by Voss, Deja
In cases like those, I just went to collect because it felt good. Beating people halfway to death, scaring people, making them hurt like I hurt… it at least gave me a temporary sense of purpose. She doesn’t need to know that about me.
She slides the notebook back to me.
“You have to tell me. Why’d you get fired?” I ask.
She’s trying to hide her blushing face behind her hands and it’s borderline cute. Cute like she is, the things she does, the things she says, the way she looks; she’s cute but with just enough scary in her to be considerably attractive to me. In another life, obviously.
“I shot my partner,” she says.
My jaw drops. “Like, on purpose?”
“Like, in the dick. With a beanbag gun. In front of a bunch of new recruits.” She cringes as she recounts the story to me, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a good honest laugh coming on.
“Did he live?” I tease.
“I’m sure he probably wished he was dead for a while.”
“Well isn’t this sweet,” Josie says, breezing into the kitchen. She heads straight for the fridge. I don’t know much about teenage girls in the sense of taking care of them, but she goes through a shit ton of food. I don’t care. She was obviously malnourished when I took her; I just am having a hell of a time keeping up.
She kisses her sister on the forehead and dumps most of a box of cereal into a giant bowl, emptying a carton of milk in the process.
“What?” she stammers, as Helena stares at her, wide-eyed. “You want some too?”
“I have some things I need to do in town today. Make me a grocery list,” she says to me. “I don’t expect you to house her and feed her.”
“So I get to stay?” Josie asks, shoveling cereal into her mouth.
“I don’t know,” Helena says. “For today. We’ll talk about this later. I have some stuff to figure out.”
“Whatever,” she says, trotting off to the living room and opening up her laptop.
“Can you take me to my car?” Helena asks. “I feel gross, and all my stuff is in there.”
I have to go to the clubhouse anyway. It’s time for Monday Mass. I know my brothers aren’t thrilled with me right now and the direction I’ve been taking the club. I know they’re just playing along because they don’t know how to deal with me in any other way. I keep showing up, though. Keep trying to be an adequate enough president. These guys are the only family I have left, and probably the only people in the world who give a shit about me. I slip the hit list book into my back pocket, slide into my cut, and Helena follows behind me into the garage.
Esther’s mangled motorcycle lays in the corner, riddled with bullet holes.
“Why do you have this?” she asks.
“Who cares?” I growl. “I want it.” She steps back and puts her hands in the air. The way she’s glaring at me is almost a challenge, and I wonder for a second what that guy did to get himself shot in the dick, and if maybe I’m not treading in that territory myself.
“No, I mean, why is this not in with the rest of the evidence?”
I shrug and begin to pace back and forth between my bike and my truck. She raises a good point, but at this very moment, I’m struggling with a bigger dilemma. Nobody’s been on my bike since Esther. I need my bike for the day. Maybe this one time wouldn’t hurt? If I start making exceptions for convenience, though, what kind of man am I really? All these little rules I imposed, if I start breaking them, they just push Esther further and further away, and I can’t start doing that now.
Even if it is just Helena Anderson, the quiet girl who sat in the back of class and didn’t pay anyone the time of day.
She’s trying to help you, I think, and the hair on my arms stands up. She’s trying to help Esther. She’s here for a reason, and it’s not to take away the memory of the only woman I ever truly loved.
“You ride?” I ask, opening up the garage door.
“I can,” she says.
This is nothing, I remind myself over and over again as we head down the dirt road, cringing at her touch around my waist, not wanting to admit how good it feels to have a good woman by my side. A good woman? Shit, I don’t even know this girl.
“I’ll be back tonight,” she says. “What do you want for groceries?” For the last year, up until Josie, I’d just been surviving on odds and ends, beer and beef jerky, and whatever Trixie cooked for the boys. She loaded up my fridge when Josie came, but that stock was dwindling fast.
“I don’t care,” I say. “Stuff your sister likes.”
“Ranch dressing and marshmallow cereal it is,” she teases.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to hug her or hand her cash, but I guess that’s been a conundrum I’ve been having with women ever since Esther died. She just smiles and hops in her car, rolling down the window, waiting for me to say something.
“Be careful,” I say. “I know you’re going to talk to Desmond. I don’t trust that fucker. He’s always been off to me.” I know she has a bone to pick with him, but sending her off on her own is setting off alarm bells in my head. I don’t need another woman’s blood on my hands. I made a promise to myself to give Josie a better life than she had before, and her sister turning up dead isn’t part of that equation. “You want me to send one of the guys just in case?”
“What?” She laughs at the suggestion, seemingly amused. God she’s really changed since high school. This woman before me is fearless. “Brooks, I am the last person you have to worry about. Besides, he’s got a boner for me. My feminine wiles will be a lot more useful than beards and brass knuckles.”
I still don’t like it. I’ll send Micah or one of his security guys down after her to keep an eye out. If she’s going to be doing secret missions for the club, she’s going to need protection.
“Fine,” I say. “See you later?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, turning the keys in her Jeep, Stevie Nicks belting out Gold Dust Woman through the speakers, one of Esther’s all-time favorite songs, and I have to just turn and walk away before I punch out the stereo. She turns the radio down and shouts after me. “You want my number or something in case Josie needs something?”
“I’ll know where to find you,” I yell over my shoulder, pacing towards the clubhouse. These little coincidences are killing me. These constant reminders are suffocating me. It’s not Helena’s responsibility to give Esther the dignity to rest in peace that she deserves. It’s mine. Mine and the club. The club who failed to protect her when she needed it the most.
“Go follow that Jeep,” I say to Micah as I slam the door to the boardroom behind me.
“Well hello to you, too, prez.” He rolls his eyes at me, and I know I deserve it.
“Sorry,” I say, taking my seat at the table. Everyone goes silent, pursing their lips, stroking their beards, eyes nervously darting around the room. “I just need a tail on her. She’s going to talk to Desmond, and I don’t trust him.”
“You scared he’s going to cop a feel or something?” Gavin laughs. “Is that why you kidnapped her sister?”
“Fuck you.”
I don’t know how he can even joke about stuff like this. Esther was his sister. Why he’s not feeling the same kind of pain I am burns me up inside. He’s been my best friend my whole life, but lately, I just want to punch his face. He wants me back to ‘normal,’ but he’s going to have to learn to accept this new normal.
“What color?” Micah asks, standing up from the table and grabbing his pistol from the locked box we keep right inside the doorway during church just in case things get heated.
“Red. She’s blonde. Five feet two inches? Give her some space, but don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Will do,” he says, shooting us all a salute before closing the door behind him.
“What’s on the agenda for the day, boss?” Gavin asks. He already knows the answer. I whip the green notebook out of my pocket and open it on the table.
“Five mor
e to go,” I say, looking over the list of debts that need collected.
“Come on, chief,” Clutch, our treasurer, says. “We really don’t need to play this game for five grand. We’re good. We’re flush. There’s better things we can be doing with club resources than chasing around a bunch of low-level scumbags for pocket change.”
“It’s not five grand.” I pound my fist off the wooden table. “It’s a woman who gave her life for this club. Her whole life. Before she even knew any better. These people took from her because she was too kind to say no. She gave her last breath trying to help this club.” I feel the warmth in my face rising, my blood pulsing through that vein in my neck like it’s going to explode. “I don’t know why you’re not all out there pounding the streets every day trying to figure out what the hell happened to her. You sure as hell were quick to take the shit she left you in her will.”
“Don’t be like that,” Goob says, standing up from the table. “She was my sister, too. You don’t think this shit drives me fucking insane? She didn’t want us running around collecting debts for her, or she would’ve told us about it from the beginning. She never did anything without planning out everything down to the most minute detail. We’re looking in the wrong fucking place. If this is what you gotta do to help you sleep at night, by all means, brother, I’m behind you one-hundred percent, but don’t pin this on her. Don’t pin this on us.”
“Miles Ford,” I say, pretending like I didn’t just hear his desperate plea. He made perfect sense, but I don’t want to hear him. I just want to stick to my master plan. My routine. My ‘normal.’ “The junkyard guy.”
“Oh, I like Miles,” Tank whines. “He always hooks me up with parts. Can we just move on to the next one?”
“I’ll go myself,” I say. “If you guys aren’t on board, I don’t need any of you. You’re right, Goob. I can’t pin this shit on you. This is between me and Esther.”
“You know that’s not how this shit works,” Goob says. “We’re a team.”
“We’re just tired of watching you self-destruct, boy. Esther wouldn’t have wanted this, and you know it,” Heat says. “Esther wanted you to be happy. She wanted all of us to be…” I hear the catch in his voice, and I know the old man is having a hard time holding his shit together as much as I am. He knew Esther from the day she was born. He knew exactly what she went through. The old man has always been a father figure to all of us, and I take what he says seriously for the most part. In any other circumstance.
“Better I self-destruct than drag you all to hell with me,” I say with a shrug, standing up from the table. “You guys go play moonshiners or whatever you feel like doing. I’m going to the junkyard.”
I pick my pistol up out of the locked box and slide it into the waistband of my jeans.
“I guess I’m going to the junkyard, too,” Tank says. “But if he has any parts for a 1928 Harley BA, we’re taking those instead of the cash.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s gonna let you take whatever you want,” Goob laughs. “Come on, guys.”
“Five more to go, I guess,” Gavin says. The guys in the room collect their weapons and follow behind me. It feels good knowing my brothers have my back, even though I am fully aware that I’m being completely self-serving. They want to move on and honor Esther’s life. I want to hang out here and wallow in her death.
Either way, we’re going to go fuck shit up.
The roar of our bikes in the parking lot of the clubhouse is loud enough to wake the dead. I hope she can hear us. We’re going to fuck shit up for you, Esther, I think.
“You’re going to fuck shit up for you,” her voice rings through my ears.
Chapter 10
Helena
It doesn’t take long before I realize I’m being followed. I didn’t expect anything less from him. In the time of our short reunion, I can tell Brooks has kind of become a control freak. I guess that’s just what happens when you lose the one thing you want to protect more than anything in the world.
I don’t need his protection, though, as hot as the very thought makes me. I definitely don’t need a man to influence my decisions right now, even though I can’t deny the fact that everything about him makes me hot and bothered in all the wrong places. I wonder why I didn’t just become a club slut. Why I didn’t just accept my small-town life? Why I had to go so far off the rails of my roots and become a cop? Obviously, my decisions didn’t make me happy.
I’m definitely not better off than any of them. Shit, at this phase, I’m worse off.
The white van is riding my ass, and I slam on my brakes about three feet shy of the upcoming stop sign. Whoever it is lays on their horn, and I stick a middle finger out the window. I’ve never had a chaperone in my life. If Desmond is really that messed up, this obvious as fuck surveillance van is just going to make things more difficult on me.
I put the Jeep in park and get out of my car at the stop sign. There’s no cars around, and I walk right up to the white van. The man behind the wheel is a good-looking guy, he kind of reminds me of an older version of Gavin, his black hair sprinkled with salt and pepper gray, and the leather cut with the Mountain Misfits logo reads Micah.
“Dude,” I say. “I know you’re just following orders, but I need to take care of this on my own. This guy I’m going to see is a cop. He’s going to spot you from a mile away in that creeper van and get spooked.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, miss,” he says. “I’m just on my way to the dry cleaner. My suits were all dirty, so I had to wear this old thing.”
“How can you even keep a straight face?” I laugh. “Please, Micah? Park the van somewhere. If you’re really that worried, you can ride along with me. You gotta sit in the back, though. He can’t know you’re with me.”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” he says. “I’m just supposed to be looking out. Just in case.” He parks his van on the side of the road and follows me to my Jeep. I open the door to the backseat and try to shove some of my stuff around to make room for him. “Are you living in this thing or what?”
“I’m in the process of moving,” I say. I laugh as he crams himself in between tote bags and he pulls a pile of clothes still on the hangers over his body, just his head peeking out. “Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m Micah,” he says. “Who are you?”
I can’t even look at this pile of clothing monster. It’s just too ridiculous. I am really flattered that Brooks sent backup, but now I feel like I’m on babysitting duty.
“I’m Helena,” I say. I get back in the driver’s side and continue down the road. I can’t stop stealing looks at him in the rearview mirror, partially because this is kind of fascinating, partially because he really is a hottie, even though he’s wearing my little black dress as a hat.
“You single?” he asks.
“Yeah. Are you?”
“No,” he says, point-blank. This guy really isn’t much of a conversationalist. I wonder what his girlfriend is like. Probably perfect. It seems like every girl who hangs out with these guys sets a standard of wild and free and dark perfection that I can’t wrap my nerdy brain around.
I park on the street in front of Desmond’s house. His parents both passed away years ago, and he had never moved out of their house to begin with, so it was only natural for him to continue living here. It’s a nice little ranch house, but I can tell by the way the weeds are growing up through the bricks in the driveway and the paint chipping on the shutters, he isn’t keeping up with it.
“Stay here,” I warn Micah. “I’m just going to go in here and talk to a friend. You don’t have anything to worry about.” Is that the truth? Kind of? I put on some bright pink lip gloss and spray dry shampoo in my hair, raking my fingers through it. I know I don’t have to go overboard, but I look like a girl who rolled off some biker’s couch and got in her car.
“This looks like serious business,” Micah says, laughing at my shim-sham primping routi
ne. “Is that mascara?”
“No,” I say, slipping the black tube into the pocket of my jeans. “It’s pepper spray.”
I shoot him a wink as I open the car door and jump out. I smooth my t-shirt and shake out my hair one last time, and take a huge gulp of air as I walk up the driveway. His SUV is parked outside of the garage, and by the time I get to the front door I can hear the TV through the open window. I ring the doorbell, scoping out my surroundings in the process.
I can hear his footsteps plodding through the house. I see his fingers separate the cracks in the mini blinds. When he doesn’t immediately come to the door, I ring again.
I ring.
I knock.
I start to get pumped up, remembering why I’m here to begin with. This shady asshole has been lying to me for a year now. He deserves a piece of my mind. Not too much. Enough to leverage a little bit of information out of him, though.
“DESMOND!” I shout. “I know you’re in there! Answer the door before I jump through the window!” I’m not above busting out the screen if I have to.
“I’m coming,” I hear him whine. “Let me put some pants on… shit…”
I can deal with that excuse. Please put some pants on. Maybe even more than one pair. How about a full body snowsuit, even?
The door opens with a creek, and Desmond stands there, a sad frown on his freckled face, looking like a dog who’s about to get beaten. He’s disheveled, his traditional cop mustache looking a little less than tidy, and his face pocked with acne. He used to shave his head. Now, his intensely receding hairline is visible. I hope I haven’t aged as poorly as he did.
“What the fuck, Desmond,” I bark, pushing my way into his house. “Why did you lie to me about Josie? I thought you were my friend!”
“Helena, I can explain,” he says, reaching for my shoulder. He looks so much bigger than the last time I saw him, like he’s been putting in some serious time at the gym, his bicep damn near ripping his t-shirt at the sleeve. Maybe he’s even doing steroids. I don’t want to ask. There’s more important questions I need answers to.
