Through The Woods

by Myers, Shannon

  I laughed weakly. “What are you gonna do—force it down my throat?”

  He didn’t even crack a smile. “Alright, Princess. You wanna do things the hard way? I’ll be right back.”

  I wasn’t worried—perhaps I should’ve been, but from what I’d seen over the last few days, these bikers were nothing like their TV counterparts.

  They didn’t even have club whores—I thought that was a prerequisite for all motorcycle gangs.

  My nose itched and I stared angrily at the restraints around my arms.

  Great.

  It began running and I knew that it was probably another nosebleed. I’d had them daily for as long as I’d been using.

  The cravings hit me hard, threatening the resolve I’d built up over the last three days. I forced my eyes closed and concentrated on my breathing.

  When I was stressed out as a kid, I could always count on my mom to talk me off the ledge. She’d sit with me in the floor, my hands clasped tightly in hers, urging me to “just get through the next breath.”

  It wasn’t always a quick fix, but eventually my breathing would even out and the weight on my chest would disappear.

  A lone tear slipped down my cheek.

  God, I’d messed up everything.

  “Little Girl.”

  The sound of his voice startled me awake. I couldn’t even remember falling asleep.

  My eyes flew open and there he was, the man who thought I resembled a mangy dog in need of putting down.

  “It’s Neve.” I forced out through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t care. Why are you refusing to eat?” His hand brushed across the scruff on his face just as he’d done a few days ago—as if it was a nervous tic.

  I shook my head and his eyebrows raised in surprise. He obviously wasn’t used to someone openly refusing him. “I’m not hungry.”

  The chair creaked as he shifted his weight, his eyes never leaving mine. His tongue clicked against his teeth. “Here’s what’s gonna happen—you’re gonna eat something. It might come as a shock to you, but Doc ain’t in the habit of babysitting little bitches with attitudes the size of Texas.”

  I expected him to say more, but he shifted back in his seat and cracked his neck, obviously turning the conversation over to me. My eyes burned with unshed tears at being referred to as a bitch. “I’m. Not. Hungry.”

  His jaw tightened as I enunciated each word and I knew that I’d effectively pushed his buttons. “Ain’t nothing I’d love more than to throw your sorry ass back out into the woods, but Doc vouched for you. So, do the man a solid and eat some goddamn food.”

  Charm stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind him, and I breathed a small sigh of relief. That relief was short-lived when he burst through the door a few minutes later.

  He began pacing the room, his fingers tirelessly stroking at his chin. “Okay, here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to make good on that little promise of yours, starting today.”

  My eyes widened in shock. I’d just been stabbed a few days ago and he wanted me cooking and cleaning? I pointed to my side. “But I’m still recovering—”

  “You’re going through withdrawals. The way I see it, you’re well enough to deny food, so you’re well enough to cook and clean. You can start by getting dinner for tonight. If that doesn’t work for you, then I suggest you get the hell out before sundown. The forest is hard enough to navigate during the day. At night, it’ll be damn near impossible.”

  He turned to leave again and it took every ounce of strength to swallow my pride. Keeping my eyes focused near the floor, I admitted my fears. “I’m just scared I’ll throw it all up again—the food, I mean.” Under my breath, I added, “And I’m as good as dead out there.”

  Charm kept his back to me, but I watched the way his shoulders seemed to tighten. Filled with worry that he may have overheard the end of my sentence, I began stumbling over my words. He left the room mid-sentence, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  He was going to find Doc and tell him to gas up the truck so they could take me back; I just knew it. I was busy formulating a plan that didn’t involve me being mauled to death by bears when the door opened and Charm reappeared, carrying a mug of steaming liquid.

  He set it down on one of the counters before coming over and untying my bindings. “I think we can let you out of these for the time being, yeah?”

  I nodded and slowly pushed myself up into a sitting position, but my muscles protested the movement, having gotten quite comfortable with being strapped down.

  We eyed each other warily as he sat back down in the chair and took the mug in his hands. He dipped a small spoon into the liquid and blew gently on it before offering it to me. “Broth—it’ll be easier for your stomach to manage.”

  I opened my mouth and took a sip. My stomach rumbled and growled in appreciation and his mouth twisted up, as though he was trying not to gloat.

  “Thank you.” We appeared to have called a truce for the time being. Charm patiently fed me broth by the spoonful as though I were a small child, and instead of being bothered by it, I was filled with something unfamiliar.

  Comfort.

  I couldn’t tell you the last time I’d experienced that feeling.

  The mug was soon empty, yet here we were. Sitting and studying each other.

  Charm looked to be a million miles away and I tried to sound lighthearted as I broke the silence. “Tell me, do you always make a habit of feeding the prisoners? I kind of thought a job like that would be beneath a club ‘Prez’.”

  His face darkened. “Just when I think that maybe you ain’t fit to be up and moving around, that smart mouth of yours proves me wrong.”

  I shouldn’t have said anything. He was much better when he was silent. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’ll let Doc know that you’re ready to be put to work. Stick with the broth for a couple days, your stomach will be workin’ just fine again.” He rolled the stool backward before jumping to his feet and I fought against my baser instincts to keep my eyes on his face and not linger on the way his denim jeans hugged his thighs.

  Obviously, my libido was still in working order. I pushed those thoughts aside. The man saw me as no better than an animal, after all. “Charm, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you—It just struck me as odd, you helping me like you knew exactly what you were doing.” A strange expression crossed his face, but it was gone before I could decipher it.

  “Like I said, I’ll get Doc in here. If you can’t fulfill your end of the deal, you’re out. Got it?”

  I nodded and he left again, slamming the door shut behind him. It appeared our thirty-minute ceasefire had ended.

  Charm

  I fed the girl…just like before with her.

  She’d been oblivious to the pain it caused and had rambled off insults, but when she looked up at me, it was impossible not to see another face. One that was so familiar to me that I’d caught myself reaching out to cup her face; I probably would’ve begged her to get better too.

  I was letting some addict dredge up shit that I hadn’t thought about in years.

  Doc followed me outside and waved off the two prospects on guard duty—my only prospects. Their eyes had gone wide when I’d thundered through the door—hands resting on their guns as if expecting to be thrown into battle.

  Maybe we were.

  She’d shown up and suddenly, I didn’t know which way was up. I’d needed to get out—breathing the same air as her only left me feeling impaired.

  “Hey, I’m gonna get her up and moving around. You really want her cooking tonight?”

  “Did I stutter, Doc? Did it not seem like I made myself perfectly clear? She’s your houseguest and it’s time she earned her keep.”

  He nodded and grumbled, “No, I’m just trying to get a handle on what the fuck is going on around here.”

  That made two of us.

  I never should’ve accepted her offer to cook and clean. Why hadn’t they jus
t dropped her off in town? Made her someone else’s problem.

  I rubbed at my chin absently before turning back to him. “I said she could cook one meal and we’d go from there. I ain’t agreeing to anything else until I’ve seen how this goes.”

  Doc nodded again before disappearing and I called the prospects over the minute they came back outside. “Here’s a fifty. Go into town and get our usual from Gio. Be back by six.”

  They nodded and took off and I felt the weight on my chest lessen. I was going to handle this situation so that we could get back to business as usual. She was going to fail and our deal would be off.

  Chapter Six

  Once I’d been issued my marching orders, Doc had come to my rescue once again. He led me into the industrial style kitchen and pulled a big red book out from one of the lower cabinets. It was the Betty Crocker Cookbook; my mother had an earlier edition when I was growing up. This one only looked to be a few years old.

  I blinked away the sudden tears that formed as I flipped through the binder of recipes. It was always the little things that got to me; things that reminded me of her.

  “I found it a few years back; thought it might come in handy one of these days.”

  I eyed Doc skeptically. “And you had it hidden because…” My voice still sounded as if I’d gargled with broken glass.

  He looked completely sheepish as he answered, “Thought if Charm knew we had something like this in here, he’d expect one of us to cook. I got enough on my plate without playing housewife to a bunch of bikers—no offense.”

  I laughed and continued turning pages when Doc stopped me, pointing at a recipe for chicken pot pie. “What about this? Seems easy enough—the recipe serves six. If we triple that, we should have enough food for nine people.” Seeing my confused expression, he continued. “We’re growing men; gotta keep our strength up.”

  Once dinner was decided, Doc sent two of the guys out for supplies and showed me around while they were gone. The building was laid out like a hunting lodge—with wood paneled walls as far as the eye could see. The main living areas were situated in the middle of the lodge, on the lower level, with apartments upstairs. A large stone fireplace separated the living room from the dining room. It probably kept the entire place warm during the winter. As we walked, I found myself wondering if the building had been a hotel at one point. It was certainly large enough to have been.

  We continued up the wooden stairs toward the apartments and I noted that each piece of wood appeared to have been hand carved. The upper level was open to below, which probably came in handy if anyone ever decided to break in. The men could probably just pick them off one by one without having to go downstairs. Judging by the rack of guns lining the wall, that was their exact plan.

  Doc continued in his role as official tour guide and I pushed through the pain in my side in favor of learning more about the men who held me captive. Or rescued me. I guess it depended on who you asked. We came to a closed door at the end of the hall and Doc swiftly turned around, heading back to where we’d come from.

  “Wait—what’s that room?” I stopped and pointed.

  “Charm’s room—we’re not going in there, unless you’ve got a death wish I don’t know about.”

  I simply shook my head and followed him dutifully back downstairs. Our tour ended just as the men got back. I recognized Sneezy almost immediately.

  Just like Rooster, Sneezy went by another name—PD. And he was identifiable from almost anywhere in the lodge; you just had to listen for the constant sniffling. It was a good thing he kept his wavy hair close-cropped or else it would’ve been covered in mucus. I cringed at the thought and looked away.

  The other man had been a little more difficult. He came in and dumped several plastic bags onto the kitchen counter before digging through one and pulling out a small brown paper bag.

  After a long drink from the bottle, he smiled over at me. “You had a hell of a lot of stuff on that list.” He tilted the bottle back again before continuing, “I’m just gonna go lay down for a bit—I’m not as young as I once was.” He’d only taken a couple of steps before he turned back and thrust out his hand. “Guardrail.”

  I took it and amusedly replied, “Neve.”

  In keeping with the distorted fantasy in my head, I decided to call him Sleepy—only because Drunky hadn’t been a character in the Disney movie.

  I wanted nothing more than to lay down and surrender to oblivion for a few hours too as I unpacked groceries, but this meal would either earn me a safe-haven or send me back into the depths of Hell. It was do or die time.

  I placed the bags of frozen vegetables into the sink to thaw, deciding at the last minute to run hot water over them as I still wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing.

  Feeling as though I was being watched, I turned around to find a biker sitting on a stool, studying me as if I was hosting a show on Food Network. I would learn later that this was the indelible Joker, but for the time being, he was my silent sous chef.

  His hair was shaved on the sides, much different from the other men, leaving only an inch or two of light brown hair on top. He had a small freckle below his right eye—eyes that could only be described as Caribbean blue. Not that I would know personally, but his eyes looked like the resort advertisements I’d seen in magazines.

  The stubble that lined his face was a mixture of blond and light brown, giving it an almost silver appearance in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the upper windows.

  I grabbed the plastic packages of chicken and a cutting board while the biker watched me intently. I was just coming to the conclusion that he’d been sent to babysit me when he tapped four fingers against his chin twice. It took a minute for my brain to catch up and determine that it was sign language for ‘talk.’

  Every year, my mother signed me up for summer camp. A list was posted in the mess hall with various activities and, for whatever reason, I always chose sign language as one of mine. I guess I thought it’d come in handy in the future—at that point in my life, I’d still planned on becoming a doctor.

  Instead, here I was, using my skill to communicate with a silent biker while playing cook to a bunch of outlaws.

  Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

  Thinking of camp dredged up thoughts of my mother, so I did the only thing I could; I talked about her with my quiet companion.

  “My mom would make chicken pot pie a lot growing up. I would watch her, but I never really got the hang of cooking, you know?” He nodded, never breaking eye contact with me and I realized that I’d just admitted I had no idea what I was doing. “It took me a lot longer to get it down.”

  I looked down to make a few more cuts to the chicken and when I lifted my head up again, I noticed his head was cocked to the side, watching me curiously. His expression was one of open interest, but he was so quiet that I decided to call him Bashful.

  I finished chopping up the chicken and placed it into a large bowl before reading over the recipe again. When I chuckled, Bashful held his hands out while shrugging his shoulders, as if asking what I found funny.

  I pointed at the recipe. “My dad loved it when my mom made this, but every time he’d apologize to her for all the time and effort that went into making it. She’d brush it off, but tell him he could make it up to her by rubbing her feet once he was done with the dishes.”

  The memory caused my throat to tighten up, and I was forced to pause as I regained control over my emotions. “It was Bisquick—she cheated and made the crust from a baking mix. We never caught on.”

  I didn’t talk after that.

  Cooking was no different than chemistry—I was simply taking a set list of ingredients in specific doses and recreating the experiment in a different lab. At least, that was what I told myself.

  Once the chicken was cooked, I added everything to two large casserole dishes and popped them into the large oven before setting the timer.

  “Well, well, well—you must be feeling better.�
�� Rooster poked his head around the corner.

  I shrugged. “I guess as good as I’m going to get.”

  Not like your boss cares…

  He looked me over, and I realized that Bashful had disappeared on me at some point. “You get a room yet?”

  I shook my head and continued wiping down the countertops, trying not to give anything away. A room meant permanence, right?

  Rooster excused himself and came back a few minutes later with a bag under his arm. “Come with me. One of the guys can take the shit out when the timer goes off.”

  “It’s not shit—it’s good food,” I protested.

  “My apologies. One of the other dickheads around here can take the deliciousness out for you,” he joked as he led me upstairs and towards one of the apartments. His earlier comments about me being a club whore came back full force and I stopped walking, my body stiffening in response. It had been one thing to offer my body when I was still high, but now that I was sober, I didn’t want to be anyone’s plaything.

  He put a key in the door and then looked back over his shoulder. “You comin’?”

  I shook my head and took a step back. “I’m not—I can’t do that—”

  He laughed. “Darlin’, I don’t want a thing from you—but the truth is, you need a shower. Badly.” He held the bag up. “I found some girly shit you might like too. You’re safe with me, Scout’s Honor.”

  I took a tentative step forward. “You were a Boy Scout?”

  He pushed the door open and walked in. “Me? Oh, fuck no.” Seeing my eyes widen, he amended. “I won’t lay a hand on you, Biker’s honor.”

  I took the bag from his hand. “Didn’t think bikers had any honor.”

  He laughed again, as if my words were of no consequence. “You got a point there, Darlin’. How about this? I like my partners willing and able-bodied. And you’re neither. No offense.”