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bettyfrommars · 1 year

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I'm on Fire//older!biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader//90's au//Part 7

⚠️Cautions: 18+Only pls, MDNI, eventual smut, mention of smut, mention of erection, flirting, crushing on each other, reader gets fired, alcohol consumption, jealous!Eddie, biker!Eddie, boxer!Eddie, biker!Steve, relationship drama, threats against loved ones, hints at a violent past, vindictive exes, aggression (not at reader), mention of handgun, angst, mutual pining, slow burn. Word count: 7.6k

Series Masterlist

Suddenly unemployed and in the wind, you wander into the bar where biker!Steve Harrington works the door, and new opportunities arise. Just as you and Eddie are navigating getting closer, someone from Eddie's past drops a bomb on him that he can't ignore, and he does his best to protect you from the backlash. Dirty deeds get done not so dirt cheap. I'm on Fire 90's playlist here

A/N: Nothing really, just wanted to tell those of you who have been supporting and encouraging this story how much you all mean to me, and how much I love hearing from you. Big love to my bestie for helping me put together the playlist for this series, it's all I've been listening to lately. Oh ALSO, I'm working on a smutty oneshot in honor of biker!Steve's character in this story, a little companion piece, *cumming* soon 🫦 biker!Steve oneshot here

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I'm on Fire Part 7: The Velvet Hammer

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Your eyes flew open early on Monday morning as dawn was barely breaking, to find that the emotions of sadness and fear were gone for the moment: they had been replaced by a white-hot anger that burned in your chest.

In a burst, you cursed, threw your covers off, and had an imaginary conversation with your ex-boss Judith, complete with shaking your fist in the air, eyebrows jutting together. She couldn’t just let you go and replace you without any warning---the whole thing was absurd. You made your coffee and went back to your room so that you could avoid Katie as she got ready for work. You weren’t mad at her; you just didn’t want to have to answer any questions or mull it over. In the state you were in, you were worried that you might snap at her for no reason.

A tiny part of you still hoped (prayed) that it was all a misunderstanding, and maybe you had some vacation days coming that you had simply slipped your mind. That small glimmer of possibility was immediately stamped out with a waffle-sole, steel toe boot when you found your other assistant Holly already behind the front desk when she hadn’t originally been scheduled to be there until noon. Her presence alone was not the final straw---it was the look on her face. The second she saw you, she blushed and got flustered, pretending to organize papers, trying overly hard to appear nonchalant.

You were hoping for Judith, that was the bitch you wanted to see, but Holly informed you with quivering hands that she had just left a half hour ago to catch a flight to Cozumel for a “rejuvenation retreat”. You could tell that being involved in any type of conflict, even passively, was making Holly’s anxiety spike.

“She told me to give you this,” Holly said, reluctantly sliding an envelope across the desk, and then in a whisper, she added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be the one to--”

You did your best to shake your head and smile and told her it wasn’t her fault. You walked to the other side of the gallery to check the envelope. It was your final paycheck, along with a typed note that basically said, “Thank you for the work you’ve done, but I’ve decided to hire another manager that is a better fit for the gallery. I am longer in need of your services. Best of luck in your future endeavors. Namaste, Judith.”

It was that Namaste that had you breathing out your nose like a dragon, crumpling the note up in a tight ball, nostrils flaring. The letter wasn’t even signed; Judith probably made Holly type it.

You went to get your things out of the cubby in the back room, and while you were there, you tried Judith’s house phone just in case, but there was no answer. That cunt really had the nerve to fire you out of the blue after working there almost a year, and didn’t even have the tits to say it to your face, forcing shy little Holly take the brunt of it. You were on the verge of going full Coffin King MC on her ass.

When you came out with your wire basket full of things, you apologized to Holly for putting her in the middle of this, as you reached around to take the mason jars full of colored markers, highlighters, and pencils that were on the desk dear the typewriter. “These are mine, I bought these. Tell Judith if she has a problem, she can come find me.”

You took one last look around the gallery that you genuinely loved, asked Holly to stay in touch, and had to swallow a lump in your throat as you crossed the street to your car.

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Eddie worked a long day at the garage, running tows, fielding resumes for part-time office help, and thinking about you. There was a disturbance in the force, as they say, and he hoped to get a call from you later so that he would know that you were okay.

Instead, at around 8:30pm, he got a call from Steve. Eddie could tell by the music that he was at the Velvet Hammer, which was a well-known cocktail lounge, frequented by bankers and bikers alike, where Steve worked as a bouncer from time to time. The waitresses all wore skimpy, edgy outfits, and there was professional pole dancing and strippers offering lap dances on the weekends.

“Dude,” Steve said once Eddie picked up. “Your girl is here, just thought you’d want to know.”

Eddie had been digging around for a lighter in the drawer of his nightstand, in nothing but a pair of boxers, but at that, he froze and straightened up, his brow clenched. “What do you mean she’s there? Where? At the Velvet Hammer?” It wasn’t only the location that took him by surprise, but the fact that it was a Monday, and you weren’t one to bar hop in the middle of the week.

Steve lowered the phone while he shouted to someone, the song Low by Cracker blasting loud in the background. “Yeah, man. She was here when I came in, I don’t know, it seems like she’s having a bad day,” Steve tucked the phone into his shoulder so that he could ask someone for their ID. “There was some dude bothering her earlier, but I took care of it. I can’t watch her every second though---” Eddie cut him off, clenching the phone so tight, the knuckle of his hand went white. “Who was bothering her?”

Steve rested the phone with the long, spiral cord on his chest to talk to someone else for a second, but when he got back on the line, Eddie had hung up.

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After you walked out of the gallery for the last time, you deposited your check, and as frugal as you normally were, you took a bit of cash out to treat yourself after getting canned in such a depressing way. You hung out at a B. Dalton’s for an hour and bought a book, and then you tried on some clothes at one of your favorite shops, but nothing fit right; you felt like you were crawling out of your skin. You went home and had lunch, took care of Charlie, did some laundry while watching daytime soap operas, started feeling worse about yourself, and then decided to go down and get a paper at the coffee shop to start hunting for a new job. You didn’t want to be home when Katie got back from work; you still weren’t ready to talk about it.

Coffee and a browse through the dismal job market turned into a walk around the park, and then you just kept going for 5 or 6 blocks until you realized you were standing on the corner across from a bar called the Velvet Hammer. Wasn’t that where Steve said he worked the door every so often? The exterior was black with dark red trim, and you thought maybe you’d been there for a drink once when you first moved to town, but you couldn’t remember. The sandwich board on the sidewalk out front said “Happy Hour menu Half off appetizers 3:30-6:30” and you decided to have a bite before you made the trek back to your car.

Steve was not there when you first arrived, and you were close to missing the happy hour cut off, so you ordered some food right away, and a cocktail to wash it down. The inside was also black and red, with a big chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a long mirror behind the bar, and an old fashioned jukebox lit up in a red and blue arch in the corner. There were two empty stages at the far back, with shiny poles down the middle, and a pretty, tattooed girl in a red leather romper waited on the scattering of customers that were there.

Whereas most bars played sports on TV, the Velvet Hammer played old black and white b-horror movies, and you were absorbed in a scene from Plan 9 From Outer Space when the bartender with the shaved head and double nose piercing asked with a dimpled smile if you wanted another drink.

Candy by Iggy Pop and Kate Pierson was playing, and it had you in a mood, so you nodded to say yes, please---I would love another.

A half hour later, you said yes to another refill and ate a few pretzels, looking around to see that the bar was filling up. There were two more cocktail waitresses there and each wore less clothes than the first. The movie on the TV now was The Creeping Terror from 1964, and just as one of the actresses turned to the camera and put her hands to her head for a silent, blood-curdling scream, someone tapped your shoulder and hissed, “BOO!”, right in your ear.

You whipped around on your bar stool, relieved to find out that the marauder was Steve Harrington.

He had his Coffin King’s MC biker cut on over a white t-shirt, exposing his heavily tattooed arms and hands, dark wash Levi’s, and he had his sunglasses on even though it felt like nighttime inside the bar.

He leaned over to hook his elbow on the bar, pushing his sunglasses into his thick head of hair to address you. “What’s up, lady friend? Who are you here with?” He looked around as he asked it, as if he automatically assumed you were with Katie or Eddie, and not just drinking alone at a bar on a Monday night.

You tugged at your ear self-consciously and palmed the new drink in front of you. “Just me, I’m afraid,” you took a sip, moving the red stir straws out of the way with your nose. “I’m about to light up that jukebox, you have any requests?”

Steve slapped the bar enthusiastically. “Hell yeah, I do, hold on,” he waved the bartender down and asked them to hand him some quarters. Apparently there was a stash of coins near the cash register there to keep the music going.

He clapped 10 or 12 quarters on the table in front of you. “Maybe some STP, anything Ozzy,” he continued, giving his requests. “I’m a sucker for that Alanis Morisette chick, too, but don’t tell Eddie,” he said with a wink.

“Anything you want, really,” he kept talking as he backed up, heading to his bouncer stool at the front door. “As long as it’s not fucking lame,” and then he smiled and flipped his sunglasses back down over his eyes.

A bit later, as you made your way back from the jukebox, some guy stepped into your path, immediately invading your bubble.

“Hey, beautiful, can I buy you a drink?” He asked, and his presence took you a bit off guard because you were so deeply concentrating on the song list you just put together, your head was in another world. The guy had slicked back, inky black hair, a teardrop tattoo under his eye, and incisors that looked like fangs.

“That’s okay, thank you,” you mumbled with a half smile as you went to walk around him.

But, he slid to the side, blocking your way again. “Just one drink? I hate to see a beautiful woman drinking alone.”

From across the room, Steve shouted at the guy with the fangs—apparently he knew his name---and when the guy snapped a look in his direction, Steve sliced his hand across his throat and shook his head, warning him to back off. Without a fuss, the fang guy ducked back into the shadows, hands in his pockets, sulking to find his table without so much as another glance in your direction.

Steve could see this shit coming a mile away; you were getting relaxed, and you were alone, and that level of vulnerability never failed to bring a bad element out of the woodwork. He didn’t mind keeping an eye on you, but it was getting busy for a Monday night because of the free darts and pool, and that was when he decided to call Eddie.

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Steve was smoking a cigarette when he waved Eddie in without a word, the two exchanging a quick hand grab in passing. Eddie’s gaze landed on you immediately; sitting at the bar, face tilted up to watch the TV, and that familiar thrill of being near you again stirred in him.

“Is this seat taken?” He was already straddling the padded stool as he said it, brushing up against your body as he did so.

You could feel someone approaching in your peripheral vision, and you were bracing yourself for another unwanted advance. But, then you smelled him; that unmistakable woodsy spice with bar soap and leather undertones. You felt his presence; big and sturdy and warm. There he was, right out of a dream, in his Coffin Kings leather, just like Steve’s, but with a long sleeve black shirt pushed up to the elbows, hair back in a knot so that it wouldn’t drive him crazy on the ride over, forearms and fingers patched in tattoos. He wasn’t wearing his chunky rings, and it made you wonder if he had been in a rush to leave his place. His knuckles were crisscrossed in raised white scars, as well as one particularly angry one that went all the way down his middle finger and back of his hand.

You made sure it was him first, and then you couldn’t wait to be in his arms. He turned in his seat to face you so that your hips fit in between his wide knees, and you fell against him, rested your head in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes for a second, soaking in the secure feeling of his arms locking around you.

He squeezed you so tight, something in your back popped, and then he loosened his grip, unsure of his own strength sometimes. “You okay?” He asked, his head turning so that his lips were pressed against the back of your head.

You had both of your arms against your chest so that your hands were balled up into tiny fists in between your two bodies. “I’ve been better,” you told him, shoulders hunched.

Some of your hair caught on the stubble of his jaw as you pulled back to find his lips with yours. You exchanged a few sweet kisses, foreheads locking together as you fingered the single earring dangling from his lobe, before stepping up onto your seat again. Facing one another, you each had a forearm resting on the bar, and Eddie cupped his hand over yours, protectively.

God, he was crazy about you, Eddie thought.

He could tell that you weren’t yourself. His eyes shifted around the room, jaw muscles flexing. “Did someone in here fuck with you?”

“No, no, it wasn’t that,” you avoided his eyes and looked at his hand that was on top of yours. “I got fired today,” you said as a reflexive, helpless smile flashed across your mouth.

Eddie set his head back an inch, lips parted, searching your face. “You’re joking?”

“Nope,” you offered a little snort. “Not this time, I’m afraid.” And then you gave him the Cliff Notes version of everything that had gone one from when Jeff came over the night before till now.

Eddie rubbed his thumb across your hand as you talked. He didn’t want to smother you, but if he wasn’t touching you, he thought maybe you’d just slip away. Was he touching you too much, or not enough? Healthy forms of attachment and displays of affection were not taught to him as a child; but he was an observant fuck, and a fast learner. The vulnerable side of him was the side that always got him hurt, heart trampled on, and so every time that natural urge showed itself, he would do his best to reel it back. There was something about you, though, that made him feel comfortable enough to show his affection in a way his heart ached to do.

The bartender brought Eddie a beer and set it on a napkin. He released your hand only to take a sip of it, thinking about what you’d just shared with him, and then his hand found yours again, giving it a reassuring pulse.

“By the looks of it, I’m not even sure she’ll even give me a good reference,” For all Judith’s faults, Moon River was one of the best, though, and you had dreamed about working there ever since you read an article about in Art World magazine.

“You should’ve called me,” Eddie put his other hand on your knee. “I would’ve come and picked you and---”

“Rescued me?” You gave him a shy look. “I know you would’ve. But you were working, and I’ve been trying not to make it a reality by talking about it. I haven’t even talked to Katie today.”

Much like Eddie, you weren’t used to reaching out to people when times got tough; your default was usually to hide and/or run as far away as possible. Even though you hadn’t done anything wrong that would warrant being fired in such a hasty manner, it still made you feel embarrassed, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to peel back all of those deeper layers with him in this early stage of dating.

There was a lull in the conversation as Creep by Stone Temple Pilots played in the background, and a bad feeling planted seeds in Eddie’s gut that had him wondering if maybe he had something to do with this. Was this Charlene’s doing? She had the reach, that was for sure, but to what end? She surely didn’t think that somehow hurting you would get him back in her bed. The math was not mathing, not by Eddie’s way of thinking, anyway.

He ducked his head to try and meet your lowered gaze, his fingers intertwining with yours on the bar. “Can I take you home after this?”

You took a deep breath and finished your drink in one final gulp, the melting ice crashing against your lips. You chewed a few bits as you answered him, “that’s probably a good idea. But I can call Katie, you don’t have to---”

“I’m taking you home.” His eyes were soft, but his tone let you know that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

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Katie came out onto the porch in a bathrobe like the concerned mother you never had as Eddie pulled the bike to the curb to let you off; you kissed him on the cheek as you dismounted. She worried that you’d been in a car accident or something by how late he was bringing you back. You had left her a note on the kitchen counter, but it said you’d only be gone an hour or two, not seven.

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The only thoughts in Eddie’s head as he made his way back to the garage were wondering how he could help make things better for you. He couldn’t muscle someone into getting your job back, but there were plenty of people who would hire you at various places if he told them to. Then there was that office assistant he needed, but he wouldn’t be able to even pay you half what the gallery did---you’d be better off getting unemployment.

The bad feeling that all of this had been because of him blossomed into a full blown knee to the stomach when he saw the unmistakable polished, cherry red of Charlene’s Porsche parked directly across from the entrance to his apartment. She was leaning against the back, elbows on the trunk, feet crossed at the ankles, grinning like Satan’s spawn as she watched him pull in.

He took a minute to calm himself down as he parked the bike, slowly dismounting, keeping his back to her as he took off his helmet. God, he did not want to deal with this shit right now. He would never physically hurt her, and she knew that, and it felt like she was really shoving that fact in his face.

Every muscle in his body was tense as he headed in her direction across the mostly empty, dark parking lot, especially those in his face and hands.

“Trouble in paradise?” She quipped, looking down at her nails, fanning them out like claws. She was in a tight, leopard print pencil skirt halter dress, and a cropped, bolero style fur coat.

First, he wanted to make sure they were both on the same page. “Are you the reason she got fired?”

Charlene crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “I might have convinced a handful of people to ignore Judith and never spend money in her gallery ever again unless she let that girl go, so, sure, I guess maybe I did have something to do with it.”

“You’re disgusting,” Eddie said it on a strained breath, a painful look on his face, bile rising in his throat. It was almost hard for him to look at her in that moment, he hated her so much.

“And you’re a fucking liar,” Charlene spat, jutting her chin out a few times, stabbing her finger in the air at him. “You told me you cared about me.”

Eddie had so many residual regrets for the things his dick made him do sometimes, it wasn’t even funny.

He cocked one knee out to the side. “So, you thought that by hurting her, I’d somehow get back in your bed? You’re out of your fucking mind, Charlene.”

“Baby, don’t you remember how we used to---” she pushed off the car and dove to grab his arm, but he stepped back, out of her reach.

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, cringing.

“Fine!” Judith barked showing the palms of her hands in mocking surrender. “But I miss it, I miss us. I know you do too.”

Without hesitation, Eddie shook his head, his voice a deep murmur. “I don’t miss it at all. I don’t miss us, because there never was an us.”

“You don’t mean that,” she bit, pouting, trying hard to pull a few crocodile tears to the surface of her icy hazel eyes.

“Listen,” Eddie paused to chew his top lip. He didn’t want to knowingly break anyone's heart, not even Charlene's. At one point in their fling, he could tell that her feelings for him were way more intense than his were for her, and he should’ve called it off then, but the money made him greedy and careless. “I’m sorry you got hurt in all this, okay, we had some fun while it lasted. But you have to fucking fix this, Charlene, I’m serious.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fix what? It’s done,” she scoffed. “She’ll have to get a new job, big deal. It’s not the end of the world.”

“You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You wouldn’t last a week in her shoes.”

“I’d trade lives with her in a second,” she blurted. “If it meant you’d look at me the same way you look at her.”

He puffed out a long held, heavy breath. “It’s been fun catching up. I’m going inside. You know the way out.”

If he knew that any number of words—besides lying and saying he loved her---would get you your job back, or turn back the hands of time, Eddie would’ve stood there and negotiated all night, but he knew his efforts were futile.

He was a couple steps away when she called out to him again, and this time; her tone was frigid, void of any emotion.

“You should know it’s only going to get worse for her,” she promised. Eddie stopped in his tracks, flexing his hands, but didn’t turn around, and so she continued. “I’ll make sure she’s rejected by every gallery for a hundred mile radius, and then she’ll have no choice but to move away, or stay here with you and watch her dreams die.”

One of his hands clenched into a fist, knowing that it wasn’t a bluff, trying so hard to push down the violence he felt rising in him.

“And her friend, Kathrine Clayton,” Charlene continued, letting him know the creepy detail that she had somehow ascertained your roommates full name. “I wonder how the parents in town would feel about overhearing horrible rumors involving the woman teaching their kids.”

At that Eddie turned around slow, eyes narrowing, voice booming. “What do want, Charlene? You want us to go back to fucking again, is that what it will take?” He didn’t want to touch Charlene, let alone put his cock inside of her, but he’d do it one more time if it meant she’d leave you and Katie alone. Take one for the team, as they say.

“No, not really,” She shrugged, a bored expression on her face. “I’m fucking someone new now. He’s younger than you, and he can’t get enough of me. It took me a while to find a bent cock as big as yours, but I knew I would eventually.”

This bitch is fucking crazy, Eddie swallowed, full of shame for ever getting involved with her in the first place. “What did you do, put an ad in the paper?”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” Charlene continued, ignoring his second question. “It’s very simple. I don’t want you to see her anymore, I want you to end it. I hate knowing the two of you are...falling for each other, it makes me sick. Especially when I think it could have been us.”

Eddie’s temper flared, he slammed his fist into the palm of his hand and closed in on her in two big strides, forcing her back up against the bumper. “Why can’t you get it through your fucking head that you were nothing but a warm mouth to me? I care more about her after only a few weeks than I ever did about you.”

Seemingly unaffected by those words, Charlene sighed and dropped her arms to her sides. “Well, if you care about her as much as you say you do, I encourage you to think about what I just said,” she shimmied in her high heels over the driver’s side of her Porsche, opening the door. “If you continue to see her, I’m going to ruin her life and run her out of town, and it will be all your fault, big boy.”

She waved her fingers out the window as she zoomed away from the complex. Eddie stood in the shadows and watched her go, his eyes going black, considering what she said, and realizing what he had to do as a vast and familiar emptiness grew in his chest.

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The next day, you were playing with the zipper of your hoodie, sitting at the window alcove in the kitchen, holding a pillow at your stomach, thinking about the phone call you just got from Steve.

You didn’t tell Steve you’d lost your job, but word travels fast in these friend circles. Katie must’ve told Robin, and Robin mentioned to Steve that she could get you a job at the hotel, but Steve had a better idea.

They were hiring servers at the Velvet Hammer, and apparently the bartender with the shaved head who met you the night before was also the manager, and she thought you were cute and funny and you already had an “in”. At first, you were ready to politely decline his suggestion to bring a resume by, being that you had only worked a waitress job once right out of high school, but you weren’t sure you qualified as a Velvet Hammer Girl—you didn’t even own a spiked collar.

But then he told you what the girls there made as far as income, and it gave you pause.

“The base is minimum wage,” Steve said. “But they make crazy tips, especially Thursday through Sunday. You could pocket a couple hundred bills in a night, easy.”

Sure, you’d be applying to other galleries, but that process took time. First of all, there weren’t any in the area looking for managers at the moment, but even to get your foot in the door as a receptionist would take a while. It took damn near a month and three different interviews before you got on at Moon River.

You also considered that perhaps this was a sign that the gallery world was no longer for you. Maybe it was time to get a side hustle just to pay bills, and then you could start painting again and get your portfolio up to snuff.

You told Steve how grateful you were for giving you the heads up, and he let you know the best times to bring a resume by. He also told you that the resume was basically just a formality because he had already vouched for you, but a necessity, nonetheless.

With all the drama, you almost forgot that it was Tuesday, and little cartoon hearts swam around your head when you remembered your date night with Eddie. You didn’t know where he was taking you, but he’d mentioned over the phone a few days ago that the place was new and supposedly hip. He told you to dress warm, and he’d pick you up in his Chevelle so you wouldn’t have to worry about clinging to the back of the bike in your dinner attire.

That afternoon, you were sifting through your closet for possible outfits, while simultaneously making a pile to donate to Goodwill, when the phone rang: it was Eddie.

Right away, you could tell that his tone was different; his words came out forced, like you were the last person he wanted to be talking to. You shook it off as him being distracted at work, because you could hear the other mechanics shouting in the background around the noise of electric drills and loud music.

Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut at the sound of your voice: the purpose for this phone call went against every fiber of his being. He’d been trying to convince himself that you weren’t special to him all day, but so far, it wasn’t working.

“Hey,” he stiffened, trying not to melt into a stupid grin at the way you said his name. “Something came up, and I have to cancel our thing tonight. Sorry.”

He wasn’t ready to let you go altogether, which was selfish, but he’d take it one day at a time until he could figure out a way to keep you. He had no way of knowing how much Charlene knew. He wouldn’t put it passed her to have a private investigator watching his ass 24/7. Even worse, she could’ve hired someone to watch you, and that kept him up at night.

Your heart sank, but you also understood how busy and complex his life was. “Oh, sure, Batman rides again, I get it,” you gave a little laugh, hoping to relieve any worries he had about having to cancel. You knew him well enough to know that he was a man of his word, and bailing on the date was probably the last thing he wanted to do. If only you knew the half of his anguish.

Eddie offered no retort, there was none of the flirtatious banter the two of you usually shared so effortlessly. He just cleared his throat, “anyway, that’s why I called. I have to run, talk to you later.”

You were just in the middle of saying something back when the line went to dial tone; your mouth hung open as you pulled the receiver away from your face to look at it, stunned. You blinked, turning to your cat Charlie who was stretched out on top of a pile of clean shirts on your bed. “Did he just hang up on us?” But Charlie only yawned in response.

Eddie did not, in fact, have anywhere to run to. He clicked the phone down and put his face in his dirty hands at the desk, hating himself.

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Since your date got canceled, for whatever nefarious or benign reason, you decided to hike your resume over to the Velvet Hammer and introduce yourself properly to Shana, the manager with the shaved head and the fierce green eyes. She had clusters of black stars tattooed at her temples, and an anatomical heart tattoo on her bicep, right at her sleeve.

She basically hired you on the spot, but said they needed to give you a trial run for a night to shadow one of the girls to see if you could keep up the pace. She asked you to come in early for training on Thursday, and then you could start that same night if you were available. Paychecks came out every two weeks, but you’d be able to take home all of your cash tips immediately.

So, you had a job. A temporary one, to be sure, but still deeply appreciated, all the same. As much as it took a weight off of your shoulders, it also felt incredibly surreal. Also, you couldn’t help but wonder what Eddie would think.

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“Steve did what?” Eddie barked at Robin who was standing in the doorway to the office, dropping off Oliver for an hour on Wednesday. He hadn’t meant for his tone to be so gruff.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. “She needed a job while she applied at other galleries, and he got her one. I thought you’d be grateful.”

He would be grateful, maybe later, when he was done seeing red with jealousy over all of the guys, he knew who would be hitting on you at that place. What if they tried to touch you? He couldn’t even think about it, he was about to pick the desk up and throw it across the room.

Robin snorted a laugh, watching him get so flustered, he dropped the same pen three times. “Dang, you really have it bad for this one, don’t you bubba?”

It occurred to him that he should talk to Robin about what was going on, about Charlene and the threats. She had always been a solid friend who afforded him years of good advice, but there was a part of him that didn’t want to get anyone else involved. It was his mess, and he needed to clean it up, if he even could.

That night, he sat in the chair by the window in his apartment with the TV on but the volume off, listening to I Stay Away by Alice in Chains, watching the phone as it rang, forcing himself not to pick it up. It was day 2 of trying to avoid you and pull away, and he was failing miserably at being cool about it. He had to say something to you, he couldn’t just make you suffer and not know what the fuck was going on in his head; that wasn’t fair to you. But then again, none of this was. It was official, he had inadvertently dragged you down into his filth.

He turned Charlene’s words over in his head, recalling the sincerity in her face as she said them, wondering how far she would take this. He’d seen her dirty deeds in action, he knew she was formidable.

The black phone under the singular light from the lamp on his nightstand started ringing again, but it cut off halfway through, as if the person calling had changed their minds or given up. As he sat there, he remembered how you rode his thigh the other night, the whimpers coming out of your mouth, and he had to palm his growing cock over his boxers. It was disturbing how bad he wanted you.

“Fuck it,” Eddie cursed, getting to his feet so that he could go over to the phone and call you.

But, just as he picked it up to dial, it was just about to ring, and there was someone on the other line.

“Eddie? Lover?” It was Erika. “You interested in a quickie to help you sleep? I drove by and saw your light on.”

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After trying to call Eddie for the third—and decidedly final—time that night, you went out and flopped on the opposite end of the couch from Katie who was watching an episode of the show 3rd Rock from the Sun with a green beauty mask on her face.

“Still nothing?” She asked, peeling back a piece of string cheese. She knew you’d tried a couple times that night to get a hold of Eddie, and that he had canceled mysteriously on your date the night before.

“I know he’s got a lot on his plate,” you got comfortable, snuggling into the corner, ready to defend him even to yourself. “I just wish there was a way for him to let me know he’s okay. Send me an email or something. A few words, that’s all I ask.”

Your gut was telling you that something was definitely wrong, but, to be fair, you’d had your heart dragged through the mud before, and you worried that your gut was not a reliable source. You weren’t upset about the date being canceled, you didn’t even need to see him—even though that would be great----good communication was really all you asked for or needed. Your brain kept going back to the way he had been with you on Monday versus how he was with you on the phone yesterday; the two experiences were night and day. Had something happened between the time he dropped you off and the next afternoon? You checked with Robin, and you knew that Wayne was back on his feet. Maybe there had been some sticky Coffin King business that Eddie wasn’t at liberty to speak about.

You also tried to keep in mind that this whole little romance was as new as a spring daffodil, and even though you’d had a crush on him for over a month, you hadn’t progressed beyond kissing and heavy petting. Was there a chance you were reading the signals all wrong and he wasn’t as interesting in you as you thought?

Katie seemed to subliminally hear that question and answered you. “I wouldn’t worry about it, babes, the guy is nuts about you,” she turned to you and ate the rest of her cheese while there was a commercial on. “Robin said she hasn’t seen him this interested in a woman in years, and she’s known him since high school.”

“What else did Robin say?” This was helping you; this is what you needed. Why hadn’t she offered this information earlier?

She put two fingers to her mask to tap a few times, checking how tacky it felt, to know if she should wash it off yet or not. “She said that he got pretty jealous when she mentioned that you got the job at Velvet Hammer, and normally he doesn’t care what other women he’s dating do when they’re not with him.”

The silly truth was that, if Eddie told you he didn’t feel comfortable with you working there, you would’ve probably looked for something else. But, deciding to say nothing and be a ghost in the wind was not the right play to get what he wanted.

“I’m sure he’s just busy,” you announced, nodding to accentuate your point. “I’ll wait a day or two before I start freaking out.”

Katie gave you a thumbs up.

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Eddie told Erika not to call him again and practically hung up on her. It had been a while since they’d last hooked up, and if not for the incident with you at Fight Night, he would’ve all but forgotten about her.

Not twenty minutes later, shirtless in his boxers, he heard footsteps padding up the stairs to the floor of his apartment. This was particularly disturbing because it was late, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He pulled his handgun out of its holster on the dresser and waited with it held low, standing just behind the door as the footsteps got closer.

“Who is it?” Eddie barked.

After a second of pregnant silence came the meek, “hi, it’s me. Erika.”

“Fuck my life,” Eddie hissed under his breath, holding the gun back and putting the safety on as he reached over to unlock the door and yank it open.

“I thought I just told you not to call or come over,” Eddie said, addressing her with raised eyebrows, just as he realized too late that he should’ve put a shirt on.

Erika was in a silver crop top and a pair of low-rise jeans, a pink heart dangling from her exposed belly button piercing. She was making a face and prancing back and forth a bit on each foot. “Can I please use your bathroom?”

Eddie blinked a few times, and then he scowled. “You came all the way over here in the middle of the night to use my bathroom?”

“No silly,” she giggled. “I came to see you. And to see if I left a pair of my earrings here the last time I came over.”

Eddie shook his head, slipping the gun back into its holster on his dresser with a sigh, and then shutting it in the top drawer. “I don’t have your earrings but go ahead. You know where it is.” What was he supposed to do? Make her pee out in the hallway?

He waited by the front door, standing holding it open, until he heard a flush, and then her high heels came clip-clopping back down the hall.

He pushed the door open further, holding his arm up high like an arch, making space so she could walk through. “Have a good night,” he said without meeting her eyes.

But she latched onto his chest, throwing herself against him, her lips grazing his neck, tongue lapping up to lick his earlobe. Eddie pushed her of reflexively but caught her so that she didn’t trip and fall, and now they were out in the main hallway that led to the stairs.

In perfect view of a large, street-facing window.

She was pouting, but he had her by both arms now, and he shook her a little, just enough to get her attention. “I don’t want this anymore,” his eyes were wide, searching hers. “Nod if you understand.”

But then she jutted her head forward, her lips making contact with his, her tongue flicking out dramatically.

“Fuck, STOP!” He growled pushing her away enough so that he could wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

“But,” she gave him a coy look, adjusting her shirt. “I was thinking just one last time?”

She stole a quick side glance out the big window, but he didn’t catch it.

He composed himself, trying to imagine if he had a sister, how he’d want them to be treated in this moment, no matter how demented they were.

He took her hand in one of his and covered it with the other. “You’re a sweet girl, Erika. Go find a loyal, normal guy to care about you the way you deserve, okay? I’m not the one.”

He noticed a shift in her then, a sadness passed over her eyes; regret, maybe? Whatever it was, her appetite for him ceased and she seemed to curl into an invisible shell, shoulders sagging. She tugged her hand from his and tucked her chin, stepped forward only to hug his shoulder briefly as she went by.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” she said softly, pulling back to give him one last tortured look over her shoulder before she continued toward the stairs. “Please forgive me.”

Eddie stood there like a statue, hair hanging down his shoulders, hands paused in the air, wondering why the hell that had been so weird. Sure, Erika was a wild card, but showing up to use the bathroom, and then awkwardly trying to feel him up in the hallway, only to look like she was about to cry? It didn’t make any sense.

He followed a way behind her, and then made sure to put the bolt on the main door in the garage so that he wouldn’t have any more uninvited creeping visitors.

-----------

In the building across the street from Munson’s Garage, with a perfect view of the hallway outside of Eddie’s apartment, a man with a telephoto lens was taking pictures. Snapping what sounded like a billion at a time in the darkness of the abandoned warehouse. Click click click click click.

He was finishing up, packing his camera into its case, when Erika appeared reluctantly at the top of the stairs, her expression sullen.

“Here you go, dollface,” the much older, potbellied man said to her, pinching a wad of cash between his middle and index fingers and extending it to her. “You did real good.”

Erika swallowed as she took the money, her hands cold and shaking. Sure, she was upset that Eddie didn’t like her as much as she liked him, and she hated that new girl he was talking to, but she didn’t want to see anything bad happen to him.

“I don’t like this,” she told the photographer. “I wish I’d never agreed to do it.”

“Well,” the guy said, adjusting his fedora on his head as he put the strap of his bag over his shoulder, already out of breath from the mild exertion. “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, sweetheart, but no one gives a shit.”

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Part 8

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P.S. for some reason, half of these aren't tagging the people they are meant for, so I'm sorry if you find this and it seems like I didn't tag you 💗 I'm grateful for each of you.

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