by Tia Lewis
“Call Tam, huh? Check on her?” Creed was just about to remove the rag from where Diesel was pressing it to his head. He looked at me. “Give me some light, huh?”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and turned on the flashlight, then trained it on the side of Diesel’s head. It was blood-soaked, his sandy hair now a deep brown thanks to the blood that had already dried. “We can’t do this here,” Creed muttered. “Come on. Prep table.”
I cleared off space in the kitchen and Diesel stretched out on the table. The light was much brighter in there. Creed laid out what he needed while I propped up Diesel’s head with folded towels. They turned red like magic.
“Head wounds always bleed a lot,” I said. I tried to keep my voice as bright as I could, even though I was dying inside. The sight of him like that tore me up. I washed my hands, then soaked some paper towels to clean the blood from his face while Creed worked on his scalp.
“Sorry, buddy. I’m gonna have to shave a little of your hair if I’m gonna sew you up.” I held a fresh towel over the wound while Creed went to find a razor. We were alone.
He looked up at me. “How bad is it, really?”
“Not all that bad,” I lied. He wasn’t the only one who had no idea how he made it back. “How far did you ride with your head like this?” I covered one of his hands with mine, but he slid it from my grasp. I felt embarrassed for being too intimate, but he kept talking like nothing happened.
“Miles. Through the streets.” He grinned. “Imagine the way people were looking at me.”
“Oh, God.” A tear slid down my cheek. I couldn’t stop it.
“Hey, hey. I’m fine. I really am. Look at me.” I did, but that didn’t help. There was still blood all over his face, his shirt, his leather vest. “I’m here. Okay? I made it.”
“I know.” I traced his jaw with one finger. “I’m so glad you did.”
“Me, too.” He winked with his good eye, the one not almost shut with dried blood before Creed came back. I trained my flashlight on the wound again so he could get a good look at what he was doing. I couldn’t watch, though. It was too much. I looked down at Diesel, instead, and he looked back up at me. Once the shaving was finished, I rinsed the wound—my stomach turned when I saw how long it ran across his scalp, from just above his ear almost around to the back of his head—then warned him before pouring alcohol over it. He went rigid, grunting through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s okay. It needs to happen,” he grunted.
“Here.” Creed handed him a flask, and Diesel emptied it into his mouth before the stitching started. I couldn’t watch it. I focused on cleaning his face and neck, instead. I carefully washed the blood from his eye with warm water until he could open it again.
“It’s good to see both of your eyes again,” I whispered.
By the time his face was clean, the wound was closed. Creed bandaged it. “Can you help him wash up without making a mess out of this?” he asked me.
“I’ll do what I can.” I helped Diesel down from the table and held his head over the sink while I carefully washed his hair while keeping his sutures clean. It wasn’t easy, but eventually, the water ran clear.
“Thank you,” he whispered as I finished.
“You’re welcome.” I looked down at him, sitting in a chair with his head back against the edge of the sink. He could’ve died. I would never have seen him again. He would never know how I felt, how I had been nuts about him for ages. He wouldn’t know how happy I was when we were together, even if it didn’t mean anything. Because it didn’t to him. I could accept that as long as he was alive and well and with me, there, at that moment.
I couldn’t help the impulse to kiss him, and he didn’t stop me. Another tear sneaked out before I could help it. The second it ran from my cheek to his, he turned his head away.
“We should finish this up.” He didn’t look me in the eye.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”
“Just finish up, okay?” He stared up at the ceiling and didn’t say another word.
15
Diesel
I had never felt real fear before.
Maybe I was too young when I went into the Army to know there was a reason to be scared. Never once had I ever worried about myself, my life. I had gone in wanting to kill the enemy, and it was that attitude that had gotten me discharged. I was a loose cannon, they told me. Because I had no fear.
And I was never afraid when I was working for the club. Even that first job, the night of the firebombing, I wasn’t afraid. Nervous? Yeah. I wanted to prove myself. But I wasn’t afraid of what might happen. Not until I saw the lights and heard the sirens and knew my brother wasn’t kidding when he told me to go, to run, to not look back for any reason.
I never knew what fear was until that day on the street, surrounded, unable to break out of the circle of bikes around me. If I cut right, the guy in front of me would cut right. If I went left, he’d go left. There wasn’t enough room between him and the guys to either side of me to steer through. They rode close, dangerously close. I could’ve wiped us all out. Maybe I should have. Only there wasn’t any room on the street where we wouldn’t hit cars or pedestrians. It would’ve been a bloodbath. So I let them fuck with me for block after block, making me run through red lights with them. They laughed and taunted me and loved it when people screamed and leaned on their horns. Meanwhile, I was just trying to live. That was the scariest moment of my life.
But once the fear faded, rage took its place. I wanted to watch them burn for what they did to me.
I couldn’t tell anybody that, of course. Only when I was with Drake, in his office, did I let anybody know what was going on inside me.
“I want them dead. I wanna be the one to do it.”
He looked at me with his lips pressed into a thin line. Muscles jumped in his jaw. “I want the same thing, brother. We all want it right now.”
“But I’m the one who deserves to do it,” I pointed out. “I’m the one with fifteen stitches. I could’ve wrecked out there. I could’ve killed a bunch of people and gotten my ass sent up for the rest of my life.”
“I know. I’m just saying; we’re all feeling this right now. I know how angry you are.”
“Angry doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling, and you know it.”
“Okay, okay.” He leaned back in his chair. “But we can’t just go at them without a plan.”
“I know. I’m not saying I wanna ride over to their clubhouse and bomb it. Even though I get a semi every time I imagine it.”
He snickered. “We just have to be smart. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I get it.” I let out a shaky breath. “I was sure I was finished, brother. I really was. I never came that close before.”
He stood up. “Give it a little time. We’re gonna be on lockdown for a while. Rest up, let yourself heal. And think it over. You won’t feel so raw forever, you know? It’ll pass.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I knew it never would, but arguing with my President was pointless. It would be best to let time pass and see what happened if the skinheads tried anything else.
Three days passed with nothing from them, probably because we were all holed up in the clubhouse. We had sentries on guard at all four sides of the building at all times, but nothing happened. I wondered if they were trying to lull us, to make us feel more secure than we really were. Otherwise, they could’ve been sitting back and waiting for one of us to make a mistake. Or they could’ve been plotting.
I told myself so many times not to think about it. We had to work on our offense instead of worrying about theirs. We went through a bunch of ideas—calling in a tip to Tommy’s office and getting him and the other detectives out there, bombing their clubhouse, all kinds of things. I was in favor of bombing, but I was the only one. It had been a long time since I got the chance to put together a good device. I missed it.
Meanwhile, the girls
did everything they could to keep us feeling good. We were having a party that night to blow off some steam. It was a shame Gunner would have to stay in his room the entire time. I hadn’t seen much of him—I’d check on him once or twice a day but only for a minute or two. He would have to listen while everybody else had a good time. That would get to him.
The party was still going strong by three in the morning—maybe not as strong as it would’ve gone if there weren’t kids asleep upstairs, but pretty strong anyway. The girls were all dancing. Even Violet was having fun, and she was always the one who was too worried about the next morning to let herself get a little crazy. She waved at me from the other side of the room while I sat at the bar with a few of the guys. We hadn’t talked much since the day I got hurt. I was sure she was pissed because I didn’t want to hold her hand or let her kiss me, but she looked pretty happy then.
“She’s smokin’ hot, isn’t she?” I looked over at Phil, who was staring at her with a smile.
“Don’t you have a woman?” I called out.
“Nah, man, we broke up days ago. You didn’t know that?”
“Guess I was distracted.” I pointed to my head.
He laughed. “Right. But yeah, we’re not a thing anymore. I’m free again.” He stared at her a little more, and I felt my blood rising. Who the hell did he think he was to stare at her like that? She wasn’t just one of the girls. She was the best girl. She deserved more than one of the guys drooling over her like she was nothing but a quick lay.
“I don’t think she’s right for ya, brother.” I clapped him on the back. “She’s the kind who wants a relationship, you know? It’s a real pain in the ass.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Fuck that. I don’t need anybody hanging around telling me what to do all the time. I just got out of that shit.” He looked me up and down. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes, brother.”
“It’s cool.” I nodded with a grin even though my blood was boiling just from imagining Phil touching her. I told myself it was stupid. Violet’s life was her life. She could sleep with whoever she wanted. It had nothing to do with me—I wasn’t her boyfriend. I just didn’t want another man to ever touch her, was all.
Drake walked into his office with his phone to his ear. It was past three by then. Who was he talking to at that time of night? I stuck my head in the office, and he waved me in. The conversation was already over. He looked defeated.
“What’s going on? Noise complaint?” I grinned, but it didn’t help his mood.
“Close the door.” I did what he asked with a pit in my stomach. Nothing good ever started with that.
“Okay. Talk to me.” I leaned on the desk. “What’s happening?”
“I wouldn’t usually tell you about this right away, but since it has to do with Gunner…” He trailed off.
I felt a little sick. “What is it?”
“I’ve been bending over backward to convince Bobby that none of this will hurt our relationship. You know how he feels about stuff like this. He can’t have this sort of thing in his business.”
“I know.”
“And I can’t lose this relationship.”
“I know.”
“He wants me to do something about it.” His voice was heavy as he looked at me.
“By ‘something,' you mean he wants Gunner taken care of. As in finished.”
“As in finished. Yeah. He wants a guarantee that nothing like this will ever happen again. And I have to admit; I don’t trust him. That’s hard to say. I never thought I would say it about another club member, but he’s taking me there.” He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. “He’s really taking me there.”
“I feel like I have to make up for it.”
“But you don’t. He’s a grown man. This isn’t your fault.”
“Right.” Only it was, in a way. If I went to prison instead of him, he wouldn’t have done what he did. I never would’ve made a deal like that—but maybe that was easy for me to say. I was never in his position.
“When this is all over, we have to have the meeting and take a vote on what to do about him. It’ll be you, me, Creed and Ace. The four senior members of the club. I thought you should know.”
“Thanks, I guess.” I laughed a little. “Man. It’s like a shit sandwich. I’m fucked either way.”
“Just do what you have to do. I won’t hold anything against you. I mean it.”
“I believe you.” I looked at the door. “Doesn’t seem like much sense in partying anymore.”
He smirked. “Yeah. Same here.”
“I’m gonna go upstairs and try to, I don’t know, not slit my wrists or something.” I left the office and walked through the party without seeing or hearing anything around me. I would have to vote on whether or not my brother should die for what he did. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t win.
Violet tried to catch my eye as I went upstairs. I pretended I didn’t notice her. I wanted to be alone.
16
Violet
He looked like he had just gotten the worst news ever. I couldn’t leave him alone when I knew how upset he was. I followed him upstairs—by the time I got there, his door was closed.
I knocked at it anyway. “Hey. Are you okay? You seemed upset.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He didn’t sound fine. I couldn’t help wondering what had happened down there between him and Drake.
“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”
“Not really. You can go back down to the party. You don’t have to follow me around.”
“I wasn’t really having any fun,” I lied. I was actually having a good time for once, but that ended as soon as I saw the look on his face when he left Drake’s office. I felt like an idiot, talking to him through the door. “Do you mind if I just come in for a second? It’s kind of stupid, standing out here, talking to you like this.”
He was quiet for a second. Then, “Yeah, whatever.”
Okay. That was welcoming. I opened the door slowly. He was stretched out on the bed; one arm flung over his eyes. The lamp on the dresser glowed, but it was a soft light. I could hardly make him out in the semi-darkness.
“I really don’t want to bother you. But you seemed really upset. Are you in pain? Do you need aspirin or anything?”
He sighed. “No.”
“What is it? Your brother?”
He nodded and let his arm drop to his side. “Yeah. Drake’s hinting at wanting to settle things with him, if you get what I’m saying.”
“Oh, no.” I knew it was coming. We all did. It would be insane if Drake didn’t want to see Gunner punished for what he had done. It was against club law to go to another club and make a deal. It was against the law to speak for the President, to side against the President with another club. Not to mention a bunch of other little things, like insulting Drake the way he had. Putting the entire club at risk was punishable by death. Nothing less than that would settle the score, according to the rules of the club.
I sat on the edge of the bed, totally at a loss. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I know what he did was wrong. Really, really wrong. And I hate him for that as a club member, you know? But as my brother? I still hate him because he’s putting me in this position.”
“I can understand that.”
“But can I sit there and vote for him to die? Can I do that to my brother? I don’t know, Violet.”
“I’m sorry. I wish there were something I could do to make it better.” I reached out to him, but he jerked his arm away before I could touch him. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He glared up at me. “Why is everything about that with you?”
I sat up, stunned. “What?” He might as well have hit me. He sounded so nasty, and he looked at me like I disgusted him.
“I mean, we can’t have a simple conversation without you wanting to fuck around, or hang around in bed, or paw at me.” He sat up. “I’m not in the mood right
now, you know?”
“Isn’t that supposed to be a woman’s line?” I spat. “I wasn’t trying to, like, take advantage of your fragile state. Calm down.”
“What were you trying to do, then?”
“I was trying to be your friend, though I have no idea why right now.” I jumped up like the bed was on fire. I wouldn’t have sat down on it again if he paid me. “Why are you being this way? I thought we were friends. You usually come to me with things.”
“Maybe I don’t want to come to you with everything. Did you ever think about that? I didn’t ask you to follow me up here. I’m sick of you following me around.”
It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He had changed so much in the blink of an eye. “Are you sure you didn’t lose some of your brains when that bottle hit your head? You’re talking crazy. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry for caring.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need you to care. I don’t know who named you my guardian, but it wasn’t me.” He got up and looked out the window with his back to me. I might as well have not been there.
“I don’t understand any of this.” I shook my head and tried to ignore the way my heart was breaking. How could I have been so wrong? I thought he cared about me, really cared. I thought we had something going together. How could he be so tender and then turn around and act like we were strangers to each other?
“Let me spell it out for you. I don’t need you in here. Find somebody else to care about, okay?” He glared at me. “Go. Please. I don’t want anybody’s help.”
I opened my mouth to ask one more time why he was pushing me away—instead of that; something else came out. “You snide, self-centered son of a bitch.”
“What?” His eyes bulged out.
“You heard me. You think you can talk to me like I’m some skank off the street? Like I’m just here for you to have a good time with when you feel like it? And when you don’t feel like that, I’m here for you to talk to and tell your secrets to and be your bottom bitch?”
