Dare

by Allie Juliette Mousseau

  What I really wish is that, when I first found out I was pregnant, I could have seen Jim for what he was. I wish I wouldn’t have been self-destructive, that I would have told no one about the pregnancy and had run far, far away. Maybe he wouldn’t have chased me then. Maybe he would have messed with some other woman—the wrong woman—and some hulking dad or brother would have killed him.

  That’s not what happened, though. So, then I start making up other death scenarios—like wishing he’d wrapped that new, twenty thousand dollar sports car he was showing off in town around a tree. The one he bought after telling me he wouldn’t pay child support, and if the welfare department didn’t believe me, he’d give me the bruises to prove it.

  These scenarios that play out in my head are a real waste of time and thought. They pose no solutions.

  I think maybe they’re just a distraction so I don’t think about my true needs. My desires. To think about those things hurts the most. That pain cuts to the quick of my soul. But my soul is masochistic; it obviously wants the agony, because as Josh sleeps next to me in the new morning light, I dream that he’s really mine ...

  I can easily picture a log home on the North Dakota prairie. We’d have a few shade trees, flowering fruit trees, maybe a winding stream and a few horses. We’d have a swing set for Charlie in the backyard, a sandbox and a treehouse. She could go to school, meet other kids and have friends. Josh and I would be married, and Charlie would call him Daddy—oh, how she’d love that. She would have grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins who loved her, something I could never give her.

  But that’s not the reality, is it?

  “My reality sucks.” I barely breathe, and I think about the fear tattoos on Josh’s ribs.

  Being with Josh would pull Charlie and me out of anonymity. I’ve already taken the high risk of working for a public figure and am thankful that at least he doesn’t have a flurry of paparazzi always hunting him.

  I conjure a weak smile. They’re probably afraid of being on the receiving end of Josh’s MMA career.

  What I can do now, because I only have today, is prove to Josh that my love is real, that my acceptance of him in the light of his painful confession is one hundred percent and nothing less.

  So that’s what I live for—today.

  *****

  “That’s the new kid I was telling you about. He’s been here an hour and won’t leave the heavy bag except to get water,” Cade explains as we watch the young, angry boy pound his fists like hammers against the bag, his face set with fury. His pain is palpable and makes me want to go to him, put my arms around him and take away his hurt.

  “Maybe he just needs a friend who doesn’t pry into his shit for a while.” Josh looks frustrated. He strides off toward the boy and begins jabbing at the bag next to him. It doesn’t take long for the kid to recognize Josh, and the two strike up a conversation.

  He’s the greatest guy I’ve ever met. I’m better for knowing him.

  “That boy’s got it bad, Sophie,” Cade says to me, his eyes never leaving the scene before us. “I’ve known him his whole life, so I can tell.”

  Why does this make me blush?

  “Well, good. I see you have it just as bad,” Cade observes, then turns and walks away. “Feel free to work out if you want.”

  I start in the weight room. Picking up a five pound dumbbell I begin some reps. It’s beautiful here, not the aesthetics of the place, but what’s happening within it. There are at least twenty kids in here, ranging in age from thirteen to eighteen. They’re set up in small groups, with four extremely athletic, muscle-bound men working with them, teaching them how to lift, motivating them to move past their limitations, praising them for a job well done and good effort. The kids smile; you can see the new pride radiating from them, and I wonder how often they’ve experienced that in their lives.

  One of the men notices I’m watching. He catches my eyes and throws me a flirtatious smile. He’s strikingly handsome—blue eyes and black hair in a short crop; his arms and legs are covered in colorful tattoos; he wears a small silver loop through his left nostril and a curved silver barbell through his left earlobe. I’m not ungrateful for his attention, so I smile back in a way that says just friendly as I go back to my workout.

  Once I’m finished with a circuit, I go upstairs to the bags. This time I remember my iPod. I blast “Bring It” by Trapt through my earbuds and work on the hits, punches and kicks Josh has taught me. It’s very empowering working out with a UFC title holder.

  After a good hour, I shower up and head to the private mat room to watch Josh train. I always give him a complete rub down, but when I know which muscles he’s put the most stress on, I can give them some extra attention.

  When I get there, he’s already sparring seriously with a partner who isn’t Cade. I get closer and see it’s the man with the blue eyes I saw in the weight room. These two aren’t playing around, they’re going at it as if a belt is at stake. I’m definitely taken aback. Usually Josh’s partners are there to challenge and strengthen him—these two look like they’re fighting for real. Concerned, I look to Cade, who’s standing off to the side, watching them with a huge smile on his face.

  In that moment, Josh pops the guy in the eye, breaking the skin that had become swollen there. Blood trickles down his face. The guy smiles at him, then notices me watching and gets in a hard strike to Josh’s nose.

  Josh dances back and checks his nose. “You’re fucking lucky it’s not a bleeder.”

  “Aw, you mean like my eye, douchebag? I might have a hot date tonight.” At that, he turns and winks at me.

  When Josh follows his gaze to me, he turns back to him and smiles. “Not with her you don’t, Romeo.” Josh gets his arm around the guy’s neck and takes him down to the mat in a flash.

  “Too bad, bro. I saw her first.” The guy slips out of Josh’s hold and gets the advantage.

  You’d think I’d be ruffled over the fact that they’re “claiming” me like I’m the title prize. But they’re much too funny to make me feel threatened. Actually, it reminds me of the way Josh plays with his brothers.

  “Boy—and I do mean boy—there is nothing you could do to interest a class-act woman like that,” Josh harangues.

  “You mean like how I’m about to beat your ass right in front of her?” the guy declares.

  “You’re pretty good for a featherweight, but I don’t think you should get your hopes up too high,” Josh quips back.

  “Dude, you’re such a prick,” he laughs. They both roll away from each other, laughing. I notice Cade is laughing too.

  “Liam,” Josh begins, holding a hand toward me, “meet my girlfriend, Sophie Garner. Sophie, this is Liam Knight.”

  “Man, you really did see her first! Asshole.” Liam reaches over and shoves Josh playfully before looking over at me. “Oh, please excuse my language, Sophie … and my flirting earlier.”

  “You flirted with her? You have a death wish!” Josh pushes him back and it’s not quite as playful.

  Liam laughs and they both walk over to me.

  He reaches out his hand to shake mine. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sophie.” He doesn’t let go of my hand. I’m distracted for a second by the silver barbell that lies horizontally through his tongue. “How did you meet this loser?”

  “I’m part of his team. I’m Josh’s massage therapist.”

  A triumphant grin spreads over Josh’s face.

  Liam brings my hand to his mouth and kisses it before letting it go almost reluctantly and then turns to Josh. “You really are an asshole.”

  *****

  “I was wondering what the deal was when I walked in and saw the two of you seriously going at it,” I tell Josh later.

  He laughs. “You should have seen when we were kids and really going at it.”

  I’m excited to meet the others Josh lived with in the home. These guys are close enough to call themselves brothers.

  “This is it,” Josh announces as
we pull up in front of the red brick warehouse.

  “‘The House of Ink and Steel,’” I read the red neon letters written in graffiti-like tattoo script. “‘Tattoo and Piercing Shop.’”

  “This is Liam’s dream realized. He owns it,” Josh tells me. “But we’ve all worked here at one time or another—some of us still work here. Liam, Ryder and Talon are incredible artists; the rest of us learned how to pierce or ran the books. It’s the best shop in the twin cities, even voted best by Ink Magazine four years running.”

  “Very cool,” I say, looking at the impressive artwork painted onto the inside windows of the shop. Huge, long, colorful dragons flank the doorway.

  Josh opens the door. “Come meet the guys.”

  We step through the foyer. The front room is painted sleek black; comfortable leather sofas are situated into a semi-circle for easy conversation; a red and black Persian-style carpet warms the black and red checkered linoleum floor between them. The walls leading through to the shop are deep red, while the trim is the same sleek black as the front room; artwork adorns the walls in black frames; a long glass case forms an L shape in front of one wall, displaying an array of body jewelry, gauges, enhancements and modifications.

  There’s a beautiful woman working behind the counter. Delicate tattoos trail down her arms, and she has several facial piercings and wears a yellow, vintage dress that compliments her jet black hair.

  She smiles, and her silver chin post sparkles. “Josh!” She comes around the front and hugs him.

  The heat of jealousy begins in my gut, and I try to keep it away from my face. I smile too, but it’s definitely forced. Plus, I’m not tattooed—at all—and for some reason I feel naked or incomplete without them now that I’m standing in front of her.

  “Adrienne, this is my girlfriend, Sophie,” Josh says. “Sophie, this is Adrienne. She’s been working at Ink and Steel since it opened.”

  “I basically live here,” she confides in Sophie.

  “Adrienne and her girlfriend Gwen live in the apartment above the shop,” Josh informs me.

  Girlfriend, Gwen. Perfect.

  “It’s so awesome to meet you, and I love your body art,” I compliment her.

  “Aww, thanks.” She hugs me and whispers in my ear. “Girl, it must be love because he has never called a woman his girlfriend—ever.”

  When she straightens back up she masks her expression, as if she’d said nothing at all.

  “Are the guys in the back?” Josh asks, thumbing in the direction of the tattoo alcoves.

  “Yessa. Game’s already started. Oh, and Sophie, if you play, know that Talon and Ryder cheat.” She winks and starts back behind the counter. “Good seeing you, Josh. Hope to see more of you, Sophie,” she sing-songs.

  “I don’t know who I need to worry about more around you, Adrienne or the guys.” Josh takes my hand, and we walk through the long hallway toward the back of the shop.

  There are eight tattoo and piercing alcoves—four on each side of the hallway. The black and red design changes back here, and each alcove is a different color, or several colors, or purely art composed on the walls. An artist is in each station, working with a client, and the hum of the needles’ motors is unnerving.

  “I’ve always hated needles.” I shudder.

  “Thus the virgin skin,” Josh teases hungrily, like he wants to eat me.

  “Would you like me and my skin better with a tattoo?” I inquire.

  “I will love your skin any way you want it.”

  We come to the end of the hallway and Josh knocks three times on the dark, ornate, wooden door.

  “Are you going to have to tell a knock-knock joke?” I ask playfully.

  He laughs. “That’s only when the mob boss is named Charlie.”

  A peephole slides open and closed again just as fast. “It’s Josh,” a voice calls out.

  There’s a bunch of rowdy laughter as the door opens and five impressively gorgeous men sitting at a table turn to see who came in.

  “About fucking time, North,” says one of the men. His blond hair falls to the top of his shoulders. A tattoo of a beautiful woman in a flowing gown takes up his left arm. He’s wearing a white tank top, and I can see a bit of script across his collarbone.

  “And you brought Sophie.” Liam was the one who opened the door and smiles at me charmingly as he leads us over to the card table. “So watch your mouths, asshats,” he says and then adds, “And now all you losers can lay a twenty in my palm for doubting me about her existence. And, Sophie, welcome to the House.”

  “So, you are for real.” One of the guys stands up, shoves a twenty in Liam’s hand and walks over to greet us—I mean me. He’s imposing and remarkable. “I’m Ryder.” Both his hands close around mine. “Ryder Axton.”

  Ryder is tall, long and lean; every muscle I can see is cut and defined. His dark brown hair is cut short, and his green eyes are set like sparkling emeralds. He’s wearing a pair of black leather biker pants and boots along with a plain black tank and leather vest. He has two small black gauges in each earlobe, and his arms are covered in lots of black tats—a Celtic armband around his forearm, a set of wings holding a heart in the middle of his chest, and I catch a black scorpion on his bicep.

  “You’re going to frighten her off, Axman,” the blond says, leaning back in his chair. “Sophie, I’m Reese—”

  “Witherspoon,” one of the guys quips.

  “As in Reese’s—the peanut butter cup candy.” The stunning and flirty blond finishes with a wink. Reese has a silver barbell through his eyebrow. His blue eyes are intense. “Josh was supposed to be my card partner tonight, but I can see he’s been engaged much better elsewhere.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Josh pushes Ryder’s hands away from mine.

  Ryder laughs and points his index finger in Josh’s face. “That’s right, brother, you definitely better watch out.” He bows his head toward me “It’s very nice to meet you, Sophie.” As he turns back toward the table I see the words Iron Order MC on the back of his vest, and the skull in the middle looks up at me with evil mischief in its eyes.

  Josh leans into me. “Told you I had to watch out for them.”

  I instantly remember what he said when I met Adrienne.

  “I’m Talon.” The finely sculpted man stands up and leans in to shake my hand. He has strong, prominent facial features and stands a little taller than me. His pitch black hair is cut into a striking, wide Mohawk, gelled up about three inches high and colored red at the tips. The sides of his head are buzzed short—but not shaved—with two half-inch red stripes on each side. His ears are pierced with two black disks in the lobes, a silver cuff on the high curve of his right ear and a silver barbell through his left. He wears a black Nine Inch Nails t-shirt. But what I find really intriguing are the tattoos on his arms—several intricate, black inked mandalas, among other spiritual symbols.

  “I’m an artist here at the House, and I’m also a personal trainer at The Core,” Talon continues charmingly. “And don’t worry about us at all. You’re family now; any one of us would give our lives for you.” He nods and I’m taken with his heartfelt and serious declaration.

  “He’s right about that,” says the next guy moving into my proximity. “My name is Chase—Chase Diaz Wolf.” I put my hand in his steady, strong grip. His skin is richly tan; he has long, dark hair to the middle of his back and dark, almost black eyes. Chase is tall, thick and broad shouldered; his muscles bulge beneath his black thermal shirt.

  “Spanish and Native American?” I ask with a smile.

  “Spanish on my mother’s side and Ojibwe on my father’s.” He nods and gives me a friendly smile in return.

  “My mother was Spanish, Diego.” The moment I say it, I feel the familiar pit in my stomach. It’s too bad that even trying to be proud of my heritage brings up her memory and makes me feel sick.

  “So your dad was American? Garner?” Josh joins the conversation.

  “Yeah, he wa
s English.” I half-lie, feeling like they can all read me. I press forward to cover my expression. “And you are?” I ask the guy waiting on our left.

  I pin him at five foot nine. He’s lanky and has deep, red-brown hair, shorn short in the back and unruly on the top; his bangs fall over his forehead. He has stormy gray-green eyes and pale skin with a few errant freckles; a small silver loop is set through his right eyebrow, and his right ear has a silver gauge and a silver barbell down through the middle. He has a light beard scruff and mustache—maybe from less than a week since shaving. He wears a white shirt with a black leather jacket.

  He offers his hand, and I see tattooing all the way up onto his fingers.

  “Connor Callahan,” he tells me. “Brains of the operation. Great to meet you, Sophie. We don’t usually get beautiful women in the back of the House.”

  My eyebrows lift in question.

  “Meaning this is where we come together to unwind and just be ourselves,” Josh explains. “So we don’t bring dates back here.”

  It is completely a man cave—card table, pool table, dartboard, flat screen, stereo and a stocked bar.

  “That makes you tremendously special,” Connor states.

  “Yeah, you get to see us with our pants down,” laughs Reese. “Proverbially speaking, of course.”

  Connor rolls his eyes and heads toward the door. “Let me get the two of you a beer.”

  Josh smiles down at me. “Well, Sophie, you’ve just met my second family, the brothers of Ink and Steel.”

  “Do you give a t-shirt to the survivors?” I ask in a quiet voice.

  All of them laugh.

  We play Bullshit.

  I’m losing at the card game.