Ridge Creek (20 page)

He shifts his weight and rolls onto a hip so he can face
me.  After looking thoughtful for a short while, his face grows serious again. 
“And my shit is my
shit. 
Unopened boxes of
my shit
stay
unopened.  No woman is welcome to poke around in my shit.  No matter who the
fuck she thinks she is. No poking in my shit is a big one.  You hearing me?”

Lifting an eyebrow, I flick him a sarcastic nod.  Within an
instant his body stiffens and his eyes narrow again.  He looks dangerous.  In a
deep voice of warning he growls, “Don’t fuckin’ roll your eyes and act
unconcerned Arianna.  I’m serious about this shit.  I find you poking around in
my boxes, there’ll be consequences.”

Um.  Yeah.  Got it.

“Message received,” I lean back as his eyes harden to a dark
green color, drilling into mine.  He’s giving me more than a simple warning.  My
heart starts beating faster at his growl and I wonder whether I am terrified or
whether I am turned on – big time.

He studies me for a few more seconds before appearing
satisfied I absorbed his message.  He relaxes and his eyes become lazy as his
lips soften.  He flicks a glance down at my top and I find myself suddenly self-conscious.  

Why I’m self-conscious, I’ve no idea.  I am wearing a simple
black short sleeved shirt with Nickelback written across the front in cool
purple and silver writing.  The shirt is not provocative.  The front comes up
high on my sternum to cover my breasts modestly.  There is no cleavage.  I own
shirts far more revealing than this one. 

I bought this one online to replace the one I left behind in
my old life.  I bought my first one at the 2012 Nickelback concert at Rod Laver
Arena.  The concert I attended on my own because Tony took a call on the way summoning
him to resolve a ‘business matter’.  This equated to him dropping me out the
front of the venue and speeding away without apology or a single glance back at
me.

Fortunately, despite the shaky start to my night, I loved
every second of the concert.  So much so it left me unaffected by Tony’s lack
of hesitation to abandon me.  Mainly because I didn’t care.  Even without my
boyfriend at my side, I had a blast.  The only real downer for the entire night
had been Tony’s inability to come get me
after
the concert to take me
home.  This translated into me standing for two hours in the chilly night air
waiting for a taxi due to the high volume of taxi usage at that time of night.

Physically shaking off thoughts of the Nickelback concert,
my shirt and my self-consciousness, I take a deep breath and study his face
again.  New thoughts of how sexy his lazy eyes are fuzz my brain and I decide
to continue along the box theme.

In hindsight, a stupid idea.

“Um.  While talking boxes, I hoped we could have a
little
chat.”  I pinch my fingers together in front of his face hoping to make the
conversation seem as insignificant as possible.

Another stupid idea because boxes have already featured in
our current conversation as
significant.

I watch his eyes flick to my fingers before they blank out. 
He looks annoyed again and his eyes are distant and cold.  He also looks
dangerous and I instantly decide I do
not
like his dangerous face.  His
dangerous face is scary and it would be best if I never saw it again.   Ever.

It really is that bad. 

It’s a true biker badass face and one that’s meant to stop
unwanted conversations.  I briefly consider keeping my mouth shut.   A far
safer plan of action would be to let the boxes conversation
go.
 
Stupidly, I don’t.

“I hoped - and I’ve already made tentative plans… to go
shopping for shelving for the shop front tomorrow.  Shelves would lift the
boxes off the floor and make walking space for customers.  They would also… um…
tidy the place up a bit.”  The last part of my sentence comes out as a tiny
squeak as I realize I’ve touched on two of his no go zones. 

It doesn’t take long for me to realise that this
conversation is not going to end well.  I confirm this when his eyes narrow yet
again.  The only difference this time is his pupils dilate at the same time. 

Okay, so now I’ve pissed him off
big time
.

Shit, oh dear.

Am I fucking crazy?

Why do I keep pissing big biker hulk man off?  It’s lunacy. 
I should know better.  The last time I pissed Tony off big time, my day did not
end well.

In a late effort to save myself, I snap my mouth shut and
clasp my hands together on my lap.  All I can do is wait for the impending
badass biker meltdown and take what I’ve provoked.

A muscle twitches in his jaw and I startle.  Why did it take
me this long to remember alcohol dulls one’s sense of danger?  I should have
seen this coming and abandoned the conversation before I even started it.

The blood starts rushing in my head. A clear signal that my
stress levels are peaked.  How could I have been so stupid?  Again.  It’s time
to stand down and get the hell out of Dodge.

“Um.  Okay, no shelves.  Got you.  I’ll just go give Luke a
quick call to tell him our shopping trip is
off,
” I mumble as I roll
over to my escape from the bed.

In an instant, Jake’s hand snakes out to grab me by the
wrist.  “No,” he growls.  “Its… okay.”  He sighs and his face softens again. 
“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to freak you out.  Shelves are fine.  They’re a good
idea.  Give me a chance to move a few unnecessary boxes out of the shopfront
before you go displaying stock, yeah?  I’ll leave all the boxes suitable for
unpacking in the shopfront.  They will be
open.
  After I’ve moved the
ones I need to move, if you find any unopened boxes, they are still
off-limits.  You hearing me?”

“Loud and clear,” I agree instantly frozen in mid roll aware
of Jake’s hand clamped firmly around my wrist.  I start to have a mini freak
out.  The last time I was grabbed by the wrists…

Jake quickly lets go as he senses my change in mood.  Still
not happy to let me go, he slides his hand over to apply pressure to the small
of my back and pulls me gently towards him.  It is as my front presses against
his that I hear him take a sharp breath.

“Shit.  Your back.”

“It’s fine,” I mumble as I tilt my head back to see his face. 
“The skin is healed.  Apart from being ugly and tight, there’s no real pain
anymore.”

“I made you fuckin’ panic again,” he says softly tilting his
head to see my eyes.  “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s not your fault…” I start as he cuts me short.

“I know it’s not my fucking fault, but that doesn’t mean I
shouldn’t tread lightly.  I need to try harder not to scare the shit out of
you.”

“You don’t need to tread lightly Jake, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.  If you were fine you wouldn’t have been
trying to jump
out
of bed with me.  I’m more used to chicks trying to
jump
in
bed with me.” He’s smirking again and the sparkle has returned
to his eyes.  He cocks his eyebrow and I watch his eyebrow piercing lift. 

In response to his smirk, I relax.  My body softens and my
awareness of our proximity spikes.  I can smell the mint of his toothpaste as
he breathes slowly against my forehead.

“You growled at me,” I murmur.  “I don’t like it when you
growl at me.”

“Don’t give me reason to then.  Simple.”

“You growled about
boxes
.  You make it sound like
you’ve got dead bodies stored in the shopfront.”

Jake tenses suddenly.    His body becomes rock hard.

Huh?   

What the hell? 

In a barely audible whisper I ask, “You don’t have any dead
bodies in boxes in the shop front do you?”

Jake remains stiff and unmoving.  He’s not even breathing. 
I start to wonder if his heart has stopped.

“Jake?”

No response. 

Jesus Christ.

He’s got
dead bodies
in boxes?  Emma told me I needed
to prepare for the hard truths about our biker boys but I had not seen
this
coming.  I imagined they were stealing motorbikes and selling the parts. 
This
was
not
on my radar.  Not
dead
bodies.  I wonder who they are? 
Do I really care? 

They were probably badass,
badasses
who did horrible
deeds that led to them ending up dead in boxes.  They were probably like Tony,
low scum who deserved to die.  Surely?

“Um… Jake?”  I clear my throat slightly so my voice is more
than just a squeak.  “I don’t mind if you have dead bodies in boxes... in your
shopfront.  Just saying.  Especially if they were scum who earned their spots
in your boxes.  I’d find it a bit
unsanitary
though.  Surely you have
better places to store dead bodies?  I’ve seen Breaking Bad.  Perhaps I could
suggest you melt them down in a barrel?  With my Google skills I’m sure we can
come up with a list of the chemicals needed.  We live in the country, plastic
barrels and caustic substances are easy to come by yeah?  Farming supplies are readily
accessible at agriculture stores.  As long as there are no women and
definitely
no children in those boxes, I can deal.”

I pause briefly to suck in another breath before continuing. 
“That said, if you need to tell me about women or children in your boxes, I
might need to make the hard call and move to another place.  I promise to keep
mum.  I
really
do.  I just want you to understand that dead women and
children in boxes is a small boundary I cannot stretch while adapting to my new
lifestyle.  This could be one small waiver to the promise I’ve made to Emma that
I will expand my lines of morality.  Dead scumbags, like Tony for example?  All
good.  Dead women and children, not good…”

I am cut off mid ramble by the sudden and alarming movement
of Jake.  One minute he is tense and stiff next to me, the next he is on top of
me and I’m on my back pinned to the bed.  Both his hands are either side of my
head and he is staring at me.  An almost confused look on his face.

I try to work out what his face is telling me.  It’s sharp
and alert, but both sad and confused at the same time.

“Stop Arianna,” he says slowly as he draws his brows
together, jams his eyes shut and sighs.

“You’re about to tell me about dead bodies in boxes aren’t
you?” I murmur, my heart thumping hard against my ribcage. 

Fucking hell.

“No… yes.  Maybe,” he says hesitantly as his eyes snap open
again to stare at me.

This is getting creepy.

“Tell me about your
expansion of morality
,” he says,
his hot breath whispering across my face.

“Um…”

“Talk woman,” he grunts impatiently.

“I’m not sure now is a good time to discuss my thoughts on
morality.  Not with you on top of me and me pinned.  I would prefer to have
this conversation sitting upright.  Perhaps at a table, with you on one side
and me on the other.  And perhaps I could have my new Dogue de Bordeaux with
me.  My all grown up Dogue de Bordeaux would be good.  Although growing him
will take time - a luxury we don’t have.  Especially because I get the distinct
feeling that our views on morality may differ and we need to discuss them
sooner rather than later.  I’m also now worried that our differing views are
going to mean
more
bad days for me.”

“Fuck,” Jake growls.  “
Stop
talking woman.”

I stop talking.

“What the
fuck
are you rabbiting on about?” He asks
looking even more confused.

“Um…?”

“You don’t even know do you?” He shakes his head and rolls
his eyes.  “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here and you are banging
on about a dog again.  What’s with the fuckin’ dog?  You really want one?  I’ll
get you one.  I assumed you were talking shit last time you mentioned the
fuckin’ dog. 
Jesus.
”

“You’re going to get me a dog?”

Huh?

If he’s still talking about me getting a dog then he’s not
expecting me to leave.  This has to be good. Perhaps this means no women and
children in boxes?

“Yes I’m going to get you a fucking dog,” he growls again
looking pissed.  “But first, I want to learn more about your
expansion of
morality.
  Without the ramble and I want to understand
your
boundaries.  I
need
to understand them.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” He grunts looking confused again.

“For getting me a dog.  I’ve wanted one for as long as I can
remember…”

“For fuck sake.  Quit with the fuckin’ rambling woman and
talk
to me.”

His eyes have hardened and he looks pissed again.

Woops.

Time to talk.

“Well it’s simple.  I don’t have them anymore.  With my
small exception of dead woman and children.  Oh and perhaps terrorism. 
Terrorism is
bad.
  What’s stupid about my old boundaries is that if
shitwad Tony had have been honest with me about the business I was unknowingly
supporting, I would have dealt.  Even bad businesses can be run well.  I like
businesses to run well.  It’s a quirk of mine…”

“Jesus. Fucking.  Christ.” Jake cuts me short again as he
rolls his head back to stare at the ceiling.  “And to think I picked you up off
the side of the road.  Your telling me you’re okay with mob business as long as
it is run well?  What the fuck.” He mutters as he shakes his head and rolls off
me to lay on his back staring at the ceiling.  The ceiling that no longer has a
nasty poster of a naked woman on it.  I had Zane take that down for me a week
ago.

“Um… Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to tell me about the dead bodies in your
boxes?”

“No I’m not.”

“Oh…”

So he’s changed his mind about telling me.  Which leaves me
wondering whether they are women and children again.