by A. C. Bextor
Now her eyes widen in shock, or maybe distaste, for my said ‘someone.’ She doesn’t think I’m serious, but I am. Bloom is a club whore, but she’s mostly mine. All the brothers are aware of this and don’t take her if I’m in town. It’s not much of a relationship, but it is what it is.
“Isn’t she … you know…”
I see where this is going, and she’s about to piss me off. My tone changes to sarcastic and defiant; challenging her to say what she truly means to say. “’You know’ … what, Mace?”
“Impartial.”
“Impartial?”
“Yeah, like ya know … she isn’t choosey.”
“Fuck, Mace. You wanna call her a whore, then call her a whore. If it helps you get through it you can call her my whore, but impartial is a chicken shit way of sayin’ it, and you damn well know it.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Sure you did. You meant exactly that.”
“Never mind, Shame. Forget I said anything.”
Fuck it, I’m pissed. “Done.”
We stand in silence as we continue to wait for Hem. Once I hear his truck coming towards us I look again to Mace and find her eyes are locked on me, and they’re swimming with tears. She thinks she’s hurt me with her opinion of Bloom. That’s not what hurt me, though. What hurt was the idea that, because I’m spending time with a specific club whore, she’s looking down on me for it. Not everyone wants fuckin’ flowers and chocolate the way she does.
“Mace.”
Hem pulls in the driveway and honks, as if he doesn’t see us standing here, having a moment.
Rather than look to Hem, I hold Mace’s glare. She doesn’t say anything, but a tear breaks through the lower lid of her eye and she quickly jerks her hand up to catch it. I push her hand away and clean the cheek with my fingers.
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is, sweetheart. Don’t be sorry. Come on, let’s go to dinner. Your man is going to be pissed if I make you late. Even though I would find it fun to see him unnerved, I don’t want to ruin your day.”
“Okay.”
The ride to the restaurant is quiet, except for Sadey of course. Thank hell I’m not riding shotgun tonight. Let Hem deal with her chatty ass. She continues to babble endlessly about how wonderful Greyson is and how he got us these reservations last minute, so he has to know someone high up … blah blah blah. Who fuckin’ cares? It’s a damn restaurant. Mace doesn’t need that fancy shit. She would be just as happy celebrating at McDonalds.
The place is packed. All the more reason for me to look forward to another lovely dinner with Greyson, now add Warren.
Thankfully, it’s Lynda that greets me first. I find a small amount of solace in her arms as she holds me close, with her hands at my face. “My boy. You’re a gorgeous man now, aren’t you? I hate that I never see you anymore, hardly at all. You’re just so busy.”
The woman doesn’t see my insides, if she did she wouldn’t believe her own words. She looks tired and worn out to the point she looks almost weak. I carry guilt for her reference of never seeing me. She’s right; I have been busy. That’s not the only reason, though. Lynda knows me and reads me well. I can’t be around her without her seeing through my want of Mace.
As for her appearance, I can assume her drinking must be escalating, because now it’s taking a toll on her small form. Her eyes aren’t as bright; grey has settled into her hair, and wrinkles now take up the space where her beautiful creamy skin used to glow.
I kiss her on the cheek without answering her ridiculous question, and pull out her chair so she sits. Warren pins me with a glare. Fuck him.
When I look over to Hem, I’m shocked as hell. He has Sadey fuckin’ Lyons sitting in his lap. I’ve not seen her in his lap since she was probably ten years old at Christmas, and she was practicing her visit to Santa by using Hem as her mannequin. Right now, she’s laughing as he’s talking into her ear. Jesus, has he been drinking?
Mace smiles at the scene. Her face holds warmth, but I can almost see a bit of jealousy in her thoughts. Greyson isn’t the jovial type, and I can’t imagine Mace sitting on his lap, being playful and having fun with him. Thank God for saving me that mental image. If I had to watch that, I really would end up in jail.
“Mace, love. Sit.” Greyson takes her coat, at the same time giving her instruction. He doesn’t pull out her chair as I would have expected. Instead, he leans into her ear, and although I can’t hear what he’s saying it makes her smile, and I hate it.
Warren hasn’t said anything, but he’s never been known to be quiet long, and once he finally opens his mouth it’s only venom that comes spilling out. “Patrick. Neil. How’s the ‘gang’ treating you? All good with Peril, I assume?”
Hem doesn’t miss his remark and neither do I. Asshole knows we belong to a ‘club’ not a ‘gang’.
“Can you just shut the fuck up and not talk, so we can get through dinner and let Mace enjoy her birthday? Jesus, Warren, just let some shit slide.”
Warren picks up his glass, takes a drink, and puts it down with a heavy hand - all the while shooting an angry look to Hem and I both.
Challenge us, fucker. Please, please, do it.
Through dinner, Mace ignores me. I know she feels me looking at her because I catch her stirring uncomfortably under Greyson’s touch. She’s playing it off as if she doesn’t want to embarrass her family. I know better. She never stirs under my touch, so I know it’s me she’s not comfortable with.
Sadey and Hem are lost in a private conversation, and thankfully she’s sitting in her own seat now and not in Hem’s lap. That doesn’t deter her from hanging on every word coming from Hem’s mouth; coupled with the fact that she continues to move an imaginary piece of hair that never moves from its place. She just wants to touch him. Blind bastard that he is, he doesn’t even notice her intent.
Lynda is frowning, and continues to stay lost in the vodka tonic that she’s holding close in her clenched fist. My heart hurts from the sight of her. She was once so beautiful she would take your breath away just walking into a room. Now she looks haggard, tired, and worn. Life is beating her, and I’ve no way to stop it until she, herself, can see what Warren’s hate for Hem has done to the family.
Warren and Greyson are celebrating an account that Greyson just landed, as Warren gives him a firm pat on the back. I’d like to give them both pats … right square to the jaw.
This leaves Mace and me to carry on with a silent conversation. Her eyes are searching mine. She’s searching my face as if she’s trying to find herself in it. We’ve not spoken a word since our discussion on the porch about Bloom. In her mind, I’m still pissed at her. Sending her a small smile, I try to calm her nerves. It’s not working.
Before I can say anything, she stands quickly from the table. “I need a few minutes.”
I see her eyes are filling with unshed tears, and I feel helpless. The entire table, sans Warren and Greyson, watches her walk away, towards the front door to the restaurant.
Greyson doesn’t bat an eye. His woman, out of nowhere, stands and walks away, and he does nothing to stop it. If she hadn't bumped his arm on her way out, he might have never noticed she was gone.
Lynda leans into my side, tugging my shirt, so I bend to her. “Can you go check on her? She’s acting odd, and I’m not so sure I’m the person she wants to talk to, Shame.”
When I see her looking at me, she smiles as if she has some secret. I don’t know if she really does, or if the vodka has already soaked her bloodstream this evening.
I don’t answer her; I just move. Mace is standing at the front of the building, near the bay window, looking out into the night. Her body stands motionless, but I know she senses I’m behind her because her breath quickens.
Softly, I bend to her ear as I stand behind her. I don’t know what’s going on in her head, but whatever it was she needed a minute from has her upset and anxious. “Where are you, Mace? You’re a million miles away. Talk
to me.”
She doesn’t answer. She just looks down and crosses her arms at her ribs.
“Is it me? Are you pissed at me?”
She answers. “No” then I hear a small intake of breath as she tries to control her emotions. “I’m twenty two. I don’t know what I’m doing, Shame. I’m almost done with school, and all I have planned for my life is coming back here. What’s here? My mom is sick from drinking all the time; my dad is so angry at her for it. Hem has his life at the club, what do I have?”
Without hesitating, I give her the God’s honest answer. “Me. Mace, you have me.”
She turns her head to the side and latches onto my smile. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I do know she’s been thinking about the future, and from what she just said, she doesn’t include Greyson as any part of it.
“You? I don’t have you, Shame. No one has you, remember?”
“If anyone ‘has’ me, Mace. It’s you. You do have me. Stop with the word play, sweetheart.”
Moving her stare back out into the darkness of the window, I notice her face turns sour. This outta be good.
“Does Bloom play word games? Maybe that’s why you like her so much. She doesn’t talk much around you, does she? She probably doesn’t need to, though, huh? Not that you would hear anything between her muffled cries while she’s writhing beneath you.”
Whoa. “Stop. You’re upset, and you’re trying to hurt me, but it won’t work.”
“No, I’m not. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing! I’m confused. I think about you … here … and you’re alone, or I thought you were anyway. I thought I was coming back here. I thought if I told you…” I know she was going to say something, but stopped.
Damn it. Say it, Mace. Admit what you’re starting to feel.
I can’t tell her I want her. If I do that and I’m wrong about how she feels about me, I’ll lose her. I’ll end up scaring her away. If I tell her I think about our lives together up until now, and how I want to be with her every day, and it isn’t what she wants, she’ll never come back.
“Do you want to know what I see?”
She doesn’t look at me with any answer, and she doesn’t breathe. She’s waiting for me to continue without asking me to.
I move my body to stand in front of her so she can no longer look outside into the darkness; forcing her to focus on me. With the back of my hand, I touch her face lightly, and as a tear drops I catch it with my finger. “I see a girl who’s confused. She’s over thinking things because she’s overwhelmed. You have the right to be, but you can talk to me anytime. I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby.”
She frowns at me, never losing eye contact. “Maybe that’s the problem, Shame. You’re always here. I’m constantly wondering what you’re doing and who you’re with. That doesn’t sound a bit crazy? Considering….” She stops, she’s so close to saying what I think she’s feeling.
“Considering … what?”
“Never mind.”
She starts to walk away, turning her body from mine. Grabbing her by the arm and spinning her back to me, she crashes into my chest with hers and her mouth opens – just slightly. I feel her breathe, as her chest pushes into mine with every gasp, as my hands dig into her back – not allowing her to pull away.
“What, Mace? What’s goin’ on? What is it you’re not saying?”
Here is it, baby. Take it. Right fuckin’ now. Own this and let me make this moment count.
Ripping her arms from my body, she steps back. On her face, I’m seeing so many emotions. Lust, anger, hate, confusion, - love.
“I don’t … I don’t know.”
“You do.” Lowering my voice, I get close to her again, using only a whisper as I attempt to caress my words, inviting her to tell me. “You do know. Mace, you feel something, don’t you?”
“I told you … I don’t know. I’m so confused about everything.”
She won’t admit anything. I want this, but I won’t push her if there’s any way at all I can help her come to a conclusion herself. “You’re never confused about us. Make sure, in that head of yours,” gently, I tap her temple with my finger, letting it ease down her face and neck, stopping in the dip of her chest, “that you aren’t confused about that.”
I watch her body shudder, her breath pick up, and just when I think I’m close she hesitates and pleads. “It’s not that easy.”
“It is.”
“Shame…”
She doesn’t say anymore; she just turns and walks back to the table. I still for a few minutes as I catch my breath. The more I’m around her, the more intense these moments get between us. This is bad. I don’t do intense. I have a lot to say and eventually, sometime soon, I’m going to tell her exactly what is going to happen with us. Then it will be left to her to help me fight for it or walk away.
In the middle of dinner, Hem gets a call. As he answers it, he stands motionless and his face loses color as his hands start to shake. If I didn’t know him better, I would think he was about to have a stroke. In all the years I’ve known Hem, I’ve never once, not one time, remember him looking the way he does right now. All of us sit silent as he patiently waits for the caller to stop talking.
“I don’t believe you. Are you sure?”
We can’t hear the other end of this conversation, but we can assume something big has played out.
“Be there in ten, don’t do anything, and tell Tank to calm the fuck down.”
After hanging up the call, Hem looks directly at me and says nothing. He doesn’t need to. Just by referring to Tank in the manner that he did, I know this is all about Doc.
Fuck.
Chapter Twenty
"To lose one's life is no great matter; when the time comes I'll have the courage to lose mine. But what's intolerable is to see one's life being drained of meaning, to be told there's no reason for existing. A man can't live without some reason for living."
-Albert Camus
We already knew Peril would never be the same without Doc. His death shook us all. Tank, more than anyone, had a hard time dealing with this loss. A few of the brothers were concerned that Tank would take on the guilt and blame for what happened. We all know what happened though; blame is to be placed solely on Switch, the ‘Angel’s in Hell’ Club President.
The rivalry between these two clubs has gone as far back as anyone of us left can remember. Doc was this club's president for over twenty-three years. It was his life and home, and he protected it until the day he died.
The funeral was small, but tasteful. When Lynda showed up with Mace and Sadey, both Hem and I silently questioned it, but let it go. Lynda and Doc were close, but no one would know how close until the following year, right before Lynda passed away, after losing her battle with cancer.
Hem and I were having a beer at Peril after we bid our goodbye to Doc at the cemetery. Hem was distraught and confused about what was next. I wasn’t. I knew what this club needed; I just had to make him believe it. He’s so God damn stubborn though; it took a while to sink in that he was what we all needed.
~~~~~
“He’s gone. He’s fuckin’ gone, Shame. What the fuck are we doing here? Seriously, brother, how does this shit get so fucked up? He was a good man. Someone takes a shot at him, for what? It’s senseless!”
Hem’s fucked up. Tank left us, citing this club wasn’t as important to him as Doc was, so he packed up both him and his old lady, dropped his cut on the way out the door, and he left. That easy. He was a man of few words, but by doing what he did, he sure as fuck said a thousand of them without uttering a syllable. He was just done.
“No way to know, Hem. I know you loved him like a father; I’m sorry. I loved him too. We all did.”
“Like a father. Yes, he was my father in every sense of the word. He saved me from being a long-lasting, lifelong fuck up, is what he did. Who the fuck knows where I would be standing now if it weren’t for him.”
“Honor him then
.”
Hem looks at me like I’ve grown three heads, but he knows exactly what I’m saying here.
“I can’t. I don’t know enough, Shame. There are far more experienced brothers here than me. Someone needs to take his shit and run it as he would.”
“No better person than someone who knew him as you did, loved him as much as you did, and would take care in honoring his memory. Hem, you can. He’s raised you to be just like him. Surely you see that.”
“I can’t.”
“Hem, you don’t have a choice. You’re all this club has. Fuck, no one here is ready. Do it for Doc, yourself, and all of us.”
~~~~~
That’s how the ‘Poet’ became President of Peril. A lot of growing pains happened during those first couple of years. Between the girls graduating college and coming home, Peril under reconstruction after Doc’s passing, Lynda being diagnosed and dying of cancer, and Warren’s continued hate for Hem, we didn’t think we could possibly make it through it all, but we sure as fuck did.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s five forty seven. No one has called, texted, or tried to find me. Either my girl thinks I’ve left her, or she’s trusting me enough to find my way to her.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I explained to him, however, that my nature was such that my physical needs often got in the way of my feelings.”
- Albert Camus
Mace had been with Greyson, the asshole, for nearly two years, and it was starting to break me in such a way that I had to either find a way to let her go, or go after her and get what I wanted. This was not a tough decision. She had always been mine – heart and soul. Being the ass that I am, though, I was going to take her sooner than later.
I knew that night was different. Mace never frequented club parties, citing that she didn’t appreciate how the brothers behaved. When she showed up that night, I knew there were reasons behind it. I had told her briefly before that eventually she would be mine. At first, she resented me for telling her this, in the manner in which I did. However, through these years together I had watched her vision of me change. She was looking at me as a man.
