Sons of War MC

by Jane Slate

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, making eye contact with her as he dropped his hand.

  “For what?”

  Landon tightened his jaw and said nothing.

  He reached out to touch her again, placing his clammy hands on her shoulders. She didn’t push him away. She stared at him, her blue eyes watery and intense. He drew in a deep breath.

  “I didn’t know he had it in him,” he admitted.

  Grace gave him a quizzical look and he continued talking.

  “This,” Landon said, waving a hand over her appearance. He watched as her glow began to fade.

  “If I had known...well I don’t know what I would have done. You’re like my sister, Grace.”

  Sister.

  A heat spread over Grace’s cheeks. She wasn’t in the mood for his denial.

  “Do people usually fuck their sisters Landon?” she asked harshly, her eyes locking fiercely with his.

  He looked away from her and sighed, rubbing a hand over his patchy beard. In a daze, he walked over to where his cut was laying on a chair and pulled it on as he tried to sort out how to explain what he was feeling.

  “I can’t do this,” Landon managed, squaring his shoulders. He kept his back turned away from her.

  “Why not?” Grace bit back, sitting up straighter.

  Landon tensed his jaw and remained quiet. He shook his head and willed himself not to break down in front of her. It was the last thing she needed. Without a word, she approached him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him against her body. He inhaled her scent and buried his face in the crook of her neck, holding onto her until he no longer could.

  “Talk to me,” Grace urged, stroking a hand underneath his cut and shirt and coming into contact with the warmth of his skin.

  Landon pulled back and looked deep into Grace’s eyes. In all the years that he had known her she had never shown any sign of weakness. She was quietly rebellious.

  It was what he had loved about her.

  But the woman before him was someone else entirely.

  This woman was vulnerable and fragile.

  A shadow of her former self.

  “I don’t want to do this,” he finally blurted out, pulling away from her.

  He chanced a glance at her as a pained expression surfaced on her pretty face.

  His sentiment couldn’t have been any further from the truth, but regardless, they weren’t right for each other. Not now.

  The timing was all wrong.

  “I don’t want to be with you,” he finished, shaking his head and speaking louder.

  More lies.

  Every word that left his lips felt like a dagger to Grace’s chest. She tried to close the distance between them to make him stop talking but Landon pressed a hand against her chest and held up at a distance.

  There was an emptiness in his expression that drained all the hope from Grace’s soul.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, avoiding eye contact with her.

  “I can’t do this. How Miller treated you...what he did to you was wrong, Grace. I’m never going to forgive him, dead or alive. But he was still my brother. What we went through together over there,” he paused in reflection and cleared his throat.

  “Well, you would have had to be there to understand.”

  Landon shook his head and stroked a thumb over the tears that spilled onto her cheeks.

  “Maybe if the timing was different,” he said flatly, his voice void of any emotion. “I just…I can’t be with you.”

  He squared his shoulders and made a beeline for the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and refused to look at her.

  “I’m going to a club meeting,” he said softly. “Be out by the time I’m gone.”

  Grace’s eyes began to water.

  “Fuck you!” she yelled at him. “Coward!”

  After a few moments of somber reflection, Landon stepped out of the room and exited the trailer as the screen door swung shut behind him. Grace stormed into the living room and picked up the first thing she could find, a half empty beer bottle, hurdling it at the door.

  It shattered and ember colored liquid spilled out onto the floor around broken shards of glass. Grace collapsed into a fit of sobs.

  Then, in a haste, something occurred to her.

  She rummaged through her purse and found the crumpled up piece of paper she was looking for. She unfolded it and pulled out her phone, dialing a number.

  Someone picked up after two rings.

  “Yeah?” a man’s voice answered.

  His accent was heavy.

  Grace exhaled a deep breath.

  “Joaquín?” she answered. “It’s me. Grace…I don’t know if you remember me but-”

  “Of course I remember you mija,” Joaquín interrupted.

  You’re that pretty little red head from the tavern.”

  Grace bit down on her bottom lip. She gripped her phone as sweat began to surface on her palms.

  “What’s up?” Joaquín continued. “You want to have some fun?”

  Grace swallowed hard

  “Yes,” Grace whispered.

  She tried her best not to sound as nervous as she felt. “Can we meet?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grace entered the Peligros clubhouse and was greeted by the sound of heavy rock music. A party was going on around her and leather clad Columbians were packed inside the small building from wall to wall. She took a seat at the bar and waited for Joaquín like she had been instructed.

  While she waited, she watched the lucid scene unfold around her. People were dancing, their bodies gyrating together in time with the music. Others were doing lines of cocaine off of tables. A few embraced each other and kissed.

  Grace accepted a beer that was handed to her by a man she didn’t recognize and cracked it open, sipping it slowly. From across the room, she made eye contact with Joaquín. He was preoccupied by a conversation with a few of his men but nodded in her direction and acknowledge her with a wink.

  Grace shivered and felt suddenly unsure of her decision to come here. Joaquín was bad news. She knew that. But after everything that had happened she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She sipped her beer slowly and examined him as he spoke to his men.

  He was attractive in a sultry way. His dark hair fell against his face as he wiped at the sweat on his forehead with a bandana. There were handfuls of women crowded around him and the rest of the Peligros, their tiny miniskirts and tight fitting tube tops making it clear to Grace that they were desperate for attention.

  Her own wardrobe paled in comparison. She had left Landon’s in a hurry and in the heat of the moment, it hadn’t occurred to her to stop home and change. On her petite frame, she wore the plain knee length black dress that Angie had bought her to wear to Miller’s funeral.

  It hardly made her feel sexy, but her work uniform wasn’t much either, and Joaquín didn’t seem to mind then. Finally, he abandoned his conversation and pushed through a pack of gyrating bodies. He smiled down at Grace, his dark eyes glimmering mischievously.

  “So,” he said with a nod. “You came.”

  Grace nodded and swallowed down the lump in her throat.

  “Yeah,” she answered nervously, flashing him a tight smile as she took another sip of her beer. “I just…I needed to get away.”

  Joaquín nodded and slid into the empty barstool beside her. He jerked his head to the side and smirked.

  “Yeah? Well, you came to the right place.”

  Grace shivered and pushed a strand of her hair out of her face. Joaquín’s scent was overpowering. He smelled like an intense mix of cologne, stale cigarettes, and liquor.

  “You want to get out of here?” he finally questioned, nodding at the door. He arched his eyebrows questioningly. “My place is right in the back.”

  Grace thought it over for a second before agreeing. In retrospect she shouldn’t have. A nagging feeling surfaced in her gut as she allowed Joaquín to lead her through the m
atted grass to his small ranch-style home. Once inside, he reached in the fridge and grabbed two beers, handing one to Grace.

  “Home sweet home,” he said, spreading his arms.

  Grace crossed her arms over her chest and took a drink, surveying her surroundings. She was beginning to regret her decision but she wasn’t sure how Joaquín would react if she told him so. Instead, she remained quiet and convinced herself that she needed this.

  She wanted to numb herself. To Miller’s death. To Landon. To the bleakness that had become her life. And Joaquín seemed like the perfect candidate to help her do so. She told herself that she would find liberation and empowerment in the arms of a dangerous man she didn’t know but it couldn’t have been any farther from the truth.

  Grace started to feel dizzy as the effects of the alcohol began to kick in. One minute, Joaquín was staring at her intensely from across the room and the next, he was pressing her against a wall and kissing her with all the intensity he could muster. He didn’t taste bad but he didn’t particularly taste good, either. He tugged Grace into his bedroom and pushed her onto his sheet-less mattress. His hands began to work on her clothing. When her dress was off, he reached back to unclasp her bra.

  Joaquín’s firm lips tested Grace’s reserves. Her conscious screamed at her to turn back while she still could. That nothing good would come of this. But lust had a way of taking over. Joaquín held her down beneath him and reached down to unbuckle his pants, pulling them down around his legs.

  Grace moaned into his mouth as he deepened the kiss. When he finally broke it, his eyes were dark and mesmerizing.

  “Usted es el mío,” he whispered, running his fingers over Grace’s jaw.

  “What does that mean?” Grace questioned, exhaling a deep breath.

  “You’re mine.”

  Grace frowned but before she could contemplate the weight of Joaquín’s words, he thrusted sharply forward and entered her. She gasped as he brought his lips to her breasts. He began to caress the firm buds of her nipples with his tongue as he rocked slowly forward.

  What felt like hours later, Grace awoke lightheaded, disoriented, naked, and covered in sweat.

  “Rise and shine,” Joaquín whispered playfully.

  Grace rubbed her eyes and sat up, wrapping the sheet around herself.

  “How long was I sleeping?” she questioned.

  Joaquín shrugged.

  “About an hour.”

  Grace looked over at him and frowned. He had what looked like a leather belt secured around his tattooed bicep and was poking at a vein in his arm.

  “What are you doing?” Grace gasped.

  Joaquín only laughed.

  Disgusted, Grace stood up and began to gather her clothing. She promised herself that she wouldn’t see him again.

  That he was no good.

  But she had never been good at keeping promises.

  Chapter Sixteen

  One Month Later

  Angie entered her younger sister’s bedroom and tore open the blinds. Grace turned over onto her stomach and groaned, burying her face in her pillow.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She turned to scowl at Angie, giving her the finger.

  “Classy,” Angie bit back.

  She bent down and started to gather up the trash that littered the floor. Grace rolled her eyes and sat up. The bags under her eyes were harrowing. She cringed as she got a whiff of herself.

  “That’s right,” Angie said with a nod. “When was the last time you even showered?”

  Grace shrugged and reached for a half empty bottle of vodka on her bedside table. She managed to swallow down a gulp before Angie snatched the bottle out of her hands.

  She shook her head and paced.

  “I’m not sure how much longer Steven and I can do this,” she said evenly.

  She ran a trembling hand through her honey red hair and glared at her sister. Grace tried to lay back down and cover her head with her pillow but Angie snatched it away. A pinched, hurt expression surfaced on her face.

  “I’m not kidding Grace. You’re a mess. It’s been almost two months since Miller died and –”

  “He didn’t just die,” Grace interrupted sardonically. “He killed himself. Why won’t anyone call it what it is?”

  Angie sighed and set down the bag of trash in her hands, taking a seat at the end of Grace’s bed.

  “Still,” she said after a few brief moments of silence. “It’s been days since you’ve left your room. You won’t return anyone’s phone calls. Sue Ellen is on my ass asking if she’s going to have to find another waitress. And the kids...they miss you Grace.”

  Kids.

  Grace tensed as her children’s faces flashed through her mind.

  She couldn’t let them see her.

  Not like this.

  “I’m running out of excuses to tell them,” Angie continued. “They really miss you.”

  “I just need more time,” Grace whispered, refusing to meet her sister’s eyes.

  Angie shook her head.

  “Grace. I think you need more than time,” she said, nodding at a line of white powder on the dresser. “I’m thinking rehab.”

  Grace scoffed.

  If there was anyone who knew a thing or two about Rehab it was Angie.

  She might have been able to hide her past from the world, her highbrow collogues, and even her husband, but Grace knew the truth of her sisters rebellious past.

  She had lived through Angie’s darker days and she had seen her through them.

  Near the end of Grace’s freshman year in high school, Angie attended prom as a senior. While the rest of the girls in her grade wore intricate gowns accented by ribbons, sparkles, and gaudy accessories, Angie settled on a thrifted red dress off the discount rack. It was simple enough and not particularly revealing but she had a way of making anything she wore look stunning.

  The night of prom, her date arrived at eight p.m. on the dot. Grace’s mother, Elizabeth, pretended to be excited despite the presence of her father and his new, much younger, wife. She buzzed through their living room in a desperate attempt to make sure everything was perfect for her Angie’s final big experience in high school.

  Everyone held their breath when she appeared at the top of the stairs, her black heels clicking as she walked down the steps. Grace stood in the corner of the room apprehensively and waited for the onslaught of compliments that her sister would be sure to receive.

  They told her that she was beautiful, which she was, and dozens of pictures were taken. She radiated in that simple red dress in a way most girls only ever dreamed of. It accentuated her curves while still remaining classy. Elizabeth had picked out a pair of silver earrings for her daughter to wear with the dress, along with a ruby necklace that she had inherited from her mother.

  The jewelry was a perfect touch.

  The pieces attracted the light in the room and looked beautiful against Angie’s curly auburn hair, which she wore plainly styled in a loose bun on top of her head. If she were any less stunning, the ensemble might have looked drab for an event like prom.

  But that was Angie for you.

  Sometimes Grace would watch her strut across the school yard with her head held high, tossing greetings and flirtatious hellos to everyone she passed. In the ladies room between classes, she would apply her mascara heavily and rim her almond shaped eyes with liner, pouting her lips as she’d stare at herself.

  It was no secret to anyone how beautiful Angie was.

  Not even herself.

  Through the halls she’d sway her hips and toss her hair, stopping to press her back against lockers as she’d flirt with any boy who looked her way.

  There were very few who didn’t.

  Not only was Angie stunning, but she was smart. All throughout high school she had pulled in phenomenal grades that made Grace’s C’s and B’s pale in comparison. Angie was class president. Captain of the cheerleading team. And the Valedict
orian of her class.

  In a word, she was perfect.

  Everyone loved her. She was charming and upbeat. A smart girl who still knew how to have fun. And when their parents attended football games to support Angie’s cheerleading instead of Grace’s soccer games, she brushed it off as no big deal. And when rumors surfaced that Angie was sleeping with Landon, Grace was hurt, but she managed to brush that off too.

  She adjusted to living in her older sister’s shadow. She told herself that it was nice not having anyone constantly breathing down her neck or demanding perfection from her the way they did with Angie.

  Angie was a glass figurine. Smooth and flawless at first sight, but upon a closer inspection, there were cracks in her foundation. Tiny inconsistencies that proved that even the most triumphant of people had imperfections.

  No one saw Angie the way Grace did.

  While everyone else only recognized her achievements, Grace looked intently for her flaws. Sometimes she would catch Angie in their backyard, sprawled out on a towel and flipping through a stack of magazines as she would inhale something.

  Coke.

  It became clear to Grace at an early age that Angie used drugs to deal with the stress that came along with having to be perfect. But everyone else, including their parents, wrote the telltale signs off with convenient excuses, not wanting to see Angie’s shortcomings for what they were.

  Which was why Grace wasn’t surprised when her seemingly perfect sister was found in an alley the night of her prom; scantily clothed and heavily intoxicated, with very little recollection of how she had gotten there.

  The dress she had looked so beautiful in was rumpled and smelled heavily of cigarettes, liquor, and vomit; a stench that could have made a grown man choke from a mile away. Grace asked her mother if she could be the one to wash it. Instead, she tossed it in the trash and set it beside the curb.

  Doctors and nurses in white coats bustled through the hospital. They were told that Angie had overdosed on something, but she refused to tell them what. Grace remained silent and watched as the light slowly went out in her mother’s face.