Mike

by Daniela Jackson

  Yes, his eyes are like mine. I’ve noticed that too. I count years. No—

  Yes, that’s very fucking possible.

  Memories flash through my head—Lizzie rubbing her body against mine, her skilled fingers, her hot mouth, ten minutes of fever and insanity in the back seat of my car. She was desperate as was I. We helped each other in a certain way.

  I remember Thunder when he came to tell me he’d be a father. The guy had always thought he was sterile.

  Fucking bitch. She had kept it secret for so many years.

  I know she loved Dimitri, but she punished me instead of punishing him.

  I saved her life and she has just destroyed mine, even though now she’s six feet under.

  I go towards the clubhouse and enter it. My eyes search for Rebel and I see him sitting at the bar. I move closer to him and lay my hand on his shoulder.

  He turns rapidly as his fist slams on my face. Stars twirl in my head, but at least I have my answer.

  We clash and tumble onto one of the tables. I don’t want to punch him, but he keeps thrusting his fists into my chest so I sweep mine.

  He steps back, guarding his stomach then leaps at me. I manage to shove him away.

  “Talk to me,” I growl, spitting out blood.

  “Fuck off.” Rebel flings himself towards me.

  The boys surround us and many hands immobilise us as Gabriel moves closer to us.

  “You’re out, Rebel,” Gabriel says.

  Rebel growls like a furious tiger.

  “No, Prez,” I say. “Let me handle this.”

  I fucking have to fix this whole mess. Rebel knows who I am. No, Rebel is my kid and I have to do something about it.

  “I said he’s out,” Gabriel says.

  “One last chance for him,” I say. “I’ll keep him in check.”

  Gabriel raises his eyebrows, threads his fingers through his short silver hair and nods. “You’d better. If he involves himself in another stupid fight with one of the brothers, you’re out too.”

  I salute him then grab Rebel’s arm. “Outside. Now.”

  We tumble out of the clubhouse, and he tears himself away from my grip.

  “Fuck off, man,” he barks.

  “Mike,” Daisy squeaks behind me.

  “Not now, Daisy,” I yell. “What the fuck did I tell you?”

  Fucking hell. Two teens at the same time that’s just too much.

  A wide grin crosses Rebel’s face. “Soon, old man.” He runs his finger along his throat like he’s slitting it then points his finger at me and walks off.

  My head feels like it will explode and I have to fix it as well.

  Daisy

  Mike drags me to the caravan and shoves me inside.

  “I just wanted to help,” I say.

  “Don’t help me, okay? I don’t need your fucking help. Cook something. Eat something. Go to bed. I’m going to get drunk tonight.”

  “Mike, please—“

  “See you later.”

  He walks out, slamming the door shut behind him. The glass rings as do all the molecules of my body. I walk into the narrow claustrophobic kitchen and stand under the strip light that casts a corpse-like hue onto my skin. Everything is dirty.

  My hands shake as I open the fridge and see the expanse of dirty nothingness. Spiders would add some charm to the inside of it.

  Tears fill up my eyes. I feel breathless. Mike’s words strike my brain; helplessness and humiliation mix in my chest, burning, stabbing. I wanted to be a wife to him, because he needed me, but he doesn’t want my help or my presence here.

  I stagger out of the caravan and my tears blind me. I want to go back to my home in the Spanish Pyrenees.

  There’s no marriage, no home, no future for me here.

  “Are you alright?” a breathy voice asks.

  I rub my eyes and see an elf-girl. I blink a few times. No, she’s a human and I’m still sane.

  She moves closer to me, her long platinum-blonde hair cascading down to her waist like a waterfall. Her cold blue eyes widen as she strokes my arm.

  “Leave her, Star,” a harsh male voice says.

  My eyes travel to Rebel and the dark rage in his glance makes me step back.

  Star grips my arm. “Why are you crying?”

  “Her old man is a dickhead,” Rebel says.

  “He’s not,” I sniffle.

  “Star, let’s go,” Rebel says.

  “Do you need anything?” Star asks. “I can help.”

  “Grocery shopping,” I shriek. “A bleach bomb so I could detonate it in the kitchen.”

  Star looks at Rebel.

  “No,” he says and looks at me like he wants to twist my neck.

  “Yes,” she says and pulls his arm as a little girl would, her eyes pleading silently.

  “Her old man is an asshole and it means that she’s an asshole too.” Rebel grins at me. “We don’t help assholes.”

  I show him my middle finger as Star looks at him sternly then she holds his hand in hers.

  “Go,” Star says. “Don’t forget about three bottles of bleach.”

  Rebel grunts then leans towards her and kisses the top of her head. He walks off and I’m stunned.

  “Let’s examine your kitchen,” Star says and she’s the first to go inside as I shake my head, take a few deep breaths and finally follow her.

  She enters the kitchen. “Fuck.”

  “Yes, fuck.” I extend my arm to shake hands. “Daisy.”

  “I know. Mike’s little wifey. A piece of good news travels fast here.” She squeezes my hand with hers and lowers to inspect the cupboards. “My. God.”

  “I haven’t checked the rest yet.”

  “Don’t do this without a bottle of bleach in your hand.”

  “He needs me desperately, you know, but he doesn’t want me.” I inhale convulsively almost like my auntie Sive.

  “Mike? He’s rough around the edges, but he’s a good man.”

  “I know, but…”

  “Tell me your story.” Her eyes flicker with curiosity. “I love good stories.” She’s excited like a five-year-old.

  A connection forms between us like a piece of thread—delicate, but I know it will harden.

  “Tell me,” she insists.

  So I start telling her the story of my life. Of course, in the way, Boulder and Dimitri taught me. My identity must remain secret or the Voronin Bratva’s hitman may find me and put a bullet into the back of my skull.

  We sit in the living room that smells of beer and damp as I continue my story.

  Rebels walks into the caravan an hour later. He puts two bags of grocery shopping on the floor by the corner couch.

  “Let’s go,” he says.

  “We have to help her,” Star says.

  “No.” he growls.

  “Yes,” Star growls.

  “I said no, Star.” Rebel grabs her hand.

  “I said yes, Rebel,” Star snaps.

  I see his jaw clench then he tosses her hair. “Alright.”

  I watch them, paralysed.

  They both dig their hands into the bags and take kitchen cleaner, bathroom cleaner, sponges and cloths out. There’s something delicate yet solid connecting them. Sol’s face flashes through my head then Gunner Junior’s.

  I emit a desperate sigh as Star and Rebel start cleaning my caravan.

  “Move your lazy ass and make me a cup of coffee,” Rebel says to me.

  I rush to the kitchen and make three coffees. Then I join them and we’re in a cleaning frenzy for about an hour.

  The smell of detergents fills the air, and we sit in the living room, sipping our second coffee.

  “I’m going back home tomorrow,” I say. “So thank you very much for your help.”

  “Is your old man going with you?” Rebel asks as his face turns into a ruthless mask.

  “I’m getting divorced actually.” I put my hands on my lap.

  Rebel erupts into laughter. “A very swift end of
that marriage of yours.” He narrows his eyes. “He won’t allow you to go.”

  I shrug. “That’s my decision to make.”

  “You have no right to make any decisions here, bitch.” Rebel shakes his head like I’m funny to him.

  I digest his roughness. An urge boils inside of me. “Who is Lizzie, Rebel?”

  His eyes bore through me. “Don’t fucking ask me any questions, bitch.” He rises to his feet. “Star.”

  “Lizzie was his mom,” Star says.

  Rebel grips the back of her neck and shoves her towards the door. “Enough.”

  “You’re Mike’s son,” I say.

  “Oh, you’ve noticed that too,” Star says as she rotates her body, escaping Rebel’s grip and she moves closer to me. “Nobody else has. Just me and you.” She folds her hands as if praying and something subtle in her eyes makes me feel uneasy.

  “It’s so obvious when you look at them together,” I say.

  Rebel yanks her arm, but she pulls back.

  “Daisy is nice to us, can’t you see?” she yells.

  “I don’t give a fuck,” he rumbles. “Out. Now.”

  They leave the caravan, and I sit in the couch for a few minutes then I start cooking for Mike. It takes me about three hours. After all the dishes are ready, I cool them and organise them, then I go have a shower and lie down on the bed, waiting for him.

  He tumbles into the caravan as the day is about to dawn and smells of alcohol and tobacco. He mutters something unintelligible and falls asleep on the floor in the kitchen.

  I stand by his limp body. The odour of alcohol makes me retch. Thoughts bombard my brain. I don’t want my husband to get drunk like this. I don’t want to be treated like a nuisance. I don’t want to wonder whether he allowed another woman to touch him. Everything could happen when a man is that drunk. I don’t want these unpleasant thoughts and this unpleasant life.

  I pack my bag and wait for him to recover in the living room to say my goodbyes.

  Star knocks on the front door at 10.30 am.

  “Hi!” I say to her.

  “You didn’t sleep last night, huh?”

  “No.”

  “Mike still drunk, right?”

  “Yep, he’s lying unconscious in the kitchen.”

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “I—“

  She grabs my hand and yanks me out of the caravan. “Your divorce can wait. I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay.”

  She guides me across the compound as the men and women living here shoot me cold, almost primal glances. Toughness and curiosity radiate from them. I see a lot of beards, bald heads, tattoos, cuts, jean short skirts.

  We pass the side of the clubhouse, and I see two women leaning against the railing of the balcony above my head. They’re wearing satin kimono robes and lacy underwear.

  “Our dancers,” Star says.

  “Strippers you mean?”

  Her eyes twitch. “What are strippers?”

  I feel my throat pulse. “They’re dancers.” I stroke her arm. “Forget it.”

  She bobs her head, and I continue to learn about the compound. There are a few wooden houses as we pick our way through the narrow passages between them and then we pass six caravans. My eyes slide over piles of rusty iron parts, piles of tyres, wheelie bins.

  Star pulls me towards a shed built of metal and we sneak inside. I drop onto a mattress spread by the wall below the only window with newspapers obscuring it.

  Star hands me a can of lemonade and a pack of crisps. She sits beside me.

  “How old are you?” I ask.

  “Almost sixteen. You?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “You’re like my older sister.”

  I chuckle. “Okay. I can be your sister. Do you have any siblings?”

  “Yes, but Sky doesn’t live here. I see her twice a year.”

  “Okay, so now you have another sister here.”

  She bobs her head. “Rebel is seventeen. He’ll be eighteen in a month.”

  “Are you two together?”

  “No. He’s like my older brother, you know. I guess I’ll be his little sister forever.”

  “He doesn’t look at you like you’re his sister.”

  Her eyes fix on mine, pleading, hoping. “No?”

  “He stares at you tits when you don’t look at him. He stares at your ass when you don’t look at him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m good at reading people.”

  I’ve read a hundred of psychology books—my main entertainment in the mountains where my family home is. I have no friends there. I was home schooled. I’m a freak, but at least, I’m a knowledgeable freak.

  Star huffs out. “Yes, my questions to you. Who are you people?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mike brought Lizzie to our compound many years ago. She was a kind of prisoner here, you know. She told me she’d been a maid in Chaviva. What is Chaviva?”

  My heart stops beating. Ice fills my veins. “Who else knows about this?”

  “Nobody. She told me to keep it secret so I keep it secret.” Her voice is strangely childish.

  A thought stirs in my head. A black, slimy, cold thought. I should twist Star’s neck and silence her forever. I know how to do this. Dimitri taught me well.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Star says, “but I did my research, you know. There’s an estate in the desert. A business man owned it, but there was a sink hole and part of the building collapsed.”

  I lay my hands on her shoulders. “Don’t dig deeper. It can kill you, trust me.”

  “I’m not stupid, Daisy.”

  “I know. I just—“

  “A motorcycle club was smashed in the desert. I heard my dad mention this to Rebel’s dad. Yours?” She looks me in the eye. “Of course, it was yours.”

  “You have to keep quiet, Star.”

  “I didn’t tell anyone, not even Rebel, you know. I didn’t tell anyone, I promise.”

  “Good.”

  “You can trust me, Daisy. I’m your sister, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Sisters trust each other and they share mutual secrets, right?”

  “Right.”

  Now, I see how lonely she is. As lonely as me. She’s desperate to be my sister. I hope she’s desperate enough to keep quiet.

  “My grandpa called Lizzie a bitch,” I say. “But my mom spoke about her with warmth and compassion. My grandma spoke about her with warmth and compassion even though she never met her.”

  “She was nice. Hurt and angry, but nice to me. And she was a really good mom to Rebel.”

  “Mike—“

  “I was by her bed when she died. Mike really is Rebel’s father. She told me this.”

  I suck in a breath. “Fuck.”

  “Stay, Daisy. Stay and help me to make Rebel happy. He’s so torn, you know. He loved his mom, he loves his dad, Thunder, and he wants to kill Mike.”

  Right. I’m going to get divorced, but it seems like I have to sort out the shit between Mike and Rebel first. I don’t want any corpses on me.

  Chapter 9

  Mike

  I wake up and silence whips me. Then my headache attempts to kill me—it’s like a warm iron is pressed against my forehead, and my temples pulsate.

  “Daisy,” I growl, my throat dry like a desert. “Daisy, where the fuck are you?” I sit up and lean against the cupboard. “Daisy.”

  An eerie, cold silence answers me.

  “Daisy, baby, where are you?”

  There’s even more of this cold silence. Uneasiness sits on my chest.

  Fuck. I hope she’s alright. I have no brain. I brought her here, threw her into the caravan and left her in this hostile environment on her own.

  The smell of spring settles in my nostrils—freshness, grass, flowers. Cleanliness shines around me. My wifey must have been busy cleaning the mess I left.

  A sense of guilt wafts through me.


  “Daisy,” I rasp and cough.

  Nothingness answers me.

  I rise to my feet as the uneasiness presses against my chest harder with every second that passes and something strangles my throat. I check every room in the caravan, but she’s not here. I walk out and see her emerge from behind a pine tree.

  “Where have you been?” I growl.

  “None of your business.”

  I grip her arm and she winces in disgust.

  “Mike, no offence, but you stink. Have a shower.” Daisy pinches her nose.

  I know this gesture so well. She did it when she was a kid and I had never-ending hangovers. Nostalgia and sadness squeeze my heart then pain and warmth mix in my chest.

  I’ve experienced only love from her—a child’s love, a teen’s love, a woman’s love.

  I could learn love from her. I love her, but I lack skills to show her my love for her. It’s fucking difficult. I have love inside me, but I can’t use it, share it.

  “Daisy, I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a Neanderthal.”

  “Have a shower, Mike. And eat something.” Her voice is as cold as a glacier.

  It’s fucking scary. I feel like I’m losing my heart.

  I obey her. Maybe if I behave myself, she’ll decide to be my little rat back again.

  I have a shower, shave my face, and eat the food she’s cooked for me.

  We sit in the living room, and I pull her onto my lap. “Are we good, Daisy?”

  “No.”

  I kiss her cheek. “Why the fuck not?”

  She turns her face to me and I see the fallen angel seeking revenge. “You brought Dimitri’s maid here. You were supposed to off her, Mike.”

  Ice fills my veins. “How did you know about this?”

  “I’m Alekseev Bratva, remember? My grandpas taught me to know things. My childhood wasn’t normal, remember? I had to learn to be observant so as to stay alive. I had to learn to hear whispers. I had to learn to draw conclusions.”

  “This is club business, Daisy. You shouldn’t have poked your nose into club business.”

  “I am who I am. I know what I know. You can’t blame me for being the product of our club’s strategy for survival.” She pulls away from me and moves back, stopping in the doorway. “I’m going to Star’s place for a sleepover. There’s food in the fridge. Have fun.”

  “Daisy, baby—“