Sons of War MC

by Jane Slate

  Her perfect daughter wasn’t so perfect after all.

  The bar Angie was found outside of was called Billy’s Crossing, a popular place where a lot of college students hung out on the weekends. Angie had bought the substances before prom and did them at the bar, which she got into with a fake ID.

  A few days later she was discharged from the hospital and brought home. She retreated into seclusion without saying a word to anyone. Elizabeth would linger outside her daughter’s bedroom door with a glazed over look in her eyes, unsure of what to do or say.

  Angie was never the one who needed to be disciplined.

  Their parents began to breach the subject of sending Angie to rehab and eventually they chalked up the money and did it. It took three shots before she finally got better, but when she did, she never relapsed.

  Grace cleared her throat and tore herself from her thoughts.

  “Who do I look like?” she said cruelly. “I’m not you.”

  Angie looked down and remained silent. Grace felt bad and reached out to her but Angie pulled away.

  “I’m sorry,” Grace tried to say.

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  But it was too late. Angie exited Grace’s bedroom and slammed the door behind herself.

  Chapter Seventeen

  No one would have recognized her at first glance. She had a collection of scars; some visible and some not. She was bitter and stubborn. A lethal combination. She was broken. A shadow of her once vibrant self. A casualty of grief.

  Fucking whores, Grace thought, ashing her cigarette between her red painted finger nails. Like their lives were really any better.

  She didn’t know why she gave any of them the time of day. They were just stupid bike warmers. Women who would leave the second they found something, or someone, more enticing.

  Grace was here for the long run.

  She told herself that she didn’t care what they thought of her. With their bottle-dyed blonde hair, lack of morals, and caked on make-up, they were hardly one to judge.

  Even so, it pissed her off listening to them talk about her as though she wasn’t there. Rumors. Gossip. Presumptions. All of that was just a bitter norm in a small town like Falls Creek.

  Grace sat on the toilet and remained quiet, listening to their chatter as they fixed their hair and make-up. She took another long drag of her cigarette, swallowing down the hard acrid taste that surfaced in her throat as anger flared inside of her.

  “I heard she’s doing meth now,” Grace heard one of the girls say with a toxic laugh.

  “I don’t blame her,” one of the more rational women replied through the sound of high pitched giggling.

  “Can you imagine finding your old man dead? And he killed himself? How do you explain that to your children? Hell, I’d find something to become addicted to too.”

  Grace swallowed hard. She attempted to peek through the crack in the stall to see who had come to her defense, but all she could see was a mirage of blonde hair and skimpy clothing.

  “I don’t have an old man,” the first woman bit back, spraying herself with perfume.

  “So, I wouldn’t know.”

  Not thinking, Grace began to cough as the overpowering smell of floral filled her nostrils. The gig was up. She stepped out of the stall, scoffing in amusement at the wide-eyed stares the women gave her. Heavy rock music leaked inside the bathroom from the other side of the door.

  “Surprise, surprise,” Grace said sarcastically, taking a quick look at herself in the mirror.

  She pulled out a tube of dark red lipstick from her oversized purse and spread it over her full lips as the women stared at her in shock. Her reflection was harrowing. There were deep bags beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. Her collarbones were complete visible beneath her pale skin, heavy mascara and eyeliner rimmed her blue eyes, and track marks covered the inside of her arms.

  If Grace’s children saw her now, they wouldn’t know who she was.

  They had been staying with Angie and her husband Steven for the past few months and Grace knew they must have resented her. They hadn’t just lost their father. They had lost their mother, too.

  She turned on the tap to wash her hands and turned to slowly look at the women, raking her eyes over their faces to identify them. One of them she recognized as Maria, a kind hearted brunette who, like Grace, was here too stay. She was Nash’s old lady and the one Grace figured must have come to her defense. None of the rest of them gave a shit about her.

  Grace smiled at Maria and she smiled back. She gave the other three women a scowl as she dried her hands and exited the bathroom. The door swung shut behind her and Maria followed closed behind.

  “Just forget about them Grace,” she called after her.

  But Grace already had.

  She pushed her way through a pack of leather clad men, some of whom stopped to acknowledge her, and made her way over to the pool tables in the center of the room. She looked around for Landon and found him sitting at the bar with Nash and Richie. He was distracted and didn’t notice her right away.

  Grace rummaged through her purse and pulled out a large bag of cocaine. She had taken it from Joaquín’s stash when he wasn’t looking. They had been sleeping with each other for the past few months. Shortly after Miller’s funeral and the altercation with Landon, Grace had fell into bed with the President of the Peligros.

  He had introduced Grace to the world of substances and in them she had found salvation. Coke became a part of her. Not just something she dabbled in whenever she was sad or stressed like Angie had.

  She never told Joaquín that she had a direct connection to SOW. The two clubs weren’t enemies, but they were barely on neutral ground. It wasn’t something Grace thought he needed to know. If he did, he wouldn’t have provided her with what she needed to get by.

  Everyone had their poisons. Their way of coping when life became too much to bear. Grace wasn’t much different than most. She just didn’t see any point in hiding it.

  The first time was electrifying but it always was. She was naked in Joaquín’s bed when he pulled out the kit from his dresser. She didn’t ask what he was doing and he didn’t tell her. She watched as he tore open the tiny package of plastic and aluminum with his front teeth. He poured the contents into a silver spoon and sprinkled something over it that Grace would later find out was acid. Two drops of water were added to the mix. Then, with a flick of a lighter, Joaquín held the flame beneath the spoon as the substance curdled into a boil.

  He dropped a wad of cotton into it and filled a syringe. Without asking, he gripped Grace by the elbow and tightened a rope around her arm, keeping it tight between his teeth. She didn’t try and stop him. With steady hands, he poked at the green veins in her arm and instructed her to flex. She did as she was told and, just like that, he punctured through her skin.

  She looked down as a wave of adrenaline washed through her. A drop of her blood mixed with what was left of the fluid. Joaquín let go of the rope as Grace went limp against him. Her eyelids felt heavy and covered her eyes. In a slow, monotonous voice, she spoke.

  “Wow.”

  She stared at things that were not there. Captivating things. She floated through her thoughts as magnificent figures danced in her mind. New, unrecognizable shapes and colors blurred her vision as she transcended higher and higher. Miller’s suicide, Landon, and the loss of her children – all the things that plagued Grace most – drifted too far from her reach before disappearing completely.

  Her body began to twitch but Joaquín reached out to calm her. The sound of nature mixed with traffic filled her ear drums, becoming louder and louder as she rode the wave. The walls started to close in around her until she was no longer in Joaquín’s bedroom, but a tiny box that she had to scrunch her body up to fit in.

  It was a bizarre, beautiful nightmare.

  Grace blinked and tried to get ahold of herself, but she felt a million miles away from the person she had once been. Like a speck of dirt in t
he vastness of the ocean. She was anxious but she clenched her fist and shut her eyes, willing it to pass as a calmness settled over her.

  Slowly, the screeching noise that filled her head fell silent. The vibrant colors she had saw dimmed, and the shapes and figures vanished. She felt the tension resurface in her body as her high wore off.

  She felt drained. Hollow. Empty.

  The only solution, Joaquín told her, was another hit. Just like that, a love affair was formed. She let Joaquín retighten the rope and pierce through her skin once more. And as the drug coursed through Grace’s veins, she felt the twisted vision suck her in again.

  It had started with a simple predisposition. She hated the weakness in herself and the overwhelming need to eliminate it was what fueled her fire. She destroyed the last shreds of her innocence and nativity and she had fun doing it.

  No one, Grace told herself, would ever be able to hurt her again.

  Not if she was the one wielding the knife.

  And so Grace went to Joaquín every time she needed a hit and a few times when she didn’t. She didn’t love him, but she didn’t have to. He provided her with everything she needed to feel whole again.

  She made the jump into a world she never thought she would know because of nothing more than a morbid curiosity. It started with a need to defile her body. To destroy the weak woman she had once been. She did every drug imaginable. It didn’t matter what it was, because it wasn’t the substances she was addicted to. It was the act itself and the reaction of the people around her.

  Especially Landon.

  People were fascinated by fiends and it didn’t take Grace very long to realize it. It was an understandable curiosity, albeit a dark one. They wouldn’t do the things she did, but they sure had no problem tuning in on her downfall.

  And so she let go. She stopped giving a damn about anything but her next hit and for a while, that worked for her. It was her conscious that eventually got the best of her mindless self-destruction.

  The lucid reminder of what she had given up.

  She told herself that it was too late. That maybe she was just a bad person. An unworthy mother. But subconsciously, she wanted nothing more than to be saved. To be told that she didn’t deserve the hell she was putting herself through.

  That she wasn’t worthless.

  That she was loved.

  Chapter Eighteen

  With shaking hands, Grace lowered her head to sniff a line of coke off the table as the party carried on around her. It was times like these that she wondered why she even bothered at all.

  She took another hit and contemplated the decision she had made to obtain the bag of white powder in her palm. Her mind wandered as she remembered the grating¸ nauseous feeling that settled over her when she awoke on the floor of Joaquín’s apartment. Half naked, disoriented, and dying for a fix.

  Grace climbed over piles of unconscious Columbian bikers in search of Joaquín but he was nowhere to be found. She dug her fingers into the carpet and attempted to push herself up from the ground but it was easier said than done.

  Instead, Grace stayed on her knees and buckled over, dry heaving into an empty cooler that was once packed to the brim with beer. When she was done throwing up the contents of her stomach, she wiped her mouth and gripped the wall, pulling herself to her feet.

  Grace looked around in a haze, frantically searching for anything she could snort of inject to eliminate the pounding feeling in her head. Her cell phone rang in her purse. She reached for it and rummaged through it for the device but her eyes refused to focus.

  Finally, Grace’s hand brushed against it and she pulled it out just as it stopped ringing. She flipped it open. It was Angie. The phone beeped twice, signaling a voicemail.

  Grace couldn’t bring herself to hear her sister’s voice, let alone talk to her.

  Not now.

  Not in her current state.

  Joaquín had been depriving her of any substance for days. She couldn’t afford to buy from him and he refused to give her free product, stating that she was already in debt with him enough and that maybe a detox would be good for her.

  Bullshit.

  Bile surfaced once more in Grace’s mouth as she stumbled through the room. She knew there had to be something here that she could take.

  Anything.

  She paused and leaned against the wall as a sharp pain twisted through her stomach, knocking her to her knees. She crawled toward the bathroom and pushed open the door, collapsing on the cool tile as a warmth settled over her.

  Grace had always heard about the shakes addicts got when they detoxed but she had never imagined it would be this bad. With a groan, she heaved into the porcelain toilet bowl in front of her and lurched forward as the muscles in her throat and stomach contracted. Vomit poured from her mouth into the water. She continued heaving until she was too exhausted and dehydrated to continue. With a deep sigh, she stood up and pressed down on the lever as the toilet flushed.

  The last of Grace’s pride disintegrated as she caught a look of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and sunken. Her skin pale and malnourished. It was too much for her to bear.

  She turned away and splashed water from the tap onto her face and into her mouth as she swallowed down the foul taste in her mouth. Out of sheer desperation she poured the contents of her bag onto the ground, hoping that a forgotten stash of pills would come pouring out, but there’s nothing.

  “Dammit,” Grace moaned, slamming a fist against the dirty tile flooring.

  A dull pain seared through her hand but she ignored it. An idea began to form in her head out of desperation.

  Grace knew where Joaquín kept his emergency stash. She exited the bathroom and pushed open the door to his bedroom, entering his walk-in closet.

  Above Grace, an unsuspecting string hung from the ceiling. She pulled at it and a hatch opened up above her. A box fell to the ground and its contents spilled open. Grace exhaled a deep breath and without a second thought, she grabbed the first bag of cocaine she could find and dipped her finger in it, pressing it to her nostril.

  Relief settled over Grace.

  She closed the bag and sealed it, stuffing it in her purse. Then, she frantically grabbed at the rest of the box’s contents and shoved it back in the hatch above her.

  With clammy hands, Grace grabbed for her phone and squinted at the brightness. She stepped out of the closet and exited the apartment as quietly as she could manage, dialing the number for her voice mail. A mechanical voice filled her ears, declaring the date and time of the message.

  Grace braced herself. After a brief pause, Angie’s discontented voice filled her ears.

  “Grace, your kids miss you. They’d really like to see you. You owe it to them. Please just get it together and give me a call.”

  Get it together.

  The words rung in Grace’s ears. She scoffed and flipped the phone shut, climbing in her car. She pressed her face against the steering wheel and sighed.

  “Like it’s that easy,” she muttered.

  Tears filled Grace’s eyes as she began to think about her children.

  They didn’t deserve any of this.

  Grace told herself that they were better off without her and drove the short distance back to her tiny trailer. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could afford after Miller’s death. The mortgage payments on their home had become too steep for Grace to handle on her own in her current state.

  That, and she couldn’t imagine living in a place where her husband and killed himself.

  Grace took another few hits of coke to calm herself, then, she cleaned herself up and made her way to the SOW clubhouse in search of Landon.

  It never occurred to her that she was being followed, but she should have known.

  Joaquín wasn’t the kind of man that went down without a fight. Grace had stolen from him, plain and simple, and retribution would be made.

  Relaxation simmered through Grace as her high se
t in. Her eyes darted from Landon, to the rest of the SOW crew, to the faces of strangers she didn’t recognize. They all looked so perfectly complacent and unfazed by her presence.

  Grace pressed her body against a random prospect and began to dance with him, keeping her eyes steadily on Landon’s. His emotions flared across his face but he didn’t do anything to stop her.

  He never did.

  He furrowed his brows but refused to budge. His jealousy was no secret to Grace. In fact, she savored it. It made her feel like he cared. She watched through strained vision as he swallowed back one shot of whiskey after the other and tore his gaze from hers.

  He didn’t want to care about her as much as he did. He didn’t enjoy the feeling that tore away at him every time she threw herself at another man just to entice him. A twisting, consorting disease that ate away at him.

  He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the quiet, unsuspecting girl he once knew. Now, she wore her sexuality like a badge of honor, tempting any man who looked her way.

  It drove Landon crazy but even Grace didn’t entirely understand why she did what she did. She wasn’t quite sure of anything anymore. With a vicious, satisfied smile, she winked at Landon, driving the nail in deeper. She continued to grind against the Sons prospect, a tall and lanky man who seemed completely unaware of the fact that he was being used. Or maybe he was too intrigued by her to care.

  Suddenly, a pair of calloused hands pulled Grace back but they didn’t belong to the man she was dancing with. When she turned around, she came face to face with one of Joaquín’s men. His grip was tight on Grace’s arms. He pulled her outside of the SOW clubhouse before anyone could notice.

  Grace tried to call out for help but a dirty hand covered her mouth.

  Joaquín was standing in the moonlight beside his chopper with his arms crossed over his chest. He signaled for his man to let go of Grace and she fell onto her knees on the gravel.