Chapter One: Time to Fuel Up
Bear
Chilly and grey wasn’t the usual weather forecast for Holbeck; steamy and excessively hot was more like it, but there were always exceptions to the rule. Today was one of those exceptional days.
I smiled as the guttural roar of my Harley propelled me towards Holbeck Gas.
She was all silver chrome and matte black with long monkey bar handles. I liked to kick back when I rode, and take it easy. If the pace needed to pick up, then I’d switch bikes. I was the road captain for the Rebel Saints, after all. I had to know a thing or two about how and what bike to use on the road. My other everyday sports bike was for other reasons, like when I was feeling fast and dangerous—so hardly ever. There was a reason they called me Bear. My jacket covered my sturdy, bulky frame, honed from my years of military training.
As I rode, I cast my eyes up to the heavens to see if it was about to open up on me. Those large, dirty clouds looked ominous, but I liked my chances. The patches of sky blue gave me hope that I would make it over to the gas station and back without too much hassle.
I pulled in wondering if the young, nubile beauty that normally worked there would be on shift. She had a pair of legs that wouldn’t quit and a face like an angel. Her eyes had a slant to them that made them naturally appear as if they belonged to a cat.
I felt sorry for her. She was in the sights of the tenacious reporter Angie Carmichael due to the death of her brother, whose killer still hadn’t been found. I made the mistake of mentioning to Angie that the girl from the gas station was the sibling of the deceased. That passing comment had made Angie’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. Then I realized my mistake, but it was too late now.
I pulled into pump four and slid off my bike, loading it up with premium fuel. That was the type of fuel my baby deserved. Whistling to myself, I paid attention to the vehicles around me. A couple of sedans and an old man injecting air in his tires. Normal stuff in Holbeck. I closed my gas tank and patted my pockets. No particular reason why, force of habit or something. I had this little problem of losing my keys out of the cargo pockets sometimes.
I pulled out my wallet as the doorbell dinged and moved to the front counter.
A couple of guys who looked to be in their mid-twenties were talking to the cashier.
That’s what I thought at first glance, then I realized they were harassing her. She was recoiling back from them with a wincing look on her face. I made my presence known, banging around the shelves a bit, and picked up a bag of potato chips along the way. My hackles were up. I rustled the bag even louder.
The two men who were snickering and taking up space at the counter then glanced over at me. Funny how their faces changed to expressions of terror so suddenly.
The young girl wore a cute necklace that she kept fingering nervously. She flipped her honeycomb-colored hair off her shoulder with a cough and a bite of her bee stung lips.
My temperature rose a few notches and I wished she was biting me.
No Bear. She’s too young. Remember what happened. She even looks like her.
My moral compass kicked in and set me straight as I flashed her a wide grin, ignoring the guys standing off to the side. I wanted to keep a clear connection between me and her. That was all—not the jackasses trying something. “Hi, how are you doing?” I greeted her with the big, happy-go-lucky smile I was known for.
“Ah, yeah, good. Pump four?” She confirmed in a placid voice.
“Yep. That’s me.” I pointed to the dweebs off to the side who were clearly hoping I was going to make a quick exit so they could keep harassing the young girl. “They giving you trouble?” I knew her name from the papers and the tragic death of her brother, but I didn’t want to let her know that. I’d dealt with my own fair share of tragedy, and people shoving it in your face only dug the knife in deeper.
She glanced over at the two guys as if they were nothing, and given the faraway look in her eyes, she couldn’t care less if they were giving her a hard time or not. “They’re a little annoying, but I’m all right. Nothing I can’t deal with.” Her lips seemed to almost lift into an appreciative smile, but they didn’t quite make it.
I nodded as I stroked my fingers over my dark cropped beard while glaring at the two men.
They pretended to sniff around the candy bars and quickly scuttled to the exit like cowards.
The girl whose name I secretly knew to be Delphia sighed long and deep. “Great, that’s 42.85 with tax, thanks,” she mumbled with a haunting sadness in her striking eyes.
“Thank you. I’m sure you can handle yourself. You probably get a few in here from time to time,” I commented, trying to put her at ease.
There was no need to make her feel incapable, most gas stations had the emergency buzzer under the counter and there was a plastic shield in between her and the customers as a safeguard. My eyebrows turned downward as I studied her a little. She was grieving and that was understandable, considering the brutality in the way her brother died. I was no stranger to death, in more ways than one.
“I can,” she emphasized as she stole a sneaky glance at me.
I flashed her a non-threatening smile, wanting to let her know I was on her side.
She slid the change back to me over the counter.
I scraped it up, putting it into my pocket. “Thank you. Have a nice day, okay?” I shot her a smile.
She considered me for a moment. “I will. Thank you for what you did. Sending them away and stuff. They were kind of bugging me,” she confessed with a small but slightly hopeful smile.