Beautiful Ink Page 6

  I do and I don’t. I see what she is saying, but I am leaving this forsaken hellhole and plan on never becoming anyone’s old lady. Ew. Gross. It just sounds disgusting and totally doesn’t fit into my future, but I can’t tell anyone about it. Hold told me it was very important to never tell anyone of my plans. Only him. And to never, ever say anything negative about the club. I nod, letting her believe what she wants. Sage has always been nice to me, but I know she has to be strong to be married to someone like Ward.

  “Okay, kiddo. I’m going out for a while. There is a frozen pizza in the freezer for tonight or you and Hold can order one. Look in the kitchen drawer for some cash.” She leans over to kiss my cheek, the sweet smell of her perfume tickles my nose. “Always remember, what is best for the club is the right thing. The club needs Holden working full time at the garage now. He wants it, so why not? Don’t give my baby boy a hard time about this,” she says, smiling at me before grabbing her keys to leave.

  What is so great about the club? When I was a child, I didn’t have a dad because of the club. It came first—before me, before everything. Even now, the club is taking my only best friend and his future. What is there to love about that? The problem is that Hold doesn’t see it that way. He never has.

  I look up as Hold busts through the kitchen door.

  “I’m starvin’. Fix us some snacks, will ya?” He walks over to the sink to wash his hands.

  My mind starts racing. “I’ll fix your favorite batch of homemade chocolate-chip cookies if you enroll back into school on Monday. In fact,” I stand to walk directly up to him. “I will bake them every day after school until you’re sick of them. Deal?” I finish, smiling up at him. He finally hit his growth spurt a year ago at sixteen, shooting up to over six feet tall. That was the year that all the girls went gaga over him, including goody-two-shoes Jenny Smith. She even tried to befriend me in hopes of getting close to Hold, but I’m not stupid. Oh, no. I finally told her where she and her snotty friends could stick it.

  “Then I would weigh five hundred pounds and look like Hound. That fat fu—uh, dude can barely fit on his bike. No thanks. I’ll stick to my off-brand premade chocolate-chip cookies,” he says, drying his hands with a paper towel.

  I reach over to grab it from him, throwing it quickly in his face. His stunned expression gives me the head start that I need. With a screech, I race through the kitchen, swiftly dodging chairs, but Hold quickly catches me around my waist. I twist and scream as he throws me over his shoulder, carrying me into the living room. My hands beat rapidly against his solid back, which doesn’t seem to be doing me any good.

  “Let me down, Hold,” I beg. My face is hot from being upside down.

  He drops me hard onto the leather-covered couch, and then swiftly begins tickling my sides while sitting down next to me. I laugh like a deranged hyena while maneuvering to try and get away from him without success. I hit his arms, which have thickened slightly with the weights he lifts every morning in his room. My shirt rides up and I immediately feel his fingers against the fleshy curve of my abdomen. I can’t help but notice the moment he realizes that he is touching my bare skin, his blue eyes darken, and he changes the motions of his hands. The sounds of our childlike laughter that filled the room only seconds ago, comes to a dead halt. His fingers now slowly trace small circles. His breathing also sounds faster to me.

  His eyes look down into mine. Something doesn’t feel right. I’m old enough to know what happens between girls and guys. I hear all the latest gossip on which freshman lost her virginity and to whom. The girls at school especially love recapping what Hold does on the weekends, making sure I listen to all of it. Like I care. Hold is my brother and he doesn’t think of me like that. I certainly don’t think of him like a boyfriend. But the way he is glancing down at me doesn’t seem very brotherly. I sit up, pushing away from him, sliding to the other end of the couch. I smooth my hair back, tying it in a knot behind my head. He blows out a long, loud breath of air.

  “Are you ever going to grow up?” he murmurs, rubbing his hand back and forth over his shaved head.

  “Excuse me? What does that have to do with anything?” I kick my foot out to nudge his leg.

  “Okay, this is going to be super uncomfortable, but I have to ask,” he says, finally looking at me. “What… how do you feel about me, Hels?” His face turns three shades of red.

  “Well, when you’re not being a weirdo, like right now, I love you. You know that.” I shrug, not really wanting to have this conversation.

  He clears his throat. “Like… how do you love me?”

  “You’re so stupid. You know that, right?” I start to get up, only to have him tow me back down next to him. His hands hold me in place by my arms, which we both know I could totally get away from if I wanted to.

  “Answer me,” he says. “This is important.”

  I look to see his knee bobbing up and down, which usually indicates he is nervous about something. What is going on here? What does he want me to say?

  “Uh… I love you… lots?” I say, questioning where he is going with this.

  “Damn it,” he says, letting me go before standing. “Never mind—forget I even asked. I am going to take a shower. A cold one.” He storms out of the room, not looking at me again.

  I let my head fall back against the cushions on the couch. Hold and I have always been close, but the older I get, the harder it is to be just us. If it weren’t for him, I would never have made it past that first year after Tara and my dad died. He held me together. I wanted to die for the things I had said and thought that night. I convinced myself that I willed that fire, but Hold wouldn’t let me believe it.

  He looks after me, making sure that kids at school never have anything negative to say. He even makes sure that his mom buys me the coolest clothes, so that I never feel like the poor white-trash orphan girl. I see him trying so hard to make sure everything is fine. In the last couple of years, I have to almost force him to go out on the weekends instead of staying home with me.

  I love Hold, but not like a boyfriend. I love him more than that—I love him like he is the only family I have left in this world. I know the difference. Jake Carrity is one of the most popular boys in my grade. When I see him, my heart beats really fast and my stomach fills with tiny butterflies. It’s almost like I can actually feel their wings flitting softly underneath the skin of my abdomen. These feelings I have when I am around Jake are everything described in the romance books I read. And I think I have caught him glancing at me a time or two, which is amazing considering he is part of the rich crowd. It could be my imagination, but I really hope he sees me.

  I hear the sound of the water running upstairs. I don’t know what Hold wants from me. It could be a guy thing—hormones for all I know. For now, I am going to pretend like it didn’t happen. I think that is best for us both. At the sound of my stomach rumbling, I get up to go find some junk food. I bring a snack up to my room, hiding from Hold because of the craziness on the couch. After finishing, I lie down and listen to music, trying not to worry about what he asked.

  Around dinnertime, I take a quick shower before heading downstairs to find Hold. He wasn’t in his room when I went to look. As I walk into the kitchen, the home phone rings.

  “Dawson residence,” I answer, pressing the cordless phone against my shoulder.

  “Helen, it’s Ward. Put Hold on the phone.” His deep voice over the line makes me jump.

  “He’s not in the house. Let me check outside, sir.” I place the phone down on the countertop before opening the backdoor. “Hold,” I yell, looking around the yard. “Holden.”

  “What, Hels? I’m working on my bike,” he shouts from somewhere behind the house.

  “Ward is on the phone,” I holler back. The sound of him swearing, then his feet rushing around the house, is my only warning before he charges past me.

  “Sir?” he answers. “Yeah, can you give me about twenty minutes? Yes, sir. I’ll bring it strai
ght to you.” He hangs the phone up.

  “Everything okay?” I ask him, shutting the backdoor.

  “Yeah. Ward needs me to bring something to the garage. They’re having a cookout tonight and he can’t leave. Club business.”

  “Do you want me to fix a pizza for us while you are gone?” I really want to get things back to normal with Hold.

  “Man, I am really tired of pizza. I could go for a nice, juicy hamburger. You want me to pick some up at the Shack on my way home?”

  That actually sounds really good, but I remember that it is Friday night. And it’s football season. Everyone will be at the Shack—a local hamburger joint—after the big game. I have never been allowed to go to the Shack on a weekend night because evidently it gets rowdy as the only entertainment for teenagers in this podunk town. I’m sure Jake will be there. He plays junior varsity football, but I know they all hang out after the varsity game. That would be so cool.

  “How about I ride with you and we both go by there on the way home?” I smile sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes at him.

  “Quit doing that. You look retarded. You know you aren’t allowed to go out until you’re sixteen. This is Mom and Ward’s rule, not mine.”

  “I’m not going out, dummy. I am going to get food with you. Big difference. C’mon, Hold. Please,” I whine. “Pretty please with a cherry on top.” I clasp my hands together and all-out beg him.

  He looks at me, unsure, before scratching his head. “Fine! Alright. We’ll drive the truck and you’ll stay in it, while I drop something off at the garage. Afterwards, we’ll stop by the Shack and order our burgers and leave. We are not staying. Deal?” He places his hands on his waist like he means business. Sucker! He is such a pushover.

  “You got it!” I take off running to my room to get dressed. I squeal on the way up. What do I wear? Ooh. Ooh! Sage bought me the coolest blue-jean miniskirt. I also have the soft pink mohair sweater that goes great with my blonde hair. I slip on my ballet flats before arranging my hair back in a loose ponytail. With one last look in the mirror, I rush downstairs, plowing straight into Hold who is standing at the bottom.

  “Whoa, what are you wearing? I told you that we aren’t staying at the Shack and I mean it, Hels,” he says gruffly while looking at my attire.

  “I know, but I thought I would look nice just in case.”

  “Just in case what?” He narrows his eyes at me. “Or should I ask who?”

  Great. Now he looks pissed. Boys. “Nobody,” I yell, charging past him and out the front door.

  I hear him locking up behind me while I climb into his truck. It’s a little Toyota that Ward also bought for him. He slings open his door and hops in. Before he turns the key in the ignition, he places something wrapped in brown paper on the seat between us. As we start down the road, he finally breaks the silence.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” he says, his voice sounding sad. Don’t be mad about the school thing. I can’t change it now, even if I wanted to.”

  “I know. Why does everything have to change the older we get?” I glance over at him as he drives.

  “You know, some things are worth getting older for,” he says, a small smile playing across his lips as if he knows a secret.

  I know exactly what he is talking about. “Keep it to yourself, Hot Lips. Cecily already shared that particular story with the entire school.” I laugh at the expression of shock he turns to give me.

  “What? You didn’t know that your dates are talked about all over school? Please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “People love for me to hear the latest. It’s like they think we are together or something. Stories about your sex life don’t shock me, Hold.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a minute. I watch his hands grip the steering wheel tightly.

  “It doesn’t bother you?” I can barely hear his question because he says it so low.

  “It’s not like I want to hear it, but…” I pause for a second. “…it doesn’t bother me,” I answer honestly. With the bright moonlight shining into the car, I can’t help but notice the look of disappointment that crosses his face. “Should it, Hold?” I ask only because now I am confused.

  “Look, can we change the subject?” He switches the radio on. Blurry by Puddle of Mudd plays loudly out of the speakers.

  I sit back and listen to the music. The lyrics speak to me. I shut my eyes tightly and wish for the road to open up, swallowing me whole. Neither one of us says anything into this awkward silence. I feel the truck start to slow down, and the clicking of the blinker alerts me to where we are. I open my eyes to see the chain-link gates are closed, blocking the entry to the garage, which is next to the Hell’s Highwaymen clubhouse. Hold turns in, rolling to a stop before them. He lowers the window when two prospects walk over to us, one of them Mikey.

  “Wassup,” he says, giving them a mock salute.

  My ears perk up, anxious to know what it is they are saying since they seem to be mumbling to each other. The idiots congratulate him on dropping out of school so he can work in this grease pit. One of the guys says something about him being included in club business now that he will be here full time. The longer I listen to these two talking to Hold, the angrier I become.

  I ignore them to look down the long half-mile driveway to see it currently lined with more bikes than I care to count. With all the outside lights on, I can see people loitering around the clubhouse and the garage at the end. The garage is a one-story building with five distinct garage doors for business. There is a large sign above it proclaiming, Dawson’s Garage. Next to it, is the clubhouse, which is where they all hang out and some even live on the second floor. It is a two-story building with a matching silver tin roof. Several fluorescent neon signs line the windows, advertising alcohol, motorcycles, and outlines of naked women.

  “I am just dropping a package off to Ward,” Hold finally says, showing it to them.

  They nod before walking over to open the gates, sliding them back so we can enter. Hold drives toward the garage, stopping halfway to park besides the tree line. I watch him switch the ignition off. Hold takes the keys out, tapping them on the steering wheel. He looks to be deep in thought.

  “This shouldn’t take long,” he says, fidgeting with the key ring before looking up at me. “Stay in the truck. Don’t get out. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” I playfully mock-salute him.

  “You are such a smartass.” He smiles, grabbing the package before turning to open the door.

  I watch him walk the rest of the way to the garage. It’s weird to place the boy I grew up with against this man he is becoming. His body is changing and it is crazy when I think about it. I developed early, lucky me—not. I didn’t want boobs at thirteen, but they sprouted right out. When you have a small body and big boobies like mine, you just look funny. I don’t care what people say, though. Sage says I will appreciate it one day. Whatever.

  I jump when I hear a loud popping noise outside of the truck. I turn to glance through the trees and see a large clearing where someone looks to be shooting fireworks: blue, green, and red burning streaks of light explode to sparkle and fizzle throughout the dark sky. With every launch, it lights up the night, illuminating the throng of black-vested men standing around. Some surround a large fire with red Solo cups in their hands. My eyes take in the scantily dressed women scattered around, mainly rubbing their big boobs against the seemingly drunken Hell’s Highwaymen.

  Every few seconds, I see men who are not wearing a cut. These guys are considered “friends-of-the-club” or better known as club lackeys. They want to be in, part of this brotherhood, but just don’t really hack it. I know all of this because even though my dad never really talked to me, I listened and learned. I kept thinking one day I could show him just how much I knew about the club and he would be proud. I wanted to love the MC as much as he did, but instead, it left me hating something that took him away from me.

  I turn to see Hold talking to a few guys, before stepping into t
he garage. I fan my face, noticing how warm it is becoming inside the truck. My hand blindly reaches for the key to switch the ignition on for the air conditioner, when I realize Hold took the darn keys. Dummy. When fanning doesn’t help, I pinch the front of my sweater—tugging it in and out to get some air flowing. I think about rolling the windows down, but they are power only. Damn it. I should not have worn this sweater, even though it’s a lightweight one.

  When my overheated body feels close to exhaustion, I open the door. Thank goodness that it is a breezy night. I turn, facing outwards, letting my feet rest on the soft ground. The cold air blows softly against me, cooling my overly warm skin. My eyes close in sweet relief. The chorus of men’s deep voices surrounds the night along with the fireworks crackling overhead.

  “Hey, pretty lady,” a male voice says, far too close to me.

  My eyes pop open. A young guy stands a few feet away. He has shoulder-length, dirty-blonde hair with a matching goatee. I guess he’s good-looking, if you like them scruffy. My eyes travel up from his jeans to his white t-shirt, instantly noticing he doesn’t wear the Hell’s Highwaymen cut. That vest means everything to these guys, and they go nowhere without it, which means he is just a friend-of-the-club.

  “Hi,” I answer.

  “Why aren’t you partying with everyone else?” He drunkenly stumbles closer to me.

  “Why aren’t you?” I ask, shrinking back against the seat.

  “I had to take a piss and didn’t want to go into the garage. Not my scene, if you get what I mean.”

  Yeah, I do. It probably means that you don’t rate high enough to be welcome in the garage, I think to myself. I nod my head, hoping he will just walk away.

  “Are you here with someone?”

  “Yes, he should be back any minute,” I say. He moves so close to me, I can actually smell the sour liquor on his breath. My stomach churns: it is a bad reminder of my father. “Please back away, so that I can close the door. It’s getting a little chilly now.”