Part 5: "I Think We're Alone Now" | River Reapers MC Miniseries
I don’t know how I’ll face anyone after this, least of all myself.
Our bikes are the only two in the otherwise empty parking lot. He could kill me out here and nobody would know. I touch the gun in its holster under my jacket, check the knife sheathed in my boot.
I’m as prepared as I can get.
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Part 5: “I Think We’re Alone Now”
Catch Up: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Olivia
My day drags, even though I spend most of it organizing the club’s big barbecue. I have our treasurer Mark Venmo me funds so I can book catering and entertainment, then my latest social work case walks into my office.
It’s another missing mother.
“I don’t have any updates, sorry,” I tell my client. What I don’t tell him is how his case made the dark shadows under my eyes even darker. There isn’t a concealer or any amount of sleep that could erase the stain it’s left on my soul.
In response, he shrinks into his hoodie, pulling the hood up over pastel pink hair.
“Bryce,” I say gently.
He lifts his head, blue eyes underlined with red.
“I promised you we’d get answers, and we will.” Even as I say it, it feels flimsy. Fake. I’m waiting for a text from Pru to confirm her band can play the barbecue, while my foster son sits across from me with swollen, haunted eyes.
The door swings open and Esther’s little sister Cierra slips into my office. She fits into the same chair as Bryce, their bodies entwining to make it work. Her small hand disappears into his. With her doe eyes and his baby blues watching me, I struggle not to fidget in my seat. Their gazes aren’t accusing but they aren’t exactly brimming with faith, either.
I’ve let them both down.
I’ve let down my whole club.
I turn, pressing keys on my computer like it’ll rewrite the script. When I look back at the chairs, both teens are gone.
I’m almost relieved.
The clock strikes five and there’s nothing else to do but face Ravage. Since I rode into work today, I ride over to The Wet Mermaid.
Even though I’ve known Ravage my whole life, I hesitate outside. Our bikes are the only two in the otherwise empty parking lot. He could kill me out here and nobody would know. I touch the gun in its holster under my jacket, check the knife sheathed in my boot.
I’m as prepared as I can get.
I find Ravage sitting at the bar, an expensive-sounding bottle of a liquor brand I’ve never heard of in front of him, with two shot glasses. He holds one up to the dim light, as if inspecting it for flies. The amber liquid sloshes in the glass.
“What are you drinking?” I ask, taking the stool beside him.
“What are we drinking,” he corrects, pouring me a few fingers. As the glass fills, I smell whiskey. He passes it to me, we clink, and drink in silence.
I wait.
“I remember when you were born,” he says finally. “You were the first club baby since Cliff, so all the guys were excited. Should’ve seen it. The maternity waiting room full of a bunch of bikers. Smelled like a distillery.” He chuckles. “We had to take turns in your mother’s room. To meet you,” he explains, pouring for both of us.
Again we tap glasses, again I wait.
“You were so small. Looked even littler nestled in all this leather. Even though you were Mercy’s, I knew from the moment I held you that I’d die for you.” His smile is warm contrast to the ice and grit of his voice.
I don’t know why I doubted him, this man who’s always had my back. Often when I didn’t even know it. He never asked for anything in return, never demanded thanks. Yet I couldn’t even give him the benefit of the doubt.
I bow my head in shame.
“I know you, Olivia,” he says in a low rasp. “I know you won’t let this go until you get answers. The question is, will you like what you hear?”
I lift my gaze to his, finding icy blue eyes appraising me. “Tell me.”
Lifting a finger, he pours another round. Clink, drink, slam, the sound echoing through the empty room.
“Where is everyone?” I ask. Even Cliff isn’t here yet, which is odd since we’re on similar schedules.
“I was Tommie’s mother’s boyfriend,” Ravage begins, and I forget how alone we are.
“Tell me. Tell me everything,” I say, and he does. When he finishes, I pour us both a shot.
I’ve never needed it more.
“You understand, now, why you need to let this go?” he asks, eyeing me.
I can’t even speak, so I nod.
I don’t know how I’ll face anyone after this, least of all myself.
To be continued…
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Need More?
Read Chapter 1 of A Disturbing Prospect, my slow burn, vigilante bikers romance.