TRIGGER: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel Read online

  “One’s me, one’s my brother,” he said. I curled in closer. He’d talked about his brother before, of course, but never at much length. It was a subject that made him sore, I could tell. And even now, with my ear pressed tight against his heart, I could feel the slight change in its beating.

  “You loved him,” I murmured, still half drunk with love. “And you miss him. I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too, baby,” he said, closing his arm tight around me. “But you know? He’d be proud of me, I think. And he’d have liked you. Always did have a soft spot for blondes.”

  I smiled as he nestled me in tight, my lips still pressed to his burning skin.

  “That feels good to hear,” I said. He pulled away slightly, raising himself above me, one hand slipping around my lower back.

  “It feels good to say,” he said, moving his lips down to the hollow where my chest and neck met. “It feels good to be here, to be with you.”

  “Oh,” I said, as I felt his hardness pressed against me once more, the throbbing warmth of him against my pussy liquefying me immediately. “It does…”

  “Nothing ever felt better,” he said, pushing down into me again, spreading my legs with his hips, his teeth just grazing my flesh as we clutched each other tighter and tighter, two bodies seeking shelter in the cold night, love like an orchid coming to life between us.

  Trigger

  I’d been planning that day for a while. It was the first nice day of Spring, or at least it was supposed to be. When I woke up, nose-deep in Cass’ curling blonde locks, my instinct, as always, was to snuggle back in.

  I knew, by now, that she would wake up soon after, and it wouldn’t take too much coy pushing-and-pulling before she’d roll over, spreading herself for me with that smile I wanted to die for.

  Mornings were nice like that, you know? I would always remember the mornings best; my hips pushing forward slightly, the way her butt would wiggle, then press back, like she was pretending to still be sleeping. Then a little stretch, a little squeaking yawn, her head turning slightly towards mine, offering the soft pale incline of her neck to my lips and tongue, and the murmured not-quite-words, the slow turning of her hips…

  But not that morning. That morning I had a plan to dazzle her eyes out. At least, I hoped it would. Part of me knew, deep down, that I was mostly doing it for me. Because it had been a long time since I felt as free as I did when I had a motor running between my legs. And I thought Cass, who’d likely never even been on a bicycle, would get a kick out of it. A real kick. Hell, I hoped she’d get such a kick that she’d beg me to keep the damn thing, or buy us one of our own.

  The hog I was going to pick up for the day was cherry, which is why I could only afford to rent it. And I had to go two towns over to do so. Clint, a guy from the shop, had graciously agreed to give me a ride out there. Frankly, I was surprised the guy didn’t demand I drive out and leave the car there as a deposit – I hadn’t quite gotten used to how amiable people could be outside of New York, where it was every man for himself, in the worst of ways.

  The whole ride there, all I could think of was how damn good it was going to feel to have a motor between my legs again. I hadn’t ridden since Brooklyn, and I missed it more than I’d ever thought possible. Once I had the bike underneath me, though, and was winding my way along those country roads, all I could think of was how good it would feel to have Cass’ arms clutched around my waist, her knees squeezing around my hips.

  I started speeding a bit as I came into our town, impatient to wake Cass up and get her dressed and ready to go. I’d prepared a few sandwiches that morning and thought we could ride up to this little lake about an hour away, have a picnic sort of lunch and spend the day exploring the countryside. My heart quickened with excitement as I rounded the last corner before home.

  And then my heart stopped entirely. Before picking up so fast I thought it might actually beat the bike’s engine for mileage. Right outside our door, three cop cars were pulled up, two with their lights still flashing. Cass was in the door, screaming something into the trailer while a cop held her by the arm, trying to pull her away.

  My first instinct was not to stop; just keep going, just ride on and away, leave the whole messy scene behind me.

  My second instinct was to jump off the bike and barrel straight into that man who was holding Cass and pulling her.

  Seeing another man’s hands on her blinded me to the situation, and saving her – protecting her – was my only desire. She must have heard the bike approaching, because her face turned to the road, to me, her eyes open and filling with tears, mouth screwed up in turmoil.

  I can’t imagine how she recognized me, in my helmet. But, then again, I would have known her if she had a paper sack over her head. The cop’s gaze turned to me as well. Cass opened her mouth as though to yell at me, but as I drew closer, she stilled her body, going limp in the cop’s hold. And all she did was shake her head. And mouth one word.

  Run.

  But it was too much, even that little bit was too much. I couldn’t hear what the cop yelled, but he must have realized what had passed between us, and as I sped past the trailer, panic in my heart like a hummingbird, I watched five more cops stream out of the trailer, get into their cars, and give chase. I revved the engine, pushed the bike to its limit, no idea where I was going to go, no idea how to get myself to safety, only feeling an increasing dread.

  Even then, I knew this wasn’t going to end pretty.

  I was proper fucked.

  And all I could think was how sorry I was.

  Sorry for her. Sorry that my past was going to come between us, after everything.

  That I was going to abandon her to pay for my sins.

  I made it ten miles. Ten long country miles. The sirens behind me blasting, the cars gaining on me, and then suddenly, at a crossroads, two more cop cars, speeding around the corner. I was going too fast – I couldn’t stop – they were going to run me off the road – I’d be dead in an instant – that would be better – then I wouldn’t have to remember her, miss her…

  The squeal of the bike’s tires as I turned and slammed on the brakes, nauseating skidding as the cop cars advanced on both sides. I grit my teeth and prepared for death.

  But it never came.

  The bike stopped inches from the grill of one of the police cars, and my leg whipped out automatically to keep it from toppling over. Before I could even give thanks for my life, or take my helmet off, I felt myself being pulled off the bike violently and thrown to the ground, the helmet ripped from my head, a knee digging into my back.

  “Thomas Beaumont, you’re under arrest for gang affiliation, sale of class 1 drugs, possession of stolen property, and evading arrest…..”

  As the cop who was holding me down clicked on the handcuffs, another stood above me, reading off my rights. All I could see was shiny, black boots. All I could taste was grit in my mouth. But all I heard was the one thing they never said.

  They never said homicide.

  The cop took his knee from my back, yanked me up violently. The sea of faces was grim, their official disgust palpable.

  “Long way to get home, boy,” one said as I was shuffled past him. My hair, which had only grown longer since leaving New York, hung in my face, obscuring my vision.

  “She didn’t know anything,” I said, finally, right as the cop whose hands were on me pressed down on the top of my head to lead me into the back of the car. “She had no idea.”

  “What part of right to stay silent didn’t you understand, punk?” was the last thing I heard before the door slammed shut, locking me in, locking the world out.

  Those were the last words I said in freedom for eight years. Everything else I said was to a lawyer in a cell, or a detective in an interrogation room, or a judge in a courtroom, or to my inmates at my own personal slice of hell known as Rikers Island.

  And as for Cass?

  Well, there was no one on this earth I wanted to speak to more. And
that want became my constant companion, my sweetest friend.

  Of course, she has a different story to tell about it.

  Sometimes, the truth is such a bitch she might as well be wearing the dress you bought her on a date with another man.

  Dear Trigger –

  Well, it’s been two weeks now, and I’ve tried to wait to write until I have something to tell you. But wouldn’t you know – nothing’s happened. Which seems, almost, like an insult. I guess I feel like the world should have started to crumble, the whole world, since mine is in shambles without you.

  Seems like you left and Russia should have bombed us or China should have taken over or Germany rise from the ashes bigger and badder than 1939. But instead – it’s all the same. I go to work. I come home. The people on the news talk about the same things. The sky isn’t falling. I’m the only one on this planet suffering the way I am.

  Except, of course, that’s not true. Worse things happen every day, don’t they? You’re not dead – every morning I wake up and remind myself of that. Even though my bed is cold and lonely without your body pressed against mine, and I miss the smell of oil and work on the sheets, there are worse things. I can write to you, and you can read it. And write back. You will write back, won’t you?

  But of course you will – sorry for the moment’s doubt. I won’t ever doubt your love while you’re gone. I guess in a selfish way there is something nice for me about you being surrounded by men – don’t think there’s any chance of losing you to a man named Snake Oil Sal.

  I do hope they’re treating you right though. The things I sometimes imagine make me sick and afraid for you. But imagining is something I know I shouldn’t do much of. Nothing good can come of imagining.

  Only imagining us together again, that will be good. Someday we will sit outside in a big beautiful park with a gingham blanket beneath us, a bottle of wine (a big bottle, baby), cheese and grapes and apples and all sunlight everywhere, and nothing to do but sit with my head in your lap and giggle at the birds in the sky…

  Those are the only imaginings I try to do. Dreamy, wonderful days where nothing can come between us. We’ll get there, we must. I know I’ll never give you up for someone who’s free to spend their time and attention on me. Not as long as I know you’re there, wishing for me the way I’m wishing for you, I can promise you my heart. The best part of me. The best part of us.

  You made me a promise like that once and you always kept it. And I hope you know – I’m just as good at keeping promises.

  Well, besides all that mushy stuff, I don’t have anything new to report. It’ll be winter soon and my boots are wearing thin but I set aside a little money each paycheck for a new pair – but I put aside a little more for a car. You know they took yours, right? Said it was stolen property. I guess you had to have known that, though.

  Anyway, I moved into a one-bedroom in town, by the way, since it’s about all I can afford now that I’m paying the rent on my own. My address will be on the envelope. The heat is finicky but there’s a friendly cat that comes around to say hi at my window. I’ve called him Stucky because he sticks his head in through the gap between the pane and the glass – my landlord promises to fix it, seeing as how it’s going to only get colder and it does get drafty – but I don’t mind for now. Just bundle up and wear my winter clothes inside and I’m toasty warm.

  Especially with Stucky’s green eyes and sweet, warm breath to keep me company. And your love.

  There I go getting mushy again! I need one of those electro-shock collars to keep me in check. I better sign off before I get even worse. Write back soon. I’m sending along a little money – what I can – for your commissary. Don’t let them treat you too bad. You have rights, prisoner’s rights, you know? Maybe you can spend your time at the library. You’d make a good lawyer, and now you have nothing but time to start learning. Just a thought. You always said how dumb you were but you know damn well you’re smart as could be.

  Write back soon. I love you. Always.

  • - Cass

  Dear Trigger,

  It’s been about three months now since my first letter. And I know you know that. You must’ve gotten my other letters – unless you didn’t, in which case I’m going to be raising some hell! They have no right to keep my letters from you. But if you have gotten them, I can only imagine you’re too busy keeping yourself in the right mind and good company to respond. That’s alright. I come home every day hoping to see your handwriting in the mailbox, though, so if you can find yourself a little time for me, it’d be much appreciated.

  At any rate, I have some news for you that I hope will make you smile! I have been saving all I could – not for boots, like I said, but for a car! And lo and behold a fellow from the shop saw me walking to work the other day, must have taken some pity on me and gave me a ride. And he mentioned he had a car for sale – a real beater, but he said he’ll get the boys to do the repairs for cheap. After this winter, it should be good enough to carry me back to NY – which means back to you, baby.

  I can come visit, is what I’m saying. Isn’t that good news?! It’ll just be two more months, he said, before the car will be in good enough shape to make it to NY. And he’s gonna sell it to me for just exactly what I’ve got saved. I’ll be splitting paychecks between rent and repairs ‘til then, rice and beans every night, but it’ll all be worth it. Never mind that I’ll get to see Jennie again after all this time apart – it’s the best I could ever wish for.

  Just think, baby, two months and we’ll get to be face-to-face, hand-to-hand. Greg, the guy who’s gonna sell me the car, said they were happy to do it to help me out. They really liked you, and they said they didn’t know or care what it was you did to get yourself in trouble. Said some stuff about the government being too big for its britches. They’re a sweet bunch, really, and they did tell me to send along my best. They also said to tell you that “Tucker got his in at last,” which I can’t even begin to imagine what that means, but I guess you do!

  Anyway, that’s my big news for the week. I’ll write again soon – and be anxiously awaiting your response, if you can spare the time to write one. You still have my heart. I’m keeping my promise. I know you are, too. Two months, baby. Two little old months…

  Yours always,

  Cass.

  Baby –

  Tomorrow I light out for New York. And Jennie. And, most importantly, you.

  I don’t know why you haven’t responded. I don’t want to think it’s the reason that my ego tells me it is – that sentence was a mess, but I hope you know what I mean. That little part of me, the part my father put inside me, tells me it’s because you never really loved me, I’m no good, I’m never going to get the boy, etc. etc.

  I know, though, I know that’s not how it is. But I can’t help thinking…am I stupid for keeping up writing? Tell you about all the stupid little things I do every day? Does it bore you? Are you tired of me? Do you want to forget all about me? Does it hurt too much to know that I’m free and you’re not? What is it, Trigger? Please, all I need is one little sentence, just tell me how it is you’ve never felt like responding?

  Maybe it is true that they aren’t giving you my letters, though. That’s the happiest and most infuriating possibility. They’re not allowed to do that. But if that’s what’s happening…well…it would make me feel a little bit better, that’s for sure. Is that horrible? I don’t know – all I know is that I’m coming to see you. I looked up visiting hours and I’ll be able to see you on Saturday from 2-4. Isn’t that amazing to think about and look forward to? At least, it is for me. Maybe it will be a total surprise for you…

  I spoke to Jackie and she was delighted to hear about me coming home to spend some time with Jennie. And they’ve offered me a place to stay for a month or two to get back on my feet! Of course, they’ll keep Jennie after; I still can’t raise her, and I’ll barely be able to afford a place of my own. They’ve been so generous, and you know Jennie really has sounded
happy…I am too excited to see her! I can’t tell who I’m more excited to see, honestly!

  My father asked me to come see him, too. In his last letter. I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing; then again, it just might. I want to say: “what do you think?” But of course, I’ll just ask you that in person. I don’t even know what the point of this letter is considering the fact that I’ll be seeing you, probably before you even get it! I’m just too excited and need to tell someone, and you’re my someone. You’ll always be…

  Oh lord. The mush is coming. Best be off. See you soon, baby.

  • - Cass

  Trigger –

  Well, I guess I got my answer. You wouldn’t see me. So I HAVE been a fool, and I HAVE been stupid and blind and just…exactly everything my father ever said about me.