Treacherous
Five/Ten
When I pulled into the lot and saw all of the Harley's lined up in one menacing row, I had a realization: this was probably a bad idea.
My plan was flawed and weak, and ill-thought out, but I was too far gone in my rage to stop or turn back. Never once did it cross my mind that if a kids birthday party had cost me my business, what would entering enemy territory do?
Later, my own actions would strike me as utterly insane, but they always say hindsight is 20/20.
I was barely out of my still-keyed car, parked haphazard and crooked, but a respectable difference away from the bikes when a mohawked-lothario pushed off of what I presumed to be his own Harley, a beautiful bike among the line of many, and approached me, smiling openly.
"Hey, can I help you?"
At the time, I barely even glanced his way, heading straight for the building.
"I need to speak to Teller."
His eyebrows wrinkled above his sunglasses, and he looked confused something that I was sure was not new to him.
"Jax? He's not here-"
"FINE."
I interrupt, throwing my hands around in exasperation. By then, I'd worked myself into a lather.
"Where's Morrow?"
Clearly, I was talking out of my ass, but thankfully, I projected while doing so, bringing Gemma out of the office to witness the spectacle, looking immaculate in her biker-chic attire, shading her eyes against the sun to get a good look at me.
"She's both."
Mohawk tells me, sotto voce, watching the both of us very carefully, waiting on someone to make the first move. Finally, Gemma smiles.
"Hey, cake girl. Help you, sweetheart?"
I went to storm towards her-honestly, just to talk-but I resembled a hostile threat, apparently, judging by the way I was halted mid-step, and I mean physically restrained from proceeding.
Really, this was getting embarrassing.
I'd thought myself a capable athletic woman (for a baker) until coming across these men with the tattooed scalps. Mohawk-guy was quick, though, I'll admit, darting in front of me before I could even register what was happening let alone throw on the brakes, causing me to thud into his chest painfully. Rude.
As if I weren't humiliated enough, he takes my arms to steady me, keeping a light hold on them, not tightly enough to hurt, but tightly enough to let me know I'm not going anywhere near the Queen.
"Whoa there," he starts, only to be interrupted.
"Tough little bitch, aint'cha?"
Gemma asks looking amused as she approaches us. I'm left to assume this is a good thing.
"It's okay, Juice." She says, finally calling off the dogs, making me blink. Juice? Really?
He releases me, but neither of us move and inch otherwise, and I can't help but notice how attractive he is close up, even if he is in need of a good shave.
"Everything okay, Gem?"
He asks inanely once we've finally broken eye-contact and she snorts derisively.
"Girl's a fuckin' mess. What's she gonna do to me?"
I don't even bother defending myself.
I have mascara running all over the place and Gemma could take me in a heartbeat, so everything she's implying? All of this is true.
"I'll just be...over here."
Juice tells us, pointing to his Harley before resuming his leaning stance, unabashedly staring at the scene unfolding around him. Gemma eyes me pointedly, then nods to my car.
"So? What's all this?"
Just like that, as if she knew me. As if she cared. Sometime during this exchange, I'd stopped crying but her motherly concern was almost enough to set me off again.
Later, Gemma would tell me that she respected the hell out of my stiff upper lip, and I knew enough to know that it meant something, coming from her.
"Maybe you can tell me,"
I hoped aloud before taking a deep breath and plunging into the entire story, bringing on a noticeable pause as I finished.
"Well?" I pressed impatiently, which was so far beyond not being my place, not that I knew that yet. She ignores me, beckoning this Juice character back over and I hastily swipe at my eye makeup.
Not that it matters, but I probably look like Alice Cooper, and he's actually cute.
"Repeat that." Gem demands. "All of it."
So I do-I don't see much of a choice, not if I want answers.
Not once during this entire fiasco does it occur to me to doubt Gemma's place in the grand scheme of things, and later I'll marvel at this, but not now. Now it just seems right. Also, Juice seems interested in the story, and I have bigger fish to fry.
"Describe the guy." Juice presses, and I do, mostly remembering his bike.
It feels like it's going to be another long day.
My plan was flawed and weak, and ill-thought out, but I was too far gone in my rage to stop or turn back. Never once did it cross my mind that if a kids birthday party had cost me my business, what would entering enemy territory do?
Later, my own actions would strike me as utterly insane, but they always say hindsight is 20/20.
I was barely out of my still-keyed car, parked haphazard and crooked, but a respectable difference away from the bikes when a mohawked-lothario pushed off of what I presumed to be his own Harley, a beautiful bike among the line of many, and approached me, smiling openly.
"Hey, can I help you?"
At the time, I barely even glanced his way, heading straight for the building.
"I need to speak to Teller."
His eyebrows wrinkled above his sunglasses, and he looked confused something that I was sure was not new to him.
"Jax? He's not here-"
"FINE."
I interrupt, throwing my hands around in exasperation. By then, I'd worked myself into a lather.
"Where's Morrow?"
Clearly, I was talking out of my ass, but thankfully, I projected while doing so, bringing Gemma out of the office to witness the spectacle, looking immaculate in her biker-chic attire, shading her eyes against the sun to get a good look at me.
"She's both."
Mohawk tells me, sotto voce, watching the both of us very carefully, waiting on someone to make the first move. Finally, Gemma smiles.
"Hey, cake girl. Help you, sweetheart?"
I went to storm towards her-honestly, just to talk-but I resembled a hostile threat, apparently, judging by the way I was halted mid-step, and I mean physically restrained from proceeding.
Really, this was getting embarrassing.
I'd thought myself a capable athletic woman (for a baker) until coming across these men with the tattooed scalps. Mohawk-guy was quick, though, I'll admit, darting in front of me before I could even register what was happening let alone throw on the brakes, causing me to thud into his chest painfully. Rude.
As if I weren't humiliated enough, he takes my arms to steady me, keeping a light hold on them, not tightly enough to hurt, but tightly enough to let me know I'm not going anywhere near the Queen.
"Whoa there," he starts, only to be interrupted.
"Tough little bitch, aint'cha?"
Gemma asks looking amused as she approaches us. I'm left to assume this is a good thing.
"It's okay, Juice." She says, finally calling off the dogs, making me blink. Juice? Really?
He releases me, but neither of us move and inch otherwise, and I can't help but notice how attractive he is close up, even if he is in need of a good shave.
"Everything okay, Gem?"
He asks inanely once we've finally broken eye-contact and she snorts derisively.
"Girl's a fuckin' mess. What's she gonna do to me?"
I don't even bother defending myself.
I have mascara running all over the place and Gemma could take me in a heartbeat, so everything she's implying? All of this is true.
"I'll just be...over here."
Juice tells us, pointing to his Harley before resuming his leaning stance, unabashedly staring at the scene unfolding around him. Gemma eyes me pointedly, then nods to my car.
"So? What's all this?"
Just like that, as if she knew me. As if she cared. Sometime during this exchange, I'd stopped crying but her motherly concern was almost enough to set me off again.
Later, Gemma would tell me that she respected the hell out of my stiff upper lip, and I knew enough to know that it meant something, coming from her.
"Maybe you can tell me,"
I hoped aloud before taking a deep breath and plunging into the entire story, bringing on a noticeable pause as I finished.
"Well?" I pressed impatiently, which was so far beyond not being my place, not that I knew that yet. She ignores me, beckoning this Juice character back over and I hastily swipe at my eye makeup.
Not that it matters, but I probably look like Alice Cooper, and he's actually cute.
"Repeat that." Gem demands. "All of it."
So I do-I don't see much of a choice, not if I want answers.
Not once during this entire fiasco does it occur to me to doubt Gemma's place in the grand scheme of things, and later I'll marvel at this, but not now. Now it just seems right. Also, Juice seems interested in the story, and I have bigger fish to fry.
"Describe the guy." Juice presses, and I do, mostly remembering his bike.
It feels like it's going to be another long day.