MANHANDLED: Sigma Saints MC

by Nicole Fox

  I needed to get out of here. If the cops found me, nearly naked and covered in blood and soot, they were bound to take me in for questioning. I couldn’t allow that. I might reveal something about Dominic, or Thunder, or the Broken Spires as a whole. After everything we had been through together, I could not bear to see them come to harm.

  Deciding I needed more than just a jacket, bra, and underwear to avoid attention, I stole the boots and pants from the body of the nearby Crooked Jaw. It disgusted me to be touching them–and to slip the smelly, oversized, bloodstained things onto my body–but I realized that it was necessary, so I did it anyway. That was another thing Dominic had taught me: you always needs the strength to do what is necessary.

  Clunking out of the alley, looking more like a biker chick than ever, I managed to make it to the river. There, I dipped my hands into the water and washed most of the blood and the debris from my face and hair. It would certainly have been suspicious, lurking around in the shadows looking the way I did. After that, I found a pile of storage crates on which I could hide, climbing them clumsily in my too-big boots. Once on top, I waited, and watched. Cops were everywhere. I figured it was too risky to be moving about right now, especially in daylight. And so I decided to linger there until dusk, and the bulk of the police disappeared.

  As I waited, I thought about Dominic. About those horrible, gaping wounds that covered his front and especially his back. I wondered how much the Hook had to have tortured him, and how confused and desolate he must have felt when he thought Thunder and I were cheating on him. I did not blame him for his mistake. So confused and terrified he must have been, and so warped by the Hook’s machinations, that it was only natural. And yet, all it had taken to break that terrible spell of lies upon him was my confession of love.

  I’d told him I loved him, and his eyes cleared. He was my Dominic once more.

  Whatever happened the rest of my life, I knew that I would remember that moment forever.

  I also wondered about Blade. Now that the Hook was dead, and the Crooked Jaws ruined, what was he going to do? Obviously, he could not go back to work. Too many people–too many witnesses–had seen him involved with the Crooked Jaw’s crimes. And I was sure–knowing their cowardly nature–that every single one of the members of that biker gang captured by the cops would be turning each other in, trying to cut deals to ease their sentence.

  I wondered if they’d try to turn in Dominic. “No,” I realized. “The Hook is dead, but Dominic and the Broken Spires are alive and well. They’d know the Spires would hunt them down like beasts if they tattled.”

  Dominic is alive and well.

  God, I prayed that it was so. He’d lost so much blood, and that concussion. And who knew what kind of medical training the man they called, “The Vet” had? If there was one thing about this whole biker gang mess that annoyed me, it was that they could never seek medical care.

  “Though, if they could,” I realized, “you and Dominic would never have ended up together.”

  That, at least, makes me smile.

  Dusk fell. My muscles aching, my poorly clothed body shivering with cold, I clambered down from atop my hiding place and made my way back towards my place. Fortunately, my long respite atop the crates had given me time to search the pockets of the jacket I’d stolen. There, I found a fat wad of twenty dollar bills and a half-full pack of cigarettes with a lighter. The cigarettes I’d smoked while I waited, relishing the idea of my mother finding me perched in that manner, smoking and clad in little more than leather.

  The wad of twenties I’d used to grab a cab home. I knew there was some risk in that, but I figured, by that point, it would be more suspicious to have me wandering around after dark.

  My apartment was warm and familiar after everything that had happened–and yet, it still felt lonely. I wondered where Dominic was, and how he was doing.

  As soon as I entered, I kicked off the stolen boots, pants, and jacket and tossed them into the trash. As an afterthought, I removed the bra and panties as well and stuffed them in on top of them. After the Hook and Blade touching them, I never wanted to let them touch me again.

  Then, I looked in the mirror. At first glance, what I found could have been comical. Despite my attempts to clean in the river, my whole body was still covered in dirt, sweat, and blood–all except where the bra and panties were. Instead, they’d left patches of white-pink skin, like a negative photograph of a woman in a bikini. The ludicrousness of it made me chuckle.

  Beneath the filth, I also saw several cuts, and many large, painful looking bruises. Strangely, I did not find them ugly or disheartening. Instead, they made me feel fierce and beautiful. Like an Amazon warrior.

  I said to my reflection, “Part of the reason we survived today was your courage and your plan. It worked on Blade. We’d all probably be dead if you hadn’t worked on Blade.” It was amazing to me. Almost unbelievable. I thought back to the woman I was not that long ago–the woman willing to trade her self-worth to grovel before a man like Brain.

  If that woman had stood beside me in the mirror, I would not have recognized her.

  At last, satisfied with my reflection, I stepped into the shower and let the warm, soothing water wash over me. It not only cleansed away the dirt, but the sharpness of the memory of Blade’s hands, of the Hook’s repugnant talon. Beneath all that, remained something strong and beautiful.

  I stepped out of the shower and let myself air dry, just standing there, relishing the warmth and freedom on my skin. Then, still stark naked, I marched to the kitchen and fetched myself a bottle of wine Brian and I had been saving for our honeymoon. You know what? I thought. Tonight, I, alone, deserve it.

  I popped the cork, filled myself my fanciest glass, and took a sip, the cool air coming from the window whispering across my skin. I smiled, took another sip, and sat down, crossing my legs like the most sophisticated of naked ladies.

  That was when I heard my doorbell ring.

  I did not jump. The old me would have jumped. She probably would have spilled that wine all over herself. Instead, I stiffened, poised for flight or fight, depending on who came through that door.

  I waited. The doorbell rang again. “Come on!” I heard someone call. “It’s still hard for me to stand, you know!”

  “Dominic!” I cried back.

  Slamming my glass of wine down onto the table, I rushed to the door and opened it with a flourish. There, another heavy black jacket covering his thick padding of bandages, with a smile so broad that even his bruised and battered face failed to hide it, stood Dominic.

  “Thank God!” I gasped, and threw myself upon him, completely heedless that anyone passing in the street could have seen my full nudity had they walked by. Dominic grunted, somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp of pain, and together we half walked, half stumbled into my house.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay!” I exclaimed, kissing him, relishing his taste of cigarettes, my taste of wine.

  “Me, too,” he responded solemnly. The severity of his tone disturbed me, and made me pull away.

  “Wait, you are okay, right, Dominic?” I asked. He did not seem to want to meet my eye–and not because he was looking at my breasts, either.

  “Yes, I am fine. The Vet stitched me up. Took some wicked painkillers and about four hours, but he managed.”

  “Good, good,” I muttered, still sensing that something was wrong. “What about Thunder? Is he okay?”

  Dominic chuckled. “He has a few broken ribs, and won’t be riding for a while, but he’ll be fine. In fact, he’s great. The Broken Spires are jubilant over their success at the Crooked Jaw compound, and they’re more-than-ready for him to take command.”

  “That’s great, Dominic,” I murmured. “But what’s wrong? Tell me. There’s something wrong.”

  He sighed, then gestured to the chairs surrounding the kitchen table. I sat, while he went to fetch a glass to pour himself some wine. I did not protest. He deserved it just as much as I did–and
besides, our relationship was past having to ask for such a thing as that.

  Right?

  “Please, Dominic. What’s wrong?”

  He sighed, filled his glass to the top, drank the entire thing, and then topped himself off again before answering.

  “Erica,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dominic

  As I rode to Erica’s place, the pain reverberating up my body from the pounding of my bike hurt almost as much as the thought of the conversation I was about to have with Erica.

  Almost.

  I had realized it when the Vet had been stitching me up, woozy from blood loss and the massive amount of morphine he had given me. I could feel the consternation in his eyes as he worked. “You’re lucky you’re retiring,” he scolded. “This will take months to heal completely. You very nearly died.”

  “That’s right!” I thought. “My retirement!” Letting the pain killers take over me, I lost myself in one of my many now familiar daydreams: Erica and I sprawled on a beach, our infant son mucking about in the sand. But no, this time, a new picture filled my mind:

  Erica, bruised and battered, in nothing but her underwear, bent over, about to be raped by La Gancho. I man whose enmity I had incurred through my own recklessness, my own stupidity. Then, what I did not see but could imagine: Erica ambushed at work, accosted and assaulted by Blade, sobbing for help on the phone I did not answer.

  Again, because of me.

  I loved her. I had no doubt of that. But that was not the problem.

  The problem was this: my life–the violence in my life–had nearly ended hers. Through no fault of her own, she had been subjected to more horrific things than many people experience in a lifetime.

  I could not put her through that. I could not join the violence of my life with the peacefulness of hers.

  And it was with this notion that I, despite the Vet’s and Thunder’s orders, clambered onto my bike and rode to Erica’s apartment.

  I arrived. The place looked so familiar and welcoming that it made my heart break to see it. Taking a deep breath to steel my resolve, I walked up to the door and rang the bell.

  There was no answer.

  And yet, she must be there. Thunder had told me that she had found a way home herself the day before. She must have managed it by now.

  I rang again. “Come on!” I called. “Erica, if you’re there, please open up!”

  I heard movement. Then, the latch to the door clicked, and it swung open.

  There she stood, naked and resplendent before me as the Birth of Venus. She gasped at the sight of me, and threw her arms around me. She smelled warm and delicious, like baked fruit.

  Oh! The sight and scent and touch of her were intoxicating. For a moment, I could barely gather my words, and I feared that my resolve would fail against her beauty and her loveliness. And yet, in a way, it compelled me.

  I could not let such a wonderful human being suffer any longer on my account.

  We chatted for a while, entered the house, got some wine, and drank, until, at last, I found the strength to speak up.

  “Erica,” I said. “We need to talk.”

  Her face paled. She knew I was serious.

  “What is it, Dominic?”

  I was so proud to see that her hand was steady on her wineglass.

  “I…” Suddenly, I found I could not articulate the words. All the prepared speeches in my head vanished, leaving me bewildered and alone. Finally, I managed these five terrible words: “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye?” She echoed. Her lips were pale but set, her eyes hard. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know that I planned to retire after the heist, so…”

  “Yes, Thunder had told me,” she stated. “But I don’t understand. That’s good news, isn’t it?”

  I frowned. I could see the pain–the recognition of what I was about to say–dawning on her face, and yet, her spirit denied it. The knuckles around the stem of her glass were gripping so hard they were white.

  “Yes, it is,” I answered honestly. “I can’t do the life of the biker anymore. This last time…with you…It was just too close.”

  “Tell me about it,” she chuckled.

  “Well, I’ve come to tell you that I’m leaving. Retiring. I’ve come to say goodbye.”

  She stared at me.

  “You’re leaving? But you just got here! Where the hell do you plan to go?”

  I could sense her anger, her sense of betrayal. I did not blame her for it. In fact, I relished her brewing wrath. I felt like I deserved it.

  “Aruba had always been my first choice,” I said. “Some island with sun and sand, where everyone can just leave me alone.”

  She winced as if my words had stung her. “Is…that what you want?” She replied at last. “To be alone?”

  I looked her square in the eye, and told the hardest lie I have ever had to tell in my long life of criminality and deceit: “Yes.”

  Tears sprang into her eyes. This woman, who had not cried when La Gancho tormented her, who had endured so much hate and violence, was crying now.

  “Dominic Molina, you bastard!” She growled, rising to her feet and practically vibrating with injustice. “After everything that happened, everything we’ve been through together–”

  “Well, that’s the thing!” I hollered back, surprised to find myself on my feet as well. “All we’ve been through together! Erica, you’ve been shot at, hit, kidnapped, tortured, and you would have been raped if Blade hadn’t gone crazy!”

  “Yes!” She roared. “Would have! You want to know why Blade stabbed the Hook? Because I tricked him, that’s why! I planned and I lied and I fooled him! I am part of the reason we’re both alive, and now you want to leave me?”

  I blinked. I had not known that Erica had had any part in deceiving Blade. Thunder hadn’t talked about it. I was so impressed with her, but I fought the feeling down. I needed to concentrate.

  “It’s not that I want to leave you!” I shouted. “It’s that I have to! Look, Erica. You’ve almost died–and worse—because of me. I couldn’t live with myself if something bad were to happen to you and it was my fault.”

  She stared. Her initial anger seemed to be evaporating, to be replaced by a steady flush of offense. I did not relax. It was still dangerous–just as dangerous as boiling water is moments after it’s been taken off the flame. Yes, the bubbles are gone, but the liquid is still hot enough to melt flesh.

  “Yes,” Erica said. She sat back down calmly, rationally. “I have gone through hell with you, Dominic, so you owe me more than a goodbye.”

  “Well…” I started, but could articulate nothing further.

  “Well, tell me this, at least,” she continued. “Do you respect me?”

  “What?”

  “Do you respect me? Trust me? Think highly of me?”

  “Of course I do, Erica!” I exclaimed. “You’re the most kick-ass woman I know!”

  I sensed a trap, but could do nothing to avoid it.

  Erica scowled. “Well then,” she said, “don’t you think the most kick-ass woman you know merits a choice in the fucking matter?”

  I stared at her, open-mouthed. “Of course,” I managed at last. “And if you were to choose, what would be your choice?”

  She stood, this time slowly and deliberately. She walked towards me, her muscular hips swaying with resolve. And then, mindful of my terrible wounds, she stood behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. Her cheek touched mine, and she whispered, “To never, ever, be apart from you again.”

  Her words sent a thrilling in my heart like a physical vibration. I whispered, “Even…even if it leads to violence?”

  She kissed my ear. “I am not afraid of violence. What I am afraid of, most of all, is losing you.”

  “Really?”

  She kissed me again, taking my hand and placing it on her breast. “Really,” she murmured.

  I stoo
d, and took her into my arms. Her breasts pushed against the gleaming leather of my jacket.

  “It’s new,” she commented, feathering a glossy zipper with her finger.

  “Yeah,” I chuckled. “I had to replace the old one. I fact, I heard a certain someone tore the thing up just to steal a jackknife…”

  She laughed, and we held onto each other, enjoying the thrumming of each other’s bodies, the scent of each other’s flesh.

  At last, I felt a stirring within me. It was part of my love for her, but a very specific aspect of that love.

  “To the bedroom?” I requested.

  “To the bedroom.”