by Adair Rymer
I carefully walked my fingers out around me to quietly search just in case there was someone else in the room. I spread my arms and legs to explore the rest of the bed. There was a loud crinkle noise as I accidentally kicked something. It hit the floor with a whomp. A plastic bag? It must've been full of clothes or something.
OK, if this was a hotel then that meant that there was usually a nightstand with a clock and a phone on it. Nothing on my side. I slowly crawled over and found the clock on the other side. It was face down. I turned it up to see the time.
“Ah!” I stupidly looked right at it. The red LED digits were so bright to my dark sensitive eyes that I immediately slapped it face down again. Once my eyes didn't feel like they were going to explode, I slowly flipped it back up. Now I knew why it was face down to begin with.
Three AM? OK. Now where the hell was I?
I used the clock to scan the room. It was extremely low light but my eyes could pick up that this was a one bedroom and I was the only one here. I found the switch to the bedside lamp, covered my face with my hand and bravely clicked it on.
Through the slit between my fingers, I took in the rest of the room. It was a moderately decent looking place, nothing fancy but far from shitty and it was mostly empty. There was a pile of dirty clothes in a corner, the plastic bag I'd kicked off the bed, that looked like it was filled with women's clothes, and a tray of food balancing on top of the TV. I was right. It was eggs!
It wasn't until I got up that I realized how famished I was. On the way to the food, I nearly tripped over my shoes, which were placed on the floor off the foot of the bed right next to my purse. Some of that anxiety lifted. I didn't feel as vulnerable now that I had my stuff.
There was sausage, scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, and water. It was cold but I was too hungry to care. I sucked it all down wondering how the hell this was even here. No hotels I'd ever stayed in served breakfast this early in the morning.
Under the tray there was piece of paper that I'd mistaken as a napkin. It was the back of a note. It read:
“Don't freak out, Maya. You're safe. I'm on the roof if you need me.”
Who was on the roof? Hendrix. The memories started coming back to me slowly. He brought me here after what felt like a heart attack in that gross alley. Why were we in the alley? We were fleeing some—
My eyes drifted to the pile of filthy clothes again. Red spots and splotches stained everything. Then it hit me like hammer to the chest.
Oh god... The memories became a flip book of images, the first few were slow and unreal, then they flipped faster, creating the scene. It was a blur of hell that made the nightmare I’d woken up from seem all the more real. All the horrible events of the shootout in the parking lot unfolded.
The blood that dripped on my shoes from all the wounded people loaded into the van. That one guy's head exploding as he rode by... I gasped at the thought of the biker with the shotgun.
Jesus Christ! I killed a man!
Someone tried to kill me!
The noise. The bleeding oil and gasoline from the mangled motorcycles that made the parking lot itself look wounded. The fire. All that pluming black smoke. The bullets. Screaming. All those bodies dropping... The hellish symphony of death reached a crescendo in my head. It was overwhelming.
Nauseous, I dropped to my knees and crawled quickly to the bathroom. I stood back up, intending to open the toilet but couldn't make it and projectile vomited all that food into the tub. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, breathing heavily and unsuccessfully fighting back the waves of food then bile that escaped me.
I wanted it to stop. I wanted to die.
After awhile the vividness of the memories settled, as did my nausea. I'd seen some bad stuff with the Blue Angels: drugs, questionable acts of sex, and a dead body or two, but nothing like that. No one ever tried to kill me before!
It was Hendrix. He killed that biker, not me. I was just holding the gun. I felt him slide his finger over mine, the thin, metal trigger depressing, the gun recoil. Hendrix shot him, I reminded myself.
Jesus... I'd given Anna a gun and just expected her to be able to do that? To kill with it. What the hell was I thinking? She'd never be able to kill anyone. Not even to save her own life... just like her older sister.
I'd be dead right now if Hendrix hadn't pulled my trigger.
It was a sobering thought. I couldn't do this shit anymore. I was wrong to come here. I had to get the fuck out of here, away from these psychopaths. I needed to go back home before this got even crazier. Before I was killed!
I cleaned myself off and ran the shower to take care of the puke. I was filthy and the steam looked to inviting, refreshing and relaxing to pass up. I bottom-locked the hotel room door. No one was getting in that didn't kick it open. I felt safe enough to undress and get in.
The water washed away the grime and the sin of it all and when I was done I felt like a new person. I was resolved to put all this madness behind me. No more.
The bag had the most ridiculous mix of clothes, half of which were too big and all of it was hideous. I put on the plainest thing I could find, which was a collared plaid shirt obviously meant for a boy and a pair of ripped faded jeans. There was nothing in the way of underwear so I hand washed mine in the sink and dried them with the hairdryer.
I grabbed my purse and got ready to leave this place behind me. Unlocking and opening the door, I thought about Hendrix's note. Could I really just leave without thanking him for saving my life? Or asking about Robbie, to see whether he was even still alive?
I mulled it over. My anxiety spiked at the thought of it, but I breathed and got it under control. I just had to go. Distance myself from the violence, the cocaine, all of it! If I stayed, I don't know... I was just terrified that if I saw Hendrix again it might make everything that happened feel even more real. I'd call Robbie once I was in a cab and ask him to send my thanks to Hendrix.
I felt so cowardly.
Two percent flashed on the screen. Dammit! Riding all of yesterday and after everything else that happened, I didn't have time to charge my phone. Shit.
So much for the coward's way out.
I sighed, dropped my bag on the bed and plugged in my phone. Was I really that shitty of a person that I could hide until my phone was charged then run away? I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I would poke my head up, thank him, and leave. Five minutes that's all.
He was on the roof? I chuckled. You're not going to make this easy for me are you, Hendrix? How was I even supposed to get up there?
It turned out that the hotel we were in wasn't all that big. Fifteen or twenty rooms, maybe. The hallway to the roof hatch was actually pretty easy to find.
Hendrix had torn the faux leather cover off a bible, probably the one that came in the room, and used it to prop the door open. Classy. What else would I expect from a biker, really?
The room was just big enough for a ladder and some hanging tools. The hatch at the top was wide open, a window to the brilliant starry sky.
The roof was steeply pitched on either side probably to help with piled-up snow fall. Hendrix lay on the uneven, black tar of a small flat maintenance area. He gazed up at the stars, wearing a half-unzipped blue hoodie with no undershirt and jeans. He sipped at a large bottle of wine.
Where did he get a bottle of wine?
“Watch your step,” he said, not bothering to look over at me.
“Where are we?” I rubbed my eyes, they were all messed up. Adjusting from the pitch black room to the bright lamps and hallway lights back to the soft darkness of the outside took their toll.
“A few hours north.”
“Did you talk to Robbie?” I blurted out. The last time I saw him he was being chased by a few of those awful bikers. “Is he alright?”
“Haven't heard from him.” Hendrix seemed distant. It felt like I was somehow interrupting him. Prayer or reflection or...something...I didn't know.
“Jesus... I hope he's ok.”
“How can you be so calm about it? He's your friend, right?” It bothered me. Robbie could be hurt or worse and we had no idea.
“He's a hard man to kill, I have to believe he's alright.” Hendrix finally looked at me through a sip from the bottle. “Tex texted me, we're meeting up with whatever's left of the C.E. tomorrow. We'll find out then.”
I turned away and walked to the ledge that bordered the perimeter of the roof. I couldn't look at him when I told him what I'd been practicing on the short walk to the roof hatch. “I can't.” the words were small and pitiful. I swallowed and began again, my determination kicked in, bolstering the words with more volume. “I can't come with you tomorrow.”
“You're leaving?” His tone had a hint of incredulity to it, like he was surprised that I would want to go.
“Yes. I mean, all this is just too insane for me. I was almost...” I stopped to swallow the stress of hearing the words out loud. I took a deep breath and continued. “I was almost killed because of cocaine. I just can't do this anymore. I don't know what I was thinking.”
“I see.” The disappointment in his voice really threw me off.
I had convinced myself that whatever fleeting connection we might've had when we got to the Wild Boys clubhouse was imagined. Did he want me to stay? Here with him? I had to push it from my mind. It was too dangerous a thought.
Hendrix was a biker. I didn't fall for bikers. That was the end of it. It had to be.
“So, thank you for everything. I hope you make—“
I turned my head at the sound of Hendrix chuckling. Why the hell was he laughing?
“You're leaving right now? At four AM? In Laramie, Wyoming?” He gestured broadly across the horizon. “I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that taxi services probably aren’t running right now.”
Dammit! I hadn't even thought of that! I looked past him. Only one unlit highway broke the endless plains in every direction. Not even distant headlights dotted the blanket of twinkling black sky. He was right. I wasn't going anywhere for a few hours.
“Well... Shit.”
He smirked at my oversight and patted the ground next to him. I felt silly but at least the tension seemed to have lessened, so I took the seat.
“Consolation prize?” Hendrix sloshed the bottle of wine lightly.
“Oh god, yes!” I snatched it away, not bothering to look for glasses that I knew wouldn't exist and just took a long gulp. I needed that. I needed a hundred of those after what we went through. I hoped the bitter wine would dull some of that horror.
“Thanks for the food. I wish I could've kept it down.”
Hendrix nodded.
“How'd you get that, by the way? I mean, there can't be a restaurant or a store or, hell, anything for miles that's open right now.”
He cocked his head to me and smirked. “Hotel kitchen was unlocked. Eventually.”
“Hendrix! That's stealing.” The creases in my smile betrayed my mock righteous indignation.
“What can I say? Prison turned me into a monster.” He shrugged.
“Our justice system hard at work. I'll have to write my congressman. And these?” I tugged at my poorly fitting clothes.
“The latest in fashion is courtesy of Lost and Found. I think most of them are even clean.” He sniffed at the shoulder of his hoodie and gave me a look that said 'close enough'
I giggled softly. Annoying thoughts of how charming he was kept popping up. I blamed it on the wine.
I'd never seen so many stars shine so brightly before. There was almost no light pollution, minus the big, glowing 'Vacant' sign, which was mostly hidden where we were sitting. It was incredibly calming and it made all of my problems and everything we'd been through feel so small.
“It's beautiful. The stars. Is that why you're up here?” I nearly whispered, turning toward him.
He heard me but didn't answer. His eyes were transfixed upward. They sparkled in the low light. His hair was swept back so that the moon could fully paint his rugged features. God, this man was handsome in a way I'd never allowed myself to recognize before.
We watched the stars together for a while in silence, passing the bottle of wine back and forth. My senses blissfully dulled and diluted some of the horror that, although still seemed so fresh, now at least felt manageable.
It was peaceful on that roof with him and countless billions of pinpricks above us. It was something I never would've made time for in my regular life but it was exactly what I needed right then. I probably could have sat there all night... next to him.
“I grew up just outside of Topeka.” Hendrix abruptly broke the silence. His words were soft and distant at first, like he was remembering a dream. “Small house with a big yard and plenty of cottonwood trees. As long as I could remember, I always wanted a tree house. Some of my friends had them. It always made me insanely jealous.”
“My father worked a lot and never had the time or patience to put one together for me so I used to sneak onto our roof instead. I'd imagine it was my tree house. I even brought a trunk up there that—.” He chuckled, tossing me a disarming smile before continuing. “That wasn't very water proof. It held, or rather destroyed, all of my important kid shit. A flashlight, some candy and soda, a few old comics, and even this raunchy porno mag I'd lifted from... I can't remember.
“Then on a clear night like this, I stopped looking down and started looking up. I saw the stars for the first time. Really looked at just them. Unhindered by tree branches and buildings, the massive scope of it... felt like I could see forever. It made me feel connected to something much larger. Something more important than just myself.
“When my parents divorced and everything else in my life got all fucked up, that roof on a clear night used to put me at ease.
“Pussy, my bike, my brothers... laying awake in prison in the middle of the night on that shitty cot, listening to my bunkmate get ass-fucked. It was the stars that I missed the most. All the vastness of the universe couldn't penetrate my six by eight cell.”
I looked at him in mild awe. “That might be the worst and saddest description of a place I've ever heard.”
“Yeah, if you thought the DMV was bad...” He cocked an eyebrow at me.
Hendrix was dangerous, mysterious, and a criminal but he was also charming and surprisingly funny. He was a very difficult man to figure out.
“What's your story? How'd you get wrapped up with a bunch of outlaws?”
“I've been asking myself that same question.” I really shouldn't be sharing anything with him.
“I guess I'm doing all this for my sister. She's having some trouble at home.” After everything he's already done for me, the least I could do was not be rude. I couldn't help but like the man a little. He did attempt to shield me from a shotgun blast. As long as I kept the conversation light and vague, it should be fine.
“So you're riding cross country with a bunch of murderous, drug-running bikers...to improve your sister's home life?” Hendrix looked confused but accepted it in a sure-why-not sort of way. He went to take another sip before realizing the bottle was empty and set it down.
“When you say it like that... it sounds ridiculous!” I laughed. “It's more complicated than that.”
“It always is.” He smiled, then stood up and stretched. A moment later, there was a new bottle in his hand. I shook my head at his ingenuity. What else did he have hidden away? “How are you related to Skids?”
“What?” That caught me off guard. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't going to get into specifics and that seemed pretty damn specific.
How did he find out that we were related?
“C'mon. Skids is one of the most detached old-school military types that I know. We've been friends for a long time and the only time I can get him to say anything about his past is with a top shelf's worth of alcohol.” Hendrix reminded himself of the wine and paused long enough to take a few long pulls. “Ever since you showed up, he'
s been bending over backwards for you.”
“I...uh...I don't,” I stammered, trying to buy time.
“Can't be his daughter. Hangers are a Latin MC so your Dad's Mexican and your Mom's... Asian.”
“Korean!” I shot up to my feet and pretended to be insulted. After a lifetime of people screwing that up, it didn't bother me. Even my mom was born in St. Louis. I'm third generation. I couldn't be any more American.
I protested because Hendrix was working out the connections and I was trying to distract him. Jesus, he was sharp for a biker! Stop exceeding my expectations... like now.
My disdain didn't even faze him.
When this all started, Robbie told me that secrecy was a matter of life and death. No one could know who I was or what I was trying to do. It could tie Robbie to a rival MC and he'd be kicked out or worse.
I needed to change the subject before he figured everything out. Dammit! I couldn't think of anything. Why did I drink so much wine?
“Hey!” I touched his knee. “Uh... tell me more about the stars?” Tell me about the stars? That's the best I could come up with? Seriously? I was screwed.
He looked at me but ignored my stupid request.“You're his niece, gotta be. It still doesn't make sense that he'd be mixed up with the Hangers. Where did you say you were from?”
I panicked and stole away the bottle of wine and took a big sip. I was really worried. If the Coffin Eaters knew who I really was they'd kill me or use me for leverage somehow. I'd seen the Angels do it to people before. I wouldn't be anyone’s bartering chip!
I kissed Hendrix.
He tasted like grapes. His prickly beard was rough but I...I didn't mind it. Hendrix was so different than the safe, clean-shaven boys that I'd always dated. Even through the haze of alcohol, I could feel the heat surge to my face as we pulled away. My heart was beating faster and my breath quickened. I was so thankful it was too dark for him to see me blush.
I did it to distract him, I immediately reassured myself. That was it. What startled me and worried me most was that I didn't hate it. I shouldn't have kissed him.
I closed my eyes. I hate bikers. I tried to remind myself what they did to me and mom, what they were. My father's face immediately came to mind and I shuddered away from a two fingered caress down my cheek.
