by Naomi West
“Well, worth a try I guess, eh? How much?”
He tells me and I give him the cash. Then we shake hands again and I leave.
The car holds up for the next part of the journey, though it makes a few coughing and juddering sounds along the way. Eventually I make it. I sit across the street, backed into an alleyway with the hood facing the apartment building. I know she’s there because my car is parked out front, slotted clumsily between two older vehicles. I guess driving the big bastard is easier than parking it.
“Aren’t you going to go in and beg for her forgiveness?” Shotgun’s voice whispers, laughing slightly. “Isn’t that what a henpecked man is supposed to do? Fall to his knees and proclaim that he has never loved anybody more, then beg her again and again to accept your pathetic apology?”
With an effort, I release the steering wheel. I sit back, breathing in the too-hot air. Even with all the windows down, the air is like something physical, burning the back of my throat. This’ll be the hottest day of the year.
“Trying to distract yourself like you do before a job,” the voice goes on, relentless. “You taught me that trick. Do you remember? It was the first job we went on together and I was a little nervous. You told me to think about anything apart from the job. Think about the weather. Think about cars. Think about women. When the time for killing came, the body would know what to do. Otherwise, we were dead already.”
I stare at the building, trying to make myself either go up there or drive away. I have to do one or the other. I can’t just sit here. Not acting is death for a man like me. But there’s this damn blockage in my head and I can’t get rid of it; if I go up there, she’s won. Her little melodramatic performance has succeeded. But dammit, didn’t I do some wrong shit to her as well? Didn’t I …
As I’m stewing this over, some tall skinny brown-haired guy walks up to the apartment building. I only notice him because, at the same time, Fiona appears in the doorway, looking flustered. She’s changed into her own jeans and a vest top, her face bright red. She turns to the man and her chest goes crazy, rising and falling like he’s her fucking dream man or something. My hands ache from gripping the steering wheel. The tall skinny man is wearing a Star Wars T-shirt and wire-framed glasses. Is this her boyfriend?
I tell myself I’m crazy, but then she walks barefoot a few steps and touches his arm, grabs his hand, and then leads him back into the building, still holding his hand. Just before they close the door, she hugs him, and then, together, they head for the stairs. I just catch them exchanging some words as the door swings closed.
My belly is a pit, devouring and devouring. A pit: eating endlessly. A pit: killing me. I will my hands to let go of the steering wheel but then I squeeze it harder and harder, and harder … sweat pours down my forehead and my heart is too loud. I can’t think. That tall skinny streak of piss … his hands all over Fiona; his lips all over her body. Oh baby, that must’ve been horrible. He sounds like a real asshole. A worm, a fucking worm, taking my woman!
“I thought you didn’t want an old lady.”
“Fuck!” I snarl, slamming the steering wheel with the heel of my hand. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
I pace across the street and press every apartment buzzer except for hers. As soon as somebody answers, I somehow manage to keep my voice at least half-calm. “Engineer for the roof, ma’am.” It makes no sense but people don’t give a shit. The lady buzzes me up and then I charge up the stairs, opening and closing my hands, my teeth chattering even as I try to grit them.
I slam on her door with my fist. Murmuring on the other side. The man asking in his prissy voice if she’s expecting somebody, Fiona replying that no, she isn’t … She’s not expecting me, that’s for damn sure, not when she has her boyfriend in there with her. They’ll watch superhero movies together and laugh about the big dumb asshole she fucked once upon a time.
The door opens half an inch, as though she knows it’s me and doesn’t want him to see me.
“Kaeden?” she says, pretending to be shocked.
“The fuck is going on here?” I growl, shoving the door open the rest of the way and striding into the apartment. The skinny fella leaps to his feet and brings his hand to his face, whining. “Be a man!” I roar, slamming my fists into my belly. “Come on! You’re fucking another man’s girl! Fine! Let’s fucking have it then, eh? Come on, you fuck!”
“Kaeden!” Fiona screams, jumping onto my back and bringing her mouth close to my ear. Her warm-breath voice is the only thing that stops me from crushing this man’s glasses in my fist. “He’s Andy Perk, my best friend’s brother! I’ve known him since I was a little kid! He’s not—it’s not what you think!”
“What?” I breathe, lowering my hands, taking a step back. Fiona slides from my back and walks around to put herself in between me and the Star Wars man. “The fuck is going on here, then?”
“My sister’s been taken,” Andy Perk whispers, straightening his glasses.
Fiona’s lips are trembling like she might cry. “My best friend, Kaeden. They kidnapped her!”
15
Kaeden
“So let me get this straight,” I mutter, and then take a sip of the black coffee Fiona just made for me. She’s on coffee as well; she looks wired, struggling to stay awake. I can’t blame her after everything that’s happened. I turn to Andy. “You got an anonymous call telling you that if you didn’t bring your sister to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, she’d be killed. They told you not to bring any backup, weapons, or cops … and you just did it? You just took her there, when you were with her at her apartment, and she was safe?”
The idea is beyond insane to me: that a man would meekly take a woman into danger like that. Just because they asked.
“They were going to kill her!” he protests, in that whiny annoying voice.
“How do you know, eh?” I take another long sip of coffee, willing the caffeine to work. My shoulder pulses numbly. “You got a random call telling you to give up your sister, and you did. That’s all you know. That seems pretty fucking cowardly to me.”
“Kaeden!” Fiona snaps. “He was scared, all right? He’s not used to this kind of stuff.”
She talks to me silently with her eyes, pleading with me to go soft on him. I glance at her. We both know there’s lots we wish we could say but can’t since there’s somebody else here. I shake my head, but I don’t insult Andy again, even though it’s difficult to have respect for a man who’d do a thing like that.
“Describe what happened next,” I tell him.
He does: a huge man in a grim reaper mask came out and snatched Jocelyn from him, kicked him to the dirt, and then dragged her into the warehouse. He got up and drove home and then came here, remembering that Fiona worked at a biker bar and wondering if she knew about anyone that might be able to help. He turns to me on the last part.
“Will you?” he whispers. “Help, I mean.”
I resist the urge to snap at him. If he was a pledge I’d make him stand naked in the desert for a day and a night, just to harden him up a little. Life has been too kind to this asshole. He’s let it make him soft. What’ll happen, I want to ask him, when the guns come out and it’s time for blood? What if war comes, eh? What if you’re out one night and some frat fucks decide they want their way with your lady? I’d rant at him all day if it wasn’t for the pleading in Fiona’s eyes.
“If it wasn’t for her …” I nod at Fiona “… I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, all right? But it just so happens I know what this bastard is doing. He’s going to keep her for a day or two and then demand a trade: Fiona for your sister. He wants his fucking prize back. He doesn’t like that I stole her from him. Well, that’s never happening.” I turn to Fiona now. “I won’t let him take you again, ever.”
She blushes, nods, bites her lip. I wonder what she’s thinking. I hope it’s something good.
“So what do we do?” Fiona asks. “I’m guessing we can’t just sit around here.”
> “First we need to go to the clubhouse. Hell, I ought to’ve been there already, considering Shotgun.” I pause briefly, fighting off the urge to crush the coffee mug into a million tiny flakes. “We need to make sure the two of you are safe, and then I’ll meet with my boss and we’ll try’n work out a plan to get Jocelyn back. I can’t make any promises though. You should’ve come here with your sister, dammit. What sort of a man …”
“Kaeden!”
I growl out a sigh and then stand up. “Where are my keys, Fiona?”
“On the counter in the kitchen. I’ll show you.”
“I reckon I can find them …”
But she strides into the kitchen anyway. I follow her. The kitchen is adjacent to the living room, but separated by a room divider. It’s semi-private, and anyway, Andy does what most men these days seem to do when given a couple seconds of rest: takes out his phone and starts to mindlessly tap at it.
“Thank you,” Fiona whispers, pressing herself against me. “I know we had an argument and … But thank you. Really. I’ve known Jocelyn since I was a little kid. We went to the same schools together, every single one.”
“All right.” I hug her, holding her close. There are things I should say but the words just won’t come. I’ll have to hope that the hug is enough. “I’ll get her back, Fiona. I’ll try my best.”
“Please don’t let anything happen to her.” She kisses me on the cheek, a point of impossible warmth. “Please.”
I grab her shoulders and move her away before she kisses me again. If I let her carry on, I won’t just forget about her friend; I’ll forget about everything except for how warm she is, how inviting, how home-like. I just want to hold her, I realize, nothing else. “We need to get going. Give me the keys.”
She hands them to me and I make for the door. “Put on some shoes. And you.” I point to Andy. “Get off that damn cell phone. You look like a teenage girl.”
I drive us out to the clubhouse, constantly looking in the rearview and expecting Nine Circles to come riding down on us. I’ve got my pistol but nothing else. If they rode in on us now, it’d probably be a bloodbath. But we’re lucky and get there in one piece. I open the door for Fiona without even thinking about it, the sort of gentlemanly shit that’d never even occur to me before. She smiles her cute thanks and I wonder if things might be okay between us: after I sort out this mess, that is.
I push the door open to the find the clubhouse almost empty apart from a few fellas changing guard duty. Most of them are still out fighting the Nine Circles, I reckon. I nod to the fellas and they nod back, all of them looking wary about trying to talk to me. They’ve heard about Shotgun, then, and assume—rightly—that I don’t want to exchange words about it.
“Sit there.” I point to a corner table, far away from the fellas. Andy’s eyes go wide when he sees the gun. I repress the very strong desire to backhand him across the mouth. Just looking at a rifle makes this man scared? Jesus Christ. “Do you want a drink?”
“We’re fine,” Fiona says quickly, reading my face. She takes Andy by the elbow and leads him away.
I go to Dirk’s office and knock heavily. Music plays from the other side of the door, Johnny Cash turned down low. Dirk’s on the phone, shouting at somebody. He’s an old fella and always shouts on cell phones, but this is something much fiercer. “They’re not one step ahead of us, you fucking bastard! Say that again and I’ll take your goddamn head off! Just get as much back as you can, y’hear? We’re not losing all our goddamn merchandise to these fucks! We’re not! Yes, come in, dammit!”
“Boss.” I nod and walk across the room to the desk.
Dirk looks drawn-out and overtired, his eyes sunken pits and his skin more wrinkly than usual. His hair is stuck to his head with sweat. He wipes big beads of it from his forehead and spreads his hands. “Well? What is it?” Then he blinks rapidly, remembering. “I’m sorry about Shotgun, Kaeden,” he goes on. “Take a seat, all right? If I look like I’m about to go fucking crazy, it’s because I’m about to go fucking crazy.”
“I know the feeling,” I say, laughing gruffly. I take the seat and then ask, “Did we get his body?”
“Yeah, the boys got it. We’ll have a proper funeral for him when this is all over. He’s on ice now.”
Shotgun, lying frozen and blue-lipped, smiles at me in my head. “They’re keeping me nice’n fresh,” he says, chuckling. “You’ll all ride out and talk about what a good man I was, but you won’t be able to believe the lie, Kaeden. It was your fault. Everybody knows it. The boss knows it.”
“I shouldn’t have taken him on the job,” I mutter.
“Yeah, well …” Dirk shrugs. “What good is whining about it going to do, eh?”
I nod, sitting up straighter. “Here’s how it is, boss.” I explain the situation to him.
“Reaper’s got a real goddamn hard-on for you and that girl, hasn’t he?”
“I reckon he doesn’t like being embarrassed. That’s what it came down to, back at his bar. Me and Shotgun took Fiona out from right under his nose. I reckon a man like Reaper can’t let a thing like that go.”
“And now he’s got her friend.” Dirk leans back and lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply. He offers me one; I shake my head, though it takes an effort. “Well shit, Kaeden. You know we’re in the same position as before. We can’t waste club resources on some girl none of us even know.”
“But this isn’t just about saving the girl,” I say. “The only person who’s even seen Reaper since this mess started is me. Like you said, he’s got a hard-on for us. So if you give me some men, it might be that I’ll be able to take him out when everyone else is chasing their tails. He takes risks with me, boss. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m the biggest man in the club, the only man he’s ever laid eyes on who’s almost as big as him.”
“Maybe,” Dirk says, nodding. “I don’t see what damage it can do, anyway. It’s not like we’re doing any better on our end. Fuck up after fuck up. This club’s done, Silence, fucking done if somebody doesn’t do something soon.” He glances at the door like somebody could be listening, though nobody ever eavesdrops in the club. “He’s one step ahead of us. Every time we make a play, he’s ready. He’s making us look like assholes.”
“Then give me five men,” I say, “and I’ll make this right.”
“Okay,” Dirk replies, sucking down the rest of his cigarettes. “I’ll give you the men.” He tosses it into the overflowing ashtray. “Go get this girl back, but make sure to kill plenty of the bastards as you do it. I want bodies, Silence. The only message we’ve sent them is that work down at their bar. I should’ve listened to you to earlier.”
“Well …” I shrug. “Which men can I have?”
He names them and I thank him. Then I send a text out to all the men, telling them to meet me at mine and Shotgun’s armory. I wonder if Shotgun’d be pissed at me giving out the address.
I walk over to Fiona and Andy. I think about asking Andy to come along with us to save his sister, but even though an extra body is usually a good thing, sometimes it can really fuck a plan up if the fella doesn’t know what he’s doing. “You two are going to stay here until this is over.”
Fiona gives me a long look and I give her a long look in return. Again, I get that sense that there’s a whole lot we’d like to say to each other, but can’t because of the shivering coward sitting next to her. When I scowl at him—which I can’t help—she gives me a please-leave-him-be look, so I shrug and turn away, heading for the door. I’ve got to kill this suddenly emotional part of myself anyway if I’m going to be any good on the job. I walk out into the sun, working my shoulder, wincing at the pain. Wounds healing nicely. I laugh when I hear the old man’s words. Rubbing it in; it’s only been a day, which is crazy because it feels like one hundred.
I’m about to climb onto my bike when Fiona comes jogging out of the clubhouse, her dyed hair fluttering over her forehead, coming down to shield her eyes. She looks so beautiful,
I could just grab her right here and take her someplace quiet, forget about the world: run, run far away and pretend that I was never a killer named Silence. Dangerous thoughts, but also impossible to ignore. She stops just short of me, tilting her head.
“You just going to stand there?” I say, when her gaze lingers on me for several long seconds.
“I want to say good luck,” she replies softly, taking a few tentative steps forward. “And please get her back. But be careful as well. I guess I want to say be careful most of all.”
“You know me.” I grin at her. “Mr. Careful.”
“That’s not funny.” She closes the distance between us, pressing her body against mine. Her breasts crush flat against my body, and yet I’m sure her nipples are hard. She stays like that for a few moments, both of us breathing quicker, both us knowing that if circumstances were different we would devour each other right now. She looks up at me. “I care about you, Kaeden. I know it’s difficult for you to say the same about me, but—”
“No,” I interrupt. All at once the argument back at the safehouse seems petty. It’s that look in her eyes, the damn cute look, that damn captivating look. I reach up and cradle the back of her head, sliding my hands between threads of hair, and then lean down as I bring her lips to mine. We kiss, and there’s no lust in it. It’s soft, almost. It’s the sort of kiss I’d never imagine a man like me could have: maybe the sort of kiss I’d make fun of if I saw it in a movie. When I break it off, I don’t feel like making fun of anything. “I do care about you,” I tell her. “I care about you a whole damn lot, all right? I just, I can’t …”
