Grey (Storm's Soldiers MC Book 2)

by Notaro, Paige

  “That’d be it.”

  “Indeed, that proved to be the primary issue. You know, you’re not as dumb as you look right now.”

  I flicked my hand at his face and slumped back into the frayed cushions. My thoughts lay in a swamp but my mood rode a bit higher. Thurge did have his ways for cheering me up. Hell, he even had on a little smirk now.

  “Could I at least know what exactly had you preoccupied in our moment of need?”

  Of course, this was what he’d sat down to find. He looked as pleasant as his rough features allowed, but he’d thrust into the table with unusual interest. It seemed like he was asking doubly on Calix’s behalf.

  Shit, would it be good to lay it all out like I usually did. I wasn’t fool enough to think that Thurge’s generosity extended that far, though.

  “Stupid shit,” I muttered.

  “Lots of that in the world, brother.”

  “Yeah, well I tipped over into a big patch of it. It’s all over now though.”

  “You sure? You’ve been in and out of a lot of patches recently. I think you may have just ventured into one giant shitfield.”

  I chuckled and made an unreadable shrug. There was nothing giant about this mess, really. It came down to me and Meagan – the problem and the solution both.

  “It’s not big, just persistent,” I offered. “At least until recently. There’s no reason to worry anymore.”

  Vague as I had been, Thurge seemed to be content with that assessment. He took another pull of whiskey and shoved it back at me. “I see then. Well, I’m sorry it ended as it did, brother.”

  He threw me a nod that made it clear he understood that this was just me being a bitch over some girl. That’s what it was at heart, once you tore through the mess. Me losing a girl. It was just another bit of pain to ride on through.

  “I’m sorry too, Thurge. I’m sorry for it all.”

  “That’s all I need to hear. Well, let it not be said that I abandoned you in your hour of need.”

  He drew up another tumbler from the bar, and muddled his brain right along with mine through the afternoon.

  *****

  I awoke the next day to the nudging of a foot. I groaned and opened my eyes to find myself on the faded carpet of our living room. Thurge’s snores snarled out from the sofa above.

  The sharp shoe edged me again, and I rolled around to track the abuser from foot to face.

  Calix bloomed high above me, sipping at an Irish coffee. “Fine place for a beauty nap,” he said.

  “Perhaps it is, and perhaps it’s not,” I said. My mouth crackled dry and foul. “What are you waking me up for?”

  “Pop wants to see us.”

  “Shit,” I rubbed at my eyes and nearly crumbled my paper-dry eyelids. “Now?”

  “Lunch. Figured you needed a few hours.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  I left Thurge and Calix and stumbled back through the halls for a shower. The soak of water petered through my hair as my brain ran haywire with thoughts. I wasn’t quite in the mood to see Pop and hear his endless sermons on separation. I wanted nothing more than to carry out my duties silently and hang out with my boys. I didn’t want any race talk to remind me of the mess the last few weeks had been. I couldn’t very well refuse the invitation though.

  I tucked into a pile of eggs and some coffee that Calix had whipped up. Some might take the food to be a sign of affection, but in his mind, he was just gearing me for the battlefield. He took the ‘Soldier’ part of our club name more serious than most.

  He smoked at the table while I ate, glancing every now and then as if his thoughts occasionally turned to me.

  “Feeling better?” he said, as I was scraping the plate.

  “Same as usual.”

  “I guess I’ll take that after the mess you’ve been this weekend.”

  “One time deal.”

  Calix nodded seriously. “Yeah Thurgood mentioned the reason. Women’ll do that to you.”

  I kept my thoughts from sprouting too far. “Yeah, they will.”

  “I think this trip will help calm you down.”

  We left Thurge snoring and rumbled our rides onto the road. Calix led our two man procession onto the highway and along the long route to Marietta. Instead of pulling into the far lane though, he stuck to the right. My puzzlement was answered when we took an exit near Downtown.

  I’d figured we were picking something up, but my impression changed as we came out onto the local road. We wound around broken down buildings and empty blocks of cracked pavement, dotted with shopping carts and piles of dark trash bags. A few black men shuffled around in tattered sweatpants and crusty haircuts. This wasn’t the part of Atlanta you went to get anything good.

  Still, it took another couple blocks of this before I realized where exactly we were headed. My first instinct was to roar ahead of Calix and cut him off, but I let that burst of anger simmer. I’d done enough damage to the Soldiers. I deserved to suffer this.

  The broken blocks gave way to brick built tenements, and larger crowds – almost all black, all poor. Finally we crossed a major intersection and turned into our destination.

  It was a gas station, nothing special. A big blue and white painted sign rose overhead. Four of the pumps were working and two sat with yellow tape over them. The convenience shop advertised lottery and cheap beer inside. There were probably a dozen places like it within a couple miles drive.

  The only thing unique about this one was that our mom had been murdered here.

  Calix and I parked along the inside curb. We were the only white faces in sight. Most of the other ones were looking at us, but none of them looked like trouble. I wondered if that disappointed Calix or if it wasn’t the purpose of this trip.

  My brother paced up to pump four, one of the ones now marked over with yellow tape. He stopped and looked over the counter like it were a tombstone. I took his side and we observed in silence.

  “Pop didn’t ask for us,” I said eventually.

  “He did not.” Calix’s eyes didn’t lift off the pump. “Would you have come if I didn’t lie?”

  “No.”

  Calix shook his head sadly. “Ask yourself why, Vaughn. Why would you not visit the site where you lost the woman who gave birth to you?”

  “Doesn’t seem productive.”

  “And mourning for a girl you fucked for a couple weeks is worthwhile?”

  “You think what you will man.” I turned and went back for the bike.

  Calix landed a hand on my shoulder. “What I think is that you need a reminder in what’s important.”

  Normally, I would have shoved him off, but I forced it aside, remembering again how much atonement I owed. “Yeah?” I asked. “I remember what happened to Mom. I’m a Soldier aren’t I?”

  “You are. I’m not saying you’re not. I’m just saying you gotta focus on the important parts of your past, the ones that give you strength.”

  He spread his arms out at the traffic cone sitting before the useless pump. “In this space, you lost a mother,” he said. “She was gunned down by a heartless black beast while you sat helpless in that car. For what? Nothing more than pumping gas amongst the wrong kind of people.”

  Several of those people had an eye on our theatrics now. I wasn’t worried or embarrassed, but it did strike me how Calix spoke as if they could not understand English. Like this space was a spot for our misery alone.

  “I remember, Calix,” I said, softly. “Not directly, but I know what happened here.”

  Calix’s arms slumped to his side. He glanced back. “Next time you feel lost, remember what you truly did lose. Let that be the guide for your actions. That girl you let go is nothing compared to this. At least she’s still alive.”

  My face must have look stunned because a thin smile took over his. He was right. He had helped me understand what exactly had hit me so hard about the past couple days.

  It was hard to let go of something that’s not really gone.
/>
  CHAPTER THREE

  Meagan

  I hunched over my laptop in the study room, blankly watching the glowing white page. My hands were so ready to dash some text onto it, but I couldn’t form a proper sentence in my head. Any attempt at thought ended up drifting away from the class work. It took me a minute even to bash out the title.

  Shifts in Media Portrayals of Combat Post-Vietnam.

  I groaned back into my seat for a little break. Aubrey was grooving along to her earbuds and tapping away next to me, but Faith threw me a knowing smile like we’d actually just come back from Vietnam together.

  “Juices not flowing, huh?” she said.

  “Oh my juices are flowing. I’ve got a whole flood of juices flowing through my head. That’s my problem. I can’t get the right juices out.”

  “Is it about him?” She patted my hand sympathetically.

  I had only shared that it was over, but I was starting to regret even that now. Of course, it was about him, but her reminder didn’t exactly clear my thoughts.

  “It’s a lot of things.”

  “I’m sure he’s on top,” she said, lost in some thought of her own. “Ugh, guys are the worst.”

  I could just tell she was about to launch into some story of petty misery about her own boyfriend. I doubted it would make me feel better.

  “What’s your paper on anyway?” I asked, trying to do us both a favor and cut off my thoughts. “You got an outline yet?”

  She flipped over her own blank screen. “I never start this early, even when I care about the class. I’m just here to hang out till we can go eat.”

  “Well, this class actually matters for me.”

  “Alright, Miss History. Go work on your essay then.”

  “I’m going to.”

  “Fine.” She tapped a few keys and I thought I could see pictures of clothes reflected in her pale green eyes.

  I glanced back at my empty screen and sighed heavily. I could do this. I liked this class. I liked this topic. I just needed to start typing anything.

  I pressed down a key. It stuck. A line of ‘g’s raced out behind the cursor.

  Ok, maybe I needed a second move too. I moved my finger over one spot, and the ‘g’s turned into ‘h’s. Almost like I was typing on an Ouija board, my finger drifted south and landed on ‘n’.

  ghn…

  Half a syllable. Half a name.

  I love those one syllable names, Marissa’s memory whispered in my head.

  I don’t think I had ever really cried it out. He had never really left me with much control. I was there only to whimper and receive, to be a giant plush pillow for him to sink into.

  That was my problem. I was too soft. I should be burning up with anger at the memory of him.

  He was a white supremacist. Who even was into that these days except for grade-A losers? Racists yeah, they flourished, but to actually get stamps on your chest to make sure the world knew how messed up your ideas were? That took a certain kind of proud ignorance these days. It wasn’t the sixties anymore.

  That gave me an idea for my paper. When had guys like Vaughn gone out of fashion with the public? Maybe after the first fully integrated war. I deleted the string of consonants and mashed out a thesis statement that looked pretty damn impressive, and then a few other sub points.

  The screen wasn’t so white and empty anymore. If I couldn’t stop thinking about him, then at least I could use him.

  The creativity dried out though and left me only with the memory of those pale blue eyes, spectral in the moonlight, reading me like I was a paper. I was lying drenched in our mingled sweat, breathing in his silent appraisal. There had been many moments like that, with us in conversation but not talking. I’d seen him as brooding – guess I knew what he was brooding over now.

  Still, Vaughn had never talked race. It’s what made this all seem so odd. He had never voiced any doubts. The idea of him prowling the streets of Atlanta, harassing black folk - or anyone, really - didn’t make much sense. The only thing he put on display were his desires.

  Whatever his thoughts, his desire for my body had been no lie.

  Ok, none of this really helped with my paper.

  Aubrey tapped my hand.

  “Hey,” she said, one of her earbuds fallen to her shoulder. “Is this who I think it is?”

  She showed me her Facebook screen. A little friend invite popped up in the middle with a name I knew all too well: “Rico Alvarez.”

  His face was close cropped now, his soft features all square and serious. The picture had left in just enough torso to show he was wearing a doctor’s coat. That’s the part of him he wanted to show to the world.

  I looked away. “It’s him.”

  “So, should I confirm the request or should I confirm and then invite him to that party we’re going to on Friday?”

  She grinned madly. She knew my past with him, but nothing was too dark for Aubrey to turn into a joke.

  “You can try,” I said. “But he’s not gonna show up unless it’s a LAN party.”

  “Aww,” she said, conspicuously clicking the ‘Not Now,’ button. “I had some kinks in my muscles that I was hoping he could beat out.”

  “That’s messed up,” Faith said from her side. “Our girl’s hurting, don’t you know that?”

  “Yeah, but not physically, at least.”

  “It’s fine. He just sent that?” I asked, peeking back over. They had no reason to know each other, other than me.

  “He must have seen you add me recently. He’s trying to triangulate you.”

  “Fantastic,” I said. “How do you convince boys to leave you alone?”

  “My personality usually does the trick.” Aubrey shoved the bud back in her ear and tossed me a serious look. “You should really try being more of a bitch.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling her,” Faith grumbled, before going back to her own screen.

  I swayed miserably before my own laptop. A boy I didn’t want was after me, and the boy I shouldn’t want still had hold over my mind. Why was I so weak? If I wasn’t all Georgia peach, Rico would be in jail with scratchmarks all over his face and Vaughn would be a memory. I deserved better than both of them.

  Hell, even if Vaughn wasn’t a racist, he was a biker. He was a criminal. Ok, a criminal with a passing interest in classical music and history, fine, but he didn’t choose to act on those interests. Actions spoke louder than thoughts.

  Actions speak louder than words. I typed it out on screen.

  Relevant to my essay? No.

  But it was true. Rico had been nice and squeaky clean in his own head, but he had laid hands on me. What had Vaughn done?

  Well, he’d had sex with me. He’d lay in bed and held me tight. He had listened to me play piano. He’d shown interest in my classes. Heck, he’d even offered me a ride to them.

  His words – the ones that he’d spoken? Well, they’d been mostly about how fucking hot he thought I was. The only ones he couldn’t explain were the ink marks he’d scrawled over his chest. Who knew how long ago that had all been?

  Suddenly my head piled up with thoughts and I started bashing them out into my blank screen. Nothing about the essay – I’d deal with that later.

  These were questions for Vaughn.

  Faith said something about ‘devil lighting a fire in me,’ but I didn’t respond. There were so many things I wanted to understand about the past couple weeks, longer than that if you went into Vaughn’s individual past. It all came pouring out now.

  I got through a page and a half before cracking my knuckles and plopping back in my seat.

  “Done?” Faith asked.

  “Just beginning.”

  My phone sat like a smooth black stone next to my laptop. I flicked it to life and went through my text history. Vaughn’s number sat nameless. I thumbed through our short exchanges.

  Free? Yeah. Coming tonight. When? 8, cool? Definitely.

  It made me chuckle. Was this the love s
tory I’d been pining over losing? No, but it meant that there wasn’t much at stake if I looked into it a bit more.

  I thought a moment then tapped out my message: I had some questions. Can you talk?

  The message went to ‘Sending’ and then ‘Delivered.’

  I smacked the phone back on the table, wondering if this had been a huge mistake. The catharsis that had overtaken me after writing had washed away. A gnawing feeling was starting to work its way up my stomach.

  I scuttled over by Faith and started talking clothes. She showed me the thick winter wear in her shopping cart and I helped hem her down from four sets to two that would really look good on her. She did have a habit of going overboard with these purchases. Of course, she had her turn infecting me next, helping me pick out some vibrant blouses that would work well with my dark skin.

  All through the little exchange, my anxiety chewed its way up to bigger and bigger bites on my nerves. I shouldn’t have texted him. Definitely not that. I had questions for him? What guy wanted to hear those words? He hadn’t contacted me once the past few days. Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe he was just over me.

  God, why would I think he even wanted to talk?

  Aubrey finished her mad typing and yanked out her music to come over and join the two of us. By then, I’d nearly ground my teeth to the gums and my eyes were half on my phone’s blank screen. It was a relief when the two of them started chattering instead, so I only had to make small squeaks of approval here and there. I pretty much felt like a mouse inside anyway.

  Faith had just wrested my attention back to her laptop when my phone rattled. I nearly jumped out of my chair.

  “Jesus,” Faith said, patting me down. “You ok?”

  I checked the screen, hoping against hope it wasn’t Darryl.

  A nameless number had sent a message: Where? When?

  He wanted to meet? Of course he did. No one talked on the phone anymore.

  I thought a little bit. No use delaying this further right?

  Waffle House downtown, I typed. 7, cool?

  There was barely a second’s pause before the phone trembled in my hand.

  Sure thing. Be seeing ya.

  He’d be seeing me. I’d be seeing him.

  It terrified me how happy the idea made me feel.