Baby Bitch (Bitches and Queens) (4 page)

The next Friday at school, McKenna found
her old friend, Lex, at her locker after second period. She and Lex were middle
school friends that had drifted apart over the years, although they did still
occasionally socialize. For a few years, they had been inseparable, but that
stopped once Lex started running with a fast crowd. It didn’t help either that
McKenna had caught her and Kenyon having sex during one of their sleepovers in
the middle of ninth grade. Lex was just the first friend Kenyon had slept with.
After he began systematically seducing them one-by-one, McKenna realized she
could no longer hold that as a standard for the basis of friendship. Still, it
would be nice to hang out with a girl who hadn’t fucked her twin brother, but
that probably wasn’t going to happen as long as they resided in the same state.

“So, I was thinking maybe it’s time we
used those fake IDs you had made last summer,” McKenna said casually.

“McKenna,” Lex purred approvingly. “Good
girl gone wild?”

“No, not wild,” McKenna declared. “I’ve
just decided to sow a few oats.”

“Yeah, sounds fun,” Lex shrugged. “But
how are you going to get away from you-know-
who? That
woman sees all.”

“She’s blind as bat where Kenyon is
concerned,” McKenna retorted grumpily. “It doesn’t matter. I already asked Mom and
she said I could spend the night at your house tonight. I’m sure you can think
of something to tell your parents.”

Thirty minutes until midnight, Lex, who
was usually always up for a good time, gulped as she looked up at the bar in
question. “Are you
sure
you want to go in there?”

“Oh yeah,” McKenna responded gleefully.
“This is definitely the place.”

“It’s a biker bar.”

“Whatever gave that away?” McKenna
chuckled innocently.

Although very reluctant, Lex agreed to go
inside but only for a single beer. Once they crossed the threshold and the bouncer,
who hadn’t even bothered to check their IDs, a few things became blatantly
obvious. First, the only thing more prevalent than the chrome wheels and
tailpipes that lined the lot was the tattoos inked over every inch of exposed
skin. Secondly, McKenna was reasonably certain that she and Lex were the only
two people in the whole joint who hadn’t spent time in prison. If only Mommy and
Sam could see her now! The hell there would be to pay would almost be worth
seeing the expressions on their faces.   

Lex tried to remain as inconspicuous as
possible, but McKenna welcomed the roughnecks’ leers. She wanted them to look
at her and think their nasty thoughts. Hannah had always said she was a princess,
but she was a liar. If McKenna had her way, which she had no doubts that she
would, she would return home a soiled dove. Then she would revel when she told
Hannah all the dirty little details. Maybe just for kicks, she would take on
two bikers and let them fuck her any way they wanted just so she could rub it
her face. It would devastate her. Good. She wanted Hannah to bleed just like
she had bled her dry with her deception.

She followed Lex up to the bar and copied
her longneck order. As they were waiting, she noticed that biker’s musical
choices seemed to fall on both ends of the spectrum. The jukebox sound system
was either blaring heavy metal or those sad,
my dog was shot and my woman
ran off with another man,
country songs. Neither suited her personal
tastes, but she doubted the jukebox had anything she actually enjoyed listening
to. That was a different bar, a different night, if, of course, her mommy
didn’t permanently lock her in her room after tonight.

When the bartender served their beers,
McKenna tried to remain mature and adult-like as she sipped the bitter brew,
but she couldn’t hold back the cough that escaped her lips. Only ever been
allowed to occasionally sip wine, it didn’t taste at all as she expected. Just
as she was about to try again, McKenna heard a deep, gravelly sounding laugh
rumble behind her. She turned around to see who had dared to laugh at her, and
in an instant, her whole world changed.

He was like nothing she had ever seen
before. He wasn’t a boy—he was a one-hundred percent, hot-blooded man. At once,
McKenna felt flustered and nervous, as if a thousand butterflies danced in her
tummy. His inky black hair hung loose around his face. When he pulled back the
wayward strands, the clearest blue eyes, the shade of the summer’s sky, were
revealed. His full lips were pulled back in a devilish grin. As if McKenna
couldn’t spend an eternity staring at his beautiful face, his sculpted, tan
flesh was ripped with muscles and sprinkled with several little inked
masterpieces.

McKenna gulped before she managed to
mutter, “Hello. What is your name?”

His smile pulled wide. He then bit his
lip and stared at her for several long moments as if he was trying to decide
whether or not to answer. Finally, he relented, “My name is Trevor Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Trevor Dean. My name
is…”

“Jailbait,” Trevor interrupted.

McKenna gasped with outrage. “That’s not
true.”

“If you’re a day over sixteen, then I’m a
virgin.”

“Are you ready to get your cherry
popped?” McKenna sassed back.

Trevor chuckled. The deep sound
reverberated down McKenna’s spine and didn’t stop until she felt the tips of her
toes tingle with delight.

“Now I know a good girl like you wouldn’t
be offering that particular service,” Trevor retorted. Leaning down, he
whispered into her ear, “I think you took a wrong turn. The dance club and
girlie drinks with their little paper umbrellas is a little further down the
strip.”

His hot breath struck against her skin
and left her feeling feverish. It was hardly a stretch to envision his smiling
lips tickling against that same piece of sensitive flesh. Then he was gone.
Stepping back, he turned and walked away without another word.

“Wait,” McKenna yelled as she jumped off
the barstool and started to follow him. “Where are you going?”

“Away,” he answered drily.

“Can I come?” McKenna asked.

Turning around, Trevor held his arms
wide. “If you want me, you’ll have to find me first.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sure a grown-up woman, such as
yourself, can figure that out,” Trevor chuckled and then left.

Once he was gone, McKenna realized she
had to reevaluate her downfall. Any man would do, but now she only wanted one,
Trevor Dean. Her heart beat with a strange little gallop as she realized he
wasn’t just the one—he was
the one.

She returned to the bar and threw down a twenty-dollar
bill. “Tell me everything you can about Trevor Dean,” she demanded of the
bartender.

The bartender pulled the money out from
under her palm. “He’s a bad man,” he answered shrewdly.

McKenna rolled her eyes with frustration.
“I didn’t ask for a character assessment. I want facts,” she rushed as she pulled
another twenty.

The bartender took the bill and carefully
tucked it away in the inside pocket of his leather vest. As he was doing it,
McKenna noticed an impressive-looking blade strapped against his ribcage.

“He runs with the Devils Kin,” he said
quietly.

“What is that—some sort of motorcycle
club?”

Lex pinched McKenna’s arm and vigorously
shook her head in denial.

The old, grizzly looking man chuckled. “I
guess you could say—about one percent.”

“What is it with everyone talking in code
around here? Am I the only one that doesn’t speak motorcycle language?” McKenna
groaned as she pulled out another twenty-dollar bill. He started to reach
forward, but she quickly pulled it back. “For sixty dollars, I expect something
that could actually be useful.”

“Last I heard, he was staying at his uncle’s
bike shop over on East Eighth Street. Can’t miss the place, just look for the
giant pitchfork.”

“Thank you,” McKenna retorted coldly and
then turned back to look at Lex. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, please,” Lex squeaked.

“You can’t be serious about tracking that
man down,” Lex chided as soon as they were safely locked inside the vehicle and
heading back to
their
side of town.

“He was divine,” McKenna said dreamily.

“He is a member of the Devils Kin,” Lex
declared emphatically.

“What is that by the way?”

“They’re only the most notorious outlaw
motorcycle gang in Texas. Their founder and president was just released from
prison last fall after spending the last ten years in prison for multiple drug
trafficking and assault charges. It was all over the news,” Lex answered.

“I must have missed it that day.”

“Look, I’ll be the first to admit he was
hot. Testosterone-drenched, biker-badass, habanero-pepper, yummy-tummy hot, but
there is no way you’ll ever slip him past your mommy. Trevor Dean isn’t sowing
a few wild oats. One night with him and she’ll ship you off to a convent or
call in a priest to perform an exorcism. You might as well get those thoughts
out of your head now because heaven help you if she finds out what you’re
thinking,” Lex cautioned.

Lex was right—Hannah was a smidge on the
overprotective side. And she was so smart that it was practically impossible to
pull anything over on her. Yet, somehow, Kenyon had been doing it for years so
McKenna knew it could be done. The trick was to behave as normal as possible.
If she detected even the slightest shift of mood, she was all over it faster
than a school of hungry sharks surrounding their victim, ready to strike for
the kill.

As scheduled, McKenna returned home from
Lex’s house Saturday morning and promptly went to her bedroom, where she stayed
for the remainder of the weekend. That was normal. That was what they were
expecting her to do because that was what she had been doing since the disaster
of last weekend.

When Hannah brought up trays of food,
McKenna said as little as possible because she still wasn’t technically
speaking to her. On Sunday when she brought up a tray after brunch, a small
smile escaped her lips. Of course, the food looked scrumptious. Hannah was the
best cook since forever. But it was sight of the Monarch butterfly cloth napkin
that caught her attention. Whenever she or Kenyon was sick or feeling blue, Hannah
would serve dinner with napkin animals to cheer them up. She had outdone
herself this time.  It must have taken quite a long time to weave the yellow
and brown napkins together so delicately.

“Hmm… that’s nice,” McKenna shrugged
indifferently.

Hannah was unfazed by her lack of
enthusiasm. Instead, her eyes zeroed in on McKenna’s computer. “Why do you have
your laptop in here?”

“I was working on my history report,”
McKenna answered.

Hannah walked over and started searching
through her browsing history. There was no such thing as privacy in their
house—at least as far as the twins were concerned. Hannah had a strict rule
that they were not allowed to be online unless either she or Willow were in the
room. The only exception was homework.

“As soon as you are finished, I want you
to bring your laptop downstairs,” Hannah murmured and then left McKenna to sulk
in private.

McKenna picked up the butterfly to admire
it once she was gone.
How ironic Mommy would pick a winged insect to make me
feel better.
Was she trying to subtly remind her that freedom was just an illusion?
That no dream or disillusion could pull her away from the path she was destined
to migrate? The path that she had chosen for her daughter.

Well—she was wrong. McKenna was tired of
playing by the rules. She had spent her entire lifetime trying to mold herself
into Hannah’s image, and even that wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough for her
to tell McKenna the truth. If she couldn’t be enough, she wouldn’t be anything
at all.

Hannah might have had her own intentions
for the butterfly, but to McKenna it symbolized her rebirth. It was time to
break out of her shell and fly away, or perhaps more appropriately, ride away
on the back of a motorcycle with nothing in front of her but Trevor Dean and
the wind in her face.

Her parents always said that God puts
people in your life just when you need them the most. Maybe they were right
about at least something? Her Friday night plan hadn’t been carefully thought
out. It was reckless and foolish. No doubt, she could have been greatly harmed,
but then he appeared like a guardian angel.

As the seed of thought sprouted in her
mind, her plan became less about self-destruction and revenge and more about
discovery. In all of her eighteen years, McKenna couldn’t remember a time when she
hadn’t basked in Hannah’s light. Although it was frightening to consider, the
notion of being McKenna, just McKenna—not Hannah Mallory’s daughter, made her
insatiably curious. Who was she when she slipped away from her parent’s
constant guidance and direction?

Obviously, Trevor Dean held the key that
revealed the answers to her question. And she
would
find him. She
already had. They might have thought she wasted the hours pouting behind her
closed door, but in truth, she had been quite productive. Her new plan,
although not entirely foolproof, was very exact and precise. Given no
unforeseen variables, she was reasonably confident that she could pull it off
with no one being the wiser. She would just have to wait until Monday to know
for certain.

McKenna thought it was terribly unfair,
considering their parent’s yearly gross income, that she had to share a vehicle
with Kenyon. Unlike most dictates in their house, that one had come from Willow.
She believed it would keep them more grounded. She also thought it would keep
McKenna from behind the wheel as she drove too much like Hannah. To be fair,
Willow also wanted to keep Hannah off the road as much as possible. McKenna
didn’t believe there was anything wrong with either of their driving styles. In
her opinion, traffic lights were nothing but polite suggestions, and stop signs
were optional.

Kenyon was such as asshole that he rarely
let her drive their Cadillac Escalade, which had taken months to agree upon, to
school. Most mornings, she didn’t mind being chauffeured as she was applying
the finishing touches to her face. One day, he thought it would be funny to hit
a pothole as she was putting on her lipstick, but he wasn’t too amused when she
reached over and tattooed his face with the red gloss. The incident had caused
their first near-miss collision. Since then, there had been several more as
their arguments frequently grew physical. The school officials were so
accustomed to them entering the building yelling and swatting at each other
that they no longer phoned home. Nor did they try to lecture Kenyon about
hitting girls. The schoolmaster saw firsthand how that piece of advice bounced
off a brick wall.

“She isn’t a girl. She is my sister, and
she is a bitch,” Kenyon roared.

McKenna had launched herself out of her
chair and slapped his face. By the time it was finished, it had taken two
additional staff members to pull them apart, which was kind of strange because
either Hannah or Sam could do it single-handedly. Maybe they were just used to
it?

On Monday, McKenna kept her commentary to
herself. She didn’t mention his choice of music or the fact that he insisted on
slowing down to a stop at each and every yellow light. She needed to be as
calm, focused, and fabulous as possible, but Kenyon was itching for a fight.

He turned down his death metal and
muttered, “I don’t see why it matters so much.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
McKenna said flatly.

“About Sam,” Kenyon groaned.

“I
don’t
want to talk about it.”

“Whatever,” he said as he rolled his eyes.
“You know, you’re not his only…”

“
Stop
,” McKenna demanded. “Don’t
say it. He is our donor and nothing more.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Kenyon hissed with
frustration. “Look, he seemed really upset yesterday, and I know they’re all
worried.”

“He’s upset,” McKenna jeered. “He has
been lying to me since the day I was born, so right now, I don’t really give a
damn about his feelings.”

“It’s
us,
not me. The day
we
were
born,” Kenyon gritted through his teeth. “And I don’t think you have ever given
a damn about anyone else’s feelings but your own.”

McKenna clamped her lips tight. She
wasn’t about to let Kenyon ruin a perfectly good plan. If she were to argue
back, she might mention something about the fact that he had stolen all her
friends. Did he ever once consider how she might feel about him screwing all of
them? Probably not, because he was a self-centered asshole.

She waited until the beginning of second
period to make her move. Although she was very anxious to
find
him and
had thought about little else since Friday night, first period was too risky.
There were too many adults roaming the halls and attendance had not yet been
registered. She approached Mr. Walker, the senior physics teacher, with her
hand on her belly. Mr. Walker was something of a science whiz, but he was still
just a man and uncomfortable discussing womanly matters.

“Mr. Walker, may I please go to the nurse?
I’m having really bad cramps,” McKenna groaned as she leaned heavily against
his desk.

“Of course,” he answered promptly and
quickly scrawled a pass to the nurse’s office.

For dramatic effect, she limped towards
the door. The hallway was empty. Walking as swiftly as possible without
breaking into a jog, she made her grand escape. McKenna figured that by the
time she drove across town and back that she would not return until the middle
of third period. That didn’t leave a lot of time for idle chitchat, but that
wasn’t really the point. The point was that she had found him, and it would be
up to Trevor to make the next move. Unless, of course, he didn’t make the next
move and then more drastic measures might be called for.

The grizzly bartender had been right. The
motorcycle shop had been easy to find. What he had failed to mention was that
the giant pitchfork was situated between a nearly naked, red, demon lady’s
legs. The graphic and somewhat tasteless image was painted on the side of the
building.

She pulled up as close to the entrance as
possible. McKenna wasn’t expecting to find too many criminals up and about at
this time of morning, but it was the kind of neighborhood where you could not
tarry too long without finding a few tire rims missing. If that happened,
Kenyon would have a shit fit.

Entering the shop was like opening the
door to a world she had only ever heard whispered about. Places like this only
existed on cop dramas or true crime documentaries. There were a few, bikers she
presumed, sitting around the shop, but none of them had noticed her. If they
were employees, they had to be the most unprofessional crew she had ever seen
unless leather vests, tattered jeans, and half-empty beer bottles were part of
the uniform.

The building was a greasy mess. She
didn’t see any actual motorcycles anywhere, only random parts scattered across
the cracked, concrete floor. It reeked with a strange scent that permeated air.
It smelled like some sort of herbal concoction that she assumed was marijuana
or something else more insidious.

One of the bikers finally noticed her. He
ambled over slowly as he wiped his hands down the front of his jeans. Was this
Trevor’s uncle? If so, the only resemblance they shared was in their mutual
appreciation of ink. Although Trevor’s had appeared more crafted, as if a real
artist had marked his skin. The middle-aged man with long, gray-streaked hair
that was balding on top and pulled back in ponytail had several tattoos that
looked decidedly homemade. As he approached, McKenna noticed the teardrop inked
below his eye. Wasn’t that supposed to mean something? Was it sign he had been
to prison or that he had murdered someone? Either way, who wants to announce
something like that?

“If you need to use the restroom, it’s
out of service,” he said gruffly.

“I don’t,” McKenna answered. “Actually, I
was looking for Trevor Dean.”

“Haven’t seen him,” he shrugged and
started to turn away.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Like I said, haven’t seen him,” he answered,
slightly more impatiently.

“If you do see Trevor, could you please
tell him McKenna Mallory is looking for him?”