by Kim Jones
“Where’ve you been?” she asks, in an attempt to avoid the fact that I just caught her eye fucking me.
“Out.”
She breathes out a small laugh, dropping her head to look at the phone in her lap before muttering under her breath, “Asshole.” If I’m an asshole, her shitty attitude made me that way.
I fall down in the chair beside her and light a smoke. She ignores me—the silence growing more uncomfortable with every passing moment. The space between us is filled with shit we both refuse to talk about. The sexual tension is so heavy I swear I can smell it. To punish myself, I look her over.
Luke’s house shoes are on her feet, and a t-shirt that’s a few sizes too big hangs down past her knees. There’s not a pair of shorts in sight, and I bite my tongue to keep from groaning at the thought of her being nearly naked, only two feet from me.
She can avoid me all she wants, but I know she’s affected by me too. If the hard nipples that press against her shirt aren’t enough to give her away, the clenching of her thighs in search of some relief is.
“How long you plan to ignore me, Maddie?” I ask, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to stop this stupid game we’ve been playing for almost a year.
Twisting in her seat, she draws her knees up and pulls the shirt down over her legs to cover them—but not before I get a peak of the dark panties that barely cover the lips of her pussy. My tongue sweeps across my lower lip at the sight. When I drag my gaze up to her face, her lips are parted and her eyes hooded—centered on my mouth. I give her a cocky grin and the lust in her eyes ignites to anger.
“You’re a dick, you know that?”
I shake my head and look down at my lap. My voice somber. “I’ve never been a dick to you, Maddie.”
“And you’re a liar.”
Now it’s my turn to be pissed. “I’m the liar? You’re the one who refused to give me a reason for leaving. You may not have lied, but you sure as fuck didn’t tell me the whole truth.”
“You didn’t want the truth, Marty. You wanted me to tell you what you wanted to hear.” Her voice is shaky and she avoids my stare as she lights another cigarette—forgetting the still lit one in the ashtray. Whatever she’s not telling me makes her uneasy. I shouldn’t care. It’s been a year. But damn if it still doesn’t kill me to see her upset. Even if I’m the reason.
Taking advantage of her vulnerability, I try a different tactic. Leaning forward I place a hand on her knee. “Just tell me what I did wrong, babe.” She slaps my hand away and rolls her eyes. The woman knows me too well.
“Don’t try to play me,” she snaps, the uneasiness vanishing, replaced with the same stubborn Maddie I’ve been dealing with for years. “You know why I left.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Well, let me remind you.” Her eyes become tiny slits as she narrows them on me. “You’re a pompous asshole who treated me like I didn’t exist the moment you got your patch. You might as well have said, ‘Hey babe, now that I have this leather pussy magnet around my shoulders, I don’t need you anymore. Thanks for taking care of me through my prospect period though—I couldn’t have done it without you.’”
I let out a short laugh, more so at her ridiculous impression of me than her words—words that I’ve heard on a loop for months. “Oh, so now I’m an asshole because I wanted to prove myself to the club?”
“Pompous asshole,” she corrects. “And you proved yourself during your prospect period. Still, you continued to act like you owed them more than what was expected of you.”
“I owe my club everything, babe. You of all people should be able to respect that.”
Anger radiates off her body as the knuckles on her hands turn white from the death grip she has on her knees. “Respect that? I grew up in this club, Marty. I’ve been a part of this life a helluva lot longer than you. I more than respect it, because it’s a part of me.”
“You got bored, Maddie. When we stopped hiding and sneaking around, it wasn’t exciting enough for you, so you found a reason to leave me. I never ignored you, babe. Tell the truth, you never really wanted me—all you wanted was the thrill.” That sick feeling of rejection seems to grow inside me at the admission. For a while I wasn’t sure if it was the truth. But she never denied it. And it was the only reasonable explanation. Even now, she seems almost relieved at my words.
“Look.” She lets out a long breath, and I can tell by the way she avoids my eyes that, yet again, she isn’t going to confirm or deny the truth about why she left me. “What we had was great, but you know as well as I do that we just lost that spark.”
I’m pretty fucking sure I still have that spark. It might not be love, but it’s something—whatever it is, I sure as fuck miss it. I’ve tried to find it in other women, but they just don’t measure up to Maddie.
Reaching out, I take her hand. She stills as she looks down at the connection—pausing before she finally looks back to me. This is it. One last chance for her to change her mind. I’m willing to try and make this work, but she has to meet me in the middle. To hell with my pride. I want this.
“I can’t wait for forever, babe. You sure this is what you want?” With no hesitation—almost like she’s mentally prepared herself for this moment, she answers.
“I’m sure.”
So, I let her go. Not just her hand, but all of her. Our memories, our love and that spark that apparently, only I still feel. And without even a glance in my direction, she walks away—killing any hope I had for us.
It’s seven in the morning. Some bitch whose name I can’t remember is laying naked next to me. I wince as I sit up, rubbing my temples in an attempt to dull the throbbing. I look around the room, noticing strewn clothes, scattered whiskey bottles and what smells like weed mixed with sex hanging heavy in the air.
I look over my shoulder at the mistake snoring lightly next to me. Rachael? Amy? Did it fucking matter? I don’t think too hard on it. Truth is, I’d rather forget anyway.
The water is to the point of scalding as I stand under the shower—letting the thick steam help clear my head. Last night was crazy. I can’t help but smile at the memory of Madness’ clubhouse going up in flames. But it dies when I remember my conversation with Maddie and my decision to let her go—or her decision. Either way, it’s over. How we got here doesn’t really fucking matter. Now, I’m drowning myself in booze and whores and she’s probably doing the same.
The bathroom door swings open, pulling me from my thoughts. Before I can check to see who it is, I hear Luke’s loud, booming voice fill the room. “What the fuck did you do?” Snatching back the curtain, he glares at me. I’m covered head to toe in suds, but apparently he can’t wait.
“What needed to be done,” I say casually.
My lack of concern pisses him off further. When he speaks, he roars. “By burning down a fucking building?”
I choose to ignore him as I rinse then shut off the water. Since when was that a problem? It’s not like we hadn’t done it before, and to a club who was a hell of a lot less deserving than Madness. “Pass me a towel?”
Fuming, he snatches a towel from the shelf and throws it at me. “I got a call a few minutes ago from a guy named Snake. You know him?”
“Yeah, he’s the VP in Water Valley.”
“Well that VP is a fucking cop.” Shit.
We knew there were cops in Madness. Doctors, lawyers and politicians, too. But we’d never actually met any. The ones we’d dealt with in the past were nothing more than white trash wannabes. I knew I shouldn’t have underestimated Snake, but I had. Now, I’d put the whole club at risk.
“Luke,” I start, regret heavy in my voice. He holds his hand up to silence me, before shaking his head and walking out. Disappointment was a terrible feeling. But that shit hurt a lot worse when someone else felt it because of you.
The whore from last night is gone when I walk back into the bedroom. I’m sure Luke sent her on her way. The room still smells like her, and it turns my stomach b
ecause it doesn’t smell like her. I pull on jeans and a black t-shirt before grabbing my hat and wallet. I leave my cut hanging on the corner of the bed where I’d pulled it off this morning. I wouldn’t be wearing it today. Not because I was told I couldn’t, but because I didn’t fucking deserve to.
Walking down the hall, I can hear voices from inside the front room of the clubhouse. I walk in to find several chapter members standing around and sitting at the bar. The Prospect hands me a cup of coffee, and I motion for a pack of smokes too.
“Table,” I hear Luke say from behind me. I avoid the eyes of my brothers as I grab my coffee and head towards the room where we hold church.
Taking my seat, second to the right from Luke who sits at the head, I feel a reassuring squeeze on my shoulder. I look up to find Regg who gives me a smirk before taking his seat next to me. “I’d a burnt that sumbitch down too,” he says so only I can hear. Despite the situation and the shit storm I feel swirling in my chest, I smile.
“What happened?” I don’t have to look at Luke to know he is talking to me. Without hesitation, I enlighten my brothers—making sure to take turns looking each of them in the eye.
Over the past couple of years, our club has branched out and brought a lot of change to Hattiesburg. Some patch holders were relocated. New ones joined and some old ones retired. We were smaller, but thriving. And the ones who remain are all that matter in this moment--Luke our President, Regg--VP, Buck--secretary, Crash--treasurer, Scratch--enforcer, and me the SA…for now.
When I’m finished, I try to read their faces but they give nothing away. Regg, who has never had a problem speaking his mind, is the first to say something. “I think they got exactly what they deserved.” All eyes turn to him as he continues. “We’ve worked too fucking hard for this patch.”
He pulls on his cut, emphasizing the meaning behind his words. We had to earn our patch—years’ worth of blood, sweat and tears went into building the level of respect that the Devil’s Renegades have. Now, these men come in off the street, buy their cuts online and call themselves a brotherhood just because they think they can.
“It’s bullshit that they get to just walk in and do whatever in the hell they want. I say we burn ‘em all.” A few heads nod in agreement with Regg, but I keep my focus on Luke. I can see the vein in his neck thicken with every beat of his heart. Whatever he’s thinking, is pissing him off. I just hope like hell that anger is directed more toward Madness, than toward me.
Finally, he speaks. “He might be a cop, but once he puts on that cut, he’s considered an outlaw—just like us. I don’t give a fuck who he says he is. In the eyes of the law, he’s just as much a part of a gang as we are. He’s not stupid enough to turn us in. But even if he is, he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.” Luke’s words open conversation at the table, and soon the club is building a plan to take out the remaining Madness MC chapters that have invaded our territory.
A loud knock on the door silences every man in the room. And what follows, makes my heart sink. “Yalobusha County police. Open up.”
Crash spins in his chair, standing to pull open the heavy wooden door of our chapel. The first thing I see is the Prospect lying face down with his hands cuffed behind his back. Then my eyes drift to the three uniformed officers who stand with their hands on their holsters, glaring at everyone in the room.
“Marty Yates?” one of them asks.
I stand, jerking my chin in his direction. “Yeah?”
He holds a paper up, but I’m too far away to read it—not that I have to. “We have a warrant for your arrest.”
They enter the room and with more force than necessary, I’m slammed face down on the table and cuffed while I’m read my rights. With my cheek pressed against the wood, I look into Luke’s face and what I see hurts worse than any physical pain these cops can inflict on me. He was wrong. Snake was stupid enough to press charges. And considering these men drove four hours to get me, Luke knows they must have a damn good reason for being here.
“Call Alan,” I say as I’m pulled from the table. I see Buck pull his phone from his pocket, already dialing our attorney.
No one says a word as I’m shoved through the clubhouse and out the front door. I glance over at Dallas, Luke’s wife, who stares at me wide-eyed. Movement behind me catches her gaze and I watch her sigh in relief. I’m assuming she’s just discovered Luke isn’t in handcuffs.
As I’m lowered into the car, I search for Maddie. Despite what we don’t have anymore, it’s always been those eyes that got me through the darkest times. Even if it’s the last time I see her. Even if it hurts when it shouldn’t. Even if she doesn’t care that I’m being taken away, I just need to see her.
I’ll tell her with one look how much I love her. How much she means to me. How sorry I am for not being the man she needed me to be. I’ll beg her to understand. Beg for the truth. Beg for forgiveness. Do whatever I can in these last moments of freedom to convince her no other man will love her the way I did.
But she isn’t here.
As the car pulls away I realize everything I wanted to tell her should’ve been said months ago. I should’ve swallowed my pride. I shouldn’t have given up so easy. I want nothing more than to make right what’s wrong.
Now, it’s too fucking late.
CHAPTER FOUR
Marty
Four hours later, I’m being fingerprinted. Then my mug shot is snapped. I’m stripped, a list of my tattoos is recorded, then I’m handed an orange jumpsuit before I’m shoved into a holding cell. I keep my body busy with endless push-ups, and my mind occupied by combing through every detail that’s been given to me.
My charges are assault, arson and trespassing. On the ride here, I was confident they wouldn’t stick. But after seeing the smug looks on the officers’ faces when I arrived, I’m not so sure. They act like they’ve really got something on me, and I try to remember if at any time I did something that would give them the proof they needed. I couldn’t think of anything.
My contact card had my first name and the number for a pre-paid, but that could’ve been any Marty. I kept my gloves on my hands at all times, so there wouldn’t be any fingerprints. The witnesses were my rivals, and I had an alibi with an unknown affiliate to the club.
Pete owned a nightclub about sixty miles south of Hattiesburg. Red, Regg’s ol’ lady, had worked for him for years. He’s a good friend of the clubs—though nobody knew that. Whenever I’m questioned, I’ll say I was in Biloxi at his place. And Pete will back that up. So will the strippers that never danced in my lap, the bartenders that never sold me a drink and the bouncers that never had my back when someone that looked like Madness never tried to jump me.
“Inmate,” a deputy snaps, and I look up from the floor to see him opening my cell. “Lawyer’s here.”
I’m ushered to a small room consisting of a metal table, a few chairs and a two-way window. The deputy leaves as Alan walks in. He’s only thirty, but he’s damn good. I don’t know if he’s skilled, or if he just lets his handsome face win cases. I don’t give a shit, I just need him to get me out.
He slides a pack of cigarettes across the table before taking a seat. “This place is nice,” he says, nodding as he looks around the room. I fight back the urge to slap him. “They just built it about a month ago. It even has a gym and the paint still smells fresh.”
I level him with a look. “Cut the shit, Alan.”
He laughs, “I’m not shitting you, Marty. I’m just admiring your new home.”
“This isn’t my home. And we pay you the big bucks to make sure it stays that way.”
Flipping open his file, he spins it around to me. “There isn’t enough money in the world to get you out of this one.” He taps his finger against the papers.
Looking down, I see it not only in black and white, but in color. There I am, in the flesh. He shuffles through the pictures as he speaks. “These are stills taken every five seconds. You pulling up. You getting a beer. You hitting a m
an. You going behind the bar. Oh and look,” he holds a picture up close to me, angrily shaking it in my face. “You throwing a homemade bomb into a building.”
“Calm down,” I tell him, finding it odd that I’m the one trying to get him to reign in his temper. “Is this admissible?”
Losing the battle with his temper, he jumps to his feet. “Admissible?” He rubs his hands over his hair, cussing at the ceiling. Several moments pass before he regains some control. Running his hands down the lapels of his suit, he takes a deep breath. Grabbing the back of the chair, he rocks back and forth on his heels. “Admissible,” he huffs out a laugh.
“That’s funny to you?”
“You’re a biker, Marty. A biker that is a member of a club that has created a lot of controversy in this state. Your heads have been on a chopping block for years. But they’ve never had enough evidence to convict you of anything. You can thank me for that later. So, to answer your question, you’re damn right it’s admissible.”
Great. Not only had I fucked myself, but now I’d put the club’s name on every headline in the state. They’d been waiting years for us to slip up. Leave it to me to be the stupid motherfucker that finally did.
“Options are limited here, Marty. And your best case scenario doesn’t look very good. You need to prepare yourself for the worst.”
“And what’s the worst?” I ask, knowing I’m not going to like the answer.
With a look of defeat, Alan finally gives it to me straight. “Forty years upstate.”
Forty years? I’d be an old man. There had to be another option. “I can’t do that kind of time,” I say, mostly to myself. Alan’s not listening anyway, he’s on the phone.
“Fine,” he snaps, cutting his eyes at me. “But I’m billing you anyway.” Shoving his phone in his pocket, he starts to stuff everything in a folder like he’s getting ready to leave.
