by K. L. Savage
It’s so clean. Too clean.
She’s never had a speeding ticket, never ran a red light, never been arrested, and her husband is just as clean.
No one is that clean.
Everyone has something they hide, and I want to know what it is.
I take another inhale of my cigarette and blow it out as I flip to her husband’s file.
Kenneth Hastings.
“Fucking frat-tastic, aren’t you?” I grumble at his picture clipped to the folder. His hair is perfectly parted to the side and his smile is as bright as the sun.
His veneers are way too white.
He graduated from Harvard at the top of his class. Since Mommy and Daddy have money, he has no student loans. He works at a firm on the Las Vegas strip that I’ll have to visit one day.
No brothers. No sisters. An only child.
How did Charlie and Kenneth meet? Kenneth is a few years older than Charlie by four years and they went to different schools.
A woman like Charlie doesn’t strike me as someone who wants to be with a man like Kenneth. Perfect. Nice and neat. The longer I stare at his picture, the more uneasy I become. My face pinches when I flip to her file and see her picture.
I place his photo and hers side by side.
She’s not smiling. She is but she isn’t showing teeth. It’s like someone said, “Come on, give me a smile” and she’s saying “Fuck you, I don’t want to”. Her beautiful plump lips are closed, and I can’t see her straight teeth like I can his. She seems tired, lifeless, and her hair is limp like it hadn’t been washed in a few days.
His looks clean and styled.
Something is going on. She isn’t happy. She doesn’t even have his last name. I’m not a fucking cop, but my gut hasn’t been wrong yet. Kenneth Hastings rubs me the wrong way.
People who do that end up getting their heads used as batting practice.
I tuck the files in one of my saddle bags and lean forward, watching the house like a hawk. Nothing is happening to alert me, but there is a dark cloud hanging over this house, and I need to figure out what’s going on inside it.
Cute house, though.
Perfectly cut lawn.
Flowers lining the walkway. An American flag swaying from its perch. A little sign that says “All Are Welcome Here.” The house is cozy, but I doubt it’s warm.
Flicking the cigarette to the ground, I step on it with my boot.
The lights turn off in the house which is my cue to leave. I can’t. I need to know what’s going on inside. I can be in and out in less than ten minutes. No one will know.
I text Tutu to let him know I need him to disable any alarms in the house and, without asking questions, he sends me a reply less than ten minutes later saying there isn’t one.
What kind of man doesn’t install a security system to protect his wife?
Another red flag.
If Charlie was my ol’ lady, I’d have alarms on the windows and doors. No fucking way would I ever let something happen to her. I can’t figure out why I feel so strongly for her and why I have this overwhelming need to protect her. I’m interested even though she’s married. And she has this helplessness about her I’m drawn to.
She isn’t helpless, but I think she needs help and after being around someone like my sister all my life, I tend to know I’m right pretty fast.
I sit on my bike for another hour to make sure they are asleep and to think about what the hell I’m doing without backup. One is going to kick my ass when he finds out. Reaching behind my back, I double-check to make sure the bat is there, a habit that is stupid because I don’t go anywhere without the damn thing.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see who it is and then cringe. I check the time and realize I’ve stood up One. We were supposed to go out tonight. Spying on Charlie was supposed to be quick― in and out. I wanted to know if I was imagining things earlier. She reminded me of my sister so much I just thought I saw…
It doesn’t matter.
Fact is, Charlie is a married woman. I need to go to a bar, grab a woman for the night to scratch my itch, and wake up tomorrow a man who has put Charlie out of his mind. But I can’t. I need to know she’s okay. I’ll leave her alone after tonight. My protective instincts are taking over me and the only way to stop me is to satisfy my curiosity.
“Hey, One,” I answer in a whisper, my eyes lingering on the house.
“Don’t tell me you’re at where I think you’re at,” he exhales, knowing I’m doing something I’m not supposed to be doing. I hear the sip of him drinking his beer before the soft thud on the other end tells me he set it down. Music plays softly in the background and there’s a woman’s voice cozying up to him. “Sorry, sweetheart, not tonight,” One gently lets her down. “Where the hell are you?” he asks me.
“I just needed to know if she was okay. I have that feeling, One.”
“Whistler, you need to stay the fuck out of it. Got me? It isn’t any of your business. The last thing we need is a pissed off husband knocking on our door, that isn’t even built by the way, and asking for a fight because some biker has a hard-on for his wife.”
“That’s not what this is.” I pinch my lips together as a wave of swelling anger begins to build.
“Isn’t it? You don’t want her to be a victim but there is a part of you that wishes she was so she’ll run right into your arms.”
“Fuck you. Do not cross that line with me. Her safety is all that matters. Not my wants or wishes. Do not piss me off.”
“Damn it, Whistler. You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
“I should, but no, I’m not. I can’t.”
“Be careful. There is always someone crazier than you, Whistler. I hope this isn’t the guy. A controlling husband is worse than a scorned wife.”
“Not the first man I’ll have to kill. It won’t be the last.”
“Damn it, call if you need anything.” He hangs up and I’m left grinning, knowing he’ll be there for me even if he doesn’t agree with my process.
I tuck my phone in my pocket, right as it rings again. I sigh and get more comfortable on my bike. It’s Taylor.
I can’t ignore her now. Not at this time of night.
I rub the frown off my face as I answer, “Hey, Sis.”
“…We-Wesley?” my name is hushed beneath the trembles of her tone.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I sit straighter. “Taylor, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I need…I need you.”
“I’m on my way. Don’t move. Okay? I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“I love you,” she slurs. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I love you too.” I hang up and hit my handlebars before sliding my phone into the inner pocket of my cut.
The dark camouflages the house and cars where I can only make out the outlines of it all as I give the home one last look.
Damn it, Charlie. Please, be safe.
Starting my bike, I turn around. The bike grumbles so loud I have no doubt it might wake Charlie. Good. I hope it does. Maybe then, she’ll realize I’m here and watching over her. I don’t ease into the throttle, I open it up and speed down the road, putting more distance between me and the woman who shouldn’t be in the forefront of my mind.
I can be her friend, right? There’s no harm in that.
The night melts over the front in of my bike, the road becoming an endless abyss as I head toward my sister’s piece of shit trailer.
My sister is a wreck. She has so much potential, but ties herself to these loser guys that promise to take care of her, but which never do. I even moved her to Vegas to get her away from the losers we grew up with. She just found herself another one.
And I’m there for her to fall back on, which is fine. I’m never going to have my sister be on her own or be afraid. I’ll always be there. I hope she realizes the errors of her ways soon. The last thing I want is to stand over her grave because a man went fr
om beating her, to killing her.
It’s sad that I expect the day to happen. I’ve prepared myself as much as I can.
Now, it’s all about hoping it never happens.
The trailer park comes up on the left and I take a sharp left onto a dirt road. Hers is the third on the right. It’s baby blue and the metal side is rusting from weather and not being taken care of properly. Her car is on cement blocks by the porch, the wheels off. There’s one light coming from the inside.
At least the electricity is on. That’s more than the last time I was here.
I hook my helmet on the handlebar and slide my bat from its holster, checking my surroundings. I turn my head left, seeing nothing but an old man sitting in his stained tighty-whities on the tailgate of his truck. He’s smoking pot and I can smell the whiskey from here. Wanting to bleach my eyes and forget what I just saw, I slide my attention to the right.
Nothing and no one is there. The trailer next to my sister’s is dark, no car in the lot, and almost seems abandoned.
My jeans rub against the leather seat as I swing my leg over. I crack my neck before setting the bat on my shoulder, casual yet ready, if needed, to deliver a deadly blow. The wooden steps creak from my weight and I make a note to replace the deck before it falls apart. I’ve offered to set her up in a decent apartment, but she won’t leave this piece of shit Roy.
I kick the door in, because fuck pleasantries, and prepare to swing when I see the mess in the living room. The seafoam green couch is ripped to shreds, the padding tossed out of the cushion. The secondhand coffee table is broken in half, pieces of wood sprinkled along the matted red rug. The TV is face down on the ground and kitchen drawers are open, either out of their slots and on the ground or half-open.
Someone was looking for something.
“Taylor? Sis-a-roo, are you here?” I call out to her, using the nickname I gave her when she was eleven, innocent, bright-eyed, and the future shinier than diamonds in the sun. I stop walking and listen, waiting to see if I hear any sort of noises.
A groan from the back bedroom has me rushing down the hollow hallway, the thud of my boots echoing off the thin walls. “Taylor? Are you okay? Call out to me, Sis-a-roo.” I slam my shoulder into the cheap door and dent the fake wood. “Taylor, please answer me. I will tear this trailer to the damn ground for you. Answer me.”
The rhythmic sound of “We Will Rock You” by Queen is tapped onto the floor with her fist, something we used to do when we were little when we played hide-and-go-seek. I could never find her, and she’d always use the floor as drums to help me out.
I bring my foot up and slam it right above the golden knob. The door breaks from the trim and swings so fast, I have to stop it with my hand before it shuts in my face.
The blue carpet has stains and there are clothes strewn everywhere along with a broken lamp on the ground next to the mattress, which is on the floor. There’s no bedframe or box spring. There aren’t even sheets on it. The old floral pattern of the mattress has old brown circles on it.
Blood.
There’s a tattered and torn quilt on the bed that our mom made before she died and Taylor seems to be wrapped up in it. Her brown hair is a shade lighter than mine, curly, and right now in need of a good wash.
“Damn it, Taylor, you scared the hell out of me. What’s going on?” I touch her shoulder to turn her over so I can see her face and gasp. I fall to my knees and press my fingers against her throat to check for a pulse. This is more than a busted lip or a bruise on her cheek.
I yank the blanket off her and almost choke when I see bruises on her arms. I lift her shirt and see some internal bleeding, and her eyes are so black and blue they are almost swollen shut.
Whoever did this, they meant to kill her.
“Fuck, Taylor. Talk to me.” I don’t know where to touch her. No matter what I do, it will hurt her. “Who did this you?”
“Wesley?” she croaks, and a tear leaks out of the corner of her eyes. “Wesley, it’s you. It’s you,” she sobs, her body shaking in relief.
I crawl into the bed and pull her to me, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “It’s me. I’m here. I need to call One. You need help. You can’t stay here. Who did this? I thought Roy was in jail.”
“He owes people….”
“Damn it, Taylor.” I gently take her face in my hands and push her hair out of her face. She can see me out of her left eye, and I hang my head. “You can’t keep doing this. I can’t lose my sister, Taylor. Please,” I beg her.
She nods. “I swear, I’m done with him, Wesley. I promise. I want…I want more. I don’t want to do this to you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
I hold her while she cries, and my eyes burn seeing her like this.
Weak, beaten, and gullible.
I pull out my phone from my cut pocket and press the number one, for One. He’s the first person on my speed dial.
He picks up on the first ring. “Husband kill you yet?” he chuckles.
“I need you at my sister’s place. Now. It’s bad, One. I need Driller too. It’s the worst yet. And bring gasoline. We’re burning this place to the ground. She isn’t coming back, whether she likes it or not,” I explain.
She lifts her chin to look at me and nods before placing her head on my shoulder again.
“You don’t need anyone, Taylor. You got me. I love you. The Club loves you. You aren’t alone. You don’t need this shit anymore, okay? I won’t have you do this to yourself.”
“You’re right,” she says, clutching onto my shirt. “I’ll do better. I swear.”
“On my way.” One hangs up and I know I can count on him to get here. He has a soft spot for my sister, always has and always will. He’s like a second brother to her.
“Who did this? Do you know?”
She shakes her head. “They wanted money.” Her lip is swelling and the longer it goes untreated, the harder it is for her to speak. She is starting to mumble out of the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t know anything about it, I swear, Wesley.” She blinks up at me through wet lashes.
“I know, Sis-a-roo. You never do. These fucking losers put you in harm’s way. I’m done with it. I’ll kill them and Roy.” I wait for her to beg me not to, to promise me she won’t see him again, to cry and plea, but she doesn’t.
She doesn’t fight me like usual.
Maybe she will change.
Only time will tell.
Abusers have a sick way of twisting their victim’s minds and holding them hostage. I’ve heard Taylor promise so many times that she is done but she never is.
Everyone has their breaking point, and for victims of domestic violence, sometimes that point is death.
“You’ll be good today, won’t you?” Kenneth straightens his red tie as he stares into the mirror while I tie his shoes.
Yes, I’m on my knees tying a damn shoelace because that’s how fucking pathetic I’ve become. If I don’t, I get hit. If I run from him, I get hit, if I threaten to leave, he threatens to kill my dad.
I can’t leave. I have to do as he says. He’s already stealing from the company and Dad has no idea. I’m a horrible daughter, letting her father’s company fail because I’m scared.
Sacred isn’t a strong enough word.
I’m terrified.
“Yes, Kenneth. I’ll be good,” I answer automatically, tears threatening to spill. I can’t let them fall or he will really give me a reason to cry.
“Good.” I flinch when he runs his fingers through my hair. “I love you, you know. Just mind me and we won’t have issues, Charlie. Okay?”
“Okay, Kenneth.”
“I expect you home by five. I want lemon herb chicken with fresh green beans on the side.” He snaps his fingers as he thinks. “Oh, and those hand mashed potatoes that you make. They are so good.” He bends down and gives me a kiss on top of my head before wrenching me back by the thick of my hair. “The chicken better not be dry either. It isn’t fucking hard to cook. Don’t act du
mb.” He shoves me backward and my shoulder slams against the bedpost.
I swallow a painful cry and push a smile between my lips instead. “Have a good day,” I say to him. Kenneth grabs his brown leather briefcase and swings his suit blazer over his shoulder before walking out of the bedroom door.
I don’t dare move or make a sound until I hear the car start and pull out of the driveway. I release a breath as the front door slams shut, vibrating all through the house until I can feel the floor shake under me. When the engine starts and the car pulls out of the driveway, that’s when I move, that’s when I push myself off the floor and fall onto the bed.
When did life become so hard? When did it become about survival? I can’t remember.
Yes, I do.
It all started when I met Kenneth Hasting, the handsome older guy who paid me attention the summer after I graduated from high school. I fell in love fast and hard. He was the first man I ever loved, so two months after we started dating and he wanted to marry me, why would I say no? He was perfect.
Until I woke up the next morning thinking it was the start of a beautiful life and he hit me. It was like a different man possessed his body, but really, he had been a really great actor in search of a girl he could boss around and use as a punching bag.
I fit his criteria to the T.
I asked him once if he hated me so much why he would continue to be with me, which only earned another slap across the face. He said I was his only one. That he loved me. And the days when he actually shows me that he loves me, which are few and far between, has me falling into him all over again.
Well, it used to.
His love isn’t love.
It’s manipulation.
He can keep his gifts when he feels bad. He can keep his fake love.
I no longer believe in it or in him.
Or in me.
He has beaten me down to the point where I’m too weak to attempt to leave. Risking my father’s life isn’t worth it. I have a roof over my head and food on the table. It could be worse.
The bed is soft and forgiving, tempting me to crawl under the fluffy emerald comforter. I could forget the world for a few hours and sink into the mattress, let the pillow catch my tears, and hope my dreams take me somewhere else.
