Cocky Secrets (Cocker Brothers #29)

9. Sage

NINE

Sage

T he morning sun casts a warm glow over Bear’s driveway as I stand beside my dad, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. A burgundy Harley Davidson looms in front of us, gleaming like a beast ready to be unleashed. It looks almost new. What’s most promising is that it’s not nearly as big as Dad’s so it might be perfect for me. I blink from it to Bear, terrified about what is going to happen next.

We take off our helmets. “Look at this beauty,” Dad says, happy eyes shining with anticipation.

“Yeah,” I answer, “It’s pretty,” but my heart races for an entirely different reason. Bear is here, right in front of me! How could it be he who has the bike Dad planned to see?! I am a tightly wound ball of unspoken tension Dad doesn’t sense yet. Bear is doing a great job of appearing casual, calm, disinterested in me. The Ciphers are ridiculously skilled at detecting odd behavior. I have to be extremely careful. And if Bear gives me away, I’m dead. Please, Dad, please have your Cipher instincts off!

Dad greets our host with a comfortable, “Hey Bear,” shaking hands as if they’re old friends. “It’s just like you said it was.”

“Good to see you again. I’m sorry, I’m not sure I caught it right earlier. Did you say your name was Honey Badger?”

“Yeah.” Dad doesn’t explain that he was nicknamed after the most unpredictable and fearless creature that exists, for a reason. Instead he motions to me. “This is my daughter, Sage,” and circles the motorcycle, bending to inspect it, carefully looking for flaws.

With Dad distracted, Bear nods, and reaches out. “Nice to meet you, Sage.”

I force a smile, “Hi,” shaking his warm hand, my voice sounding natural as if he’s a stranger I just met, “Very nice to meet you.” I can’t keep my curiosity abated. I must know how this came to pass. Licking my lips, throat drying up, I ask, “Did Dad see an ad for your Harley somewhere or…”

There’s amusement in Bear’s eyes, like he’s enjoying my discomfort. “Your father came into town this morning when I was at the diner. He was asking around about Harleys.”

“Ah,” is all I can manage, thinking about it and realizing Dad had to have gone into town before I awoke. Maybe he was so excited he couldn’t wait around the plantation anymore. Did Mom see him leave? I didn’t hear him leave from my room. Must have been sound asleep. Not that I would’ve noticed even if I was awake. When they leave for missions, everyone knows. But when there isn’t one, when it’s just day-to-day life at home, The Ciphers come and go all they want. It’s me who’s caged.

“Let’s see how this baby rides!” Dad exclaims, walking up and clapping Bear on the shoulder. Hard. My father is strong, but our host is, too, and the impact doesn’t jar him in the slightest save for catching his attention. “Thanks for letting me take it out for a spin.”

“Anytime, Honey Badger,” Bear replies, his voice steady. But when he glances to me, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that vanishes just as quickly as it arrived. He offers me a friendly smile that feels more like a mask than genuine warmth. “You excited to see your dad ride?”

“Sure,” I smile, “But he’s no stranger to it,” trying to keep my tone light, even though my heart is doing flips. Being this close to Bear is doing a number on my cellular structure. He’s so sexy, and I totally blew it. Every look he gives me says he’s not going to let me forget I stood him up. I can’t let my dad know I’m overwhelmingly attracted to this man. It would cause absolute chaos.

“Let’s do this!” Dad says, mounting the burgundy Harley, helmet left behind. He lights up the ignition, revs the engine, and a deep rumble purrs from the beast. We step aside to make room for him to ride it out of the garage.

Bear says, “Don’t you want your helmet?”

“Not for this short ride.”

“It’s the law.”

“Fuck the law!” To me Dad says, “Gonna see what she can do,” and then he adds to Bear, “Keep an eye on my girl for me.”

I swallow deeply.

Bear answers, “Will do.”

As Dad drives off, I’m wishing he’d come right back so we can get out of here and get this over with! Fuck the law?! He has no idea he just said that to a cop. Nervously I call out, “How is it?!” while he’s still within hearing distance. I want to shout, Don’t leave me with this man who’s pissed off at me, and who I want to tear the clothes off of!

“So far so good,” Dad shouts. “Gonna see her at full power.” He speeds off down the street, the sound of Bear’s Harley echoing in the distance until Dad disappears, turning left onto the main road.

Silence.

Even the birds are quiet.

The atmosphere shifts now that we have no buffer, leaving me standing awkwardly next to Bear, who’s got his work boots spread, everything about him radiating an easy confidence that makes my heart flutter.

He breaks the silence, “How have you been?”

I glance to him, surprised by the odd question. “I’ve been good. Just, you know, busy.” I can’t help but feel like I’m caught in a web of guilt and uncertainty, the web he wants me in.

Bear nods, and I try to discern what he’s thinking from his expression but it’s unreadable. “That’s good to hear. Staying busy is important,” he says.

There’s a pregnant pause between us, tension crackling in the air. I want to say something, anything, about my not showing up, but the words get stuck in my throat. I focus on the driveway, the solid concrete below my boots, trying to distract myself from how my heart feels like it might implode.

Can I disappear now?

I look down the street, listen for the engine. No luck.

Bear comments, “Your dad seems excited,” stance immovable and powerful like a cross-armed superhero.

I reply a heavy, “Yeah, he loves motorcycles,” not sure why Bear is keeping this up, the inane conversation, and not instead reading me the riot act about standing him up. Okay, I’ll play along. “He wants to get me one.”

Bear chuckles softly, as if at an inside joke. He’s silent for a few seconds, then, “It’s a great feeling, being out on the open road. Freedom, you know?”

I glance to him, “That’s exactly what it is,” but all I can think about is how being here feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. I want to leap off, to apologize, but I’m having trouble finding the words or even being able to speak properly. There’s this electricity between us. Chemistry. Or maybe, for him, it’s just the underscoring electric charge of unspoken anger on his part that he’s yet to divulge.

He has a right to be angry.

I can’t blame him.

He should be.

But if I start to tell him I’m sorry, and show him how much I mean it, I’m afraid I’ll walk closer to him, touch him, and if I touch him I won’t want to stop.

“The Ciphers?”

I blink up to Bear. “What?”

“Your dad’s jacket.”

“Oh.” My mind races. Have to keep their secret. “Just a motorcycle club,” I shrug. “Just a group of…riders.” Yep, just boring motorcycle enthusiasts…not heroes who sometimes kill people when necessary in order to save the innocent, and get away with it because cops never know. You never know.

“I’ve heard of them.”

I stare at Bear, shock waves ripping through me. “You have?”

“People in town like them.”

My eyes widen.

I try to cover it.

From the look in his eyes, he saw.

“That weird?” he asks.

I respond, “Why would that be weird?”

“You looked shocked.”

“Just never knew what people were saying.” I shrug, thinking about the stories from their missions I’ve overheard for decades. My whole life, actually. “They’re just a normal motorcycle club.” Lie lie lie.

“Normal clubs cause trouble,” Bear corrects me.

“Not all ‘normal’ motorcycle clubs cause trouble,” I argue, hackles rising.

“Most do.”

“Bikers Against Child Abuse.”

“Good charity. Rare concept.”

I scoff, “Bikers are just like everyone else. Some people are bad, some very, very good. They’re good people, my family.”

“ They ? Not ‘we’? You’re not in the club? What, aren’t women allowed?”

The fact that Bear didn’t call me a girl stands out to me. My back straightens. “No, there are women in it. Just not me. I’m an artist.”

“I remember. Seems I’m the only one who does.”

My head tilts. “Huh?”

“Someone forgot she was an artist yesterday.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Bear. I couldn’t make it. Didn’t have a ride.”

“What happened to your bicycle? Is that why you’re getting a motorcycle?”

“Something like that.”

“Like what? You didn’t really answer the question.”

“Don’t feel like expanding on it,” I say with a lift of my chin.

Bear laughs outright. “Oh really?!” He laughs again. “Okay, well, the next time I accept an offer to be painted I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Who says I was going to offer again?”

His bronze eyes twinkle. “I didn’t mean from you. If any artist asks.”

“You get asked often?”

“All the time,” he lies, teasing me with an expression that confirms he’s never been asked by anyone but me.

“Are you still riding?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going. “You’re selling the Harley. Are you a bike cop?”

“Motorcycle cop,” he corrects me.

Accepting the correction, I repeat, “Motorcycle cop.”

“No, I ride a patrol car but it’s at the station. I drive my truck in, switch cars.”

“You don’t ride the Harley ever?”

“Yeah, here and there,” he replies, tone casual, but I see passion flickering in his eyes. “I love hitting the back roads when I get the chance. There’s nothing quite like it.”

“I can imagine,” I whisper, picturing him with my vivid imagination on the burgundy Harley, no helmet, wind whipping through his hair, a sexy smirk on his face, muscles on his arms flexing when he hits the throttle.

Bear nods, and for a moment, there’s a flicker in his expression. “You should come out with me sometime when I ride. I could show you some great spots.”

The invitation shoots a wave of uninvited warmth through me, but I can’t let myself get too excited. Something’s off. I feel like he’s toying with me. “Yeah, maybe.” I give a thoughtful nod, then wake up to reality. “Wait…when you ride?”

“I’m not selling it.”

“Excuse me?" I frown, adding a confused, "I don’t understand.”

“My Harley. The one your Dad thinks he’s test-driving. I’m not selling it.”

I blink, “Wait, what?!!”