by Deja Voss
He’s either going to be the death of me, or he’s going to save my life, and at this point, I don’t know what’s worse.
“I’m glad you called,” Scott says. He’s dressed in plain clothes, but by the way he’s standing with his hand on his hip, his posture screams cop. “I was worried about you.”
“What can you tell me?” I ask him.
“I don’t really have much. I know the DEA is heavily invested, though.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“It depends. I can’t make any promises, but I’m sure your cooperation will warrant you some sort of leniency.”
I watch as Bender starts digging a hole in the ground. He starts eating the pile of dirt he made, as he rolls around in circles on his back, his gray fur turning a muddy brown.
“Cute dog,” Scott says, and in an instant changes his tone. “Is there any record of the abuse Arthur has been putting you through? Have you confided in anyone? The police… a professor… a colleague at the hospital…”
“You’re kidding, right?” I say. “Knowing what you know about Arthur, do you really think I want to blast our personal life to the board of directors at the hospital?”
“I’m just being optimistic, I guess.”
“So basically I’m fucked unless people think he’s beating me.”
“Well, he is, Sloan! God, I am so disappointed in you right now. You’re brilliant and you’re beautiful. Why are you doing this to yourself?” His face is red with anger and he’s clenching his fists.
“It’s complicated,” I say, and coming from my mouth, it sounds utterly stupid. It’s not complicated. I’m in love with a loser who hurts me. I’m just as messed up as he is. “Besides, the condition he’s in lately, he can barely make it from the couch to the bed. He can’t hurt me anymore.”
“Maybe you think he can’t physically hurt you, but I can promise you he’s still an active player in the trafficking community. You know if he goes down he’s going to do everything he can to bring you down with him.”
I want to think otherwise. I want to think he loves me enough to leave me alone. He’s always been so adamant about me finishing school and being successful. He’s the only person who’s really ever pushed me.
“What can I do to make you cooperate?” Scott pleads. “I’m trying to help you here, Sloan.”
I watch Bender rolling around in his dirt pile, happy as a pig in shit, scratching his back and wagging his tail. This fucking dog. He’s got me wrapped around his paw. I want to do right by him.
“I’ll do whatever it takes. Just promise me if I get locked up, you’ll give Bender a good life. I want it in writing.”
For the first time today, I see him smile, and it brings me so much comfort. He’s a good person. I don’t know why he’s taken such a liking to me, but having him near me makes me feel good, makes me feel safe. I laugh nervously.
“Set it up,” I say, walking over to Bender and hooking him back up to his leash. “Whoever I need to talk to. I’m gonna take this dirtball to the dog wash.”
“I’ll be in touch soon. Please, Sloan, if he hurts you, you need to call me. When he hurts you, I should say.”
The thought is harrowing. I have this false sense of security that everything is going to be ok now, but I realize this is only the beginning. I have to go home and be Arthur’s girlfriend. For the first time, I hope we have a stockpile of heroin lying around. If keeping him dosed to heaven is what I have to do, then that’s what’s going to happen.
Chapter 19
Gavin:
The Bucktail Saloon had always been a nice “aboveground” legit moneymaker for the club, something my grandfather built to give back to the community and use as a source of viable income to support the club.
It had always been a rustic dive bar, open not only to bikers, but the people who travel through our little rural town and the folks who live here.
The club had been struggling to find reliable management over the last few years, and I figure since I’m back in town I might as well see what I can do to breathe a little life into the old place because as it sits now, it’s just a giant money pit.
After a few months without any accountability for my life, I’m beginning to think I need a reason to get out of bed in the morning other than to escape the death grip of whatever bird flew in the door with me the night before. The farmhouse is a fun distraction, but if I’m going to get out of this rut, make this life work for me, I need more.
I bring Brooks along, knowing he’ll want to do whatever he can to help me preserve our legacy, but when we walk in the front door, he immediately makes a U-turn.
“Get back here,” I say, grabbing him by the cut.
I don’t blame him, though.
It’s dark and dingy, a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging stagnant in the air, making it even harder to see.
The music is loud, and on a stage in the corner, a woman who looks as old as my mother is dancing in a bikini. No one is really paying much attention to her, and I’m not sure if the handful of dollar bills on the stage is to encourage her to dance more or give up.
“Hey, cutie,” a haggard brunette cackles as she wraps her arm around me. “Gimme twenty bucks and I’ll take you in the back and show you a good time.”
“Sorry, sweetie,” I say. “You gotta go.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she snaps at me. “Pookie, this guy is trying to tell me what to do.”
Old Pookie looks up from his newspaper, grizzled as ever.
“Yeah, Pookie,” I hiss. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Brooks laughs. “You look like you just saw a ghost!”
I’d be surprised if he wasn’t shitting in his pants as we spoke.
“Gavin, hey, son…” he stutters.
The hooker standing next to me must be high off her ass because she doesn’t seem to notice the reality of the situation.
“Pookie, come on!” she wails. “I always pay my cut!”
“I’m sure you do, now out you go,” I say, grabbing her by the arm as politely as possible and tossing her out the front door. All eyes are on me. “Everybody else, too. Outta here. We’re closing early today.”
Everyone leaves silently. My leather cut speaks for itself. Nobody is trying to throw down with a misfit today.
“You guys want a drink?” the old man suggests. “Is everything ok?”
“I guess I’m just really confused. What the hell happened here? I feel like I walked into a crackhouse.”
“It’s complicated, son,” he says, setting up three rocks glasses on the bar. “It’s not like it used to be. I’m too old to be doing this on my own. Your father keeps nagging me for more money but this place isn’t making it. I brought the girls in, thinking it would help.”
“And those are the girls you brought in?”
“Look at me, son. I’m a washed-up old biker. I’m sure back in my heyday I’d be out slaying pussy like you two, but there comes a point when times change.”
I feel bad for the old guy.
“Listen, I’m back in town now. I want to get this place up and running like it was when Grandpa was still alive. No more of this shady shit.”
His face lights up.
“God, you remind me so much of him.”
That in itself is the highest honor to me. If I could live to be anything like that man, it would be a life well spent. At this point, though, I don’t feel like I’m doing him any justice. He has some big shoes to fill.
“You in?” I ask Pookie. “I have no idea what I’m doing and you have the experience. We’ll set you up with a cushy office job.”
“Yeah,” Brooks laughs. “One that doesn’t involve being responsible for hiring the entertainment.”
He shrugs and pours us each a whiskey. “You’re a cocky fuck, Brooks, ya know that?”
It feels like every move I make is bringing me further away from what I thought I wanted for my life, yet everywhere
I turn, I see my grandfather. His vision.
He built the infrastructure, but not for my father. He built it for me. This is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. Finishing this house he started to build. Picking up where he left off.
There’s only one thing standing in my way. One man. The bridge between our generations.
This bar is just the beginning.
Pookie fishes something out of his wallet and hands it to me. It’s a picture of him and a few other club members, young and strapping, straddling their bikes; a bunch of bearded outlaws hanging out on the side of a mountain. I’m sitting on my grandfather’s shoulders.
“Can I borrow this?” I ask. I want to blow it up and have it framed. Hang it right behind the bar so that everyone who walks in the door knows who we are. What we mean. Where we come from. The Mountain Misfits MC is about to reclaim their glory days.
Chapter 20
Sloan:
I bolt upright in my bed. I heard him come in the front door, but I was hoping he’d leave me alone. I don’t know what kind of drugs he’d been getting into lately, but it seems like he is becoming more and more violent as each day passes. Normally, I could just avoid him. It wasn’t too difficult to outsmart a junkie, or at the very least, distract him long enough that he passed out and lost interest.
Something didn’t feel right about tonight, though.
He’s wandering around the kitchen, clanking through the cabinets.
Maybe I can make it to the bedroom door in time to lock him out if I just creep carefully enough.
I hear the pilot light on the stove, and as I tiptoe across the room, I can see out of the corner of my eye that he has the teakettle going.
“There’s my girl,” I hear his voice call out, and I instantly feel like I’m going to puke.
“Hey,” I say. “I have to be at the hospital early in the morning. I’m just gonna close the door so I don’t bother you.”
“You know how I feel about that, Sloan.” He’s pacing back and forth, and I know he has something on his mind. Better to just cooperate and get it over with.
I join him in the kitchen.
“You want tea?” I ask. He’d never drank tea in the ten years I was with him. “I have some chamomile. It makes you nice and sleepy.”
He just continues to pace, every footstep on the hardwood making my heart skip a beat.
I reach into the overhead cabinet above the stove and pull out some teabags. I go to the rack near the sink and grab two mugs. Suddenly, a searing pain rips through my arm.
He’s dumping boiling water over my bicep, smiling from ear to ear. It hurts so bad, I can’t even scream, can’t even run away. I just stare in horror as I smell my skin sizzle. I am in shock.
“I never liked that fucking thing,” he says, as he sears away the little flower tattoo. “You don’t need other men’s names on your body.”
“Arthur,” I barely bleat out, as I slide down the cabinets, falling to the floor. “It’s my fucking grandfather’s name.” I baby my arm as I crawl across the floor. I need to get to the bathroom. As a doctor, I know I need to start first aid immediately, before muscle damage starts setting in.
He laughs at my pathetic attempt, stands over me, and presses the bottom of the kettle to my arm, branding it with the red-hot rings that had just come off the flaming stove. This time, I scream. It doesn’t matter.
Nobody can hear me.
“Arthur,” I plead, tears running down my face. “You need to take me to the hospital. If you want me to be able to perform surgery ever again, I need your help.”
He hovers over me, the look of glee on his face turning to panic. I don’t last long. My body has had enough; my brain shuts down.
When I come to, I’m in the hospital.
He’s by my side, a big bouquet of flowers in his lap.
I eye the bandage on my arm, the white gauze dressing. As I wiggle my fingers, the pain instantly makes me cry.
“Oh, baby,” he says, stroking my hair out of my face, “It’s going to be ok.”
He hits the red button attached to the morphine drip running from my adjacent arm.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
I know he means it.
And that completely terrifies me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I keep seeing Officer Brighton pacing the halls, dressed in plain clothes. Maybe I was just hallucinating. I don’t have the energy in me to try and distract Arthur, to try and get him to leave the room. Hopefully, he’ll need a fix before too long.
I hear his phone ring and I try to fight back a smile.
“I gotta take this, I’m sorry,” he says, standing up and stepping out of the room.
As Scott sneaks in, I feel a mixture of relief and anxiety.
“How’d you know I was here?” I ask.
“Sloan, we are watching you guys like a hawk. I want you to know that.”
“Is it almost time?” I plead.
“You got everything ready to go?”
I have my letter written to the board of directors at the hospital and the dean of the college. I vaguely told Olive about what’s going on, gave her just enough information to scare the shit out of her, but not so much to blow what was about to go down.
In the past few weeks, I have met with the local police, the DEA, and the FBI. I have learned all about the scope of Arthur’s drug trafficking ring, everything I’ve willingly turned a blind eye to for our whole relationship. I automatically assume anyone I see anywhere near my apartment is an undercover cop. Maybe it’s because I’m on the inside of all this, but for a man as powerful as Arthur, you’d think he would notice too. Once again, I’m thankful he’s taken a proclivity to using.
“Are you gonna take Bender?” I ask. My one concern. My fucking dog.
“He’s at my house right now. I’m sure my kids are going to have a field day with him.”
“That makes me so happy, Scott.” I reach over to pat his shoulder, but I’m quickly reminded of the searing pain that my arm is not going to cooperate with me for a while.
“Why so soon? I thought you were still building a case.”
“It was supposed to happen within the month, but I can’t in good faith wait around and see what this sick fuck plans on doing to you next, so we decided to move. I know you’re in really rough shape right now. Do you think you’re going to be able to stick to the plan? You ready to get arrested?”
“Here?” I ask. I knew I was going to have to do a lot of explaining to the staff when all of this was said and done, but I really don’t want the attention of the people here actually seeing me get cuffed. Even if I’m not getting in any trouble, it will live on in everyone’s memory for the rest of my career.
“No, no. I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re getting discharged sometime tomorrow. We’ll pull you over on the ride home. You’ll be safe here tonight, and if he goes anywhere, there are eyes all over.”
“Can’t you just take him now?” I beg. I just want this to be over. I just want to blink and wake up from this nightmare, erase the past eight years like they never happened.
“I would, but that will only undo all your hard work, and you’ll probably end up serving some time as a result, too. I can only get him for assault. We need to get him for everything to get you your immunity. Your cooperation is what’s going to hold this thing together.”
I have heard it over and over again, and I trust it and believe it. It still scares the shit out of me. Even all doped up on whatever is coming out of that line, I know tomorrow isn’t going to be a pleasant day.
“Tomorrow, you probably won’t get much past holding. You’re still gonna get mugshots and everything like a typical arrest. We’ll come in and snatch you up. One meeting, recorded testimony, everything’s set up and you should be free to go. Obviously, we’ll need you for the trial, but we’ll talk about that tomorrow.”
Freedom. I hadn’t thought about it that way. I can’t even remember what that feels l
ike, but if I have to go to jail to find it, by all means, cuff me and stuff me.
“Thank you, Scott. I mean it.”
“Are you sure you absolutely won’t consider witness protection? Arthur is going away for a very long time, but I’m sure he has some people on the outside who aren’t going to be too thrilled.”
“Like my father?” I laugh. “I’m not even worried about it. Let’s just do this thing.”
“All right, I’m gonna sneak out. Be brave. See ya tomorrow.”
He slips out the door and down the hall. I don’t know if it’s the drugs or the fact that I feel safe for the first time in eight years, but I drift into the deepest sleep, not a care in the world.
Chapter 21
Present day
Gavin:
I walk into the packed barroom with a box of mountain moonshine in my arms and set it on the bar. Since Olive has taken over as manager in the last month, it’s been flying off the shelves. Hiring her was one of the best business choices I could’ve made, but I was hoping that having her around would mean I’d at least get to finish what I started with Sloan.
Instead, I have spent the last thirty days keeping it in my pants and wondering when I was finally going to get a chance to see her beautiful face again. Olive was more of a constant nagging reminder than the bridge between us that I hoped she would be.
“Have you heard from her?” I ask as she pours me a glass of whiskey.
“Whoever do you mean?” she says dramatically, batting her eyes.
“Don’t mess with me, woman.”
She just laughs and rolls her eyes.
“Of course I have; she’s my best friend, you know.”
“Well, has she asked about me?” I can’t believe I’m acting so ridiculous. It’s not in my nature to let a girl get under my skin, but this one is driving me absolutely up the wall.
