Page 22 of Lucky's Trouble

That’s disappointing. I thought Mr. Good Time Biker would take me on a ride or somewhere to cause some chaos. An errand sounds boring and definitely not worth the punishment headed my way.

“I don’t think so. I need to get home,” I say.

“Oh, come on.” His hand reaches for my knee, snaking inside the worn hole in my denim and stroking bare flesh. I jump, startled at the contact, but his touch remains, warming my skin and spreading tingles throughout my body. I try to muster up some anger at his audacity, but I can’t deny that I like the way he makes me feel.

I find myself murmuring an “okay” before I have time to overthink. I both hate that I’m attracted to him and love it in equal measure. I’m so used to feeling nothing that I could easily get addicted to this fluttering in my belly. This man is a threat to my self-preservation.

“Good girl.” His hand moves away to grip the handlebar, and he peels out of the parking lot.

Even though he can’t see me, I bite into my lower lip to hide my smile from his praise. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just use the time it takes to get wherever he’s taking me to reel my emotions back in. So, as much as it hurts, as the miles pass by with the wind in my hair and the feeling of freedom washing over me, I tamp it down and remember my dark reality.

A half-hour isn’t nearly time enough to convince me there’s no hope. I’m mostly there as Lucky parks in front of a two-story home in a planned community where the yards are maintained and neighbors wave as you pass. They even acknowledged us, though the roar of the engine was louder than the lawnmowers, and I’m certain our attire is an offense to their modest senses.

If I was cranky after spending my time on his bike convincing myself to go back to Neal, then being in this neighborhood does the trick. I grew up in a house identical to this and around folks who pretended to be accepting and welcoming, but behind your back, it was a whole different story.

“Where are we?” I ask as I lift the helmet off my head.

“My parents’ house.”

My eyes bulge. “What the fuck, Lucky? Why would you bring me here?”

“Sunday lunch.” He shrugs. “My mama would be pissed if I didn’t show up.”

“That doesn’t explain why you brought me.”

His expression softens with his deep exhale. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me. But I’m pretty good at reading people, and something about you says you could use a little comfort. There’s nothing more comforting than a home-cooked meal and some wholesome family time.”

“Clearly, you don’t know me because if you did, you would know I don’t find families comforting.” My life may not be sunshine and rainbows, but at least I know where I stand. There’s not one person who isn’t honest about what they think of me. The men at the club who think I’m nothing more than a toy, my colleagues who see me as their competition, and even Neal, who sees me as a possession. They’ve never once tried to convince me I’m anything more or anything less than what I am to them.

Families are different.

“Then you haven’t met mine.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward the door. “Smile. My mama and sisters are no doubt watching us through the window, and I don’t want them to think I kidnapped you.”

“Didn’t you, though?”

“One hour,” he says. “Give me one hour, and I’ll take you home.”

“Fine.” What else can I say? Maybe if he knew what I was giving up to be here, he’d be a little more respectful of my time, but no. I can’t tell him that. My life is a delicate house of cards, carefully balanced one on top of the other. All it would take is a single misstep, and they would crumble to the ground, taking Myla and me with them.

Sure enough, when we round the corner of the garage to the front porch, I spot three pairs of eyes peering through the wide wooden slats of the blinds. They disappear, and seconds later, the front door swings open, revealing three women. The older one, clearly Lucky’s mom, is adorable with round cheeks and a neat bob. She’s dressed in what appears to be an expensive matching knit set with her cream, short-sleeved top tucked into the pants just in the front.

The two younger ones look like copy-and-paste versions of her, only with longer hair and trendier clothes. If I had to guess, they’re both younger than Lucky’s thirty-one. They’re pretty and put together, but in a way that reminds me all too much of the girls I grew up with.

Lucky’s mom beams a smile aimed directly at her son as she pushes through his sisters and opens her arms wide. “Wilder! I didn’t think you were coming.”

Wilder, huh? The name suits him.

The sisters each take her place in Lucky’s embrace, and strangely, it appears genuine, though I can’t imagine a family like this is happy with the way he turned out. A member of a 1%er biker club and part-owner of a brothel doesn’t fit any parent’s ideal image for their child.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a guest,” his mom scolds.

The fight or flight I felt growing up kicks in. Never knowing when the judgmental jabs were coming, or if the looks of disdain would show.

“Didn’t think you’d mind.” Lucky releases one of his sisters and turns to me. “This is Tinleigh. She’s Myla’s twin.”

They know who Myla is? Why? How?

“Of course she is. You two must be identical, but I knew you weren’t her.” She narrows her eyes and cocks her head. “I can tell you have a bit more spice in you than your sister.”

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