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Luke looks at Drew, his chief ring-rimmer, and they exchange a snigger. I swivel around in my seat to get a better view of the action, watching on with everyone else in the room. The showdown is inevitable,new guy is looking in no hurry to budge.
“Dude, that’s my space,” Luke speaks to him like he’s dumb, and it takes the longest time before for him to get a response. New kid leans forward and slowly examines the desk, before a confused frown sets on his lips and he soothes his tattooed hand over its surface.
“Don’t see the reservation,” he says. It’s the first time I’ve heard him talk, and I feel the vibration of each deep tone he releases.
Luke glances back at his friends and chuckles cockily. But I can sense his unease.
“I get it, you’re new, right? I don’t mind explaining this once for ya.” Luke’s eyes roll as he steps forward and holds out his hand. “Luke Robinson, captain of the football team.”
The new guy stares at the hand in front of him, before raising his eyes up to stare right through him. His head nods slowly while the whole room holds their breath, waiting for his response. Luke’s hand remains hanging between them, and new guy leans forward resting his impressively sized forearm across the desk.
“Nyx… and I don’t give a fuck who you are, find somewhere new to sit,” he says, without shifting his eyes away from Luke’s.
The gasps of shock come in unison. And I watch in amazement as Luke’s mouth moves, but words fail to come out of it.
“Yo, Luke, there’s a seat over here,” his buddy Drew calls over in an attempt to shade any embarrassment for his captain. And sensible enough not to challenge, Luke nods back, making his way over to join his friend. Nyx eyeballs Luke for his whole journey across the room, a detection of a smirk rising on his lip when he watches Luke take the desk beside Drew.
Nyx, his name is as edgy as he is, and although he looks a lot like trouble, I already like him… a lot.
Ella Jackson. My golden ticket to getting a full patch at the club, and even damn prettier in the flesh. I’ve been staring at her picture for weeks now, waiting for Prez to have all the final touches in place before I could start my task. Those big hazel eyes had already etched a scar into my soul long before they’d stared back at me in an English class. She’s tortured me through a photograph, and now, seeing her for real is much, much worse.
If those eyes ain’t enough to drive me crazy, watching her smile is most definitely the finisher. Something as simple as a sweet, innocent smirk coming from her brings me to my fuckin’ knees, and it takes all my willpower not to respond to it.Add to all that the fact that she’s strictly off-limits, it just about makes Ella Jackson the most desirable creature fucking walking.
Once my first school day is finally wrapped up, I get out of the shit hole and head straight for my bike. Ella steps out a few minutes later, walking over to the far corner of the parking lot where her and the red-haired girl she hangs around with jump excitedly around a new model Mercedes.
Ella gets behind the wheel, her friend taking the passenger side, and when they drive out, I flick my unfinished smoke onto the tarmac, crush it under my boot, and set to following them. I hang far enough back to not get seen, managing to tail them all the way to the mall undetected. Then parking up, I watch them disappear inside, both of them without a care in their privileged little worlds.
I remain seated on my bike, cutting out the engine and lighting up another cigarette.
My ride is still far from being finished, but she’s rideable. It’s in the Dirty Soul Club rules that you have to build your own bike from scratch before making the cut—we’re a motorcycle club after all.
I’m no mechanic, would never claim to be. Thankfully, Skid and Jessie, the club VP, has put a lot of time into helping me make the chassis of my Bobber roadworthy. It’s been a hell of a lot easier without Chop being at the garage. That son of a bitch never liked me.
I’ve learned more about mechanics these past few months without him here then I have since I started hanging around the club. And I’m proud of what I’ve achieved. She’s a classic, she’s reliable, and when I’m finished with her she’ll turn heads. I still prefer the dirt bike Tac gave me a few years back, but rules are rules and when it comes to the club, I usually stick by them.
Ella and her friend stay inside for the best part of two hours, and I start to grow impatient when I think about all the things I could be doing either back at the club or at the studio. Soul Inc is one of the legit businesses owned by the club and ran by Tac. This time of year we are always busy. Fresher’s from Pines Peak College are always eager to get inked and Tac usually jobs me with all the lame-ass fraternity and sorority tattoos to lighten up his workload.
It may not be what I want to be doing, but skin is skin and if I want to get as good as Tac, I need the practice.
I sit up straight from resting on my handlebars when the girls came back into view. Ella and her friend are both walking towards her car, arms loaded with bags and huge smiles on their faces. I start up my bike while they’re still far enough away for the loud rattle of its engine not to distract them from their chatting. Then stay on their tail when they leave the parking lot, making sure to keep a few cars between us. They drive back towards town, with the roof up and their music loud.
I have to think fast when Ella suddenly veers off and slides into a parking space outside one of the restaurants on Main Street. Taking a sharp left I head down a side street and park my bike, returning to the main street on foot, and shelter myself down an alley opposite the restaurant.
The place looks really fancy, the kinda joint I’d struggle to read the shit off the menus in. Both of them head inside and when the waiter shows them to a table out on the terrace I make myself comfortable, crossing my arms and leaning against the brick wall.
From over here I can take her in properly. Observe how she eats, and watch on as her friend makes her giggle until she’s almost snorting. It ain’t frustrating like it was when she was inside the mall. It don’t matter that it takes her ages to place an order, or that when her food comes she takes such tiny, delicate mouthfuls from her plate. Not while I can study her movements and appreciate her smile.
It starts to get dark, and the neatly trimmed bushes that separate the dining area from the sidewalk light up, creating a soft glow that makes her look even more beautiful. The tips of her brown hair illuminating gold, and the highlights on her skin making my fingers twitch to sketch her.
After staring at the dessert menu for over ten minutes, she puts it down, picks it back up again, then eventually decides against the idea, quickly paying the check before she changes her mind again.
I continue to follow Ella as she drops her friend home, then on to her place. Of course, I already know where she lives, everything is in the details Prez gave me and I already scouted the place a few weeks ago. To lessen the risk of being spotted, I park my bike on a street nearby, pull my hood up, and walk the rest of the way.
The street she lives on is picture fuckin’ perfect. All of the mansion-style homes are spaced wide apart, with immaculately kept front lawns and fancy cars on the drive. I’m careful to avoid any street lights and manage to find myself a space hidden in the shadows under one of the trees opposite her place.
Her car is the only one parked on the drive, so I assume she’s home alone. It seems odd that her parents aren’t around to celebrate her birthday with her, but then, what do I know about parents?
I wait for an upstairs light to switch on to indicate which of the rooms belong to her. That information may not be on Prez’s need to know list, but it’s sure as fuck on mine, and after a few minutes with no sign of movement I decide to check out the back of the house. When I’d scouted the area before, I found the best way to access the back of the house was to follow the tall red-bricked wall surrounding the property all the way round to the back.
