CULVER: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (8 page)

~
16
~

“Dad, no!”

My father was standing, one eye closed, the other
narrowed to a slit, with a shotgun aimed at Boon. Actually, the shotgun was
aimed at me, and I was standing in front of Boon.

“Get in the house, Samantha,” Dad said, not taking his
eyes off Boon, who was gently pushing me away.

“Do what he says,” Boon said to me, under his breath.
I could feel his heart pounding against my back as I stood between him and my
father.

“Dad, you stop this right now. This is my friend,
Boon, and whatever you think…”

“Samantha, I’m going to tell you one more time, get in
the house,” Dad said, his voice increasing in fury with each word. My mother
was hopping around in a frenzy, unsure of whether to try and calm Dad down or
swoop in and yank me away. I could see terror in her eyes, and knew it was
reflected in my own. Dad could be strict but this was…well, it was unusual, to
say the least.

“Tell me your last name, kid,” he repeated, menacing.

“Culver,” Boon said from behind me, his voice
betraying no trace of anxiety or pressure. He finally reached out and
physically pushed me to the side, breaking eye contact with my father to look
at me.

“Get inside, Samantha. I don’t want you seeing
whatever this is going to turn into,” Boon said. His voice made my heart
freeze. He sounded like a man who was used to doing what needed to be done.
Dirty things. Things that you wouldn’t want your kids to know about. He
sounded, for the first time since I’d met him, like a scary biker. It was so
different from the bemused, inquisitive, clever guy I’d hit it off with. I was
sobbing by then, unaware of anything but the barrel of the gun, Boon’s wide,
cold eyes, my father’s anger like a physical force.

Boon suddenly softened, his face seeming to melt into
pleading. He reached out for me.

“Don’t fucking move,” Dad cried out. I could see the
situation was beginning to wear on him, could see his hands shaking as he held
the gun. Ignoring him, I took Boon’s hand. He slipped something into my palm.
Then he dropped his gaze, turning back to my father.

“My last name is Culver, sir. My father is Tank
Culver. Of the Cold Steel Motorcycle Club,” he said, swallowing hard but not
giving up the staring contest. My mother rushed to me, and I folded into her
arms, wanting her comfort.

“Daddy, please,” I managed to cry as my mother
struggled to corral me away from the scene.

“Do you love him, Samantha?” My father suddenly asked,
not turning his attention (or gun) away from Boon. His voice, though, was
softer, almost as though he was anticipating my answer, and was already
disappointed in me. I guessed he had seen everything he thought he needed to
see in that first moment he saw us together. After all, the way I’d rushed into
Boon’s arms, the way our eyes had been locked together, it probably did look
like love.

But was it? In a second, I knew I had my answer.

“No, Daddy, but he’s my friend,” I said. This wasn’t,
of course, nearly the whole truth. But it was some sort of truth. I didn’t
love
him, at least not then. After all,
I’d only just met him, and it was going to take a lot more than one huge
romantic gesture for me to start confessing undying love.

On the other hand, Boon certainly wasn’t just a
friend. He was…something else. Something in between. The best way I could sum
up exactly how I felt about Boon, how I’d felt when he sent me that text, was
that I was excited beyond all reason to fall in love with him. I could feel it
had already started to happen, and I was ready for it to happen.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I looked to Boon’s
face, trying to see how he’d react. He didn’t look crestfallen. He didn’t look
dejected. He looked…cold. He wasn’t looking at me, but at my father. I wanted
to explain more. I wanted to tell them both: I’m confused! I could love him! If
you’d let me, Dad, if you’d let me, Boon, I could love him!

“Please, Daddy, stop,” I finally managed to say, more
tears leaking from my eyes. And then my father deflated. Like a balloon, he
just seemed to lose all the air and strength in his body at once. He didn’t
drop his eyes from Boon’s, but he did drop his gun. His shoulders slumped. He
shook his head.

“Kid, you must have had some sorta traumatic brain
injury on that hog of yours if you thought coming around here was a good idea,”
Dad said at last. Boon’s shoulders dropped as well as he relaxed, no longer the
target at the end of Dad’s shotgun. “Now, I suggest you get on that death
machine of yours and ride it as far the fuck away from Missoula, Montana as you
can get before you drown.”

With that, and nothing more, Dad turned. He strode
towards Mom and I, who were huddled together, both sobbing, and grabbed us,
pushing us ahead of him into the house. If I wasn’t so shocked already from
everything that had happened, I would have been shocked by this rough
treatment. Dad
never
laid a hand on
Mom or I. Looking back once more before falling across my doorstep, I saw Boon,
head hanging for just a moment before rising again and looking, defiantly, at
my father’s back.

That look scared me almost as much as anything else
that had just happened.

That look made me think that maybe I hadn’t been
behaving very intelligently. That maybe I’d been downright stupid. Maybe I’d
dragged my friends, my family, into a dangerous situation. After all, Boon was
a member of a freaking
biker gang,
for
god’s sakes.

His tattoos weren’t just there to look cool.

He didn’t ride a bike for fun.

This wasn’t a hobby.

He was trouble.

And I’d walked right into it, given him everything,
been led on by his cute smile and strong arms and deep eyes. He got me high,
and I made out with him in a bathroom. Suddenly, that story didn’t seem cool or
edgy or fun. It seemed downright…
stupid.

I began to panic as my family filed into the house.
What if he comes after me, what if he comes
after my dad, what if…

I remembered that I was still holding whatever it was
Boon had slipped into my palm. In my frenzied state, I didn’t even bother
looking at it, just slipped it into my pocket.

“How did you meet him?” Dad asked, turning to face me
as I stood in the hallway. He didn’t look angry anymore, just…confused? Maybe a
little angry, still, but mostly sad and confused. I struggled to breathe, never
mind speak.

“Hugh, give her a minute,” Mom said, coming to my rescue.
She threw her arm around my shoulders, curling me in close. I closed my eyes
and let my head rest against her, feeling her breathe, steady and deep. How can
moms go from freaking out to perfectly calm so quickly? How are moms so good at
doing whatever the situation calls for? I know for a fact that Mom was not, in
fact, feeling very calm at that moment. Despite the steadiness of her breathe,
I knew that, inside, she was as strung up as I was. But she managed to keep it
all under wraps. For my sake.

“Vegas,” I finally managed to sniffle. My father
rolled his eyes so hard he must have caught a glimpse of gray matter.

“Vegas?
Vegas,
Samantha?
You met him on your girl’s trip? Jessica, I knew we shouldn’t have fucking let
that happen, Jesus Christ, and you gave him your
address?
Where the hell did you meet him in Vegas? Did you guys go
to a goddam biker bar?” My father was about to launch into one of his famous
tirades: a steady flow of words that could go on for hours, days even, if left
unchecked.

“Bill, you were the one who
suggested
Vegas,” Mom said, coming to my defense once more.

“I didn’t give him my address, Daddy, I swear,” I
said, wiping tears from my eyes. “Are we gonna be okay? Why did you do that,
Daddy? What did he do?”

“Just…go upstairs, please, Samantha, for now,” Dad
said, sighing, looking defeated. I stayed put, not willing to leave until I got
some answers. The panic had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache. Later, I’d know
this was shock. At the time, it was all I could do to think straight. I was
tired and angry and upset and hurt and curious all at the same time, but all of
those feelings were just below the surface, just out of reach.

“But…” I sputtered, but knew better than to protest
further. Dad’s eyes had fallen on me, and I knew there was no arguing. Breaking
away from my mother, I slowly shambled up the staircase to my room. For some
reason, as I went, I thought about the day my parents had planned: a sunny,
summer barbeque by the pool. The thought broke my heart into a million pieces.
And I ruined it,
I thought, finally
reaching the top of the stairs. I looked down behind me; Mom and Dad both were
staring up at their daughter: their beloved, straight-A, “saving it for
marriage,” daughter.

I’d never been so happy to be sent to my room.

~
17
~

S.O.S.,
I tapped with shaking
fingers on my phone, sending out a distress call to Becky and Alicia. Within
seconds, they’d both responded.

Coming over
now,
Alicia
wrote back.

Be there in
ten,
was
Becky’s response.

No, can’t,
stuck in room, skype?!?!?!
I shot back. I turned on my computer and opened Skype; they
were both online already, and soon we were set up in a three-way chat. They
could see, from one glance I’m sure, how upset I was. As I told them the whole
story, from the text to the showdown to being sent to my room, their jaws
dropped.

“Holy shit, Samantha! How did he find you?”

“Wait, your dad
threatened
him? With a
gun?
”

“Do you know where he is? You gotta talk to him,”
Alicia said. Becky’s face scrunched in reaction.

“Alicia, what the hell are you talking about? You
gotta stay far, far away from him, Samantha!”

“Guys, I…”

“No, no, I mean, we met him, too, Becky, I mean, he
showed up at her
house,
what kind of
guy does that unless he…”

“Um, a serial killer?! A psycho, that’s who, Alicia!
Samantha, if your dad…”

“Your dad let him go, so obviously he’s not a
murderer, girl…”

“Alicia, you are the worst! Samantha, you CANNOT go
looking for this guy, he’s bad news.”

“He’s totally in love with you! So he’s got a past?
Who doesn’t? Sammy, you absolutely cannot let him leave without…”

“Guys, guys, I can’t, right now. Please, stop. I
mean…he could be dangerous, like really dangerous! Or he could just be…I don’t
know! Please, just everyone stop talking for like five seconds,” I finally
managed to blurt out, breathing heavily. They were like physical
representations of my own torn mind: what I wanted, and what I knew was right.

There was silence as Alicia and Becky paused in their
ranting, both looking into their webcams with concern.

“I’m sorry, I know, this is like…way much to deal
with,” Becky finally said. Alicia nodded.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now. Maybe
you should talk to your dad first?”

“Yeah, talk to your dad. See why he reacted that way.
Then…well, then you can figure out what you wanna do,” Becky said, her voice
loaded. I could tell she was really trying hard not to leap down my throat
again. I could also tell that she was trying not to say “I told you so”: she
had been the only one who’d ever suggested what I was doing with Boon was
wrong.

“Guys…what if I really screwed up? What if…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Sammy,” Alicia
interrupted.

“You were just having fun and getting to know someone.
You made a decision and you enjoyed it and you couldn’t have known that all
this was going to happen,” Becky said, nodding in agreement.

“You should never feel bad about something like that.
I mean, you totally impressed me, going after what you wanted like that, and
even if it ends in a massive crash and burn, you’ll always have my respect,
girl,” Alicia said with a smile. I found myself grinning along. It was amazing,
no matter how bad things looked, that my friends could still manage to put a
smile on my face. I loved them for that.

“Thanks…I needed that,” I said, breathing normally for
the first time since Boon had shown up.

“Of course, Sammy. You know we’re always here for
you,” Becky said, leaning in and smooching the webcam.

“Talk to your dad, then call us! Is it really bad that
I’m kinda pumped on all this drama?” Alicia asked, a sly smile on her face.

“YES,” Becky and I answered in unison.

“You’re a total bitch,” I said, laughing. Alicia
shrugged and leaned in to the camera, also pretending to kiss it.

“Whatever, I love you,” she said. “Now go talk to your
dad!”

As I signed off, I wondered if I should give Mom and
Dad a little more time to hash it out. In the meantime, I figured, I could pace
my room and think about every worst-case-scenario in the world. I knew that I’d
drive myself crazy just sitting in my room alone, so I made the decision to at
least try. I slipped out of my room quietly and hovered near the top of the
stairs. I could hear Mom and Dad talking, loudly, from downstairs.

“She deserves an explanation, Bill. Whatever went on
between them…”

“Jesus, Jillian! How can you even bring that up! When
I think of our Samantha getting involved in that…that…”

“She’s 18! She’s going to meet boys. She’s going to
like
boys. She’s going to like the
wrong sort
of boy sometimes. You, of all
people, should know what a guy like that can do…”

“Don’t you ever compare me to that scum, Jillian. I
might have had a rough side when you met me, but…”

“A rough side? Honey, you better make an appointment
to be checked for early dementia. If I recall, you spent the better part of
junior year in a cloud of smoke…and most of senior year in the drunk tank!”

“This isn’t about me, Jillian! This is about
our daughter
making eyes with some
biker trash
! And not just
any
biker trash, the fucking
son
of the man who…”

“How old do you think that boy was, huh? Do you
really
think he even knew what was
happening then?”

“Well, he’s old enough now to know to stay the hell
away from good girls like Samantha!”

“Okay, okay, I’m not saying I’m crazy about the idea
either, honey, but you can’t blame her. Or him! Boys like girls! He followed
her all the way from Vegas! I mean, does that sound like a guy who wants to
throw Samantha away like a used Kleenex?”

“I don’t care
what
he wants to do with Samantha; he’s never going to have anything to do with
her ever again!”

“Stop!” I finally said, my heart beating fast. The
voices stopped. I tip-toed down the stairs, which was silly, since they
obviously knew I was there, but I felt like I was an intruder in my own home,
breaking and entering their conversation. “Please, just stop.”

Mom and Dad stared at me at the bottom of the stairs,
mingled expressions of confusion and concern on their faces. I stared back, trying
to look grown up, trying to look like I could handle it.

“Just…please, tell me. I…I need to know. I’m afraid,
Daddy,” I said, stuttering over my words, making eye contact with my father. I
needed him to know how important this was to me, that it wasn’t just some crush
gone wrong. I knew that telling him I was afraid (which I was) was my best shot
at getting him to talk. Daddy could never let me go around feeling scared. And
this time, he knew, telling me that he would “take care of everything” wasn’t
going to cut it.

I was too old for that now.

I think, now, when I look back on it, that moment was
all about that one realization: I was too old for a lot of things. I was too
old to be kept in the dark. I was too old to not take risks. I was too old to
entrust my safety with just my parents. I was growing up. I was making my own
mistakes. A look of sadness came over my father’s face as he seemed to
contemplate all this. Then he nodded.

“You’re right, Samantha. You deserve to know what that
was all about,” he said, glancing at my mother, who gave him an encouraging
look.

“Come,” he said, gesturing to the living room. We
filed in and sat down, Mom and Dad on the couch, me on the loveseat facing
them. I twiddled my fingers in my lap. I wanted to hear, I didn’t want to hear.

It didn’t matter what I wanted anymore.

“Ten years ago…geeze, Samantha, you were
eight.
Ten years. How did…” Dad got a
glassy look in his eyes, his sentence trailing off. Mom coughed, bringing him
back on track. I knew that part of it was for show, just Dad stalling telling
me the story. Dad sighed.

“Ten years ago, I was a police officer, just a regular
cop. There was a fellow on the force with me, named Giordino. Danny Giordino.
He was a good guy. We never talked much, weren’t close, but you know. Cops are
family. He bought rounds at the bar. He had a wife, no kids. Young, same age as
me. A whole world in front of him…”

Dad seemed to get lost in the story again, in his
memories.

“He coulda been Sheriff, I guess,” he finally said
after a long moment. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought, he
continued in a no-nonsense tone.

“We had some trouble back then with a group of bikers
who’d rented out one of the hotels. Bad guys. This was in the 90’s, and there
were all sorts of ATM scams, still are, but worse back then before we had the
technology to stop some of them. These guys were stealing money left and right,
credit card fraud, identity theft. Plus, they had something going on with a
couple local dealers, slinging heroin.

Samantha, this was serious business. Serious, serious
business. We waited for months to dig up enough dirt on them to put the leader
away, if not the whole horde. But, you know, things just moved slowly. Trying
to gather evidence, trying to make a case that would stick. These guys were as
smart as they were bad.

But we got them, finally. We had enough to make it
stick. We got re-enforcements to come up from Billings, got ready to swarm the
hotel, take ‘em all down. But when we got there…

I don’t know how they left without anyone noticing. I
mean, those bikes make a lot of noise, you’d think someone would have noticed.
But no one did…the hotel was empty, Samantha. They’d cleared out. The only
thing left? Two bodies. Dead bodies. One of them was one of their chicks, a
worn-out looking gal, couldn’t have been much older than you. Poor thing was
probably doomed from birth. Worst case of meth mouth I’ve ever seen.

And the other body was Danny Giordino. He was…I’ll
just, I’ll never forget it. It’s one of those moments as a cop when you realize
how…how dangerous it all is. You were so young, Samantha, and I saw that body,
and I thought, what if I never see my little girl grow up?” Dad was welling up
now; I felt like my heart was breaking.

Have you ever seen your father cry? It’s something
most people would be a lot better off never seeing, I’d wager.
 
I felt my own eyes filling with tears,
saw my mother’s head hanging low, as we sat in silence.

“Two bodies. One cop, one woman. We couldn’t tell,
from the way the bodies were splayed out, who’d shot who. We knew she didn’t
shoot him. He might have shot her. We didn’t know. We didn’t know how he’d
gotten there, either. He wasn’t on a call. He was a good cop, though. And I
think…

Well, I’ll tell you what I think. I think he went
there to try and save that little boy. See, the woman, she was shacked up with
the leader of the group. Their president, so to speak. Tank Culver,” Dad said,
his eyes now growing cold. The name shook me. I knew that was Boon’s father. I
didn’t need Dad to finish the story; I had all the pieces now, could figure it
out for myself. But I wanted to hear him tell it. Tell me. Make it make sense.

“Real name John Culver. Biker name Tank. He and this
woman had a son. That young man,” Dad said, his tone growing darker with each
word. “That young man you’ve been…fraternizing with. I recognized him. He
couldn’t have been more than 12 at the time, but I recognized him. After
Giordino, I studied all our surveillance for days. I couldn’t get it out of my
head. I think Giordino went there to try and get her and the kid out before the
place got raided. So they wouldn’t have to see…”

Dad trailed off. We sat in silence, the ticking clock
the only noise. Finally, he sighed again.

“I know it’s not his fault, what happened to Giordino.
I know that, Samantha. But he’s bad news. Boys like that, they grow up bad, and
they only get worse. If he’s got half the piss and vinegar in his blood that
his dad had…I think that’s who did it, by the way. I’m pretty sure, it was John
Culver. Who else? That boy’s no good. I don’t want him in my city, I don’t want
him in my block, I don’t want him near my daughter,” Dad said, finishing with a
stare that turned my blood to ice.