Page 1 of Property of Player

Chapter one

Player

An arm slips around my waist, and a warm body presses against my bare back. Debbie, my ol’ lady. Happiness settles deep inside me, and for a moment, all is right with the world.

Until it all slips away, evaporating into dust.

The explosion jars me, and I sit straight up, a cold sweat covering my skin. I suck in air, gasping for breath, my lungs heaving, my heart pounding until my surroundings come into focus.

Early morning gray light filters through the blinds.

It’s the same damn nightmare I’ve had again and again—the clubhouse explodes in front of my eyes, burning pieces raining down from the sky.

I toss the sheet back and swing my legs over the side of the bed, waiting for my racing blood pressure to settle.

The bed shifts behind me, and I remember I brought Molly home with me. Last night is hazy. We were at the clubhouse, drinking at the bar. She’s a hang-around who often shows up after her shift dancing at the Crystal Palace. She isn’t their highest earner, but she’s good.

She’s set her sights on me, and I’ve let her.

She moves, and I half expect to feel her hands slide up my back, but she goes back to sleep.

That suits me fine. I need air, so I slip on a pair of sweatpants, grab my smokes off the nightstand, and pad out of the room. I move through the kitchen and onto the deck, closing the slider behind me.

The first light of dawn filters through the trees at the rear of the property. The place is a rental—one I found not long after Debbie died. I couldn’t stay in the place we shared; it was too painful. The guilt was hard enough without the constant reminders of her in every room.

My lease is up at the end of the month. The landlord is putting the place on the market, and I need to find new digs. That’s a problem for another day.

Shaking a cigarette from the pack, I dip my head and light up, dragging in a lungful of smoke and feeling the surge of nicotine hit my bloodstream. I drop the pack on the dew-covered glass table.

It’s quiet except for the distant sound of a long-haul trucker out on the interstate a couple of miles away.

I’ve lived in this town my entire life, and the sound of the interstate is ingrained in my memories.

The road calls to me, enticing me to climb on my bike and go for a ride. Just me and the open road, tearing up the miles on my motorcycle. It’s where I find peace.

But I don’t want to leave Molly here. Not in my place. I never leave chicks alone with my stuff. They come and they go. End of story.

I gave Molly a ride on my bike last night, so I’ll have to give her a ride back to the clubhouse to get her car. It was a stupid mistake. I wish I’d made her follow me. It makes the goodbyes in the morning easier.

Molly is okay and she keeps me from getting lonely at night. She fills the emptiness I carry like a dead weight around my neck.

It’s not that I don’t like her. We have fun together. She’s got a pretty smile, a good body, and gives good head, but I know it’ll never be more than sex with her. These days, that’s all I want from a woman. A few laughs, sex, and then to get gone. My life is too fucking dangerous, and I swore to myself I’d never put another woman in harm's way. Losing Debbie changed me. It’s hardened me. My heart is cold and dead, and I don’t think I’ll ever let another woman get close to me again.

Maybe that’s the way it’s meant to be.

The only problem is I know I’m not the kind of man who does well without a woman.

Finishing my smoke, I grind it out in the ashtray that stays here on the table. Glancing at my bike parked in the driveway in front of the garage, I feel the itch to ride. How I’d love to climb on it right now.

Instead, I yawn and return to bed.

Slipping under the covers, I put an arm around Molly and haul her against my chest, breathing in her scent.

I close my eyes and pray the nightmares leave me alone for a few hours.

When I wake again, it’s to the sound of Harleys rolling up the drive.

I crack an eye open and find the sun is high, slanting through the blinds at a sharp angle.