by Ruby Dixon
“The one they were using to transport you girls. Do you remember being in a cage?”
I shake my head slowly, his words sinking in. Ripped off the truck. “You didn’t buy me?”
“Fuck no. Gem would have my balls for dinner if I so much as touch you. He’s the boss.” He gets up from the bed and walks away, heading across the room. As he does, I see the enormous tattoo covering his broad back. It’s the evil jester holding the twin blades. I know that symbol.
More than that, I know who Gem is, though he’s Jim to me. That’s my older brother. “You’re with the Butchers?”
“Fuck yeah I am.” He grins proudly at me over his shoulder.
I feel a surge of hope…and then quickly squash it again. “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
“Um, because of my big-ass tattoo?”
“It could be fake. It’s ugly enough.”
“Fuck that. This shit’s gorgeous.” He arches his back and cranes his head as if trying to see the ink. “Work of motherfuckin’ art.”
“It could still be fake.” I sit up straighter in the bed, feeling a little bolder. If I lip off at him and he doesn’t punch me, does that prove he’s with the Butchers?
“And this gorgeous cut? This fake?” He picks up a leather vest off the arm of the couch and shows it to me. “You know how hard I had to work for this shit? And you’re calling it fake?”
He sounds like he’s getting irritated. I cringe back. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I was just asking.”
He puts down the vest, and the frown returns to his face. “Shit, girl, I ain’t gonna smack you around for asking. It’s just…I’m proud of who I’m with.”
The tension vibrating through my body eases a little. “The guy who stole me had a Butchers cut on,” I admit in a small voice. “So I’m sorry if I don’t trust you.”
He points at me. “And we’re gonna catch that bastard and feed him his sack, you wait and see.” He turns and scoops his phone off of the counter. “But I guess all this shit is scaring you. Here, lemme dial Lucky for you and you can talk to her.”
Tears threaten. “I’d like that,” I whisper. Oh please, please don’t let this be another con. I don’t think I can take much more. I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically, from existing in a state of endless fear for the last week.
I ignore the insistent press of my bladder as he taps a number into the cheap, shitty phone—a burner, I’m guessing, if watching crime shows has taught me anything. He holds it up and hits a button. “Speakerphone,” he says, grinning again like we’re having fun or something. The phone rings tinnily, proving his words.
A second later, someone picks up. “What now?” It’s my sister all right, though I don’t recognize that authoritative tone in her voice.
The guy holding the phone gives me a sheepish look. “Yo, Lucky. It’s me, Epic—”
“I know,” Penny says, impatient. “I’m really busy right now trying to handle all the hoochies you sent my way, so you want to tell me why you’re calling again?”
“Your sister’s awake,” he says, holding the phone closer to his mouth. “And she doesn’t believe I’m with the Butchers—”
“Oh my God,” Penny interrupts. “Put her on! Hand the phone to her, dumbass! Becka? You there, honey?”
“I’m here,” I say in a watery voice, and then the tears I’ve been fighting back start pouring down my face. I sob as the guy—Epic—hands me the phone, and I click off speakerphone and put it to my ear. “Hi, Penny.”
“Becka, honey, are you okay?” Penny sounds like she’s about to start crying, too. “Oh my God. I’ve been so worried. Please tell me you’re okay.”
The brand on the back of my neck burns something awful, but it seems unimportant at the moment. “I’m okay,” I weep. “I think I’m okay.”
“Did they hurt you? Rape you? I swear I will kill each of those motherfuckers myself if they so much as harmed a hair on your head—”
“I’m okay,” I say again quickly. Truth is, I’m not all that okay. I was branded. I’ve been manhandled more times than I’d like to remember, and I’ve got a few cigarette burns in uncomfortable places from when the guards were bored. But my sister is extremely protective—sometimes overbearingly so—and I don’t want her going after them. I want her to stay safe. “I just want to come home. Can I please, please come home?”
“Oh, Becka,” Penny says softly. “I’m so glad you’re safe. You have no idea how much I’ve worried—” Her voice catches.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. I think back to that stupid day when I picked a fight because I was jealous of her happiness. “I made you mad and you left me at the store. The guy said he was with the Butchers…” I let my voice trail off because I’m worried about sounding accusing. It’s my fault. I should know who the Butchers are. I shouldn’t have gotten on the back of a stranger’s bike like some dumb little kid. “I thought you’d sent him,” I say after a moment.
“Honey, don’t you apologize. I should have never left you. I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again.”
I sniff. “So I can come home?”
“We’re going to get you home the moment the coast is clear. I promise.”
“When?” I want to see Penny. I want to curl up on her sofa and let her stroke my hair and pretend like she’s my mom. Let her shoulder all my responsibilities for a change. I want to see my brother Jim and have him reassure me that everything’s fine and that I can go back to school and my life will go on just as it always has, sheltered and as perfect as they can make it.
Penny sighs. “It’s complicated right now.”
“What do you mean it’s complicated? Penny, I don’t want to be here.” I drop my voice to a whisper, gazing up at Epic, who’s watching me, arms crossed. “I want to be home with you, not this guy.”
“Epic’s like a puppy, I promise. Just roll up a newspaper and hit him on the nose if he misbehaves. And Locke’s a good guy. He’ll be there soon. Don’t let them intimidate you. I swear to you, we wouldn’t send someone after you if they didn’t know what they were doing.”
She’s avoiding my question. “But when can I come home?”
Penny hesitates. “It’s complicated. You don’t want to know.”
“I do want to know—”
“Hand the phone back to Epic, okay?”
I’m hurt at how abruptly our conversation ends. “But—”
“I love you, Becka. You have no idea how much. And I’m so glad that you’re safe. I’m probably going to have a good cry after we get off the phone, but right now, I need to talk to Epic, okay? It’s a little difficult right now, and I don’t want you getting involved in any of this.”
Because it’s illegal and dangerous. Like I haven’t already been involved? Kidnapped? Hello? But I hold the phone out to Epic because I’m too wounded to argue with Penny.
He takes it back and juggles it in his hands for a second. I try to figure out what he’s doing when he taps something on the screen and then holds the phone flat again. “It’s me.”
“Am I on speakerphone?” Penny asks.
Epic shoots me a look and presses his finger to his lips, indicating silence. “Nope. You got just me.”
For some reason, that makes me feel a little better. I wipe away my tears and try to manage a smile.
“Okay, good. I don’t want Becka hearing this. You know those shitheads you took out last night?” Penny’s voice has gone hard again, all business.
“Um, maybe?”
“Don’t pull that ‘maybe’ crap with me right now, Epic. I don’t have time to bullshit. Were they wearing colors?”
He frowns into the air, thinking. “No? Least, I don’t remember seeing patches or anything.”
“Yeah, well, they were with the Eighty-Eight. I guess they were doing some work on the side.”
He winces. “Well, the good news is that there’s two less Eighty-Eighters in the world.”
“Yeah.” Penny’s voice is flat. “The bad new
s is that the Hard Nine sold those girls to the stable, and so the Eighty-Eight retaliated against the Nine. About five hours ago, someone went into Nine headquarters and cleaned house.”
Epic’s eyes go wide. “All of them?”
“Fucking all of them.” Her voice is tight. “I heard twenty-three dead. There might be a few road stragglers, but if they’re smart, they’ll stay underground until the smoke clears.”
He shoots me a worried look. “Damn.”
I’m horrified by what I’m hearing. Two men were killed last night and now another twenty-three are dead? Just because me and the other girls were rescued?
“Don’t let on to Becka, but this is some deep shit,” Penny continues. “I mean, I hate the Nine just as much as anyone else, but you and I both know that they were small potatoes. Shit’s gonna roll downhill, and the Butchers are standing at the bottom of the hill at the moment. We’re ready for anything they throw at us, but it’s gonna be dangerous in ABQ for a while. Solo’s got me under house arrest at the moment, and I’d bitch him out if it didn’t make sense. They’re going to be targeting girls for a while, and they’re going to be targeting girls seen with Butchers, probably to try to refill their stables. And if there’s anyone left in the Nine, they’re going to come after us, too. It’s not going to take long. Basically what I’m saying is that I need you and Locke to hang on to Rebecca for a bit. Disappear for a while and get off the grid. Your job is just to keep her safe and to call for backup if you get found.”
Stay with them? Get off the grid? Each word sinks into my chest like a bullet. I don’t want any of this. I just want to go home. If I can’t stay with Penny and her boyfriend, then I want to go back to my dorm. I don’t care that it’s closed for the summer—one of my local friends can let me crash on a couch or something. I just need familiar faces right now so I can have a safe place to relax and recover.
And it doesn’t sound like there’s a safe place to be found.
Epic nods agreement, and then shoots me another sheepish look when he realizes he’s being nonverbal while on the phone. “Right. I gotcha, Lucky. We’ll hide out until you and the prezs give the all-clear. Uh, should we tell Locke not to go back to HQ with the rescue pussy?”
“He’s already aware. He’s meeting some prospects at a halfway point, and then he’s going to take the scenic route back to you. If I were you, I’d ditch your bikes for a bit. Now’s not the time to fly colors.”
“Oh, like I give a shit if any Eighty-Eighters see. I can take ’em—”
“Yeah, but if my baby sister’s riding bitch on your bike, she’s going to be in danger. Get a fucking rental car, all right?”
“All right, fine.” He rolls his eyes as if what my sister is saying is ridiculous. “When Locke gets back here, we’ll roll out.”
“Okay. You keep my sister safe, you hear me?” Her voice gets hoarse again, and a knot forms in my throat. “She’s more important than anything in the world.”
I wipe away more tears as Penny hangs up, and Epic tosses the phone down on the bed. He thumps down at the end of the bed and misses the fact that I flinch.
“So,” he says gazing at me. “Locke’s gonna be gone a while. What do you want to do?”
I stare at him. This is my protector? This over-eager biker asshole? And I’m going to be stuck with him for…God, for who knows how long. It doesn’t seem fair. “I don’t want to be here,” I say stubbornly.
“You and me both,” he replies, which surprises me. “Shit’s going down back home and I’ve gotta stay and babysit. That’s bullshit. I’d rather be in there showing off my sweet moves to the rest of the crew.”
“People are dying.” He acts like this is all a game.
“Only the bad guys,” he tells me in a cocky voice.
“Like you’re not bad guys?”
“Baby, we’re the best guys.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
He shrugs and hops back to his feet, full of nervous energy. “Got some cards if you want to play a few hands.”
Oh God, this is turning into the worst kind of slumber party. Does he think I’m in the mood to play cards? I suddenly don’t want to be in this room with him. “I need a shower. And a change of clothes.”
“Shower’s right there,” he says, pointing at a closed door across the tiny, run-down motel room. “Clothes might be trickier. As you can see, I ain’t exactly dressed for Walmart.” He runs a hand down the rippling, corded muscles of his chest. “And I’m not leaving you alone to go fashion hunting.”
“Then just a shower.” Otherwise I’m going to pee in this nasty motel bed, and I have a feeling I’m going to be sleeping in it for the foreseeable future.
“Help yourself.” He flings himself down on the beat-up couch and puts his hands behind his head, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
I get to my feet, frowning over at him. He seems too casual. I study his sprawled limbs and ignore the fact that he’s raising his brows at me. He probably thinks I’m checking him out, the arrogant jerk. But then I see it—a bulge tucked under an ugly crochet throw pillow. A gun.
“Can I have that?” I ask him, pointing at it.
“Nope. Once I can trust you’re not gonna make me a soprano, maybe. Until then, Claudette stays with me.”
“Claudette?”
“I name all my pieces.” He winks. “After hot pieces.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Naw, I’m charming.” He grins in my direction. “Least, I’m the charming half of my ride partnership. Which means you are in for a real treat for the next month.”
I suck in a breath. “Is it really going to take a month?”
He shrugs again, as if he doesn’t care. As if my world isn’t ending all around me. To this guy, I’m just keeping him from the action.
Even though he’s in the small room with me, I suddenly feel very alone.
The shower doesn’t do me much good. I can wash off the make-up and clean the grime off my skin. I can rinse out the big bouffant blowout and let my hair air-dry to its normal waves. But in the end, I still have to change back into the black dress, because I don’t have anything else to wear. I’m still completely shaved.
And the brand on the back of my neck still feels agonizingly hot. I want to ask for a burn cream of some kind, but it feels lower on the list than things like panties, or a weapon. A phone. Something to eat. The terror is starting to ebb, and I’m left with an odd, helpless, drifting sort of feeling. I’m safe. Sort of. But I can’t go home and I’m stuck with two strangers until my sister gives the all clear. I wet a washcloth and place it against the back of my neck to keep the burning to a minimum, put my dress back on, and head back into the motel room.
Epic’s flipping through TV channels and looks up with interest when I come back into the room. When I go right back to the bed, pull the blankets up, and then keep my gaze fixed on the TV screen, he gets the hint. I don’t feel like being buddies. Not just yet.
Daytime talk shows give way to Law & Order reruns. My stomach growls, but I ignore it because Epic hasn’t offered me anything and I’m afraid to forage for myself. I don’t know the boundaries here. Not yet. It’s like we’re both waiting for something—or someone, like Epic’s ride partner.
The quick knock on the door that comes a short time later surprises both of us.
Epic looks over at me. I sit up in bed, nervous. He jumps to his feet, and as I watch, he takes his gun in hand and heads toward the door, then peers through the peephole. A look of relief crosses his face, and then he opens the door. “’Bout time, man.”
A new guy walks in, plastic bags tucked under one arm, the handles going all the way up to his bicep. His other hand holds a drink carrier, and the smell of fast food wafts through the motel room. My mouth waters. “Had to take my time,” the new guy says. “Had a tail for a while.”
Epic shuts the door as his partner steps in. “You had a tail…so you went to get burgers?”
“Wh
at? That’s the quickest way to make people think they’re following the wrong car. That, or that you’re not scared of them in the slightest. Either works.” He sets the drinks and bags down on the tiny table in the kitchenette area. When Epic reaches for one, he slaps his hand away and shoots him a look, but Epic only grins. It’s like they’ve done this before, and immediately I realize what their relationship is—if Epic’s the eager puppy like my sister called him, this guy’s the old dog that’s been around the block and is determined to keep the puppy in line.
The new guy picks up one drink and a food bag and brings them over to me. He offers them without a word, his expression blank.
I take the food and hold it to my chest. “Thank you.”
“Eat,” he says in a quiet, no-nonsense voice. “No one’s fed you in a while, am I right?”
I nod slowly.
“Aw, come on, Locke. I would have given her food if she’d have asked,” Epic says, leaning against the table.
“Why should she trust us? She’s been through hell the last week,” the new guy—Locke—says. “You gotta think of someone besides yourself sometimes.”
An angry flush crosses Epic’s face. “I do, you know.”
Locke snorts and returns to the bags he’s brought in. I furtively reach into my bag while they’re bitching at each other, and grab a handful of fries. The first taste is bliss, and my stomach cramps painfully, reminding me just how empty it is. I wolf them down, not caring in the slightest if I’m being ladylike.
I study the two men as they talk in low voices, clearly arguing and not wanting me to hear it. They’re very different, both of them. Epic’s familiar to me at this point. He’s got a boyish charm to his features, and dark, short, almost preppy hair. He has a swimmer’s build, lean and muscled and tan all over, as if he does a lot of work outside and prefers not to wear a shirt while doing so. He looks to be only a few years older than me, and if these were different circumstances and he wasn’t a Butcher? He’d probably be just my type.
Locke, on the other hand, is the opposite. Everything about him tells me that this is familiar territory—he’s a little tired, a little jaded. Like he’s seen it all before and nothing surprises him…which is interesting given that I’d put him no older than maybe thirty-two or thirty-three. His complexion is darker than Epic’s, and he has jet-black, glossy hair. Handsome, too, I suppose. Not my type, but still good looking. He’s a bit too hard around the edges for me, but at the same time, I find those edges comforting. Like because he’s done it all, nothing will surprise him.
