by Bourne, Lena
The air is standing still, the dry heat thick like a wall that’s closing in.
“We’ll wait here for the rest of the brothers to arrive,” Cross calls out as he dismounts by the entrance to the bunker. Then he looks over the gathered crowd until his eyes lock on mine. He beckons me to join him, and I follow him into the bunker.
It’s not as hot inside as it was outside, but the little room he leads me into is stuffy and far from cool. Tank and Hawk are already in there.
“I need you to go set up a meeting with your uncle,” Cross tells me once the door is closed behind me. “He’s been reluctant to talk to me these past couple of months, and it’s time I find out why.”
“He’s been reluctant to talk to me all my life,” I say and chuckle, but then clear my throat when Cross’ serious face tells me this is still no time to be clever. “But yeah, of course I’ll do it.”
How this has anything to do with me proving I’m not a snitch is beyond me. Maybe this is the only reason I’ve been brought along on this ride, to set up a meeting with my uncle, since I’m sure Cross with twenty Devils at his back just riding up to the clubhouse and demanding to see my uncle would be considered too aggressive. Maybe this isn’t about me proving anything after all, and Cross has already decided my guilt. He just needs me to set up this meeting with my uncle, and then he’ll put a bullet in the back of my head. Who could blame him? That’s the best way to deal with traitors—suspected or otherwise—and I doubt Devil’s Nightmare MC got to where it is by being merciful to traitors. It’s hard but I manage to push that very realistic assessment of my situation out of my mind.
“Tonight would work for me,” Cross says. “If not, then tomorrow after ten AM. We’ll be in the area, since we’re delivering a couple of crates of Uzis to Roadside Sinners MC at seven by the Old Gold Mine. Your uncle doesn’t need to know all that.”
That’s a lot of detailed information he’s sharing with me. So maybe my fate’s not as sealed as all that. I guess if I were a snitch, I’d have to take information like this to the cops. He’s giving me the time and freedom to do it. So this is a test. But I’m not a snitch, so that’s not even a consideration for me. What does worry me is Roadside Sinners buying all those weapons.
Them and my uncle’s MC have never been the best of friends, and turf skirmishes between us were a constant thing while I was growing up. They’re the club Julie’s father hired to stab my dad and most likely to kill the other guys from the MC. It was more than enough of a provocation to start a war, but my uncle for some reason decided to let it slide. Should I tell him and my brother about this? Cross ordered me not to.
“Set up the meeting and come right back here,” Cross tells me. “Make no other stops.”
Tank laughs loudly. “Come on now, Cross. You’re telling him he can’t even say hello to that girl of his, while he’s in town? Don’t you remember what it was like to be twenty-four and in love?”
Cross stays very serious. “Only very vaguely. But I do remember I was more than happy to follow my president’s orders at that age.”
He fixes me with a very piercing black stare as he says it. But in the background Tank is laughing again. It takes off some of the edge in Cross’ eyes.
“You were never more than happy to follow orders,” Tank says. “You just did what you had to do.”
Tank and Cross go way back, all the way to their childhood, which I assume is why he’s allowed to speak to Cross like this, and why Cross looks amused for a second before his eyes harden again.
“And that is the least I expect from my men,” Cross says, again piercing me with his black look.
“I’ll do it,” I say, even though he didn’t actually ask me a question.
Hawk walks over and holds something out to me. I look down and it’s my phone.
“Take it,” he says. “Call if there’s a problem.”
I don’t want to take it. I probably could resist the temptation to ride by Julie’s condo on the way back and knock on her door to tell her everything’s gonna be alright now. But I’m not sure I can resist calling her if I have the chance to.
This is a test. The phone, the information, the letting me go unaccompanied to complete a task is meant to test my loyalty and willingness to follow orders. I take the phone and pocket it, then Cross dismisses me.
The phone’s hot and growing hotter in my pocket with each step I take towards my bike. It’s not burning any less despite the fact that I know it’s all in my imagination. I’m sure it’s bugged and I’m sure Hawk will know exactly where I am at all times while I have it on me. His pointed look as he handed it to me told me as much. Hell, he might even be able to listen to any conversations I have next to the phone.
But that’s already too much thinking.
This is a test, and it’s probably the only one I’m gonna get. I either ace it or I die. It’s that simple. So yeah, I am more than happy to follow my orders to a “T”, just as Cross strongly suggested I have to now. If I pass this test, there’ll be plenty of time to apologize to Julie and plenty of years to make amends. If I don’t, there’ll be no time for any of that.
* * *
Julie
I woke up before dawn even though I was up past two waiting for a call from Ink, waiting for a text, obsessing over him ignoring me to the point of excluding everything else.
He didn’t call. He didn’t text. And he didn’t show up at my door like I hoped he might, like I prayed and obsessed that he would, like I drove myself half mad wishing for.
I’ve been here before. This frenzied obsessive overthinking, and over-wishing, and over-hoping was my every day for the first six months after he left me the first time. I’m ashamed to admit it, even to myself, but I can’t deny now that I’m right back in that dark and nervous mind space.
Now that the sun is up, I know I can’t stay in this space. My mind cleared sometime in the darkest part of last night. Hoping and wishing and obsessing only brings more pain and madness. I should’ve known that clearly before I took him back. I should’ve acted on the knowledge then, but at least I finally have a grip on it now.
So I showered and dressed and went to work. I didn’t bring the deed or the papers I stole from Dad though. I still don’t know what to do with that.
Paperwork and a lot of tiny little tasks that waited for me to return to the office are as good a way as any to curb my obsessive thoughts. I’ve been focusing on my work and nothing else for hours. Dad asked about the deed, but I told him the truth, told him I still don’t know what to do with it, and he didn’t press the issue. He did give me a long-winded spiel about how that land is the key to finally realizing the generation spanning family dream of building a mall to rival all other malls in America. He urged me to think about my family. As if a dream of building a huge mall is somehow not a very trivial thing. As if my world and all my deepest dreams didn’t just come crashing down around me for the second time in my life two days ago. As if the dream of having a family of my own wasn’t crushed and mangled and continues to be with each hour that Ink doesn’t call.
Damn Ink. Damn my poor judgment. Damn this soul love I have for him that nothing can destroy.
Those kind of thoughts flooded my mind each time my focus shifted from some mundane task at hand, so all I focused on all day was not letting it shift.
I kept working. Long after everyone had already gone home for the day. Long after my brain turned to mush and things that would normally take me ten minutes to complete took an hour. But I pushed through. All I have to look forward to at home is another night of obsessively checking my phone and hating myself for being so weak.
But now the sun’s set, and it’s getting dark outside. The cleaning crew’s done with the rest of the building, and they’ve been waiting for me to leave so they can finish up.
It’s time for me to go home.
I’m lightheaded, because I haven’t eaten anything all day, and jittery from all the coffee I drank to try and stay alert.
But I’m not hungry, and I’m not ready to go lock myself in my apartment just yet. Nothing except obsessing over Ink for the whole night is waiting for me there. I know I won’t sleep.
I leave my car behind, deciding to walk home instead. Maybe the clear night air will clear my head. Maybe it’ll bring back the calm state of mind I finally had before Ink showed up. Maybe I’ll at least get hungry enough to eat something by the time I make it home.
There’s a light breeze coming in from the sea, cool and fragrant, carrying the smell of salt, seaweed, and wet sand—all the scents I normally associate with freedom, and happiness, calmness and peace. But tonight the smell of seaweed annoys me for being too pungent, I smell fish, and the wind’s coolness cuts my skin instead of caressing it.
I hear the rumble of a bike in the distance, and for a split second I don’t believe it’s real. I’m certain it’s just an echo of the memory of that sound, which always fills my chest with happiness and love.
I stop by the side of the road anyway, and turn towards the sound. It’s growing louder and soon overshadows all other sounds. I’m not just imagining it, and all my hopes and dreams about Ink finally coming back for me to take me away from this sleepy boring town to our amazing, love and adventure-filled future, wells up in my chest, shooting up like a never-ending geyser and filling me whole.
I knew it was him long before the rider rounds the corner and comes fully into view. I’d know him anywhere: the curve of his biceps as he grips the handlebar, the angle of his thigh, wrapped in jeans that are always just tight enough, the coiled tautness of his muscles as he steers the powerful machine as we ride, which I can feel against my hand and body even when I’m not touching him.
He’s here and he’s alone. He’s come back for me.
I shouldn’t—I won’t take him back this time.
But I raise my hand and wave at him, while he’s still yards away, my heart and body calling bluff on my mind’s decision.
He sees me, I’m sure.
But he doesn’t ride up and stop by my side. He doesn’t even wave back. No. He turns into a side street and disappears.
I curse and run to the intersection, calling his name, but he’s nowhere when I finally reach the street he disappeared down.
I didn’t imagine seeing him. I can still hear the rumbling of his bike in the distance, growing more and more faint. It was him and he ignored me, completely, like I wasn’t even here. Like all we had never was.
Realizing that is like standing under jets of freezing cold water that I’ll never get used to. Not until I accept it and make it impossible to ever happen again.
The rumbling sound of his bike is fading fast. There’s barely a trace of it left and even that might be more memory that the real thing by now.
I’m angry, I’m sad, I feel betrayed. I feel like I’ve been cut up and left for dead. But I’m also relieved. Because for the first time since he left me the first time, I know exactly what I have to do and no part of my mind or my heart is protesting.
I have to end it. I have to break up with him and leave him behind forever. It’s the only way I will ever have a future that’s not fraught with pain and doubt and wishing and hoping for things to be different. It hurts thinking that, but it’s the healing kind of hurt. The kind that leads to everything being good and right all the time after it finally passes.
20
Ink
Shit, she saw me.
I turned the first corner I came to after she spotted me, and speeded away as fast as I could, but she recognized me. She waved and even called my name, I’m pretty sure. I couldn’t hear it, but I felt it just as strongly as I felt something overpowering and relentless pulling me back to her after I fled. Something that snapped rather than loosened once I got far enough away from her, and I don’t want to think about it, but I know that’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.
I shouldn’t have rode down any street on which there was even a small chance of running into her. But I couldn’t help myself. I’ve made the decision to stay strong and obey all my orders tonight, which means not talking to her, not even for a second, and I’m gonna stand by that because it was an order—the order my life depends on. But I wanted to see her and like the idiot I am, I made it happen. Then I ended up ignoring her just a couple of yards from the spot where I saw her again after a year of wishing I could. The spot where she gave me the second chance I didn’t deserve.
Now I think I just blew my third chance with her, and I don’t know if the fourth one will be the charm for us.
But first I’ll worry about surviving the mess I made for myself with the Devils. There’s no other way. I should’ve just taken the back roads to the clubhouse. I didn’t and now I have to add one more mistake to the already too long list of my bad choices. I’m faced with a bunch more choices I still have to make tonight, and I’m hoping I’ll handle those better.
“Ink, you’re back!” my brother calls out to me as I’m dismounting my bike by the entrance to the clubhouse. He just rode up too, and is striding towards me as he speaks.
“Is Butch around? I have to talk to him,” I say, since getting my task over and done with is my best course of action.
“Why?” he asks.
“That’s between me and Butch,” I say and grin at the anger that flashes across his eyes.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” I add in a more placating tone. “I have to say it to him first.”
On my ride over here, I’ve convinced myself that Hawk and by extension Cross, can hear every word I speak tonight through something Hawk did to the phone he gave me. Even if that’s not actually the case, and I’m just being paranoid, I still mean to be very, very careful with the words I say, and who I say them too.
“Alright, yeah, he’s here. Come on,” my brother says and precedes me into the clubhouse. “But he’s not gonna be happy to see you. He ranted for hours about what a disrespectful ingrate you turned out to be the last time you stopped by.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. But he’s never happy to see me, now is he?” I say and chuckle. “And the feeling’s mutual. But this meeting can’t be avoided.”
My brother flashes me another look over his shoulder, probably trying to figure out why the fuck I’m talking in this cryptic way. I grin at him.
There’s an open ledger of sorts on one of the tables we pass, with a pen lying across it. The table’s unoccupied, and in a flash of inspiration, which could be actual lunacy, I snatch up the pen. The phone can’t track what I write on a piece of paper, though I’m still not sure I’m gonna write anything. Too dangerous. But so are crates of Uzis in the hands of the Sinners. The Devils might be my brothers, but blood is still thicker than water.
“What?” my uncle says gruffly after my brothers knock on his door.
“Ink would like another word,” my brother says as he opens the door.
My uncle just stares at me from behind his desk like I’m a ghost he hates.
“I told you to stay away, didn’t I?” he asks after the silence gets very thick and tense.
“Not in so many words, but yeah, I got the gist during our last conversation,” I say as I enter behind my brother and close the door behind me. “But now I’m back with an important message.”
My uncle grumbles something I don’t really hear.
“Cross, the president of Devil’s Nightmare MC wants to set up a meeting with you,” I say, since I want to get this over with fast.
“And he sent you with the message like the obedient little dog you are?” Butch says. That’s neither here nor there, and the three of us all know it, so I let it slide.
“Tonight works for him,” I add.
“Oh, does it now? Well, it doesn’t work for me. Tell him sometime next week,” my uncle says, chuckling darkly. Judging by his mocking tone, next week can loosely be translated as never.
“It’s either tonight or tomorrow morning at ten,” I say. “And it’s not really a request.”
Cross didn’t
specifically say that, but I’m pretty certain I’m right about it anyway.
Butch is glaring at me, purple color rising in his cheeks. I’m pretty sure my brother is glaring at me too, but he’s standing just outside of my peripheral vision so I can’t be sure.
“What do you want me to tell him?” I ask once the silence starts to drag.
“There’s a bunch of things I’d like to tell him…forcing a meeting like this,” Butch grumbles, his face growing darker and darker. “Who does he think he is?”
That question wasn’t really meant to be answered, so I don’t.
“So tonight it is?” I ask, before he can start saying more shit that would piss Cross off. He might be listening in on this conversation and blood is thicker than water, even if there was never any love lost between me and my uncle.
“Tell him tomorrow at noon,” he says. “At The Pits. Show him where it is, if he doesn’t already know it.”
I’m pretty sure tonight would work better than noon tomorrow for my uncle, so I suppose all this is just him pretending he has the upper hand in this discussion.
“Alright, we’ll be there,” I say and walk out of his office.
As was the case the last time I was here, it takes my brother about ten minutes before he joins me outside. Which is a good thing, because it gave me time to write a hasty message on a pack of matches I picked up off the bar. Nothing wild, just, “Watch the Sinners” along with my new phone number.
Even as I see him exit the clubhouse and walk towards me, I’m still not sure, if I’m going to pass the message to him. I’m also thinking it could be pointless to do it, since it’s so fucking vague. It’s no secret that we have to watch our backs from the Sinners all the time. My brother will probably laugh when he reads my message, but not as loudly as my uncle after he shows it to him
“What does Cross want with us?” my brother asks.
