FOUND: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (11 page)

I only wish I could remember the name he gave it... It was such a funny name.

~ Chapter Eleven ~

Another hot morning, another night I wish I could forget...

At the hotel sleep was an impossibility. The ringing in my head continued for what was left of the night. By the time the painkillers kicked the sun was rising. I lay on those cheap motel sheets, between sleep, and counted down the minutes until I would be back in San Francisco.
I
not
we
. What I experienced tonight taught me the difference. Jerome and me were through. I would drive with him back up north, but the instant we walk through the door I'm collecting my things and leaving. It didn't matter to where. I would sleep on the streets if I had to.

The wound above my eye, slightly at the edge of my eyebrow and running towards my ear, was the width of a dime. It bled all night and soaked through half the toilet paper in the room. I thanked my lucky stars when the blood ran dry and the wound began to resemble a small slash from a razor blade rather than the indentation of a fist. Small mercies and all. I guess.

Under a couple of band-aids and my large black sunglasses, you couldn't tell it was there. I knew how to hide things like this from the world. It's happened too often in this relationship. Of course, the truth is I would have taken stitches over the pain still droning through my brain.

I stumbled into the hotel dizzy. My vision was doubled and I could barely stay awake. Only an act of will forced my concussion down. Though with the morning sun well and truly up, its affects lingered on. The pain was bad, like nothing I experienced before. Even moving sent a spike driving through my skull. If I hadn't drunk those cocktails at the club I would have driven straight to the hospital. However, what with the alcohol in my system, I didn't need the hassle of the questions I would surely be asked.

What about Jerome? Anyone watching would have told me I should have gone right then. Left him coked up in that horrible club and then never looked back. It's easy when you're on the outside.

Unfortunately the blow to the head stopped me. I barely managed to find my way back here even with directions on a screen. Driving out and all that way home would have been impossible.

I know I have to go. I'm leaving him the second we reach San Francisco. I'll grab my bags and be done with him. Focus on that Cassie, I told myself. Over and over.

It wasn't until the early afternoon, after I crossed the street and grabbed a quick breakfast at the diner opposite, when he returned. Jerome's steps pounded up the stairs to the room and he nearly crashed through the door. His suit was sweaty and crumpled. The bags were heavy under his eyes. The lines on his face deeper than I remembered. He looked a mess.

We didn't say anything to each other, we didn't have to.

I sat with my back to him, trying to apply make up to cover the bruise that quickly formed on my forehead. Jerome crashed into the chair by the bed opposite. Eyes bugging, bloodshot and craving sleep.

What struck me the most was his smell. Sweat, booze and sex. Previously the latter would have tormented me. The worry and knowledge of him fucking women on the side constantly ruined me during our years together.

But today, in the light of a new morning, I felt nothing. I didn't care anymore. What he did barely mattered. All I wanted was the easy path until I could leave him. I told myself to just keep my head down and I'll be out of our apartment with my bags packed five minutes after arriving home. If we kept to schedule it wouldn't be long now.

Jerome would have been up all night. Hell, the wrap he took contained enough coke for a week. Unsurprisingly, there appeared to be no evidence of its existence on him. Those ounces were lost to the world forever up his nostrils.

With my makeup applied, I turned to him. “Shouldn't we be going? You've got a deadline to keep.”

Sunk in the chair with his head bowed, he groaned. “Goddamn, bitch... Don't talk to me. My head is fucking ringing. I got too much going on inside to deal with your shit. I got to deal with cutting the shit still...”

He didn't have my sympathy. Especially when the head ringing I experienced as much worse.

Finally, when more silence passed, he began moving. Slow, sloping movements around the room. Grabbing a glass of water at first. Before heading to the bathroom and staring at his drawn, unwashed face in the mirror. Then going down the the car to grab the bags. He didn't worry about anyone seeing. He grabbed two at once and casually brought them back inside. The guns inside halt sticking out.

The change that overcame him when he started to cut the drugs was almost comical. He looked so serious while emptying coke onto an upturned wall mirror and dropping handfuls of ingredients he purchased yesterday into the mix. He focused with his all, but appeared the fool. I'm sure in his mind he considered himself something of an alchemist – a wizard of the streets, but, with the opened bag of powdered milk to his side and baking soda split onto his lap, I considered him an ass. There was no rhyme or reason in what he did. His scooping and mixing with a credit card was beyond a joke. Boyd and the gang up in Midnight would have to be half asleep for this to go unnoticed.

Boyd
...

His name rode through my mind again. Sure, as I sat there overnight moments of spite made me consider wanting to reveal Jerome's plan of shorting them on the deal. I could have found a number easy for the MC and told them all.

But I didn't. Ratting on Jerome would do nothing expect get him killed. I wouldn't want that even after all he has done. I'm not like that. I'm not like him. I couldn't live with a death on my conscience. I don't know much about motorcycle clubs past the fact they're not to be messed with.

Eventually Jerome began emptying his mixture into the original bags and taped each one up. They didn't look perfect, though I had to admit they would probably have passed a quick inspection. After completing the final one he gave me a smug smile. Satisfied that he managed to get two whole bricks worth of coke of his own from the delivery.

It's all on you, Jerome. It's all on you
, I thought to myself.

While he showered I waited in the car and counted down the minutes until we could get back on the road. When he got done checking out he revealed it was me who would be driving back up north today. He wasn't in the mood apparently. Before we left he made me stop for coffee, fast food and a bottle of malt liquor. He needed all three to cure his hangover.

The exit out of Crenshaw was a sea of bleak gray concrete and recently felled tree trunks. This wasn't a place I would ever want to return to again.

~ Chapter Twelve ~

What's in a nickname
?

“Hey son,” Mr Vendrell called out, arching his neck into the tent where all us kids sat, “You kids sensible enough to fend for yourselves for an hour? My friend needs picking up.”

“Sure dad,” Boyd replied. “We're good. I got everyone under control.”

It goes without saying that we couldn't. We were probably only twelve around this time, but when you're that old you believe you can do anything...

“Great,” Mr Vendrell added while eagerly glancing down to his watch and doing some mental arithmetic. “Remember kids, there's candy in the kitchen. I'll be in the house later if you need me... Probably upstairs. If I don't come down again, enjoy yourselves out here tonight.”

“Have fun dad.”

Mr Vendrell laughed and smirked slyly. “I will son, I sure will...”

The rest of us – me, Anita, Shaun, Kenny, and maybe some others; though they weren't about right at that moment – all meekly gave him a bye. As kids, we were always so unsure around Boyd's dad. In his leather jackets, black shirts and jeans he cut a striking figure that wasn't like any of our moms and pops. He seemed like a character from out of a movie rather than everyone else in our little suburban town who were all cut from the same cloth. He didn't fit in, and I think its why some of our parents were so reluctant to let us stay over here. Of course, you can never judge a book by its cover. In Mr Vendrell's case looks were deceiving. He might have been a bike riding outlaw, but he treated us kids a lot better than most adults ever did. A lot of friends' parents only look through you like you're an inconvenience.

“Who is he going to meet?” Anita asked confused.

“The one with the big boobs?” Shaun, with much excitement, added.

Boyd scratched his head. “Yeah. I think her name's Joy... maybe.”

“
Maybe
?” Kenny asked. “What does that mean?”

“I lose track... he has a few friends always over through the week.
Girlfriends
that is.”

Anita gasped dramatically, covering her mouth.

I turned to her. “What's wrong?”

“He has women here. W
omen who aren't Boyd's mother
!”

The rest of our group burst into laughter that didn't subside for at least five minutes.

That Saturday, in the ex-army tent Boyd got for Christmas, we were having a sleepover. Heading over, starting a fire in the pit in the back of the garden and cooking marshmallows was a regular thing during those years. Those nights were some of the best of my childhood. Whenever we had a sleepover at one of our houses –
if
they let us have sleepovers – we didn't have anything like the freedom we did at Boyd's house. It was our first taste of real maturity.

“I'm serious! I'm serious!” Anita pleaded while being unaware of her naivety. “They're not married.
It's wrong
!”

“Hey!” Shaun shouted and tossed a handful of popcorn at her. “Can't you shut up about Boyd's dad? My mom and dad isn't married, you know that! You saying they're doing something wrong?”

“Well... Maybe they are... and maybe they should be!” She replied with absolute snark.

“What the hell does that mean?” Demanded Shaun.

“Well...” Anita flicked her ponytail. “
Maybe
it would mean you don't say hell all the time.”

You could have heard a pin drop. The rest of us sat in silence. Those were fighting words and we all knew trouble was brewing.

Shaun froze as his mind slowly took in her words. “Are you... are you saying my parents have raised me bad?”

Anita sat back, high on being the center of attention. “I'm saying, maybe, you should talk better... like I do.”

“Anita!” I couldn't hide my surprise. This was too much even for her.

“You know I'm right Cassie. Everyone knows it. Shaun's bad.”

It goes without saying her character was abrasive. While she may have been young she seemed to enjoy getting under people's skin. You didn't see that behavior in many kids.

“What did you say?” Shaun asked incredulously, his body visibly shaking.

Before Anita could chime in with a plea of innocent and claiming Shaun was overreacting – like she usually did, Boyd cut in with a joke to lighten the mood. “You two sound like an old married couple.”

“Huh?” Shaun's head heatedly twisted to his best friend, angrier than ever. “Now what's that supposed to mean?”

“You two are always arguing. Don't play innocent. That's what someone does when he likes a girl.”

Kenny, sitting between the two, burst out laughing. “Yeah... He's right.”

“Shut up!” Shaun smacked the back of Kenny's head before focusing back on Boyd. “I don't like this girl. How can anyone when she talks like that? I don't know how you could think that... Me? Like her. No way!”

“I guess... Well... maybe you don't like her... maybe you
love
her,” I, without the wisdom to realize what I was doing, poured fuel onto the fire and set ablaze to what Anita had created.

Boyd burst into laughter and gripped my shoulder. He laughed a huge belly laugh with eyes wide and stomach quaking.

“Damn'it! What? What?” Shaun's body was really shaking now. “Now Boyd's girlfriend is giving me shit!”

“What?” Anita exclaimed surprised, missing that Shaun just dropped the s-bomb. “She's not Boyd's girlfriend. No way would
they
be together.”

“Yeah,” Kenny interrupted. “She wouldn't go with him.”

Shaun raged, “She is... and she's a spoiled princess!”

Both Anita and Kenny burst into laughter. The joke was now on me and the sound of their laughter bit clean through me.

“That's...” I begun trying to no sell his comment and shake it off, but I couldn't. It got to me. “Why? Why am I a spoiled princess?”

Shaun scratched his head in search of an answer. “I guess... Why would someone bring a change of clothes to a sleep over if they weren't a princess? You got a toothbrush hidden in that bag too?”

Anita and Kenny both fell into fits of cackling.

Though it stung. My hand gripped the satchel sitting to my side. Mom, in her love, was always too protective of me. Even though I was only across the road and could run back home at any time, she always insisted on packing a bag for me. I was the only one who came with stuff – a change of clothes, something to wash my face with, a toothbrush. Looking back as an adult it's nothing, but when you're a kid and you're the only one in a group with something out of place it stings.

“I tell you Shaun, she'll have a bar of soap in there too!” Anita, forgetting all sense of their previous feuding, screamed in delight.

“What?” I replied on the defensive. “There's no soap in there... I only have a washcloth.”

All three burst into laughter again.

“Why are you such a princess Cassie?” Kenny asked derisively.

“Everyone hear that? Everyone hear that?” Anita clamored. “She doesn't have soap,
but she has a washcloth
! You a princess Cassie. Fess up!”

Shaun, Kenny and Anita's mocking eyes were all on me. They made be feel like an idiot. I didn't know what to say.

But Boyd came to my defense. “Knock it off you three! Who cares what her mom packed? It doesn't matter one bit.”