Never Coming Down

by Deja Voss

  “What do you need, Sloan?” Heat asks me.

  “I want to flush this out for a little bit in the sink, then probably just some good tweezers, maybe a scalpel, some antibiotic ointment if you have it, and some clean bandages?”

  “Sure thing,” he says.

  “And definitely some alcohol.” I laugh. “My hands are still shaking from the high-speed car chase those two outlaws just took me on.”

  Heat shoots Clutch a look that could kill. “If you get this girl in trouble, Gavin’s gonna hang you from the rafters.”

  “It’s fine,” he assures him. “We lost ’em at Brenner Pike. Ollie might have to do a little charming next time she’s downtown, but she’s good at that.”

  “Let’s get that arm of yours under the sink,” I say. I test the water, making sure it’s lukewarm.

  “Is this gonna hurt?”

  “Real fucking bad.”

  He’s howling like a maniac, and I haven’t even touched him yet. I just let the water roll off the wound on his arm. The little shards of shrapnel are coming out mostly on their own, and I’m thankful. For a big buff Marine, I would think he’d be better at masking his pain. Instead, he’s nearly bawling like a baby, and fighting me every step of the way. I don’t want to have to cut him for fear he’ll pull his shoulder out of the socket trying to get away.

  Heat returns with Olive, Red, and Tank and an armful of supplies.

  “For the lady,” Heat says, holding up what looks like a jar of moonshine.

  “Can you hit him over the head with it?” I ask. “He’s driving me nuts.”

  “I’m so sorry I’m inconveniencing you with my gunshot wound,” he bellows. “Can you give me some of that so we can get on with this?”

  Olive unscrews the lid and feeds him a sip.

  “You want some?” she asks me.

  “When in Rome, I suppose.”

  I barely take half of a shot and it hits me over the head like a ton of bricks. Maybe it did make him stop screaming. Maybe I just don’t notice anymore.

  Once I get the sore on his arm cleaned out as much as I can with water, I take a pair of tweezers and begin to pick out any traces of shrapnel left over. Olive holds the flashlight of her phone up so I can see better, Red pins Clutch’s arm to the table, and before long, he looks good to go. I lube him up with some ointment and cover him with a bandage.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” he says to me. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Maybe for you.” I laugh.

  “Am I going to have a scar?”

  “Probably,” I tell him. “Keep it clean, though, and when it starts to heal I can give you some stuff to help.”

  He grabs my arm, turning it and I wince. “Maybe I can just get a tattoo to cover it up like yours,” he says, running his fingers over the colorful but bumpy bird of paradise.

  I look right at Olive, not knowing what to say. She offers me no help, just frowns.

  “Sure,” I say, “but I don’t see you as a floral kinda guy.”

  “Even after the way he’s been crying for the last forty-five minutes?” Red chuckles.

  “Fuck off,” Clutch says. “I got shot.”

  “You did not get shot!” Olive yells. “Goddammit.”

  We all start cracking up as his face turns red.

  “Seriously, Sloan.” He pulls me in for a hug. “Thank you so much.”

  “It’s nothing,” I assure him.

  Looming in the doorway is Gavin’s father, a menacing smile from ear to ear, and a pistol in his hand.

  “Boys are back,” he says. “Let’s rally.”

  “Be careful,” Olive warns all of them. The mood in the room has suddenly grown dark.

  Clutch jumps up to join them and I shake my head.

  “You better hang back,” Heat says. “Next time, son.”

  He takes his good fist and punches it into the wall.

  “Thank you, Sloan,” Heat says. “You’re a good woman.”

  Olive hugs them all before they head out the door. I can feel the rumble of motorcycles vibrate through the walls of the shack.

  “Where are they going?” I ask.

  “Hunting,” Clutch says, frowning.

  Chapter 15

  Gavin:

  I think I do a pretty good job of being an outwardly decent guy. I’m generally polite, respect the power of nature, respect women, and try to be good to my kin.

  If you want to meet the real Gavin Boden, though, well, you’ll have to go hunting with me.

  If you want to know why every gang in town thinks we’re a bunch of ‘sick fucking weirdos,’ all you have to do is be on the wrong end of said hunt.

  Catching a handful of Sabers was easy. Hell, even tying them up and getting them in the bed of Austin’s truck didn’t seem like too much of a struggle. I can taste blood on my lip, and I don’t know if it’s mine or someone else’s. I’m sure I took a knee or two to the face, but it’s so irrelevant it almost makes me laugh.

  If you try and hurt my crew, we don’t try and hurt you back.

  We just fucking kill you.

  I have enough blood on my hands that no matter how many times I wash them, how many good deeds I do, how right I try to do by others, there will always be a little bit underneath my fingernails to remind me of who I really am.

  I’m pushing the speed on my Indian Chief, but nobody is having trouble keeping up. We’re all on that level right now. All connected by that same common goal. That same wavelength where we are no longer mortal men. Today we are beasts of the wild. We stalked our prey. We even got them a little riled up. Now it’s time to let them loose and show them how we hunt.

  Cheers erupt as we pull into the gravel parking lot, my brothers eagerly awaiting our arrival with their weapons of choice drawn. We always make sure to give our guests of honor a welcome they’ll never forget, and as soon as we unload them from the back of the truck, they’ll be wishing they died on the ride here.

  Just then, I catch her out of the corner of my eye, walking from the butcher shack with Olive. Even she can’t break this fucked-up spell I’m under; the sight of her only intensifies it.

  These assholes shot at Sloan, too.

  I go to her, stopping her dead in her tracks, and her mouth opens, but nothing comes out but a slight gasp. I pull her mouth to mine; a greedy, intense kiss to show everyone who she belongs to. The real Gavin Boden doesn’t share.

  “You’re staying here tonight,” I tell her. I don’t give her the opportunity to answer. If she leaves, I’m done. She won’t leave, though. I can tell by the look in her eye that the game has completely changed over the course of the last few hours. Or at least she’s done playing. Being in a life or death situation tends to strip you of your pretenses. I turn to walk away, to rejoin the crew so we can start our festivities.

  “Gavin,” her voice softly peeps. I look over my shoulder and she’s wiping my blood from her lips. “Are you ok?”

  “You girls go inside. This is not your business.”

  Clutch grabs the two of them by the elbow to shuffle them into the mansion and I shoot him a side-eye. He takes his hand off her without hesitation, his face all apologies. I just shake my head and keep walking.

  This is how it’s going to be now.

  No more cat and mouse with this broad. I caught her, I’m keeping her.

  I saunter over to the back of the truck and pull out my bowie knife as Brooks undoes the tailgate. I don’t know what’s got me more turned on: the taste of Sloan on my lips or these six squirming Sabers in burlap sacks in the bed of the delivery truck.

  Austin and Forrest hop up and begin tossing the sacks to the ground.

  “Looks like we lost one,” Brooks says, toeing the motionless bag with his leather boot.

  “Lucky fuck.” I shrug. I cut the bag open and stare down at the lifeless body in front of me, curled up in the fetal position. “Looks like he just fell asleep.”

  “Let’s see what we’re working with,” my dad says.


  We take turns cutting open bags of bodies—their mouths bound with duct tape, arms and legs hogtied tight—and prop them up the against the edge of the delivery truck.

  This shouldn’t be so thrilling for me. I know enough about morals and ethics and how the world works, and am perfectly aware of how wretched this love for revenge is, but I also know how we do things on this mountain, and if you ask me, there’s not much better than the scene laid out before me.

  Sloan

  My heart is pounding in my chest. Clutch is escorting us into the clubhouse but I can’t help but look over my shoulder. That man has me all sorts of mixed-up and horny. The way he towered over me made me feel scared and safe at the same time. The way he kissed me washed away any hope that I had that this was going to be a fling.

  The way he’s currently cutting open what looks like potato sacks filled with men bound with rope should be more concerning to me, but I’m more worried about the throbbing between my legs and the butterflies in my stomach that just being near him gives me.

  “Sloan, seriously, don’t look,” Olive scolds in a loud whisper. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

  I put my head down and follow her through the big barn door off the side of the mansion. The inside of the clubhouse looks like an ornate hunting lodge, the walls covered in mounted animals and the smell of cedar permeating the air. I’m shocked at how clean it is, especially after meeting the boys.

  A giant Rottweiler comes charging at me as I round the bar, her little nub wagging a million miles a minute. She’s wearing a pink collar with a bow on it and I kneel down to pet her.

  “Who is this beautiful princess?” I ask, baby talking her as she rolls over on her back to show me her tummy.

  “Don’t mind her,” Olive says to Clutch. “She’s always had a thing for dogs.”

  “That thing fucking scares me,” Clutch says. She’s rolling around on the ground, her tongue hanging out without a care in the world.

  “That’s ’cause you’re a pussy,” a gruff voice bellows from above me. A woman dressed in denim overalls and wearing a train conductor’s hat lets out a booming roar of laughter as she slaps him on the back. She’s built like a linebacker and her frizzy brown hair is piled on top of her head in a sloppy ponytail.

  “Aunt Trixie!” Olive says, bringing her in for a warm hug.

  “Girl, you need to put some clothes on. What’re you thinking running around here looking like that?” She’s eyeing Olive’s little leather minidress.

  “This old thing?” She winks.

  “I’m glad you’re ok,” Trixie says, wrapping Clutch in a bear hug. “I hate hearing about shit like this. If I wasn’t in the middle of fixing the homecoming feast, I’d be right out there with them hunting down Sabers and hacking ’em up while…”

  “Heyyyyy…” Clutch says, stopping her from finishing her sentence. He motions to me and puts his finger to his lips.

  “She ain’t the law, is she?”

  “No!” I insist. “I’m Sloan. I was Hank’s surgeon.”

  “Hon, I know exactly who you are. And I’m glad I finally get to meet ya.” She gives me a warm hug, and I don’t know why, but something about this woman makes me feel like I’m safe here, I’m welcome here, almost like I belong here. “You’re skinnier than I thought you’d be though. I’m gonna go get ya something to eat.”

  “Me too please?” Olive asks.

  “Do you want a hand?” I offer.

  “Nah, you just stay here and hang out with Tootsie. She really loves the attention.”

  This dog hadn’t left my side since I walked in the door, and now she is nudging my hand with her big nose, urging me to pet her more. It makes me miss old Bender so much. Or even just having the “stability” to be able to have a dog in general.

  Trixie exits through a swinging door, leaving the three of us alone in the barroom. Olive walks behind the bar and fishes out two bottles of beer.

  “I’m feeling a little rough,” Clutch says. “I’m gonna go take a nap. Sorry to leave you guys alone. It’s been fun.”

  “I don’t blame you at all,” I tell him. “You lost a lot of blood. Let me look at that in the morning to make sure it’s clean and healing right.”

  He shakes his head at me. “I figured you’d make a run for it while you had the chance. You don’t have to stay, you know.”

  “I want to,” I insist. Things are just starting to get interesting. “I mean it.”

  His face looks worried, the same kind of worry Olive has been directing at me since the day Gavin and I met.

  “I’m glad,” Clutch says. “He’s a good man. But you have to finish school. You can’t let our shit get in the way of that.”

  “Did she pay you to say that?” I laugh.

  “She does pretty much have it drilled in all our heads. She can be kind of a scary bitch, you know?”

  Olive flicks him right in the bandage and he shudders. “Get out of here before I show you how scary of a bitch I actually am.”

  As he wanders off, I take a long pull off the cold beer. It goes down a lot faster than I expected, but my stomach is growling and I need sustenance. Hops and barley will have to hold me over for a minute.

  “What is this place?” I ask, looking around the giant barroom.

  “This is the clubhouse. It’s where the guys hang out when they’re not fishing, hunting, or riding their bikes. It gets pretty crazy at night. Even by my standards. You wouldn’t believe the kind of hookers that hang around looking to screw a Misfit.”

  “Hey, I resemble that comment,” a gorgeous redhead slinging two giant bags of ice in her arms says, dropping them to the floor. She’s out of breath, her face bright red, and her green eyes burn right through me. She’s dressed modestly in a flowing blouse and a pair of jeans. She’s that kind of pretty that makes you instantly jealous, automatically assuming that your man is, at the very least, thinking about her when he’s sleeping with you.

  “You’re Sloan, aren’t you?” she asks. Jesus, word does travel fast on this mountain.

  I nod.

  “I’m Esther. Esther Boden. The redheaded stepchild.” She smiles.

  “Let me help you,” Olive says. “I have a feeling it’s gonna be a rough night. You got enough girls?”

  “If you want to pick up some hours, by all means. These morons love you.”

  The two work together getting the area behind the bar all stocked and ready to go for the night’s upcoming festivities. Olive chops up lemons and limes and Esther takes bottles of liquor and lines them up on the shelves.

  “I’m really sorry to hear about what happened at your place today, Ollie. That fucking sucks. And how scary for you, Sloan. I’m sorry you had to see that,” Esther says in the most sincere and convincing way possible. Something about this woman is pure goodness. I feel myself instantly liking her.

  “You should’ve seen her, Esther. She handled it like a pro. Everyone else was shaking in their boots and she just walked right over and started giving orders.”

  “I was talking about my brother’s hairy ass,” she giggles. She opens another beer and slides it across the bar to me. “I’m just teasing, Sloan. Seriously, thank you for taking care of Clutch today, and Goob, too. I swear it’s not like this all the time.”

  “You’re really nice,” I tell her.

  Trixie returns with a couple of platters and Esther smiles. “What do you got there, Auntie?”

  “Sandwiches and cookies. Does that work for you, Sloan?”

  “Thank you so much, Trixie. This looks amazing. You didn’t have to do this.” I grab a sandwich and start scarfing it down with reckless abandon. Three bites is all it takes before I’m shoveling cookies into my mouth.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Trixie laughs. “It’s slightly repulsive but also intriguing.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.” I shrug and forge ahead. Something about this just feels so good. I’m surrounded by a kind group of wo
men. In my career, I rarely get to feel this. I’m isolated from a lot of day-to-day normal interaction with other girls my age.

  “Why are you guys being so kind to me?” I ask.

  Esther smiles, her eyes growing narrow.

  “There are two kinds of women who walk through that door. There are the kind that will only be happy if her fellow sister is suffering, the kind who will go to any lengths to try and fuck their way to the top of the food chain, even if it means dragging all women and everything we’ve worked so hard for through the dirt in the process. The only loyalty they have is to their desire to become an old lady. Then there’s us. We don’t ask for anything. We don’t expect anything. We just treat people like we want to be treated. I hate to break it to ya, but you’re like us. And women like us need to stick together.”

  I’m touched by how she has so much faith in me without even really knowing me.

  “Thanks for talking me up, Olive,” I say. “I feel like I have some pretty high standards to live up to, though.”

  “It’s not that hard. Just be honest. Be yourself. And if you ever hurt my brother, make sure you tell me first so I can be there to point and laugh at him.

  “I’m just going to warn you, though, if you plan on sticking around tonight you’ll probably meet a lot of the other kind of girls. Take what they say with a grain of salt. They’re going to do whatever they can to try and tear you down, and Olive and I might not be handy to look after you. It’s going to suck, but you’ll get used to it.”

  “You just stick with me, Sloan,” Trixie says. “I’ll make sure nobody fucks with you.” I trust her word. I know I wouldn’t fuck with this lady before I met her personally, and especially not after.

  I hear the barn door swing open, and in walks three scantily clad girls in high heels, their hair immaculately curled, makeup heavy. I begin to feel really self-conscious about my current state of dress. I realize the only people I have to impress are the ones who aren’t going to care, though, and it makes me feel strong, powerful, relaxed. I feel like I’m in a place where I’m meant to be.

  “Oh shit,” Esther mutters. “Is it seven already? Come on, girls, put away the phones and make sure your stations are set up. Tammy, what in the world are you wearing?”