk to….”

It was too late. The phone stopped buzzing. I waited,
staring at the phone, to see if anyone would leave a voicemail. After a minute
with no indication, I looked back up at Boon.

“I have to call my Dad,” I said, pointedly, wanting to
invite no argument. He looked at me, his eyes full of fear. I knew what he was
afraid of. Any sort of truce that could have existed between him and my father
was probably broken now. And if his father and gang had been rounded up
already, he could be facing serious charges alongside them. But we couldn’t
just stay in hiding, and I reminded him of that.

“We’re going to have to leave sometime,” I said,
reaching out to stroke his arm, hoping to give him some of the comfort that he
always managed to give me just with his touch. I don’t think it worked.

“We could go to Mexico,” he said, desperation in his
voice. “Samantha, I don’t want to go to jail.”

“I know, but you won’t. I mean…I don’t think you will.
I mean…I don’t know, Boon.”

“Samantha, you don’t understand. The last job we did
before Vegas I…I didn’t want to but…he made it impossible!” His voice was
frantic now, and he was stuttering over his words. I felt, for the first time,
the extent of the trouble he could be in.

“What did you do, Boon? What did he make you do?”

There was silence between us. Whatever it was, it was
big. He didn’t want to tell me. We were, essentially, fugitives together,
hiding out in an abandoned farmhouse, and yet there was something so horrible
that he still couldn’t tell me. I took a step closer to him, my hand gripping
his arm, my eyes looking into his.
Trust
me,
I thought, trying to telepathically send him the message.

“I killed someone,” he blurted out. My heart froze, my
blood stopping mid-pump, my brain skipping like a record.

“What?” I knew what he’d said. I’d heard him just
fine. I just didn’t
believe
it. Boon,
a murderer? I’d known he’d done some bad things but…

And I’d let him…

And I’d trusted him…

And he hadn’t told me…

“Well, I didn’t kill him. I swear, Samantha, it wasn’t
me that killed him. I just…I didn’t stop them. So I might as well have killed
him. I might as well have delivered the last blow…and he was just an innocent
old man…he never threatened us, we didn’t need to…”

Boon’s head hung low as he spoke, his shoulders
slumped. My hand dropped from his arm as I processed everything he was saying.

“He was just an old man, Samantha. He was working at a
gas station. He couldn’t have hurt us. He wasn’t doing anything…he was just
there.
We could have left him alone. He
was nearly pissing his pants he was so afraid. He wouldn’t have done anything,
and it wouldn’t have
mattered.
But
Dad…he’s…I told you, Samantha, he’s gone fucking
crazy!
”

“Boon, you didn’t kill that man. What could you have
done? What would they have done to
you
if
you’d stepped in? You can’t…”

“I fucking CAN, Samantha. I watched them do it, and I
didn’t say a damn thing, didn’t even lift a finger. We never…we never…not like
that. Maybe a dealer who screwed us, maybe a crooked cop, maybe even a
double-dealing banker, but not just an innocent old man. Not someone who didn’t
ask for it, one way or another. I mean, I know, it’s messed up no matter who it
is, but some asshole dealer selling smack to kids, you kinda feel justified.
But he was just…so
defenseless
,
Samantha….”

I moved forward, this time being the one to take Boon
in my arms. I wished he’d had a different life. I wished he didn’t have to
struggle with this. I wished for so many things. But it didn’t change the fact
that I couldn’t just go to Mexico with him. I couldn’t hide him. I couldn’t
protect him.

We had to leave, to come out of hiding, go to the
police…and that’s what I told him as we embraced, the words slightly muffled as
I spoke into his neck. The phone was still in my hand. I pulled back and began
to dial my father’s number. Boon grabbed my hand, trying to pull the phone
away. I backed up further, looking at him and shaking my head.

“I have to,” I said, my voice breaking. “I have to.”

There was silence again as we looked at each other,
each fighting our own demons. Finally, Boon sighed and closed his eyes.

“Can you call someone else first? Just…not your
father. Not him first,” Boon said, sounding defeated. I nodded. I could call
Alicia or Becky first; if anything, they would at least have some idea of what
was going on. I quickly dialed Becky’s number, needing her good sense and clear
thinking.

The phone rang three times before she picked up,
saying “hello” curiously. She wouldn’t have known the number that came up on
caller ID. I turned away from Boon as I spoke.

“Becky, it’s Samantha,” I said, whispering for no
reason.

“Sammy! Oh holy fuck, holy fuck, Alicia, it’s Sammy!”
Becky said the last part away from the phone, and I realized they were
together. I could also tell, by the tone of her voice, that they did, in fact,
know what was going on. “Sammy, where are you? Are you safe? Are you
with…them?”

There was the sound of a struggle on the other end of
the line, and before I could respond I heard Alicia’s voice coming through.

“If this is a hostage thing and they’re making you
talk, say ‘everything is swell’,” she said. I rolled my eyes and smiled,
despite myself.
One too many horror
movies, Alicia,
I thought. As though, if I were kidnapped, my kidnappers
wouldn’t be listening to every word on the other end of the line, and wouldn’t
think it strange if I used the term “swell”.

“I’m not kidnapped, Alicia, I’m with Boon. We saw his
gang pull up outside the house and booked it. Guys…we’re in trouble. We…we
stole a car…and….what’s happening? Are Mom and Dad okay? Please say they’re
okay,” I said, eyes shut tight, praying for a quick response.

My prayer went unanswered. The longer the silence on
the other end of the line, the more my heart fell.

“Sammy, it’s bad,” Becky said, apparently having taken
the phone back from Alicia. “You need to come home, now. Your dad…your dad’s
okay, he’s okay, Sammy, but you need to come home. He’s in the hospital. You
need to go see him. He’s okay, though, he’ll be fine.”

“What about Mom? What about my mom? Becky, is Mom
okay?” My voice broke as I spoke; my father in the hospital? Because of me.
Because of me and Boon. He’d probably been shot trying to save me while I was
on the highway getting myself to safety…it was all my fault…tears began to
spill down my cheeks.

“You just…you need to come home,” Becky said, her
voice like she was trying to hold back tears herself.

“Becky, you tell me right fucking now what’s wrong.
Where is my mom? Did they…oh God, Becky, did they…fuck, Becky, please,” I knew
my voice was growing louder and higher with each word as panic struck me. Why
wouldn’t she tell me? Why wouldn’t she just tell me that Mom was okay?

There was more scuffling sounds, and Alicia’s voice
came through.

“Sammy, your mom is with them. She’s with the club.
They took her. She’s alive, we think, but they’re holding her hostage,” Alicia
said, serious for once. I dropped the phone and fell to my knees, a wail
escaping my throat.

“Samantha! Sammy, come home! Don’t….” I could hear,
faintly, Alicia’s voice coming from the phone. It didn’t mean anything to me.
Neither did Boon’s hands on my shoulders. Neither did the wood that dug into my
bare knees. Neither did the raw pain in my throat. Nothing got in, and the only
thing that got out was screaming.

My beautiful, happy, kind, generous mother…with
them.
What were they doing to her, right
then? Were they hurting her? Jesus Christ, were they
raping
her? They could kill her any minute…

“Samantha, you need to get up,” Boon’s voice cut
through my breakdown like a saber. He grabbed me by my armpits, pulling me off
the ground like a ragdoll. I heaved with sobs, watching him lean down and pick
the phone up off the ground. He tried to hand it to me but I only flailed my arms
and cried harder. Instead, he brought the phone to his own ear.

“Which of you is this?” he asked, then listened for a
moment.

“Did they shoot him?”…. “And they don’t know where
they’re keeping her?” … “No, I don’t know…I can’t take her…because I can’t!” …
“I know, I know” …. “Well then one of you come and get her! And don’t tell
anyone I’m here, please!” … “Yeah, I know, I want myself to fuck off, too, but
that’s not the important thing right now” …. “I don’t know, she said something
about clams or crabs or....” … “Yes, yes, the Clamhouse, yeah, that sounds
right” …. “Well, okay, fine, then just be quick, please” …. “I KNOW, I KNOW I’m
a shithead, okay? Just get here!”

Hearing only one end of the conversation was one
impediment to knowing what was actually going on; the other impediment was that
I was an absolute wreck. I couldn’t think straight to save my life. I just kept
seeing my mother tied up, scared, bloody…and worse. Boon flipped the phone shut
and rushed to my side, holding me once more. This time, though, it wasn’t
enough to calm me down. I pushed him away, tears and snot running down my face,
hair a mess, dress dirty: I looked exactly how I felt.

“Your friends are coming to get you, Samantha. I’m so
sorry. I should never have brought you here. I just needed to know you were
safe…”