“Next time, thanks,” I said.
She hadn’t known me long, but she looked at me with concern. Even if I didn’t need anything, I loved going to Bath and Bodyworks. Who didn’t? We’d wind up either going for dinner or for drinks afterwards and it’d be fun. I didn’t want fun.
“What’s up Jojo?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Nothin’. Why?”
“You’re having a down day.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Wanna talk about it?” she nudged.
“Nothing to talk about.”
Definitely not to Ella. Ella was one of us, but she was also Ella Forker, Christian’s cousin. And the two of them had a tumultuous relationship. She turned a shade of green and had a mini conniption when I had expressed interest in the way he looked.
I asked Jenna about him after that first sighting because of Ella’s reaction, and Jenna told me Fork teased Ella relentlessly when they were kids. She also told me that he rescued Ella, twice, from the Jackals. And he warned Deacon of a trap that could’ve been bloody for our side. On top of those two things, he’d done a bunch of things that bought him favor with the Brotherhood until he became one of them. He was winning me over before he got patched over, but when that patch-over happened, knowing he was the orchestrator – I was done for.
“You know what you need?” Ella asked.
I looked up from my filing and my blue-green eyes met her hazel ones.
“You need a girlie night out. I think we all do. It’s been forever since we’ve all been out together. Tomorrow night. Roadhouse. High heels mandatory.”
Ella didn’t need to know about my fixation on her cousin. I didn’t need to be talked out of it; I had to figure out what to do about it. Rev it up or give it up?
Yeah, he got a blowie from Juicy the night before, but it was because I was invisible to him. I had to become visible.
Ella was absolutely right. I needed a night out and I also needed to make sure that he was there, too. Time to rev things up a notch or twelve.
“Fine,” I pretended to be hassled about it. “I guess.”
Her eyes lit up.
I went back to the clubhouse and holed up in my room watching television. I didn’t surface until Saturday morning. And I surfaced with a plan. A half-baked one, but it was something.
Friday night, I sent a text to Brady, my unofficial fourth big brother. Brady was my ride or die guy. He was The Shit.
I had a crush on him for a hot minute when I was thirteen/fourteen (he puts the hot in the term hot pocket) and it hit a tipping point when I was eighteen, but he wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole yet treated me like a princess. He was a better ally than a crush.
A, he would always help me. B, he never ratted me out. C, he loved me like crazy like a real sister, so would do anything in the world for me. He would never look at me like a love interest until he had to. Yep, I had a contingency plan and it showed what a good guy Brady was.
Brady was the one who blocked my second attempt at losing my cherry but after the fourth time I tried and failed to lose it, I made him promise that if I was a virgin at twenty-five, he’d pop it for me. He laughed at me but then looked me deep in the eyes and hooked my pinky with his. And what he said rocked my world.
“If you’re not taken by then and I’m not madly in love, I will gladly do that for you, babe. It won’t happen, though. You’ll absolutely be making some man smile and count his blessings every fucking day that you’re his. If I were five years younger it would be me, baby. Believe that.”
I believed it. There was no way that gorgeous man could look into your eyes, speak straight to you like he did and leave you with any doubts. Brady just had that power. Brady was gold. Some girl would be very lucky someday. Until he found her, though, he was a typical biker horny horndog. He was well-known for having such a voracious sexual appetite that he usually did two bunnies at a time. He was tall, built, insanely protective, and beautiful both inside and out.
“I need you to make sure Fork is at Deke’s Roadhouse Saturday night.”
He phoned me instead of answering the text.
“Bray?”
“What the fuck, Joelle?”
“No questions,” I reminded him.
“Oh fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nope.”
He knew. He knew Christian Forker was on my hit list. Correction: Christian Forker was the entirety of my hit list.
“Fuck,” he bit off. “Fuck my life.”
“Bray?”
Silence.
“Brady?” I sang out.
“Yeah?” he answered through tight teeth.
“Can I count on you?”
“You thought this through?”
“No ques---”
“Joelle!” he cut me off.
I sighed. “Yeah. Though not sure if I’m thinking with my brain.”
“Fuckin’ fuck me.”
I laughed. “I didn’t mean that. I meant my heart.”
“Still stand by the cussin’.”
I laughed.
“I’ll be there, Joelle. I’ll pick you up if you fall, too.”
“Hopefully, for a change I won’t.”
“Fingers crossed, babe,” he said, softly.
“I’ll text you with your orders,” I told him. “Bye.”
Brady was the only one who knew about me and Luke before it all came out. He caught us making out and he kept his mouth shut for us until he quietly told Dad after I was rushed to the hospital and Luke sent to the morgue, but thinking back, I don’t think he ever approved. Being Brady, he was solid in his loyalty to me, so he kept mum until that point. He was solid in his loyalty to Luke, too, but I think he cared more about me. He helped us avoid getting caught more than once. And the only thing I ever saw that let me know he felt anything other than 100% support was when I caught him with his finger in Luke’s chest giving him shit one day and I had the distinct feeling it was about us.
Luke gave me the brush-off for three days after that. I wondered if it was about Kailey, the now dead biker bunny. I wondered if it was about my dad and my brothers and how secrets like that will always eventually come out.
I didn’t know; I didn’t ask. I just knew that Brady was absolutely always there for me when I needed him.
He'd get Christian to The Roadhouse for me. And then, I'd make sure “Fork” actually saw me.
Saturday morning:
There was a knock at my bedroom door. Early. Like: 7:30.
I opened it.
“This yours?”
Shock of shocks, Christian Forker stood there with my cat, Marshmallow, held against his chest. He was dressed to hit the road, wearing a long-sleeved white t-shirt and his leather cut. He had dark wash distressed jeans and black motorcycle boots on. His hair, which was almost as long as mine, well past his shoulders, was loose and a bit damp and I could smell his shampoo. It smelled chocolaty and masculine.
“Uh, yeah.”
Marshmallow meowed adorably, looking up at him and then she nuzzled his chin.
He was speaking to me. I wasn’t invisible to him for a change.
“She keeps scratchin’ at my door.” He scratched her little head and her face melted with bliss.