by Bourne, Lena
And then he came back and made it all go away. Made it like I never felt any of those bad things.
Now he’s gone again and not answering my calls, not keeping his promise that he’ll call often. I did text him back after my call went unanswered and unreturned, told him to have a safe ride and call me in the morning. That was before the bleak and black thoughts really got me, when I could still convince myself I was overreacting.
I might be overreacting, but thinking that doesn’t change how I feel. Abandoned, forgotten, cast aside. Left behind.
Can I handle that again?
The part of my mind that didn’t want anything to do with him when he came back is shouting, “No!” in answer to that, chanting it.
I can’t handle that pain again.
I can’t face losing him again.
I can’t.
And the only way to prevent that—the only part of it that I control—is not staying with him. If I leave him then he can never hurt me again by doing it to me.
I don’t want to think it. I don’t want to imagine it. Don’t want to know that it’s a sensible solution to preventing my heartache. Don’t want to think I’m in for a lot of heartache even if I’m the one breaking up with him.
I love him with everything I am. Always have, always will. Losing him once was bad, it was bad enough, I do not want or need a repeat.
Dawn’s not far off when sleep finally starts winning over my racing thoughts.
He’ll call me soon. He’ll call and chase all the bad feelings away like only he can. Then I’ll feel like a fool thinking all this, thinking of breaking up with him, thinking I can’t handle it all and losing sleep over it.
This is the price of our forever, and I can pay it, no matter how high it gets.
15
Ink
I rode fast, trying not to think much, but didn’t really succeed. What ifs by the bucket kept running through my mind.
What if my uncle hurts Julie? What if more guys from the MC get killed? What if Cross kills deserters and I’m riding to my death? What if he forbids me to return to Julie? What if he refuses to help me in my fight against the Sinners and Julie’s father? What if I never see Julie again?
All the things I feared while embarking down this path are getting amplified by the rhythmic vibrations of the bike and the darkness, and I can’t outrun them no matter how fast I go.
The end result is that I arrive back to the clubhouse in Pleasantville just after three AM, much too early to go see Cross. By then, my mind’s a mess of thoughts I can no longer even unravel, much less face. They’re causing a general feeling of anxiety and a very bitter taste in my mouth that I can’t shake.
The clubhouse is dark and quiet, the back door unlocked. My footsteps make the wooden stairs and floors creak like I’m in a horror movie as I approach my bedroom, a tiny room with a tiny window, but with a surprisingly OK bed.
I’ll sleep it off. In the morning everything will be back on track again.
I set the alarm on my phone for 8 AM, then read Julie’s text, which she sent after calling me twice. Two unanswered calls and a text is very needy of her. But I’ll make it up to her as soon as I have some good news to tell her. And even if I have no good news, I’ll be with her very soon. I’ll give her back the engagement ring she threw at me when I first broke up with her. I should’ve done that before I left last night, but my mind was too full of all the ways this trip could go wrong then. It was another mistake. If she had the ring, she wouldn’t be blowing up my phone out of fear that I’ll never call again.
I’ll call her before I go to Sanctuary tomorrow morning. I’ll also make up for all the mistakes I’ve made. I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life making up for them.
After I make all those promises, which I’ll repeat to her on the phone tomorrow, I finally fall asleep, knowing I’ll have plenty of time to keep them as soon as I get back to her.
* * *
What I think is the alarm clock wakes me, but it’s actually a call from Julie. It’s barely past seven AM and three hours of sleep might be enough for other men, but not for me. She gasps in shock as I answer the phone gruffly.
“Is it too early? I wanted to talk to you,” she says in a near stutter. “I wanted to hear your voice.”
I clear my throat before saying, “Sorry, I only slept for a couple of hours, but it’s good to hear your voice too. Always.”
My tone doesn’t match what my words are conveying, but I mean everything I said, I mean it one hundred percent. Maybe I should tell her that. I remember every single thing I thought about yesterday, about how I’m gonna make it up to her, apologize for being distant, ask her to be my wife, swear I’ll never be the ass that leaves her ever again. But words are failing me right now. It’s too early, and there’s too much I have to face today.
“Did you speak to your MC president yet?” she asks.
“Nope, not yet,” I say. “I’m heading there soon though.”
She says something, but I don’t hear more than the first couple of words before the door to my bedroom opens and slams against the wall.
“There you are,” Brick—a guy I’ve only spoken to a couple of times since joining the Devils—snarls. “I thought I heard your voice.”
Are all MC guys named Brick assholes? The one from my uncle’s MC certainly is and this one doesn’t seem much friendlier.
“Cross wants to see you,” Brick says, just as Julie says, “What’s going on?” or maybe, “What’s wrong?”
Either way, I tell her, “Everything’s fine. I’ll talk to you later, Julie,” and hang up before she can say anything else.
I have a bad feeling about this early morning visit from Brick. A very bad feeling.
“I was just heading up the hill to see Cross,” I tell him.
“Yeah, you are,” Brick says. “We’re taking you.”
The “we” he’s talking about are obviously him and the two large shadows standing in the dark hallway just outside the door.
“Alright, let’s go then,” I say and stand up, looking for my cut. It’s the only piece of clothing I took off before lying down to sleep last night, which is a good thing, since standing here in my boxers in front of this guy and having to get dressed under his glare would be embarrassing to say the least.
“You can leave that,” he says as I pick up my cut. That pisses me off. I earned the cut the same as him. A little hiccup by way of not staying put after the President says we all must, shouldn’t be enough to get stripped of my cut. Besides, Cross is the only one who should be able to strip me of it. But I don’t think Brick’s gonna let it go if I fight him on it now.
“And I’ll take your phone,” he says and extends his meaty palm for me to hand it to him. Another thing that has little hope for success if I fight him on it.
I shrug, hand my phone over, and walk past him into the hall. “Alright, I guess I’m all set then. Let’s go.”
The other two guys in the hallway grunt in unison and follow me as I start walking towards the stairs. I don’t know their names, and I’m hoping my escort is just three overzealous nobodies trying to find favor with the Prez by bringing me to him. But even if that’s the case, it means Cross was actively looking for me this whole time and that doesn’t bode well for me, not well at all.
They lead me to a white truck where Brick holds open the back door for me. “Get in.”
“I’m starting to feel like a prisoner over here,” I say once we’re all inside.
“You always struck me as a guy with too many feelings,” Brick says and they all laugh like he just told the best joke in the world.
It’s best I shut up for now, but I rarely do what’s best. It’s like a personal flaw I can never get the better of.
“So, is Hawk gonna be up at Sanctuary? Or Doc?” I ask.
They exchange a glance that suggests they’re checking with each other if it’s time to make me stop speaking.
“That’s enough talking now,” Brick
finally says, and this time I manage to actually do it.
I focus on the world outside the windows of our speeding truck. The town soon gives way to the green of the hill atop which Sanctuary stands. I’m trying not to think about how this could be my last ride—not just to Sanctuary, but in general. If it is, I’d prefer to be riding my bike, that much I know for sure.
But maybe not all is lost yet. Doc or Hawk will be there, and one of them, if not both, might actually speak up for me. Though on the whole, the only thing I’m really wishing for is that I said a better goodbye to Julie. Or that I never left her at all.
* * *
Julie
One more conversation cut short by whatever the hell he’s really thinking and not telling me. Another conversation that’s going to make my hands stiff, my heart race and tears gather just behind my eyes every time I think about it. Which will be all damn day, given how abruptly he ended it. I spent months in that state when he left me the first time around. Months unable to eat or sleep, or do anything, but think about him and miss him.
And now I don’t even have anyone to confide in. I drove away most of my friends, because my pain over him leaving me was the only thing I could talk about for months. Even the ones who stayed don’t want to listen to me talk about Ink ever again. They’ll certainly not want to listen to me talk about how he came back and how easily I took him back, only to get left again.
It’s already two PM and I don’t know where the morning or the start of the afternoon went. It just dissolved in this nightmare of him leaving me that seems to be happening again.
I called him five more times, and each time it just rang and rang, before it disconnected on it’s own. There was no call back. No text. Nothing. As though I don’t even have the right number anymore.
It was the same the first time around. Ringing and ringing and no call back, until one day it wouldn’t even ring anymore and the robotic voice told me the number has been disconnected.
That’s what’s going to happen now, I know it. I don’t want to know it. I want to stop thinking this way, but I can’t chase the fear away, no matter how hard I try. And what’s worse, the harder I try, the clearer the truth of it all seems. He barely made time to make love to me before he left, I had to initiate it, and he broke his promise to call me often the moment he was out the door. He was short with me when he finally did answer the phone, but now he’s not even picking up anymore. All that could only mean one thing. He’s left me again. The only difference is that this time he avoided all the drama by not telling me about it straight up. It has to be that. It’s the only logical thing to think. Right? I so very much hope I’m wrong.
I can’t face losing him again.
I can’t face the fear that something happened to him. I can’t face the thought of him not caring enough about me to at least call and see if I’m alright.
I’m not alright, just as I wasn’t the first time he left me behind in this town we were supposed to escape together.
I do fear it, but the chance that something happened to him is small. If he believed he was in danger, he wouldn’t go back there so willingly.
I’ll give him today. I’ll give him tomorrow and maybe the day after.
But then I’m moving on with my life.
I have to. Or else I’ll go mad.
16
Ink
The ride took about ten minutes, and ended at the finish of the gravel road that leads to the big house where Cross and the important members of the MC live.
None of them are in sight as we get out of the car. I start for the double-sided oak doors that lead into Sanctuary, but Brick pulls me back by my arm.
“That’s not where we’re going,” he says and starts pulling me in the direction of the large barn that’s been converted into a garage. There’s other rooms in there, soundproof rooms, rooms where people are last seen alive. There’s rooms like that at the clubhouse in town too, but these are more private. They’re where Cross does his most secret shit in peace and quiet, and out of sight and earshot of the women that also live in the big house.
I’ve heard stories about the endless partying that used to go on at Sanctuary and surrounding gardens back in the day, when this was the only clubhouse and HQ of Devil’s Nightmare MC. That was before Cross’ daughter came to live with him, and he settled down with Roxie. He built the clubhouse in town then and moved everyone but a select few down there. The way some guys tell it—mostly Tank—this place was nothing short of the Garden of Eden, if that magical place was dirty and debauched. I only ever had the real hots for Julie where women are concerned, but I bet it was still something.
A couple of the guys who were working in the garage have stepped out and are eying me with interest that’s more than just perfunctory as we approach, wiping their greasy hands on already dirty rags. Brick is still holding my arm and it’s getting annoying. But that’s answers, not questions in the onlookers’ eyes, and that’s pretty much all I can focus on. They all know why I was brought here, and why I’m now getting escorted into the building like a prisoner. They also seem to all think I’m guilty of whatever is the reason I’m being treated like this. Of what, I don’t know. But being guilty of anything is ominous enough around here, especially when you’re headed for the secret cells behind the garage.
We reach the back rooms and it’s wonderfully cool in here, but dark and gloomy as fuck.
“Sit,” Brick says, shoving me in the direction of the wooden chair that’s the only piece of furniture in the room.
“When’s Cross coming?” I ask.
“Just sit and wait,” Brick says and exits the room, slamming the door behind him. A split second later, I hear the metal bar slide shut on the other side.
I am a prisoner here. The thought hits me with force that leaves no doubt in its trace. What the fuck did I get myself into? Panic is threatening to rise in my chest, but I will it away. It’s too early to panic. This could be just Cross teaching me a hard lesson for disobeying, because I still doubt he inflicts serious violence on guys who disappear for a couple of days. Besides, there’s no chains on the chair and no torture instruments in this room, so it’s clearly not the worst of these cells. Though it does smell of old blood and sweat and sour fear, and that’s never a good sign.
Maybe it’s a good thing I never got around to giving Julie the ring back. Maybe that’ll make it easier for her to forget me when I disappear again.
* * *
The door quickly opens again, so I don’t get a lot of time to stew in that sad fucking thought of never seeing Julie again. Good. The first time around was already too much stewing, enough to last a whole lifetime. Besides, while I’m breathing, there’s always hope.
Cross’ black eyes don’t promise much hope as he glares at me from the open doorway. Scar is standing right behind him, his messed up face even scarier in this near darkness than it is in broad daylight. One entire side of his face is just a nasty, jagged scar covering almost his entire cheek. His face is the last thing a lot of people see, and it’s something straight out of a nightmare.
“Good of you to return, Ink,” Cross says in a level, but very ominous tone.
“I was coming here this morning like I said I would. There was no need to send the cavalry,” I reply, even while already promising myself that this will be the last smart ass thing I say to him during this conversation.
“You shouldn’t have left in the first place,” he says as he strides all the way into the room and Scar closes the door behind them both.
“And I regret not obeying your order, I really do,” I say, wholeheartedly meaning it. “But I had to go.”
I wholeheartedly mean that as well. But it’s too early to start telling him how much I missed Julie. In this setting it’ll make me seem like a whiner. It’s a real bitch, being stuck between a rock and a hard place like this.
“What you had to do was stay here like I told you to,” Cross says. He’s towering over me now, his gaze even black
er than it was when he first entered the room. “Because now I can’t trust you anymore.”
“You can still trust me as much as you ever could,” I say, straightening up in my chair. I’m itching to stand up, but I don’t want to make my situation—whatever the fuck it actually is—any worse by showing too much aggression.
“Was I wrong to trust you in the first place?” Cross asks and the words pierce me like a knife. “That’s what I’m wondering now.”
“No, you weren’t,” I say, speaking slowly, as if that’s gonna make the only words I could find to answer his question more meaningful.
“We have a rat in our midst and he’s been around for a while,” Cross says before I can lunge into explaining everything to him. “You’re the only one of us who ran after I found out and started looking for that rat, Ink.”
My heart’s thumping so loud in my throat and in my head that his words seem to be coming from very far away.
“A rat as in a snitch?” I ask and my voice sounds very distant too. “Someone’s been talking to the cops?”
“Look at you with all the questions,” Cross says mockingly, and Scar chuckles jarringly right after.
“It’s not me. I’m not the snitch. I swear it on my dead father’s grave and on the life of the woman I’m gonna marry as soon as I get back to her,” I say, my voice all breathless and scared-sounding, but clearer than it was. Words are all I have to get out of this, so I better find the right ones fast, and speak them clearly. “I’d never have left if I knew this was the reason you wanted us all to stay here. But I had to go find her, I had to go get my fiancé back, it was the only thing I could think about after I woke up in the hospital. I was useless for anything else until I did it.”
