Defiant

by Ursula Sinclair

  “Everything,” I said to Dachs.

  He looked a bit uneasy but then nodded. “I’ve made mistakes. They won’t happen again. Is he going to have a problem with the fact that I can’t give you the kind of things you are accustomed to? At least, not yet.”

  “Hey, hey, hey. If I wanted a man to give me anything, I would not be working my ass off in college and trying to get an internship to lead to a great job. If I want something, I can damn well buy it myself.”

  “Still…”

  I shook my head. “No stills, ands, ifs, or buts about it. Get that through your thick head.” I squeezed his hand. “You know I’m always right.”

  “I’ll let you keep thinking that.” He chuckled.

  We made good time getting back to the city. When we walked into the restaurant, we were immediately shown to the table where my father was already seated. He was alone, which I was thankful for. I wasn’t sure if Teresa would be joining us and was happy she wasn’t. I wanted this first meeting to just be between us.

  I knew Dachs was nervous by the tight grip he had on my hand under the table, but outwardly it didn’t show. All in all, the first few minutes went well, until after we ordered. Then dad sat back and the grilling began.

  “So, you’re a neo-Nazi?”

  “I was. Not now, though…Sir.”

  My father asked the hard questions but Dachs made no excuses and held his own.

  I knew my dad was somewhat mollified because Dachs was helping to put the bastards in jail.

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” Dad said.

  “Thank you.”

  “We released her ashes today,” I said.

  “Why didn’t you let me know? We could have done this another time.”

  “It’s fine,” Dachs said. “I wanted to meet you. Harper is important to me, and I wanted you to know that.”

  “Good. She’s the most important person in my life.”

  “Dad.” I reached across the table and held his hand, giving it a good squeeze before releasing him. I’d always known that, but it was always nice to hear it.

  Dinner arrived but still my dad peppered Dachs with questions about school, his job, what he expected to do after he was finished, and without pause, Dachs answered everyone.

  I couldn’t be more proud of him. We were just about to order dessert when Dachs’ phone beeped.

  “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” He got up and walked out to the lobby.

  I leaned forward and said to my dad, “Well. Did he pass?”

  My father flinched. “Can he do something about that tattoo? When your stepmother sees that…”

  “You have tattoos,” I reminded him. He had one on his ankle: a rose, my mother’s favorite flower, something Teresa didn’t know and I wasn’t about to tell her, and a Celtic band on his bicep.

  “Well yeah, but neither of mine have anything to do with hate.”

  “Well that HH on his neck happens to stand for Harper Hodges.” That was my story and I was sticking to it.

  My father cracked up.

  “Sorry.”

  I glanced up as Dachs slid back into the seat next to mine.

  “That was Donald. They have Bruno in custody, and he wants me down at the police station first thing tomorrow.”

  33

  Dachs

  I arrived at the police station lobby earlier than I’d intended. My lawyer hadn’t arrived yet and I paced the small area, an uncomfortable feeling slithering down my spine. My gut roiled. I learned a long time ago to listen to my body, something was about to happen I just wasn’t sure what. Time slowed and the ticks of the clock above an interior door felt way too long.

  That door opened and a detective, the old black guy, slipped through the opening. What was his name? I racked my brain for the answer and realized I didn’t know it. The last time we clashed I was too busy trying to clear my name to worry about his. I guess he could read the look on my face. The cop didn’t offer his hand, but he did utter his name.

  “I’m Detective Benson.” He pushed the barrier wider. “There are a few questions that need clearing up. We can do that at my desk.”

  I followed, cautiously. My trust for the authorities was still questionable and my lawyer wasn’t there to back me up. Our footfalls echoed through the empty hallway. I glanced around, watching the closed doors as we passed them. Behind one of them was Bruno’s punk ass. I didn’t care how long it would take but once I settled up with Bruno, I might be able to put the situation behind me. Beating his ass to a bloody pulp would go a long way to making me feel better. If I could get to the Prof, I would gladly do the time I was given to beat his ass again too.

  At the intersection where one passageway met the one I traveled; officers accompanied another man. I peered at the person as he passed me. A cuffed Bruno. I did pride myself on a fair fight. It just wasn’t going to happen today. I balled my hand into a fist at my side. The smirk on Bruno’s face when he gazed over at me. Our stares locked and the fucker blew me a kiss. Yeah, there was nothing, and no one that would stop me from whooping his ass. In the enclosed passage it wasn’t hard to break past the policemen flanking him. My fist connected with his ribs in a solid blow. Caught off guard, Bruno reeled back and slammed into the wall. He swung his arms up and I dodged the blow, retaliating with a knee to his ribcage. Bruno tried to block my punches, bending his arms in front of him to protect his upper body and face. Cops yelled around us then blessed silence.

  “Not today, you son of a bitch.” I growled and plowed my fist into his gut. “My mother, you fucking bastard. My mother!” Words fell from my lips like lodestones.

  His grunts, painful sounding wails, eclipsed my sentences. The only sounds came from us.

  Squeaks from someone’s shoes on the linoleum, flesh pounding into flesh no one was stopping me. I owed the sadistic bastard for Harper, for my mom, for me.

  I rammed a knee into his thigh and the asshole’s leg buckled. That was the only window I needed. In steel toe work boots, I jammed my foot into anywhere on his body I could reach. Bruno sank lower to the floor, and I gave less than a fuck where my kicks landed. He shifted to all fours and moved to crawl.

  “Where the hell you going?” I slammed my boot into his cheek.

  His head twisted and blood flew from his mouth to splatter the wall. It wasn’t enough. I needed more retribution. I aimed for his head again. He rose up on his knees and covered his face with his arms.

  “No!” Bruno cried out. “Stop!”

  In our organization taking a punch or a kick was a necessity. How many times had we jumped in boys so much younger than us that didn’t utter a sound, and this punk ass bitch was begging? Did my mom get a chance to ask for her life? I lowered my foot and crouched down to meet him eye to eye. Tears rolled down his cheeks. A rivulet of blood trickled from the corner of his lip. My heart pounded in my chest. Sweat dotted my face. I cocked my head and stared at him. In truth, I was no better than the bastard before me; I was as dirty as he was—dirtier because I couldn’t even claim I was a psychopath. I took no joy in what I did over the years, I simply thought it was the right thing to do. Keep the races separate. I lost so many years believing the bullshit. I exhaled and rose up then I threw my head back and screamed, pouring out all the anguish of my time lost. And, just as suddenly, I stopped.

  I was tapped on the shoulder, and I glanced back to see Benson standing behind me.

  “You finished?” The old man gazed at me without blinking. “Got it all out?”

  What could I say? Whooping Bruno’s ass would never be enough, but it was a good start. “Yeah.” I snorted.

  “Good. You are under arrest.” Benson held up a pair of cuffs.

  It wasn’t lost on me that I was given time to beat Bruno’s ass. I guess I had the old, black detective to thank for that. Harper was going to be pissed, and my lawyer, well, I just added to his caseload.

  I held my arms together behind my back. “Thank you.” I muttered.

 
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for the nice woman that by all accounts did not deserve what she suffered.” Benson continued reading me my Miranda rights. He chuckled “And, I get to throw your ass in jail for a bit.” He yanked me back.

  “Aren’t I the lucky one,” I countered dryly, shuffling my feet.”

  Cops squeezed past me and helped Bruno up. The fucker slumped between the policemen and was walked/dragged away from me down the hall. I took a step forward, my anger still palatable.

  “Don’t make me pepper spray you,” Benson sighed. “For a minute there, you were kinda growing on me.”

  “You say the nicest things.” I meant it. Benson was growing on me too.

  “Guess we are never too late to learn a little something.” He swung me around and walked me in the opposite direction of where Bruno was taken. “No use looking back. That boy on his way to infirmary. I do believe you broke some of his ribs.” He paused. “Now I got to figure out how to write this bullshit up.”

  “Blame it on the steel toe boots. A lot of damage in a little time.” I was trying to help him out by tossing out excuses.

  “I just might do that.” Our conversation ended when I was handed over to an officer to be placed in a holding cell.

  The cell was blessedly empty, and I cried like a baby, for all that I lost. Still, I knew what I was doing when I did it, and I would accept the consequences for my actions. The burn building in my chest was my repentance.

  Epilogue

  The stadium was filled to capacity. No matter what direction I looked there was a sea of faces all staring down at the stage. They were all different colors. It took some getting used to, reminding myself that one race was no better than the other. I sat between my dad and Harper’s dad and beside him, his wife. Her dad made light conversation in generalities. I knew I still made him a little uncomfortable, but it was a start. My father would lean across me easily chatting with Harper’s pops. Her stepmother flat out refused to talk to me and would instead offer sly, curious glances my way whenever we were together. It would be so much easier if the woman would just ask her questions. I had no problem giving her an honest answer. Instead, she would just roll her eyes in my direction. It wasn’t my first time dealing with ignorant people. It was more important to keep the peace. Harper and I, we had plans. I received my certification, and with her getting her degree, we decided to start fresh. She wanted to move to New York, and I wanted to move to Chicago. We flipped a coin. I won. In a few weeks we would make the move. We both already had job offers.

  I gazed down at the floor, searching for Harper. It was impossible to recognize her amongst the yards of black fabric and square caps.

  Her father leaned over, bumping my shoulder. “I haven’t heard anything else. Have the court dates been set?”

  It was almost impossible to hear him over the din of chatter going on around us. I twisted in my seat to face him. “Sorry, I missed what you said.” I glanced past him to find his wife tinkering with her cell. Yet, she leaned in our direction.

  “I asked how your case was going. I heard there was a small issue, then nothing.”

  I smiled at her dad. “It was nothing serious and easily handled. I completed my community service. Now, we are just waiting for the dates for Bruno and Dwight.” I spoke up to be heard. I might have to do quite a bit of commuting to attend the trials, but that would just give me another excuse to stay with my dad, especially, since he decided to reopen the pierogi shop and run it by himself. I understood where my father was coming from. The most time he’d spent with my mother was in that shop they built together. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to leave it.

  Overhead lights dimmed and spotlights illuminated the stage. The din of chatter quieted. Educators were announced and marched up, taking their seats while the orator claimed a spot behind the podium. Images replaced the blue screen over the stage.

  “My little girl is graduating.” Harper’s father stared ahead, a bright grin on his face. He nodded. Pride rolled off of him in waves.

  Introductions were made, and names were called. Screams from different parts of the arena could be heard as each student walked across the stage, then accepted the documents being thrust into their hands. When Harper’s turn came, I stood, stomped and yelled. My dad patted my arm. I was drawing attention to myself and gave less than a damn. Harper was my woman, and I would do whatever was needed to support her. We had a long road ahead of us but I believed—truly believed—together there would be nothing we couldn’t accomplish.

  I left my seat, pushing past the throngs of people who’d been seated alongside me. Bumping knees, tossing out ‘sorry’ as I moved. In that instant I wanted to see Harper and not on the mega screen hung over the stage. I needed to touch, to speak to her. Tell her for the millionth time how proud I was of her. I ran to the narrow stairway, rushing to get to the main floor. Crowds filled the doorways, and I shoved my way through them. Moving past each section, inching closer to the stage, searching for Harper. Did I miss her? Had she returned to her seat? I caught sight of her laughing with friends. She took their hands and gave gentle shakes before moving away from them. I moved parallel to her, catching her at the end of a row.

  She gazed up at me through wide eyes, and I caught her up in my arms, lifting her above me. “I love you,” I uttered against her cheek.

  Harper shook her head and motioned toward her ears, the envelope in her hand brushing her face.

  I lowered her, sliding her body against mine. I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I. Love. You.”

  She reared back and gazed into my eyes. Hers were bright with unshed tears, yet a beaming smile graced her features. Harper dropped the envelope, clutched my face between her palms, and pressed her mouth against mine.

  I felt her lips as they moved, her breath blowing into my mouth as she spoke. “I love you too.”

  This woman belonged with me. No matter the circumstances I truly believed together, there was nothing we couldn’t withstand.

  The End

  Thanks for reading!

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at

  Quiet Strength

  Serena & Gage’s story

  Coming Soon

  Chapter 1

  Serena

  I’d known the parade in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King might have gotten rowdy, especially the counter one in protest of his work. I’d anticipated yelling, screaming, maybe a few fights even. The cops were positioned all along the street, the roads had been blocked off with police vehicles, and I even saw a tank, so no cars could crash into the crowds. But I never anticipated frigging bombs.

  The White Nationalist Party, the fucktards, had hosted a counter parade a couple blocks over from the city sponsored parade in honor of Dr. King. So much for a peaceful march my ass, those people tossed Molotov Cocktails into the crowd lining the sidewalk to ‘boo’ them. As I stood on the sidewalk with my friends, an explosion, then another right after, rocked around us. One of those things went off not far from where I stood with my friends. Then all hell broke loose.

  I was thankful I wasn’t in the direct path of it, none of us were. Yet debris flew everywhere and a piece managed to clip my head and it was lights out for me. Of the five of us, I was the only one just close enough to get knocked out. When I came too again, I was in the hospital and my best friends, Harper and James were hovering around me. He had a white bandage wrapped around his left hand.

  “Wha…what happened?” I asked Harper as I raised my hand to my head. I could feel a bandage just over my right eye.

  “A part of a sign or something hit you on the head. Do you remember the parade?”

  “Yeah, the explosions. Then something hit me.”

  “There’s a bandage over your eye; you have a cut there hopefully it won’t scar, but it’s right on your eyebrow. Even if it scars you can always fill it in,” Harper told me and squeezed my hand.

  “Wow, I only remember getting hit in the head then nothing til now.�
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  “At first, we thought it was your eye, because of all the blood, but it’s not,” James added.

  “Thank God,” I said.

  “You also have a few cuts from the glass on your neck but nothing serious; they shouldn’t scar either,” Harper added.

  I touched my neck, happy to hear that. I glanced at James’ hand. “What happened to your hand?”

  James held up his hand for me to see. “Nothing too serious; it’s a good thing it’s my left hand though since I’m right-handed. I got a few cuts from the glass blasting onto the sidewalk. I’d raised my hands to protect myself. I hadn’t even realized they were cut up until we got to the hospital.”

  Before I could ask any more questions another person entered the room.

  “Good, you’re awake. I’m Dr Malberry. How are you feeling?”

  A man in a white coat came over to the bed and Harper stepped aside.

  “Like, I have a headache,” I told him.

  “No surprise. Give us a moment, and let me get a look at your friend,” the doctor told Harper and James.

  My friends stepped out of the room as the doctor examined me. Apparently, they’d already taken me to do a CAT scan, and it was all good. Thank Christ it looked like I just suffered a mild concussion and had a cut over my eye that only needed one of those dissolvable stitches.

  After the doctor let Harper and James back, the first thing Harper said was, “Your parents are on their way. They’ll be here shortly.”