Halley
I never belonged.
That’s a lie, I loved to tell myself.
The truth. There was a time, I loved the Sons of Satan MC.
“Star, you’re only fifteen... Of course, you can get a tattoo.” Snakebite tried not to let the corners of his mouth rise, but beneath his black eyeliner, his deep brown eyes smiled.
He just turned eighteen last Saturday—a swoon worthy eighteen, muscular and strong but sleek and agile like a deer. I’d only just turned fifteen in the summer, not that it mattered. I’d known Snakebite practically my whole life.
“I don’t want a tattoo,” I told him and meant it.
“Then why are you coming along?”
“I don’t think you should do it.” I climbed on the back of his chopper, placing my hands on his thin waist, before he took the invitation back.
He called out, questioning me, “Why are you so concerned about my tongue?”
“None of your beeswax,” I quipped but followed it up with a nervous giggle.
Why was I so concerned? He hadn’t chosen it. He was doing it all to please his father. If there was one member of the Sons of Satan who I didn’t love it was Serpentine. When the man I’d thought of as my father, Diablo, died, Serpentine took his place as the club’s President and my guardian. The fact made Snakebite my brother, in more than the way we were all brothers and sisters by our colors.
He was my brother as in,eww, you can’t kiss him, that’s your brother.At least, I was expected to think of him as such.
While usually good at doing what’s expected, I never thought of him as my brother.
“I can tell when you’re lying, Star… Your voice, it gives you a way… I think you don’t want me to go because you like my tongue the way it is.”
“Why would I like your tongue?” My voice trembled, and I was afraid he’d guess my other thoughts.
I knew nothing about his tongue or any tongues for that matter. I’d never been kissed. He knew that. He’d teased me about it over and over. And that’s when it happened. Snakebite turned around, his hand, tipped in black nails, curved around my waist. His face, half hidden by his long dark hair, came at me. I held my breath. Our noses touched first. I felt his lip ring next. Soft and salty, his lips fumbled with mine. My heart skipped. Our tongues moved in unison.
Frustratingly brief and fabulous all the same, Snakebite kissed me. I felt like I’d run a mile. His embrace vanished as the roar and rumble of his bike propelled us forward. I hung on as if my life depended on him, never dreaming it would.
Fall in California was just as fleeting as our kiss. I savored the slightly crisper air and the glimpses of our black oaks’ color changing tricks. Julian, a little historic mountain town, only an hour away from San Diego’sbeaches, saw its fair share of autumn’s foliage and even snow. You couldn’t travel down these windy roads without getting a whiff of the town’s famous apple pies.
Soon, I was lost in the smell of the leather on Snakebite’s back. We’d left town behind. I’d thought the tattoo parlor was in town. When we passed the trailhead to Three Sister’s Waterfall, I noticed we were headed back to the compound.
Elation hit me.
Snakebite listened to me. Despite his given name, I couldn’t imagine him with the split, snakelike tongue that defined the men in this club. There had always been something gentle about him. Something underneath—to love. Never mind, I had some crazy dream we’d forgo him becoming a patched member of this club altogether and run off. Otherwise, we’d never be allowed to be together.
His motorcycle stopped in front of the large mobile home we shared with his stepmother and father. No one was home. No one would be home until dinner time. No one would think it was odd we were both home in the middle of the day.
We were alone.
Taking my hand, Snakebite led me through the sparse but cozy living room, past the outdated kitchen and down the narrow hallway, to my room, the room across from his. After all, my room was clean. I wasn’t sure if he could even walk through his pigsty. We stood in my doorway, me inside and him, still in the hall. I stared down at the leather and beads wrapped around his wrist. Our sweaty hands were glued together, like he was afraid to let go, but more afraid to step across the threshold and come in. He never had. It’d been an unspoken rule. He didn’t come into my room, and I didn’t dare enter his. Stepbrother or not, Serpentine and LuAnn were not naïve about boundaries for boys and girls.
I searched his face, ignoring the stubble. He never shaved but couldn’t really grow a full beard, either. Beholding his lips wouldn’t do. I licked my own, focusing on the thick dark lashes that lined his hooded eyes. They drifted past me to my bed. A peach and white floral bedspread neatly covered it. Crocheted and handmade pillows were stacked up the headboard. The big star one with my name in the middle being the most important, the first thing Diablo had given me after he rescued me from certain death. When I laid my head on that pillow, I felt I belonged here, like I was truly a devil’s daughter. Now, Ionly wanted to belong to Snakebite. I tugged on his hand pulling him into my room.
Having crossed the threshold, he froze, unsure. Afraid, if only for a moment.
“I won’t tell,” I promised him, knowing his father was an evil man and cruelest to him.
Snakebite stiffened. “I don’t care if you do.”
Now, he was the liar.
