Brute: The Valves MC

by Faye, Carmen

  “Are you all right?” he ignored my question.

  I frowned. What was he talking about? “Yes. Why are you here?”

  “Are you sure?”

  I was noticing how he was in the habit of talking over me. It felt particularly annoying. “Yes! Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He regarded me pensively. “You look unwell, baby. Let’s go inside.” His voice sounded warm and sincerely concerned for me. Out of habit, he pressed the door handle before I could unlock the door and I discovered that, in my foggy state of mind, I had left the house unlocked. He looked at me again, questions in his eyes.

  I shrugged and stepped inside. He followed immediately and closed the door behind him. He didn’t say a word as I put the cream on the counter and started rummaging through my cupboards for the rest of the ingredients. I could feel his eyes on me and it made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t very good at awkward silences, especially when they came with a hefty side of personal concern.

  “I was thinking of trying a new recipe. Some sort of cheesecake, but without any cheese.” I needed to talk. He kept watching me. “I think I liked it because of the salted caramel, but I didn’t have any cream so I had to go to the store.”

  He shifted behind me, his uneasiness almost a physical object. “I’m sorry, baby,” I heard him whisper. I turned around to see him looking at me.

  “What for?” I had to ask. Another thing I was starting to notice and find unsettling was his way of confusing me with so much ease.

  “I didn’t do it right today.” Now I was completely puzzled. Before my mouth could form a real question, Dawson went on, “I’m not very good with surprises. I wanted to make it right between us and I thought something out with Ginger. Apparently she was right and I should listen to her more often.”

  “What on Earth are you talking about?”

  He smiled. “Your idea of dessert fits right in, actually. Now that we had to change our plans because of the weather.”

  I frowned at him, but had to acknowledge I was starting to feel better. He could barely keep from laughing under his own frown. “Would you like me to help you with those?”

  “What for?” Back to being confused.

  “We’re going at my place, of course.”

  Of course. “Naturally. What else?” I laughed.

  He came close, bent and kissed me, then grabbed everything in a pile in his arms and started for the door. “Are you coming?” he asked, looking back from the door.

  “I need to shower before I step out of this house again,” I argued.

  He didn’t budge. “You can do it at my place. I’m sure you can use some of my clothes.”

  The warmth I felt inside was more than enough of a reason to follow him in the now heavier rain. Drops were falling over us, weighing us down and soaking our clothes and hair in just the few seconds we spent in its direct line of fire.

  Once inside, we burst into laughter. Looking into each other’s eyes, we felt compelled to kiss. Not passionately, not grown-up kiss, but like a sweet stolen touch, like teenagers sneaking around. I felt my heart bursting with the sting of happiness and before I could voice my feelings, Ginger had broken us up with a very distinct “cuuute”.

  We both blushed and looked down, in keeping with the teen theme.

  “Tsk-tsk. Where were you?” she demanded.

  “Did you see that?”

  I noticed he was in the habit of talking over Ginger, too.

  I laughed. “What?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “I think she’s the only kid I ever heard saying that grown-ups kissing was cute!”

  I looked at Ginger and she frowned. “What do you mean?” she requested, visibly puzzled.

  “It’s just not what kids your age do, baby,” he said, trying to calm her.

  “What?”

  “They go more like ‘eww’ than ‘cute’, baby.”

  “But, why?”

  Ginger had taken an inquisitive stance, little hands balled up on her hips. I leaned on the doorframe, extremely amused with seeing Dawson being roasted by his five-year-old daughter.

  “What are you laughing at?” he turned an accusatory look at me. “Help me out!”

  I shook my head, reached for my supplies and took them slowly, one by one, from his arms, then strutted to the kitchen. One last look behind was enough to send me into convulsive fits of laughter. Dawson was actually pouting, head down, while Ginger looked tall and proud, still frowning for clarifications.

  I took advantage of the situation and snuck to take a shower, changing into one of Dawson’s sweatpants and t-shirt. The scene between them was over before I got back and we were shortly reunited in the kitchen, each of us equipped with aprons and various kitchen tools. We had divided the labor fairly and each of us had something to do, something to pay for the deliciousness that we were to enjoy later.

  Dawson was still figuring out the old food processor he had to bring from my place. He had to go back twice since I forgot to lock the door again and the keys were still on me.

  Ginger seemed much more comfortable with her task. Besides graciously accepting the heavy burden of overseeing dinner preparations, she was also making cute little flowers out of vegetables. I was honestly amazed.

  Halfway through panfrying some tempting-looking fresh fish, I had asked about its provenience, which, in turn, got us talking about Dawson’s initial plans for the day. He intended to take me and Ginger fishing but the unexpected change in weather had ruined his plans. Both our reactions, something akin to a scrunch, told him the weather wasn’t the only problem with his plan. I, then, learned that Ginger came up with the genius idea of dinner making. She was the one suggesting we should make it look like a proper dinner, using the good crystal glasses and china plates. I kissed her with gratitude and we shared a moment of female bonding to which Dawson stood as a dumbfounded male witness.

  I loved every minute of the day. Where everything seemed so grim in the morning, he had turned it all around. Him and Ginger seemed to be my best source of happiness and I had forgotten about every dark thought or doubt for the moment.

  I loved them both and I needed to be near them. I reached my conclusion swiftly, without even realizing I was thinking about us. In itself, it looked like my fate was tied to theirs from now on and I relished in that feeling, taking in the laughter around me. One tear had run down my cheek and I left it there. There was no shame in being happy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dawson had just taken his daughter home and I supposed he was putting her to bed. I tidied up the living room and went to make some coffee. He was to come by shortly.

  Close to an hour had passed before I heard the knock on my door. I was starting to worry, so I jumped to my feet when he entered.

  “Did something happen to Ginger? Is she feeling unwell?” I asked, fearing her cold had come back.

  He smiled. “She’s just fine. She wanted a snack before bed, that’s all.”

  “But, she already had a snack here,” I said, thoughtfully.

  “And I bet it was quite a healthy one.”

  “Yes! Why would I give her something unhealthy?” I was thoroughly confused by his amusement.

  “Well, that solves the mystery, then. She wanted something sweet.”

  “What? At this hour?”

  “I gave her just a little. She wanted the pistachio flavour this time. Don’t worry, I’m not a completely irresponsible father.”

  My expression must’ve told him I had my doubts because I heard cascades of laughter behind me as I turned to pour him coffee.

  He sat on the same barstool he always did and sipped carefully, not to burn himself while I watched, captivated by the lines of his features. Even when he was making silly faces, like he tried to do now, for my entertainment, he looked amazingly handsome. I couldn't help but smile and when he winked, he made my core clench once again.

  He stood and I looked up, as he approached. Gently, he placed a hand on the small of my back and
bent his head towards me. I anticipated the kiss with all my being when his phone rang. I frowned; he kissed me furtively and raised a digit to signal he needed privacy.

  He went into the living room to answer. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, as he talked in an especially low voice, but I did pick up on a change of attitude. He seemed harsh and mechanical and what piqued my interest was the undertone of malice permeating his words.

  He threw a louder word, still undecipherable to me, and went outside.

  The choice made me feel suspicious and I silently followed him, guilt tightening the skin on my body. I was still holding my cup of coffee and I grabbed it like it was my last hope and anchor when I heard what he was saying.

  “No, we need to get that money sooner. The old man skipped one payment already,” he said into the headset, pacing angrily in front of my door. “No, I’ll take care of it. Just…Make sure you collect the taxes from the Solentanos. That’s your job and I won’t do it for you.”

  I could hear myself gasp, as dreadful thoughts rushed through my head. He swung the door open and met my gaze. I saw something break inside him, his shoulders slumping, his feet frozen in place. I saw all that but I couldn’t help backing away. My face must’ve shown great terror, or the betrayal I felt, because he finally walked towards me, his steps bigger than mine. He caught my hand and stopped me.

  “Mari…”

  “No,” I whispered, unable to pull my hand back. My eyes related all the questions filling my head and I kept his gaze, but he backed down. Looking at the floor, he let my hand slip and sat on the couch. “What was that, Dawson?” I asked, when I finally regained my voice.

  He shook his head in defeat, never looking at me.

  “Answer me,” I demanded, standing in front of him now. I felt angry, and hurt, and suspicious all at the same time, and the strength of these feelings wasn’t something I had dealt with before. I thought that my eyes would bore holes in the back of his head as I repeated the question. Not from fury, but pain. I felt the dangers of hidden secrets hanging over our head and I didn’t want to lose what I had with him. I raised his chin, as gently as I could and sat down beside him. “What is it, baby?” I saw now the struggle inside him and I remembered every second he had this same expression before. I couldn’t see how, but he was hurt. Given what I just heard, I couldn’t understand the pain. I could’ve expected him to look guilty, but pain? He suffered for some reason and it resonated in me.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes. I work for a loan shark; it’s exactly what it sounded like.”

  I hadn’t thought of that, but the discovery was as shocking as any other such disclosure. Maybe worse, since I had never even admitted the thought of him being a criminal. And now? He had just told me, clear as day. I couldn’t speak; not because my voice would’ve been shaky, no. I just didn’t know what I was supposed to say. A lack of any actual feelings had settled in a cold knot in my stomach as I stood there, looking through him.

  He helped me out by saying, “I want to end everything.”

  I opened my mouth, afraid I might say something wrong. How could I help him out of this impossibility? He looked at me and saw my shock.

  “No, no, baby. Not that. Never that. I’m sorry,” he said, hugging me tightly. “I meant I want to end everything I have to do with the Valves,” he followed, whispering in my hair.

  Hearing the name of the gang, I felt my skin crawling with fear and disgust. The Valves!

  “I…For Ginger?” I dared to say.

  He nodded.

  The Valves were a feared gang, renowned for being the most ruthless loan sharks in the region. “At least they don’t kill people,” I managed to whisper, squeezing my hand tight on his shirt.

  “Yes…”

  I felt something in his voice, something other than relief over their no-kill policy. I raised my head. “What is it?” I asked, trying to look into his eyes.

  He looked away and I felt his hands loosening around me. I watched him change expressions, from the struggle of the confession to guilt. A darker shade of guilt, the kind one feels for his entire life. The dreadful suspicions rose once again in my gut and I pulled back.

  “What is it?” I asked again, my voice shaking now. “Do they still kill people?” I couldn’t believe he could’ve been involved in something like this, something so sordid and heartless. Not the man he was with me and Ginger, no.

  “No, baby. No killings.” His voice matched the guilt in his eyes and I sat silent, waiting for more. “I…this started because of me. Five years ago.”

  I smiled. “I knew you weren’t a cold-blooded criminal.” He didn't share into my gratefulness. I could’ve sworn the guilt in his eyes took a stronger tint hearing my words.

  “It’s…” he sighed heavily. “I killed a man. I had to; it was a job. It made me realize this wasn’t what I had signed up for. After that, I worked with all I had to change the policy.” The words came out like bullets, like he wanted to spit the out for the poison they were:. deadly torrents that swept everything in their way. It was hard for me to hear them, I was shocked in the darkest way, but his eyes screamed that it was more painful for him to utter them.

  I saw his face, his suffering, and I realized, with a few seconds delay, that the shock had send me standing, a hand to my throat, mouth wide open, putting as much distance between us as my shaking legs could manage. He looked at me for a moment, then lowered his gaze, hurting so obviously, I could sense it through the catatonic shock of the news.

  Even so, I couldn’t get close to him. “You killed a man?” I whispered, the worst happening before my eyes. I had imagined many bad things in my hours of pondering the suspicions I had, but this was something I didn’t dare to look upon. “An innocent man?” my mouth moved without my consent.

  “He wasn’t innocent,” he said. “But nobody deserves that. To die like that, nobody to know what became of him...”

  He sounded far away, buried in a tragic memory I couldn’t wrap my brain around.

  “How…” I couldn’t finish my thought; I didn’t know where it went.

  “I’m sorry. I kept this from you and I am sorry. As sorry as a man can be. I’ll understand if you want to leave but, please, don’t say anything to anyone.” His body hadn’t moved but his voice, his eyes, begged. In his eyes, he was kneeling, crying for this favor before me.

  My eyes grew wider, shocked again by his request. “I…You want me to keep this God awful secret? You want me to be your silent accomplice?” I couldn’t hold back my tears. I couldn't control the accusatory tone of my voice and I certainly couldn’t stop the betrayal I felt from seeping through my words.

  He didn’t look at me. His shoulders were slumped, his head bowed, his entire body giving up on holding itself with any shred of human pride. It hurt me to see him like this but I didn’t allow myself to take pity on him. No! He just asked me to keep my mouth shut, silently allowing him to go on. “Or…”

  “Or what?” I asked, aloud. “You’ll kill me if I talk?”

  He raised his gaze and met mine, the pain physical, the light I knew and loved, gone. “I deserve that,” he whispered, his head down again. “I asked you to keep quiet because if anything I said to you ever gets out, my plans won’t work and that’ll be the least of my concerns.”

  “Your concerns? What about Ginger? What about…me?” I couldn't believe the selfishness in his words. It didn't match with the hurting in his eyes.

  “That’s why I’m doing this!” he exploded, his voice like a thunder that made me cower back, against the wall. “That’s why I’m doing this! That’s why I’m putting my life, and your life and Ginger’s life at risk here. For you and for her. If you open your mouth to anyone else about this I’m a dead man. They already suspect something is wrong about me. They’ll kill me if they learn that I want to break all ties with them. They’ll torture me for punishment, and kill my daughter in front of me, then kill me.” He breathed once, exhaling loudly, like a wounded ani
mal. “Do you know what this means? What I’m about to do means? I will break the code I worked on enforcing in each and every member of this shit clan! I will be the rat, the pest that tried to take down The Valves! Even thinking about it mandates a death sentence, to hell with the no-kill policy!”

  His frustration and pain scared me but his words showed me I was in the wrong. He had told me he was intent on severing ties with the gang, but I chose to focus on the betrayal I felt and forgot. I saw how I have hurt him, when I should’ve offered him my full support.

  I straightened up and stepped on my fears with shaky legs. I needed to show him I was sorry. He stopped talking, his face flushed with the anger of unwarranted betrayal and avoided to look at me. His mind struggled to reconcile his guilt and fears with my words and the way he felt about them. It was obvious he felt he didn’t deserved to feel the way he did and should’ve taken my accusations without a word.