Just two conspirators sharing a secret or two.
“But?” I pressed.
“This is embarrassing, Gypsy. Like really embarrassing.”
“I'm counting on it,” I clapped my hands and he shot me a shocked bemused look. I let them drop to my lap.
Yeah, I'd definitely had enough to drink.
“I couldn't pass my test.”
It took me a second to realise what he was telling me. There was a moment of silence and then I rocked back, my laughter bursting forth with a snort. “You can't ride a bike?” I snorted again, unable to stop myself. “How the hell did you even get to be a prospect? Didn't you have to know in order to ride with them?”
“My bike, I did have one, was a work in progress and...well shit, will you stop laughing at me, Gypsy.”
“Sorry.” I hiccupped into the back of my hand. “Sorry, Bobby, it's just funny. And sorry.” I schooled my face back into a frown, although it was hard. “Your secret is safe with me. I'm glad you're not a biker though, Bobby, you're a good guy. The world needs more guys like you. So how come you are still close to the club? I mean you went to prison for them…”
“Oh no you don't. You don't get to ask me more personal questions without answering one of your own. So, here is my question. Is Gypsy your real name?”
I opened my mouth and then snapped it shut, mulling over his question and what my answer should be. If I was smart, I’d have lied and told him that it was, but he had opened up to me about something embarrassing about himself, so the least I could do was tell him the truth. As much as I was able to anyway.
“It won’t leave this room, is your real name Gypsy?”
“No,” I whispered. Tears sprang into my eyes unbidden. I didn't even know why I was crying except it felt so good to tell someone the truth finally. I had been living as Gypsy for so long that sometimes it felt like my other life was a dream.
Leaning back in his chair, Bobby nodded. “Want to tell me your real name?”
Did I? Yes. Could I? No.
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
His face darkened. “You running from someone, Gypsy?” There was a knowing look in his eyes.
I nodded, wiping angrily at my tears. I hated showing weakness and tears were a sign of weakness.
“Something bad?”
“Yeah.” My voice was tiny.
“Thought so.” He stood and I tracked his movements as he headed back towards the bar.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting us more drinks,” he answered, slipping behind the darkened bar, his hands expertly reaching for the bottles on the shelves. “It feels like a get wasted kind of night, doesn't it?”
A get wasted kind of night? Yeah, it did. It really, really did.
13
Fang
There wasblood dripping down my fingers. Hot, thick blood. It made a scorching line as it dripped across my hand and down my arm.
Like acid.
And just like acid, it burnt a mark on my soul.
How many men had there been before the one before me? Honestly, I couldn’t remember. Too many over the years.
