I got dressed, deciding it was time to show him just how capable I was. Outside, he was stacking up the logs that had split and fired off in all directions from his relentless lumberjack impression. His torso was covered in a sheen of sweat, and wood chippings stuck haphazardly to his skin. It was even in his hair.
“Why aren’t you cold?” I snapped, completely unnecessarily. I’d struggled to get to grips with the temperature initially, but now I just wore thicker clothes. If the truth be told, I was super excited about seeing the snow when it finally came. When the white stuff littered the ground, it would be complete and total confirmation that I was definitely living a different life.
“No need getting clothes dirty. Unless you’re gonna wash ‘em for me?”
“Not a chance. I’m not a slave.”
His face changed momentarily and then went back to that irritating smirk he seemed to wear every time we bickered.
This back and to between Fraser and me got us nowhere, although he seemed to enjoy it. I just ended up going from bitch to mega bitch and then secretly feeling bad about it. I stalked over to the axe in the tree and casually tried to pull it free. Goddamn him!
“Need some help?”
“Thought I’d already”—I pulled with all my might—“said no.” The thing wouldn’t budge.
“Sure about that?”
Bullet came bouncing into the ferns and overgrown grass. Great, another set of beady eyes to watch my humiliation. I put both hands on the long axe handle and then pushed a foot against the tree trunk. It squeaked and wiggled a tiny bit, but nowhere near enough to come free.
“Let me—”
“Stop,” I grit out and put a second foot up so I was completely braced against the tree trunk, only the axe keeping me upright.
“Fuck,” he growled, and I saw him move out of the corner of my eye. “That’s not”—the axe gave way as he got to me—“safe!”
Fraser caught me just in time. I heard him, “Oof!” as his ass hit the floor, and then, “Oof!” again when I piled on top of him. My hands flew above me, releasing the axe and slinging it behind us both. As we watched, it landed in a mirror image position of how it first started just in another tree about twenty-five feet behind us.
“You ever thought of tossing the caber at the Highland Games?”
“I wouldn’t toss anything where you’re concerned.” I tried to push away from him, but like everything else I touched when he was around to witness it, I made a mess of it and ended up face planting on him.
“Steady there, wee lassie.”
“You idiot, you could have got us both hurt! And stop calling me a dog!”
“Not me hangin’ off axes in trees, and what did I call you?”
“Lassie is a damn dog.”
Bullet barked with his head tilted to one side. I was pretty sure he would have laughed if he could have done and still probably looked the same as he did now.
Finally, I made it to my feet and stomped off.
I’d either steal his logs later, go out and buy some, or buy another axe if I had to.
When I came out later that day there was a pile of logs stacked up outside my porch.
Fraser McPhee could be an asshole, but there was also a large part of him that was chivalrous. He appeared as I’d piled a couple of logs in my arms, and shouted, “Boo!” causing me to drop the lot.
“Are you three years old?”
He laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. I wanted to invite you to share some dinner.”
I reached down and picked up the logs. “You think we can make it through a meal without killing each other?”
He held up his hand like I used to do in school when I said the pledge of allegiance. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were not a scout,” I snorted.
“Sure I was.” He smiled. “Bullet, what say you? Should Penny join us for dinner tonight?”
Bullet barked in response. “He can’t answer and he eats with me most nights anyway.”
“Let me guess, treats?”
Now it was my time to smirk. I loved knowing that Bullet probably loved me as much as Fraser.
Fraser cooked us a meal of steak and vegetables, and as much as I hated to say it, it was an easy breezy night. He was really good company when he wasn’t ribbing me. We sat at a wooden table on the back porch with a bottle of my red wine. When the wind blew hard, the candles flickered but somehow stayed alight, and the trees swayed so I could see the moonlight bouncing off the loch in the distance.
“What’s your story?” I asked.
He took a measured mouthful of red wine. “No story.”
“Everyone has a story.”
He placed the glass down and waggled his fingers by the side of his chair. Bullet came running. I got the impression that it was easier to do that than answer me or look me in the eye. “I travel. I love my bike and the freedom it affords me. That’s about it.”
“You travel? Do you have a job?”
“Do you?” he snapped back.
“No. Well, I did. But I’m thinking about looking for one.”
“Good luck with that in Pitlochry.”
I didn’t know what I’d said. The conversation had flowed fairly easily, but now I understood that all of the conversation was based around nothing really personal for either of us.
Could I blame him for that?
Hell, no.
I was the queen of hiding out, the master at avoiding everything personal. I could never expect Fraser to give me chapter and verse about his life unless I was prepared to do the same. The only thing I’d managed to do was turn a pleasant evening into a shitty, uncomfortable one.
It was time for a subject change and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I really should find a job.”
“You seem to be doing okay for cash right now.”
“Uh, yeah.” I scrabbled around for an excuse, not used to having to lie permanently like when I was undercover. “Ex-husband’s credit card. I reckon I’ll be cut off any day.”
His shook his head and smiled. “Look, I need to get an early night.”
Hearing him want to cut short what had been the best night I’d had since I’d come to live in Pitlochry was a kick to the stomach. “Yeah, of course. I’ll clear all of this up.”
“It’s your stuff anyway.” He attempted to ease the disappointment I knew I’d failed to hide.
“It’s still ma hoose, though.” I smiled through my forced joke.
“Yeah, yeah, get off my land.”
Fraser stood up. “Bullet, come on, boy.” The dog was laid down on the deck between both of us. He looked up at his owner and then put his head back down and relaxed.
Now I felt really bad.
I watched as he walked the super short distance next door. I didn’t move. “Guess your daddy doesn’t like talking about himself,” I muttered to Bullet who didn’t do anything apart from rub a paw over his head and get comfy.
Grabbing the empty glasses, I saw that the bottle wasn’t even finished. Fraser had run before we could finish it.
The next morning, I felt a little more groggy than usual; just an extra glass had given me an unsettled night. I heard heavy breathing next to me and nearly had a heart attack at the thought that I’d drank so much someone had got the drop on me. Turning my head slowly, I breathed out in relief when I saw who was next to me. “Bullet! You scared me half to death.”
The next thing I heard was the roar of a motorcycle engine, and that very nearly did give me a heart attack. It cut through the silence of the trees outside, causing me to jump out of bed and head toward the window. Following the sound of the engine, I saw the motorcycle that had been under the dust sheet in the garage parked outside the door with the engine running. Fraser had a kick-ass leather jacket on, a pair of tight pants and was just pulling a helmet on his head.
I banged on the window, but he couldn’t hear me over the sound of the bike. I raced downstairs, for reasons I couldn’t explain, and he
ard the sound of the engine revving. He was on the move. As I made it outside to the back deck, I saw the back of his jacket and it had a huge image of some motorcycle handlebars shrouded in wings, with the words ‘Black Sentinels’ inscribed.
Then he disappeared.
Bullet appeared beside me. He’d taken his sweet time to come downstairs and see his owner leaving. “Where did he go, boy?”
When I turned to the right, on the table where we’d had dinner was a chopped log from the pile and underneath it, a piece of paper.
Simply written on the paper were the words, “Don’t give the dog too many treats.”
Was that it?
He didn’t even say how long he’d be gone. That’s if he was planning to come back at all. After all, the one thing he did tell me about himself was that he traveled.
Chapter Eight
Mac
She had to needle and poke with the questions.
We were having such a pleasant evening, too. I bet she wouldn’t have liked if I’d started asking about her past. Only I didn’t have to, because I knew all about it. The one thing I didn’t like was that knowing what I knew meant I also had to stay stoic when I knew she was lying to me about stuff.
Fuck. I was even a gentleman when she said she’d had a job and an ex-husband to pay her credit card, and I didn’t push it any further. I’d saved her from having to cover shit up and tell more lies.
What was it with me?
Why did I feel surrounded by women that I couldn’t fucking save?
First, my mum—a junkie of the highest order, of which I was the result, and that made for an epic childhood. Growing up on the streets of Glasgow, in one of the roughest neighborhoods, I remembered sitting outside on the curb while she either got laid or high, or got laid so she could afford to get high. No wonder I found fucking Christ; I needed something wholesome to believe in.
Where I saw and despised the vile cesspit we lived in, my baby sister seemed to thrive in it. I could have conformed to type and got involved in the family business of crime and drugs, and eventually become an addict, but I went the other way. I didn’t know how. Maybe that was why I believed in God; I thought he’d saved me. My sister, though, the shit she was getting into made my mum look Mother fucking Teresa. Still, I kept on trying to save her until I couldn’t. Then I did the only thing I felt deep inside me that I couldn’t ignore: I took revenge on those who did what they did. Seeing what they did caused that spot in my chest that used to be filled with prayer and good intentions, helping others and offering them comfort and solace to be snuffed out overnight.
Snuffed. Literally.
Darkness blacked out the good, took the light and placed me in purgatory.
My sister’s purgatory.
I often wondered whether I did the things I did back then in the name of revenge for her, or because I couldn’t handle that I’d failed her. Were the cruel and unspeakable acts I’d committed a penance to try to balance the scales of failing her?
What I did know was that I always spiraled into this darkness when I thought about her, so I took off. I traveled the world and ended up picking a fight with the wrong guy in a bar. That guy was the president of the now-defunct Carnals MC. A bunch of mean motherfuckers who I felt at home with. That was just how far gone my soul was. I was in sync with one of the worst MCs on America’s west coast.
That was all okay for a while. Once again, I’d found my place. Like when I found God and he showed me it was okay to strive to do better, be a better person, now I’d found the evil equivalent. Declan, President of the Carnals MC, didn’t want that club to survive. He knew it was evil and too far gone for him to win over the girl he’d always loved, so he hatched a plan, which was well thought through. It was his end game, the one he’d been working on all his life, and I went with him, well, after I’d traveled a bit more. When Declan took over the Black Sentinels MC, the legacy he’d always wanted, it felt like it could be right for me, but something was missing. I wasn’t sure about belonging to something again. I’d belonged before and it didn’t work out. So, becoming a nomad was the best for someone like me.
The first time I went back to see Prez, he was living his new life, or the one he’d always been fighting to get to, and it involved a girl he’d been in love with since he was ten years old—Angel.
She was trouble, but a night of keeping her safe showed me that what my prez had found was probably worth all the trouble she was causing. Still, a woman with issues, who’d seen horrible stuff.
Next up was my MC brother, Gears. He’d fallen in love with a girl who had been abused, raped and god knew what else.
There was a pattern forming, and that pattern was that I was destined to be around women who’d been to hell and back and needed saving from a return trip.
When my MC brother, Wave’s old flame hunted him down, the trouble wasn’t for him to find. It knocked on the fucking Black Sentinels clubhouse door and all but demanded help. It seemed the pattern was becoming more and more consistent.
I thought I’d caught a break when my buddy Shadow hooked up with a normal girl. Good family upbringing, solid job, no life crisis. What I didn’t realize was that it wasn’t this girl that Shadow had the drama with. Back then he’d connected with Agent Poppy, and like a bad penny that never went away, I was back to looking after a female who’d been subjected to unspeakable horrors.
Was this how God was going to fucking test me, send me these damsels for the rest of my life, make me repeat and relive everything that started with my mum and sister, until I finally got it right?
I couldn’t stay here. It felt like everything was closing in on me. The trees didn’t bend with the wind; they knotted together and started to suffocate me. The air around my once-peaceful sanctuary was cloyed with deceit. Both mine and hers. I couldn’t breathe for all the lies and avoidance.
This was a huge fucking mistake. But because deep down it seemed I was a good Christian servant, I did as my brother had asked and came to check on her. Right now, though, there was only one answer and that was to get as far away from her as possible.
Before the sun came up, I loaded up my bike, ignoring the fact that the sneaky little madam had been using my fucking car. The closer I got to getting on the open road, the better I felt about my decision.
Bullet, as usual, glared at me, his guilt trip as convincing as ever as I walked back to him. “Sorry, boy, but I can’t deal with this right now.” He whined and nudged my hand with his head. Then an idea struck me; there was no point taking him back to Vinnie’s. He was taken with the neighbor here and as I’d already witnessed, he seemed to gravitate toward her, find his way back to the houses. I left him on the porch, lamenting my idea as I realized I was running out of time. If I wasn’t careful, she’d be up and would catch me in the act.
Bullet waited patiently, although I knew the cute little fucker probably thought I’d change my mind.
I didn’t.
I left the note under a chunk of log and bent down to him. “Look after her, boy.”
He stood up as I did, his ears all perked up and alert, and scooted beside me as I headed for my bike. The blessed dog was still trying to convince me not to bail again. “Go on. Get back to the hoose!” I smiled thinking about how she said is to irritate me.
I shooed him away and started the bike engine. It cut through all the dread and fear, like it beat back the feeling that the world was closing in on me. It made me feel alive, not panicked and claustrophobic. This was what I needed.
The wheels spun and kicked up dirt behind me, and the pain in my head and heart left my body with it. I knew this was the right decision. I didn’t look behind me. That wasn’t going to solve anything. Neither she nor I were ready for that level of honesty about who we were.
As soon as I got out on the open road, I twisted my wrist and felt the machine underneath me respond. I had one destination in mind. North east Glasgow, where it all began. Where my life unraveled beyond anything I could eve
r imagine.
A few hours later, I was screaming around the streets of Possil. It didn’t matter how much they tried to regenerate an area, the stench of the past still hung in the air. I rode past the place where our apartment block had been and stopped. It was a wasteland now.
Stopping at the old foundry site, I realized that this was where it all went downhill for so many of us. When it closed in the late 1960’s, Possil became one of the poorest places in the country, and crime rates rocketed. It quickly became the hub of Glasgow’s heroin trade, and it got so bad that in the beginning the police and local councils couldn’t keep on top of it. The ones that had the power and resources to get us out of this decided it was easy to force us to relocate and then demolish big chunks of the place. It was a failure. It had no chance of working, and as the crime rate soared, the life expectancy of the residents here plummeted. My dad lost his job and left us, leaving my mum to fend for herself, me, and my sister. We never had anything, but I was always amazed at how she found enough spare cash for booze. What started out as a way to socialize, de-stress and escape the shit at home, rapidly became her coping mechanism. With every mouthful she drank, she swept any prospect or chance at giving us as decent life under the filthy, threadbare carpet.
At first, rape was wildly reported. It was such a horror that no one could comprehend, and then it just became a statistic, something they passed off as underage sex. The abuse that people suffered was a direct result of the poverty cycle and all hope evaporated. We were becoming statistics ourselves.
For a good chunk of time the whole place was a no-go area for the police, but now as I turned my motorcycle off and removed my helmet, I saw drapes moving inch by inch, taking an interest in me. I wondered if they’d recognize me. I always wondered if businesses would ever start reinvesting in the area, but it was clear that the only type of investment that was a surefire guarantee was the wrong type. Those who moved in when the authorities stopped caring was when this place became a ghetto for society’s underbelly. When the serious gangs moved in, drugs, firearms, prostitution and money laundering became the normal industry. They were the new employers of choice and that’s where my sister got sucked in.
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