Above & Below: Mountain Misfits MC Prologue

by Deja Voss

  “Good luck, Gavin,” he says. “You’re a good man.”

  I stand on the sidewalk and wave them off.

  I pull my bike out of the shitty little shed off the side of our apartment building for the last time. My college days are over. For good. Forever. It’s time to scoop up my brother and get us both back to where we belong, high up on the mountain with our fellow misfits.

  Chapter 5

  Sloan:

  “Ugh,” I groan as I flop down on the couch, resting my head in Arthur’s lap. “Everything fucking hurts.”

  “Here, baby,” he says, handing me a joint. I take a long drag, coughing out a massive cloud before I can even actively exhale.

  He’s mindlessly flipping through the channels, and I don’t even care. I don’t feel like watching TV. I’m too tired to concentrate, but too exhausted to sleep. Trying to balance medical school with a full-time job is not even kind of practical, but thanks to my family’s shitty credit history, neither is taking out student loans.

  “I don’t know why you don’t just quit that stupid job, Sloan.”

  “I dream about it every day, Art. It’s just not possible, though.”

  The pay at the nursing home is great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s hard on my body. I’m not a tiny girl or anything. I do my best to stay fit, but trying to maneuver people’s bodies around who just don’t want to or can’t move puts a physical beating on me. I could live without the daily exposure to all the bodily fluids and the verbal abuse from the staff members who don’t have the patience for my constant exhaustion. I don’t blame them. That’s their career. This is just my starting point.

  “It’s totally possible,” he says. “You know I can take care of you.” He slides his hand into mine, drawing circles in my palm with his thumb.

  “Do you know how much medical school costs? And then I have a five-year fellowship before I can become a surgeon. We’re talking crazy money here.”

  Not that I wasn’t absolutely positive he had it. The couch I’m sprawled out on is leather. The TV in front of us takes up most of the wall. The floors are marble, and the ceilings are high enough for chandeliers in every room.

  And of course, he has them.

  Arthur isn’t one to spare any expense.

  I went from the trailer park to a mansion in a matter of two months of dating him and I haven’t looked back since. Sure, things are moving fast, but when you’re twenty-two and in medical school, it’s hard to find companionship. It’s hard to meet anyone decent.

  My father introduced us, which should’ve sent up immediate red flags, but there’s something different about Arthur. He’s not the typical shady scumbag thug my dad usually has as “business associates.” He’s young. He’s articulate. He’s good-looking, with long blond hair and the kind of lean muscular build that screams sexy. He makes my life easier. It doesn’t hurt that he showers me with gifts, and I haven’t had to cook a meal for myself or do my own laundry since I moved in. Most of the time, I feel like I’m living in a dream.

  Except when reality swoops in and pinches me.

  “I can afford it, Sloan. Besides, I don’t like the way your boss looks at you.”

  I sit up on the couch so I can face him. Arthur may seem like he has it all, but his jealousy is a constant point of contention. He doesn’t like how the guy who bagged our groceries looks at me, he doesn’t like how the man who delivers the mail looks at me. At first, I thought it was cute, I thought he was being protective, but this is just beyond ridiculous.

  “And how does he look at me, Arthur?”

  “Like you guys are fucking or something.” He has this expression on his face that’s a mix between a smirk and scowl, and it makes me really uncomfortable. I don’t think for a second that he’s joking. His hand slides to my wrist, gripping it a little tighter than I’m comfortable with.

  “You’re out of your damn mind, Art. Stan Winkman is sixty-three and married to his high school sweetheart. They have six kids and ten grandkids. He’s getting ready to retire this year. I can assure you we are not fucking.”

  I’m done with this conversation. I go to stand up but he pulls me back, gripping me tighter.

  “Why are you being like this, Sloan? I’m just trying to help you. I just offered to put you through college and you’re getting all defensive about some geriatric douchebag who has the hots for you.”

  Am I going crazy? It’s a question I actively have to ask myself more often than I’d care to admit.

  “You’re twisting this all up, Arthur, and you know it. When we started dating, I made a commitment to you, and if you can’t trust me, then I don’t think we should be together anymore.”

  “Babe,” he says, pulling me into him, wrapping me in his arms. His touch does little to console me. I’m mad as hell, and I just need some space to breathe. “I trust you. Seriously. I trust you with my life. It’s these men I don’t trust. I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous, you’re brilliant, and you make me feel complete. I’ve never cared about anyone like I care about you. I just don’t want to see you get taken advantage of because of how kind you are.”

  I’m not buying any of his lines. I’ve seen enough Lifetime Movies to know the warning signs that this is not right. But right now, I’m exhausted. I don’t feel like fighting.

  “I’m sorry, Sloan. I swear. Come on. Let me make you a bath. You had a long day.” He picks me up in his arms before I can say another word, and I just let him hold me for a minute. Maybe he is different. Maybe I am just tired and cranky and not thinking straight.

  He carries me up the steps to our beautiful bedroom and sets me down on the edge of the tub while he runs the water.

  “I’m keeping my job.”

  “Sure thing,” he says calmly.

  He turns off the faucets and stands up. He brushes my hair out of my face, planting a kiss on my forehead before turning to the door.

  “I’ll give you some privacy. I love you, Sloan.”

  He must be really backpedaling. We haven’t dropped the L-bomb yet, and this isn’t exactly how I imagined it happening. He closes the door behind him and my skin begins to crawl. I don’t know if I won or lost, but I know I’m playing a dangerous game here with Arthur.

  I don’t remember getting out of the bathtub and going to bed, but when my alarm goes off at 5:00 a.m., I can tell I’m alone. I want to hit the snooze button a couple of times just to enjoy the luxury of being sprawled out in the middle of the king-sized bed. My sleep was so deep, I don’t know if he came and went, but it’s a new day and I have a lot of shit to accomplish.

  I have a really long biology lab, a handful of papers due later this week, and then I’m working second shift. I’m going to need a lot of coffee to survive this one.

  I get dressed quickly in some jeans and a hoodie and don’t even bother with makeup. I can do that later if I feel so inclined. Arthur isn’t a huge fan of it anyway. I stuff my scrubs and my gym clothes into my backpack. If I time it perfectly, I should be able to get a quick workout in before my job.

  I head down the steps and into the kitchen, fiending for my morning caffeine fix.

  Arthur’s leaning over the counter looking seriously sexy for this time of day. His face is glowing like he just got done with a long run, and his messy blond hair and big thick black glasses hit me in all the right lady parts. His sweatpants hit low on his hips, his abs making that big giant f-me arrow that I can’t keep my eyes off of.

  “I got your coffee ready and your lunch is packed, dear,” he says. I kiss him on the lips passionately, pulling his body into me.

  “You’re so sexy, Arthur. How’d I get so lucky?”

  “Hey now.” He smiles. “I’m the lucky one. Do you need money so you can grab dinner between school and work?”

  Maybe he had a change of heart. He was probably just having a moment of insecurity last night. It happens to the best of us.

  “I’m good. Thank you though.”

  He runs his hand down my ba
ck and gives my ass a little squeeze. “You better get going, babe. Have a good day.”

  I pick up my backpack and grab the thermos of coffee from the counter.

  “Hey, Arthur?” I say as he walks me to the door. “I love you too.” I hurry to the car before I can see his reaction. I thought it would feel more natural, or at least more exciting, but in all actuality, it just felt like a pile of words.

  Oh well. Onwards and upwards.

  I’m driving to campus when my phone rings. It’s Pamela, one of the nurses I work with at the home.

  “Sloan,” she says, her voice quivering. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m on my way to class, Pam. What’s up?”

  “Is there any way you can come in a little early tonight?”

  “I will come as soon as I’m done with school. Is everything ok?”

  There’s a prolonged silence followed by some deep hard sobs.

  “Pam!” I shout. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “It’s Stanley.” She’s sniffling. “His wife found him passed out at the bottom of their basement steps this morning. It looks like he fell. He’s in surgery now, but I have no idea what kind of condition he’s in.”

  My blood runs cold.

  It has to be a coincidence.

  Arthur would NEVER.

  “I’ll cover for him, Pam. No worries. Keep me updated if you hear anything.”

  I try to concentrate on the road ahead. No worries. He’s old and frail. It’s probably just a coincidence.

  Chapter 6

  Gavin:

  Speeding is an understatement.

  I’m not paying attention to how fast I’m going. I don’t even really know where I’m going, and I definitely have no idea what I’m going to do whenever I get there.

  Whatever it takes.

  I’m in such a hurry, I’m splitting trucks on the freeway, driving in between them on my bike, trying not to let my road rage get the best of me. My mind is empty of anything except pure rage.

  I try to imagine my mother’s face, but all I can see is red. Red, and the road ahead.

  The apartment complex looks like a place I wouldn’t even want to park my bike, let alone raise my child. I thought this guy was a fucking suit. Thought he had money.

  Maybe I could see a parent giving up his child if he knew they were going to have a better life. I don’t know why I’m making excuses for my old man.

  I’m greeted with the smell of cat piss and moldy newspapers when I step into the hallway. It hits me like a ton of bricks, almost bringing me to my knees. The walls are yellowed with years of cigarette smoke. This place is fucking disgusting, and I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.

  I put my ear to the door, apartment 218. I don’t even know if they’re here, but it makes no difference. I will wait as long as it takes. I have all the time in the world now. Nowhere to be but up on the hill.

  I double-check the gun in my waistband. Hopefully, I won’t have to use it, and if I do, hopefully, it will just be for show. I don’t know what Goob’s been through, but I’m sure it’s enough to last a lifetime. I don’t want to scare him. I just want to get him back where he belongs, grab him and tell him I’ll never let him out of my sight ever again.

  I slowly turn the doorknob. Worth a shot. It’s definitely unlocked.

  What’s the game plan, Gavin?

  I don’t need a game plan. As soon as I crack the door open and peek inside, there is only one plan.

  I’m going to kill this asshole.

  Chapter 7

  Sloan:

  I don’t know if he left it sitting on the coffee table by accident, or if he was actually trying to taunt me.

  Arthur and my father are in the kitchen, talking low and serious. I’ve learned to keep my nose out of their meetings. It’s none of my business.

  I have never seen a stamp bag in real life, but I know enough to recognize that menacing little wax baggie. I knew Arthur’s business wasn’t necessarily legit, but this was the first time he had left me a clue.

  Only it was more than a clue.

  It was a message.

  Stamped on the bag in pink ink was none other than my name, “Sloan,” in big bold letters.

  I pick it up and burst into the kitchen. The two are hunched over the table, counting money and smoking cigars.

  “There’s our future doctor,” my dad gushes, and for the first time in years, he looks happy to see me. He and Arthur are thick as thieves these days and I’m not sure if his kindness is genuinely directed towards me, or more of a way to impress Arthur. His gray hair is slicked back in a feeble attempt to hide his bald spot and he wears a tacky button-down bowling shirt. It looks like he’s been spending too much time in my stepmother’s tanning bed, and the orange glow of his skin does nothing to mask the liver spots dotting his face. The man always thought he was Tony fucking Soprano or something, but he couldn’t organize a spice rack, let alone a crime.

  I don’t acknowledge him. I go straight to the source.

  “What the fuck is this?” I toss the bag across the table.

  He doesn’t even look up from the pile of cash in front of him. He pushes his thick black glasses back up his nose and thumbs a banded stack of hundred-dollar bills.

  “Your college tuition.”

  Bile churns in my stomach and begins burning its way up my esophagus. I can taste the acrid liquid in my mouth, and I gag.

  “What did you think, I was running a daycare center or something?” He chuckles, his tone dripping with condescension. My dad lets out a hearty, dirty laugh and blows a thick cloud of cigar smoke in my face.

  “I want to be a doctor so I can make people better,” I’m barely able to squeak out. I feel like a little child. “This goes against everything I believe in, Arthur.”

  I’m crawling out of my skin. To think that I am using someone else’s suffering as my gain made me just as bad as he is, even if it’s unknowingly. I’m a monster.

  “You are making people better, love. All the junkies are lining up for a hit of Sloan. They think you’re the greatest thing since ‘Get High or Die’.”

  I can’t hold it in any longer. I bend over the kitchen sink, foaming at the mouth, the contents of my stomach backing up the drain.

  “They deserve it, Sloan.” I hear his chair slide out and I brace myself. I can’t handle his touch right now, his smell, even his presence in the same room is making me sick. I dry heave, nothing left to give.

  He puts his hand on the small of my back and I wince. “It’s natural selection, babe.”

  I need to go but my legs won’t move. I need to scream, but the only things coming out are pathetic sobs, sounds I don’t recognize, sounds of a completely broken and defeated woman. He turns me around and hugs me to his body and I go limp, not sure if I can support my weight any longer.

  “You need to listen to Arthur, Sloan. He’s a good man,” my dad scolds. “He is just trying to take care of you. I’m not going to be around forever, you know.”

  Dad has never taken care of me.

  He was always tangled up in the shadiest shit as long as I could remember. Mom constantly turned a blind eye, justifying his lies. “He’s a good man, he provides for us!”

  Now she’s in a hole. And I might as well be. Stuck here forever, being “provided for.”

  “I need to go lie down,” I say, breaking away from his embrace. Maybe I could disappear into the night without them noticing.

  I drag my weary body up the staircase to the bedroom. I don’t even turn the lights on, just slam the door and fall into the bed. Within minutes, I hear the door creek open. I see his shadow looming there, taking up the whole doorway. I roll over and pretend like I’m asleep.

  He sits down on the side of the bed and brushes my hair out of my face.

  “Honey,” he whispers, “it’s not what it looks like.”

  I want to believe him. Thinking about the lifestyle we live, the cars we drive, the mansion, there’s no way in hell
it could be funded with cheap bags of junk.

  “When I told you I would take care of you, I meant I would take care of your family, too. I know your dad needs work, and this just seemed like a good job for him. You know him better than I do. I just figured it would keep him busy and would probably be hard for him to fuck up.”

  There was truth to what he was saying. I’m sure my dad had sold drugs in the past, and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.

  “He loves you so much, Sloan. I just assumed you would want to see him have a chance at a better life for himself and your family.”

  Everything he says sounds so selfless. I wish I could turn the switch off in my brain that scrutinizes everything, that pores over his every word, waiting to catch him in a lie. If the old man wants to sell street drugs, likely the only thing he’s any good at, stopping him is selfish. If people want them, they’re going to find somewhere to get them regardless.

  “Why do you guys have to put my name all over that shit?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “I’m sorry. That was his suggestion, and at the time, it sounded kind of cute to me. He wanted to make sure everyone knew all the money he makes is going towards putting you through college. I promise you’ll never see it again.”

  “So you’re not selling stamp bags?”

  “Shit, Sloan, I’ve never sold a stamp bag in my life. That’s way below my pay grade.”

  I try to take that answer at face value and not read into it, but my gut is telling me otherwise.

  He flicks the lamp on the nightstand on and my eyes strain to adjust to the light. Between the crying and puking, it feels like they are swollen shut.

  “We have reservations at Miyake in an hour if you’re up for it.”

  “I’m trying to be mad at you,” I groan. He knows me too well. I’m easy. The best sushi in town always serves as an adequate bribe.

  “Do you want me to just grab you some takeout then?”