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gvfgal · 7 days

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6. Everything That Becomes Us.

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

18+ Story, Minors not welcomed.

A/n: Here’s chapter 6! As always, enjoy, and please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist! 🍾

Content Warnings: drinking, smoking, mentions of criminal activity, mention & depiction of serious illness, allusions to violence against reader, weird father relationships… think that’s it!

Word Count: 3.5k

The following morning ushered in an unexpected sense of domesticity that was a stark departure from the chaos that often defined Jake’s past. While you maneuvered in the kitchen concocting breakfast, Jake wrestled with the obstinate washing machine that had rudely interrupted the tranquility of the morning hours earlier.

A formal breakfast was a rare luxury in his tumultuous upbringing, reserved for occasions shadowed by his mother’s fleeting presence and often marred by the underlying tension of impending departure or discord with Rex. Thus, the simple act of someone preparing breakfast for him purely out of kindness struck a chord within Jake, hinting at the semblance of stability and care he had secretly long yearned for.

However, that morning stuck out to Jake for an entirely different reason. He’d be replaying the small series of events over again in his head later, as he’d do with a lot of different instances surrounding you.

He remembered the details vividly:

As he meticulously pieced the washing machine back together, the mundane task was punctuated by the shrill ring of your cell phone echoing through the trailer. Each passing moment seemed to elongate as Jake strained to discern your hesitation before you finally answered.

Jake, unaccustomed to eavesdropping, initially dismissed the snippets of conversation drifting from the kitchen. With the task completed and a bead of sweat wiped from his brow, he eagerly made his way towards the promise of breakfast. However, his steps faltered mid-stride as the tone of your voice shifted to a secretive whisper, one tinged with an urgency that seized his attention. A sense of unease crept over him, an inner conflict warring between respecting your privacy and the compulsion to understand the weight of your words.

Frozen in the hallway, Jake grappled with the dilemma of intrusion versus ignorance. Though he had never been one to eavesdrop, the gravity of the situation left him with no choice but to linger in the shadows to silently bear witness to the conversation unfolding behind closed doors.

“Look mom,” you sounded sincere yet assertive, “I get that you’re sick, but I can’t come back there, you know that. Not after what happened…”

Jake’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of concern crossed his features as he continued to listen, grappling with a sense of guilt for intruding on the private conversation.

"Mom, you know I don’t have that kind of money… Yes, but… If I give you everything I’ve saved up, I'll be back at square one, and all the progress I've made here would be for nothing..."

A whirlwind of questions stormed through Jake's mind as he lingered in that hallway, overhearing snippets of your cryptic conversation.

What dark chapter from your past barred the doors to your childhood home? Why were you secretly stashing money away?

Caught in the grip of curiosity and discomfort, Jake sought refuge in the kitchen, a feeble attempt to escape the weight of the revelations unfolding before him. You deftly flipped the last pancake on the stove as he entered, your phone still pressed against your ear.

Sensing his presence, you turned, a smile adorning your face. Your voice shifted to a tone of casual innocence as you swiftly wrapped up the call, doing your best to conceal the true gravity of the discussion from Jake's prying ears.

"Yeah, so anyways, mom, I'll, uh, get back to you on that as soon as I can… Mhmm… yeah, love you too… Bye."

Relieved that Jake's attention was elsewhere, you poured a glass of orange juice from the fridge, masking the discomfort that churned within you.

You set your phone down on the counter and focused on the task at hand, plating the pancakes alongside the sizzling bacon, eggs, and an array of fruits. Relieved that Jake’s attention was elsewhere, pouring a glass of orange juice by the fridge, you swallowed down the tumult of emotions stirred by the conversation, and made a conscious effort to maintain a façade of composure until Jake's departure.

"That was your mom?" Jake's casual inquiry floated across the kitchen as he leaned against the counter, his gaze fixed on you as you busied yourself with the breakfast preparations.

"Yeah," you chirped, forcing a veneer of cheerfulness into your voice, though your back remained turned to him, "she, uh, just needed help with something."

Sensing the weight of his stare boring into your back, you turned to meet his gaze, mustering your best grin in an attempt to deflect any further probing into the nature of the call.

Clad in a black tank top that accentuated his tattoos and the muscular definition of his arms, Jake leaned against the counter, his hair cascading loosely around his shoulders. As you admired his relaxed appearance, a gentle smile graced his lips, but the subtle furrow of his brow betrayed the wheels turning in his mind. You couldn't help but wonder how much of the conversation he had overheard.

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen until Jake finally broke it, his voice tinged with concern.

"You okay?"

You nodded hastily, perhaps a bit too eager to dismiss any lingering tension, "I'm fine."

You could sense Jake's desire to delve further into the matter, but a silent understanding passed between you, a mutual agreement to let the conversation rest for now. There was a palpable tension in the air, a recognition that some truths were not yet ready to be unearthed.

He pushed himself off the counter and began crossing the kitchen with purpose. Your heart quickened its pace in response, and you flinched, which Jake noted and tucked away in the recesses of his mind before he enveloped you in a gentle embrace. A tender kiss planted on your forehead ignited a surge of protectiveness within him, reinforcing the depth of his affection.

His hold on you was firm, as if he believed he could shield you from the world's troubles simply by holding you close in that moment. Though countless uncertainties loomed regarding the nature of your conversation with your mother, Jake couldn't shake the unwavering conviction that whatever skeletons resided in your closet, they wouldn't deter his feelings for you.

As your eyes locked in a silent exchange, a myriad of emotions passed between you, punctuated by Jake's warm smile.

You felt a deepening attraction towards him, a desire to nurture this burgeoning connection with each passing day. You wanted to cook him breakfast for a million days to come.

“I’m hungry,” he lilted.

With a playful peck on his lips, you turned to retrieve the plate you had prepared, inviting him to partake in the breakfast you had lovingly prepared, “come and get it.”

Jake chuckled at your playful demeanor, his eyes alight with affection. "Don't talk to me like that, woman, you know what it does to me."

After breakfast, Jake was on the move, headed to the Tavern for a crucial meeting with the club members. The objective: devise a complete strategy to infiltrate Bobby's casino and seize control of his finances.

Fortuitously, Jake had already sketched the framework of the plan; now it was up to the gang to flesh out the finer details.

Sequestered in their private room at the back of the bar, the men engaged in a marathon brainstorming session, fueled by copious amounts of alcohol that seemed to defy the limits of Riley's inventory.

The hours proved mentally taxing for Jake, who found himself thrust into a leadership role, given that the plan had sprung from his initial idea. As the group delved deeper into the intricacies of their scheme, Jake navigated the delicate balance between guiding the discussion and fostering collaboration.

The overarching objective of the plan was straightforward: infiltrate and establish a foothold. However, the devil was in the details.

The Barbarians, armed with their financial leverage over Bobby's casino, planned a direct and aggressive takeover. Prior to this, Alejandro's financial experts would conduct an internal audit to scrutinize the casino's financial records. Concurrently, 8-ball, their reliable reconnaissance expert, along with a team of Barbarians, would meticulously examine the security protocols, identifying vulnerabilities and discrepancies. They would also gauge the loyalty of key staff members to anticipate potential challenges or cooperation during the takeover. Once these preliminary assessments were complete, the Barbarians would be briefed on their specific roles and responsibilities for the impending operation.

This part of the plan was a strategic power play, a calculated display of authority designed to assert the Barbarians' dominance over Bobby Thompson. That, and it left little room for resistance. If they didn’t see it coming, they wouldn’t have time to retaliate.

Upon successfully infiltrating the casino, the real work would commence. With assistance from Alejandro's operatives, the Barbarians would assume control of all operational facets. They would take charge of security to neutralize any potential resistance, gain access to the casino's financial systems, including the vault and registers, and begin discreetly redirecting funds through covert channels to avoid detection.

Given Alejandro's insistence on receiving his share in cash, an additional layer of complexity was introduced to the operation. All diverted funds would be funneled into the Barbarians' club account, covertly managed by their trusted accountant and stored securely until the time of transfer.

It was a solid plan, meticulously crafted to minimize the risk of detection. If executed with precision, they could execute the entire operation within the six months window without raising any red flags with law enforcement. After all, the federal authorities were unlikely to be overly concerned with a medium-sized casino tucked away in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada.

With the plan finalized, the meeting came to a close, leaving the Barbarians to await the right moment to set their scheme in motion.

Ace couldn't help but notice Jake's natural leadership qualities as he contributed to the formulation of the plan. Despite all Jake's modesty, there was an undeniable aura of authority that seemed to emanate from him effortlessly.

However, the meeting had taken its toll on Jake, leaving him feeling mentally drained. Having left Riley's a few hours earlier, Jake was eager to head home. Yet, as he approached the exit, Ace intercepted him, his grip firm on Jake's arm. Without uttering a word, Ace produced a thick wad of cash, all in hundred-dollar bills, and displayed it before him.

Aware that the Barbarians always had various revenue streams, however minor, Jake surmised that this must be the source of the money. His gaze shifted from the cash to Ace and back again, estimating the sum to be around five thousand dollars, if not more, leaving him puzzled.

"What's this for?" Jake queried, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Leaning in, Ace responded, "consider it payment for your contributions."

Jake scoffed, "but I haven't done anything."

Ace met his gaze knowingly, "your role in shaping that plan was more than enough."

Jake's eyes lingered on the cash, but his thoughts quickly veered in a different direction.

It was curious how you managed to permeate his thoughts at the most unexpected moments. Now, with five thousand dollars in hand, his mind was consumed with only the desire to give it all to you.

Recalling your earlier phone call, Jake felt an overwhelming urge to ease any burdens you might be carrying, even though much about you remained shrouded in mystery.

Almost impulsively, Jake turned to Ace and blurted out, "what do you know about Cherry?"

Ace chuckled, having anticipated this question would eventually surface, but he had always assumed it would be on Jake's terms. While Ace harbored his own questions about you, he suspected his insights might not fully satisfy Jake's curiosity. Nevertheless, he was willing to share what he knew.

As they stood by the bar, Ace gestured to the nearest stool. Sensing the impending conversation, Jake took a seat beside him.

A nod to the bartender was all it took; she immediately began preparing Ace's usual drink without the need for words.

"To be frank, kid," Ace began, turning his full attention to Jake, "I don't know much. None of us do. But I'll share what I do know."

Two Years Ago

A raspy cough echoed from Riley's frail form as he stepped outside his trailer, watering can in hand. The relentless cancer that had taken hold of him intensified the pain of the smoker's cough he had developed over the years. With each passing day, his strength waned, and after undergoing treatments that had proven futile, he had decided to forego further interventions, opting instead to focus on managing his pain and comfort as he neared the end of his life.

At sixty-three , Riley had lived a life marked by resilience and dedication, spending over half of those years as a formidable member of the Barbarians. He had seen and experienced more than most would in two lifetimes, yet it was cancer that proved to be his final adversary.

As he looked at his reflection, the gauntness of his features and the pallor of his skin made him appear as though he was already a shadow of his former self. Despite this, he found himself standing outside the trailer he had called home for the past forty-five years, tending to a flower garden that would more than likely outlive him.

Riley's thoughts drifted to his cherished Tavern, a place that held as much importance to him as his allegiance to the brotherhood. He wondered about its fate once he was no longer around. While he trusted the Barbarians to care for it, the uncertainty of not being there to oversee its well-being troubled him.

Lost in these thoughts, the sound of approaching tires caught his attention. Initially dismissing it, he grew curious as the idling engine came to a halt outside his home, revealing a Nevada cab at the end of the dusty driveway.

Observing a middle-aged cab driver assisting an unfamiliar visitor, Riley's attention was immediately drawn to your face. A rush of emotions surged within him as he recognized you, a sensation he had never felt before. He was stunned; the last he had heard from you was when you were just five years old, and the last time he had seen you in person was when you were merely two, before your mother had taken you away to Texarkana.

Confused and intrigued, he couldn't fathom why, after all these years, you were suddenly standing at his doorstep.

He watched as the man retrieved a couple of duffle bags from the trunk, while you struggled with a crumpled wad of cash in your hand before completing the exchange. He wondered how much you had to pay to get a cab to bring you all the way out there.

As you approached, the details of your appearance became clearer. Riley's gaze immediately landed on the remnants of a black eye on your right side, accompanied by several smaller bruises along your forearm. Though you wore jeans, Riley suspected there were likely more bruises hidden beneath.Despite his concern, he chose to remain silent on the matter, sensing that, like him, you probably didn't want to discuss it.

As you made your way up the driveway, you took in Riley's appearance as well. He looked even more unwell than you had anticipated, a stark contrast to the stories your mother had shared about him. The ravages of cancer were evident.

Setting down his watering can just as you reached him, Riley greeted you with a simple, "Hey, kid."

The reunion between father and daughter, after over fifteen years apart, was surprisingly subdued. Both of you seemed to have too much on your minds to make a fuss about it.

"Hey, Dad," you replied, your voice trembling slightly, offering him a tentative smile given the circumstances.

An awkward silence hung in the air as you both assessed each other's worn appearance, yet also noticed the shared features that confirmed your relationship.

"What are you doin’ here?"

Riley's question made you second-guess your decision to come without even a phone call. The risk of showing up unannounced suddenly seemed more apparent, but you also knew the alternative was far worse.

"My mom told me you were sick, terminal," you stammered, avoiding his eyes as you looked towards the blooming flower garden he had been tending, "I came to help. You know, take care of you."

Riley could see through your words, recognizing that caring for a man battling terminal prostate cancer was likely not high on your priority list. However, he sensed that you had come for a reason, possibly running from something—or someone.

The fear that consumed you was palpable, evident in your posture and demeanor. You had become fear.

Realizing that he had not been the best father during your formative years, Riley felt compelled to offer you refuge from whatever troubles you were facing. As a Barbarian, he was no stranger to trouble, and he believed he could shield you from it.

In addition, your presence would provide him with much-needed companionship in his final days, rather than sporadic visits from club members. With you, he would have the company of genuine family.

And of course, if you were willing, you could take over the operations at the Tavern.

It seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Finally, a grin spread across Riley's face, and you couldn't help but notice how eerily similar his smile was to yours. "Come on in, we'll get you settled."

You tightened your grip on your bags as Riley gestured for you to enter, feeling a glimmer of hope that being there might offer you the sanctuary you so desperately sought from the looming darkness.

"Watch out for my flowers. Don’t step on ‘em," Riley chided, adding a touch of normalcy to this unexpected reunion.

"That's the only story Riley ever shared with me," Ace admitted, taking a sip of his beer and studying Jake's reaction. "After that, he didn't talk much about her."

Jake nodded, realizing this might be the extent of the information he'd receive, leaving him with conflicting feelings.

"It's not that Riley was secretive or malicious," Ace elaborated, reminiscing about the times when Riley was still with them. "He was just protective, and we respected that. Even after his passing, we still do."

Jake understood the protective sentiment, feeling a similar urge to shield you, albeit not in the same paternal manner as Riley. His feelings for you were complex and puzzling.

"She was incredible for Riley during his final months, by his side when he passed, helped organize his funeral, and has been managing the hell outta this Tavern," Ace recounted with a chuckle. "So, we just leave it at that."

The story left Jake with more questions than answers, yet he found himself strangely content with the information provided.

Ace extended the folded hundred-dollar bills to Jake once again, and this time he accepted them, tucking them into his front pocket before finishing off his beer.

"Thanks, as always, you're appreciated," Jake said to Ace, making a beeline for the exit.

Ace chuckled softly, shaking his head. "That boy is in way deeper than he thinks."

Jake found you just after you’d finished showering, your hair wrapped in a towel and wearing a faded Kentucky Derby t-shirt that he remembered once belonged to Riley. Your face lit up with a smile at his arrival, which only fueled his determination to carry out his plan with the money he had obtained.

"Hey, handsome," you greeted, visibly relieved by his presence.

In response, Jake pulled the money from his pocket and handed it to you, mimicking the gesture Ace had made with him earlier. Your confusion mirrored his own when Ace had done the same to him.

"Jake, what the hell is this?"

"I heard you on the phone earlier," he explained, the words tumbling out as if he couldn't hold them back any longer.

You felt a familiar tension creep back into your muscles at the mention of the phone call, but you remained silent, waiting to see what else he had to share.

"Save your money," Jake said softly, his tone filled with care, “use this to help your mom, and if you need more, just let me know, okay?"

Stunned, you found yourself unable to accept the money. You knew the funds were likely from Barbarian activities, but that was the least of your concerns. You couldn't comprehend why he was so willing to give it to you. His generosity was unfamiliar and overwhelming. First, the truck, and now this.

You were certain Jake wasn't expecting anything in return; his generosity was genuine.

"Take it," he urged gently, “please, Cherry?"

Reluctantly, you reached out and accepted the stash, noting that the bills were mostly, if not all, hundreds.

The money was providing a lifeline for you in ways Jake couldn't possibly understand, making you feel as though he was the catalyst for positive change in your life.

Still holding the money, you wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a tender kiss on his lips, savoring the taste of beer and tobacco. "Why are you so good, Jacob?"

Hearing you call him by his full name sent a shiver down his spine. He looked down at you, shaking his head slightly, and admired the way your still-wet lashes clung together. "I'm no good, Cherry. I'm just good for you."

You kissed him again to keep yourself from saying what you wanted to say next.

You’re not good for me, Jake. You’re too good for me.