Chaos: Contemporary Biker Romance (3 page)

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A loud bang on the front door woke her around 1 PM the next day. Millie looked up from the table, around the dining room. The bright afternoon sun bleached the entire room in a blinding white. A shot of adrenaline raced through Millie's veins, and she got up from the table to make sure Logan was still on the couch. She rushed through the kitchen, and saw the empty couch and panicked, covering her violent pulse bouncing through her chest with her tiny hand. She looked around for her brother in the den, then ran through the dining room. "Logan!" Then she heard someone coming out of the bathroom from behind the stairs. The door opened and Logan curled his crippled body from around the frame of the door. Millie finally caught her breath. "Oh, thank God. I thought that gang came and got you when I was asleep."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Logan asked, looking at his wrist watch, his eyes shifty and nervous.

"I just woke up myself. I heard you fumbling around the house."

"That wasn't me," Logan said. Then someone on the porch broke the large glass window that overlooked Millie's living room. Both Millie and her brother looked over at the bikers walking through the area. "Oh fuck," Logan said. He tried his best to protect his sister, but the men were too fast for him, even if Logan was not walking on crutches. He saw both Andre and Kleiser walking over to him, their sadistic smiles gleaming at him, like hungry puppies whose master just gave them permission to play.

"Brother, what time is it?" Kleiser said.

"I think it's around 1:30 PM."

"And what time was the deadline that our good and gracious buddy Boston gave this here Logan?"

Andre looked over to Logan and back to his brother, as Millie struggled to break free from the grip of three other bearded men. "I do believe it was noon today. You know what that means..."

"Of course I do," Kleiser said, pulling out a knife from his back pocket and bringing out a black rope with his other hand. "It's time to pay the piper, bubba." Kleiser pulled Logan by the collar of his shirt over to the kitchen area, dumping his body onto a chair by the mahogany table. Logan's bones cracked and creaked the whole time, and he cried out in pain. "Be quiet fool, your neighbors will hear us. You wouldn't want us to hurt poor girlfriend do you."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Wait a minute," Kleiser said. "You mean to tell us you ain't found us a new girl yet? That must be why you missed your appointment with Dr. Eager, huh? Well well well, that's a shame."

Andre entered the kitchen as the other boys tied up Millie on the couch, holding a Glock pistol to her temple. "Logan you can have that bitch. I don't want her, she was just an easy lay. But I have to tell ya, this morning I woke up like a little boy on Christmas. I was so ready to see the lady you had found me as a gift for your insult. But you reneged on me, didn't you?"

"Sorry Andre," Logan said, "my supply of whores has run dry." Then Andre pistol whipped Logan across his cheek.

"You always were the smart ass weren't you. Well, that's fine. I'm used to being disappointed on Christmas. Have been since I was a little kid. You remind me of my sorry ass Mama. But let's see what Boston says."

"What about me?" Boston said from the front door, which was hanging by its hinges. He stepped over the glass that sprawled the entryway of Millie's house, his black boots splintering the pieces. The demeanor between all the men--Andre, Kleiser, the three other guys--flipped a switch when Boston arrived, in the way children do when their parent arrives because their horseplay caused too much commotion. They became more somber and respectful in his presence, on their best behavior, ever watchful should his temper flare without a moment's notice. Boston walked around the mess they created, perusing Millie's cracked glass coffee table, her broken front window, once beautiful and luxurious, the kitchen tossed into disarray by the battle between a cripple Logan and Boston's boys. He glanced at Millie, whose image caught his eye, and there was a magnetic pull between the man and woman so potent it caught the other men off guard, when their attention was focused on more mundane matters just a few second earlier. Millie refused to look Boston in the eye, and yet his reaction to the chemistry between him and her was the exact opposite--to stare her down as a cheetah would his prey. No, it was more than that, she was not his prey but his queen, his soul mate, though neither Boston nor Millie consciously realized this upon their first meeting. He looked over at her brother, crippled and bent over the chair Kleiser tied him to. Logan was bleeding from his mouth again, and he spit out a tooth. He glanced up at Boston, whose silence made everyone wonder what Boston was thinking. Perhaps he saw the scene as pathetic, not a proper reflection of his family and the proper way to behave when it came to tying up loose ends. Or maybe Boston thought his boys did a good job and was about to congratulate the men. But he said nothing, showing no definitive sign of either satisfaction or disgust. He walked over to Logan, grabbed him by the hair and lifted his sagging head to get a better look.

"Is this her, kid? Our new whore?"

Logan swallowed hard. "She's my sister. I couldn't find anyone. You stay away from her."

"You know we had an appointment at noon, right?"

"Yes," Logan said.

"Why didn't you show up? I told you what the consequences would be, didn't I?"

"You did."

"So what do you have to say for yourself? What excuse do you have this time?" Logan didn't answer. "Last night," Boston said, "we beat the fuck out of you, as punishment. It was too far. So I gave you a break. Now, you deserve what you're about to get, because you let me down. I gave you fair warning..." And with that, Boston pulled out his gun, cocked the hammer and aimed it at Logan's head.

"Stop!" Millie said, from behind Boston.

"Shut up bitch," Andre said, raising his hand to slap her, but waiting for Boston's permission. Boston looked over his shoulder at the girl who told him what to do. He lowered his gun and walked over to Millie.

"Who are you?"

"He's my brother," Millie said, fighting back tears. "Just leave him alone. He's stupid and young. He's all I've got, and I have done everything I can to protect him. But I've only got so much energy. Please, just let this all go. He's an idiot, yes. I know he is. But he doesn't deserve to die." Even the sheer physical closeness between Millie and Boston electrified their connection, and Boston felt a strong sense of familiarity with Millie, even though she was, in reality, a stranger. The effect on him was that he felt like was on stage, an actor pretending his co-star was someone he had just met. All of it bewildered him.

"Did he tell you what he did?"

"Yes, of course. I wanted to protect him. He stayed here because I told him to. It was my fault," Millie said.

"Stop Millie," Logan said, the situation now wearing him down. He could take losing his own life, but the last thing he wanted was to bring his life-or-death struggles on his sister's doorstep. She had endured far too much on his behalf, and he didn't want to disappoint her.

"It's true," Millie said, resolute. "He stayed here because I wouldn't let him go. Just take me. Let me be whatever you're looking for."

"Woo hoo!" Kleiser yelled from behind her.

"Yeah buddy, we got ourselves a new toy," Andre said, savoring the sadistic opportunities the situation gave him. "I'm going to fuck your sister, boy," he said, looking at Logan.

"No you're not," Boston said, and the smiles on Andre's face melted. Boston looked down to Millie again. "You're willing to sell your body so your fuck head brother won't have to learn a lesson, huh? Some good will that do."

"My brother's life is worth more than my respect for my body," she said, hanging her head in shame. There came upon Boston a look of confusion--recognition, perhaps--that disappeared as quickly as it emerged from the depths his soul. Something about this woman struck a chord in his heart. He took the knife from Andre's hand, cut Millie's hands from the black rope, releasing her. She rubbed the red marks on her wrists, and looked up to Boston, her face taught and frightened, but glad to be alive. She wondered what would happen next. Maybe there was some hope. Boston looked at Logan from across the room, tossing the sheared black rope in his direction. "Tit for tat, brother. You just cost your sister a heaping pile. Hope you're happy," he said, making his way toward the door. "Bring her with us," Boston said, as he passed Andre and Kleiser.

"No! Fuck you, man. Leave my sister alone! She has no dog in this fight, you piece of shit!" Logan screamed from the chair, still struggling to get out his bonds. But he was tired, bleeding, and broken. He watched the five other men take his sister from the chair out of her house, leaving him alone in her demolished house, the terrifying end result of his reckless and naive decisions. Logan wondered what he would do now to save her from the piece of shit Boston Eager, whom he knew would fuck Millie three ways to Sunday before the night was over.

5 - THE CONVERSATION

Outside her home, Millie tread across her lawn behind Boston as they approached his Yamaha Stryker, a sleek black beast wearing a high mirror shine. Boston mounted the bike and looked to Millie. "Get on," he said. She jumped on the motorcycle, following his instructions, her eyes locked on the semi-automatic pistol hanging out his vest. He bolted the bike to life, and the force of their acceleration almost knocked her off the bike and onto the black pavement. Unwilling to touch the man who nearly killed her baby brother not five minutes earlier, she gripped the edge of his seat as hard as she could, the edge of her thumbs just grazing the bottom part of his jeans.

——

They traveled through the city--through the ethnic neighborhoods Millie long forgot since her high school graduation, the corner flower shops with distant sounds of Chinese ladies laughing, the rustle of Vespas bumbling along the streets, with an infrequent honk to the playing toddlers blocking the way, the rusted and rotted copper-turned-emerald-green of the multi-level brownstones, fat ladies airing out cat litter encrusted pillows on the upper floor, which sent out a noxious cloud of dust and waste into the air, the black shutters on the lower floors of the richer areas in residential parts of the city, featuring American flags flapping in the soft breeze on the golden-lit doorsteps, and the cobblestone pathways that allowed Boston's bike to send a sexual bumbling through Millie's body, growing with intensity despite her urge to fight it. Now was not the time to get turned on, she thought. As they rode through the city to God knows where, she looked at Boston from behind, safe because he could not see where her eyes roamed. She was looking at the back of his helmet, just as black and shiny as the rest of his bike. His black leather jacket wrapped itself around the contours of his back and ribs. His blue jeans showed his massive ass muscles and thick thighs draped over either side of the bike. Millie could not help wondering what he looked like naked, though she did her damndest to ignore the thoughts. She was two people, it seemed. On the one hand, this was her captor who would presumably use her body in the next half hour for his own sexual satisfaction, as penance for Logan's misdeeds. She was ready to make that sacrifice. But on the other hand, she found a guy she might like and who might respect her, even though she didn't know whether she could trust him.

They pulled into the underground garage of his apartment complex, a townhouse under a shady elm on White Street, tucked on the corner on a quiet street. Millie looked around the quaint neighborhood and thought it just did not fit Boston's personality. Boston sure did live in a nice cozy neighborhood for such a deadly gang banger. He pulled his bike into its own parking spot, next to a black SUV. Millie reached out and touched a bullet hole in the car's door, the black gloss flaked off the edges of the hole, revealing the chrome metal underneath.

"Let's go," Boston said. Millie looked up to see Boston standing at a faint white door, unlocking the deadbolt with one hand, his black helmet under his arm on the other. The image sent a shot of excitement through Millie's heart, and she felt ashamed because of it. This man had just tried to kill her baby brother, but Millie's intuition told her there was something deeper, more hidden and purer about this man than met the eye. Millie was a doctor, so she was no dummy. She knew it wasn't just all in her mind, but she couldn't exactly put her finger on what it was about Boston that made her feel…safe?

She got up from the bike and walked through the threshold of the doorway into a blue darkness of his bedroom, a small window at the far top of the wall opposite the door that barely illuminated the room. The sexual heat that had aroused her just a few seconds ago now seemed a foolish fantasy, and Millie panicked. He lured her into the darkness of his bedroom so she would not fight when he gutted her with a Bowie knife, or shot her through the head, the heat from the gun's muzzle burning the hair from her head. She swallowed hard and tried to force her eyes to adjust to the darkness more quickly, before it was too late. Her throat was dry. "Hey, uh," she said, licking her lips, "Do you have a light in here?" She heard a flick then a nice lamp on the ceiling sparked to life, sending a yellow glow through the room. Millie turned around as Boston put his coat on the computer desk next to his bed. Millie's fear diminished when she looked at Boston's face, which was now strangely softer and more welcoming than before.