Page 7 of When You Stayed
Taryn moved to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. “And you’re what, going to have Dad beat him up or something?”
She knew me better than that. I scoffed, “No, of course not. I just need to ask if he’s stepping down from being president.”
My sister froze, mid egg crack. “I think you need to tell me what’s going on.”
I let out a sigh. Taryn was the kind of person who would drive over to Rodney’s house at seven in the morning and demand he explain himself. She reacted first before getting the full story or thinking through the repercussions. So, I did a little damage control.
“Rodney heard a rumor about new leadership in the club, and I want to know if it’s true.”
She laughed, like it was a ridiculous thought. Which was exactly my reaction to his outrageous claim. “You already know the answer to that, Royce.”
“I know, but I need to let Dad know Rodney is talking.”
She dipped her face, stirring the eggs. “Well, when you go, don’t wear my boots. I need them for my next batch of content.”
“Are you leaving again?” My stomach dipped in worry. I missed my baby sister, and while I knew we were getting older, she was still only twenty-two.
“Just to Pyle.”
I scrunched my nose, thinking of our neighboring town that was even smaller than Rose Ridge. Pyle, Virginia, was a factory town, and home to the Death Raiders, a club led by a good man named Lance, but his club was technically a rival to our dad’s. There was enough bad blood between Dad and Lance that we were always warned not to go into Pyle for any reason. Although, I knew deep down Lance had a soft spot for all of us kids, he was my Uncle Silas’s best friend, and while he didn’t like my dad, he wasn’t a bad man.
“Why?”
She took the pan off the burner and set it to the side. “An old mill that is extremely cinematic and seems like it could be trendy.”
“Do you want me to tag along?” I loved going with her to film her content, but sometimes she preferred to be alone.
“That’s okay, but don’t tell Dad. He’ll send a bunch of Stone Riders with me.” She rolled her eyes, but I tilted my head, inspecting her for idiocy.
“You know how he feels about rival territory, T. Don’t be stupid.”
She winked at me, which made me furious. “I promise I’m not being stupid, big sis.”
“You literally are going to force me to tell Dad.”
Right as my sister’s eyes rounded and she was about to open her mouth, the front door opened and our mom walked in.
“Morning, girls.” Mom’s gold-white hair fell to the middle of her back, her peachy skin was red from the early morning, which meant she likely walked home, and over her long-sleeved shirt, she wore a faded black leather property patch. It was a symbol, like what the men in the clubs wore, except hers told the world that she belonged to my father, which meant no other member would ever dare try to flirt or touch her. We were at a fun cookout once when some drunk idiot from a different club decided to ignore that symbol, and it wasn’t just my father who reminded him what it meant. Taryn and I were young, but it was Connor’s mom who had walked us to the truck, turned on some cartoons and made sure we had juice boxes. I was old enough to know that the club surrounding one man, with my father at the center wasn’t good.
Mom knew better than anyone what it was like to feel like our world was small due to rival clubs and danger. Dad, being the president, made nearly everything off-limits. She’d understand, but she would also ensure our father knew about where we intended to go. Taryn had more freedom than I did, but I wasn’t about to let her abuse it.
With a sigh, my sister softly spoke so our mom wouldn’t hear, “I won’t go. I promise, okay?”
I raised my brow at her. “You better not, T. I’m serious.”
She lifted her hands as if to surrender and walked upstairs.
I rode along the dusty path to the club that connected the two properties. My bike wasn’t a typical make or model that rode within biker clubs. Mine was a sports model, a Kawasaki Ninja 500 that had pink fenders. I really didn’t care what anyone thought of it. My sister had the exact replica of mine, but the fenders were purple. We wereboth extreme clean freaks about our bikes though, so the dust from the uneven terrain wreaked havoc on my beautiful bike.
My speed slowed as I approached the posterior of the club. The Stone Riders didn’t reside in a dump by any means—the club was a massive, multi-level house with wide windows, manicured lawns, and a private apartment reserved for the president. That was where our parents stayed whenever they slept over at the club, or we stayed there as a family, which hadn’t been the case for years. Taryn and I didn’t go near the club often, and if we did it was when the members were all at work, during the day.
I made my way around the side of the house and parked near the garage. A few guys huddled around an open hood, fixing an old car. I sat up on my seat, lifted my pink helmet and released my long hair from its confines. It blew behind me in a shock of cold wind that moved in from the hills. Early spring was typically warm in Virginia, but we occasionally had our surprises. While my helmet was pink, my leather jacket was black and fit like a glove. On the inside I had sewn a Stone Riders club patch. I stroked my finger over it out of solidarity and habit. When I was younger, I begged my father to let me join the club. At one point, I had even asked if I could lead it one day. He entertained me back then, but the truth was there was still only one female member of this club, and that was my Aunt Natty.
Loose gravel crunched under my boots as I walked toward the bursts of laughter spilling from the garage. I felt a weighty pair of eyes on me, almost judgy, like I didn’t belong here. I had no idea why Ford Ryan chose not to leave for college, but him sticking around and pledging to the Stone Riders didn’t make him any better than me.
“Hey, Dad.” I called while sliding in next to him and his best friend, Wes Ryan. They cracked a joke about a busted radiator, which had my eyes searching their still handsome, but weathered faces. Tan lines, wrinkles, gray hair, and white scruff. Their eyes still had a spark of adventure, and a fury that would only be tamed on the back of a bike.
Dad’s arm came around me loosely. “Royce, hey, honey. What are you doing here?”
