Beard Science(48)

Between the three wedding cakes, other special orders for Saturday, and my mother’s visit—and my subsequent sob fiesta—I didn’t leave the bakery until 9:30 PM and the store closed at 10:00 PM.

I threw on a black sweater over my T-shirt because it was cold. The sweater was fitted, meant to be worn over the thin material of a dress, not the thicker cotton of a T-shirt. Therefore, it was a little tight around my chest.

Jeans, black sweater, and high heels—because that’s all I had with me—I quickly parked and rushed into the store. I was so singularly focused on making it to the produce department on time that I wasn’t watching where I was going. Coming out of the long grocery aisle, I collided with a solid wall of person and would have fallen on my backside if the wall hadn’t grabbed my arms to steady me.

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t looking.” I glanced up, ready to dash past, but all thoughts of bananas fled my mind as my eyes connected with the stern visage of my older brother.

I gaped at him.

And he glared at me, some emotion I couldn’t quite read flaring behind his blue eyes.

“Isaac.” I breathed his name, my heart giving a painful leap just before falling to my feet.

“Jenn.” He hesitated, as though he wanted to say something more. But then his eyes dimmed and he released my arms. “Watch where you’re going.” Isaac glanced behind him.

He didn’t sound angry. He sounded carefully disinterested. And his apathy made my heart crack, a new kind of pain spreading through me like a shockwave.

“Hey, isn’t that your sister?”

I tore my eyes from my brother’s passive profile to the woman behind him. Tina Patterson, a stripper at the Pink Pony who worked with Hannah Townsend. But unlike Hannah, Tina was also a big fan of stirring up drama. It was well-known around town that she was frequently in the company of the Iron Wraiths.

To her left and right were two faces I didn’t recognize, but from the insignias on their leather jackets, they were also members of the motorcycle club.

“That’s your sister?” One of the men, a large, bald fella with the word Drill on his jacket, stepped forward and into my space. I backed away, but the man continued to advance.

I heard Tina laugh and the other man groan loudly, saying, “We don’t have time for this, Drill.”

“Just give me a minute, Catfish.” Drill placed his hand to my right on the aisle shelf, caging me in. “Hey, aren’t you the Banana Cake Queen?” His eyes moved down, then up my body.

“I’m . . . I’m Jennifer. Nice to meet you.” I stuck my hand out between us, unable to dissociate myself from ingrained good manners.

The one called Drill glanced at my hand and cracked a crooked and oddly charming smile as he slipped his palm against mine. “You are too fucking cute, Jennifer. I’d like to eat you up.”

“Oh, shit. No way.”

A new voice, one I recognized as Timothy King’s, called from down the aisle, drawing both Drill’s and my attention.

I sucked in a sharp breath and braced myself, because seeing Timothy forced my brain to move past the hurt of my brother’s indifference.

Incredibly aggressive, handsy, with a suspicious inability to hear the word “no,” Timothy King was a looker. I’d never been alone with him, as I’d never had a cause to be. But he’d cornered me outside the community center one evening, placed his hands on my body, and tried to kiss me. I’d been afraid then, because it was dusk and there weren’t many people in the parking lot, and I was afraid now.

“Hey.” Drill tugged on my hand, drawing my eyes back to him. His sharp gaze moved over my face and his grin waned. “You don’t like that guy?” He tilted his head toward Timothy who was almost even with us.

I didn’t answer, instead alternating my wide-eyed stare between the giant, bald biker with sharp blue eyes and Timothy King as he approached.

“Looky who we have here.” Timothy’s gaze moved down, then up my body, much like Drill’s had, and I tensed in revulsion.

Mysteriously, Drill’s perusal felt less threatening. It didn’t make much sense, since Drill was almost twice the size of Timothy. Where Tim was lanky and tall, Drill was even taller, but with the addition of rippling corded muscle. To put things into perspective, I was fairly certain his neck was the size of my waist.

“Back off, King.” Drill straightened, stepping slightly in front of me. “The lady doesn’t like you.”

“But I like the lady, and we’re old friends.” Timothy smirked, dipping his head to the side as though to catch my eye.

“Both of you, fuck off,” Isaac growled, his hand wrapping around my upper arm and tugging me to the side. I looked up and found my brother glaring at both men. “She’s off limits. Both of you.”

Drill held his hands up. “Hey, I get it. If my sister had that rack and those eyes, I wouldn’t want someone like me near her either.”

Timothy King crossed his arms, his eyes still moving over me, but remained silent.

Isaac frowned at the bikers, looking frustrated, then dragged me out of the aisle and away from their cluster. “I’ll meet y’all outside.”

“Twilight, we need to go.” This reminder came from the one called Catfish.

My brother nodded. “Yes, sir. Let me just see to this.”

This? Did my brother just call me a “this”?

“Fine. We’re leaving in five minutes, with or without you.”

Isaac didn’t answer, he just kept tugging me by the arm away from the other bikers. Five rows down, he made a sharp turn and released my arm. I twisted, backing away, sidestepping down the aisle. Movement behind him caught my attention; Tina had followed. She stood at the edge of the aisle, watching us with a smirk on her face.

“What are you doing?” Isaac scowled. He lifted his hands from his sides and shrugged. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m picking up bananas,” I said dumbly, explaining myself.

He huffed a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “At ten o’clock at night? By yourself?”

I nodded.

His gaze flickered over me. “And then what? Why are you dressed like that?”

“Like what?”

“With no modesty. Like a loose woman.”

I gaped, struggling to make sense of his words. “I’m not. There’s nothing wrong with this. I’m not dressed—”

“What the fuck would you call what you’re wearing?” Isaac spoke through clenched teeth, making me flinch.

Somewhere behind me a new voice chimed in with, “Clothes.”

I glanced over my shoulder and found Cletus peering around the end cap, a mask of clueless affability firmly in place. I blinked at him, stunned by his sudden appearance.

Cletus then added unnecessarily, “I am also wearing clothes.”

Isaac’s jaw ticked and he crossed his arms, refocusing his enraged glower on Cletus.

“Hey, Cletus.” Tina stepped forward, sliding next to Isaac and pressing her body against his. “How’s Duane doing?”

“Disease free,” Cletus responded easily. I felt him step just behind me—his presence hovering and reassuring—but still, what in tarnation is he doing here?

“Has he grown tired of Jess yet? Tell him I say hi,” Tina purred, ignoring Cletus’s implied insult. Or maybe she didn’t understand it.

Tina Patterson and Duane Winston had a long history of an on-again, off-again relationship. Over a year ago, Duane had called it off for good.

I heard the irritation in Cletus’s voice as he remarked, “You know what your biker name should be, Tina? Dirty Pie.”

“Don’t you mean cutie pie?” She slid her hand into my brother’s jacket.

“Nope. I mean Dirty Pie.”

“This is none of your business, Winston.” Isaac disentangled himself from Tina and stepped forward, grabbing my arm again. I was so stunned by the action, I stumbled forward. “This is between my sister and me.”

“I thought you didn’t have a sister.” Cletus quickly moved to my other side, but he didn’t put his hands on me. His gaze narrowed on where Isaac held my arm. Cletus’s mask of affability slipped, his eyes burning blue and hot.

“Fuck off,” Isaac growled to Cletus, then lowered his furious face to mine. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Does our father know you’re running around town, in the middle of the night, dressed like this?”

I flinched, confused and hurt and overwhelmed by his outrage. My brother hadn’t spoken to me in eighteen months. I’d been daydreaming about what we might talk about when the time came, how I might get through to him, reach him, the person he used to be.

Looking at him now, I saw no trace of the sweet boy I used to know, no trace of the boy who used to take me on hikes, the boy who was my best friend.

“What are you—”

“You are disgrace, Jennifer Anne. I can’t believe our parents are okay with this. God tells women, you are responsible for the lust you inspire in others.”

These were words I’d heard my father say on more than one occasion. From my father they were hurtful, but I could handle it. I was used to it. But from my brother, the words felt like barbed weapons, piercing my heart.

“I’m pretty sure God never said that,” Cletus announced flatly, reaching for Isaac’s hand, swiftly prying it from me, and inserting himself between us.