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“Fuck me,” I mutter.
A few cars down from me is the damn Aston Martin again. This time, however, its owner is standing beside it. Asher spots me walking towards the cars and gives a half-laugh to his guest. Familiar blonde hair turns at his gesture, and I give a sarcastic wave to Jenny as she scowls at me.
“Jen,” I greet, ignoring Asher as I reach them but make no plans to stop walking.
She scoffs, looking me up and down. I’m dressed in black jeans and a Panic! At the Disco t-shirt, a stark contrast to her fitted shorts and tank top.
“Off to hang with the criminals, Rylee?” she asks. I roll my eyes as I jiggle my keys.
“Why? Does it bother you I’d rather hang with them, than you?” I mock, annoyed that I can’t get to my car without being harassed by my stepbrother or former best friend.
Jenny links her arm through Asher’s as she leans against him. “Hardly. That’s your prerogative.”
“Well then, mind your own beeswax, Jenny.”
I open my car door and throw my bag in. I start to swing a leg in but a hand lightly coming down on my hood stops me. I throw a glare at the hand.
“Asher,” I say with clenched teeth, “get your paw off my car before I remove it for you.”
He wiggles his fingers but keeps his hand in place. “I just wanted to catch you before you get drunk, sis.”
Jenny walks over and stands beside Asher. I don’t miss the cold glance she gives him, obviously annoyed that he is talking to me. I guess that’s the downfall when people are somewhat related. She doesn’t say anything though. That was always a good trait of Jenny’s – she knows when to stay quiet to avoid drama, most of the time. Despite looking like your stereotypical head cheerleader and Barbie, she’s actually quite smart and caring. We just fell onto different paths and mine was never one she could understand. That was the problem with growing up in a life of privilege: you can’t understand why people want to throw it away and live differently.
I reach down and put the key in the ignition. “Speak, Asher.”
Asher taps his fingers on the hood again, unfazed by my tone. “The parentals are going out tonight. I’m having some friends around. You’re welcome to join us.”
I slip into my seat, hand on the door. “Frankly, Asher, I’d rather swallow razor blades. But thanks anyway.”
Shutting the door to block out his reply, I start the car, giving the throttle a little rev as a warning for them to move. Jenny immediately steps back, but Asher holds my gaze through the windshield for a few seconds, before finally stepping back.
I spin out of the carpark, not looking back at them as I head to my sanctuary.
It's no surprise to see Wheels open as I pull into the car park. Bikes and various beat-up vehicles fill the spots and I squeeze into a vacant one. We’re just outside of town, but it’s only a short 8-minute drive from campus, and 15 minutes from home.
From the outside, the bar is dingy and dilapidated. The windows are blacked out, covered with tint and tape and the black paint is peeling from the walls. There’s a sign above the door but the letters have fallen off, leaving the faint markings of the bar name if you squint hard enough. If it wasn’t for the usual crowd of vehicles outside, you’d probably think it was an old, abandoned building.
My footsteps crunch on the gravel as I walk towards the door. I push the barely screwed on wooden door open, immediately met with the smell of beer and smoke. It’s so dark inside that it takes me a few seconds to adjust before figures appear through the haze.
I step further inside, not at all intimidated by the appearance. Like I said, it was a home to me now.
I can feel stares on me, and I glance around, noting the motorbike members in the booths, donning leather jackets, mullets and tattoos. Some nod at me, while others stare for a few seconds longer before growing bored and turning back to their companions.
The bar is in the center of the room. It’s square, positioned dead center so patrons can reach it easily. Around the outside of the room, booths are lined up, as well as tables and stools in the spare space.
It’s not easily visible but I know the doors at the end of the room go to private areas. Usually that’s where we play poker in the evenings or where members hold intimate meetings.
I approach the bar, smiling at the skinny, green-haired bartender. Volts is in his 30’s, but never left the emo phase. He has his usual dark eyeliner on and baggy jumper. Like me, this is a home away from home for him. We like the darkness that Wheels brings, and we like the company of the loners and MC members.
“Hiya, Ry. Finished for the day, already?” he asks.
I nod, perching myself up on a stool in front of him. He’s cleaning out a glass with a questionable looking rag. “Yes, thank fuck. I’m dying for a drink.”
Volts nods. “The usual?”
“Please,” I respond, looking around the room again.
I hear clinking as he pours a beer for me, and I turn back when he slides it across the bar towards me. “Butch is in the back room if you want to say hi.”
