C H A P T E R T W O

I tried to convince myself that this was a good plan as I drove my vehicle, but I knew that my first plan—the one in which, once Arlene departed and I returned to my house, I walked immediately to the phone and contacted my father—was the best one and that this one was stupid.

However, Isabelle had long since been abandoned by my father and his wife Mama Melinda. About ten seconds after they returned from their Boracay vacation and lost their island vacation spirit, they saw their daughter on her knees in the living room with her head in between legs of a bare-chested man, whose jeans were open and whose head lolled on the back of the couch because he was passed out. Isabelle was so high on whatever she was taking that she was unaware her activities were futile.

In addition, both the living room and the rest of the house were a complete mess.

This anecdote should have shown you how reluctant I was to involve my father in another Isabelle-related crisis. In particular, this wasn't my worst story; it was only the last one I had to tell Dad and Mama Melinda. I didn't want to upset their present easygoing, Isabelle-free lifestyle since I didn't want to disturb them.

I chose not to dial Dad as a result.

I instead considered Big Ben, Isabelle's boyfriend. The roughest of the rough, Big Ben belonged to a biker gang. However, I knew Big Ben and liked him. Big Ben liked my sister and thought she was humorous.

When she was with him, she changed. She wasn't much, but at least she was pleasant.
Okay, so Big Ben was probably a felon, but despite how ironic it was, he had a positive impact on Isabelle, and that didn't happen very frequently, if ever. Not in twenty years, unfortunately. Arlene, Isabelle's lone friend, gave me the heads-up that Isabelle's problems were a little worse than usual, so I had to take action right away and, because this was Isabelle, call for reinforcements or, even better, lay the blame at their door.

Enter, Big Ben.

I took my car to the an auto supply store and parked on the street. Even before I met Big Ben, I was aware of this establishment and realized it was definitely a front for a motorcycle gang's shady activities. I had gone there since I could always find a reason to go shopping. It was named Grind. Yet Grind was fantastic. It contained several nice things. There, I purchased my windshield wiper fluid. They were the greatest vehicle mats I've ever had when I purchased new ones there last year. And when I was in my early twenties and passing through one of my many stages, I also went there and purchased a fluffy, pink cover for my steering wheel and a sparkly, pink Playboy Bunny thingie to hang from my rear view mirror in an effort to spruce up my vehicle.

Everybody is also aware that Grind had a triple-bay garage in the rear, but that it wasn't for standard automobiles and motorbikes. It was renowned across the world for its custom-built automobiles and motorbikes. They were quite cool and constructed motorcycles and automobiles. I had read an article on the location in a magazine. From the photographs, I could see why movie stars and other famous people bought cars and bikes there. I wanted one but didn't have hundreds of thousands of pesos, so it was a little lower on my list of things I desire, right below a Jimmy Choo pair of shoes and right before a Tiffany's diamond bracelet.

I hoped my clothing were appropriate when I stepped out of my car and headed to Grind down the sidewalk. In addition to my motorcycle jacket, I was sporting low-rider jeans, flat boots, and a feminine ponytail at the top of my head. It wasn't like Arlene's, was it? It was made of faded tan leather, featured a six-inch tuft of fluffy fur at the sleeves, a short, cozy fur lining, a little quilting around the high waist, and was lined with fur. The bargain I received on it was even hotter than I imagined it was. However, I had reservations about the soft fur. I didn't believe bikers cared about animal rights; I felt it would be an insult to their brotherhood and they'd beat me up.

Welp! Nothing was risked, nothing was gained.

Even though the area may become crowded, I straightened my shoulders, strolled into the vast store, and turned directly to the large counter at the front that had one cash register. My objective was to inquire if anyone there knew how I might contact Big Ben because I didn't have his mobile number. Huge Ben, a tall, broad, heavily tattooed, long-haired man with blond hair, one other big, tough motorcycle guy, three others on the outside, and all of them turning to face me the moment I went in, were not what I had expected to see.

I yelled out with a smile, "Hey Big Ben," and started to approach him when his eyes snapped to mine.

Uh-oh.

His eyes narrowed and his expression didn't hide the fact that one look at me made him tremendously irritated.

"Do not shit me," he yelled, and I used the nanosecond before peeing my pants to attempt to recall the movements I'd learned in the one-and-a-half-hour self-defense class I'd taken.

When I didn't respond or move, Big Ben said again, "Do not come in here and fuckin' shit me."

"I'm not shitting you," I assured him, since I wasn't.

His brow furrowed. "Did she send you? That whore fucking sent you?"

Oh no, not again. Big Ben used the n-word. I suspected that the c-word wasn't as offensive in Biker Club as it was in the rest of the English-speaking world, but it still spoke a lot.

Big Ben spoke before I could. "Jesus, Gia, she sent you.
You've been warned: pull your head out of your ass, spin that gorgeous tail of yours, and get... outta... here."

Wow. Big Ben believed I had a fantastic tail. He was frightening me, but he wasn't completely repulsive, which I thought was great.

I concentrated on the task at hand, took a deep breath, and proceeded.

All of the bikers suddenly went on alert—or, to be more precise, frightening biker man alert—and I halted my movement.

"Isabelle didn't send me," I eventually informed Big Ben.

Big Ben answered, "I'm okay with you, baby, go."

"Arlene stopped by this morning and scared me out. She did this." I pulled my hand up and did the gun thing with the sound effect thing, and my gun blast was nothing near as excellent as hers, but I forged forward. "No, honestly, she didn't. She came across quite serious, so I thought I'd check in with you to see how Isabelle is doing."

Big Ben immediately replied, "Isabelle is not okay. Isabelle is not doing well at all."

I shut my eyes. I finally sighed. My sister made me sigh a lot, so I had experience and was good at it when I did it loudly. I then started to see.

"I assumed that you two were no longer dating."

Big Ben said, "No, darling, we're not.

Damn.

I questioned, "What did she do now?"

Big Ben said, "You don't want to know."

"Are the cops looking for her?"

"Probably."

I observed him. "But that's not the reason she's in danger?" I questioned.

"Isabelle is in a lot of trouble, but if the police are pursuing her, that's the least of her concerns."

"Oh boy," I said quietly.

"That's about right," Big Ben said, his gaze shifting over my shoulder.

I turned to see what he was staring at when a deep, gravelly voice said, "Who's this?"

Then I noticed him. I'm not a fan of bikers, but this man has me thinking about getting a Harley. He was of average height. He was wide and ripped, and none of those things were "ish." He had several tattoos on his arms and neck, which made me want to list and perhaps write books about them. I also wanted to inspect them closely. His hair was long and waved, but not too so. It was mostly black pepper, with a salt and pepper effect. The pepper on his salt and pepper goatee, which hung a little too long at his chin in a gigantic cool biker style, is similar. He also looked excellent with his cheeks looking like they had been neglected for a few days. Around his tan complexion and blue eyes, he had pale spikes radiating from his skin. All that was him could be summed up in just two words: Biker Yummy.

I said, "Hey," and as he turned from staring at Big Ben over my shoulder to me, my entire body shook.

It shuddered once again when his blue eyes scanned it.

They focused on me, and he hissed, "Hey," in a gravelly voice.

One more shudder

Yowza!

My body jerked in response to Big Ben's words, "Finn, she's okay. She's with me," and as I turned to face him, he was moving toward me from behind the counter.

I questioned, "I am?" but Big Ben's stare fixed me and commanded, "Shut the fuck up!" without saying a word.

I stopped talking and went back to Biker Hottie.

Biker Hottie questioned, "Does Sandra know about her?"

Big Ben, who was standing next to me, asked, "Sandra?"

Biker Hottie continued, "How many more bitches you need?

Big Ben responded, "She's not my girlfriend, brother; she's a friend of mine and she is absolutely cool,"

Biker Hottie, a.k.a. Finn, urged, "All right. So who is she?"

Big Ben said, "Her name is Giabella," and when Finn glanced at me, I froze.

Then I observed his lips gently say my name.

"Giabella."

One more shudder

I'd always been rather fond of my name. It has always been appealing to me.
I totally loved it after hearing Finn say it.

So, Giabella, who are you?" he boldly questioned.

I introduced myself to him  "I.... ummm.... I am a friend of Big Ben,"

He told me, "We established that, darlin'. How do you know my guy here?"

Big Ben swiftly exclaimed, "She's Isabelle's sister," and Finn's entire, solidly built body suddenly went electric. It was so terrifying that I forgot how to breathe.

Finn murmured, "Tell me she's coming to drop the money, brother," in a voice that was as least as frightful as the way he was gripping his body.

Big Ben said, "She and Isabelle aren't close. Like I mentioned, she's cool and a kind person.

Finn said, "She's enemy's blood, Big Ben."

Uh-oh-uh-oh-uh-oh.