Andi and Niro

by Gadziala, Jessica

  Andi never smiled just with her lips. She smiled with her whole face, with her whole fucking spirit.

  And she was right.

  I had done that.

  I'd done that.

  I'd done it carefully and intentionally.

  And I would punish myself until the end of my bitter fucking life for it. She didn't need to stand here and lecture me. Nothing she could say could be half as bad as the shit I'd been saying to myself since that night in my bathroom.

  "I was on your side, you miserable fucking bastard," she said, jaw so tight that her words came out small, weak—two words you'd never usually associate with the force of nature that was Hope. "I was on your side and you fucked her over. You broke her."

  "Enough," I said, moving past her to get back to the hole I was digging.

  "No, nope. This is not nearly enough. See, here I was thinking that all these years you have gotten darker and uglier because you loved her, and you had to live with the fact that you couldn't have her. Stupid me, huh? Because no one who loved that girl could treat her like you must have to make her look like she's been looking."

  "Good thing you didn't go into profiling like your parents. I don't think you have the chops for it."

  I was just lying to everyone about everything these days.

  "You loved her," Hope insisted, the depth of conviction in her words making me turn.

  Somehow, I couldn't find a way to lie to her face right then.

  "Yep."

  "Then how could you do that?"

  "You wouldn't understand, Hope."

  "Clearly," she agreed.

  "You came here to tell me I'm a dick. You told me. So why don't you head out now?" I suggested, glancing over, watching one of her brows arch up.

  "Sure. Fine," she said, and I didn't like the look on her face as she turned to walk away. "Oh, one more thing."

  "What?" I snapped, slamming the shovel into the ground, turning to look at her.

  "It seems like that Toll guy has really taken an interest in Andi," she said, making my stomach drop.

  If she was looking for a death blow, she found it. What's more, she took pleasure in delivering it.

  Hell, I couldn't even blame her.

  She was right.

  I was a bastard.

  I had hurt her.

  I knew exactly what I was doing as I did it, too.

  It never should have happened because that goddamn kiss shouldn't have happened. But I couldn't stop myself after having her so close, having her hands all over me, seeing something reflected in her eyes that I never thought I would see there.

  Interest.

  Attraction.

  Still, it shouldn't have fucking happened.

  Because the only way to handle it afterward was to push her away.

  She could never be mine.

  I knew how her father felt, how her uncles felt, how I always felt. She couldn't be with someone in this lifestyle. She couldn't handle it. She was too soft, too sweet, too easily upset. Sure, her mom was softer too, but there was grit there as well, something I never saw in Andi, something I never wanted to see.

  They all took a collective deep breath when she went off to college, when she was safe from any of this ever coming back to impact her again. She'd spent too much of her childhood chewing her nails after being shuffled away to a safe location when the club's dealings made the wives and kids possible targets.

  And while it couldn't be said that I breathed any easier when she was gone—since it was the exact opposite—I knew it was the best place for her.

  I knew that if she got involved with me—with anyone in this sort of lifestyle—it would force her to become a new person. And I couldn't stomach the idea of that happening.

  She was too perfect for that.

  Pushing her away was a form of protection. It was something I had to do for her best interest. Even if she hated me for it. Even if she would never forgive me.

  I would just have to learn to live with that.

  Chapter Ten

  Andi

  Change came slowly, then all at once.

  I am not ashamed to say that after that whole... whatever it was between Niro and me, after I sobbed in my father's arms like I was a little girl again, I got in my bed and barely came out of it for three days.

  I was not good at "pushing through." I was someone who, when they felt something, had to feel it, had to go through it. Then, slowly but surely, I would get to be okay again.

  I was still waiting for it to be okay.

  But things weren't as ugly in my mind, in my heart.

  I'd considered moving right back out of town after, not wanting to run into him, to be confronted with all that ugly again. It was my mom and Hope who talked me into staying, reminding me of all the people I had here who had my best interests at heart, even if Niro was no longer one of those people.

  They were right.

  And once everyone found out I was back—and I suspect Hope told them what had happened—they'd all been coming over, bringing me dinner, taking me out to coffee, reminding me all the love I had left behind when I'd left town years before.

  So, in the end, I decided to stay.

  But also that I needed to get my life together.

  I figured if I had other things to focus on, it would help make moving on easier for me.

  I got myself a job at the local vet's office, simply lucking out that the current vet was looking to semi-retire but wanted his practice to go on. And since he'd known my mom for years, and me my whole life, he'd taken me on without question. I was hoping to be able to buy him out one day and make the practice completely my own.

  By the end of the next month, I was re-packing my little car, driving it a small way into town, and setting up my new apartment.

  I tried like hell not to let my mind flash back to setting up my first apartment, to seeing Niro bringing my life up piece by piece, and helping me debate where to put things, eating Chinese take-out on the floor because I didn't have a couch yet, to both of us having one of our last sleepovers there—him on my Papasan cushion, me on my mattress on the floor beside him.

  Memories like that, they didn't help.

  I was hoping that one day I would get to a place where I could look back on all those earlier days, and even some of the end days, without this black cloud of misery hanging over it.

  Until then, though, I forced the thoughts away.

  It was easier that way.

  And once my father and Uncle Cyrus moved all my stuff in, including the stuff they'd gone up to New York to get out of my storage locker, I was left to put my place together by myself.

  Or so I thought.

  Until Hope showed up with Billie and Gracie, with a couple of our other childhood friends, filling my apartment to the brim with laughter and too many opinions.

  My heart almost, just almost felt complete again.

  That last little piece, well, it might always belong to Niro. I might just have to learn to accept that my heart was no longer going to feel complete again.

  "Hey you," a newly familiar voice called as I crossed the street from the vet's office.

  It had been a late night.

  Tuesdays and Thursdays were surgery days when the office stayed open until eight to allow all the animals to have time to come out of anesthesia before their families came to take them home and love on them. I'd been on my feet for thirteen hours.

  Everything was aching.

  I missed Nugget who I left with my parents on the days with long shifts so he wouldn't be alone.

  And I was so hungry that my stomach was letting out noises that sounded downright demonic.

  "Toll," I said, turning, finding him leaning against the outside wall of Chaz's—a local bar owned by a family of loan sharks.

  I'd crossed paths with Toll at least three times since the fight, finding him suitably cautious and almost, I don't know, apologetic about the whole thing. And, really, I couldn't be too mad at him about it
. Both he and Niro had been tricked into a different fight than they'd signed up for.

  "You look beat, angel," he said, shaking his head.

  "Long day."

  "Yeah? Doing what?" he asked, looking over my light blue scrubs.

  To that, I pressed my lips together.

  "Mostly, neutering puppies."

  To that, Toll let out a rumbling laugh, his lips curving up. "If that is some sort of veiled threat, honey, got it loud and clear," he said.

  "Oh," I said, letting out a strange choked laugh, "I totally didn't. But, ah, you know what? Take it that way. My father keeps telling me I am not mean enough to men," I added, shrugging.

  "Your old man sounds smart. Where you headed?"

  "Food. You don't hear my stomach growling?" I asked, pressing a hand to it.

  "Figured it wasn't appropriate to comment on it," he said, giving me another smile. "There's a pizza place down that side street over there. Want to go grab a slice?" he asked.

  I knew maybe it was inappropriate since his club and my father's club were, if not rivals, then something close to it.

  But it was just a slice of pizza.

  "Sounds good to me," I said, giving him a smile.

  I wasn't interested in dating right now. And even if I was, Toll was probably not an option. I mean, men who used their fists for fun, you couldn't trust them.

  Look at Niro.

  Though back at the club before the fight, Toll had told me that it wasn't the kind of place he frequented, that it wasn't his sort of thing, that he got dragged there like I had.

  So maybe there was hope for him too.

  Who knew?

  "So how are you settling back into town?" Toll asked as we carried our box of pizza out front since the inside was packed. There were benches out front that were not exactly meant for eating, but it worked well enough with the pizza box opened across both our laps, working as a table and plates at the same time.

  Across the street near the convenience store, a group of men were standing around in the parking lot, their laughter echoing back over to us, making it feel a little less like we were very much alone in a date-like setting.

  "Good. I got out of my parents' place. I love it there. I'm just... I'm too old to be home, I guess. And the job is going well. Plus, it is nice to have all my family and friends around again. How are you, uhm, liking Navesink Bank?" I asked, knowing that his bike club was relatively new in town as well.

  "It's a nice town. There's always something to do. Legal or otherwise," he added, giving me a smirk.

  "Where did you come from?" I asked, watching as his face went guarded. "Sorry. I'm not prying. I was just curious. Like I am from here. Then I went to New York. State," I clarified. "And now I'm back. There are things I like about both places, but this has always been home, y'know?"

  "Yeah, I get that. I have been all over. Most recently, and for the longest, I was in North Carolina, though. It was a little quieter than here, but I am liking the busy here."

  "So you're staying?"

  "Yeah, angel, we plan on staying."

  "Really, I didn't mean to put you on-guard," I told him, realizing that was what I was doing. "I'm not, you know, part of the club or anything. That's none of my business. I was just making conversation."

  "Sorry. Getting defensive can be knee-jerk. Part of the job, I guess."

  "I understand," I told him, because I did. I might not have been a member of the club, but I sure knew how it worked. Personal information could be valuable in the wrong hands. My childhood included a lot of sit-downs with the adults around me, explaining why I couldn't tell people what the clubhouse looked like, what was in the basement, anything about the paramilitary camp—Hailstorm—we went to when there was trouble.

  Even into adulthood and in a new area, I had to be very careful about what information I divulged. I don't think I'd realized how strange that was or how much of a disconnect it created until I got back home and was able to talk about all that stuff with friends and family again.

  "So, Andi, can I..." Toll started, drawing my attention to him. And with his eyes on me, we both missed it.

  Until it was too late.

  Until there was the distinctive pop-pop-pop sound I knew from many afternoons in my teenage years, being dragged out into the woods with my father or my uncles because they insisted I knew how to use and shoot a gun, even though I insisted it went against everything I stood for in life.

  I'd heard it other times, too, when cowering in a basement or up at Hailstorm, Niro's body half-covering mine, repeating his mantra over and over again.

  It's okay. I won't let anything happen to you.

  But I wasn't with Niro.

  And this wasn't some Henchmen drama.

  "Get ins—" Toll started to demand, standing, reaching for his own gun even as footsteps ran in our directions, the pounding matching my heartbeat in my chest as I watched a group of men start running from the convenience store, faces a mix of panic.

  And I watched in a split second as a bullet landed in one of the men's backs, sending his body flying forward on the pavement even as red bloomed across the back of his white t-shirt.

  There was screaming, yelling, more running, as Toll yanked me upward, pushing my body behind his bigger one.

  "Get inside," he demanded, voice tight, as the men got closer, being chased by another set, rivals of some sort but I wasn't sure how or who. I'd been out of town for so long, out of touch with the ever-changing criminal empires of my hometown.

  His voice seemed to shake me out of my stupor, making me reach behind me for the door, but finding it locked.

  Panic welled up in my system as I saw the upturned table tops, bodies huddled behind.

  I couldn't blame them for saving themselves.

  But what about us?

  "Andi..."

  "It's locked. They locked the door," I said as the shots rang louder, got closer.

  It seemed like everything was in slow motion, like hours and days passed in the span of two minutes.

  "Who the fuck do you think you are?" a voice demanded, and with Toll in front of me, I had no idea of who was speaking and to whom.

  Until a shot rang out from Toll's gun.

  And three from someone else's, making Toll's body jolt as he started to fall forward.

  "No!" I shrieked, dropping down next to him, trying to grab him, trying to push him over, needing to see the damage, to know he was okay, that he was going to make it.

  "Grab her," another voice demanded. "Marco is shot. She's a doctor."

  "No," I hissed, grabbing at Toll's body, trying to hold on even as hands reached out, sank in, started pulling. "No!" I shrieked as I was yanked up off my feet, held backward against a broad chest, my legs kicking out in the air.

  I'd spent countless hours with my aunts learning self-defense, preparing me for this very moment.

  But when finally put to the test, every single move they taught me flew out of my head.

  "No!" I cried again as I was dragged backward. "Toll! Toll!" I shrieked so loud my throat hurt.

  Until I was turned and roughly pushed into the trunk of a car, the door slamming before I could even try to climb out.

  I thought I understood panic before.

  But I found as the car peeled off, leaving Toll bleeding on the ground—if he was alive at all—and no one to tell my family that I'd been taken, with no one around to help me, I realized nothing I'd ever felt before came close to true panic.

  I wasn't in the basement with Niro and a dozen or so armed men upstairs protecting us.

  I didn't have the protection of my family, of the club.

  I was just a woman.

  In a trunk.

  Being kidnapped.

  To help save their friend who'd been shot.

  But what if he was too far gone? What if I didn't know enough about gunshot wounds to be any help? What if he died? What would happen to me then?

  Don't ever let them take you to a second
ary location, the voice of my aunts' chorused in my head. That's where they will rape you. That's where they will kill you.

  My stomach twisted hard, making bile rise up my throat as the car took a sharp turn, making my body slam backward into the side of the trunk, my back cracking against something that jutted out. A sound system, maybe? It was too dark to see.

  I had the presence of mind enough to feel around, to see if there was anything I could use to defend myself once the trunk opened again.

  But there was nothing.

  Hopelessness swelled, but didn't have long to spread through me completely. Because in what felt like a blink, the car was stopping, doors were opening and slamming, and I could hear the muffled voices of the men.

  Get him inside.

  Are you hit?

  That's just a flesh wound, don't be such a pussy.

  Is he still breathing.

  I'll get her. Get the kit.

  They were coming.

  And I knew myself. I knew my limits. I had nothing, nothing to work with. I'd been dragged to the self-defense classes during my childhood and teens just like all the other kids. But I had never been any good at it. I was too small, too weak, and too anti-violence to ever be able to punch, kick, and grapple with my instructors the way they wanted, so they could try to prepare me for a real-life worst-case scenario situation.

  Well here I was.

  In my worst-case scenario.

  Wishing I had been a better student, that I hadn't always been so cowardly.

  Because I had no way out of this.

  Except, maybe, if I could save their man. They would possibly let me go then, right?

  If they show you their face, they are never going to let you go.

  My aunts' voices in my head weren't exactly reassuring in the moment as the trunk opened, and the man who'd tossed me in to begin with reached inside to yank me out, his hand clamping over my mouth as soon as he had his other arm around my center.

  Then I was being pulled backward into a house.

  It wasn't the suburb area of Navesink Bank, nor the super-rich area where Niro and I used to drive through to look at Christmas lights in December, me singing carols at the top of my lungs, him pretending he didn't like them when I knew he secretly loved every one of them, judging by the light in his eyes.