Page 8 of Shame

I was going to tell him he better get his shit cleaned up in the barn before someone blows their head off, but I can already see that shit ain’t gonna happen.

“I ain’t the FBI. But I do know them.” His eyes widen. “They told me if I don’t confiscate all them guns you got in the back, they're gonna come get you.”

Should I feel bad for this? Maybe a little. But do I? No fucking way. Not when I’m saving lives.

“Th-they d-did?” His frail hands shake, and he grips onto the door harder.

The guy is harmless. Has to weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. Old enough to be my grandfather. But he’s losing his goddamn mind and problems arise because of it. I can’t have that.

I nod. “I’m gonna do you a favor and take them of your hands.”

He nods shakily, so I turn and head down the steps and make my way to the back of his property, to the broken-down barn that has more holes in the roof than a slice of swiss cheese. When I pull the doors open, the damn things fall off their hinges. I jump back, shaking my head at the rusty nails sticking out of the thing every which way. The fuck is wrong with this guy?

Stepping around the door, I head into the barn, and my jaw drops the fuck open.

It’s like a damn armory in here. No way in fuck I can carry all this shit on my bike. I run a hand down my face, looking up at the bright sky.

The fuck is wrong with the people in this town? I say that too much. Way too fucking much.

I look around, wondering if I can sneak out to get my truck and come back without the old man noticing. Knowing him, he’s probably watching me out the window. With a huff, I go back to the house, bang on his door for another ten minutes, and when he opens it, I let him know I forgot my “equipment” and I’ll be right back. He may not remember any of this, and I’ll have to do this whole charade all over again when I get back, but what the fuck ever.

The sun is going down as I leave Harry’s house. Another day gone. More shit piled on top of the old shit. One of these days, doing all this work will be worth it. That’s what I keep telling myself. I love the club, love my family, but damn, this town is full of a bunch of ungrateful bastards. It’s much better than it used to be, from what I’ve been told, but it still needs a lot of work. Let’s see if Coyote can help with that.

When I come over the hill, I spot a car on the side of the road with the hazards on. Great. Just what I need. Another ungrateful prick to make me wish I was born across the fucking country. It’s my duty to help people in this town, it’s why we do what we do, and most days I love it, but I’m fucking tired today. Being the good civilian I am, I pull over behind it. And don’t you know? For once, luck is on my side.

Cora is wandering around the grassy area, fiddling with her phone. She’s so focused on it, she doesn’t notice me pull up. Hell of a focus she must have, because my bike is loud as fuck.

“You need some help?” I call out after I shut my bike off.

She startles, her phone flying from her hand and landing in the tall grass. When she looks at me, her mouth drops open, and her eyes widen. I chuckle as I get off my bike, putting my helmet on the back. Her eyes stay on me as I walk to her. When I reach her, I look down in the grass for where her phone fell, and when I spot it, I pick it up and offer it to her.

“Bet you wish you had my number now, don’t you?” I say with a smirk.

She shakes her head. I raise a brow.

“I-I just mean it’s not working. I don’t have service out here.” She takes her phone. “Besides, you asked for my number, so that wouldn’t have helped.”

“‘Course it would have. ‘Cause I’d have called you already, meaning you’d have mine.” I give her a full smile.

She grins and ducks her head before looking back up at me and meeting my eyes. I don’t want to pull away, so I don’t. She’s the one who breaks contact, looking down at her phone with a quick shake of her head. I want to reach out and grip her chin, lift her head to keep her looking at me.

“I’ve been trying to call for a ride—”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

Her brows shoot up, and her gaze darts to my bike. “On that thing?”

“I could put you on my back and hoof it, but it’s getting dark and there are bears out here, so I’d rather not.”

She hides her smile by ducking her head again. So shy, and so fucking sweet.

“Where you going?” I ask.

“I need to get home to my father.”

“Say no more.” I hold up my hand, then gesture to my bike.

When we get to the road, I hand her my helmet. She takes it hesitantly.

---