by Nicole James
After the sound of his car fades into the distance, the quiet of the desert surrounds me, with only the howling sound of the wind.
I unlock the front door and go inside, turning on a lamp. I move into the kitchen and head to the fridge to grab a drink. I freeze with my palm on the handle. There’s a note under a magnet—a note that was not under that magnet before.
Sorry I missed you. I had such fun planned.
It’s written in slashing handwriting with a pen.
I pull it down. It’s written on the back of a bar napkin. I flip it over and see the Badlands logo. My heart is racing a mile a minute as I turn silently, wondering if whoever wrote this is still in the house. I don’t hear a sound. My gun is in the drawer of the nightstand… at least, that’s where I left it.
I stand frozen in fear. Do I run outside? There’s no help for me anywhere around here, except that gas station, and it’s closed. Daytona is out of town. The nearest fire station is miles away.
I slide a knife slowly from the butcher block on the counter, my hand shaking because I know I have to check the house. My eyes fall to the table. There’s a plate on it, with the remains of a half-eaten sandwich I hadn’t noticed when I walked in.
Oh. My. God.
I’m so fucking freaked out, I can barely function, but I make my trembling body step toward the hallway. It’s dark, with just that single lamp in the living room, and the light over the kitchen sink, which I think I remember leaving on. But now I’m not certain. Now I’m questioning everything. I take another step, then pause, listening, and then another, pausing to listen again. I make it to the bathroom and peer inside. Thankfully, the shower curtain is pushed back so I can see there’s no one there.
I step into the doorway of the bedroom and flip the light. I check everywhere and find no one, but then I spot a lace nightie spread out on the bed with a coiled rope on top of it.
Ho-ly. Crap.
I dash to the nightstand and yank open the drawer. My gun is still there. My shoulders sink in relief, and I grab it up. I check to make sure it’s still loaded, my efforts hampered by my shaking hands. It is. Thank you, God.
I back track through the house, making sure the doors and windows are all locked. I pull all the curtains shut, sit on the chair in the corner with the gun held tight in my hands, and stay that way the rest of the night.
At some point I hear the dog whimpering outside. I know he’s come looking for food, and his pitiful sounds make me feel guilty for not feeding him, but there’s no way I’m opening the damn door.
Eventually, the sounds stop. Either he’s given up and is asleep on the porch or he’s left.
I sit there thinking about what that member of the Evil Dead said. Was he the one who came inside my house, made himself at home, fixed a sandwich, knowing I was at the bar, and he had all the time in the world?
Daytona wants the bar, and it’s not for sale. Is that enough to have one of his men do this shit to me? Is he the kind of man who would do whatever it took to get what he wants? Do I really know what he’s capable of? No, I do not. He’s shown me what he wants to show me, and maybe it’s not the truth.
When the sun rises, I finally feel safe enough to set the gun down on the table next to me and doze off to sleep, still curled up on the chair.
A distant sound startles me awake, and a jolt of pain shoots through my stiff neck. I reach up and rub it, squinting at the sunlight streaming in the kitchen windows. I glance at my phone. It’s a little past seven, so I know I’ve only had a couple hours of sleep. There’s a text from Daytona that shows it came in around midnight, but I know it wasn’t there before. Cell service out here sucks.
I open it. It just says they had some trouble with one of the bikes, but made it there, and he’ll try and call me tomorrow, which I suppose means today.
I have a pounding tension headache. I unfold my body and go into the kitchen to get some water and take some aspirin.
I stare at the sandwich, wondering if I should call the cops and have them try to get DNA or something from it. I grab a large Ziploc bag from a drawer, and use a dishtowel to slip the sandwich, plate and all, inside, then put it in the freezer. I stash the note and magnet in a drawer. If the guy was smart, he probably used gloves and there won’t be any prints, but you never know.
I hesitate to call the police, though, because really, what can they do?
I go in the bedroom and take a picture with my cell of the nightgown and rope, then I stuff them in a bag. I wonder if this is one of Scarlett’s nightgowns or if it was brought here.
It suddenly feels stifling inside, like the walls are closing in on me. I change clothes, shove the gun in the back waistband of my jeans, grab my purse, keys, and phone, and head out, locking the door behind me. I’m starved, so I figure I’ll go to the bar and maybe make a pizza.
When I get to the front doors, I see a beverage truck pull into the gas station. I pause and watch as a man starts wheeling in cases of soda pop on a hand truck.
I decide to walk over and see who runs the place. I’m sweaty by the time I pull the glass door open, and the cool air conditioning hits me. There’s a redheaded middle-aged woman behind the counter, smoking a cigarette and talking to the delivery driver.
“You got any Yoo-hoos in the delivery this week, Sam?”
“I’ll have to check, Mona.”
He exits with an empty hand truck, and Mona turns her attention to me.
“Ain’t seen you in here in a hell of a long time, Scar. How’s it goin’?”
“Hi Mona. Just been busy.”
“You look like shit. You still not sleepin’ good?”
“Nope.”
“Sorry, hon. Wish I could make it all better for you. It sucks losin’ yer man. I know. Lost Jeb ten years ago, now. Doesn’t get any easier, I’ll tell ya that. ‘Least you got that bar he left you, so you got a way to make a livin’. Me, I’m stuck workin’ a damn minimum wage job.”
“Maybe I could use you as a bartender. Do you know how to tend bar?”
“Nope.” She leans closer to me and whispers, like there’s anyone in here to hear us. “You ain’t been feeding Scout, have you?”
I just look at her.
She rolls her eyes. “I told you girl, that asshole don’t like it when you do.”
The driver comes back in with a few more cases of drinks, and she stops talking, turning her attention to him. “You find any, sweetie?”
“Sorry. Not on the order this time.”
“That cheap son-of-a-gun. He knows I like them Yoo-hoos.”
“Tell Al to add ‘em to next week’s order. See ya, Mona.”
“Bye, Sam.
We both watch him walk out.
“Hmm mmm. That is one fine man,” Mona mutters.
When she finally returns her eyes to me, I ask, “So did the asshole find out I fed his dog?” I don’t know his name, so I have to use that word.
“Honey, I don’t know, but you better stop it.”
“What do you think he’d do about it?”
“That dude is unpredictable and half crazy. I wouldn’t want to test him to find out.”
Ugh, it’s like pulling teeth trying to get her to even say his name. I’m so limited as to what I can ask, because I don’t know what Scarlett may already know.
“So… um.” I rack my brain for what to ask and how to ask it without making her suspicious. “Have you seen him lately?”
“Naw. He mostly only comes in here when Al’s working. I think Al gives him shit at discount or somethin’.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Who knows? Why would he let the son-of-a-bitch live out back free of charge?”
“Free of charge?”
“Pretty sure. Al don’t like to talk about it.”
“When does Al work again?”
“Tuesday. Same as always. Why?”
I shrug. “Just wondered.”
“You need supplies? We got in some honest to God fresh fruit
with this last delivery. And it’s not all brown and old.”
“Thanks.” I grab a plastic grocery basket and wander around.
Ten minutes later, she’s ringing up my purchases, and there hasn’t been another customer, except one guy in a pickup who stopped for gas and paid at the pump.
I go and open the bar and wait for Shelly to arrive. She comes in at ten am.
“Hey, girl. How are you?” I ask.
“Tired. You?”
“I know what you need. Come on back to my house. I just got this yummy macchiato creamer. I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”
“Do we have time?”
“Sure. Come on.”
I grab my groceries, and we walk out.
“Want some help with those?” she offers.
“Sure. Thanks.” I pass her a bag, hoping she doesn’t ask about why I haven’t taken them home already. She doesn’t. Truth is, I don’t want to go back in the house alone again. I’ll have to come up with an excuse to get her to come with me for a couple minutes after we close tonight.
I unlock the door and walk inside, trying not to act terrified as I carry the groceries to the kitchen. I glance around but don’t see any notes or half eaten food this time. I quickly make us both a cup of coffee, then we sit at the table.
“So, what’s new with you?” I ask.
“Nothing. Still waiting on my results.”
Results. Crap. Results of what? The bar exam? A cancer screening? “Right. I bet the waiting is driving you crazy, huh?”
“This is the last time I can take my LSAT’s this year.”
Law School Admissions Test. Okay. Good. Not cancer. I reach out a hand and cover hers. “You’ll pass this time. I have a feeling.”
“Thanks. Third times a charm, right?”
“Definitely.”
“Have you talked to your sister since you two had lunch together?”
“Oh. We’ve texted. She’s always busy.”
“You should ask her for help.”
Shoot. Does she know about the loan Scarlett took from the MC? “Umm…”
“You don’t think she’d help you? I know you must be worried about it.”
“I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
“Do you? You’ve seemed so lost without Buck.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m getting better. Really.”
“If you need anything, all you have to do is ask, you know.”
“I know.”
Just then my phone goes off. I pick it up off the table. It’s a text from Tina, Scarlett’s BFF.
Tina: You might see us tonight. I’m trying to talk Scott into a ride.
Me: That would be great!
Tina: Depends how tired he is when he gets off at the base.
Me: Fingers crossed.
I smile. “Tina’s trying to drag Scott out tonight, so we might see them.”
Shelly rolls her eyes, grinning back. “Those two are going to drink us out of Coronas. I hope we have enough limes.”
We both laugh and head out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Charlotte—
“I’m so glad you came up tonight,” I tell Tina.
“Me, too,” she responds, holding in the toke and then passing me the joint she just lit up. She’s sitting on the back steps behind the bar, and I’m standing, leaning on the railing.
“It’s almost closing time,” I murmur, staring toward the dark little house.
“Yup. I need to go drag Scott out of here.”
“If I tell you something, you promise not to freak out?”
She frowns at me. “No.”
I roll my eyes.
“Tell me anyway.”
“After you left the other night, two guys from the Evil Dead MC came in the bar.”
She slowly lowers the joint, drilling me with a look. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“We talked about this. I told you Scott and I could loan you the money out of Scott’s 401k. You said your sister was giving it to you. Tell me you didn’t get the money from that fucking MC.”
I take another toke and avoid her eyes. Apparently, she and my sister have no secrets.
“Goddamn it, Scarlett.”
“They want their money back.”
“Of course they do.”
“I told them I wanted to talk to their President.”
“Jesus Christ, Scarlett. Have you lost your mind? Scott says he’s a real badass motherfucker.”
“Just listen, okay?” I snap.
“Fine. What?”
“He came in the next night. He heard me sing. He was impressed, no… more than impressed; he was interested in me.”
“Oh my God.”
“He was waiting at the house when I closed up the bar that night. Scared the crap out of me. Told me I had nothing to worry about, he didn’t mean me any harm.”
“Sure he did. That’s what all serial killers tell their victims.”
“Tina, shut up and let me finish.”
“Fine. What other stupid shit did you do since I last saw you?”
“Nothing. And he’s a nice guy. He took me to his house and cooked for me.”
Her mouth drops open. “Did you spend the night with this guy?”
“No, he was a perfect gentleman.”
“Right. So was Ted Bundy.”
“He’s not a serial killer, Tina. We ate, we talked, and he brought me home, just like he promised.”
“You mean he never even kissed you?”
“We made out a little. He stopped it, though, before he got carried away and broke his word to me, he said.”
“So, what did you two talk about?”
“He said he wants to explore the two of us having a relationship. He asked me to give him a chance.”
“And are you?”
“Well, I was, I mean, he seemed so nice, and he just laid it all out there, said he just wanted to be honest from the start.”
“But now you’ve changed your mind?”
“I still owe the club money. That hasn’t changed. He told me he wants to buy the bar and take what I owe off the price.”
“But you don’t want to sell.”
“No. And there’s more.”
“More than a President of the baddest MC around wanting in your pants?”
I roll my eyes. “We haven’t slept together yet.”
She jabs a finger at me. “You said yet!”
“Ever since his guys came in the bar, stuff has been happening.”
She frowns, her hand dropping. “Stuff? What stuff?”
“Well, the first night, there was a note written on my windshield, and another one was left at the door the next morning.”
“What?”
“That’s not the worst. Last night I went home after closing up and someone had been in the house. There was a note on the fridge saying Sorry I missed you. I had such fun planned.”
“What?” This time the word comes out in a squeak.
“Whoever it was made a sandwich and left it half eaten on the table. And when I went in the bedroom, a nightgown was spread out on the bed with a rope coiled on top.”
She surges to her feet. “Are you freaking kidding me? And you didn’t call me? Did you call the police?”
“No. I got my gun and sat up all night with it pointed at the door.”
She lunges and hugs me. “Oh my God. You poor thing. You must have been terrified.” She suddenly pulls back, her hands clenched around my shoulders, and she searches my eyes. “Wait. You think it was the MC?”
“Daytona and a bunch of them went out of town that day, but there was at least one guy left behind because he came in the bar. I overheard him telling someone on the phone that he’d ‘make sure she was ready to sell,’ and I’m pretty sure he was talking about me.”
“Oh my God. So, you think they’re trying to scare you out?”
I nod.
“But you have no proof?”
I sha
ke my head.
“What are you going to do? Go to the police?”
“Daytona is the President of an MC. You don’t call the police on them. And what if I’m wrong?”
“So what will you do? Are you going to sell?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I think you should confront him. Ask him, no, tell him you know it’s him. Naw, this is bullshit.” She moves to storm back in the bar.
I grab her arm. “Wait. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to tell Scott.”
“No! You can’t! Please don’t. Promise me. I don’t want him thinking he has to get all protective and confront a bunch of bikers for me.”
“But I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Come on.” She turns toward the house.
“Where are you going?”
“We’re making sure there aren’t any more surprises waiting for you. Come on.” She stomps across the gravel. She twists her head to ask over her shoulder, “You’ve got your gun with you, right?”
“Yes.” I pull it from under my unbuttoned denim shirt from where it’s nestled in the small of my back between my white tank top and jeans.
We go up on the porch, and I unlock the door. It creaks open, and I flip on the light.
“Come on out, motherfucker,” Tina yells out. Only silence responds.
I’ve got the gun raised, and I step into the kitchen, and then backtrack to the bedroom and bath, checking everything. Tina even checks under the bed.
“See anything odd?” she asks.
“No. It’s how I left it.”
“You should come stay with me and Scott.”
“No. I’ll be okay. I’ve got the gun.”
“You’re so isolated here.”
“I’ll be fine. I feel better telling someone. I’m sure they’re just trying to scare me out.”
“Are you sure it’s them? I mean, if this guy is into you and wants in your pants, is this how he’d go about getting your bar?”
“Maybe getting his hands on the bar is more important than I am.”
“Scarlett, if the Evil Dead MC wants to buy you out, I think maybe you should consider it. I mean, with Buck gone, maybe a fresh start somewhere far from all the memories is the only way you’ll ever get over him and move on.”
