by J. C. Allen
“Cute,” he said, but I could see my words had had some sort of impact on him—maybe not a tremendous one; I doubted he could have a tremendous impact. But it was something. “Where’s lover boy again? He got cold feet or something, is that right? I can’t really blame him. Considering the sort of person he was married to before. No offense or anything, but you’re something of a downgrade. Actually, no you’re really a major downgrade, let’s be honest here. Compared to her? I mean, Jesus.”
I was shaking with rage, reminding myself over and over again that there was no way he knew as much as he was letting on. Or, perhaps, just willing myself to believe it.
They were just words—only words!—but, fuck, Chuck knew how to weaponize words. Whoever said “words will never hurt me” had never met my brother—and because of that, I envied the hell out of them.
All talk, I reminded myself over and over again. He’s just all talk. That’s all he’s ever been.
But…
It didn’t help. Not in the slightest. About the only reason I didn’t cry was because I was so fucking enraged that I couldn’t feel anything but burning fire in my eyes.
“I can’t really expect him to stick with you after the life he’d known before. Beautiful wife like that—family on the way and all—and you thought he’d settle for… well, a whore? A woman who lied? A cunt?”
“If he was here to hear you call me that,” I said through clenched teeth.
You mean the thing he called you?
“If he was here to hear me call you,” Chuck said with a deliberately prolonged snicker. “He’d probably agree with me, sis.”
Don’t you dare let on that he did say that to you. Don’t you fucking dare.
“Hell, I called you a ‘whore’ plenty of times the other day when I caught up with him, and, I’m still standing, aren’t I?”
“By the looks of it, you weren’t in the moment.”
Chuck seemed taken aback by that, as if reminded of the moment Derek had so thoroughly attacked him. It was somewhat amusing that I gave serious thought to letting Derek call me a cunt in exchange for letting me witness him beat my brother in person again.
“In any case, Eve, I think you might want to know what I talked to him about.”
“I think not,” I said as I put my fork into my bowl, preparing to stand up. “Whatever lies you told him, it was enough to make us take a break. Do you think I need to know how you made the knife that stabbed me? Fuck that.”
“So eloquent,” he said as I stood up. “But it’s not quite that.”
I paused, glaring at him, but through his swollen eyes, he just gave a casual shrug.
“You want to know what I told him? Sit down.”
Goddamnit, Eve.
You’re lucky you’re in a public place so you don’t lose control with him.
I spat on him as I sat down, which drew an amused smirk as Chuck wiped away the spit from his shoulder. His reaction seemed so… chilling. It was like he enjoyed seeing me pushed to the point of actually spitting on him.
“I wanted to know if he could help keep me safe from the Black Falcons. Granted, I didn’t offer to suck his dick or let him ride me like a trick pony or lie to him, but that’s the difference between you and me—I have class and you’re a cheap slut.”
I started to stand up again.
“What I’m offering him is information on the Falcons,” he said, which got me to pause and sit back down. “Which is admittedly more valuable than anything you’ve got left to offer, which is, of course, why he doesn’t need you anymore.”
I cocked my face—this was a new approach. So far, Chuck had convinced me Derek realized I was some lying whore, which wasn’t true, but it had worked.
And now he was dumping me because he didn’t “need” me?
“Ya know he was after Rock, right? The man did organize the attack on his home that got his pregnant wife killed. Derek had been on his heels for some time after that, gathering all sorts of information. Hell, Derek Knight was practically a stalker!”
Who wouldn’t be in that spot, Chuck? Why are you suddenly all about calling out my boy… Derek for behavior that doesn’t even approach yours, asshole?
“Why the fuck else would he want to serenade a whore? Because you weren’t just any whore. You were one of Rock’s whores! So he flashes a pretty grin, let’s you smear your jizz-soaked cunt all over his plush chopper’s seat, buys you a few shiny-shinies, and the door to his endgame pop open like a drugged-up Jack-in-the-Box!”
My fists curled up as a disgusting morbid curiosity to see how far Chuck could go compelled me to let him finish.
“Violence passes, a whore’s apartment burns to the ground, and all that’s left is to sweep up the ashes and move on with his life. So that just leaves one question then, Eve. Did Derek Knight sweep you out his door, or did he kick your ass out of his place?”
“He’s done nothing of the sort,” I said.
I took a deep breath for a reason I didn’t want to admit out loud, but it had something to do with the emotions threatening to overtake me.
“H-he’s just busy today.”
“Oh, is ‘h-he’ now?”
“Fuck off, Chuck,” I said. “This was what you wanted to tell me that was special? I know Derek far better than you or any of your little friends could ever know. He’s many things that aren’t great. Impetuous, secretive, and reckless. But he’s also a tender, caring, ferociously loyal and determined man. Everything you just said reeks so heavily of bullshit, you’re going to make this entire mall vomit within the next minute. So let me make one thing clear. If I catch you watching me again, you will regret it.”
“No,” he said, his eyes growing serious and cold with dark intent.
This was no glare that relished in the pain and suffering of my life. This was no look that said “you are hurting and I enjoy it.” This was as cold as the ninth circle of hell, as evil as the devil himself.
“You’re going to be the one who regrets this, Eve. It’s just a question of how much you’re going to regret it. And, being the caring sibling that I am, I’m gonna give you a choice, and I suggest you think it over before you answer.”
I took a deep breath, taking care to look at my surroundings. Chuck didn’t seem interested in attacking me or doing anything in public, and I had plenty of escapes if I wanted them—but with that fucking creepy look, I couldn’t assume a damn thing.
“If you come with me now, I can maybe—just maybe—talk Falcon into going easy on you. I’ll even vouch that none of this was your idea, that Derek orchestrated the whole thing—practically kidnapped you—so that he could get to Rock. Given everything, I’d even say that’s not exactly a lie. You come with me, go along with that story—tell the big man how sorry you are for all the inconvenience you’ve caused him—and maybe we can both get through this without being dead by tomorrow!”
Lies. All lies. I see this “Falcon” guy… the one Roost mentioned…
I’d be dead before I could open my mouth.
“And if I don’t?” I said, deciding to see how much of a hole Chuck could dig himself.
“Then we’ll both almost certainly be dead by tomorrow. Or, if not then, then at least eventually.”
That’s true no matter what you do. You really think you hold any sway over a mob boss?
“Yeah, I’ll take my chances on the streets,” I said, finally having had enough. “I’d say good luck to you, but at this point, I don’t want you to have any kind of luck except the bad kind. If I die, at least you die with me. I won’t have to deal with the pain you’ve caused me any more.”
“Eve, you fucking slut—”
But his voice grew distant as I stormed off in the opposite direction, not so much walking to a destination as away from the one I had just been at.
And yet, as much relief as I felt for having escaped the awfulness of that conversation, there was some disturbing truth to what he’d said at the end.
Not about Der
ek. I’d come away only more convinced after that that he had lied so much to Derek that if the leader of the Saviors had any sense—which I knew he did—he might come back. Doesn’t excuse what he said to you, though.
Doesn’t mean you should take him back if he comes back. He’s got to grow up.
But the stuff about the Falcon—that all seemed true. Given that Roost, perhaps the most honest person I knew, had papers about the Falcon, I knew he was in the area, hunting us. And if he was, then I was facing a question of when, not if, I wound up in his possession.
If that happened, Chuck was completely accurate on one count. I’d be dead within days, if not minutes or even seconds.
It was then, walking back to call an Uber to the house, that I finally lost control of my emotions and began to sob.
I would never get to experience independence so long as the Black Falcons and the Falcon lived. But in order to see their destruction, I had to rely on the man who had thrown me out of his home and couldn’t handle his drinking. If he fell, I had to rely on the club founded by his family.
My life seemed very much out of my hands, and it felt like there was nothing I could do about it.
Fuck you, Chuck.
3
Derek
I must have sat at that tombstone for another two hours, just feeling like a miserable waste of life despite the brief moment of respite after my tears.
What should have been time to feel better and sober up only made me worse, though. The inevitable hangover came that made me feel like shit, and the sobriety of my mind meant I could contemplate even further how badly I had fucked up. At least drunk, I could be such a bumbling fool that I wasn’t too self-aware.
But sober?
Oh, heavens, what a fucking mess I was. I couldn’t decide which of my actions was the worst—calling Eve a cunt, drunk driving after drinking an entire bottle of liquor, or puking on my deceased wife’s grave—but I was certain that had I done just one of them without the other two, it still would have been up there with the worst things I had ever done in my life. And I had done some terrible, terrible things that I’d have to spend a long time explaining to God before he even considered letting me into purgatory, let alone heaven.
Still, time always passed, no matter how shitty or how uplifting that time was, and with it, a return to equilibrium usually eventually came. While today’s equilibrium would come with a massive headache and persistent puking, at least it also came with enough awareness and reaction time to safely drive to the shop to meet Roost. I had to make up for the embarrassment of this morning, and even if I showed up with grass stains, dirt, and vomit cunks on me, well… I just had to take it one step at a time.
Sure, I might get hit up the side of the head by Roost, and I might have fully deserved it. I might have preferred the grass stains and puke chunks to the bruises Roost would leave me. But at least I’d be moving forward.
Well, physically, at least. Emotionally was a different story.
As I headed towards the shop, I tried desperately not to think of Eve.
That is, I tried desperately not to think of how badly I’d fucked up with Eve. I tried desperately not to think about how unlikely it was that things could be made right. I was trying desperately not to think about how I’d basically thrown away my only chance at a second chance.
I might have been able to swear off drinking. I might have been able to return to Maggie’s grave with a clear head and apologize for everything that I had done. But Eve was a living, intelligent human being whom I had basically told “I never want you in my life ever again.” And I was probably going to make that come true.
I leaned into a turn, probably taking it a bit more on the suicidal side than was totally necessary and cringed as a sharp pain stabbed into and worked its way up from my lower back. By the time I finally leveled out, my entire back felt like everything was twisted and yanked to the left. Such a pain came from sleeping poorly, but in some ways, it felt apt—I had an awful lot of pains in my life, and most of them came because of dumb decisions like this.
Remember when you said you were going to stop driving like a goddamn idiot trying to make it on “World’s Most Insane Videos?”
Yeah, that seems to be gone.
Like so much else in my life…
I hooked the next turn wide, nearly bringing myself right into the grill of a semi, nearly fishtailed into another, yanked the bike upright beneath me, and finally got the girl under control in time to run a red light.
Because fuck it, why not, I threw myself into another suicidal lean, this time actually crying out at the deliciously wicked spasm of pain that racked my entire body.
Yup, I had thoroughly fucked up my back. I had created a ton of pain for myself—and I sure seemed to deserve all of it.
And it only got worse the closer I got to the shop.
During the last stretch before arriving, I went from going a respectable eighty miles-per-hour to over one-hundred-and-twenty.
“This how you gonna do it, Derek?” I said to myself, hunkering down and watching the familiar building grow at a dizzying rate. “Just steer yourself towards the shop, close your eyes, and never, ever open them again? Nothing like making an appearance directly into a steel gate doing over a hundred to really make a last impression. This how you gonna do it, Derek?”
In the end, it wasn’t how I did it.
It never was.
Because, at that last second, when it came time to either hit the brakes or pull the metaphorical trigger on my life, I was usually a coward.
But on this particular day, I just had amends to make. Amends to myself, amends to Maggie, amends to Eve, and, I realized as Roost came outside wearing a surly expression and crossed arms, amends to Roost.
“Took ya long enough, dipshit,” Roost said as he walked back into the shop, taking me to the office.
Well, any chance of him being humorous and joshing about what I had done had just gone way the fuck out the window. Any chance of me having sympathy—not that I deserved it, but maybe I’d get it all the same—were gone.
“Yeah,” I said, numb.
I wondered with no real concern just how much he’d seen. Not that it mattered, but the level of pissed off Roost would be would help me decide what I could and couldn’t say.
You could just say it all honestly, dumbass. That’s how you make amends, remember?
“Fucked up my back, by the way. You got any Vicodin?”
“Seriously? Yer dumb ass knows we got barrels of the stuff,” he said. “The knock-off shit, at least.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Where—”
“Ya ain’t gettin’ a goddamn half-pill o’ that sheeit,” he growled as I took a seat across from him. “An,’ no, ya can’t have any. Last thing ya fuckin’ deserve.”
I should have taken this in stride given I was in no room to banter.
But should and did with the degree of migraine I had did not get along, and should never win out in spots like these.
“What the fuck crept up your ass, Roost?” I said as I held my head in my hands. “Or should I ask who?”
Roost slammed his fist onto the table, jolting me up with surprise as pure rage turned his face a dark purple. I feared very little in life—having blown up a meth lab and killing the murderer of your wife will do that—but this put the fear of God right in my chest.
“Ya better watch yer fuckin’ mouth, ya little sheeit,” Roost said, his cinderblock hands already curled into deadly-looking fists. “Ya ain’t got any room to talk right now, ya goddamn fuckin’ fuckup.”
I blinked, realizing I was legitimately about to talk myself into a thorough ass-whooping if “should” didn’t catch up real quickly to “did.” I caught myself wondering if it wouldn’t be an interesting way to kill myself—“Death by big, gay redneck”—and decided that torture was never a decent commitment for a final act.
“The fuck is your problem?” I asked.
Though the words sounded aggress
ive, they were said rather meekly, and even in this state of imbalanced dynamics, I knew Roost wasn’t going to hold me accountable for the simpleness and bluntness of them.
“Me? I got a slew o’ fuckin’ problems. Doctor says I’m a bit on the heavy side, fer one. Ya know how many times I been laid since ya nearly blew my ass up? Huh? Three times, Derek! Three! That’s a slow fuckin’ week fer me! Fuck, man, it’s sometimes a slow fuckin’ night fer me! Meanwhile, I seen more fuckin’ tits since that night than I have since back before my ass was still in the fuckin’ closet—and, yeah, that’s startin’ to irritate me.”
I didn’t dare ask why he was going on this tangent right now, as though his words may have carried an element of sarcasm to them, to call him out for that felt like something I should not do.
And, for once, should aligned with did. I did refrain from asking him.
And it was a damn good thing too with what came next.
“But mostly, my fuckin’ problem is a two-hundred pound pimple named Derek with a swollen white head that I’m just achin’ to fuckin’ pop!”
I blinked at him, stunned by the outburst.
“When you last talk to Eve?” he demanded.
Oh shit…
“Eve?” I said. “I…”
I bit my lip, let out a long sigh, and looked away, defeated, like the fucking coward that I was. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell the truth to my best friend, I was so ashamed of my own behavior. Weak. So goddamn weak.
“Fuckin’ knew it!” Roost roared.
And now I’m fucked for that weakness.
“Tara called me earlier, y’know. Said she’d consider it a sizable favor if I kicked ya squarely in the balls. Asked her why, she wouldn’t say much, but let’s jes say what she did say, I oughta kick ya in the balls with each foot twice. Since she ain’t gonna tell me, yer ass will. Now, what in the ball-licking valley of queefing fag-fucks did ya do or say to that poor girl?”
“None of your business,” I said quickly.
Too quickly. I had let instinct take over for honesty. “Should” lagged way the fuck behind “did.”
