I need that.
I need her.
I take a deep breath, then another sip, reminding myself that I should wait as long as possible. That’s the thing, though. We don’t have much time.
The world is falling apart.
Civilization is crumbling around us.
As if I needed more proof, I watch as a disheveled woman walks down the sidewalk, twitching and jerking from the effects of meth, her hair wildly tangled around her sunken face, her eyes vacant and lost. She could be nineteen or sixty-nine, it’s impossible to tell. She walks by the window where Bullet and Libby are sitting, and the proof of everything I’ve come to believe is illuminated in the contrast of humanity.
Bullet and Libby sit there eating their hundred dollar dinners and this woman is dirt poor and homeless and can’t afford a glass of water in that establishment.
The juxtaposition is clear.
It’s always been rich versus poor in this country.
The rich are winning. They don’t care about climate change, they don’t care about the homelessness problem, they don’t care about the influx of deadly drugs on our streets.
As long as they get to buy that third yacht and their summer mansion in the Hamptons, they don’t care about the poor people, they don’t care about the Earth.
And the funny thing about it all is that the Earth doesn’t care about them, either. When there’s no habitable place left to live on this planet, the rich will suffer just as much as the poor do.
We’ll all die together.
Unless, of course, we do something. There’s still hope for saving us all, but will anyone do it? That’s the million dollar question I sit there asking myself as I watch my daughter smile and laugh.
God, I want her to have a bright future.
I want to fucking believe in that.
But it’s hard. That’s why I feel rushed. That’s why it’s more difficult to be away from her with every day that passes. That’s why whatever I do next, however harsh, however cruel, however painful it may be — that’s why it’s necessary.
I’m not a monster.
This is all borne of love.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
LIBBY
I was thankful the menu included more than actual pigeon for dinner.
Le Pigeon had been one of the trendiest restaurants in town for quite a few years now, and it was difficult to hide my shock that Bullet had chosen it when we pulled up.
Luckily, Bullet had a sense of humor about it, even though our stuffy surroundings were a little intimidating.
“Sure you don’t want the pigeon?” he asked. “It’s apricot glazed! Mmmm!”
I laughed and shook my head.
“No, thank you,” I said. “Will you be ordering the rabbit fried in buttermilk?”
He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I only picked this place because I saw they had a burger on the menu.”
“That burger is twenty dollars!” I protested.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “It’s on me!”
“You didn’t have to bring me here, you know,” I said. “I would have been fine with someplace a little more casual.”
“Are you kidding?” he asked, mockingly. “And give up the chance of seeing you eat grilled octopus with raspberry sofrito?”
“I don’t even know what that is!”
“Neither do I,” he shrugged. “Maybe we should get the tasting menu?”
“That’s a seven course meal!”
“So?”
“Well, if it includes pigeon, I’m really not interested. I mean, do they just collect them from the streets of downtown, or what? I mean, have you seen the number of pigeons down there?”
We laughed like teenagers, finally settling on the lamb shoulder for me and the beef bourguignon for him, and a bottle of Pinot Noir to share.
I stared across the table at him, in awe that he would go to so much trouble to impress me. Of course, he didn’t have to do it, but it was nice to see that he was trying so very hard.
“This is really nice, Bullet, thank you.”
“I just want to make you happy, Libby,” he said.
“And you do,” I smiled. He grinned back at me and it was all I could do not to jump across the table at him. He looked so handsome and distinguished in his suit, his blonde hair slicked back, his chiseled cheek bones on full display, his eyes shining back at me with such unbridled love.
Breathless, I sipped my wine, taking in the gorgeous view.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
MONA
Three hours later, Bullet and Libby emerged from the restaurant, smiling like a couple of loons. I waited till they pulled into traffic and put my car in gear, sliding into traffic behind them as they headed downtown.
Minutes later, we were on the southwest side of downtown near the South Park Blocks, and as it always did when I came to this part of town, my stomach churned.
There were too many bad memories in this park, mainly the museum where Grace arrested me. Bullet parked in a nearby parking lot and I pulled over, waiting to see where they were going.
My heart sank when I realized where they were headed — the scene of the crime itself — the Portland Art Museum. A banner stretched across the side of the building told me they were having a nighttime viewing of the Parisian exhibit that I’d seen advertised all over the internet lately. Arm in arm, they strolled in and I found a parking spot nearby to wait, the ghosts of my past now firmly sitting on my shoulder.
I’d just found out I was pregnant that week. I wasn’t sure how the hell I was going to get myself off the streets, but finding out I had a baby coming had me extremely motivated.
I knew the first thing I needed to do was get far away from my abusive, addicted boyfriend. I didn’t tell him I was pregnant, and I’d spent the last week pretending to get fucked up with him. I’d pretend I was drinking and when he wasn’t looking, I’d pour out the booze. If he handed me a joint, I’d pretend to take a hit and not inhale. If he laid out a line of coke for me, I’d wait till he wasn’t looking and wipe it away while I pretended to snort it.
I was determined not to do anything to hurt the baby. Hell, I’d probably already done a little harm, considering I’d been using for the last few weeks before I even knew. Once I realized I hadn’t gotten my period in a while, I stole a pregnancy test from Walgreen’s and waited with trembling hands in the bathroom for the little blue plus sign to show up.
And then I cried. Because I knew I had a huge job ahead of me if I was going to make things right for this kid.
I spent the rest of the day walking around with a secret smile. I ditched Jacob for a little while and took a walk in Laurelhurst Park. It was early in the morning and the park was mostly deserted. I strolled around the pond, stopping for a moment to watch the ducks duck under the water, diving for food. I made a promise to myself that I’d bring my son or daughter here often, and then I kept walking, winding through the little trails that lined the top of the dog park and wound around the park.
A rustle in the bushes caught my eye and a tiny little dog burst out barking at me furiously. I froze and he ran over to me, his tail wagging a mile a minute as he continued yapping. He was tiny, a little black and white, miniature Australian Shepherd, and I was pretty sure he was still a puppy.
I checked for a collar and tags, but didn’t see one. I knelt down in front of him, and he got close enough for me to grab onto him.
“Hey buddy,” I whispered. “You’re okay, it’s okay.” He calmed down a little and let me pet his head, his tail still wagging furiously. “Do you live around here? Are you lost?”
He stared up at me and I picked him up gently and walked out through the tree line and up to the street with him in my arms. The park is lined with gorgeous mansions, the Laurelhurst neighborhood being one of the nicest in the city. I scanned the street for any sign of someone who might be looking for him, but outside of a few cars parked along the edge, it was quiet.
“Maybe someone in the park is looking for you,” I said. I kept him in my arms, petting him gently as I walked back into the park. I murmured reassuring words to him as I walked down the trails, asking the few people I came into contact with if they knew him, but nobody had seen him before.
After making a complete loop through the park, I stopped to catch my breath, wondering what I was going to do with him. By now, he was snuggling in my arms and licking my face.
“You sure are friendly,” I said. I contemplated keeping him. Plenty of people who lived on the streets had dogs. Jacob was not a dog person, however, so I knew he’d try to sell the dog if he knew I’d found him.
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” I said.
I fantasized about keeping him for a minute, imagining myself with a steady job and a little apartment where I could raise my child and listen to this little guy yap every day. I’d put flowers on the windowsill and grow sage and rosemary in little pots outside the front door. If I closed my eyes, I could see the white lace eyelet curtains I’d sew billowing in the wind on a cool Autumn night, the moonlight streaming through my bedroom window, my daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib, the dog curled up at the foot of her bed protectively.
It could happen.
God, it sounded so foreign, though. A little too picturesque for my current reality. But a girl could dream.
And I did dream.
A little voice in my head told me that I was being a fool and I pushed that voice away. But I knew I had to be reasonable and there was no way I could take care of this dog right now, when I couldn’t even take care of myself.
I had nine months to get ready for this baby. A dog would only be an obstacle right now. I’d have to get rid of him and maybe I could get another dog later, once I had a little stability.
“It’s just a bad time, buddy,” I said, leaning down and kissing his soft little forehead. With a heavy sigh, I walked to the bus stop and caught a bus to the humane society in North Portland. The dog fell asleep in my lap on the way there, and it was with tears in my eyes that I handed him over to the clerk there, explaining where I’d found him so they could try to find his owner.
I hooked back up with Jacob an hour later downtown and resumed our usual routine of trying to score and walking the streets looking for entertaining ways to pass the long hours of the night, which usually ended up in a myriad of unpleasant situations that always ended up with us fighting.
All I could think about that night was how to get myself and my kid into a safe situation and off the streets and safely away from Jacob.
So, when Jacob decided to break into the art museum that night, my heart certainly wasn’t in it. I protested. I begged him not to do it. I tried to distract him by suggesting we go steal some beer from the Plain Pantry on 11th around the corner, but he had a one-track mind.
I don’t know what he thought he was going to steal inside the art museum. You can’t exactly unload a fucking Picasso on the street. But, I was afraid of pissing him off, and he was getting angry at my incessant refusal, so I finally just went along with him. I didn’t like him when he was angry.
And like I said, my baby’s safety was all I could think about suddenly.
As soon as we stepped into the museum, I had a bad feeling. It was stupid. The guard would be back anytime, and I didn’t have much confidence in Jacob’s ninja skills.
He was loud and bumbling — being quiet and stealthy were not his strong suits. When he suggested we have sex, I was repulsed. I tried to fight him off, giggling and trying to fight him off, hoping he’d get distracted and change his mind if I fought him off long enough.
That’s when Grace found us.
That’s when I lost any chance at the life I’d fantasized about all day, before I’d even had a chance to taste it.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
LIBBY
“J'aime cette peinture!” Bullet said.
I looked at him in shock.
“What did you say?”
“I love this painting,” he smiled.
“You speak French?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“No, not really,” he said. “I just learned a few things because I knew I was bringing you here.”
“Wow.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“That’s just…,” I hesitated. “That’s just really thoughtful.”
“You like that?” He grinned. “I learned something else that I was going to spring on you later, but since you’re so impressed, I’ll just whip it out right now.”
I laughed, waiting.
He cleared his throat, making a big show of grasping my arms and staring into my eyes.
“Tes yeux sont plus beaux que toutes les étoiles du ciel, Libby.”
My eyes widened with each syllable.
“What does that mean?” I asked. I’d taken one semester of French in high school and gave up and switched to Spanish.
“Your eyes are more beautiful than all the stars in the sky, Libby.”
He leaned down, brushing a kiss across my lips as I swooned.
“Damn, Bullet, you know I’m a sure thing, right? You don’t have to go to all this trouble to get me into bed.”
He almost looked hurt when I said that.
“I just wanted you to know that I think you’re special, Libby. You’re worth it all.”
“You are so sweet, you know that?” I asked.
“Just do me a favor and don’t tell the guys about the French, okay? I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Deal,” I nodded, slipping my hand in his. We were at the end of the Parisian exhibit and he’d been a perfect gentleman the entire night. But all this romantic talk was making me more than ready to get him alone.
“Ma chambre d'hôtel est chic comme de la merde,” he whispered. “Puis-je vous inviter à boire un verre dans ma chambre?”
“Translation?”
“My hotel room is fancy as fuck. Can I invite you back to my room for a drink?”
“You really went for it, didn’t you?” I laughed.
“Oui, mademoiselle!”
“You’re amazing,” I said, slipping my arm in his. “Let’s go.”
We strolled out of the museum arm in arm, and once more I hitched up my skirt and climbed on the back of his bike, the vibrations from the seat serving as a creative form of foreplay that I never before imagined.
By the time we pulled into the parking garage of the Hotel deLuxe, I was soaking wet.
“You’re right,” I said, as Bullet cut the bike’s engine.
“About what?” he asked, pulling off his helmet.
“Your hotel is fancy as fuck,” I laughed.
“Wait till you see my room!” he replied, grabbing my hand and walking me into the lobby.
“I can’t wait!” I smiled.
“Bullet! Libby!” The sudden shrieking of our names was unmistakable. We turned to see Julia stumbling out of the Driftwood Room, a very large collection of Gods laughing after her.
“Hey, Julia,” I chuckled. “I see you found the Gods.”
She stopped in front of us and stared up at Bullet with wide eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Damn, Bullet,” she whispered, her eyes raking over him appreciatively. “You clean up well.”
“Stop oogling him, Julia!”
“Alright, alright, but damn!” She laughed, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the lounge.
“No, I don’t think — I mean, we’re going up to Bullet’s room.”
“Not before you come have a drink with me, you aren’t!” Julia insisted, tightening her grip on my wrist. I looked back over my shoulder at Bullet and he shrugged, winking at me, as he followed us into the bar.
They were all there. Every face from the clubhouse, except for Grace and Ryder. Splayed out on the couches, lined up at the bar, snuggled up in booths in the corner, the Gods and their women had taken over the tiny, swanky retro lounge tucked into the corner of the
lobby of the hotel.
I glanced over at the bartenders, both of whom were women, and saw huge grins plastered on their faces. I assumed the Gods were tipping well.
Slade and Riot sat at the end of the bar, downing shot after shot. Diana and Lacey were sipping on what looked like expensive whiskey in crystal glasses on a sofa in the back. I slid into a leather booth next to Julia as Bullet went to the bar to get us drinks.
“So, are you having fun?” I asked her.
“I’m sloshed!” she laughed. “But yes, very much.”
She was surrounded by all the single Gods, all vying for a flash of her smile. I don’t blame them, she’s drop dead sexy, but there are other women in the city. By the looks on their faces, they aren’t interested, though.
Bullet returned from the bar and placed a glass in front of me. I stared at the tall champagne glass, dumbfounded.
“It’s purple!”
“Lavender, actually,” he said. “It’s named the ‘Elizabeth Taylor’, I couldn’t resist.”
“Oh, I’ve had three of those already!” Julia exclaimed. “It’s delicious, drink up!”
Gingerly, I took a sip, and she was right, despite the faint whiff of lavender, it was sweet as honey.
“Wow, you’re right,” I said.
Bullet sat next to me, placing a warm palm on my bare knee, sending shivers up my thigh. He sipped his glass of whiskey and quietly listened to the conversation around us, which Julia was clearly leading.
Besides the Gods, there weren’t many others in the bar. A lone couple sat huddled together in one corner, eating from tiny plates scattered in front of them. Shortly after we’d arrived, a tall, thin man in a suit and hat seated himself at the opposite end of the bar from Slade and Riot, and an older lady with reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose perused the menu at a table by the door.
And despite the dark, intimate vibe, the Gods were loud.
Slade loudly bellowed every time Riot made a joke. Julia wasn’t keeping the volume down at all, her loud cackle echoing through the place every few minutes as she shamelessly flirted with everyone around her.
GODS & ANGELS: GODS OF CHAOS MC: BOOK ELEVEN Page 10
