by Layla Wolfe
Slushy was on his feet now, careening around the side of his desk. “That was research for the Bent Zealots, you Edward Penishands.”
“BACA,” I said loudly.
“What?” said Wolf. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that Slushy was bodily whipping him out of the chair.
“Bikers Against Child Abuse. They go around responding to calls of abuse and stand by threateningly while the abuser is removed, usually by cops. Scares the fuck out of the perverts. Where’d you see that?”
Wolf pointed. “Slushy got an email. That was the subject matter.”
Unity entered the office. She opened her arms to Beetle, and he came racing over to her.
“Who’s a good boy?” she asked, rubbing her face against his rabbit-soft ear. I knew I should have cut the bonds when I handed Beetle over but hey, he came to Unity, not Wolf. So I got up and squeezed big handfuls of his neck ruff, stroked my palm back and forth over his ribs. I swore he smiled at me.
Unity must have known I was acting inappropriately, because she gently led Beetle over to Wolf. “Who’s a good boy?” whispered Wolf, forlorn.
I suddenly felt for the guy. He hadn’t yet bonded with the pupper. That was understandable given the timeframe. I did them no justice by continuing my affection for Beetle. So I shouted over to Slushy, “Who’s talking about BACA?”
“It looks like the Bare Bones have a mission. I’m the point man for BACA but we’ve only gotten a few requests in the past couple years. I better tell Ford a group needs to go to Cottonwood.”
“Cottonwood?” asked Unity. “That’s where I’m from. And Bellamy, June and Maddy.”
Slushy turned to face us, whisking a page from his printer’s output tray. He rattled it into position. “I knew about Maddy and Bellamy. Seems to be a lot of abuse in that place. Now, this is strictly confidential, mind you. Don’t go warning anyone you might know, but this call is from a Beverly Mitford—“
Slushy stopped abruptly. Something seemed to dawn on him.
At the same time it dawned on Unity, judging from her slack face.
“That’s my mother,” she whispered.
CHAPTER FOUR
Unity
It was bizarre being back at the old house.
I’m twenty-five, but I stayed in that house of horrors ‘til I was twenty-one just to protect Lyric. She’s eight years younger than me, born to that sick fuck of a deviant from hell.
My life had gone from tolerable to a living nightmare when my mom met Gary Gregario. Who knows why women choose certain men? I know Maddy Illuminati was still confused why her best friend Sabrina had chosen that alcoholic pothead who was hostile to all her friends. But Sabrina loved him and was happy, and wasn’t that all that mattered? Maddy’s mother had lived with Cropper, the founder of the Bare Bones, after he beat everyone under their roof and perved on Maddy while getting free rent.
Was my mom happy? She knew about Gary’s weekly assaults of me. When I admitted to this stranger Tanner that my twenty-five cuts were for twenty-five assaults, that’s what I meant. Gary didn’t succeed twenty-five times, thank God for small favors. I truly don’t wish to count the times he succeeded in pinning me down and penetrating me. I had no desire to have sex with men by that point, but I had to go on The Pill anyway, just for the times I wasn’t able to fight off that fat old beer-swilling security guard.
Because he was a rent-a-cop, Gary thought himself above the law. He thought his buddies the real cops would protect him, and to a certain extent, he was right. He played pool with Cottonwood cops, he drank with them, he decorated the bar for holidays with them. When we first roared up to the house in a formation of Harleys and assorted other vehicles—Bellamy and her sidecar full of that stoic Husky of hers—Gary came to the door, fists on his hips, figuring we were just some sleazebags come to say hi to Lyric.
Tanner had appointed himself savior of everything that was weak and needy around Pure and Easy, so he’d demanded to come along. Ford had said fine, the more the merrier. And Tanner was a fuckin’ beast, I have to admit that. His tight T-shirt was threadbare with use and washing, showing off his toned pecs, his stiff nipples, that artery sliding down the hill of the bulging bicep. Achingly manly was the shade of that vein, like a brooding sky before a storm. His ass was sublime under the army green fabric. A lovely slope building up to a lush curve that made your mouth water, made you want to take a bite out of it, lightly or not.
I’ve said I’m not into sex. That’s true. But it doesn’t stop me from admiring, does it? Who doesn’t pause and admire the statue of David, even with his strange little pecker?
Tanner rode one up behind me on my Sporty. We left Beetle with Diesel on my little deck, sheltered from potential rain. Tanner could’ve easily ridden bitch behind Wolf or Knoxie or any of the fifteen other guys in our unit, but he chose me. Maybe when he heard that the caller, Beverly, was my mother, he’d gone into guardian mode. He had acted kind of like a douche about my arm scorecard. He had a holier-than-thou attitude I couldn’t cotton to. But it sure felt great riding with him, the giant engine purring between my thighs, his powerful hands clutching my hips.
I wondered what he owed Slushy. Why had he brought Beetle to Wolf? What legal work had Slushy done for him? Slushy worked for all sorts of odds and ends of organizations—witness the BACA. When I’d left home for good, I’d told Beverly to call BACA when she needed help, but I never thought she’d use the number. Now here we were, so many large machines we had to park a full block from the house.
The older, scarier men had stayed behind, Tuzigoot having to run a highway job, Duji having to take his grandson to violin lessons. Faux Pas had to attend a special showing of The Big Lebowski.
Of the youngsters left, I think Ford made the right choice for point men. “Sax” Saxonberg, Knoxie, and Ford himself approached Gary first, having parked in the driveway. Tanner and I were a block away, so we hustled.
“I want to watch when this fucktard realizes we mean business,” I said under my breath.
“This the same guy . . . “ Tanner seemed embarrassed to bring it up again.
“Who sexually assaulted me twenty-five times? One and the same.”
“You don’t have to confront him if you don’t want,” Tanner said kindly.
“I want,” I said heatedly. “I want him to see the forces that’re up against him. Oh good, he’s already ranting and raving, his go-to tactic. See how red his face is?”
Indeed, against his paper-white hair—prematurely grey from stress and several heart bypasses—his stupid face was that peculiar shade of pink he turned when yelling, ordering people about, thinking he was making a witty joke, threatening to kick people out of the house, or pinning them down to rape them.
“I’ve done nothing wrong!” he was shouting. “How dare you come onto my property and make crass insinuations that have no basis in fact?”
Behind the three point men stood a fan-shaped wall of backup men. Ford’s twin Lytton, Wolf Glaser, Wild Man—who was nearly seven feet of pure brawn—Fox, Roman, Speed, Gollywow, Bobo Segrist, Kneecap, and Tim Woodstock all backed them up, arms folded gruffly, their pieces conspicuous. Instead of the usual method of shoving the piece down the back of their jeans, today men wore actual hip or shoulder holsters. Tanner, Bellamy and I were the only unarmed people—the only citizens.
“Oh yeah?” bellowed Ford. “That’s not what your daughter Lyric told us. You should be expecting pigs to come slapping some bracelets on you any second now, but for now we’d like you to hand over Lyric.”
Gary turned a seashell pink. “I’ll do no such fucking thing! You’re trespassing on my property and look, I’m calling 911 right now!”
Almost as though daring anyone to enter his house, Gary stepped outside next to a bush to dramatically punch 911. With a flourish, he glued the phone to his ear, and that was when Lyric came out. I hadn’t seen her in months, and her bedraggled, meek look stabbed my heart. She even had a pathetic duffel bag full of worldly belongin
gs. She looked like one of the pitiful, sad hippies that roamed special “vortices” around Pure and Easy, hoping the benefit off the psychic—well, I’m not really sure.
I rushed forward to throw my arms around her. Bellamy came too to add her support, taking the duffel bag.
“You’ll stay with me,” I said.
“Your place is so small!”
“Never mind. I’ll take the couch, you can use my room.”
Bellamy said, “She can stay with us. We’ve got plenty of room.”
Bellamy and Knoxie had five acres of magical, gorgeous land on Mescal Mountain, a ridge away from the borders of the airfield, higher, with sweeping views. Ford had given the land to Knoxie as a wedding present and honestly, I was jealous of the Frank Lloyd Wright home they’d crafted. They had no children, and both worked outside of the house. That was one thing about my world, as much as I loved it. I needed more money. I needed a big sponsor. I needed to get out of that shithole apartment over the Bum Steer.
“You’re not going anywhere!” Gary roared. He must’ve broken the eardrum of whoever was on the other side of the call, if anyone. It was hard to believe he’d call the pigs and basically bust himself for molesting his underage stepdaughter. Of course, our submissive mother was nowhere to be seen.
Lytton, Knoxie, Roman, and Wild Man formed a box around us. We all shuffled up the walkway as one unit, like an elephant in a high school play. Lytton actually had removed his piece and was pointing it at Gary, but that didn’t stop his bellowing. Gary was accustomed to guns. He hung around pigs. I was surprised he hadn’t already brandished his Sig Sauer at the Bare Bones.
“Kidnapping, that’s what this is! You’re kidnaping my daughter and that’s a federal crime!”
Ford shouted, “And what sort of crime is it to rape your own daughter?”
There was a brief, horrible silence, just the sound of two dozen engineer boots scuffling.
Gary’s boorish voice broke the silence. “I did no such thing! Who’s claiming I did?”
Ford bellowed, “Sure took you long enough to answer that!”
Lyric yelled, “I’m saying it, Gary! You know what you did!”
Giving up on the pretense of calling 911, Gary advanced on us, fists white-knuckled. Peeking around Lytton’s back, I saw Gary storm so fast toward us he was leaning forward, like a guy going up a steep hill.
We shuffled faster.
Something blocked out the greasy sun of Gary’s crimson face. “You ain’t going nowhere,” said Tanner with authority. Tanner’s Southern drawl was much more pronounced, as though he hearkened back to a tougher, rougher time. “Embrace the suck, buddy. You want to go letching on someone, there’s your wife. Or plenty of ladies in town. You know how this plays out, pal. It’s not going to end well for you.”
“Attempted murder!” Gary cried in a much higher register now. “I’m going to get you motherfucking Bare Bones on attempted murder!”
“I’m not a Bare Bones,” growled Tanner.
We broke apart as we reached Knoxie’s ride, and I saw what had finally shut Gary the fuck up. Tanner had gotten ahold of a semiauto and was pointing the barrel directly at Gary’s forehead.
Hope surged afresh in me as we got Lyric situated on the bitch seat. Was this really going to work?
“Well then, who the fuck are you?” Gary’s voice was down a few decibels now.
“Sergeant Tanner Principato, Paws and Gauze squadron. Come and see me directly if you’ve got any issues with this.”
“Oh yeah?” Gary squeaked. Lamely, he added, “Well, we’ll fucking see about that!”
By now every neighbor in the hood was in their front yards, gawking and taking cell videos. Gary hadn’t been caught on film doing anything much, but Tanner couldn’t deny anything. He must’ve known that, yet he protected Lyric and the club anyway. Foolish pride swelled in me because I had ridden up with this fucking beast of a surly man. The club didn’t know him that well. I knew him better than any of them.
The unit of bikes roared off and Tanner backed off from Gary, allowing him to retreat back indoors. I headed toward Tanner, beaming from ear to ear. But Wolf Glaser got there first.
“That was epic!” he chirped. Deflated, I tagged along as we headed down the block. The men were preening in front of the neighbors. I waved cheerfully at a few I remembered. “You really went to bat for the club!”
“For Unity’s sister,” drawled Tanner. “I hate to see any creature abused. I have a feeling Knoxie and Bellamy will take good care of her.”
“Oh, they will,” I said, glad of the chance to insinuate myself into the conversation. “They can’t have kids, so any teenager will benefit from them.”
Wolf ignored me, bursting with admiration for Tanner. “You’re a fucking natural, Tanner! I’m not even going to ask you what you did to spend ten years in that shithole Arkansas prison.”
Arkansas prison? What the fuck? Tanner didn’t even look at me as he handed me my lid. He grabbed his own, which he termed a “dome of obedience.”
“Good,” said Tanner. “This isn’t really the time or place. Thanks for the loan.” And he handed Wolf the semiauto, grip first. Tanner definitely didn’t have that piece when we had ridden up. They must’ve made the split-second decision during all the hullabaloo.
“I’ll see you back at Unity’s place,” said Wolf. He stood so erect and proud, I was surprised his button “Forget the cowboy, ride a biker” didn’t pop off his cut.
Tanner poked a finger at Wolf. “For the training.”
“For the training.”
Tanner pointed at my bike, indicating I should get on. He had a strange way of never looking directly at me. Normally, shying away from men as I did, I would’ve liked that habit. Now for some reason I didn’t.
My cell buzzed. Slushy.
A bunch of Lavinia’s friends are searching the roads she might’ve driven if you want to go with them.
Instead of telling Tanner, I handed the phone to him so he could read it himself.
He nodded at the phone and handed it back. “Good. I somehow don’t think they’ll find anything but let them feel they’re being useful. We’ll go do some snooping around after I train Wolf. Meantime, you’re going to put some aloe vera on those cuts on your arm. I saw an aloe plant on the smoking patio at the Bum Steer. Just break off a piece and rub it on. Now the weight of that asshole has been lifted from you, you can start healing.”
“Okay,” I said meekly, an unusual stance for me.
All the way back to Pure and Easy, Tanner’s hands firmly gripped my hips. I became incredibly self-aware of my “curvy” figure, in that paranoid overly-conscious way that had driven me to cut, pierce, and ink myself. I paraded my figure brazenly for the camera because appearing bold and daring covered up my microscopic self-image. I’d feel naked and bared to all criticism without my knife cuts to distract people.
But somehow, with this calm, determined man next to me, I felt secure. He’d driven off Gary Gregario. He could drive off my demons.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tanner
We practiced leash walking around the downtown area. It gave me the chance to get to know Unity.
The first thing she asked me was, “Why do you never look me directly in the eye?”
We came to a sudden stop when Wolf and Beetle did ahead of us. Wolf was teaching Beetle to “hold” at a curb before galloping across the street. Good.
I still didn’t look at her, though the urge to take her hand was overwhelming. “Capture myopathy.”
“Capture what?”
“Okay!” I said brightly, reminding Wolf of the “release command.” He and Beetle stepped off the curb to cross the street. We were heading toward A Likely Story. It sounded like a bookstore, the place I’d been yearning to go since deciding to spend a few more days in P and E. But training was of the utmost importance right now.
“Capture myopathy,” I repeated. “Cornered animals might have a sudden surge of adrenalin
e which can contaminate their muscles. In the heart, the flood of stress hormones might injure the chambers, rendering them feeble, unable to pump. Capture myopathy can kill prey animals like deer, rodents, small primates—“
“Are you calling me a little monkey?”
“I was getting to that.” I allowed myself the luxury of pausing for a few split seconds before the bookstore window while Wolf and Beetle traipsed ahead. The bestselling neurology book I wanted was displayed. For such a small store, they had a good spread. “With your history, you’re a prime candidate for capture myopathy.”
“Why’s that?”
I knew she’d ask that. “Well, your, ah, history with Gary Gregario.”
“Being raped?”
“Yes, makes you ten times more reactive to being pinned down. You must be hell in a makeout session.”
“How’d you know?”
“Just experience. In prison I worked with Puppies Behind Bars. A few were abused, and more than one died of a sudden heart attack when trainers insisted they look them in the eyes. They thought they were being nice, that they were bonding.” I hoped to hell the word “prison” didn’t prompt the usual next question. Especially given her background, unless I took half an hour to explain, Unity wouldn’t want anything more to do with me.
But despite her iconoclastic style, she was just like everyone else. “Why were you in prison?”
I was ready with the answer, I’d recited it so many times. “False charge. I know everyone says they’re innocent, but I was. Do you read?”
“I do!” She seemed to welcome the change of subject. Relief poured from both of us, and we finally faced each other, although I looked at her ear. “I enjoy those romance novels, but lately they’ve been getting very vivid and gritty, too much like real life for me. So I’m sticking with the cozier ones, where no one gets raped.”
“I can understand that. You want to escape, not remember.”
