Page 10 of His Old Lady

She started the engine and raised her hand in farewell to Priest. He lifted his chin, never turning his back to her, but watching her put the car in reverse. For all she knew, he wanted to make sure she left the clubhouse.

Putting the car in drive, she stopped at the street and looked both ways. At a break in traffic, she pulled out and headed toward the interstate to go home.

Home wasn't exactly the word she'd use for where she lived. To her, it was still Grandma June's house, even though the deed was now in her name.

The house should've gone to Uncle Walker, not her. But Curley thought it was best if Grandma June put the house in Faye's name after the arrest and before the incarceration. It had to do with the prison taking assets and him being afraid she wouldn't have a place to live if the will wasn't changed and something happened to Grandma June.

Being a kid, she hadn't understood at the time, but she was thankful for his insight when Grandma June passed away.

Uncle Walker had nine years left out of a twenty-five-year sentence for killing two men. The article claimed it was a gang war because the victims were Cusclan Motorcycle Club members.

No one ever talked about Uncle Walker's crimes. It wasn't until she'd entered ninth grade and learned how to use the microfiche at the library that she found the records.

She was young when Tarkio Motorcycle Club was a part of her everyday life, but she wasn't stupid. Her uncle lived and breathed the brotherhood. If he'd killed—and the court system proved he had—then, he'd done it for Tarkio.

Each member, including Curley, were just as much responsible for the deaths as Uncle Walker.

She looked over her shoulder and switched lanes, spotting a motorcycle rider behind her, motioning an arm in the air for her to pull over. Recognizing Curley, she had the urge to keep going.

Anytime they were together, any conversation turned into a war. Most of the time, she felt like it was Tarkio Motorcycle Club that had the part of Curley she wanted as his old lady. He was quick to run whenever the phone rang, and she couldn't do anything to entice him to her house. He partied at the clubhouse, yet refused to spend time with her.

She hit the back of her head against the headrest and blew air out of her tight lips. He frustrated her. Somehow, he always gave her a glimmer of hope that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, and those signs he gave off, kept her hanging on.

When he touched her, she could see how he reacted. He could feel how she trembled. She'd swear he was obsessed with her but for him always leaving.

If he'd only spend time with her instead of with the motorcycle club, and let go of that damn control he held onto so fiercely.

One day, he'd realize she wasn't a young girl anymore. She had a lifetime of love to give him, and maybe, just maybe, she would be the best he'd ever had if he allowed himself to act on his feelings.

She exited the highway and pulled over into a small gravel patch at the side of the road. The noise of his Harley filtered in through her open window before shutting off.

Putting the car in park and taking her foot off the brake, she watched him in the side mirror stalk toward her.

His broad body filled the window. He braced his hand on the door and bent down. She gazed into his dark, brown eyes. Over the years, she'd had one person who remained a constant in her life. Curley was always there. He never forgot her birthday or Christmas, and he'd stood beside her at the prison and when Grandma June died.

Even though he hated her now for her part in having sex with him, she was glad he'd claimed her. Their relationship status meant he would never leave her unless he got killed. And, she'd take him, even if he never allowed himself to love her.

He was better than her mom, who'd abandoned her before her addiction took her life. He was better than her Uncle Walker, who'd promised to take care of her but ended up in prison. He was better than Grandma June, who'd died on her—life was unfair that way.

When he continued to stand there looking at her and not saying a word, she said, "What?"

He reached behind him and pulled a stack of money out of his pocket, tossing it into the backseat of her car.

Heaviness settled on her. "I don't want..."

He walked back to his motorcycle. Her gaze went to the mirror. Why wouldn't he ever admit that he liked when they had sex or that before she'd slept with him, he cared about her? That's all she wanted from him.

Putting her foot on the brake, she shifted the car into drive and pulled back on the road. Punching the accelerator, she roared away from him.

Curley could go back to his life, pretending he was a single biker. There were probably a hundred women who were standing around, waiting for their chance with him.

She exhaled loudly, letting the wind cool her off. Meanwhile, she would go back to Superior. To a house that belonged to her. To plants that needed watered and cared for. To her life alone.

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