Truth or Beard

by Penny Reid

  “Sounds like you,” Claire whispered, nudging me with her elbow.

  I blinked. It did sound like me, and I felt an odd lightness in my chest; but it wasn’t a good feeling. I’d always considered myself an outsider in my own family. All my relatives in both Tennessee and Texas were the traditional type—well, everyone but Tina, but Tina and I weren’t much alike either. And now I knew Tina and I shared no blood.

  My relations thought I was a bit strange, my sense of humor odd, my ideas about traveling the world a phase, and that my good sense would eventually prevail.

  Maybe my birth mother had been like me when she was younger. In her case, I supposed that good sense did eventually prevail. She’d settled down, never got married, but she’d grown roots. After making millions with her ingenious patent, she spent her life organizing charity functions and getting her nails done. I shuddered at the thought.

  “She changed,” I said and thought at the same time.

  “Pardon?” Repo asked, like I’d woken him from a trance.

  A harsh gust of wind sent my hair flying, so I gathered the chaotic strands at the base of my neck and twisted them, raising my voice over the music and the sudden breeze. “She changed. My aunt changed. I never saw her wild side.”

  His expression blanked then shuttered; he studied me for a beat, then shrugged, his voice sounding abruptly distant as he said, “She did change.”

  “Do you know why? Did she…I mean…did she ever have any boyfriends? That you remember? Like a high school sweetheart? Or maybe someone in college?” I ignored Claire’s confused expression as I interrogated Repo.

  He didn’t answer. His eyes darted away, then back to mine, more distant than before. “You ask too many questions. A woman should know her place.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at this odd shift in subject and the sudden impatience in his voice. Of course I’d heard the phrase A woman should know her place before, always from an asshole. But something in me couldn’t help playing dumb and poking a stick at this particular asshole.

  So I asked, deadpan, “A woman should know her place? You mean, like her address?”

  “No, baby girl. A woman should know her place. You know, on her back, or on all fours. Wherever her man wants to take her.”

  I grimaced. “You’re joking.”

  “I ain’t joking.”

  Claire huffed.

  “You’re serious? You really think that?” My voice raised a half-octave, unable to contain my disgust.

  “He’s serious,” Claire deadpanned from her place at my elbow.

  I sneered at him. “And your…your old lady? She thinks this way too?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have an old lady, not anymore.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Claire tugged on my elbow and warned, “You don’t want to know.”

  I ignored her, horrified and curious. “No. Tell me. What happened to your old lady?”

  “She didn’t like my fun, so I cut her loose.” Repo’s dark eyes seemed to be watching me closely as he said this, gauging my reaction.

  “Your fun?”

  “He means, his woman didn’t like him…” Claire struggled for a moment, like she didn’t know how to proceed; finally she settled on, “She didn’t like him fucking the club girls. So he told his old lady to get lost.”

  “That’s revolting.”

  Repo grinned, his white teeth now menacing. “Baby girl, that’s club life.”

  “That’s revolting,” I repeated, then added, “and you’re revolting.”

  I didn’t want to look at him anymore.

  I didn’t want to talk to him.

  I wanted to find Tina and get the hell out of here.

  And just at that moment, Catfish and Drill reappeared. This time they came out of the main entrance to the bar and four other bikers were with them. I felt Claire stiffen at my side and take a step back.

  “What the hell?” I heard Repo say, glancing over his shoulder. He turned completely around as they neared, his hands on his hips, standing between us and the approaching gang. “What the hell is this?”

  The men kept advancing, and something about the set of their jaws and the steel in their eyes made my stomach drop.

  “We need to go,” Claire backed up another step, pulling me with her. “Shit, we need to run. Run!”

  But we were too late. They read our intentions before we could gain distance and these men moved like athletes. I’d only managed ten sprinted steps before I was lifted off my feet, big arms closing around my torso and turning me back to the bar.

  I heard Claire screech and cuss, realized she was also being carried. Drill had thrown her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  I also heard Repo rage against the giant who was carrying me. “What the fuck is this? You get your goddamn hands off her right fucking now or I’ll break every finger in your fucking hand!”

  “Sorry, Repo,” Catfish’s baritone rumbled behind me as I fought fruitlessly against his hold; I might as well have been clawing at a boulder. “Razor wants the girl.”

  CHAPTER 27

  “Travel far enough, you meet yourself.”

  ― David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

  ~Duane~

  “Have you called Jess yet?”

  I shook my head, staring out the driver’s side window of Beau’s GTO. It was the Friday after Thanksgiving. Instead of heading to the jam session and delicious coleslaw, we were on our way to the Dragon Biker Bar, unannounced and uninvited. We were presently stopped at the convenience store because Cletus needed duct tape. Jethro escorted Cletus into the store to ensure he didn’t dawdle. And I was driving because I was by far the best driver in case we needed to make a quick getaway.

  I heard Beau curse under his breath next to me then say, “You’re such a dummy.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to call her. I just haven’t called her yet.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “Because I don’t have a plan yet, that’s why. I need to come to her with a plan, not just being stupid.”

  “You are being stupid. What you need to do is call her, tell her you were wrong, beg for her forgiveness, say you’re ready to go whenever she is, and then meet some place for make-up sex. That’s how you do it.”

  “She’s not going to forgive me that easily. That’s why I need a plan. Besides, I want all this mess with the Iron Order over and done with before I set things straight. They’ve taken too much of my time, been too much of a distraction.”

  “You need to stop waiting for everything to be just right, Duane. Haven’t you wasted enough time already?”

  “I’m not asking for your opinion,” I ground out.

  Beau shook his head and sing-songed under his breath, “You’re making a mista-ake.”

  The buzz of my phone offered an alternative to Beau’s meddling. Tina.

  My message to her yesterday was clear: she was no longer needed.

  She hadn’t responded. Not ’til now.

  Tina: Tina can’t come to the phone right now. You should probably call your Uncle Razor, he’s got something you want.

  I frowned at the short text, reading it twice, then cursed.

  “What? What is it?” Beau glanced between me and my phone.

  I showed him my screen.

  He cursed, then said unnecessarily. “I bet she got herself caught.”

  Luckily Jethro and Cletus walked out of the Piggly Wiggly at just that moment and made a beeline for the car.

  “Sorry that took so long. They had a wide selection of duct tape. And Cletus bought silly string.” Jethro sounded irritated as he settled in the car behind me.

  “You can’t rush a duct tape purchase.” In my rearview mirror I saw Cletus clutching the shopping bag to his chest. “Duct tape is man’s answer to electrons and protons. It’s how we keep matter together.”

  Once Beau was back in the car, he grabbed my phone out of my hand and passed it to Cletus. “We may have a problem.”<
br />
  Cletus frowned at the message, then nodded, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses farther up his nose. “Well. Okay then. You can’t make an omelet without heat.”

  “You mean, you can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs,” Beau corrected.

  “No. I meant what I said, you can’t make an omelet without heat. If you have no heat then it’s just watery, raw eggs. That’s not an omelet.”

  “Why are you wearing those stupid glasses, Cletus? You don’t need glasses,” Beau asked impatiently.

  “It’s a fashion statement,” Cletus responded while he typed something into his calculator watch.

  “And to think, I was actually missing y’all last week, before I got home.” Jethro’s sarcasm was cool whip on whipped cream—completely unnecessary.

  “Whatever,” Beau said, straightening in his seat. He was anxious.

  I should have been, but other than hoping Tina hadn’t done anything too crazy, and a measure of guilt for involving her in the first place, all I felt was impatience to have this mess sorted.

  ***

  I wasn’t anxious. Not at all.

  Not until the moment I spotted Jessica James and Claire McClure being carried against their will into the Dragon Biker Bar by two huge men in black leather, trailed by four more men and a shouting Repo.

  The situation didn’t look friendly.

  “What the fuck?” Jethro’s voice was tight. I knew he recognized Ben McClure’s widow by her red hair. Part of me suspected Ben’s death years ago had been the catalyst for Jethro’s abrupt desire to clean up his act.

  “Park the goddamn car, Duane!” Jethro’s voice was now frantic.

  “Give the man a minute,” Cletus reprimanded. “Can’t you see his woman is up there, too?”

  But she wasn’t, not anymore. They’d both been carried into the bar and swallowed up by the black doors.

  I raced the GTO as close to the entrance as I dared and had already parked when Cletus spoke. I didn’t move my seat up to let my brothers out. Instead I ran to the entrance and yanked the door open, scanning the inside for any sign of them and paying no heed to the dozens of bikers staring at me.

  I heard Repo’s angry voice but didn’t see him, so I charged toward the sound. My way was immediately blocked by several gang members.

  “Out of my way!” I growled my frustration, readying my fists for a fight. Somewhere in the background Honky Tonk Blues rattled over an old speaker system.

  “Wait, wait a minute.” I heard Beau from behind me, but I ignored him.

  “Get out of my fucking way!” I shouted, drawing my hand back. I didn’t really register the men’s faces, didn’t need to.

  “Whoa! Hold on!” An older woman with flaming red hair jumped between me and the wall of bikers, her hands held up. “Just cool your shit, Winston. This ain’t no way to show respect.”

  I’d never hit a woman before. But this woman was between me and Jess and that meant she might as well have been a man. Before I could take action, Jethro was suddenly there, standing in front of me.

  “Christine, we just saw your boys grab Claire McClure and Jessica James from the parking lot and carry them inside. You need to bring those women out here right now.”

  Christine shoved her face into Jethro’s and spat, “You don’t order me, Jethro Winston. Claire is my daughter and I’ll remind you who you’re talking to, boy. Coming in here, acting crazy. You wanna die today?”

  I gave the woman another look and immediately registered the resemblance between Claire and Christine. I remembered that I’d met Christine before, years ago at a club picnic when I was a kid. And I’d seen her around town many times, never realizing who she was.

  But none of this information was getting me any closer to Jess. I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth, forcing myself to talk even though all I wanted to do was burn this place to the ground.

  “Look, we’re here to see Razor,” I cut in, glaring at Claire’s momma, then the barrier of bikers behind her. “I got a message he has something I want. And I guarantee I’ve got something he wants. So enough of this standing around chit-chat bullshit. Which of you is going to take us to see the big man?”

  Christine’s eyes moved to me, face still twisted in a sneer. Her glare traveled down then up, as though appraising me for a fight. The bar was eerily quiet and I noticed that the music, wherever it had come from, had been turned off. I also noticed that we were the center of attention. No man was sitting and no woman was talking.

  “I know he’s expecting you.” Her tone was cold and measured. “But he wasn’t expecting four of you boys, just the twins.”

  “Well, we’re all here, and we’re all telling the same story. So let’s go.”

  She studied me, her shrewd eyes moving over my face like she could read my secrets.

  At last she nodded once. “Fine. Follow me, Winston.”

  Christine turned and the impenetrable barrier of bikers split down the middle, creating a straight path through the crowd. I looked beyond Christine, saw we were headed toward a hallway at the back of the bar.

  I heard Cletus from someplace behind me say, “Gentleman, ladies.”

  The walls were black. The doors were black. Everyone was dressed in black. Moving through the crowd was like swimming in a midnight sea surrounded by sharks. I could feel their eyes on me, their stares menacing and hostile.

  Once we entered the hall I glanced behind me. Though the wall of bikers loitered at the edge of the hallway, eight were following us. Christine stopped abruptly, turned, and lifted her chin toward me.

  “Put your hands on the wall and spread your legs.”

  Clenching my jaw, I did as instructed, realizing we’d made it pretty far into the club without being frisked.

  My three brothers also complied, but then after a half minute I heard Cletus say, “That’s silly string.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, watching the interaction between Cletus and one of the bikers patting us down.

  “What’s it do?” the biker asked.

  “It’s silly,” Cletus responded. “And it makes a mess.”

  The club member glanced at Christine and she shrugged, addressing her question to Cletus, “You planning on making silly messes?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then why do have it?”

  “Just in case you have cameras in the room where we’re being taken.”

  She frowned at Cletus, her eyes narrowing. “You planning on covering the lenses with silly string?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “No, you ain’t.” She lifted her chin and the silly string was confiscated.

  Once the pat down was complete, Christine led us further into the winding corridor. We descended a flight of stairs, passing more black walls and more black doors. Nothing was labeled and all the hallways looked the same. I had no idea how we were going to get out of here without a guide.

  With every step, my fear mounted, a sensation I wasn’t accustomed to. Panic threatened to either choke me or send me into a blind rage. All I could think about was Jess, somewhere in this hellish labyrinth. But I stopped myself from imagining the worst, because if I did then I would most certainly yield to blind rage.

  Finally, we stopped in front of a door. I strained my ears, heard voices on the other side, and a shot of adrenaline traveled through my system like a lightning bolt when I recognized one of the voices as Jessica’s. I had to clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists to keep from charging forward.

  “After you, handsome,” Christine said, opening the door wide and giving me a sinister smile.

  I didn’t need to be asked twice.

  I walked into the room and scanned it, my eyes immediately latching on to Jessica. She was sitting on a black leather couch, and next to her was Claire. They both looked pissed, but unharmed. My chest eased, some of the panic I’d been fighting dissipated. The girls weren’t looking at us. They were looking at the man on the adjacent couch, a man I recognized as Ra
zor Dennings, president of the Iron Order.

  “So you boys made it,” he said without turning his head; Razor’s eyes were on his daughter but he lifted his chin toward Jess. “I knew you’d come if I invited your girl here for a visit.”

  Jess’s attention finally moved to where I stood, her eyes telling me most of what I needed to know. She wasn’t surprised to see me. And she was scared, and feeling stupid for some reason, trying to apologize without saying the words.

  “I don’t see why all this was necessary,” Repo drawled. I glanced to my right, found him sitting on a stool in front of a black lacquer bar. He had a whiskey or a bourbon in front of him, but it looked untouched.

  I forced myself to see beyond my Jess tunnel vision and took a quick survey of the room. Besides the eight-biker escort behind us, Razor, and Repo, there were two other Order members in the room, both as big as mountains. I recognized one as Catfish. I knew him because he liked to fish and sometimes went out with Hank Weller and Beau. He was difficult to overlook.

  “This is all necessary, Repo, because you take too fucking long to get shit done,” Christine spat as she strolled past me and crossed to her old man, giving him a sloppy kiss and whispering something in his ear.

  “I have the situation under control,” Repo responded through gritted teeth, glaring at the back of Christine’s head.

  “Enough. This shit needs to be settled.” Razor pushed his old lady aside and she fell into the couch. He stood, stepped over her legs like she was a nuisance, and scanned us.

  Razor was tall, but he wasn’t big. He’d never been thick or burly. He was lanky and reeked of evil. Looking into his blue eyes, I’d always felt like I was looking at death. Repo had told me once, when I was just a kid and he was over for dinner, that Razor got the name from his preferred method for punishing insubordination.

  His dead eyes settled on me, his face without expression, and lifted his black beard. “You. What’s your answer? Yes or no?”

  “No.” I didn’t hesitate. This fucker was scary as hell, but bullshitting or delaying was only going to piss him off.