Ridge Creek Reunited (Ridge Creek Duology) (12 page)

One is the huge, bald guy with the long black curly beard and tattooed head I spoke to in the communal room on one of my early days here. The other is an average sized guy, a bit on the lean side with long gray hair and a long gray beard. His gray hair is tied behind his head in a ponytail and my first impression of him is that he has an uncanny likeness to Willie Nelson the American country music singer.

Huge, bald guy leans against the doorjamb, yet another cigarette hanging from his mouth as he grins at me. His eyes are shining warmly so I give him a small smile in return. “Hey sugar,” his raspy voice drawls out slowly as his cigarette does its bobbing thing between his lips.

“Um, hi.” I return slowly, suddenly feeling claustrophobic with this man blocking the doorway as his friend stands just inside the doorway and to his left. I’m starting to feel like I’m in one of those prison scenes where the baddies stand in the doorway ominously before something bad happens. Something like a beating or a shivving.

Bald guy really is
big.
He clearly likes his protein and carbohydrates. Unsure why he’s standing in the doorway looking so happy with himself, I stare dumbly at him for a moment before asking, “What’s chewing?”

A look of surprise crosses his face as he lifts his hand to pull his cigarette from his lips. My eyes follow his hand as I watch him flick ash on the floor at his feet before shoving the cigarette back in his mouth. Raising his eyebrows, he flicks his eyes towards his gray haired friend, takes a long suck on his cigarette and then grabs it out of his mouth again so he can blow a long cloud of smoke out.

Wondering if I should mention that this room a bit too small to be choking us all with his cigarette smoke, I err on the side of caution and keep my mouth shut. I may be getting bolder in my dealings with the rest of the world but I’m not yet bold enough to tell a
big
biker to stop smoking.

Letting his eyebrows drop again, he swings his eyes back to mine. “What’s chewing?” He asks. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean sugar?” He starts grinning again.

Okay then.

Brilliant. Not only am I stupid enough to try to engage this guy in conversation, I kick-off the conversation in a language he doesn’t understand.

“I meant what’s going on…” I mumble as I swing my eyes to Emma who has now stopped tapping away at her keyboard. She’s staring me like I’m an idiot as she shakes her head. She stops shaking her head, rolls her eyes, flicks a glance at the two guys in the doorway and then starts tapping on her keyboard again. “Shift change,” she announces to no one in particular.

Oh.

Shuffling closer to Emma, I look at the bottom right of her computer screen to check the time. It’s twenty to seven. “Oh, okay. What time does shift start?” I ask musing that these guys are either late or early because no one starts a shift between half hourly markers do they?

Still grinning, bald guy announces, “Now.”

Moving his eyes to Dregs he gives him a quick nod. Dregs nods back, gets up from his seat while announcing, “Later,” to no one in particular and heads for the door. Bald guy moves backwards to let him out and then refills the doorway again.

Grey haired guy, watches Dregs leave and then wanders over to sit in his now vacant seat. Skimming his eyes across the monitors, he leans back, crosses his legs at his ankles and turns his gaze to Emma and me. I get the distinct impression he wants us to leave.

“Five minutes guys,” Emma announces while she continues her furious tapping on her keyboard.

Grey haired guy nods and turns his eyes back to the screens. Bald guy in the doorway grins at Emma before announcing, “You work to fuckin’ hard crazy lady.”

“Fuck off,” Emma snaps under her breath as she swings to her second laptop and starts typing something else.

“Just sayin’,” bald guy announces as he finally decides to move into the room. Walking direct towards me I find myself having a mini-freak out as various hairs on my body stand to attention. Seeming to sense my unease, he smiles at me again as he lifts his cigarette to his mouth for one last drag. Sucking deep, he then drops it to the floor and scrubs it out as he continues to stride towards me. “Gunna have to move sugar, I’m taking
your chair.”

“
You
,” Emma has now stopped typing and has her head turned, her eyes pinned on bald guy, “Are going to have to stop smoking in here. I told you last night, no smoking near the monitors or the computers.”

Quickly darting sideways to get out of his way, I watch as bald guy lowers hi
mself into my recently abandoned chair. Still grinning he directs his reply straight at her. “And I told
you
last night, not gunna happen.”

Emma narrows her eyes at him.

Uh oh.

I’ve seen that look on her face before and at a guess, whatever spews out of her mouth next will not be pretty. Her gray eyes flash stormily and I watch as she slowly spins her chair so she is facing
directly at bald guy.

“Rabbit, I thought we sorted this last night. Jake and Zane have spent a packet on this shit and your second hand smoke could kill the fans. Quit fucking bitching you dumbass and learn that whoever your poor mama was who let you get away with shit all your life, I am
not
her. I don’t care if you’re a big fat-assed biker or not, this shit will not stand with me. The way I see it, you’ve got two choices. The first is to listen to what I say and act on it. You do this because Jake is paying you to do this job and he is also paying me to make sure
you
can do this job. The second is to ignore what I say and leave it in my hands to explain to Jake that you plan to smoke in here and destroy his very expensive equipment. If you go with the second, I assure you I will come prepared. That is, with a six-pack of beer, a packet of Twisties and a deck chair to sit on while I enjoy the show of Jake
kicking your fucking ass.
”

Holy shit.

I so need to take lessons off Emma on how to talk biker. She’s
good
at it.

I hear a chuckle to my right and look across to see gray haired guy smiling
big
at Emma as his body shakes violently with the effort to hold back his laughter. Bald guy, who I now know is called Rabbit, does not look so amused. The grin fades from his face and to my amazement, he looks like a schoolchild who just dropped his ice-cream. “Sorry crazy lady.”

“My name is Emma, not crazy lady. Go to the communal room if you want to smoke. Ari, this is Rabbit and Willy,” she flicks her hand to point at each man. “Willy is a nice guy, aptly nicknamed because he looks like Willie Nelson. Rabbit is an asshole. I don’t know why he’s called Rabbit and to be honest, I don’t care. Don’t let Rabbit fool you with his grin, he finds fucking with people amusing. Any problems with him, you let me know. I’ve already run
his
background check and,” she swings her attention back to Rabbit, “if he continues being childish, I won’t hesitate to ring
Olga.
”

At this point, Rabbit looks shocked. His face pales, his eyes widen and I hear him wheeze.

Emma glares at him. “Yes, I know about Olga your wife in Western Australia,” she announces before swinging her eyes back to mine and showing me a cheeky grin. “Olga has anger management issues and drives a Kenworth truck for a living. From what I’ve gleaned so far, while they were together, whenever Rabbit managed to piss Olga off she would retaliate by parking her truck
on his bike.
After the third bike, Rabbit hightailed it out of the State. Not before emptying a considerable amount of money from the joint bank account Olga had been pouring all her savings in to so they could buy their own home together. Olga may not know where Rabbit is right now, but I do know she’s still looking for him.”

“You wouldn’t…” Rabbit rasps angrily, no signs of a grin on his face
at all.

Emma grins at him. “Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t. You don’t know that. Now stop acting like a child and
no more smoking around the technology.”

Huffing, Rabbit turns his chair to look at the monitors. His back now facing Emma. Willy still stifling his amusement mutters, “Olga huh? Always wondered why you look so freaked out when a truck comes up behind us on the road.”

“Fuck off.” Rabbit returns in a wheezy rasp.

Emma shrugs, turns back to her laptop and continues typing. I stare at her for a few beats before she stops and tips her head to me. “Any chance you can make us both dinner?”

“Sure,” I agree instantly as she returns her attention to her screen.

“Give me a yell when it’s done and I’ll finish here yeah?”

“On it,” I announce quickly before continuing, “Nice meeting you Willy and Rabbit. Thanks for looking after Pierre last night.”

“Most welcome sugar,” Rabbit mutters not taking his eyes from the screen. Willy just nods.

Suddenly remembering my manners I ask, “You guys hungry too?”

“Nah, just had a feed. That’s how we knew it was our shift. We start after dinner.”

“What time’s dinner then?” I ask trying to get a handle on the new shift times.

“When we’re hungry,” Willy announces turning his face to give me a grin.

“Right. Of course.” I mutter as I look to the corner where Pierre is still sleeping soundly. “Can you two keep an eye on him?”

“Sure thing,” Willy nods as he turns his eyes back to the monitors.

“Thanks,” I mumble as I turn and leave the room.

*****

I head back to my bedroom planning to change my white top before I start cooking. I’m a messy cook and no matter how much I try, I splatter something all over myself. Even if I’m just making a salad.

Walking past the communal room I notice it
s busy today. About ten or so guys are hanging about playing pool, sitting at the bar or watching television. Zane is at the bar and gives me a chin lift as I pass the door. There’s no sign of Jake.

Weaving through the honeycomb of smaller rooms, I arrive back at
my bedroom. As I open my door my eyes are instantly drawn to my bed. On it lays my laptop, my camera, my mobile phone, a set of keys and a piece of paper.

My thoughts instantly snap to Jake
. I don’t hesitate as I head straight to the bed and pick up the piece of paper. It’s a note.

Keys are to Dad’s truck and to my house. Truck’s parked out front. Second gear doesn’t work.

Rev hard in first, dip clutch, shift straight to third.
Jake.

Shit.

What the hell does this mean? Does he want me to come home?

As if. It’s going to take me a bit more than a day to get over my feelings about his wife.

Screwing up the note and tossing it back on the bed, I pick up my phone and slide it into my back pocket. Moving quickly to the tallboy, I yank out a black t-shirt, rip off my white top and pull on the black one. Not stopping to think about Jake’s note for a second longer I plan my evening
. Cook tea, edit photo’s for Luke’s website and then go to bed.

Stay busy.

Too easy.

Lost

Three hours later, Jake…

Sitting at the bar staring at my half empty beer, I cringe. Maybe I should have stayed at the Harley shop. At least there’d have been others to sit and distract me from the garbage circulating in my head.

Why the fuck I came home I don’t know.

This sitting and waiting shit is not my style and patience is not one of my virtues. She wanted me to back off. I have. The ball’s in her court. She’d better hit that fucker back sooner rather than later. In other words before I lose my shit and give her a real reason to leave.

Grabbing the beer, I suck it most of the way to the bottom. Grimacing, I feel the sting of beer against a split on my lip and I realize the fucking thing is now warm and tastes like shit anyway. Standing slowly, I round the bar and tip the warm beer dregs into the sink. With a quick flick, I turn the Flick Mixer tap on and off quickly for a burst of water to rinse the waste away. I then turn and drop the empty bottle into a recycle bin behind the bar.

As the bottle bounces on the bottom of the empty bin, I grin to myself. I love this bar, I love this shed and I love this house. I love it so much I actually make an effort to keep it clean. It also helps that Ma turns up twice a week to clean up after me but that’s a secret I plan to keep to myself.

Everything is built exactly how I wanted it with no expense spared. It’s the dream home that my dad always talked about. The dream home he would have given his wife and two sons if only he’d had more time. The dream home he painstakingly described to me in detail as I sat perched for hours on the chair next to his bed.

As a sixteen year old boy, I soaked up every last word that slowly whispered from the mouth of my dying father. A man I loved and respected more than any other man on this earth. A man who slowly starved to death as the pain of slowly rotting from the inside out took its course. Cancer is one of the most fucked up ways to die. I’d take a bullet to the forehead any given day over slowly rotting away in bed.

Turning from the bar I growl angrily, “It’s too fuckin’ quiet in here.” Becoming increasingly agitated by the minute, I storm to the sliding glass door. Sliding it open with too much force, it slams onto the end of its guide rail and bounces noisily.

Fuck.

Ignoring the high probability that I just derailed the damned door, I grab for the sliding screen door and drag it closed with a slam. The sound of the aluminum door slamming against its frame echo’s through the night. The dull roar of the night creatures stops momentarily as the door slams. For a brief moment the crickets silence their constant creaking and the bullfrogs fall silent. It’s as if the entire world around me is holding its breath waiting for my next anger fueled move.

Realizing I don’t have one, the world moves on. The forest noises return loudly as I stare down the gravel path to the back door of my house and wonder if I should go back to the house.

Fuck no.

Moving back into the room I head to the wooden box that holds all of my boxing gloves.

Time to beat shit out of something.

Sliding on my favorite pair of gloves, I wince as they scratch across my already bruised and swollen knuckles. Images of the night before flash before my eyes and I quickly shut them down. What happened last night was necessary.
And enlightening. Although it may not physically look like it, I feel a fuck of a lot better for it because at least I know where everyone stands.

Slapping the Velcro down tightly on each glove, I check they’re firm on my hands. Arianna threatening me to up and leave pisses me off. I’m well over manipulation by women so hearing that shit come from her, the one woman I thought might be different, does not sit well. It has a slight stink of
Victoria in it which is reason enough for me to take pause and rethink. Rethink how far I want to take this with her. Perhaps I have Arianna pegged wrong? Perhaps she only
appears
able to take a beating and get up again. Perhaps she doesn’t really deal with shit at face value.

Which is why we still need to talk.

Having to deal with Victoria’s shit again last night was the timely reminder I needed to remember that secrets and shadow games with the woman in your life does not, and never will, work. If you can’t trust the woman in your bed with all your secrets, she shouldn’t be there.

Fuck.

Walking across the room, I stop in front of the floor to ceiling ball. Staring momentarily at the round leather inflatable ball suspended between the floor and the ceiling by elastic cords I take a deep breath to focus before lifting my arms.

Starting slowly, I jab carefully as I feel the pain burn through my already bruised knuckles. The ball rebounds fast and I pick up my pace, ignoring the pain. The rebound on a floor to ceiling ball is fast. It can be difficult to track and hit using normal hand eye coordination so it takes skill and concentration. It forces me to relax and start focusing not on the ball direct but on its track and its direction. It encourages me to use my peripheral vision because I need to predict where the ball will be, rather than where it is as I swing my arm through.

As my knuckles numb out, I continue to jab faster and faster as autopilot strokes take over and my mind wanders back to my father. As I have been prone to do of late, I find myself reminiscing like an old man. Wondering what my life might have been like if I’d have spent my teenage years doing homework in my bedroom instead of growing and harvesting pot in the garden shed out the back of my parent’s house.

I was a smart kid. Too damned smart perhaps. Smart enough that I scraped through school while managing to earn enough income to keep my mother where she needed to be; at my father’s side. At his side as he slowly, painstakingly, crept his way towards death. A long-drawn-out process that took over two years. Two years of watching him shift from a fit, healthy, active man to a shriveled up bony corpse unable to even feed himself.

Not that I regret my life choices and my lifestyle. I love the Harley Shop and I love my brothers. I am surrounded by good people. At first glance many of us appear rough and dangerous. Which is how we like it. But if you take the time to scratch the surface, you’ll find every one of us carries a clear conscience and that in itself makes for good people.

Starting to sweat, I continue to punish the speed ball in front of me. Aware that I can no longer feel my knuckles, I grunt as the dull thud of another pain starts
radiating from my side where the bullet scratched me yesterday. Pain is good. Pain is what I need.

The familiar sound of a text message alert cuts through my thoughts. I consider ignoring it for another jab or two before deciding there is still too much shit brewing around Arianna to let messages go unanswered.

Slamming the small leather ball with one last hard swing, I turn and walk away. The sound of the ball vibrating on its cords still audible as I reach the bar and pick up my phone. Dragging my finger across the screen I see that it’s a message from Willy back at the Harley Shop.

She’s on the move.

Fuck.

I stare thoughtfully at the screen as I wonder whether I it was right to give her a set of keys to Dad’s truck. I’m still not convinced Emma and Zane have this right. They’re both convinced we have enough security in place (including Anton following her around) that she should be okay.

They think giving her some freedom might be what she needs to cool down. Emma thinks her threat to head for Sydney is a reaction to feeling like she has no control over anything in her life. Giving her the truck gives her more choice and more freedom. The ball is now in her court on where she goes and when she does it. I hope to fuck Emma has this right and I hope to fuck Arianna makes the right choice.

Making a snap decision on how I will deal with this information, I
press and hit send on my single letter response to Willy’s text.

K

Sliding the phone into my back pocket, I walk around the bar and grab two cold beers from the fridge. Without waiting for any more texts I head to the door. Thankful the sliding door is still on its guide rail, I lock the shed behind me before heading to the house for a shower.

*****

Forty minutes later…Arianna.

I’m still not sure how my late night decision to take Jake’s truck for a spin got me here. Here being the middle of butt fuck State Forest nowhere, in the dark and seemingly lost.

Goddamit.

Deciding it’s high time to do something about it, I pull the truck slowly to the dirt on the side of the bitumen road. With my foot on the brake pedal, I knock the engine out of gear but decide to leave it running. The road ahead looks scarily unfamiliar and appears to lead to the middle of nowhere. I can’t recognize a single landmark and I’m not even sure I’m on the right road anymore. All I can see is trees lining each side of the road and I haven’t seen a street sign for kilometers.

The headlights of the car that’s been not so discreetly following me since I left the shop mirrors my movements and pulls up slowly behind me. I squint into the rear vision mirror as the black car creeps slowly to a stop and once again I try in vain to catch a glimpse of the driver.

I wonder if I should be nervous as I stare intently into the mirror. I’m almost sure the car behind me is the car that Anton was sitting in out the front of Jake’s shop.

Surely it’s Anton?

A hint of unease stiffens my inners as I consider the possibility that someone else is now driving the same car. Unsure whether I
’m doing the right thing, I decide that I’ll wait for the driver to get out of the mysterious black car and if it’s
not
Anton, I’ll just drive off.

To where, I don’t know. But hey, it
’s a plan right?

Too easy.

As I wait I think about my conversation with Emma earlier today. Emma and I are in agreeance that Anton’s presence as my shadow is legitimate. This follows Emma’s confirmation earlier today that Stephen Bradford’s missing daughter story is true and that he employs a large staff of security to protect him against an unidentified threat to he and his father. She also disclosed the car parked out the front of the shop was listed as rented to a Mr. Anton Angel. So far there is no reason to believe that Stephen Bradford has been lying to me.

The headlights on the car behind me shut off and the parking lights come on. I blink quickly as my eyes adjust to the sudden change in brightness. Moving my focus to the driver’s side mirror, I lean forward slightly in my seat as I watch the driver’s door of the car behind me.

For what seems like a long minute or two, nothing happens. The car door remains closed. Whoever the driver is, they appear happy to wait. For what, I don’t know.

Frustrated at the lack of movement,
I wind my window down and stick my head out to look backwards. As I do, I hear the car engine turn off and the park lights on the car dim down a little more. I can now make out the shape of the driver.

My head out the window tactic works and the car door suddenly swings open. The interior light comes on. Anton lifts from the car and relief floods through me about a half second before I gasp.

Holy shit, what the hell happened to him?

Even with the limited light coming from the car
’s interior light, I can see Anton has had a run in. He has a black eye, a split lip and tape across the top of his nose.

What the fuck?

Leaving his car door open, Anton moves towards me shaking his head. “Not smart pulling over in the middle of nowhere girl,” he announces as I continue to hang my head out the window, my mouth dropping open and my jaw slack.

“What the hell happened to you?” I ask shocked that his face has clearly taken a severe pounding.

“Nothing,” he deadpans as he continues to move closer to my car, his eyes locked on me. “Are you carrying a weapon?” He asks as he takes a few quick strides and stops outside my window.

I continue to stare at him
, dismayed at his battered appearance and wonder if I should insist that he tell me what happened. The thought that he may have taken a beating on my behalf crosses my mind and I blanch. Poor guy, he could be yet another person who has had to stand in the line of fire on my behalf.

“Jesus. Are you okay?” I ask again as I take a better look at the considerable damage to his face. My eyes then slide down to where I can see his hands and I gasp again. One hand has swollen to almost twice its normal size and the other is peppered with cuts and bruises.

Holy crap.

“I’m fine,” he responds indifferently.

Wow this guy is cold

“Do you have a weapon?” He asks again starting to sound annoyed.

“Umm. No. I lost my gun the other night when…” I stop midsentence as I realize what he just asked and what I am telling him.

Should I have told him that?

Shit.

Realizing that I may have just made yet another stupid mistake in my long line of stupid mistakes, I snap my head back in the window. It’s as my mind sends the message to my feet to dip the clutch and hit the accelerator that Anton’s hand flies through the window to grab the keys from the ignition. The engine of the truck sputters to a stop.