Devil You Know

by Max Henry

  Tigger. “You hit him?”

  “Yeah, for talking to you how he did the other night when the guys were here.”

  I pale at the confession. As much as I feel good knowing Malice chose to defend me, I feel twice as shit for being the reason they argued. “I’m sorry.”

  Rocco moves from the bed, and chooses a safe distance in the corner of the room at the sound of my words. Old habits.

  Malice drops his arm, and rolls to mirror me. “Jane, I mean it when I say I don’t want to hear that from you.”

  “But if I hadn’t—”

  His fingers press to my lips. “Shut it. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. None of us could.”

  “Then why are you beating yourself up over it?” I challenge.

  He stares at me while the thought processes. “I guess you have a point.” Malice flops back onto the bed. “I still feel like an asshole though.”

  “Look, you haven’t told me what happened, and I don’t expect you to, but I’m assuming you went out last night to help him. What do you think he made of that? I’m sure he knew how you felt.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Was he close with his family?” I wonder how the others got on, having to place that call.

  “Yes, and no. His Mom and sister live a fair way away, so he didn’t exactly see them every week.”

  “But they talked often?”

  “I think so.” He sighs, and his tone drops. “I don’t know.”

  “I hope Ty and Bronx are okay.” I sit up, and cross my legs.

  “They’ll be okay. We’ve been through worse.”

  The two guys in the picture.

  We sit in amiable silence for a while, lost in our heads. Everything the guys said last night runs through my mind, and I wonder if and when I’ll ever know the full story. Do I have a right to the full story? How serious is this ‘thing’ between Malice and I?

  “I’m a bounty hunter, Jane.”

  It takes me a moment to register what he’s said. “A what?”

  “A bounty hunter. I get paid to go out, and bring in people who owe money, or need to face the consequences—that kind of thing.”

  “For who? The state?” I’m pretty certain the answer will be—

  “No.”

  Damn. “Who, then?”

  “We work for ourselves. Ty saw an opportunity, and he took it. Living on the streets, we used to watch the dealings going down after dark. There’s so many organizations out there, all vying for a spot, that they sometimes struggle to keep up with the lesser tasks like reining in the debts owed to them. The syndicates needed the grunt, and we needed a roof over our head . . . and food.”

  Tension wracks my body. The need to flee the room is strong, but the logical side of my brain reminds me I’m not the one at risk. If he wanted to hurt me, I’d be long gone. Hurt me physically, not mentally.

  “Are you trying to say you’re part of a gang or something?”

  “Some of the crowds we do work for are gangs, some prefer the name club. And no, we’re not part of any of them. Most of the time we’re never allowed to step foot in their place. All the exchanges go down off-site.”

  “Why?”

  He sighs, and rolls to face me once more. “Physical distance. Deniability. If we aren’t at their residences, aren’t on camera, then they can deny we have anything to do with them if necessary.”

  “Suppose it makes sense.” My fingers weave in the sheet around my waist. “What exactly do you do when you ‘pick people up’?”

  “Most of the time it doesn’t take much, but we use whatever force is necessary.”

  “Have you ever, like—”

  “Killed someone?”

  “Yeah.” I laugh . . . awkwardly.

  “No.” He sounds positively shocked I would think it. “I’m not a hit-man, Jane.”

  “But you hurt people.”

  He frowns, and I know I’ve let on what’s bothering me most. “Not like that bastard did to you. These people deserve what’s coming to them.”

  “Do they?” I hold his gaze. “Do people ever deserve to be treated worse than an animal?”

  He hangs his head, and sighs. “If they treat others like that for no given reason, then yes, they do. What goes around comes around.”

  He has me on that. When I put it into the perspective of Dylan, how many times had I wished for worse things to happen to him? How many times had I wished for retribution?

  “Why didn’t you tell me this from the start? Why say you’re a butcher?”

  Malice shifts so he sits with his legs over the side of the bed. “It wasn’t a complete lie. We are known as The Butchers. It was like a code name or something, and it stuck.”

  “How long have you done this?” The morbid curiosity is too much. I have to know.

  “I haven’t always been the one to collect. When we started out I was a scout, sussing out where the targets were, and passing on the information to Ty.”

  “And then what? X amount of scouts later you got a promotion?” I cringe at the snarky tone I’m taking.

  “If you want to call it that.”

  “Where next? I mean, have you hit the top of your game, or is there something else to aspire to?”

  “Don’t be like that.” He stands, and paces the room.

  “I’m sorry. It’s a little hard to swallow, you know? At least Dylan didn’t beat me up for money. I honestly can’t decide what’s worse right now: being an asshole and doing it for fun, or choosing to do it for the money.”

  “I never chose this life.”

  “What? Did they twist your arm behind your back until you agreed? I mean, it doesn’t seem like you tried to get out of it.” I’m hitting low, but fuck, when was he going to tell me this?

  “You don’t know as much about me as you think, Jane. Fucking me doesn’t give you some golden insight into what goes on up here.” He taps his temple. “The whole situation I’m in is pretty fucking messed up. I can’t expect you to understand.”

  “As messed up as leaving an abusive husband for a man who beats the living shit out of people for money?”

  “I don’t always beat them up.”

  “Oh, good. That makes me feel so much better,” I bite out.

  “Are you going to give me a chance to explain?” He stills, and frowns at me.

  “Explain what, Malice? That you took a job ratting out people for food, and then chose to move on to better and brighter things, like dragging them in for cash instead of walking away? You said yourself you aren’t a part of the clubs, and the guys you do this with are your friends, so why stick about? I’m sure the guys would understand if you wanted out.”

  “It’s not as simple as walking away, Jane. What would you fucking know?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I holler. Heat races across my flesh. “I guess I wouldn’t know a thing about having trouble and walking away, given that I stayed with my abusive husband for fucking fun!”

  “So why have a go at me for sticking around if you ‘get it’? Huh?” The rage emanates from him in waves. I need to get out of this room.

  “Because you chose your path, Malice. I didn’t ask to be married to a guy who thought his fists were the part of him I loved the most. And I sure as fuck didn’t ask to be taken away from it by a guy who’s no fucking better.”

  Malice stands silent while I stride to the door.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this at the start?” I ask. “Why now?”

  “I didn’t tell you sooner because I wanted you to trust me.”

  “Trust you?” I laugh. “How can I trust you when you knowingly lie to me?”

  “I didn’t lie.” He growls.

  “No,” I seethe. “You chose not to tell me the most important part about you.”

  • • • • •

  WE GO our separate ways after the discussion. Malice walked out of the house, and didn’t return until after I had gone to bed that night. I can honestly say we haven’t s
pent more than two hours collectively in the same room since.

  I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to forgive him, to understand, but the other argues that I’ve been a pushover for too long, and now it’s time to stand up for what’s best for me.

  Tigger’s family arrives three days after his death. They stay with Ty, and we’re introduced briefly when the boys gather at the house to arrange the details of the funeral. The guys help pick his favorite songs, and share stories—good ones—with his mother, and sister.

  I watch from a distance, not comfortable with impeding on such an intimate moment. After all, I met Tigger twice, and the second time wasn’t all that pleasant. They’re at the tense part of the arrangements, organizing where he will be buried, when I decide to take Rocco for a walk. Tigger’s mother wants him buried with her family, while his sister argues that he should be laid to rest next to their father.

  I reach for the door handle, when a hand on my shoulder stills me. “Where are you going?”

  I turn, and look into a lost soul. His eyes hold no life, no humor—nothing of the guy who teased me when I walked up and down his driveway the day after he took Rocco.

  “I’m going out for a walk. Thought you guys could do with the privacy. I’m sure they don’t like having a spectator the whole time.”

  “The roads around here aren’t safe,” he says. “Take the pick-up, and find a park or something.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but Malice simply shakes his head, and walks away. He returns a short time later with the keys.

  “I trust you won’t scratch it?” His lips quirk up on one side, and I glimpse the man I met so many weeks ago now.

  “I’ll take care of her.” I smile. “Does she have a name?” I need to see him smile so badly. The tension between us has been leaving me nauseous at the end of every day we leave things unresolved.

  “Not yet,” he replies. His large hand finds mine, and he places the keys in my palm. “Be back in three hours tops, okay?”

  I’m lost as to what it would matter how long I’m gone, but I nod, and turn for the door. He closes it behind me, and I stand for a moment to let this whole scenario sink in.

  When did my life become so complicated?

  ***

  Rocco bounds around the parkland, chasing after smaller dogs, and making a few bigger friends as well. I sit on the tailgate of the pick-up with a frozen yoghurt and paper to search out jobs, and rental listings. The past week has been hard, to say the least, and I need room to breathe; room to think about what I’m going to do with my future now that it’s mine to plan.

  I smile as Rocco tumbles over the grass after taking a corner too fast. The ball of fluff is having the most fun he’s had in a while.

  “Excuse me?”

  I turn toward the voice, and see a woman approach with her daughter.

  “Could I ask where you bought that?” She points to my yoghurt.

  “Of course.” I smile. “There’s a shop on Sixth, two blocks down.”

  She grins, and nods her head. “Thank you. We’re new around here, and not familiar with where everything is yet.”

  I smile as she walks away, and turn back to find Rocco. The sun is glorious on my face, and I close my eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of trimmed grass, flowers in bloom—all the pretty things in the world.

  If only I could shut my eyes to the issues in my life, and smell the good things like this more often.

  Footsteps scuff behind me, and I assume the woman needs to know where Sixth is. I turn to give her directions, and stumble in my haste to get off the tailgate.

  “Hi, Jane.”

  Fuck. My first trip out alone, and there he is.

  “Nice pick-up you’ve got yourself there.” Dylan nods to the car. “Looks quite familiar, you know. Although, I must admit it’s been a while since I’ve seen it.” He snarls the last few words. “Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you sitting on it over here.”

  I keep my sights firmly trained on him, and place a foot behind me. He advances, so I take another step, and get tangled up in the wooden sleeper bolted to the ground to stop people parking on the grass. The yoghurt flies from my hand as I go ass over kite, and try to land with minimal damage.

  My wrist smarts, but I quickly recover and find my feet as Dylan comes toe-to-toe with me. “You missed me, Jane?”

  I can smell the bourbon from a mile away. Drinking on your lunch break now? Such a winner. “I haven’t thought of you at all, Dylan.”

  I know I’m baiting the bear, but I want him to see that I’ve moved on, that I’m stronger without him. He grabs my hand in his—a gesture of adoration from afar—and squeezes the first knuckle on my index finger to the second. The pain is unbearable, and tears well as I whimper. How did I endure this shit on a daily basis for so long?

  “I though I got rid of that fucker,” he growls, tipping his chin to Rocco.

  The idiot bounds toward danger, ears back, and teeth bared. “No, Rocco!”

  “And you’re still trying to save it.” He laughs. “You’re as pathetic as ever, Jane.”

  My heart rate increases. The situation is quickly on the brink of being out of control. “Fuck off, Dylan. If I’m not home soon, he’ll look for me.” I’m not entirely sure that’s true, but all I can do is hope my threat is enough to scare him off.

  Dylan’s eyebrow shoots up. “Home?” Blood rushes to his face, and the veins in his temples bulge. “Home?” he roars. “Home is with me, woman. You must be one well-oiled whore if he lets you feel at home with him.”

  “That’s none of your business.” I pull my hand toward myself, but he tightens the grip. I swear something snaps.

  Rocco growls at my feet, tuned in to my distress.

  Dylan swings a foot out to catch him, but Rocco dodges. Good boy. Seems I’m not the only one who’s found their strength since leaving that hellhole.

  I pick my moment wisely, and while Dylan’s distracted by Rocco, I swing a knee into his groin. He drops my hand with a groan, and clutches at himself. “Fucking bitch,” he screams as I slam the tailgate, and run to the driver’s door.

  I wrench it wide, and whistle for Rocco to get in. He leaps to the passenger seat, and I drop in behind him, slamming the lock button before wrenching the keys on. The pick-up starts with a throaty roar, and I scream out of the parking lot, paper flying off the back.

  People look at me as I lose traction out of the entrance, and drift into the street. I couldn’t care less. The tires grip with a snap of the tail end, and I punch the gas.

  Yeah, I’ll be home inside of three hours.

  TIGGER’S MOM points out a double-up in song choice, and the boys set about fixing the funeral playlist for her. His sister, Anna, sits on the couch, staring at nothing. I step away from the others, and sit down beside her.

  “What’s going on in there, Anna?” I ask, tapping her temple.

  She turns her red-rimmed eyes to me, and shakes her head. “I wonder why he didn’t tell anyone it was that bad. I thought he made enough from his job, you know?”

  Knowing she’s as much in the dark about what we do as Jane was, bites. “Everyone has their secrets.”

  “Why my brother, though? Why Blair? I mean, he had such a rough patch when he was younger, but I thought we were over that. I thought he changed?”

  Hearing her use his birth name sounds so out of place. Are we discussing the same guy? Lies upon lies. The bunch of us lives by a name other than our own—all except for Ty. Surely that’s another way to avoid facing the truth? Another mask to put up against the world?

  “I don’t have an answer for that.” What else can I say? I wonder the same thing.

  She bursts into tears, and leans her head on my shoulder. I’ve only met the woman twice, and the intimacy feels off. I drape my stiff arm behind her, and she cries into my shirt. If it weren’t such a shit-ass situation I’d push her off, but what kind of asshole does that?

  No. I’ll bite the bullet and give th
e girl some comfort—awkward as it is.

  She sobs against my shoulder while I watch the guys talk with Tigger’s mom. I still don’t know how often he talked with them, how close his family was. What kind of friend does that make me? What kind of jerk is that self-centered?

  Anna’s tears finally ease, and the throaty sound of my pick-up brings me a sweet relief. Thank fuck, Jane is home.

  “You be okay now?” I ask, slipping out from beside her.

  “Yeah. Thank you.” She smiles, and curls into the arm of the couch. “It’s good to let go.”

  I step out the front as Jane lets Rocco out of the vehicle. I frown, knowing we’ve talked before about not having him inside the car.

  “I’m sorry,” she starts. “I was in a hurry. I'll vacuum it now.”

  My eyes travel to the catch on the tailgate, which isn’t quite locked. “You’ve got to put the back up properly, Jane. You don’t want it falling down when you’re driving.” I walk over, and bump it shut with my hip. A dirty, plastic spoon is stuck to the deck, and there’s what looks to be part of a newspaper strewn about. “I thought you said you’d take care of my car.”

  Jane’s chin quivers, and she drops to her knees on the edge of the grass. She’s bawling worse than Anna, and I have to take a step back to believe what I’m seeing. I know things have been tense between us, but I wasn’t that harsh—was I?

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say.

  “I know,” she snivels, and waves me off. “It’s not you.”

  “Then why are you crying?” I drop down before her, and tuck a concerned Rocco under my arm. The pieces of the puzzle start to come together; she wasn’t careless at all—she was running from something. “Why were you in a hurry, Jane?”

  Hiccups wrack her breathing. “I saw Dylan.”

  Shit. “And? Did he hurt you?” My eyes sweep her shuddering frame.

  “A little, but nothing serious.” She glances down at her hands.

  I notice the way she rubs her fingers, and the swelling at the tip of one. “Jane, if he so much as threatens to hurt you it breaks the terms of his restraining order.” I’ve got a right mind to hunt the fucker out, and remind him myself.