Page 2 of Friar
“You lost, little girl?”he asked, his gaze traveling down my body in a way that made my skin prickle with both fear and something else I didn’t want to name.
Before I could answer, another voice cut in.“She’s not lost.She’s exactly where she wants to be.”The man who stepped beside me had hazel eyes that caught the neon light in a way that made them seem to shift color.His hair was a unique shade between blond and red, short but with enough length on top to suggest a rebellious spirit.The leather cut he wore identified him as a full member of the club.A patch on his chest read “Friar.”
“I’m where I want to be,” I echoed, taking a long drink from the beer.It was bitter and cold, nothing like the communion wine that was the only alcohol I’d tasted before tonight.
Friar’s lips curved into a smile that seemed to hold secrets.“I’m sure you are.Question is, do you know what you’re walking into?”
I met his gaze, steadier now.“Does anyone ever really know that?”
He laughed, a sound that somehow cut through the music.“I like you, church girl.”
I stiffened.“How did you --”
“The cross.”He nodded toward my neck where the small silver cross Aunt June had given me for my sixteenth birthday still hung.I’d forgotten to take it off.“Plus, you’ve got that look.Like you’re both terrified and thrilled to be somewhere you shouldn’t.”
A pool table in the corner was surrounded by players and spectators, money exchanging hands with each shot.In the far corner, a door led to what I assumed were the private areas of the clubhouse -- places where even more forbidden things happened.
It was everything Uncle Pete warned against in his Sunday sermons.The den of iniquity.The path to destruction.The place where souls were lost.
It was electric.
Friar guided me deeper into the club, his hand at the small of my back sending sparks up my spine.He introduced me to people whose names blurred together -- Road Captain, Sergeant-at-Arms, Prospects whose eager eyes lingered on me too long.The women regarded me with suspicion, territorial glances assessing the threat I might pose.
“You’ve got everyone curious,” Friar said, leaning close to be heard over the music.His breath was warm against my ear, smelling of whiskey and mint.“We don’t get many new faces, especially not ones that look like they walked out of Sunday school.”
“Maybe I’m looking to be saved,” I said, the beer making me bolder.
His laugh was low and dangerous.“Sweetheart, no one comes to the Reckless Kings for salvation.”
A new song started, the bass so heavy I could feel it in my teeth.Bodies pressed closer on the makeshift dance floor, a tangle of limbs and desire.A woman in leather pants climbed onto the bar, moving her hips in a way that made several men whoop and holler.
“This is nothing like my uncle’s house,” I said, more to myself than to Friar.
He raised an eyebrow.“I should hope not.What’s his house like?”
I thought of the sterile rooms, the Bible verses on every wall, the forced quiet and stifling righteousness.“Clean.Quiet.Holy.”I took another drink.“Dead.”
Friar’s eyes seemed to see right through me.“And that’s why you’re here?Looking for something alive?”
Before I could answer, another man approached us.He was younger than Friar, with a flash of bright white teeth when he smiled.“You gonna hog the new girl all night, Friar?”he asked, extending a hand to me.“I’m Nugget.”
I took his hand, feeling calluses against my palm.“Cheri.”
“Cheri,” he repeated, my name sounding different in his mouth.“How about I get you another drink?That one’s looking empty.”
I glanced down at my nearly empty beer, not remembering drinking it so quickly.The room felt warmer now, the edges of everything softer.Fear was giving way to something else -- excitement, freedom, the thrill of being somewhere so completely removed from the life I’d been forced into.
“I’d like that,” I said, my smile coming easier now.The night was just beginning, and for once in my life, I had no idea what would happen next.The uncertainty was intoxicating.
Two drinks became three, then four.Time stretched and compressed in strange ways, minutes expanding into eternities when Friar’s fingers brushed against mine, then hours vanishing in the blink of an eye.The music grew louder, or maybe my inhibitions just grew quieter.Every sip of alcohol was a silent rebellion against years of being told what to do, what to wear, how to behave.Each smile I gave these dangerous men was a defiance of everything I’d been taught about good girls and their cautious hearts.
“Another?”Friar appeared at my elbow, offering a shot of amber liquid that caught the light like liquid gold.His hazel eyes held a challenge, one that made my stomach flutter with something between fear and desire.
“What is it?”I asked, taking the small glass and inhaling the sharp scent that made my eyes water.
“Whiskey.The good kind.”His smile was slow, deliberate.“The kind that burns all the way down and makes you forget the things you’re supposed to remember.”
I raised the glass in a mock toast.“To forgetting.”The liquid scorched a path down my throat, setting fire to my chest.I gasped, eyes watering, but didn’t cough.Friar looked impressed.
