Page 36 of Biker Boo
“Where’s Prez?”I ask Janie.
“Disappeared.”
I spot the pink-haired club whore climbing another biker.
My breath catches in my throat.
“Janie, I think I’ve figured it out… Biker Boo has to be my Legend.”
I storm into my kitchen when I get home, fury buzzing in my veins.The steak knife’s still in my boot, and before I think twice, I yank it out and drag the blade across my thigh.Not deep, just enough to sting, to leave a mark.
L-E-G-E-N-D.
Crimson beads up, the letters ugly and raw.
“See?”I whisper to the empty trailer.“I’m yours, whether you want me or not.”
The sting grounds me, but it doesn’t stop the tears.I slam the knife down on the counter, chest heaving.
Because deep down, I don’t believe it.
Because deep down, I’m starting to wonder if the man behind the mask is the only one who ever really sees me.
And if he’s not Legend…
Then who the hell is he?
Chapter 10
Tuesday October 31 Halloween
Becki
The automatic doors at the Hollar Dollar squeak like they’re haunted.Which, hell, maybe they are.Everything in this strip mall feels halfway between alive and abandoned.Paradise on one side, Hell on the other, and me stuck in the cheap aisle of purgatory.
I lean against the register in my plastic tiara and orange pumpkin earrings, handing out candy even though trick-or-treat was last Friday.The store manager thought it’d “boost morale,” but all it does is rot my teeth and give the kids another excuse to run wild between the discount bins.
“Here ya go, darlin’,” I tell a little girl from Paradise, dropping a fun-size Milky Way in her bucket.She’s dressed as a witch, face smeared green, grinning like it’s still the best night of the year.Her mama thanks me, polite as pie, before glancing at my tattoos like they’re stains.
I’m used to it.Folks from Paradise will take my candy but not my company.
Next in line are two boys from Hell, one with a skull painted across his face, the other in a shredded biker vest three sizes too big.They fist-bump me like we’re equals.“Happy Halloween, Becki!”
I grin.“Don’t eat it all in one night, or you’ll be pukin’ up nougat till Christmas.”
They laugh and run off, nearly bowling over Mrs.Howard from Pearly Gates, who’s balancing a crate of canned beans.Her gray hair’s twisted in a bun, her smile just as sweet as I remember from childhood sermons.
“Well, if it isn’t Rebecca Carter,” she says, ignoring the boys.“My, you look just like your mama.”
That stings, but I force a smile.“Thanks, Miss Howard.”
She drops her voice, almost conspiratorial.“You know, some of the ladies at Pearly were saying… it’s been years, but they still tell stories about that Halloween.The night Leah Crowley died.Say her ghost walks the ridge.”
Her words land like ice in my stomach.My mother’s name in someone else’s mouth always does.But usually they don’t know Mama Crowley was mine.To them, she’s just a story whispered over cider.
I shove a handful of candy into her bag.“Happy Halloween.”
She makes the sign of the cross as if I’d just cursed her.
