Unsound

by Chantal Fernando

  Babs refills my cup and starts preparing food for the party tonight. She is always working, always cleaning.

  “You ever take a day off, babe?” I ask, lifting my cup at the cutting board she is chopping away at.

  She laughs. “This is my home. I want it to be nice for my boys. I like it here. It's nice to feel needed and I love doing things for others; keeps me young,” she explains earnestly.

  I tilt my head to the side and stare at her. Her green eyes glimpse my way for a mere second before going back to her chopping. Did she mean boys? Or me?

  BABS

  I look back at the carrots I’m chopping, my cheeks hurling a shade of red that has me annoyed. Do I want Bull? Yes. It’s been months since I had sex, but I know having sex with him would be crossing a line. But I can’t help but yearn for Bull. He is tall, dark, and handsome. His hair is just starting to shows some flecks of grey, which make him look distinguished and sexy. His body is in great shape. He must still work out ‘cause there is no flab to speak of. The few nights I have spent here, I have woken up before him and have seen his morning wood, which is mighty impressive.

  “Well, you’re about to take a day off. Let’s go,” Bull states. I drop my knife and look over my shoulder at him, wondering who he is talking to.

  “What?” I ask, confused. Before I can ask anything else, he grabs my forearm and pulls me out of the kitchen and toward the front doors of the club. We are leaving? Together?

  “I can’t. What if Locks—”

  “He ain’t getting up for a while; he just went to bed with…” He stops himself. “He just went to bed and won’t be up for a while,” he states again.

  I bite my bottom lip, looking down the hall where Locks is staying in an adjacent room.

  I look back up at Bull, his bright green eyes looking at me, waiting for my answer.

  “Okay,” I mutter. Why not?

  *****

  I look down the road and notice the Santa Monica Pier coming into view as I ride on the back of Bull’s bike. As long as I have lived here, I have never been there, and don’t plan to go anytime soon. I’m afraid of heights. Bull pulls back on the throttle and we fly forward, racing down the road. The hot sun makes the breeze feel cool and refreshing mixed with Bull’s smell of aftershave and leather. I inhale deeply; I can’t get enough of the scent. I notice the big Ferris wheel, which the pier is famous for, coming closer as we go forward, making my eyes furrow in confusion.

  “Where are we going?” I yell, trying to shout over the wind and loud motor. Bull doesn’t reply; he takes his hand off the handlebar and points toward the Ferris wheel.

  “No way! You better turn around now!” I yell, my grip on his hips tightening. I feel his back rise and fall rapidly. He’s laughing at me, that fucker.

  We pull up to the pier and Bull turns the motorcycle off.

  “I am not going on any of those rides,” I inform stubbornly, not budging from my spot.

  Bull throws his leg off the bike and places his helmet on the handlebars.

  “Suit yourself, darlin’,” he replies casually. I roll my eyes, defeated. I don’t want to sit here all by myself. I throw my leg off the bike, toss my helmet on the handlebar, and place my hand on my hip, annoyed.

  Bull chuckles and runs his hands through his hair.

  “You’re a mess, Babs. You know that?” he says, his voice high in humor.

  I purse my lips and nod, looking off at all the rides. Just the site of them makes my stomach fall.

  “When is the last time you just had fun?” Bull questions. I flinch, his question like a slap to the face.

  “I, well, I m-mean…” I stutter. I can’t think of the last time I did anything for fun, or anything else for myself for that matter.

  “Exactly, now come on. We’ll go on one ride, and I’ll even buy one of those damn funnel cake things,” Bull bargains, grabbing my hand. His touch shoots flames up my arm, causing my palm to sweat. Such a simple gesture, yet my body reacts critically to it.

  He pulls me down the wooden boardwalk, the smell of salt water and food lingering in the air. The closer we get, the louder the screaming and laughing. His large hand still holding mine has my whole body catching on fire, causing me to sweat uncontrollably. I inhale. Get a grip, Delilah.

  Bull steps up to the long line behind the ticket booth and grabs our tickets.

  “Shall we?” he asks, his hand pointed out toward the Ferris wheel. I smile and lead the way.

  We stand in line behind several couples, some with children. Locks and I tried for children the first year and half we were together, but we never succeeded. Maybe that’s why our relationship failed.

  “So you’ve never been here?” Bull asks, tilting his head to look at me, breaking my train of thought.

  “Nope,” I reply. Bull pulls his lips tight, like he can’t believe it.

  “Been here a few times, but not for a while,” he says, looking out at the games lining the way, his black and silver hair slightly shifting with the breeze. The line finally moves forward and allows a few people at a time to get on the ride.

  “Watch your step,” the carnie warns, as we are up next to get in our death contraption. It’s yellow with a little blue umbrella hanging above it. I take a step in and it sways from my weight.

  “Uh…” I remark, my voice shaky.

  “You got it, babe,” Bull comforts, grabbing my hand and helping me in. I pull myself into the swaying contraption and quickly sit down, gripping the side. It smells of lemon and dirty feet. Bull sits next to me, resting his arm along the back of me.

  “Enjoy,” the carnie mutters, slamming the door to the cart. The ride begins, making us move upward. My stomach fluttering with nerves, I squeal and close my eyes.

  “You going to close your eyes the whole time?” Bull laughs.

  I nod. “That’s the plan,” I whisper, scared to death.

  I feel the cart stop, making my heart stop briefly.

  “Why have we stopped?” I question, my eyes closed so tightly I see white spots.

  “Open your eyes,” Bull requests, his voice smooth and softly.

  “No,” I reply, shaking my head stubbornly.

  I feel his rough fingers gently grab both sides of my face. “Open those eyes, Babs,” Bull says sweetly. I slowly open my eyes and see his emerald ones staring back at me. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip gently, causing it to tingle. He leans his face down and stops a breath away. His eyes look from my lips to my eyes, silently asking me if it’s okay. I lean forward, closing the gap between us, and press my lips to his. His lips part mine as he slightly sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, kissing me. He rubs his thumb across my lip as he pulls away, looking over my shoulder. I pull my gaze from his mouth and look at the scene below. My stomach feels dizzy and my heart is thudding against my chest. I just kissed Bull, the president of the Devil’s Dust. It’s wrong on so many levels, yet it felt amazing.

  After the Ferris wheel, Bull holds up to his promise and gets me a funnel cake. The sugary goodness is so good and gooey; we both devour it quickly, laughing at what we think some angry couple is saying to each other.

  “Let’s get you back before someone starts wondering where you are, darlin’,” Bull states, throwing our empty plate in the trash. If Locks knew where we were and who I was with, he would have a heart attack. Is that such a bad thing?

  BULL

  I walk into the club after having a cigarette, giving Babs enough time to go ahead of me, not wanting anyone to come to any assumptions about Babs and me. I can’t believe I fucking kissed her. I don’t know what was going through my damn head when I did that. But seeing her all scared and shit, it was cute as hell. I can’t help but want to touch her. I want her more than I have wanted anything in a long time. Babs is different when she is not under Locks’ eye. I don’t get why he won’t cut her loose. She told me what he said, told me he won’t let her go. Sadly, club law is, she is his till he says so. I’ve never followed those rules
myself. If a woman doesn’t want to be around my ass, I don’t want to be around her, surely.

  My phone buzzes from my pocket.

  “What?” I answer.

  “Need a favor.”

  “And this is?” I ask, I hate how they all assume I know who the hell is calling.

  “Trigger,” he announces. The Ghost motorcycle club. Their club and ours have an ‘I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine’ clause. Seems we are always bargaining with each other.

  “I need a favor,” he pauses.

  “Okay,” I answer, waiting for him to continue.

  “Seems I’ve been bent. Someone came into one of my locations, clipped my candy man, and took my candy,” Trigger continues, speaking in code. If I’m understanding him right, someone stole from him, killed one of his men, and took his shit. I hate trying to interpret code, but you never know who is listening.

  “I see. Give me the location and I’ll check out the sweets,” I answer.

  After he gives me the address, I go and bang on all the doors down the hall, waking everyone up. I walk back up to the front where Babs is wiping down the counter, back to working as Shadow and Bobby sit on a couple stools, trying to wake up.

  “Take the day off, Babs,” I demand. Her body stiffens from my tone, my friendliness gone now that I’m in president mode. I furrow my brows I hate talking to her like that, but I would talk like that to any other female in the wind of club business. Besides, she needs to take some time off, relax.

  She nods and heads to the kitchen.

  “What’s up?” Shadow asks, shrugging on his cut.

  “Trigger needs us to deal with someone who stole his shit. We need to go to this place and see if it’s being held there,” I answer, handing him the slip of paper that I wrote the address on. Bobby peeks over Shadow’s shoulder and eyes the paper.

  “I know where that is,” Bobby adds, snatching the paper from Shadow.

  “Good, let’s go,” I say.

  I let Bobby lead the way, Shadow behind me, Locks and Old Guy beside me. Old Guy is a patched in brother, has been for a while now. He’s a brute, and can be too much for the ladies to handle at times, but he’s loyal. Bobby leads us to some abandoned docks and stops just short of them when we see a few bikes parked outside of what looks like a large shed.

  “This is it,” Bobby informs, looking at the shitty place.

  “And you know this place how?” I ask, turning my bike off, so I don’t have to yell over it.

  “My dad used to take me fishing here all the time,” Bobby mentions, looking at me with a sudden sadness. It’s a shame about his parents, killed by a drunk driver.

  I nod and pull my gun out, sliding the safety off.

  “Looks like we ain’t alone,” Locks says, pointing at the parked bikes.

  “Let’s take care of business,” Bobby says, gun in hand.

  We slide up behind the side of the building where some broken windows a few feet above us line the shed. Shadow kneels down and cups his hands, letting Bobby place his foot in them. Shadow lifts Bobby to look through the windows. Bobby sways his head back and forth looking around and holds his hand up displaying five fingers. Five men.

  Shadow lowers Bobby down, and Bobby strides over to me.

  “There is a large garage door in the front and a smaller door on each side of the place,” Bobby whispers.

  “Shadow, Bobby, Locks, you get the front. Old Guy, you get that side,” I instruct, pointing to the side of the building. “I’ll get this side,” I continue.

  Locks growls in frustration and follows Bobby and Shadow. I walk around the corner and find the white door Bobby said was on this side. Just as I hear shouting, I kick the door open, noticing Locks kick in his door across the way seconds later.

  A young man, wearing a black vest with Blazing Dice MC colors, turns to face me. He’s too close to shoot, so I grab him by the neck and place him in a headlock. He rears up and hits me in the face with the butt of his gun, making me stumble back. Pain from my split lip races across my face. Before he has time to think, I slam my fist into his face. My fist is bigger than his entire face, its impact causes blood to spit from the guy’s face from all directions and all over my hand and arm. He falls on his ass, laughing, his teeth red with blood. I raise an eyebrow, a little disturbed at why he’s laughing. He jumps to his feet suddenly, surprising me by his flexibility, and spits blood in my face, pissing me off. I pull my gun up, ready to end this fucking shit, when he pulls a knife from behind him and slashes at me, hitting my arm holding my gun. My hand instinctively lets go of the gun, letting it fall to the floor. He swipes at me again, but I jump back, making him miss. I slam my foot into his knee cap, causing him fall to the ground screaming in pain. I grab his wrist while he is distracted by the pain of his knee, and twist it, breaking it. The cracking vibrates beneath my grip as he drops the knife. I grab it, and just as I am about to teach this punk a lesson, Locks walks up behind the wailing young man and fires his weapon. The bullet flies into the back of the guy’s head, spitting blood and tissue all over my face.

  “You done pussy footing?” Locks quips, placing his gun in his holster.

  “I had it handled,” I reply, wiping my face of the guy’s blood. “Besides, you guys got old fat guys. I got some fucking martial arts bullshit,” I defend myself.

  I look at the guy Locks just shot, and then glare at Locks.

  “You shouldn’t have killed him; you know the Ghost would have wanted one of these guys alive,” I observe. My brow curls in irritation at Locks’ impulsiveness. When shit like this goes down, you usually want one of the guys who fucked with your stuff. Get them to talk as to why it happened, how it happened, and who ordered the hit. Locks shrugs and moves along, like going against code and killing someone he didn’t have to means nothing.

  “This is definitely the Ghost’s shit,” Shadow says, slamming the lid down on some wooden crates. I walk around the crates and find an outline of a ghost printed on the side.

  “I’ll give the call. He’ll owe us for this one,” I reply, digging my phone from my pocket.

  BABS

  I have my foot propped up on the coffee table, painting my toes bright red, when Locks walks in. I think about telling him about the condom wrapper I found in his dirty jeans just moments before I started painting my toes, but decide against it. I don’t even care anymore, so it’s pointless.

  “I won’t be home tonight,” Locks says, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek.

  “Why’s that?” I ask, not all that interested.

  “Party at the club,” he informs, walking toward our bedroom.

  “Babs, come here, baby!” Locks yells from down the hall, his tone taking on a fake sincerity and seductive purr. I know that tone, and I won’t be coming to him. He wants some pre-party pussy. I haven’t had sex with Locks since before he made it clear my future with him was indefinitely.

  “Sorry, I just got a call from my niece. I gotta go,” I lie, grabbing my purse and pulling on my shoes, surely smearing my just painted toes, and I quickly get in my truck and drive.

  I head to Scarlett’s apartment. I need to check on her anyway and make sure she is keeping her nose clean of any drugs. A few days ago, I decided to get her an apartment to keep her off the streets, hopefully it will help. I pull up to the apartment building, turn my truck off, and get out. This place is pretty shitty compared to a lot of places in the area, but I didn’t have much cash to get her a better place. Locks would shit a brick if he found me spending our money on an apartment for Scarlett, so I used what I made from Bull. I head up the metal stairs, passing doors that carry sounds from televisions, music, and people talking. I make it to door E1 and knock. The door opens to Scarlett standing there in a small tank and short shorts.

  “Hey, Auntie Babs,” Scarlett says, her voice disoriented. I grab her by the chin harshly, bringing her face close to mine, examining her pupils.

  “Ow, you’re hurting me,” she whines, sniffling.
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  “You’re on that shit!” I yell, stepping into the apartment.

  “It was just a bump, Auntie Babs. I couldn’t deal with the shakes anymore,” she whines, stumbling onto the couch.

  I sigh. Scarlett needs help I cannot afford and I don’t know what to do. Maybe if I give her a lesser high, but still a high, it will help get her off slowly.

  “What if you only smoked weed; think that high would be enough?” I question, my hands on my hips.

  “I don’t do it to get high, just enough to keep my head straight,” she says, running her hands through her dark red hair.

  “Scarlett, you are addicted and need help.” I’m not trying to talk down to her, but I’m frustrated and out of my element in this situation.

  “Thanks for the obvious observation,” she smarts, standing from the couch. I reach into my purse and pull out a baggy of weed, hoping the small high will keep her away from the more dangerous shit until I can figure something out.