Left in the Dust: A Standalone Bad Boy Romance (13 page)

The day was like any other. Blue skies with floating puffy white clouds. The MC needed me to pick up protection money from the various businesses in Saint Marks. I rode the streets on my black and chrome Harley Sportster 1200 Low, my sunglasses on and bucket-style helmet covering my head. Just another day in paradise. The Dark Souls owned this town.

After picking up the last bit of money from the local hardware store, I stopped by Taylor's before dropping off the cash at the clubhouse. She was the only woman that could make me see straight. I'd been through hundreds of women who were only good for one night of fucking. But Taylor was different. I wanted to fuck that sweet slit of hers every night for the rest of my life.

I pulled up to her dorm building and parked my bike. Taylor was going to college for an art degree and I wasn't even good enough to finish high school. What did she see in me anyways? I swaggered through the halls of the all-girls dorm. Loud music boomed out from every room while girls shuffled by me only wearing white towels and slippers. I could fuck a different hot chick every night for the next year and I still wouldn't have even broken the surface. But I was a different man now. There was only one woman for me.

I knocked on Taylor's door and it creaked open to a sliver. Ivy's brown hair and disappointed face were the only things visible. “Taylor around, Ivy?”

“What do you want, Carter?” she growled.

Taylor called from inside, “Open the door, Ivy.”

Ivy sighed and opened the door. “I'm going to go to the library and leave you two alone.” I don't know why Ivy was so hostile against me. I'd never done anything to her.

Taylor jumped off her twin-sized bed and right into my arms. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby. How are classes going?”

“I've been studying like crazy for this Art History 101 exam. All these years are getting jumbled up in my head. I'd really like to go out and get coffee.”

Before we could leave the dorm, two officers wearing black uniforms stormed inside with guns drawn. My initial reaction was to run for it. The only exit was the window and we were twelve floors up. Nowhere to go.

“Mr. King! Put your hands up where we can see them.”

I raised my hands to the air. “What the fuck is this about?”

“You're under arrest for the attempted murder of Marquis Jones.” One of the officers with a bushy brown mustache pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

Taylor tried to intervene. “Carter didn't do anything wrong! This is a mistake. I'll have my father over here in minutes and both of you will lose your jobs.”

Her threats didn't nothing to sway them. But I loved her passion. The officer listed off my Miranda rights as the other patted me down.

“Well would you look at that. We have the murder weapon.” The officer pulled my pistol out of my waistband and handed it to his buddy. He cuffed my hands behind my back and wasn't gentle about it.

Taylor kissed me before the pigs took me away. “Don't worry, Carter. My father will hire you the best lawyer. You'll be out by tomorrow.”

That was the last time I saw her.

I was brought to an interrogation chamber where they kept me for hours without any food or water. My handcuffed wrists were chained in front of me to the table. A single light hung above giving off a small amount of light in the otherwise dark room. Nobody even came in to ask me questions.

Until Sheriff Buckley showed his ugly mug. “Well what do we have here...Carter King.”

His breath stunk of donuts and coffee as he sat his over-sized figure into the small steel chair across from me. He placed a stack of brown files onto the table. “You have quite the record, Mr. King. Assault, robbery, and too many others to list. Your motorcycle club might've gotten you out of your other charges but not this one.”

Buckley slid a file in front of me and opened it up to pictures of a black guy I'd never seen before. He was bloody and bullet-ridden, laying on the pavement. The leather cut he was wearing told me the dead guy was from the 809 MC.

“The problem is, Carter...you didn't finish the job. The man is alive and well at Saint Marks Memorial.”

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I've never seen this guy in my life.”

“Where were you today, Carter?”

“Main street of Saint Marks. I met with a dozen business owners that can verify my alibi.” There was no way the cops were going to pin this on me.

Buckley laughed, choking on his own spit. “Don't make me have a heart attack, Carter. Your alibi is exactly where the attempted murder took place.”

Fuck. Something was fishy about all this.
Taylor's lawyer should've been here by now. I'd have to call the MC and get them to send me somebody else.

“I want my one phone call.”

Buckley ignored me. “We also pulled the weapon off you that fired the bullets that hit Mr. Jones.”

“Fuck you. My gun was never fired.”

“Not according to the report.” Buckley opened another file but I didn't even glance at it. I already knew what it said.

This was all moving too fast. No fucking way the cops figured all this out in a few hours. Somebody was framing me and doing a damn good job.

“No jury would convict me with all this bullshit evidence. Any lawyer could rip this case apart.”

Buckley smiled and swiped all the files off the table. Papers and pictures flew to the ground in a mess. “We don't even need any of this. You're going to confess and wrap up this case in a nice little bow.”

“Never going to happen, Sheriff.”

Buckley pulled out a file from behind his back and opened it for me. A photo of Taylor was laying amongst other papers. “If you don't cooperate with us, we'll have to take Ms. Kyle in for selling cocaine out of her dorm room.”

“Nobody will ever believe that. Taylor's father will sue you guys so fast your heads will be decorated on pikes outside the police station by the morning.”

Buckley leaned forward, bathing his fat face in light. “It won't matter. The damage will already be done. The college would have to expel Taylor and no other college would accept her after that.”

As much as I hated to admit it, Buckley was right. I couldn't let Taylor's life get ruined because of mine.

Sheriff Buckley stood up and and opened the door. “I'll give you a moment to think about your options.”

I didn't need a moment. I'd do anything for Taylor. Going to prison was a small sacrifice if it meant Taylor could lead a normal life. “I confess, Buckley. I tried to kill him.”

Buckley grinned and left me alone.
Did I do the right thing?

The sentencing hearing came up the next day with the judge sentencing me to thirty years in prison. I kept expecting Taylor to show up and fight for me but she was nowhere to be found. The Dark Souls didn't even know that I'd been picked up by the cops. Before they could even act, I'd already be in a jail cell.

I'd never let any harm come to Taylor.

I'd gone a week without hearing anything from Carter. I expected him to be at my door every day to fight for me. Maybe he actually was respecting my wishes? Luckily I had my painting to distract me from him otherwise I might've been tempted to call Carter.

The day of my art show arrived and I barely got my painting finished in time. The thing was still drying when I put it in the backseat of my BMW SUV. Thankfully I had my little black dress picked out beforehand to save time. My body was a bundle of nerves as I drove to the show. I couldn't stop sweating. My father and Ivy were both going to be there to support me. I needed it.

I got to the art gallery a couple hours before the show started and hung my painting up. With everything that had happened I had totally blanked on coming up with a price for my piece. With my father's money I didn't really need to sell my art. But I wanted the price to reflect my talent. Twenty thousand dollars would do the trick. Nobody would ever buy it for that much.

By the time the show started, I'd already drank three glasses of white wine. The buzz was already in full effect and I didn't feel nervous anymore. I stood by my painting and answered any questions people had. I kept looking around for Ivy but she was already late. My father was never late. He always arrived when he intended.

“Now that's an amazing painting.” I turned around to see Ivy standing in front of my work with a glass of wine in her hand.

“Thank you for coming, Ivy, I really needed you.”

Ivy tilted her head to the side as she examined my art. “No wonder you wanted to keep this under wraps. I've never seen you paint something so dark before.”

She was right. This was something totally out of my wheelhouse. I normally painted sunsets and gardens. All that strange energy I had was channeled into this—the Grim Reaper as Lady Justice. His skull was blindfolded and he held his scythe in one hand and a heart in another.

“I don't know what came over me. I just saw this in my head and had to get it on the canvas.” I poured the wine down my throat and let it warm my insides.

“And twenty thousand dollars? You sold your last painting for three hundred dollars.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I obviously don't need the money. But I can't keep devaluing my stuff because I think I'm no good.”

“Well I think you're amazing and you deserve every penny.”

I hooked my arm in Ivy's and took her away from my painting. “Come on. I'm sick of answering questions about my piece. Let's go make fun of all the other art.”

Ivy and I laughed our way through the gallery, consuming glass after glass of wine. Bossa Nova music played throughout the gallery. We passed by a painting of a cow—just a cow grazing on the farm. It already sold.

“People will buy anything, won't they?” Ivy asked.

“If it's considered art, then yes.”

When we returned to my painting, my father was standing in front of it, pondering the meaning of life.

“Thank you for coming, Daddy.”

My father spun around with a great big smile. “I'm so proud of you, Taylor.”

“Nice to see you, Mr. Kyle,” Ivy said, sidling up next to me.

“Always a pleasure, Ivy,” my father replied. Ivy blushed and I couldn't help but giggle. Ivy always had a crush on my dad even though he was thirty years older than her. Ivy always had a thing for older men.

“What do you think?” I asked my father, turning him back to my painting.

“Never thought you could paint something...so grotesque.”

I gave my father a playful shove. “It's not grotesque, Daddy.”

“Well whatever it is, it's absolutely amazing.” My father's approval meant the world to me.”I remember when you were a little girl...”

“Not this story again, Daddy.” I interrupted. He loved to embarrass me every chance he got.

Ivy nudged me. “I haven't heard this one before, Taylor. Go on, Mr. Kyle.”

My father's eyes lit up. Nothing could stop him now. “When Taylor was little—maybe five or six—she came into the kitchen with paint all over her fingers. I went out to the living room to discover every white wall covered with her hand prints. She even managed to reach the expensive paintings.”

“Daddy was so pissed at me,” I added.

“But if you remember, I kept it that way for a year. You gave the room some color it desperately needed. I knew you were going to be an artist since that moment.”

“So why did you try so hard to get me to work for your company?”

“I knew it was hopeless but I had to try. Somebody has to take over when I'm gone. I'm just glad you found something you love to do.” My father bent over and kissed me on the forehead. “I was willing to buy your painting but it looks like someone already beat me to it.”

I glanced at the price tag below the painting and there was a little red sticker next to it. “Holy shit! Somebody bought this for twenty grand?”

Ivy shoved me out of the way to get a look for herself. “Your crazy idea worked! Drinks are definitely on you tonight.”

I couldn't believe someone thought I was good enough to spend twenty grand on. Maybe my art wasn't so bad?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a phantom floating through the gallery. But it wasn't a phantom.

Carter had come.

My heart began to race and the gallery suddenly became a thousand degrees hotter. My father would explode if he knew Carter was here to see me. I brushed up against Ivy and whispered, “Carter is here.” She looked around and I nudged her with my elbow. “Distract my father for awhile.”

Ivy instantly knew what to do. “Mr. Kyle would you mind accompanying me around to look at the art.”

My father put his arm out. “It would be my pleasure.” He was such a gentleman. Ivy winked at me as they both walked away.

I turned my attention to the crowd of wine drinkers but I couldn't find Carter. A tattooed biker should have been easy to spot among the rich elite. Where had he gone? This could end up in disaster if I didn't find him soon.