by Naomi West
“That look.” She smiles, ignoring my sour expression. “The oh-baby-more-more look.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“That’s why you love me.”
I finish getting dressed. Krissy and I go into the living room and sit on the couch. He said he would pick me up at six o’clock. It’s ten past six now. I’m in that odd in-between state, waiting for the apartment buzzer to go off. I can’t get into the TV show because, any second, it could be cut in half.
“Maybe he’s not coming,” I mutter.
“Don’t be silly,” Krissy counters. “If you expect a man to be on time, you’ll always be disappointed.”
“That sounds sexist.”
She giggles. “I guess it is—”
The apartment buzzer goes off, seeming louder than usual. I leap to my feet. Then I scowl down at Krissy when she does a little impression of me leaping to my feet.
“Let yourself out,” I tell her.
She has a key.
“I will. Have fun!”
“I’ll try.”
I walk unsteadily down the stairs, trying to find my balance. By the time I walk out onto the street, I think I’ve found it, or at least something close to it. Cage is leaning against his car, a pitch-black sedan. It looks like the sort of car politicians drive, shiny and expensive. He’s wearing a shirt and black trousers and black shoes. He looks so handsome, I think I might just fall over right here. I get a grip on myself. I’m not some swooning lady!
“Are you ready, madam?” He opens the car door for me.
“I was born ready,” I shoot back.
He drives us out to a Chinese place in the middle of town. He even walks around the car and offers me his hand. I take it, a thrill running through me. He smiles at me. I smile back. Everything seems perfect. The sky is clear. The stars are brilliant.
“Drink?” he asks when the hostess has led us to our table.
“I’d love a drink,” I say.
“Vodka and Coke?”
“No, I’m being fancy tonight. I’ll have a rosé.”
“That is fancy, damn.” He nudges me playfully.
“This is a nice place.” I sip on my rosé, taking courage from the alcohol. The restaurant is decorated with Chinese lanterns, the whole place glowing deep red. We have a table at the back, the most private. From the kitchen things sizzle and whoosh as they go up in flames. Every so often, some of the customers applaud.
“It is,” Cage says, nodding.
We order more drinks with our food, and then more drinks afterward. There’s a signal in my mind telling me to slow down. But it feels good to let go.
“I spend so much time holding on,” I say a while later. How much time has passed? Our plates are clean. Dessert eaten. I have no idea how many drinks I’ve had because the bus boy has a pesky habit of clearing them away. But it must be a lot if I’m spontaneously sharing like this.
“Holding onto what?” He puts his arm around me. I move closer to him. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“To everything,” I whisper. “Do you ever get that, Cage? Just like … just like if you let go for even a second, everything will crumble to pieces. If you let go, you won’t know who you are anymore. Or if you’re even anybody. Do you think it’s possible for somebody to be no one?”
He strokes his hand through my hair.
“That feels nice,” I whisper.
He strokes harder, massaging my scalp. The sensation is heavenly.
“I reckon that question’s above my paygrade, Scarlett.”
“Don’t you understand?” I’m talking far louder than I need to. I’m sharing more than I need to. I finish off my rosé, signaling for another. “I never felt safe in college drinking loads. I saw some of those girls. They got wasted. Once, we had to call an ambulance for a girl. She couldn’t even walk.”
“But you feel safe with me, eh?” He slides his hand from my hair to my shoulder. He pulls me even closer. It’s like he’s a cave. I can just hide in him, pretend everything else doesn’t exist. Is this what intimacy feels like?
“Yes,” I answer, honestly. “I really do.”
We drink some more. The world gets blurry. The red lanterns are like fountains of wine spilling over the restaurant. The chatter of the customers is the trickling of the wine as it pitter-patters on the tables and the floor. I sit up, gripping the edge of the table.
“Drink some water,” Cage says, handing me a tall glass.
I drink as much as I can. He dabs at my chin when some of it dribbles down my cheek. I snatch the napkin. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I guess this isn’t what you wanted—”
He kisses me aggressively. I kiss him back, just as aggressively. Our lips were made for each other. That’s what it feels like. The kiss is effortless. It’s just heat and pleasure. No fumbling at all.
“You don’t need to apologize. Just enjoy yourself. It’s all good, Scarlett. The world could end tomorrow, but it’s all good.”
“Are you drunk?” I giggle.
He grins. I only know that because I feel his lips against mine. We’re too close for me to see.
“Maybe I am.”
“Shall we get some air?”
I’m glad to see that Cage knows his limits. Instead of driving us, he calls up somebody. About ten minutes later, a bike pulls up. A man about my age steps off. He’s red-haired and freckled. He looks like a lanky teen. At least he would if it wasn’t for the dead calm in his eyes.
“Charlie the pledge,” Cage says warmly. He tosses him his car keys. “Drive us out to the forest, eh?”
“’Course, Cage. Come on, miss.” He runs around to the back of the car and opens the door.
“Thank you,” I say, climbing in.
Cage climbs in after me.
We go out into the middle of the forest to the hiking path. It would be impossible to see except for the stars and the full moon. Cage takes my hand in his and we leave the car behind. He wears his leather jacket, taken from the trunk of the car. I wear one of his sweaters, hood pulled up.
“What if he leaves?” I ask. “How will we get back?”
Cage laughs in bemusement. “He won’t leave. Don’t worry about that.”
“I don’t know if this was a such a good idea.” I have to grip onto his hand just to stop from falling over. “Hiking in heels!”
He grabs me and lifts me off my feet. I giggle-squeal, legs kicking in the air. He cradles me close to his chest, the way a husband does when he carries his wife over the threshold. I drape my hands over his shoulders and rest my head against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong.
“Why journalism?” he asks. The way he says it, I’m guessing he’s asked me a few times already.
“I love people,” I mutter, enjoying the quiet rocking motion. “I love people and I hate people. I don’t know how to explain it. Maybe it started with Mom and Dad.”
“Your folks? How’s that work?”
If I was sober, I would clam up here. It would be the right thing to do. A distant part of me knows that. But that’s only a tiny piece of me right now. The other part wants to tell him. He asked, after all! And where’s the law that says I can’t talk about it? Even if I’ve never talked about it before. People know, of course. It was big news at the time.
“My mom killed my dad in front of me.” My chest feels lighter at once. I didn’t realize how much tension was in there because of this. “He used to beat her up. A lot. Like a lot, a lot. He’d hit her for any little thing. I don’t think it actually mattered what she did.” I sway drunkenly, remembering a hundred horrors. “But that was Dad. One day, Mom had enough. I was sitting at the top of the stairs, crying. Dad was grabbing at her clothes. I hated when he did that. I hated what usually happened next more, though. Mom would look at me and say: ‘Go upstairs, Scar.’ That’s what she called me. Scar. When I went upstairs, they would …”
I shiver. Cage holds me closer.
“But this time, she grabbed the ki
tchen knife and stabbed him right in the neck. There was so much blood. It went everywhere, all over her face, all over the floor. I can’t believe how much blood came out. The worst part is, I hated her for it. I hated her. I didn’t understand. I hated her for killing my dad. Can you imagine that? He was an evil monster. I don’t think he ever loved me. But I loved him. That’s why I chose journalism. I have to understand people. I have to try, anyway.”
“Damn, Scarlett. I’m sorry. That’s fuckin’ rough. Where’s your mom now?”
“She lives in Spain with some man she met over there on holiday. We see each other every now and then. We video chat sometimes, too. She didn’t get into trouble.”
“Self-defense?”
“Self-defense,” I confirm. All at once, I become aware of myself. I slide out of Cage’s embrace and stand shakily in front of him. “I’m sorry, Cage. I didn’t mean to—”
“What did I say, eh? You don’t need to say sorry to me. Not ever, all right?”
I throw myself at him. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist. We kiss like our lives depend on it. Like if we don’t kiss each other well, the whole world will come crashing down. I’m sliding my hand down to his crotch when his cell phone suddenly goes off. He places me down.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he growls. “I’ve gotta take it.”
“It’s okay. I’ll wait here.”
He strides away, taking it in private.
I happen to look at the ground. There’s a small note there. It looks like a business card. I wonder if it fell out of Cage’s jacket pocket. I pick it up, studying it as best I can by moonlight. Half an address and a time. On autopilot, I scan the information. My mind starts to piece it together. It’ll be that warehouse, the old hat place. I remember going there with Mom when I was a girl. It’s right in the middle of the forest. And the time. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
I drop the card when Cage walks back over to me, wondering if I’ll remember the information when I’m sober.
“I’ve gotta go,” he says, looking angry. “Goddamn, won’t these bastards just leave us alone for one night?” He glances at me, shutting his mouth tightly. “Come on, Scarlett. Let me get you home at least.”
I fall into him. He lifts me up. I feel like I’m flying as he carries me back, he’s walking so fast.
8
Cage
I sober up sometime after the bloody work. I’m still pretty drunk when we head into the firefight, but there’s nothing better to sober a man up than a bullet. Jax and I head out to the edge of town where the Bloody Talons have set up some sort of sick sex ring. We end the guards and save as many of the girls as we can.
Then we head back to the clubhouse.
“The meet is …” Jax glances at his watch. “Seven hours.”
The sun is just rising as we head into the bar. I drop down into the corner seat, exhausted. My head bangs repeatedly with a waking hangover. Jax drops down next to me.
“You hear me, Cage?”
“Yeah.” A pledge brings over a big basin of warm water and soap. I wash the blood off my hands, ignoring the countless stinging cuts. “I need to get some sleep. Goddamn. One helluva night, Jax.”
“Yeah.” He washes his hand in the same basin. Pretty soon it’s deep red. The pledge brings over another. “Can’t believe how these dogs were treating those girls, Cage. Fuckin’ animals. Getting them hooked on drugs. Needle shit. I hate needle shit.”
“I know you do, Jax. I do as well.”
“Fuckin’ hooked my mom on that shit. Some fuckin’ crack dealers, back in the day. Boulder’n me, we fucked those guys up pretty bad. Got their teeth in a cup and rattled it around some to really show them. I hate that shit.”
“I know, Jax.”
He’s not really talking to me. He’s staring off into the distance, mindlessly washing his hands. His face is grim. He always gets morbid after bloody work. He’s probably one of the few fellas who doesn’t try to hide behind jokes. I reckon that’s another reason he’s the best damn brother in this place.
“I guess we ought to go’n hunker down, eh?” He looks at me.
“Sounds good to me. But I’m starving. Charlie! Reckon you can get a couple of burgers over here?”
“I’m good, Cage. I’m not hungry.”
I grin at him. “Who said they were for you?”
I eat the burgers and wash it down with some lemonade. Then I go and crash in my dormitory room, lying facedown and falling straight to sleep. Right at the end, when I’m on the edge of sleep, Scarlett comes into my head. She’s telling me about her mom and dad. I wish I was back there. I’d put her down and I’d tell her some stories. Then we’d hold each other. Maybe we’d make love. Make love? I just have time to wonder at the phrase. I never think like this.
Then I can’t wonder anything. Sleep takes me.
I wake to a banging on the door. The room is bright yellow with afternoon sunlight. I rub at my eyes, groggy.
“Yeah? I’m coming, goddamn.”
“Half an hour, Cage.” It’s Jax. He sounds fresher now, less grim.
“Yeah, all right.”
I take a quick shower and change into some fresh clothes. The water runs red’n black from last night. The room reeks of gun metal and blood. I crack the window, then head out. Jax is waiting outside with Boulder and about twenty brothers. Boulder gestures at the men to gather around.
“All right, here’s how it’s gonna be. These pricks are meeting out near the old hat warehouse. Most of you’ll know that it’s right in the middle of the forest, so we’ve got cover. We’re gonna bide our time’n let these bastards come out into the open. Then we’re gonna kill as many of them as we can. Jax and Cage, I want you with rifles on the other side of the warehouse to us. You’ll fire first. I’ll give you the signal on the walkie. Pledge, hand out the walkies. Tune them right, fellas. These are the difference between life’n death.”
I take my walkie and tune it to our usual frequency. Then Jax and I walk over to our bikes with the other fellas. Some of them are whooping like Marines riding out to war. Others are quiet. A few of the greener fellas look a little nervous.
Gunner winks at me as he climbs onto his bike.
“Two wars in one day, eh, Cage?”
“Looks that way, old man. Get yourself killed’n I’ll put a bullet in your head.”
His laugh is lost in the roaring of the bikes. We ride until we’re a mile out. We hide our bikes in the forest. Then we go ahead on foot. Jax and I hang back a little on Boulder’s orders. We assemble our rifles, load them, make sure we’ve got enough ammo. We check each other’s guns. Once we’re sorted, we move as quietly as we can to our position.
The warehouse sits in a clearing, in a slight dip. Trees come right up to the walls in places, a couple of branches poking through the upper windows.
“Place looks dead,” Jax whispers as we find our place between two thick-branched trees.
We lie on our bellies and set up our rifles. I look down the scope, checking I have a line of sight. I can see the door to the warehouse, as well as some of the old parking lot. Although it’s more of a jungle now, weeds covering the concrete.
“Give it time.”
“Reckon we’ll end them today, Cage?”
We keep our voices well below the sounds of the forest around us. Through my scope, I can just barely spot the other fellas, all hiding just like us. They’re almost invisible.
“We better. I’m fuckin’ tired of these pricks. I wanna put a bullet in this Hatter bastard myself.”
“Not if I get there first. You hear what that girl said last night? He throws sex parties, she said. They have to fulfill his wildest dreams. You hear that shit?”
“Yeah, I heard it, Jax.”
“Fuckin’ animal.”
“Yeah, I know. But don’t get on your period now, eh? The smell might give us away.”
He laughs grimly. “Yeah, yeah, fuck you.”
A long time passes. I’m ju
st starting to think that the Bloody Talons aren’t going to show when a truck pulls up. It takes its sweet time coming through the forest, brushing against trees in places. It’s way too big, but somehow, the driver manages to get it through. A few moments later, several men pull up on their bikes. They’re all wearing leathers.
“Ten,” Jax whispers. “Fifteen. Twenty. No, nineteen. If you don’t count the driver.”
“Count the driver,” I reply. “Could be a Talon in disguise.”
“Twenty, then. I’ll radio Boulder.”
“Yeah, be quiet about it.”
I go over the men with my scope, searching for their leader. Most of them just look like we do; gruff bikers with killer’s eyes. All of them are tooled up. A couple of them just have pistols, but mostly they have rifles or sub-machine guns. That’s heavy shit right there, at least compared to the criminals we usually deal with in Steep Rock. Mostly they just use Glocks, shitty little bang-bangers. These men look ready for war. Some of them have even got scopes on their weapons.
All of them are looking at one fella like he’s in charge. It’s in the way they turn to him. It’s the same way the fellas turn to Boulder when we’re at a meet. Some of the fellas move crates from the back of the truck onto the ground.
“Guns or drugs?” Jax asks.
“Guns, I reckon. A whole lot of crates if it’s drugs.”
“Yeah, but what if it’s drugs?” Jax grinds his teeth. He hates drugs, at least the hard ones. He hasn’t got a problem with weed or liquor, but if you try’n convince him that anything made in a lab can be fun, he’s likely to start swinging. “Fuckin’ crates of heroin in our town.”
Arvin Hatter is a surprisingly short man. I assumed he’d be the biggest bastard in the club. But that was a stupid thing to assume, now I think on it. Boulder isn’t the biggest man in the Angels. He’s got black hair tied in a loose knot, a thick black beard, and tattoos covering his hands. He looks around at the men, saying something I can’t hear.
Jax lets out a sigh when they crack open the crates and take out AK-47s. “How much ammo you reckon they’ve got?”
“Don’t matter none to us. They’re waiting on somebody.”
