

Earning the Cut

Copyright 2013 Jayna Vixen

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This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locales is completely coincidental.

Ebook formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com
CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Author's Note

About the Author

Other Works by Jayna Vixen
CHAPTER ONE

Hungry. That was the first sensation he could recall feeling. He was always hungry. Even when his stomach was full of whatever crap happened to be lying around after they were through, he was still hungry. As if he were a dog, they only threw him the scraps. He was a half-starved afterthought. Just something to be tolerated. Even though he was young, he was old enough to understand that he was meaningless to them. Opening the fridge revealed a half-eaten pizza. He gnawed at it. It was cold and it tasted funny. His tummy gurgled a familiar warning so he stopped eating. Sometimes the stomachache that followed eating the funny food was worse than the hunger pains. Tired, he slumped down on the couch to wait for Mommy.

***

Laughter met his ears but it wasn't funny. The room spun around and around. It wasn't like when you twirled in circles. It was worse than that time on the merry-go-round. But, the dizziness passed once they got off the ride. This was much worse. The bad feeling wouldn't go away. He felt sick, oh so sick. He threw up on the old brown couch. Mommy was there. He thought she would be mad at him, but to his surprise, she was mad at the man instead. She yelled and he covered his ears. It was hard to tell if she was mad at him, too. She was always mad.

"You gave him beer? He's only six!"

The man laughed again.

"That's the last time I leave you alone with him, Trey!"

***

They moved a lot, so the schoolyard was always different, but the way he was treated never changed. The other kids made fun of him. They pushed him around. They said his clothes were ugly. They called him "Skunk" 'cause they said he stunk like one. He knew they were right. The other kids had new shoes with no holes in them. No dirt under their nails. They had shiny new lunchboxes filled with food. Sometimes, he had half a burger or some cold chicken nuggets from the night before. The red apples looked so good. He was so hungry. He tried to take one from Tommy Gill, who had two, and Tommy pushed him. He fell in the dirt. A hole opened up in his patched, too-big jeans. His knee bled. The other kids laughed. They called him "Loser" and "Reject." He wanted to fight back, but he was so tired. And weak.

The classroom was warm, even though it was cold outside. There were desks to sit at. He had his very own desk! With a nametag and everything. D-A-X-T-E-R. It was his own desk. He loved it. Inside, there were books and pencils and paints and everything. He wanted to stay there, in the classroom with his own desk forever, but when the bell rang he had to go home. He dreaded the bell every day, even though the other kids seemed excited when it rang. He was confused. Why would anyone ever want to go home?

His teacher was pretty. She wore floaty dresses and she never yelled. But even though Mrs. Thomas had a kind smile, he was still wary of her. Sometimes when Mommy smiled, she was not happy, she was mad. Mrs. Thomas smiled at him a lot. She ruffled his hair, even though he flinched when she touched him. He had to stay inside today, she said. No recess. He was in trouble and he was scared. No recess meant he broke a rule, but he didn't know what it was. Breaking the rules meant a punishment. He had gotten really good at figuring out the rules. But this time, he had no idea what he had done wrong. He looked down at his sneakers, his big toe poking out the front. He was too big, Mommy said. He outgrew his shoes too fast.

"Is everything okay at home, Dax?"

He jerked his head up to look at Mrs. Thomas. Her belly stuck out 'cause she had a baby in it. He knew that, 'cause Mommy's friend had a baby in her tummy, too. Her name was Sheila. Sheila was nice, sometimes, but the last time he saw her she cried. She was upset 'cause her belly was getting too big and she couldn't ride the 'cycle with Trey's friend. Trey's friend had a new Sheila, said Mommy. Dax liked the 'cycles. They made a loud, rumbly noise that made him sleepy inside. You could just get on one and ride away. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be big and ride one himself.

"Dax? Are you okay?" Mrs. Thomas's voice sounded funny, like she was going to cry or something. He nodded, like Mommy said to do.

"Well, honey, we are going to have to call your parents. We need to talk about some things. I want you to know that you have done nothing wrong. Dax?"

He started to shake, his thin shoulders rubbing against the frayed material of his borrowed coat. He had done something wrong. He glared at Mrs. Thomas. She wasn't nice at all! She was going to get him in big trouble. Mommy wouldn't like coming to talk to the teacher. Mommy didn't wake up until after he got off the bus. She didn't like getting up early. It gave her a headache. She would be mad. Trey would be mad. He hung his head quietly, imagining the beating that would surely follow Mrs. Thomas' phone call.

***

They wouldn't let him get on the bus so he waited in the office. Mommy came and she was really angry. She put on her smiley face, but he knew she was mad because her eyes were mad. Even though she was angry, Mommy looked pretty. She had brushed her blond hair and she was wearing her good jacket and clean boots. He shuffled his feet and the nice lady showed him a place to sit and wait. He waited. His tummy grumbled. He could hear muffled voices coming from behind the closed door. He was afraid to listen.

The nice lady in the office appeared. She looked worried, he thought. Or mad. He wasn't sure; it was hard to tell. Loud, angry voices came from the principal's office. Everyone was mad mad mad. His tummy grumbled again. Tears stung his eyes as the shouting increased. Mommy was angry. He would be punished. Trey would get his belt. The nice lady tried to put her arm around him and he hissed like a snake, lurching away as though her touch burned him. She took her hand away. The lady's eyes were sad. She held out a cookie. He was scared to take it. Sometimes Trey offered sweets and they would make him sick. But, he was so hungry. Warily, he accepted the cookie with a shaky little hand. He ate it quickly, licking the crumbs from his dirt-tinged palm. He curled up in the chair and slept.

***

Seeing the policeman made him go wild, feral almost. The pigs would hurt you! Mommy and Trey hated the pigs and he did, too. He struggled and screamed when the pig grabbed him. Teacher looked at him and he saw that she was crying. Mommy came out and she was crying, too.

"Daxter! You ungrateful little bastard!" She was loud and angry but she was also grabbing at him, trying to yank him from the policeman's arms.

A wail issued from his lips as he was hauled bodily out the door. Where were they taking him? "Mommy!" he cried. Another pig held Mommy back. They took him away. They put him in a police car. He was going to jail where the bad boys went. He was bad. He was very bad. He had tried to be good, but the pigs knew he was bad. He was bad inside, like Mommy said. He shook and cried, feeling the cool leather of the seat against his dirty cheek.
CHAPTER TWO

Ten Years Later

"Mr. Jamison?"

The voice was annoyed. As usual. Why couldn't these teachers give him a break?

"Yeah?" He could hear the snickers of the damned jocks and nerds in the class. Fuck. Jenner was always on his case. If it weren't a condition of living with the Bodeckers, he would have bailed on school a long-ass time ago.

"The answer, Mr. Jamison," Mr. Jenner challenged.

"Which question?" He let boredom lace his tone, feeling a sense of satisfaction as Mr. Jenner bristled at his blatant disrespect.

"Eleven."

Dax stole a peek at his seat partner's book and noted which page was open. He flipped his own textbook open and took a cursory glance at number eleven. "X equals four."

Mr. Jenner looked surprised and Dax liked that. People always underestimated him. He felt like that gave him an advantage.

***

He was always the last kid off the bus, because he lived the farthest away from school. He had never felt comfortable in any place that was supposed to be his home. Bouncing from foster home to foster home had been tough. He had seen it all. No one wanted a lanky, half-grown kid who was always hungry. But now, he had been with the Bodecker family for two whole years. They were the first family that didn't kick him back like a fish that wasn't big enough for the take. At first, Dax figured they took kids in for the government stipend. Lots of foster families did that.

It was him, an older girl, and two younger kids—twins—living in that house. Unlike the other homes they had tried to place him in, here he had his own room, up in the attic. As he grew taller, it got harder to stand up in there, but at least he had his own space. He liked that more than he would ever let on. He'd learned early on that if you told your fake parents what you liked, they could use it against you. To manipulate you.

The Bodeckers were pretty strict. They made it clear that he had to follow their rules or he would be out. Do your chores, go to school, keep your nose clean. At first, he'd balked at the rules. But, all in all, Dax had to admit, the situation wasn't that bad. He got three meals a day, and Mrs. Bodecker liked baking, too, so there were always cookies around. He accepted the cookies with a forced smile, and pocketed them so he could trash them later. Sometimes, he choked a few down, trying to ignore the reflexive clenching of his stomach. Dax had trouble accepting food from anyone—especially cookies, but he didn't want to cause problems, because things were better than they had been before.

Dax had decent stuff to wear. They weren't the cool brands, of course, but at least the pants weren't too short, and his kicks didn't have holes in them. He didn't have to lie awake at night wondering if he was going to get knocked around. His hair was still long and unkempt, but now it was because he chose to wear it that way—not because he couldn't afford a haircut. Best of all, he wasn't hungry all the time. But, the clock was ticking. His seventeenth birthday was just around the corner. That meant one more year, and he would be on his own. Again.

As the bus neared his stop, Dax smiled ruefully, remembering his first day in the Bodecker house. He'd been sullen, angry, and he was sure he'd radiated distrust. The first three places the state had sent him had been nightmares, chock full of the same abusive bullshit he'd been yanked out of when he was a kid. He'd refused to tolerate it anymore. No, after the third place, he had vowed that no one would push him around again. So, he fought back, and he got sent back. Like a defective machine, or a stray dog that kept getting sent back to the pound, he was returned like so much junk. He became jaded, depressed, and harbored a silent rage that started to manifest on the schoolyard. What a surprise, no one wanted him. Just like his mom used to tell him.

What the hell was the point? Dax had entertained no hope of ever finding a tolerable living situation, so when the social worker's car pulled up to a well maintained, three-story home with a porch swing and a picket fence, a jolt of irrational fear ran through him. The place was creepy in its normalcy.

Mr. Bodecker seemed like a total square, but at least he wasn't a Jesus freak or a mean drunk. Sometimes, Dax got an odd vibe from the guy but he had never done anything to invite distrust. The couple claimed that they were trying to give back by helping out the disadvantaged. Over time, Dax figured out that Mrs. Bodecker couldn't have her own kids, so that was probably why she filled her house with everyone else's rejects. No, that wasn't fair. Of the four of them, he was the only reject. The twins were cute and everyone loved them. The older girl kept to herself. She was seventeen, and she knew she was on her way out anyway. Determined to have a better life than she started with, Rachel had applied to several colleges and with her grades and circumstances, she was sure to get in on full scholarship.

Dax sighed, looking at the pile of homework that sat on the small wooden desk. Of all the sparse furnishings in his attic hideaway, he liked the desk best. It was old, but it had lots of little drawers and places to stash things. He pulled out the bottom drawer and found a space behind it, just big enough to slide his notebook. No one knew he liked to write. He was sure they would laugh at him if they did. Stories of his past, drawings, wishes and dreams that would never come to pass, filled the pages of his journal, written in harsh black ink. Pushing his algebra book to the side, he started to shade in a familiar sketch: it was a bike. Not a bicycle, but a bike. A hog. A Harley Dyna to be exact.

***

"Loser!"

Dax was jolted from his midday catnap under a tree on the field where most of the students ate lunch. A voice carried, like it was meant for his ears, but when he opened his eyes, he could see that the hate-filled comments were directed at a scrawny freshman. He'd seen the new kid around. He was painfully thin, and his bony ankles were perpetually visible because his pants were a few inches too short. Kids like him always stood out to Dax. So did lost puppies and beggars. He felt a natural kinship with anything that seemed...uncared for.

The bully was a jock. He was one of those privileged assholes who would never recognize how good he had it. The jock drove a brand new lifted truck to school, and his shoes were worth more than Dax's entire wardrobe. Even his name, Liam, sounded upper crust to Dax's ears. As he watched, Liam pushed the new kid into the dirt as a couple of his buddies looked on, laughing. Before he was really even aware of what he was doing, Dax was on his feet, closing the distance between himself and the bully, his fists clenching with rage.

The next thing he knew, they were pulling him off the jock. There was an odd roaring in Dax's ears as he looked at the scene before him in dismay. Liam lay bleeding on the ground, curled in the fetal position. A half-circle of kids stood around them, most of their mouths open in shock. The new kid stared at him, a look of wonder and gratitude on his thin face.

"Daxter Jamison, you are suspended!" The principal's voice floated to him from somewhere through the white noise that seemed to cloud his brain. Fuck! There goes my life again, he thought hazily, knowing that the Bodeckers would not tolerate a suspension.

"That's not fair!" a new voice cut in. "I saw the entire thing, Mr. Maxwell, and it was not his fault. Liam started it."

Dax looked to the speaker in surprise. No one had ever stuck up for him before. He blinked as his eyes found the source of the voice. He felt his own jaw drop as he assessed her long blond hair, blue eyes and body that could stop traffic. It was Trisha Wagner—the hottest chick in school.

"No way, Mr. Maxwell! That asshole went apeshit on Liam..." one of Liam's jock buddies argued.

"That's bullshit and you know it, Avery!" Trisha shot back.

"Mr. Jamison, get your things and meet me in the office."

Dax was surprised when Trisha grabbed the principal's arm. Maxwell was looking for a reason to suspend him. The teachers complained about his attitude, and he had been called into Maxwell's office more than once. Still, he managed to avoid any real trouble. Dax liked his attic room and the weird sense of stability he was slowly allowing himself to feel. He liked those things too much to jeopardize them.

"Mr. Maxwell! This is fucked up! It wasn't his fault..."

Hearing the f-bomb fall from her bow-shaped, innocent-looking mouth was a contradiction in itself. Trisha was a straight-A student with perfect attendance. Dax supposed her GPA was also in contradiction with her physical appearance. Trisha Wagner might have the body of a goddess, but she was no dumb blond. He knew these things because the school administration announced them regularly—to keep the other sheep in line. Trisha was hot but she wasn't a slut, as far as he had heard.

Dax wasn't interested in social gossip, but he thought he remembered that she had turned down Liam when he'd asked her to one of the stupid dances or whatever. Dax tried not to stare as the pretty girl, in her tight jeans and sweater, glared at their principal. Her dad was someone, too...someone important. Her family had money—that was obvious given her painted nails and her expensive shoes. Dax always noticed shoes. He rubbed his split knuckles absently. If she doesn't like the popular rich kid, why the hell is she sticking up for me?

"If you care so much, Miss Wagner, you can join your friend Daxter here in detention for the next two weeks," Maxwell said, exasperated.

Trisha gasped, then squared her shoulders. "Fine. But he shouldn't be suspended. Liam was picking on that new kid. Dax just...intervened."

She shot him a shy smile, and a bolt of pure heat rocketed straight from Dax's chest to his groin. He shifted, suddenly grateful for his low-slung pants. He had no idea she knew his name, or his nickname anyway. Trisha was a pretty girl he passed in the hall, appreciated for her face and form, and then passed on, knowing he would never have a shot with a girl like her. Or any girl. Dax hadn't ever felt like he did now as he sized up Trisha Wagner from the corner of his eye as they shuffled to Maxwell's office. She was beautiful. Her breasts jiggled underneath her white sweater, and his mouth went dry. That was the moment Dax Jamison realized that he was a man—and he wanted Trisha Wagner the way a man wants a woman.

***

"Detention? Dax, you know the rules." Mr. Bodecker preached.

Dax nodded and tried to look appropriately cowed but the truth was that no one had ever looked as forward to detention as Dax did at the moment. He had dodged a bullet when Maxwell decided to forgo his suspension in favor of a week of detention.

"We don't tolerate fighting in this house, Daxter," Bodecker lectured on. "You can consider this strike one." Three strikes and Dax was out, just like a criminal.

Well, it was worth it to Dax. All he could think about was Trisha Wagner. Why on earth had she risked her squeaky-clean reputation to stand up for him? No one had ever gone to bat for Dax. Trisha's behavior made absolutely no sense, and maybe that was why he couldn't get her out of his damn head. Trisha started to appear in his dreams and suddenly, Dax was waking up early to strip his sheets and sneak in a load of laundry before Mrs. B. got up. It happened all weekend long.

For once, Dax was on time for first period English. He completed his work quickly and accurately, turning in his essay before anyone else.

"Who lit a fire under you, Daxter?" His teacher asked. He shrugged. For Dax, doing the work was a way to distract himself and keep his raging boner down.

He was on pins and needles when he showed up to detention. It was held in the school library—a place he had rarely set foot in. A flowery scent wafted to his nostrils and his whole body went on alert, as if his cells could sense her presence before he even saw her. Dax shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look cool, pretending not to notice her. Then, a hand jostled his arm, forcing his attention. He hoped she couldn't see the perverted thoughts that were running uncontrollably through his fevered brain. Dax swallowed and fixed his eyes on her forehead. He found he couldn't look directly at Trisha Wagner—it would be like staring at the sun.

"What, no 'thank you'?"

Her voice was accusatory and he felt guilt wash over him. Dax froze until he finally met her eyes, and then he found himself breaking into a broad grin. Her hands were on her hips, her chin jutting out obstinately with her mock outrage. Then, Trisha Wagner winked at him. Dax fell hard. So hard. He never even knew what hit him.
CHAPTER THREE

After the detention stint, Dax noticed that Trish wasn't about to lose momentum. She doubled up on the studying and volunteering. She was in a bunch of those silly clubs, like Save the Whales or whatever, but they didn't seem so silly anymore. The girl wanted to be a doctor. To Dax, doctors were quacks who would give you a quick exam, pretend not to see the bruising on your ribs, and send you right back to your fake family. But Trish, she wanted to be a pediatrician. Work with kids. Help them. It was yet another trait that drew him to her. Well, that, and the searing physical attraction that he felt for her. Plus, she was good for him. Maybe if he became a better person, he'd be good enough for her.

The look of disappointment on Mrs. B's face the evening he had waltzed in, high from his interaction with Trish in detention, had deflated him somewhat. He had received another long lecture and instead of his usual sardonic response, he had nodded quietly and agreed with the man. For the first time, Dax considered that Bodecker was right. He should be grateful for his opportunities. He would do better. He promised. And he did.

Dax's grades soared that year, much to the surprise of the faculty, student body and his foster family. He was kind of surprised himself. I'm not some dummy, he thought proudly, allowing himself a secret smile over his last report card. He was no valedictorian either, but he went from straight C's to B's. Even though he was distracted as hell by her presence, it was hard not to learn around Trish. Her parents were strict and she wasn't allowed to date or hang out much, but they let her have as much time as she wanted at the local library. He was beyond shocked when she asked him to join her there. Me study?

Dax felt ridiculous the first time he walked through the heavy glass doors of the library, his ratty backpack slung over his shoulder. But, it was worth it—the library often housed the only person who seemed to genuinely take interest in him. Trish invited his company. She complimented him. She laughed at his silly jokes. The part of Dax's heart that he had thought died off long ago began to open and flower under Trish's attention. He felt more relaxed than he had ever felt. For the first time in his life, he felt like someone liked him. The real him.

Even though things seemed to be working in his favor for once, Dax felt like he was slowly being driven insane. He had gone from a thin, half-grown kid to an intense, brooding young man, all in the space of a semester—and all he could think about was sex. He tried desperately to rein in his urges, and at times he had to feign confusion over a math problem because he couldn't get the sexual images out of his head. He was learning to control his cock, but most of the time it seemed to operate with a mind of its own, stiffening at the most worst possible times. All he could think about was the way Trish's skin might feel beneath his hands. Her scent drove him mad as they bent over their textbooks. He would do anything to be around her—even homework.

She was worth it, though. Sneaking a glance at Trish, he could see that she was immersed in thought this afternoon. Her lower lip stuck out as she chewed the end of her pencil. The sight of her small white teeth worrying the pink eraser sent a jolt of heat straight into his pants. He let out a low gasp as he lengthened to full mast right there in his jeans. Trish looked up questioningly, and he felt himself flush. There was absolutely no logical reason this beautiful girl should want to be his friend, so how could he assume she would want anything more? She was naturally smart, came from a good family, and with her looks, she could have her pick of the popular, rich jocks.

"What?" Trish asked.

"Huh? Nothing." Dax looked around, seeking a distraction from his raging hard-on.

"Want to take a break?"

"Yeah, sure." He was practically sweating with the mental effort it took to will his boner away as they gathered their books and headed to a small coffee shop next to the library.

"Want something?" Trish gestured to the case of baked goods.

Dax was starving. His body was on constant alert around this girl, and for some reason, he felt even hungrier than usual when he was around her. But, he didn't have any money, and he didn't want her to know that. "Nope."

"Well, I do. Split something with me?"

Dax shrugged and looked away. He wished he had a few bucks. Trisha Wagner deserved to be taken out to fancy restaurants and treated like a queen. He sank into one of the easy chairs and watched her order a snack. Her ass was so round and perfect in her expensive jeans. His breath caught as she looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. Even though it didn't make sense to Dax, he felt like she saw him, the real him, and she liked what she saw.

An hour later, her phone buzzed. "It's my dad. He's picking me up in a few minutes. Dax...I wish I could offer you a ride, but my dad is a little...strict."

"No problem." He hadn't been expecting a ride. His bike was chained up next to the library. It was only a few miles to his house. Trish's place was up on the hill, in the richest neighborhood in town. He would have been embarrassed for her to see where he lived anyway. It was nice enough for him, but compared to where she lived, he was sure his place was a dump.

They walked back to the library in silence. Dax wondered for the umpteenth time if she liked him—like that. It was becoming difficult to be around her when all he wanted to do was taste her mouth.

"Hey, asshole! Gold-digging much?"

Dax's head jerked up as a lifted truck with a custom exhaust pulled to the curb. Liam. And he wasn't alone. Trish let out a startled yelp as three jocks piled out of the truck and surrounded him. Yeah, he was outnumbered, but they were soft. Dax's body had been hardened by years of abuse, so he didn't even feel the first few blows. He fought dirty, seasoned by years in foster care, and he clocked one of them good, knocking him to the ground. Now it was two to one. He thought he could take them, but Liam's buddy got him in a chokehold, and then Liam scored a swift kick to his stomach. His vision swam, and then someone started yelling for them to break it up. Through his hazy view, he could see the library security officer running toward them. Liam and the other kids piled into the truck and took off. Trish was by his side, and he spat onto the ground, pulling himself into a sitting position.

"Oh my God, Dax! Are you okay?"

He was embarrassed that they had taken him down, but as his vision cleared, he knew he wasn't seriously injured. In fact, compared to the other beatings he had taken, this one was pretty mild. "Yeah. I've seen worse."

"Wh-what do you mean?" She stared at him, genuine concern shining in her eyes mirrored by...tears?

"Are you crying?" he ground out, testing his ribs.

"Well, of course I'm crying, Daxter Jamison!"

"Over me?" he whispered after a pause, disbelief evident in his voice.

She stared at him for a timeless moment, and then suddenly, everything changed. Dax didn't have to wonder if Trisha Wagner liked him any longer. No, the way she felt became pretty obvious when she threw herself into his arms right there on the dirty sidewalk, her soft breasts pressing into his chest. Then, her lips were brushing his, as gentle as a butterfly's wing. Every ache and every pain dissolved beneath the feeling of her mouth on his own. He could taste the sweet honey of her breath and smell the salty tang of her tears. It was his first real kiss, and it was magical.

***

That was how her father found them. Entwined on the sidewalk, engaged in a carnal embrace. It wasn't a good first impression. The blood on his hands probably didn't help.

"Trishelle Marie Wagner! What the hell are you doing with that boy?!"

Her father looked pretty angry, but nothing could dissuade Dax from the explosion of love in his chest and the near-explosion of something else in his pants. Still, he had seen the look on Mr. Wagner's face before. It was barely disguised disgust. Dax stood up gingerly and tugged Trish to her feet. She seemed reluctant to detach from him, but the frosty glare from her father compelled Dax to give Trisha a gentle push in his direction. She went, casting him a worried glance over her shoulder. Dax slipped into the shadows as soon as her back was turned.

***

Following a long, relieving shower that evening, Dax took a good look at himself in the mirror. He was taller than most of the boys at school. He wasn't sure of his exact height, but he figured he was approaching six feet. His mother, whose image was permanently burned into his early memories no matter how hard he tried to erase it, was petite. So, his father must have been tall. He had seen a picture of his father once, but he had been sitting on a motorcycle, so it was hard to tell how tall he was. Dax stared at himself critically, taking in the series of scars on his forearms and chest. They were a roadmap of his life and the abuses he had suffered. He knew that the ones on his back were worse. At least he couldn't see those. Maybe someday, he'd cover them up somehow. Tattoos might do the job.

Dax had inherited his mother's white-blond hair and blue eyes. His hair was kind of spiky and unruly. He kept it a little long so that the length would prevent it from sticking out every which way. His chin was covered in light blond stubble, and he rubbed it absently. He was a skinny, half-grown kid from the wrong side of life. Was he good enough for Trish? He already knew he wasn't good enough for her family. Dax sighed. Maybe it would be better to just stay away.

***

The Bodeckers didn't give birthday gifts but each kid got a cake. Dax wasn't looking forward to the singing and attention. He was seventeen now. One more year to figure out what he was going to do after he aged out of foster care. His birthday had never been special. In fact, most often, it had been forgotten. He recalled the first time he realized that birthdays were supposed to be a big deal. It was first grade. Jimmy's mommy brought cupcakes and everyone sang. Later, they did a craft where students cut out and decorated a cake with candles and wrote in their birthday for the wall. Dax was the only student who didn't know his own birthday.

Even now the memories made him feel angry and resentful, but he smiled mechanically, blew out his candles and ducked out with a lame excuse that he had to go to the library. An hour later, he and Trish were at school of all places, underneath the football bleachers. Seeing her was the best gift he could have asked for. When she lifted her sweater over her head and undid her bra, his mouth went dry.

"You don't have to do this..."

"Dax, I—I want to," she explained shyly.

He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, his hands somehow knowing instinctively to be gentle. He palmed her breasts, hefting them in his hands, feeling her nipples harden, hearing her gasp with surprise and delight. He looked at her, questioningly, and at her nod of assent, he took one rosy peak into his warm mouth, tasting the bud with his tongue. He was startled at the low moan that wafted to his ears, and he brought his head up to look at her.

"Was that okay?"

"Oh, God, Dax...please do that again."

Her voice was husky as she pulled his head down to her breasts. Dax was dizzy with emotion and physical yearning. He paused briefly, trying to remember if anyone had ever touched him this way, with love and longing rather than anger. He was so hard it hurt but he focused on her soft, breathy moans as he trailed kisses from her collarbone down to her nipples, then slowly ran his tongue to her navel. Dax was on fire, and his hands moved of their own accord, demonstrating the sexual dominance that was coming to life in his body. He touched her with a kind of male certainty, listening to her sounds and paying close attention to her body's response to his touch. Before he knew it, he was rubbing between her thighs, feeling the damp heat that emanated from her core. Her legs fell open, and as he suckled her nipple rhythmically into his mouth, pressing the heel of his palm urgently into her, through her leggings. She stiffened and cried out his name.

He stopped immediately, breathing hard, his erection throbbing painfully with his need for his own release. "I-I'm sorry..."

"Jesus!" she panted. "Don't be sorry!" Trish peeked at him from beneath her heavily-fringed lashes. "Um, it's your birthday but you gave me a gift. I never, um, did that before."

He smiled, a lazy, lopsided grin that would later make all manner of hearts break. "So I made you, uh—"

"Yeah," she admitted. "Wow. That was incredible." Trish let out a relieved sigh. "Now..." She looked at the obvious bulge in his jeans. "What are we going to do with that?"

Dax swallowed hard. He didn't want to force her to do anything she wasn't comfortable with, and Trish said she had never seen a guy's dick. Trish nodded at his desperate, questioning look. Dax knelt over her and slowly unzipped his jeans. Trish's eyes grew wide as he sprang out, fully erect, a pearly drop glistening on the tip of his cock.

He didn't last long. When her small fingers wrapped around the hot, hard flesh and moved experimentally up and down, he gasped aloud, and a minute later, he shot his load all over her hand. He grunted his pleasure, first embarrassed and then surprised as Trish, smart, beautiful Trish, grinned at him devilishly and licked her fingertips before wiping her arm on the grass.

That's how it began.
CHAPTER FOUR

Dax had never pictured himself at prom. He had never pictured himself as an athlete either, but with Trish's encouragement, he had reluctantly tried out for the surf team. Even though his secondhand board was waterlogged and full of imperfectly sealed cracks in the fiberglass, he was secretly pleased that he excelled at the sport. The Bodeckers were strict, but they provided him with a little cash here and there, enough to let him skate by without having to bag groceries.

This town, Darling, had some decent waves but you had to take a long walk down a steep cliff very early in the morning to catch them. A few of the rich boys were on the team, but as he later found out, they weren't so square. They would head out before dawn to catch an early morning session at the cove, and then spark up a couple of doobies on the way to class. A quick shower, and some Visine, and no one was the wiser. If Trish ever noticed he was stoned, she never said anything.

Dax didn't expect to like surfing. He had never really spent time on a beach. But, he found that he liked the quiet that surrounded him when he paddled out, and the lonesome tranquility that permeated his soul when he waited for a set. He was alone out there, but he was one with some kind of energy that hummed through his body and mind. When he harnessed it, catching a wave with fluid grace and riding it, he felt a peace he had never known. And when the water was choppy or rough, and he was tossed around like a ragdoll, he was able to truly let go, letting the elements take him for a ride, knowing that only the ocean knew where he would end up.

He got held down pretty good one time, but he didn't panic, he just went limp, letting the powerful, heavy wave thrash his body until everything started to go white, then black. When he finally surfaced, heaving for breath, strangely exhilarated, he could hear the assistant coach calling his name as a lifeguard swam frantically to him. He was puzzled by their concern and somewhat frightened by his own desire to see what lay beneath the murky gray waters, beyond the darkness. After that day, there was a kind of camaraderie with the other guys on the team. A couple of them even started nodding at him in the hallway, and high-fiving him after a good session. It was odd, but for the first time, he felt like he belonged at school.

Senior year was his golden year. Dax had grown a few more inches and had started to fill out a bit. He started noticing interesting glances coming from girls. Well, not just girls, but women, too. Even some of his teachers were reacting to him in a different way. The little half-smiles he received from some of the female faculty seemed so wrong but so right at the same time. The attention didn't go to his head, it just made him more aware of himself as, well, a man.

Dax let out a low hiss, wondering for the millionth time what it would feel like to have a girl beneath him, or on top of him even. He had seen porn of course; there were some girlie mags stashed in the boy's locker room, and every kid with half a brain knew how to find those sites on the web.

God, Trish was beautiful...there. Something about her scent and her taste drove him wild. He spent hours exploring her with his tongue, reveling in her breathy little moans and sighs, glorifying in that hot, wet rush that meant he had taken her to the moon and back. He had felt the evidence of her virginity with his fingers, and even though she begged him to take her right there under the bleachers, he wanted her first time to be special.

Groaning, Dax pushed the carnal thoughts from his head and tried desperately to focus on his classwork. His teacher gave him a knowing glance and another one of those funny little smiles before turning abruptly back to whatever she was reading on her desk. Were all guys this horny all the time? Dax felt like he was going to explode. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate like this? He willed his stubborn erection to subside. Down, boy! Penis control...something I gotta get a handle on.

***

Trish wanted it as much as he did. Why else would she have risked getting busted to sneak out of the house in the dead of the night? For the umpteenth time, Dax wondered if the scenario he had planned would feel special enough for her. It was funny, but he supposed he was some kind of closet romantic. Maybe he was wise beyond his years, or maybe it was the fact that none of the other milestones in his life had been celebrated, but he really wanted this particular milestone to be something they both remembered...forever. At any rate, Dax was positive that no other horny high school kid would have cared so much about the setting, and it was starting to drive his girlfriend crazy.

"Dax, I want you! These details, I mean, they're sweet, but it's me and you! No matter where we do, it will be awesome. I can't wait much longer!"

Trish had celebrated her birthday the weekend before. Her family had taken her shopping and out to dinner with two of her childhood girlfriends. He hadn't seen her at all, but he certainly didn't expect an invitation. He had no money and no car, but he hoped he could still offer Trish a decent gift by getting creative. The night was perfect for it, too. It was warm and quiet, with a gentle breeze that was just enough to ruffle your hair.

Dax pushed his hand through his spiky hair. He waited on the bench, his palms sweaty, wondering if she'd had the nerve to sneak out and the grace to get away with it. Knowing Trish, she was on her way. The closest bus to her house was still nearly a mile away, at the foot of the steep hill that wound up and over the rest of the town. Trish had always been a good girl. There was no reason for her parents to suspect she wasn't in her room studying or asleep. Dax checked his watch. The last bus came at 11:00 p.m. If she didn't get there soon, his whole plan would turn to shit.

Headlights glowed in the distance and he sighed with relief. He had been half hard with anticipation for days. Trish materialized beside him, a grin on her angelic face, two minutes before the bus arrived.

"You look too sweet to be sneaking out, darlin'." Dax was unable to keep the smile off his face. In her light blue sweatshirt and dark jeans, and with her hair pulled off of her face, Trish was freaking hot. Dax felt his heart clench in his chest. What did I do to deserve her?

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," Trish responded breathlessly.

"Shall we?" He held out his hand and helped her step into the vehicle. It was no fancy sports car or limousine, but it would do.

Dax hadn't told her where they were going or what they were doing, just that she should wear sneakers. They exchanged anxious smiles as they sat huddled in the very last set of seats. There were a few others on the late bus, and he had to wonder where they were going. No one seemed to notice them, and he figured that was a good thing.

"I feel so naughty!" Trish giggled nervously.

He smiled. "That's good. I like naughty."

"Dax!" she said in mock outrage, punching his arm.

He pulled her into his lap. Tonight was going to be the best night of his life.

***

When she saw the little set-up at the cove, he hadn't expected Trish to cry. He held her hand as they walked down the steep hill, and then he directed her to take off her shoes. They walked in silence down the beach, breathing the salty air. Then, Dax stopped and veered back up toward the cliff.

"This way."

"Um, okay," she said, as he led her to a large rock and directed her to sit down.

"Close your eyes 'til I say, okay?"

Obediently, she closed them, pulling her legs beneath her and folding her hands into her lap. In no time, Dax had the tattered comforter from his bed laid out and a few candles he had borrowed from the Bodecker's kitchen lit up and stuck in the sand. The spot he had chosen was sheltered from the wind by a hollowed out section of cliff that came out into the sand almost like a shallow cave. He set out a little leftover cheese and crackers along with a half-bottle of wine Mrs. B had left sitting in the fridge. Finally, he pulled the daisies he had jacked from the neighbor's garden from his backpack. They were slightly crushed, but he tossed them onto the blanket. Not bad for a high school kid with no cash, he thought to himself. Then, he approached his girl, who perched on the rock, waiting expectantly.

Dax climbed up behind her. "Don't open your eyes yet," he whispered into her ear, knowing that his warm breath against her sensitive flesh would tickle. Sure enough, Trish let out a low gasp as he nuzzled the spot at the back of her neck, settling himself behind her on the boulder. He pulled her back into the protective circle of his legs and wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

Dax closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he was with this girl, the wandering anxiety that seemed ever-present receded into the background of his awareness. He didn't need anything else when he was with her. "Okay," he breathed. "You can look."

The candles flickered against their sandy backdrop, illuminating the hollow rocky shelter behind it. The white and yellow daisies made little splashes of color against the blue blanket canvas. For a few agonizing moments, Trish said nothing at all. Dax wondered if he had made a huge mistake. Maybe he should have pocketed some jewelry from the mall. Then he realized that tears were slipping down her cheeks.

"Baby, did I do something wrong?"

"Dax...it's just...I love you so much." She launched herself into his arms, her mouth connecting with his so hard their teeth clacked together. Trish wasn't short but she was a lot smaller than him, and he plucked her right off the rock. Laying her carefully on the blanket, Dax kissed her until she gasped, her blue eyes dilating with passion.

"So, is this my birthday gift?" she asked huskily. "You?"

"If you want me." The words held a lot of different meaning for Dax. Part of him still couldn't believe that this smart, beautiful girl was attracted to him. He realized that other than Trish, he couldn't recall anyone ever telling him they loved him. His heart actually began to hurt.

"I want you, Dax. More than anything. I've never felt this way before..." Her hand snaked into his waistband, her fingers slipping around the hot, raging flesh that struggled in the confines of his jeans. "Looks like you want me, too," she commented.

He could hear the smile in her voice mingling with wonder as she moved her hand slowly up and down, her thumb grazing the sensitive tip of his cock. Now, it was his turn to gasp. "Darlin', if you keep that up, this won't go much farther," he ground out.

"There's something I want to do, Dax. Please?"

Suddenly, she was on top of him, urging him to lie down on his back with a gentle nudge. Her hands went under his shirt, feeling the muscles there. "God, Dax. You have, like a man's body."

The feel of her soft, small hands on his chest made him grunt with pleasure. Her voice floated to him. "I want you to close your eyes now. And don't open them 'til I say."

He nodded, unable to speak. It was hard for him, he realized, to obey her command. But, it was sexy, too. He closed her eyes and nothing happened for several long seconds. Then, he felt her fingertips ghost down his belly, her nails leaving light trails of sensation. She traced the blond trail of hair that ran from just below his navel to disappear into his jeans. Then, her mouth followed the same path as her hands.

"Darlin', what..."

"Shh," she silenced him. Dax lay quivering with anticipation as her hands went to the front of his jeans.

Hearing his zipper being drawn down was an erotic torture all on its own. He was so hard he ached. Trish reached into his boxers and it was all he could do to avoid coming right there. Hazily, he recalled that tonight was supposed to be about her! It was her gift. He had planned to draw out her pleasure as best as he could in an attempt to make their first night of passion more memorable than a clumsy premature ejaculation. A girl's first time hurt, and he didn't want to hurt Trish. Dax wanted to make her scream his name over and over again. He opened his mouth to tell her so, that she needed to stop, or their night of passion would be over before it began. Before he could get out a single word, he felt her tongue on his cock, and he hissed with the novel sensation. She hadn't ever done that before.

"Wait!" he gasped as his balls tightened against his belly. Then, her sweet, pink mouth engulfed him and he arched into her mouth, his hips working reflexively.

"Jesus!" The feel of her warm, wet mouth sucking gently on the swollen head of his cock was his undoing. Dax cried out, his hands entangling in her hair. His orgasm rocketed through his body, starting at the tips of his toes and exploding into her mouth. He fell back, heaving with pleasure. Trish leaned over him, a grin on her face as she stuck out her tongue to collect a single pearly drop that lingered at the side of her innocent-looking mouth.

"Now that we have that out of the way," she said, straddling him, "we have all night to do everything else."

Dax raised a brow. "Where did you learn that?"

"Let's just say I've been doing a little online research," Trish said, a blush darkening on her cheeks. "I want our first time to last."

Dax laughed, shifting so she was beneath him. He levered up on his elbows to stare into her eyes. The night was warm and the breeze was as soft as the sound of his own voice. "Take off your clothes, darlin'. All of them." Her eyes widened at the dominant undertones lacing his command. Then, she obeyed.

***

Dax rode the early morning bus back with Trish and insisted she let him walk her back up the hill. He wasn't satisfied until she signaled him by flashing her bedroom light. He made it into bed about forty-five minutes before the sun came up. Dax spread his comforter back onto his bed. The scent of their lovemaking lingered on the blue fabric and he felt himself hardening again.. They'd had sex twice, but it wasn't enough. He wondered if he would ever get enough of that feeling of sinking into a woman, taking her body, making it his. The look on her face when he had thrust home, feeling the thin barrier yield, and capturing her yelp of pain in his mouth to kiss it away, had changed him. He was a man now.
CHAPTER FIVE

Trish was applying for colleges, and as usual, Dax accompanied her to the library while she wrote her essays and stuff. He snorted when she plunked down a set of applications in front of him.

"Come on, girl. Me? College? It's not for me, darlin'."

"Dax, these are for community colleges. You can get financial aid. There's one in every city, near the colleges my dad wants me to apply to."

"Yeah, but what's the point? I don't really see myself becoming a fuckin' stockbroker or whatever."

"Well, what are you going to do? I mean, I'm going to be in school for a really long time, Dax. I'm going to be interning and studying. I think you need a plan, at least."

He felt his jaw tense. Trish was his everything, but sometimes she had a tendency to make him feel, well, dumb. He had no plans. Sometimes, he thought the last year had been nothing more than an amazing dream. He was terrified that he would wake up one day and find out that he had been in a terrible accident or something and that everything that had happened was nothing but an injury-induced fantasy. Dax shrugged, looking away.

"Could you at least just fill one of these out?" She pushed the pile of applications at him.

"Fine." Dax shoved the pile of paperwork into his backpack and forced a smile. "I gotta go, darlin'. I'll catch you later." He spent that afternoon holed up in his attic room, the applications strewn carelessly on his desk, planning their next sexual encounter.

Man, he was restless. At home later that night, Dax looked in the mirror and wasn't sure who he was looking at. The same blue eyes and spiky blond hair stared back at him, but he didn't recognize himself. It was as if his relationship with Trisha Wagner was starting to transform him into a completely different person. Who was that person? He had no idea. Apparently, Trish wanted that person to be a college boy with a plan. A prickle of discomfort rippled through his chest. Suddenly, he wanted to punch something.

The trellis that climbed the side of the house made for a nice ladder, as Dax had discovered the very first night in the Bodecker's place. After lights out, he was on the street, heading for the strip; a small stretch of road downtown that bordered the next town. Dax wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he found a welcome distraction from the internal disquiet that threatened his fragile sense of security.

***

The row of bikes outside the place drew him immediately. Dax didn't remember much about his father, but from the vaguely recalled comments and the few old photos he had seen, the man had obviously been in a motorcycle crew. The door to the bar opened and a slew of women spilled out into the dimly lit street. Dax stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to look inconspicuous but he couldn't help but stare as the little slice of light gleaming from the slowly closing door offered him a glimpse of pool tables and men in black leather vests. Raucous laughter floated out into the night air before the heavy door silenced it.

Dax looked down at his hands and realized that they were shaking. In fact, his whole body was trembling with a strange feeling of familiarity and recognition. He had always struggled with his identity and he had never felt at ease in his own skin. While the image of himself as a college boy remained faded and out of focus, the notion of being a badass biker, an outlaw, seemed to fall over him seamlessly, like a comfortable leather jacket. He could almost smell the exhaust, could practically hear the rumble of an imagined tailpipe, as he stood frozen in thought outside of a seedy biker bar.

"Hey, cutie! You lost?"

The voice was husky, adult and female. The sound snapped Dax out of his bizarre reverie. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head, ducking his gaze to avoid her attention.

"Come on, honey. I don't bite...much."

A peal of tipsy laughter followed her suggestive statement. Stung, Dax pulled himself up to his full height and realized that he towered over the three women who leaned casually against the brick wall, taking long pulls of their cigarettes. His gaze wandered over the tight shirts, overflowing cleavage and red lips. The three females who stood there were significantly older than him, but he caught the furtive, appreciative glances they exchanged before turning their collective attention back to him.

"How old are you, baby?" a woman with stark red hair queried.

"Old enough."

His response elicited another round of laughs, which irritated the hell out of him.

"For what, baby?" She emphasized the word baby, almost like she was calling him one.

These drunk biker broads were making fun of him. Dax didn't like it. He felt a surge of something raw, male and dominant fill his body as he squared his shoulders. A cocky, lopsided grin came out of nowhere and settled on his face like it had always been there. His eyes narrowed and one eyebrow lifted to form a condescending expression he wasn't aware he had in him.

"Sweetheart, a used up whore like you won't ever find out."

A screech of outrage followed his swift departure down the dark alley, and a beer bottle whizzed by his ear to shatter against the wall.

"Fuck you!"

Dax smiled to himself, half-expecting the three of them to run after him and pummel him with their heeled leather boots. He supposed if that happened, he would try to outrun them or take a beating. He wouldn't hit a chick. No way. Not even if she was a trashy fucking harpy like his mom.

He made it to his rusty bike and hightailed it home, but the experience sat heavily in his mind for the next few days. He couldn't stop thinking about that place and the people inside it. What kind of lives did they lead? Did they ride from town to town? Did they have a clubhouse? Like an itch inside his brain that he couldn't seem to scratch away, the pesky thoughts accumulated until he was downright obsessed.

***

"Dax!"

"Huh?"

Trish sounded totally exasperated. "You seem like you're a million miles away lately."

"Sorry." He was starting to feel like nothing he did pleased her anymore.

Trish changed her tone, perhaps picking up on his growing sense of detachment. "Look, I know things have been crazy lately."

He looked at her, a silent challenge in his eyes. "Crazy? I guess you could call it that."

"Well, what would you call it?"

He shrugged.

"Dax, what's bugging you? Just tell me! You're not the same lately."

"Not the same, or not turning into the guy you want me to be fast enough?" The words just spilled out of his mouth.

"That's not fair! I want you to be happy!" Surprise and hurt flashed across her face.

"I'd be happy if we didn't have to sneak around all the time."

Trish sighed, her hand dropping to her sides. "Dax, you know my parents are super strict..."

"We've been together almost a year, Trish, and you still haven't told them about us."

"Look, things will be different soon! I'll be able to do what I want once I'm out of that house. You know that, Dax!"

He shrugged. "I want to be with you, darlin'. You know that I do. It just seems like we are going in opposite directions. I don't know if I'm the right guy for you...or your family." An image of that biker bar flashed in his brain, mingling with a memory of a faded photo of his father.

If Dax had a family like Trish's, with all that money, he sure as hell wouldn't jeopardize it. He couldn't expect her to just drop them the minute she went off to college, and he knew that no matter what he achieved or became, her daddy wouldn't ever accept him. He had seen Mr. Wagner a few times since that fateful evening outside the library, and the disdainful look that he tried to hide didn't escape Dax. He had seen that look before. Wagner despised him.

Trish looked so dejected, standing there, chewing on her bottom lip, but she didn't argue with him about not being right for her. It hurt. It was getting easier to cover up his feelings. "Later, darlin'." He kissed her on the mouth, intending a short but sweet peck. But the same thing happened that always did when he put his mouth on her. Desire, hot and heavy, exploded in his veins, and he pulled her hard against his chest.

"Dax!" she gasped, arching into him like her life depended on his touch. His hands were under her shirt, tugging at her nipples just the way she liked it. Her hands slipped inside his jeans, stroking him to full erection right there behind the building. They were wrapped up in each other, oblivious to their surroundings, when the teacher on duty poked her head around the corner and let out a loud, shocked gasp.

***

Busted. In every sense of the word. It was Dax's second strike. Bodecker wasn't happy, but to his credit, the man didn't even raise his voice when they called him. His foster father worked at a steel mill, and Dax knew that the man wasn't about to take the afternoon off to deal with his wayward fake kid. He'd have to explain himself when he got home, and the chores would be layered on thick. That was the drill. No big deal.

Not so for Trish. Before Maxwell had finished lecturing them, her father showed up in a suit and tie, his face red with anger. Dax watched as the principal tried to placate the man. Dax bristled with tension as Trish's dad tossed a few lawsuit threats at Maxwell for failing to ensure that the school had adequate supervision. When Mr. Wagner grabbed Trish by the arm, she squeaked when his hand gripped her.

"Sir, please. This is my fault." Dax stood up, unable to tolerate the rough way her father touched her.

"Well, that's pretty obvious, Mr. Jamison. Now, get out of my way, and stay away from my daughter."

"Daddy—"

"Don't you start in, Trishelle. Do you think this is how I wanted to spend my day? Having my business lunch interrupted to pick up my daughter for acting like a whore in school?"

Dax stiffened. "Don't talk to her like that. This isn't her fault."

Mr. Wagner turned, staring into Dax's eyes as though he was willing him to back down. Dax didn't. Instead, he felt himself swelling up with aggression. Dax's eyes fixated on the hand that gripped Trish and his jaw tensed. Although he didn't really move, the corded muscles beneath Dax's tee shirt started to bulge, and his eyes narrowed. He took a step toward Wagner, his posture emphasizing that while the man had years on him, Dax had height—and rage.

"Take your fucking hands off of her." Each word was enunciated in a carefully controlled manner, but inside, Dax battled a violent, red haze that threatened to take him over, that incited him to do some very bad things.

Mr. Wagner stopped in his tracks, a grim smile on his face. "Are you threatening me, you little pissant? You're just some gutter trash throwaway. Stay the fuck away from my daughter, or you'll be sorry."

The red tide bubbled up and over. Dax took another measured step forward, imagining his hands wrapping around Wagner's throat, squeezing until he shut the fuck up permanently. There was a dull roaring in his ears, blotting out most of the sound in the room. Dimly, he heard Trish's voice. Like a siren song cutting through the mist, her desperate plea reached him, lured him and gave him pause for one brief second—a second that most likely prevented him from ruining the rest of his life.

"No!" She sounded so sweetly haunted. His vision cleared momentarily and he saw that her father had released her arm.

Then the principal stepped between them, becoming an unexpected ally. Maxwell pushed Dax into his office and hastily kicked the door shut with his foot. "Don't do it, kid!" he warned. "That man has more money than half the town. He'll have you thrown in a cell somewhere and you won't get out for a decade. Daxter! Are you listening to me?"

Dax was disoriented and full of an angry energy that literally compelled him to violence. He whirled involuntarily, putting his fist clear through the thin wall of Maxwell's office. The shock jolted him back to reality. A searing pain shot down his wrist. He pulled his hand from the hole in the wall and turned to Maxwell. The principal put his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Calm down, kid." His voice was steady, confident that Dax would obey his command. He seemed to know not to touch Dax—that the contact would send him into a spiral of violence. Instead Maxwell gestured to the chair opposite his desk, and then took a seat himself, waiting for Dax to gain control of himself.

Breathing hard, Dax pushed his uninjured hand into his hair as a painful throb began to beat in his right fist. What the fuck just happened? He had lost control. Big time. Even as he struggled to rein in his turbulent, raw emotions, Dax knew instinctively that he needed to learn to keep himself in check. He had been holding things in for so long and that was dangerous. Dax shook his head, trying to clear the remaining fog from his brain. Goddamn it. I am so fucked now.
CHAPTER SIX

It was nothing short of a miracle that he wasn't expelled. For some inexplicable reason, Maxwell seemed to take his side. He didn't even get in trouble for the busted wall. Dax gathered that Maxwell didn't like Mr. Wagner very much. Trish's dad had an entitled attitude where he just expected everyone to do what he wanted, and he wanted Dax gone. But, Maxwell stood his ground, citing that although his behavior with Trish had certainly been inappropriate, Dax hadn't violated any of the school's rules.

Dax was grateful that he had been given a pass, so he tried to play by the rules. He went to class, but his attention and interest waned sharply when Trish didn't show up at school. She didn't email or call the house—she just disappeared. At home, Mr. Bodecker gave him a ridiculous, bullshit lecture about abstinence and hormones. Just because you ain't getting laid, don't mean I gotta be a freaking monk!

Dax managed to hold himself in check. It was like his own personal quest to rein himself in to prove to himself that he could do it. A few weeks went by. He was going crazy with his need to see Trish. He knew that most kids didn't go through what he had endured as a child, but Mr. Wagner had been really angry at Trish...because of him. Would her father yell at her? Hit her? Worse? Dax was having trouble sleeping at night. Each day at school, he waited with a growing desperation to see with his own two eyes that she was okay. He wasn't great at using a computer, but when his email to her bounced back undelivered, Dax couldn't take it anymore.

About three weeks after she vanished from his life, Dax headed down his trellis in the middle of the night and biked up the long hill that led to her house. His legs pumped like pistons, and his chest heaved with the effort, but he didn't stop until he was outside her house. He stashed his bike and hopped over the gate.

Dax was reminded of Rapunzel and her tower as he gazed up at Trish's window. Rapunzel's tower was different from Trish's, however. While Rapunzel had no way to get in or out of her prison, Trish's had a strong lattice of ivy that stretched from the ground to the balcony, supporting the very window she studied beneath. He could see her silhouette as she bent low over her textbook. Dax took a deep breath and began to climb.

***

"Dax! You shouldn't be here!" Trish looked over her shoulder as though she expected her dad to burst in at any moment.

"I had to see you. Are you okay?" He pulled her to him, running his hands over her back, her ribcage, inspecting her face. Dax nearly sighed with relief when he found no evidence of tender spots or bruises.

Trish shivered under his perusal. "I'm fine."

"Where have you been?"

"Home study. My dad pulled me out of school." She groaned.

"For how long?"

"Until graduation. He took my phone, too, and no Internet unless I'm studying in the kitchen. I'm basically on house arrest."

"What the fuck? Are you serious?"

"Shhh! My parents' room is just down the hall!"

Dax tried to tug her back into his arms. He wanted, no needed the reaffirmation that her touch always provided. Trish jerked out of his grasp as though his touch burned her. Her rejection cut him deep—much deeper than he cared to admit, but he released her immediately.

"You don't want me to touch you?" he accused.

The tension rolled from Trish in waves that seemed to reach up and slap him right in the face. Even though Dax couldn't quite see how he fit in her life, he still wanted this girl. He knew what she was going to say before she said it. He also knew why, but her words still hurt him.

"I just need a little more time, Dax. I think it's best if we don't see each other right now."

"What the fuck does that mean? We're done?" Now he was angry. Anger was better than pain. He could tell Trish was upset, too, but she was the one throwing away what they had. She had no fucking right to be angry.

Trish's shoulders sagged. "I don't want to be done." When she finally looked at him, her eyes were filled with tears. "But, I don't have a choice. At least, not right now."

"Why?"

He could hear the hurt and betrayal in his own voice, and he was more angered by that than he was at the fact that she was throwing him away. Just like everyone else had.

"It's either you or school, Dax. If I see you again, my dad won't help me. College and med school are expensive. It's my dream. You know that..." She trailed off as he turned away and made for the open window.

"Dax!"

He paused. "There's nothing left to say. I won't stand in the way of your dreams."

"Dax..." He could hear the sorrow in her voice and it gave him pause.

He hesitated only a minute before stiffening his spine and slipping back out the open window, hearing her breath catch in a stifled sob before he ghosted down the trellis. Wrong choice, darlin'. It hurt, being kicked to the side of her future like so much trash, but he couldn't ignore that Trish was smart and she had options. She was meant for more than a small town life. Her daddy was right. He was just some gutter trash masquerading as a fucking frat boy wannabe. It wasn't him. It had never been him.

And it never would be.
CHAPTER SEVEN

Without Trish as his anchor, Dax felt like he had lost his focus. First, his motivation to do his homework disintegrated. Then, he stopped attending class altogether. Instead, he dragged his old, waterlogged board to the beach every morning to surf the small break right in front of the hollowed out spot where he had gotten laid for the first time. Dax let himself get held down again and again, letting the air bubble out from his lungs until the black nothingness crept in. Sometimes, he wished he could just let the force of the ocean take him all the way to the point of no return, but the part of him that wanted to live always stepped in at the last second, clawing his body to the surface to take big lungfuls of air.

For a brief moment in time, Dax had a chance at a different life—a life defined and dictated by Trisha Wagner. That life was just a faded memory now. He had woken up from the dream, and his reality was even more harsh and bleak than it had been before. He nipped into Mrs. Bodecker's wine nightly. The alcohol helped him sleep. He was pretty sure she knew about it, but she didn't say anything. He didn't care if she did.

Dax promised himself that he would never let another skirt dictate his behavior, ever again. Women were more trouble than they were worth, but dammit, he still ached for the feel of soft skin and hair. He was seriously addicted to fucking. What guy wasn't? It turned out that a lot of chicks were into getting fucked, you just had to know what to say to them. He fucked a lot of girls and they always came back for more. He left them, every one of them—even the super-hot ones. 'Cause the last thing he wanted was another girlfriend.

Dax had a lot of sex. He smoked a lot of grass. Before he knew it, he hadn't been at school for a month.

***

Dax had figured out how to ride his bike while securing his board under his arm. After it became more and more weighted from the water trapped inside, Dax found a place at the beach to stash the behemoth. It was there every morning, waiting for him, like a silent partner in crime. The Bodeckers thought he was at school so no one was the wiser. Usually, the sun was barely rising as he paddled out. Despite the frigid water, he was drawn to the early morning hours, seeking the solitude that could only be found in the ocean at that time. When Dax came ashore an hour later, exhausted and sated, too tired to deal with his own turbulent emotions, he became aware that he wasn't the only one on the beach that day.

A lone figure paddled out on a longboard. As he watched from his vantage point on the sand, the old man caught several waves, walking his nose like an expert. Dax had to admit he was impressed. Finally, the other man rode a nice wave to shore and then made a beeline for Dax's towel. Dax was surprised to learn that his principal could catch a wave and put his toes on the nose.

"Daxter."

"Maxwell."

"Haven't seen you around in school."

"Haven't been there."

"I noticed. Dax, is everything okay?"

"Everything is as it always has been." Dax's voice sounded gruff and harsh to his own ears. He fumbled in his backpack for his lighter.

"Look, Dax. I know things have been rough, okay. I want you to know that...well, that I believe in you, kid. I think you could really be something. You know, overcome your circumstances."

"How's that?" He continued to rummage in his ripped, blue bag. "What exactly do you see me becoming? A doctor, maybe?" he scoffed.

Maxwell sighed. "Look, kid. I get it. You were dealt a bad hand. But you're smart, Dax. Don't fuck yourself out of your chance for a better life."

"My life is perfect, Maxwell." Dax sparked up a joint, taking a long pull and exhaling right in the principal's face. To his credit, Maxwell didn't react at all, other than to shrug away the look of disappointment that appeared on his face.

"Shouldn't smoke, kid. Causes cancer." Maxwell stood then and looked up the cliff, presumably to where he had parked his car. "Look, Dax. If you want to come back to school, I'll look the other way in terms of the last few weeks. You can still graduate. Okay?"

Dax shrugged again, welcoming the numbing sensation that his hand-rolled chronic wrapped around his brain. He stared out into the horizon, losing himself in the shards of sunlight that glinted off of the murky depths. After a time, he realized that Maxwell was gone.

He was alone.

***

Dax snuck out every morning and either hit up the beach or the park during the day. He had his two strikes and Mr. Bodecker had made it very clear that if he fucked up again, he'd be out on his ass. The thing was, Dax just couldn't make himself follow the rules anymore. He bent them, stretched them and eventually he blatantly ignored them, but he managed to avoid getting in trouble for a while. Report card time had occurred when he had actually been attending school. All that was left was the end of spring semester and then graduation. Fuck it. He could never picture himself walking across the stage in that ridiculous cap and gown, smiling and shaking Maxwell's hand like he had done him a good fucking turn. Fuck that.

Dax made a point to be home before the Bodeckers got in from work. He showered the sand and lingering aroma of weed from his shaggy, white-blond hair and tried to look presentable at dinner. Luckily, the Bodeckers weren't much for conversation, at least not with him. Mr. Bodecker spent lots of time discussing Michelle's college aspirations, and Kathy seemed to avoid looking at Dax altogether, choosing to direct most of her attention to the twins.

Despite all the pot he smoked during the day, he seemed to have developed a serious case of insomnia. Dax's meager allowance he earned mowing the lawn was recycled into more grass. He liked the irony of that. As was customary, Dax waited until it was lights out. The house became quiet and still around 9:00 p.m. Like clockwork. So, like clockwork, he stowed his journal back in his desk and slipped out into the night.

He knew that biker bar was bad news but something about the place felt familiar. Dax found himself loitering in the alley. The faint smell of trash and a lonely meowing noise emanated from a nearby dumpster. He tilted his head back, leaning against the cold brick and sighed. He was looking for trouble and he found it with an ease that suggested the trouble had been lying in wait for him all along.

"Well, well. Look who's back." Her voice was laced with irritation, but interest, too.

Dax fired up his joint and regarded the biker chick with cool indifference. It was one of the females who had laughed at him the first night he had ended up here. She was older than him, but Dax saw that she wasn't as haggard as he'd originally thought. Nope, actually the sheila was kinda doable.

"Share a toke?" She reached for his doobie with nails that were painted black.

He shrugged, offering her a drag. She exhaled slowly, letting the smoke out in a practiced breath. A rumble signaled the arrival of a bike and Dax watched as a stocky guy with a goatee parked it and unstrapped his helmet. Then, he helped his female passenger dismount, sweeping the girl into his arms for a lusty kiss. They headed for the front door and the guy smacked the chick's ass, making her squeal. He slipped his arm around her, and they entered the bar together. A stifled sniffle redirected his attention to the girl next to him.

She wiped a lone tear from her cheek and smiled gratefully, taking the hand-rolled joint from him. "Am I—am I really that used-up looking?" she asked softly, echoing his comment from several weeks before.

"Nah. You're pretty hot, actually." The lazy, flirty grin he shot her felt so comfortable on Dax's face that he was hardly aware that it was a new expression.

"You're pretty cocky for a kid."

"Do I look like a kid?" he countered, straightening up to his full height. He was at least a head taller than she was.

She looked him up and down, sizing him up. He caught the appreciative widening of her eyes as her gaze roved over his muscled chest and finally settled on his face. She looked into his eyes for a second before flushing and looking away. "No. Not at all, actually. You could pass for twenty-one, easy. But, if you weren't a kid, wouldn't you be inside the bar, instead of lurking around in the alley?"

"Hot and smart. What's your name, darlin'?"

"Penny."

"Dax."

They shook hands and she giggled awkwardly. "I like your name. It's different."

"You're even prettier when you smile, Penny." Lately, Dax felt more confident all around when it came to girls, women, whatever.

Penny blushed. "Um, thanks." She looked at him again. "Yeah, you definitely don't seem like a kid, Dax."

"Not a baby then, huh?" he teased, letting her know that he also recalled the comments that were made several weeks before.

She blushed harder. "Hey, I'm sorry about that. We were kind of drunk, I was being a bitch I guess."

Dax shrugged. "So, Penny. You're no kid, either. Why are you out here in this alley with me when you could be inside yourself?"

Penny's shoulders sagged. "I guess you could say I've been demoted." At his confused look, she continued. "I used to be an old lady. I guess now I'm just a Phantom stalker."

"A what?"

"You know, The Phantoms? They're the crew that hangs out at this bar. I used to be with one of them." She sighed. "Listen, Dax, you're easy to talk to and you seem pretty cool. But, you're young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don't get mixed up with these guys. It seems like a glamorous lifestyle, but it isn't."

Dax raised an eyebrow as she straightened her shoulders and pulled her jacket more closely around her cleavage.

"Thanks for the toke. See you around...kid."

He smiled at the affectionate way she said kid. "Later, Penny." Yeah, definitely doable. She wasn't that old. Not old enough to be called an old lady, anyway.

The Phantoms. The name sounded easy on his ears. Dax looked at the row of bikes lined up neatly outside the bar. Compelled and slightly high, he wasn't really aware of what he was doing until he was standing in front of the first Harley in the row of gleaming metal and reaching out a fingertip to brush the steel handlebar.
CHAPTER EIGHT

"Daxter Jamison! Wake up! You had better have a good explanation for this!"

Dax groaned. He had gotten in so late it was practically considered early, and it was no surprise that he had overslept. At first, he thought he could feign illness. His head pounded and his stomach clenched, the stench of alcohol and cigarettes rolling off his body making him feel ill. Even as Kathy's panicked voice grated on his hungover brain, a smile settled on his lips. Man, last night was fucking crazy! He still couldn't believe that he had ended up in the bar. His foster mom's voice droned on in the background like an annoying gnat as he sat up, the sheets falling away from his lean torso.

Dax had been lingering near the bikes when the door to Lenny's flew open. Expecting a bunch of half-drunk broads like the last time he'd been hanging around, Dax was taken aback when three men approached. They wore leather vests and cocky smiles, giving him no notice at all. Of the three, two of the guys didn't look all that threatening. Yeah, they were rough and hardened, but something about the way the two carried themselves told Dax that they had honor.

The third man—he gave Dax pause. His gut told him that the guy was bad news. Nervous at being caught too close to their bikes, he tried to slink back into the shadows as the trio conversed heatedly. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go; any other path leading away from the bar would draw attention to himself, thanks to the streetlights.

"We're not that hard up, Crow. I ain't trusting this patched-in imposter until he proves his ass."

"Fuck you, Hawk. I don't need to prove my shit. Money talks." The third man sneered.

"Loony hasn't given us any reason not to trust him," the man called Crow replied. "Plus, we need this deal. We're going broke trying to keep our noses clean. We need to branch out. If we don't take advantage of what comes our way, we'll be left in the dust. Look at the Sixers. They're fucking done, man."

"Whatever."

In the dim light, Dax could make out the letters on the protestor's vest. Vice President. There were also some words beneath the distinction but he couldn't make them out.

"Guns will help us, man. I have a solid connection. It means a lot of fucking dough. More than you boys have ever played with."

Dax was riveted, unable to turn away, as the three men talked. Pussy, drugs, guns...it was like watching a crazy movie about the mafia. Only in this scene, the mafia was made up of a bunch of guys who walked out of Nam and formed a club—or so they implied. Just as he figured it was time to sneak away, the man on the left sparked up a cigarette. The halo arching from his silver lighter illuminated the corner where Dax huddled. In unison, all three men turned to him as tension prickled down his spine.

***

"Hey! You piece of shit! Get your ass over here, you fucking eavesdropper!"

Dax quickly surveyed his surroundings and it was obvious he was caught. The third man, Loony, sounded pretty pissed off. Fighting the part of him that was scared, Dax squared his shoulders and nodded a greeting to the three men who stared at him.

The one called Crow laughed. "He's just a kid, man. Let him alone."

"I don't like loose ends," Loony grumbled, taking a few steps toward Dax.

Everything in Dax was screaming to run, and run hard. But he just couldn't. Instead, he pulled a joint from his pocket and sparked it up, affecting an air of cool indifference. "Hey, bro. Looks like you need to relax. Want a drag?" He offered the weed to Loony.

Loony bristled. Just as Dax thought everything was about to go horribly wrong, the man with the V.P. patch started to laugh uproariously. "He's pegged you good, Loony Tunes!"

The other man, Crow, laughed, too, his eyes meeting Dax's, crinkling at the corners. "Nice, kid. Pass it along, then."

Dax stepped forward, into the small circle of men framed by light from the streetlamp. He met the V.P.'s eyes and found them to be intelligent and curious, and somehow welcoming. As he handed the joint off to the man called Crow, he had the oddest feeling of déjà vu. The next thing he knew, he was following the older men into the bar at their invitation. Well, it was more of a demand rather than a request, but Dax was excited. It was loud in there--the heavy door was an effective barrier against the noise. Music was playing, chicks were dancing, and Dax stopped short, not knowing his place. Then, the VP shoved a beer into his hand.

"I'm Hawk."

"Dax."

"Got a family, Dax?"

"Not really." He looked away, unsure of how to answer that question.

"Ah. We're kind of like a magnet for misfits."

Dax grinned, enjoying the feeling of acceptance that seemed to come from Hawk's words. "Sounds like I'll fit right in, then."

"Got a job?"

Dax hesitated. He had never considered applying for a job—especially one in a biker bar! He was underage, but it seemed like these guys didn't exactly play by the rules. He liked that. A lot. He shook his head.

"Want one?"

Dax sucked in his breath. For some reason, the chance to be connected to these guys, in any way at all, was exciting. "Sure, I guess."

Hawk waved over an older man with a large paunch. "Hey, Lenny! This kid's with us. Give him something to do, will you?"

Lenny brightened. "Fuck, thanks, man! I got a bunch of trash that needs to be dumped. Come on, kid."

Before long, Dax was sweating. He hauled ice, dumped endless loads of trash, and shuttled beers to a bunch of seriously drunk bikers and their friends. He brought Hawk, the obviously respected V.P., a round of beers, drawing a wary glance from the man called Loony. As he hustled back to the bar, he heard a snippet of conversation that he wasn't sure how to interpret.

"Yeah, I'm keeping the kid close. Don't worry about him. He's just a kid."

There appeared to be no last call at Lenny's, but one by one, the customers started to either pass out or hook up, and the crowd thinned. As the last few patrons trickled out the door, Dax was surprised when Lenny handed him a glass of amber liquid.

"Here, kid. You deserve it. You worked hard tonight."

Lenny clinked his own glass with Dax, and shot his drink immediately. Dax did the same, then coughed and choked as the liquid fire burned its way down his throat. "Fuck!" he sputtered. "What the hell is that, gasoline?"

Lenny smirked. "Good stuff, eh? My cousin makes it. The only thing he loves more than the Sox is some decent bootleg. Pretty fine brandy if I do say so myself."

Dax nodded as Lenny proceeded to fill his glass a second time. After the third shot, Lenny was snoring over a pile of receipts and Dax was stumbling to his bicycle, feeling like a toddler on training wheels as he made his wobbly way home.

***

"Dax! Are you listening to me?" God, Kathy's voice was like sandpaper scraping incessantly against his brain. Blearily, tried to bring the fuzzy image of his foster mother into focus. No more bootleg brandy!

"Sorry, Kathy. I'll do extra chores, okay?" Dax stood up and stretched, conscious that his foster mom hadn't moved. He sighed.

"That's not what this is about, Daxter. You aren't listening. There's been a letter from the school. Apparently, you're not graduating?"

Oh, fuck.

"Doug will be home later, and he's going to be mad, Dax. You've already had the detention and the incident with that...that Trishelle girl. According to the letter they sent, you've quit school? You've broken all the rules. You know what that means in our house?"

Yeah, he knew. Three strikes. He was out. The state offered some sort of transitional program for kids like him who had aged out of the system, but there was no way he was going back to that.

"Dax, I want to help you. You've been here for three years, and you've come so far. I'm not sure what happened. You were doing so well." The disappointment in her voice pained him, but he was used to hearing that tone from adults in his life.

She continued to ramble but Dax tuned her out—it was a skill he had grown very good at. He wouldn't be there for Bodecker's lecture. That much was certain. Dax walked straight past Kathy, who reached a hand out to touch his shoulder. He flinched, hard. She gasped, withdrawing her hand. The look of utter desolation on her face made him hesitate. At the very least, he owed her an explanation.

"Look, Kathy. I really appreciate all you have done for me. But, I have to forge my own path, and school isn't going to get me where I need to go. I can't pretend any longer."

He moved to walk past her and was surprised when Kathy launched herself into his arms for a fierce hug. "Maybe I didn't tell you enough, Daxter," she said, her voice hitching on a sob, "but I care about you."

Dax pulled her in for a hug. She seemed too frail and small all of a sudden, almost like she was the one who needed the caretaking. "I know you do, Mrs. B. Thank you for everything."

Kathy squeezed him so tight she almost took the air from his lungs before releasing him. "I'll talk to Doug. Maybe Mr. Maxwell can bend the rules if you do some extra work."

Dax nodded, avoiding her hopeful eyes. He recalled Maxwell's offer and he wouldn't be taking the principal up on it. He was no college boy in training. As wild as his night had been, he had never felt more alive than he had in that biker bar. He wanted, no, needed to belong there. The lie flowed effortlessly from his mouth: "I'll see you at dinner, Mrs. B."
CHAPTER NINE

It felt weird to be riding his two-wheeler with all of his worldly possessions on his back. Dax smiled at the fleeting images of turtles and hermit crabs that ran through his mind as he pedaled down the main road. He stashed his backpack and duffle behind a rock and engaged in a surf session that blew his mind. He lost track of time taking wave after wave, marveling in the glassy sets that rolled in, seeming to congratulate him on his emancipation. When he finally emerged from the ocean, he was fucking freezing, and he realized he hadn't taken a crucial item with him when he fled the Bodecker's place like a fugitive—a towel.

It was spring, but the evening was cool and breezy. Dax's teeth were chattering as he headed to the only other place that felt familiar to him. He was too nervous to go in, though, so he stowed his bike in the alley and hugged the cement wall, willing it to somehow heat him. A rustling came from the dumpster startled him at first, but then Dax was grateful for the momentary distraction. Whatever was in there, at least he wasn't alone.

He shivered, feeling a soft cloud of misery begin to weigh him down. Reality was setting in. Dax had nowhere to go, and he couldn't just walk into a biker bar on his own. A mournful wail came from the dumpster, followed by a hiss and a screech.

The dumpster fuckin' reeked but Dax hauled his salty, shivering body up to peer inside anyway. The stench was almost overwhelming. The trash was illuminated by dim light. At the bottom of the bin was a highly agitated cat. He seemed to be stuck, wedged into the corner behind a flattened box. The cat struggled pitifully. Maybe the box was too high for the creature to climb over. Dax sighed heavily and then heaved himself into the stinking dumpster. No neglected creature would go uncared for on his watch.

"You motherfucker!" he swore, as said creature inflicted a series of slashes to his wrist. "I'm trying to help you!"

"Curly!" Lenny's voice echoed into the dark alley as Dax wrestled with a very angry and very bedraggled cat.

Finally, Dax managed to grab the hissing animal and yank it free of the twine it was entangled in.

"Dax?" A curious, amused face peered into the wretched, trash-filled container.

"Lenny." he responded tiredly. "Is this...thing...yours?" He held the enraged cat as though it were a venomous snake.

"I've been looking for her for a week! Shit, Curly, are you okay?"

The burly bartender reached for his pet with unexpected tenderness as Dax lurched from the stinking dumpster, brushing remnants of last night's extravaganza from his damp clothing. The cat, Curly, flew into his owner's arms, bringing a child-like smile to Lenny's pockmarked face.

"Hey, kid, you're worth your salt, that's for sure," Lenny said, looking up at him. Then his eyes narrowed as he took in Dax's appearance. "You okay?"

Dax hated to admit that he wasn't but his ragged condition was pretty obvious. Luckily, Lenny didn't need verbal confirmation. Without a word, he ushered Dax into the bar and up the back stairs. Dax was surprised to find small, over-crammed single apartment sitting above the bar.

"You live here? At the bar?"

"Well, yeah, it kind of makes sense. Crow and the guys like to be able to stop in at all hours of the day or night. It's the least I could do."

At that comment, Dax had to wonder how Lenny had become involved with The Phantoms.

"Why are you all wet?" Lenny looked pointedly at Dax's damp clothing and hair.

Dax shrugged sheepishly, grateful to be inside. "Went surfing. Forgot a towel."

"And you decided to hang in the alley rescuing my poor Curly here, instead of heading home to warm up?"

There was a probing undertone to Lenny's query, one that beckoned Dax to open his mouth and let every detail of his pathetic life story pour out. Instead, he gazed at Lenny for a long moment and then looked away. His story was too complicated to tell. Again, Lenny seemed to know not to pressure him. Instead, he retrieved a towel from a closet and tossed it to Dax.

"Shower's that way kid. Warm up. I'll take care of Curly downstairs." It was odd to see such a big man showing such care for the animal, but in a way, Lenny's behavior was reassuring. He had a good heart, despite his tough exterior.

Dax only hesitated for a minute before making his way to the bathroom. It wasn't as nasty as he had expected, but Lenny was no clean freak. Still, the warm water cascading over him was successful in taking the chill from his bones and the stink from his hair. He toweled off, sniffing his reeking clothes with disgust. What the fuck was I thinking? Dax had few clothes to begin with and he'd felt guilty taking off with the things the Bodeckers had purchased for him. He had only taken the bare minimum of stuff, plus his journal.

Sighing at his half-baked plan, Dax pulled on his spare jeans and padded back into the small sitting area, thinking he was alone.

"Hey, kid."

The man they called Crow sat on Lenny's couch, rolling a fat joint on the coffee table. Dax froze, feeling somewhat exposed. He was, after all, half-naked. "Hey."

"Lenny tells me you rescued his piece of shit cat. That thing scratched the hell outta me last time I tried to peel it out of that dumpster."

"Yeah. I guess I should have thought ahead. My clothes are kind of ruined." Dax turned away to smooth his spiky blond hair in Lenny's mirror.

Schooled by years of unpredictability when it came to people and situations, Dax never turned his back on someone without keeping some kind of tabs on them. He made sure he could see Crow's reflection clearly as he tamed his unruly mane. The Phantoms' president looked up casually from his busy work and as his eyes slid over Dax's back, they narrowed suddenly. Then, he stood up and Dax could tell he was taking a closer look, although he feigned nonchalance. Dax turned quickly to his backpack and fished a spare tee shirt from it, wanting to shield his scars from the other man, but it was too late. Crow had seen the thin white lines and circular indentations that decorated Dax's back, and he had recognized the marks for what they were.

Most people either didn't notice the wretched symbols of his past or they simply pretended they weren't there. It was easier that way, for both Dax and whoever happened to get a glimpse of his back. He didn't like being reminded of his abuse, and he certainly didn't want anyone's pity. He wasn't a whipping boy any longer. No, he was a fuckin' man, now. To Dax's surprise, the tattooed biker's eyes held a great deal of compassion as their gazes met. A kind of mutual understanding flashed between them and suddenly Dax knew that whatever kind of hell he himself had been through, Crow had been there, too. Dax looked back, his eyes steady, as Crow fired up the joint and passed it over to him.

"Got a proposition for you, kid."

Dax took a long, slow drag, letting the sweet smoke enter his lungs and dull his brain. "I'm listening."
CHAPTER TEN

The next morning, Dax looked around himself with wonder. He stood in a small room with wood paneled walls. The space was tiny—just large enough to house a mattress and a night table. A dusty lamp sat on the table, its shade yellow with age. A rectangular, screenless window, large enough to climb out of, opened onto a large grassy yard. Dax could see beer cans littering the ground out there, clustered around a huge black-and-white flag that proclaimed, The Phantoms.

The space was tiny, but it was his for the time being. His own place. Who would have thought that taking a chance on an animal in distress would lead to this? Crow had spoken softly, his eyes taking on a faraway glint as he had offered Dax a place with the crew. Well, not as a member, but as a grunt with a place to call home until he had figured things out a bit.

I came up hard, too. But, I don't let the scars of my past hold me back. You get what I'm saying, kid? A lot of us got stuck with a shitty set of cards. That don't mean you lay down and take it. It means you stand up stronger. Me, the club, we stand together. We're a family. Everybody needs a family. You look like you could use one right about now.

"Got any questions, kid?"

Crow was a veritable stranger, but Dax felt a fierce ball of loyalty began to burn in the pit of his stomach as he accepted the older man's generosity. I'll never let him down.

"Why do they call you Crow?"

"Me and my army buddies were called the Night Crows. But, that's a story for another time and a lot more grass."

***

For now, Dax was basically considered a grunt—the lowest caste of wannabes. He was the youngest one there and he had nothing but Crow's word to vouch for his allegiance, but Dax would never bite the tattooed hands that had decided to feed him. Lenny liked him, especially after he had jumped in a pile of stinking trash to rescue Curly, so he'd be helping out at the bar until something else came up. Dax could live with that. He smiled to himself, stretching out on the worn mattress. A place of my own. My very own place. It was more than he could have ever hoped for, even though he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Dax took stock of his new digs. The communal shower and toilet was located just down the hall. Some of the rooms were bigger and some had their own bathrooms. Dax figured those were for the original club members. Even though most of them had their own homes, each guy had his own space in the clubhouse, which from the outside looked like an old warehouse. It was a pretty cool set up.

***After a few days with the club, Dax fell into a nice routine. He slept in late, then spent his day doing busy work around the clubhouse until one of the guys shuttled him to the bar. Dax generally worked until the wee hours of the morning, cleaning, stocking ice and looking after that damned cat. Funny name for a bald fuckin' cat. Once the creature was clean, Dax was shocked to find out that Curly was completely hairless. The cat had no hair whatsoever. Her skin was mostly pink and she had large ears that made her look like a wombat or something. Dax had no idea where Lenny had come across such a freaky-looking animal. Lenny said she was some special, expensive breed but that she was worth more to him than money. Even though Curly drove Dax nuts, he developed a fondness for her. Curly didn't seem to mind Dax either, and had taken to meowing a loud greeting upon his arrival each night.

Crow seemed to take him under his wing. At first, Dax wasn't sure if he should trust the man, but Crow seemed pretty down to earth. He was a guy you took at face value. Hawk didn't take shit from anyone either. Dax soon discovered that the vice president was known as kind of a loose cannon. While Crow wore the president patch, it was easy to see that Hawk handled the details and kept the guys in line.

It was Friday night. The crew was in a celebrating mood, but Dax wasn't sure why. Probably something to do with Loony and his guns. From his short time with the crew, he had figured out that they were into some not-so-legal activities. The fact didn't bother him. Fuck the rules. Of all the guys, however, Loony was the only one who made Dax's internal alarm bells ring. There was something about the guy he just didn't trust.

"Well, boys, we're in the big leagues now!" The inner circle poured in, filling the air with a tangible excitement.

Dax noted that a few of the older guys looked uncomfortable at Crow's proclamation, but everyone raised their glasses of Lenny's brandy nonetheless. Then, Crow, Hawk and Loony disappeared into a private room next to the bar. The night wore on, loud and fast. At one point, two chicks got into it, and Lenny intervened. Dax and couple of the other guys watched with interest as the bartender separated the two hair-pulling, screeching broads.

"Fighting over cock. Never thought I'd see the day," Crow said, materializing behind Dax with a beer in his hand.

Dax quirked his brow. "Seriously?"

Crow chuckled. "Fucking Phantom stalkers will do anything to get under an original." He took a long swig of his beer.

Some of them didn't mind getting under a grunt, either, as Dax soon found out. Or on top of him. After a few months, he had quite a reputation with the ladies. The ease with which the panties came off around Dax became a running joke around the bar, and although he was a grunt, his sexual prowess earned him a weird kind of respect among the crew.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Six Months Later

It was amazing how a bunch of rough-looking bikers could be so supportive. He was learning a lot, but it wasn't like being in school. Gray showed him how to use a wrench, and soon he was helping with repairs rather than just washing the bikes. Working with his hands made Dax feel productive in a way he had never felt before. He aligned the tailpipe perfectly, looking up as a large black van roared into the dirt lot in front of the warehouse. A bunch of the crew piled out and began removing heavy crates from the back. Hawk strolled over to him and watched as Dax tightened the last bolt on his new, custom exhaust.

"Nice job, kid. Thanks." Hawk pulled on a pair of black leather gloves and held a second pair out to Dax as he stood up and stuck the wrench in his back pocket. "Ever shot a rifle?"

He tried to stop the adrenaline that surged at the idea. "No, but I'm game." It turned out he was pretty good at shooting stuff. Dax had natural aim and excellent hand-eye coordination. He was accurate and steady, not wavering from his shot even when the others purposely tried to disrupt his concentration. Of all of the weapons, the Glock 45 felt the most comfortable in his hand, almost like it was made for him.

Dax learned that Crow had lost his little boy to a heart condition, and he wondered if that was what had compelled the older man to help him out in the first place. Crow seemed to care if Dax was comfortable, happy, that sort of thing. At first, Dax didn't realize that Crow had singled him out, but it soon became apparent that the president didn't invite any of the other grunts to his table to shoot the shit.

Some of the other members didn't like that they were friends, probably because his relationship with the Crow lent Dax status that wasn't earned. Lately, more often than not, another grunt was charged with hauling ice and trash so Dax could join Crow's table and crack jokes or roll their joints. He was particularly good at that—he rolled 'em up tighter than anyone in the club.

Dax's vantage point from the president's table was quite different than that of the other grunts. As he listened to the heated conversations between Crow, Hawk and some others, he was privy to some information that no one outside the inner circle knew. Dax wasn't sure why Crow trusted him, but he swore that he would never break that trust. Hawk, Crow's second-in-command, seemed to accept Dax, too and in return he was starting to kind of worship them. They were tough, outlaw bikers who didn't answer to anyone. They followed their own path, fueled by their motto, Strength in Solidarity.

Dax felt lucky to be part of the family.

***

"Oh, poor baby. Did it hurt?"

Yeah, she was just another stalker, but Jade was fuckin' hot. The brunette leaned in close, her arms falling to his hips, as she inspected the new ink that decorated his bicep.

"Nice," she commented. "When will it be healed?"

"Dunno. It's my first one. Couple weeks, I guess." Dax grinned she took a step closer, pressing her big, fake tits into his chest.

Jade had accosted him just as he arrived for his shift at Lenny's, which lately consisted of getting Crow's table cleaned off and waiting for the inner circle to arrive. So, he didn't have much to do other than roll joints and run drinks while soaking in as much of his new family culture as possible. There was no shortage of women. Jade had been trying to get his attention for weeks now, pushing out her tits whenever he looked her way, pursing her lips in a sexy pout...it was so obvious that even Gray noticed.

"Put the broad out of her misery, Dax. For Christ's sake, she's practically spreading it for you right here in the bar!"

Dax had only shrugged. Jade was hot, but pussy was easy to come by for him. Prime pussy, too. He tended to get with the hotter, younger girls, but he'd fucked almost every type of skirt before he realized that he was unfulfilled. He got a mighty nice sexual release when he got laid, sure. But there had been something deeper that he had experienced before, something that he had erroneously assumed was connected to the physical act of fucking. The feelings of emptiness cheapened the act for Dax. While he still had a high sex drive, and a seemingly endless supply of females wanting to get it on, he found himself becoming pickier about who he would stick his cock into.

Still, he had time to kill before the crew showed up, and Dax was bored. "What do you want from me, Jade?" He sounded as disinterested as he felt, but it didn't seem to matter. His dismissive tone only seemed to fuel Jade's need to get nailed.

"God, baby. You're just soo... I don't know what it is but I just want you so badly. Please, Dax. I'll do anything you want. Anything." Jade scratched her nails down his chest, shoving her pelvis into the hard bulge in his jeans.

Dax gazed back at her, allowing the barest hint of a smile to cross his face. Jade's look of excitement and joy was almost frightening.

"Anything, baby. I just need you, Dax."

Jade offered her mouth to him, practically begging for a kiss. Well, he was only a man. Dax felt a familiar surge of aggressive sexual dominance as he kneaded her ass firmly with his large hand. He spun her against the brick wall forcefully, and shoved his hand into her dress, finding one hard, braless nipple and tugging it hard.

"You need me, huh?" he growled. You don't even fucking know me.

"God, yes," she moaned, arching into his hand.

"How much do you want it, Jade?"

"Oh, God, so badly Dax. I'm so wet. Please..." she whined desperately.

"Sounds like you can't wait, darlin'," he whispered hotly in her ear. "Maybe we'll have to do it right here. Right in front of the bar, hmm?"

Jade's needy moan told him that she was more than willing to engage in a little public action. Dax wasn't really into full-on fucking this chick in full view of the street, but as she writhed against him, her dress riding up above her thighs, he could see that Jade wasn't wearing panties. It would be quick and dirty. Easy. Like her. Jade mewled in anticipation as his hands went to his belt.

"Dax?"

The voice was tinged with shock and dismay. It was a familiar voice. A voice he hadn't ever expected to hear again. Dax froze, feeling a prickle of shame race down his spine. He untangled his hands from Jade's tits and turned slowly to face the girl who had abandoned him almost a year ago. It felt like it had been an eternity since he had seen that face.

Dax felt his heart pounding in his chest but he hoped he sounded smoother than his suddenly sweaty palms would suggest. Affecting his now-signature, cocky grin, he stepped away from Jade, hearing her groan with frustration. "Trish. It's nice to see you."

He meant it. His ex looked good. Well, other than the furious expression on her face. Dax took one step toward her but stopped short when Trish threw up her hand, staring at him like she hardly recognized him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked gently. It must be quite a shock for Trish, coming upon him with his hand stuck up some chick's dress.

"I—I heard you were working here. I couldn't find you after graduation. Did the Bodeckers kick you out?"

Dax shrugged. "Nah. But it was only a matter of time once I dropped out."

Trish looked pained. "You dropped out?"

"Ahem!" An annoyed voice sounded from behind them. Jade stomped over, adjusting her dress, her huge, fake tits perilously close to spilling out.

Trish, to her credit, didn't look intimidated at all. She puffed out her equally large, but natural chest, and stared Jade down. Jade looked from Trish to Dax, and opened her mouth as if to protest. Trish shook her head, silently sending the other girl the kind of message that only females seemed to understand. With an audible huff, the tart made her way into Lenny's, maybe to wait for him. Then, Trish grabbed Dax by the wrist and hauled him partway down the street.

"What the hell are you doing, Dax? You're throwing your life away!"

He chuckled at that. "What life, darlin'? The one you were trying to create for me?" At her expression, he sobered. "Look, sweetheart. I appreciate all you did to save me from myself. I wanted to be with you. You're the one who threw us away. I can't blame you. If I had your opportunities and smarts, maybe I'd do the same. But this place, these guys...they're my family now. They had my back when I needed it most. I'm not going anywhere."

Trish winced. "But, Dax," she whispered, "I—I think I still love you."

"I know, baby. But you and me...it can't work."

She surprised him when she flew into his arms and her mouth found his. When he kissed her, Dax felt a flash of deep emotion, that thing that was missing when he hooked up with females like Jade. Dax stuffed the feeling deep into his guts. He had no use for it. Trish was leaving. He wouldn't stand in her way, but he wouldn't wait around like some chump either. With effort, he set her on her feet, determined not to let the tears on her cheeks threaten his resolve.

"Trishelle Wagner, you will always have a part of my heart, darlin', and don't forget it." He gave her a final kiss.

"I will, Dax. I promise. I...um...I hope we can keep in touch."

He owed her that much. There was just a lot of this new life that he would have to keep secret. Pushing his hand through his messy, blond hair, Dax waited until she got in her car and drove away, and then he walked into Lenny's. After a few hours, he was buzzed, entertained and effectively distracted from his interaction with Trish. This was his life now, and he grasped onto it with a vengeance.

***

It was late when he woke up feeling like something just wasn't right. Lenny had taken off with some hot, older chick with brassy red hair. Apparently, she was an old flame. Dax sighed. There seemed to be a lot of old flames showing up lately. Dax had closed down the bar for the Lenny, leaving Hawk, Crow and Loony discussing something in the back room. Everyone was pretty wasted. It had happened before. In the past when he had been stranded there, Dax had just crashed on Lenny's upstairs couch and then made himself useful by cleaning up in the morning. He never slept well there, but this time he had awakened abruptly from a deep sleep.

A rustling sound came from below, but there shouldn't be anyone in the bar after hours, and the sound was definitely not coming from Curly, who was asleep on Lenny's bed. Dax's senses went on high alert. He pulled on his jeans and crept down the narrow staircase. Instead of turning on the light, he stood still for a moment, listening as his eyes adjusted to the dim shapes and shadows. The sound was coming from the back room. Picking up Lenny's lucky baseball bat from behind the bar, Dax made his way to the door to the VIP room, which stood ajar. He heard an audible click and his body took over, reacting instinctively to the sound before his mind could fully identify it. It was the sound a slide lock made when it was pulled.

Dax hugged the wall as a single shot rang out followed by a bellow of surprised agony. Grasping the bat with a cold, sweaty palm, he flicked the outer light switch, flooding the room with light. Dax went cold as he scanned the scene in the room. In his place at the table, Crow slumped forward in a pool of blood. Loony stood over him, a crazed look on his face that morphed into an evil grin as he pointed a gun at Dax's chest.

Loony laughed as he regarded the bat clenched in Dax's hand. "Wanna pay ball, kid?"

The red haze took over, and Dax was glad for it. There was no thought, no feeling, only action in the dulled state that overcame Dax when he was really angry...or scared. Someone was shouting and then hands were pulling at him. Dax was catapulted back into his childhood and memories of being dragged away from his mother. He let out inhumane scream as he was ripped off of Crow, his bloody hands warm and wet from pressing into the older man's wound to staunch the flow from the artery. Flashes from Trish's human anatomy book burst against his brain. If he took the pressure off the wound might cause Crow to bleed out. He fought the hands like a beast, his palm coming into a nose, hearing a satisfying crunch and then a yelp of pain. Finally, a fist crashed into his jaw, and he welcomed the blackness with the kind of glee only a demon might share.
CHAPTER TWELVE

Dax woke up, his head pounding and an icy cold fist constricting his guts. He had no idea where he was. He howled against the bars of a steel cage, tearing at his clothing and hair.

"You there! Quit that racket!"

A flashlight shined into his face, illuminating his surroundings, sobering him almost immediately. It was a place he had hoped he would never see.

A cell.

Dax's jaw ached and his left eye was swollen almost shut. His hands felt numb. He remembered Loony's face. He remembered Crow's inert body. There were snippets of sensation swirling around in his mind's eye that he didn't want to explore. The slick feel of blood, the metallic smell in the air, seemed to hang on him like a poisonous cloud.

He wasn't sure how long he sat in his cage, itching to get out of it. When he was finally let out of the holding cell, he was taken somewhere much worse.

***

"You a Phantom?" a man who seemed to be in charge asked, looking at a tattoo now exposed beneath the sleeve of Dax's orange jumpsuit.

Am I a Phantom? I guess I am...sort of. Dax shook his head as if the motion would clear the fog from it. Why was he in jail? It could only mean that Crow was dead. Fuck, maybe Loony pinned the whole thing on me...

"I'm Grim."

"Dax." He looked at the other man warily.

"Don't worry, kid. We protect our own."

Dax took a long, hard look at the man called Grim. He was covered in tattoos, his longish brown hair tied in a knot behind his head. A thin, white scar ran from his cheekbone to his chin. Grim stuck out his hand and Dax took it hesitantly.

Of all the experiences he had endured in his life, this one was the scariest.

***

"Jamison! You're sprung. Get the fuck up."

The two days had felt like an eternity. Dax forced himself to stand tall rather than scramble to his feet like an excited puppy. He followed the guard down a long corridor. Although he had only been inside a few days, he had adopted protective behaviors he had observed among the old-timers. He kept his head down until he passed Grim's cell. He directed a glance to the man who sat reading quietly within. Dax owed Grim his ass, literally. He would never forget it.

Hawk waited for him outside the main gate, a serious look on his face. "You okay, kid?"

"Not really."

"Trouble inside? I sent word to our guys."

"Yeah. They stepped up. Thanks," Dax said. He searched Hawk's face for some clue about what had happened.

Hawk ushered Dax into a black suburban and they drove in silence for several minutes. Finally, Dax could no longer contain himself. "Crow—is he...is he...?"

"Not for much longer, kid. The bullet lodged in his liver. He doesn't have much time. I'm taking you to see him now. He's been asking for you."

"It was Loony, man. I tried..." He broke down then, a harsh sob tearing from his throat.

Hawk placed a hand on Dax's arm as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. "I know, kid," he said, his own voice breaking. "Loony turned. I should have fuckin' figured. I never trusted his ass."

The older man removed his dark glasses for a moment to wipe his eyes. Dax could see that they were red and wet. "I'm sorry it took us so long to get you out. Fucking red tape. The cops didn't know you were one of us. Thought you were the shooter. You banged Loony up pretty good with that lucky bat, and the fuckin' pigs thought you attacked him."

"What happens now? To Loony?"

Hawk smiled grimly. "Oh, we already took care of that, son. He's enjoying a very personal view of the new skyscraper they're building downtown. From about ten feet under the foundation. No one's gonna be looking for that fucker—he's been off the grid for a while."

Dax appreciated the sick justice the crew had delivered. "I wanted another go at him."

Hawk chuckled, but the sound came out tinged with darkness. "Oh, you did a number on him, kid. Kept him from making that final shot. Broke a few ribs. You shattered his fuckin' jaw. A complete strike out."

Hawk stepped out of the car and Dax joined him, watching as the older man adjusted his leather. With surprise, Dax saw that he was wearing Crow's patch. President.

"He's really not going to make it, is he?"

"He's in bad shape, kid. But he knows you risked your own life for him. He wants you to know that."

Dax nodded as they entered the hospital. "Fuck, man. I hate the fucking hospital."

"I feel you, kid. Too many ghosts." Hawk shuddered as they got into the elevator.

Seeing the man he had perceived as so strong and invincible in such a frail state was painful. Hawk cleared his throat. Crow opened his eyes and gestured to Dax. He sank down in the chair next to the man's hospital bed. For a moment, all he could hear was his own heart beating amid the swishing sounds of the machines keeping his old friend alive.

"Hey, kid." Crow's voice was so weak and brittle.

"Crow, I'm so sorry. If I had woken up earlier..."

Crow shook his head. "No, kid. This was my mistake. Got greedy. Trusted the wrong guy." The dying man summoned Dax closer with a labored cough.

"Heard you held me together with your bare hands, kid." He grasped Dax's hand weakly and looked at it reverently.

Dax nodded, perilously close to breaking down. Crow made eye contact with Hawk, who approached the bedside, his head lowered.

"Take care of the club."

Hawk nodded. "I will, boss."

"Hawk!"

Hawk looked up at the sharp tone in Crow's voice. "Yes?"

"Give this kid a cut."

Dax's head jerked up in surprise, feeling his head begin to move in denial.

"You earned it, kid. Wear it well," Crow said, the ghost of a grin appeared on his pain-lined face.

"But..."

"Don't argue with a dying man's last wishes, kid." Crow's eyes closed.

Dax squeezed Crow's hand, feeling a answering squeeze that immediately began to weaken. Seconds later, the machine began to beep and bunch of people rushed into the room. Dax fought to maintain physical contact with Crow, as though he could prevent him from going into the light by hanging on to his hand. Hawk pulled him away.

"It's his time." Tears flowed copiously from Hawk's eyes and he made no move to wipe them away. They stood outside the little room until the doctor called time of death.

"Come on, kid."

Dax followed numbly, like a lost puppy seeking a new master. Back at the clubhouse, he was taught the crew's way of dealing with grief as he kicked back shot after shot of brandy. Emotions ran high as the guys told stories of their pasts and of their friendships with their deceased president. He might have been an outlaw biker, but Crow had a good heart and he followed his own code of honor. Those things stuck out to Dax.

When everyone had lapsed into a sorrowful, silent reverie, Hawk ushered the originals into the meeting room to conduct his first order of business as president. Fifteen minutes later, Dax was awkwardly accepting handshakes and claps on the back. He had just become the crew's youngest member. The moment was somber but meaningful. Dax could feel the emotion transmitted by the other members as he slowly donned his leather. When they walked back out, there was a collective pause as the others stared at his cut. Then, heads began to nod, and then there was a deafening round of applause.

Dax felt himself flush. He didn't enjoy all the attention he was getting, but when the others began to raise their glasses in a final tribute to Crow, there was no way in hell he'd refuse. Dax kicked back a monster shot of brandy that would leave him passed out under the table for half the night.

I'll wear it well, Crow. I promise.

***

A Month Later

I haven't written for a while. Too many things going on, I guess. I never thought I'd end up here, in a place like this. With a family. A real family. I have learned that blood doesn't make family. Maybe being in a club is in my blood and maybe I'll never know. I used to feel like I was riding through this world all alone. The club has filled a void in me, made me whole. I'll never forget to honor the man who made that possible. The man who took a chance on a wayward kid. I am making myself a solid promise, to create my own code of honor and live by it as best I can, like Crow did. No bird flies a straight line, but I've landed here, and here is where I'm gonna stay. I'm gonna live this life right. Never forget where I came from. That's all I can do. That's what earning this cut means to me.

The End
What happens when Dax Jamison meets Rhiannon Blake, an innocent college girl searching for her missing sister? Read on for an excerpt from Satin and Steel!

SATIN AND STEEL  
CHAPTER ONE

Rhee took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before walking into the seedy bar on West Avenue. Lenny's was located on the outskirts of town, and it wasn't exactly a place for a college girl by herself, but Rhee had no choice but to enter. Ignoring the lewd stares from the rough-looking patrons, she marched a straight line to the bartender, a hairy guy with a big belly. Her hands were shaking as she shoved a flyer at him. He didn't reach out to take it though. Instead, he remained silent as he poured a shot of amber liquid into a glass and regarded her with one eyebrow raised.

"Have you seen this girl?" Rhee's voice came out high but assertive.

The bartender smirked. "What if I have?"

Rhee drew herself up to her full height, a petite five feet three inches.

"Then I suggest you tell me where she is. My little sister is only nineteen years old."

She tried to make her voice sound calm and steady, but inside she was quaking with tension. The bartender suddenly looked more serious.

"Your little sister, you say?"

Rhee nodded. "That's what I said, sir. She was dating a guy who rode with a motorcycle club that used to stop in here. She's missing. At least just let me put up this flyer?"

The bartender nodded to someone behind Rhee's head and then looked back at her.

"Well, missy. You have a lot of nerve coming in here and making demands. But...it turns out that I have a little sister myself. Hand over one of them flyers you got there. You can put one up in the ladies' room, too, if you want." He held out his beefy hand.

Ten minutes later, Rhee's breath rushed out in a great whoosh as she pushed her way back out onto the street. All she wanted was to get back to her tiny university apartment and lose herself in the article she was working on for the student paper. In her haste to get back to her old Toyota, she nearly ran headlong into a tall, blond man who had just parked his impressive-looking bike by the curb.

"Steady there, little girl," a husky voice rasped with an undertone of mirth.

Little girl? Rhee glared up and felt her breath catch in her throat as a pair of twinkling blue eyes met her own green ones. Damn, he's tall. Irritated that she had to crane her neck to see his face, she straightened, flushing under the stranger's perusal.

He wore a black leather vest over a tight, black tee, and loose jeans that might even conceal a holstered weapon. Definitely one of those biker gang guys. It must have been only a few seconds that she hesitated, transfixed by the blond hulk's gaze, but it seemed like an eternity. Rhee mumbled an apology and tried to walk slowly back to her vehicle, aware of the tall biker's eyes on her back. Running would show fear, she reminded herself, then willed her hands not to shake as she placed her key in the door.

That was the first place she hit. Later that week, Rhee visited four more biker hangouts, hot on the trail of her little sister, Michaela, or Mickey as their dad had called her. Mickey often disappeared for weeks at a time—she'd been a free spirit since the day she was born. Rhee smiled, remembering how her baby sister had scared everyone by crawling behind the Christmas tree one morning and falling asleep, while the family tore the neighborhood apart trying to locate her.

Yep, that was Mickey all right. She had horrified their mother by getting a butterfly tattoo on her sixteenth birthday, and she had rejected college applications in favor of pursing photography. Mickey marched to her own beat and never stayed in the same place for very long. The only consistent thing about the youngest Blake was the ratty old backpack she refused to replace and the old doll Rhee had given her, years ago. Rhee shivered at the unwelcome memories of her late teen years. There was a good reason her little sister was so flighty, and Rhee harbored a shit ton of guilt about it. That was why she'd been so eager to reconnect with Mickey. For once, Mickey had seemed interested in settling down and focusing on school and a proper career. Then, things had gone straight to hell. Mickey's most recent disappearance had been preceded by a frantic phone call in the middle of the night. Rhiannon remembered every word out of Mickey's mouth, even though she had been half asleep.

"Rhee, it's me! Wait—don't say anything! I'm in trouble, Rhee. Big trouble. I need you to come and get me...tonight! I'll be at the corner of West and—oh! Oh, shit..."

The call had disconnected. Rhee had flown from the house in her sweats and raced across town to West Avenue. She drove up and down the street in vain, all night long. Finally, exhausted, she had gone to the police and they had been no help. They all remembered Mickey. Their parents had logged numerous missing persons reports when Mickey was in high school. She'd always turned up, with a new tattoo or a story about a festival in the desert. It seemed her reputation had followed her to California. Darling was a small town, and the local deputies didn't bat an eye when Rhee begged that this time, a search party really was warranted.

Since the police were no help, Rhee was on her own. She would be dammed if she lost the last piece of family she had left. It had been days since she had slept well. Well, years really. Rhee's eyes had taken on a dull hue and she was sporting some dark circles beneath them. Thank God the roommates are gone for break. They'd think I was losing it. Plus, she didn't want to rehash her crazy life to the bubbly coeds she lived with. Kate and Lisa were sweet, but Rhee knew they thought she was a total drag. She always made up excuses to avoid joining them when they went out to parties or bars, and she didn't want to explain why. She didn't need their pity. No, what she needed was some peace and quiet.

She was getting used to her new routine. Coffee—lots of it, and often. Class—if she woke up in time. Then she hit the streets to search. Unless it was a weekend—like today. It was Saturday, so she didn't have to worry about slogging through class before she went out with her flyers. Rhee dragged herself from a few hours of desperately needed, dreamless sleep and pulled on a pair of worn, low-slung jeans and a simple tee shirt. Dreamless sleep was the best kind in her opinion. Blearily, she made herself a cup of strong coffee and nearly fell into her car. There was one last place that she could think of to hit but she had left it for last on purpose. Tu Madre was a small establishment that an "old lady" from another hangout had mentioned. It was known to be the den of a particularly nasty Mexican motorcycle crew.

As she made her way into a part of the neighborhood no one in their right mind would ever go, Rhee shoved her apprehension deep down into her guts. If Mickey was there, or if anyone knew where she was, Rhee had to find out. She pulled up in front of the dilapidated shack that matched the address the biker chick had given her. Rhee stifled a yawn. A metal sign, rusted with weather and age, proclaimed, Tu Madr—. Rhee groaned inwardly. No e. How annoying. The place looked deserted save for a few bikes parked out front.

Perfect, Rhee thought to herself. Fewer scumbags to fend off.

***

Dax sat at the table to the left of his president. He sighed as the latest motion came to a vote. Dax raised his hand but his heart wasn't in it. Part of Dax wanted out, but he simply could not justify leaving the club. Even with some major shit coming down the line, you didn't even think about abandoning your brothers. The club had been there for Dax. They were his family. Plus, Trish was talking marriage again and he couldn't afford her or her medical school bills without the club. The cut he received as vice president of The Phantoms trumped any full time job he could think of...by a hell of a lot.

A crackle of excitement went through the air as Hawk pounded the gavel. The Chicos had overstepped their shit for the last time. Jacking their latest round of guns was the last straw. Juan, their bozo president, had been spouting shit all over town about it. The Phantoms would hit them tonight, when they were least expecting it. No doubt the stupid bastards would be partying it up, and they would all be piss drunk and high. It was the perfect time to strike and take back what was rightfully theirs.

It was late when the unmarked, black van pulled up outside of Tu Madre. Dax and his crew were suited up and packing hard core. Dax adjusted his bulletproof vest and issued some orders to the rest of the crew. Then they popped the bathroom window and went in, undetected.

***

Rhee was sick with fear. From the moment she entered Tu Madre, she knew she had made a grave mistake. A small group of heavily tattooed men graced a table at the rear of the shack. Three whorish dancers swayed groggily on makeshift poles, cigarette smoke circling up to caress their fake tits and caked makeup. A group of a dozen or so younger guys barged in and assaulted the bar, whooping and high-fiving. Shots were passed out and the distinct smell of marijuana wafted to her nostrils.

Rhee turned on her heel, realizing that these were men who adhered to no rules or laws. But before she could make it back out the door, a large man stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Where do you think you're going, puta?"

Rhee bristled. "What?" She wasn't very big but she wasn't going to take any crap, either. "Move, please." She pushed at the behemoth, but he was like an oak. He laughed at her pathetic struggles, and then to Rhee's horror, the smelly man picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

"Fresh meat!" he called. Rhee pushed against his back, lifting her head only to see another man rub his crotch. This was bad—very very bad. Rhee began to struggle in earnest, employing every one of her self-defense class tricks. She reached one arm back and stuck her thumb into her captor's jugular and he grunted with surprise. Rhee screeched in outrage as her bottom was walloped so hard she was sure it would be bruised. Nausea bubbled in her stomach as several of the men at the bar stood up and made lewd gestures. She was hauled, kicking and screaming, into a rear room.

Rhee was thrown roughly onto a concrete floor. She landed on her left shoulder, hearing a sickening pop and then it immediately went numb. She wondered hazily if it was dislocated. A small light bulb illuminated the room above her and she blinked rapidly. Her heart was beating a million times a minute as she gazed at the five men who formed a ring around her, circling her like sharks to wounded prey.

"Damn, puta. You want to fight? Fight me!"

A smallish, Latino man who seemed to have some status approached, and Rhee waited several agonizing seconds before placing a well-timed and entirely unexpected front kick. There were several surprised whoops as she managed to catch the man in his groin and he fell back, hissing violently. The next guy fared no better, she slipped out of his grasp like an eel. Finally, two men grabbed Rhee and held her motionless as the first man, purple with rage, ripped her shirt straight down the front with a jackknife. There was a collective catcall as her lacy white bra was exposed.

Stay calm, Rhee. She saw her opportunity as they leered at her chest, her arms pulled painfully behind her back. Both legs came up and her sharp instep caught one of them right in the nuts. Then stars danced across her vision as someone backhanded her across the face. Her arm was pulled straight and she struggled furiously when she saw a needle poised against her arm.

"Let's dose this little wildcat. I'm gonna tear her apart," a voice growled.

Terrified, Rhee screamed herself hoarse as the needle broke her skin. She tried to struggle, but to her horror, her body stopped responding. After a few moments, she dangled limply in the first man's grasp, suddenly fascinated by the raised scar on his left cheek. An evil chuckle wafted to her ears as she tried to process what was happening in a detached kind of euphoria.

Rhee was swimming in a sea of languid confusion. Voices drifted around the room but they didn't make any sense. There was a slow, deliberate explosion of activity as a series of loud cracks pierced the night. Her tormentors flowed out of the room, leaving her crumpled on the floor. She managed to pull herself up, her blurry eyes on the dark rectangle that the men had disappeared into. Rhee floated out the door and into the darkness that lay on the other side.

I want to go home.

She pushed her arms in front of her as though she were doing the breaststroke. Her father's bedtime voice resonated in her ear as a faint, familiar melody played in her mind. A commotion down the corridor sent Rhee in the other direction.

Fly away, little butterfly...

A cocoon! There was a sleek black cocoon in the parking lot. Rhiannon the butterfly floated toward the cocoon and fell inside. She collapsed into the warm, cozy safeness of the haven. Then she knew no more.

***

It had been a hard sell, but Dax and the crew had convinced the Chicos to hand over the guns. Well, perhaps "convincing" wasn't the best choice of words. Tank had Juans's pants down, and was threatening to surgically remove his testicles before the Chicos president had acquiesced. Dax didn't feel bad about the violence. It was an eye for and eye on the street. He was just sick of the constant stress gunrunning produced.

They loaded up quickly, filling the Suburban with the recovered AKs. Dax leapt into the driver's seat and gunned the engine. He tore out of the parking lot, his mind on a nice, cold beer, when Wince spoke up.

"Uh—Dax?"

"Keep it 'til we get back to the clubhouse, man."

"Dax..."

"What the fuck, Wince?"

"I think we picked up a stowaway..."

What's next for Dax and Rhiannon?  
Read Satin and Steel by clicking here!
AUTHOR'S NOTE

Dear Fox Club,

Thank you all for your support, interest and readership. Earning the Cut is the prequel to my Riding the Line romantic suspense series, which is loosely inspired by the hit television show, Sons of Anarchy. This series started as fan fiction and then the characters found their own paths. I want to offer a huge thank you to Kurt Sutter and the cast and crew of SOA for the inspiration.

If you have enjoyed this free novella, please consider leaving me a positive review. Reviews also help indie authors like me get their work out there. Thank you for taking the time to write one on Amazon, Goodreads or your book blog. Find me on Facebook and Twitter for updates and new releases.

Always,

Jayna

Please click here to leave me a review
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jayna Vixen is a popular indie author who writes romantic suspense, contemporary romance and young adult fiction. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, young son (Jax, of course!) and a geriatric Chihuahua.

Let yourself be lured in...

Email: jaynavixen@hotmail.com

Website:  <http://www.jaynawrites.com>

Twitter: @jaynavixen

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/jaynawrites>
OTHER WORKS BY JAYNA VIXEN

Satin and Steel  
(Riding the Line Series, Book Two)

Leather and Sand  
(Riding the Line Series, Book Three)

Blood and Honor  
(Riding the Line Series, Book Four)

Riding the Line: The Boxed Set

The Captive

These works are available on Smashwords, Nook and other retailers.

