Greetings from Sugartown

by Carmen Jenner

  I don’t know how I didn’t see it the second I got him on the ground. His hair is different, he always had this sandy blonde unwashed scruff. It’s now black and cut short. His beard is longer too, or I should say he now has one, since the last time I saw him he looked as baby faced as he did when we were kids.

  “I knew I’d seen you before,” Ana says from over my shoulder.

  “Baby, get back in the house.” I turn and glare at her. At least she had the sense to cover up. She’s wearing a thick wool jumper, boots and leggings.

  “I’m not here to hurt either of you,” Kick says, sitting up.

  “Why the fuck are you here? And how did you find us?”

  “I saw your girl here on some show about eateries. It took me a second to work out who she was, though you don’t really forget a person you kill a brother for. Especially not your VP.”

  “What are you doin’ here, Kick?”

  “I need your help. I wanted out. They wouldn’t let me. Prez killed my dad, gunned him down in front of me like it was nothing. I just … I had to get out. The club’s gone crazy since your old man left.”

  “My dad left the club?”

  “You’re dad’s alive?” Ana asks incredulously. “Why have you never mentioned that?”

  “Baby, I told you to go inside.”

  “I’m not your club whore, Cade. You don’t get to order me around. I’m staying right where I am, thank you.”

  Kick watches the exchange between us and smirks.

  “What the fuck are you grinning at?”

  “Nothing,” he says quickly, though the smile hasn’t left the cocky fucker’s face.

  “I don’t get it, man. Why come to me?”

  “You’re the only one I know who got out and lived to tell about it.”

  “You just said Dad got out.”

  “He did. And then Prez dragged him back, kicking and screaming. They—” He hesitates, and looks away. “—they tortured him for a week, like a fucking dog in a cage, man. They did things I never thought was possible to live through.”

  I take a step back, and run into Ana. I crouch down on the grass, half afraid my legs are going to give out and make me topple, and half afraid the ground won’t rush up to meet me.

  “I’m sorry, Moose. I know you had your problems, but he shouldn’t have gone like that. He was trying to steer us down another path, trying to restore the club to its former glory. None of that fucking Sons of Anarchy bullshit. You and I both know he wasn’t a saint, but underneath, he was sometimes a pretty decent guy. He didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  I spring up from the ground. “You can’t be here.”

  “Please, I have nowhere else to go.”

  “Not my problem. I can’t risk it. Not her, and not the life we have.” I shake my head, and begin pacing back and forth as I mull this shit over in my head. It all comes out a garbled mess. If they’re looking for him, they’ll find me. If they find me, they find Ana, and her family. I can’t do that to any of them.

  “No,” I say. “You have to leave.”

  Ana begins, “Elijah—”

  “Go back inside!” I yell, and then baulk and bury my head in my hands when I see her stricken expression. “I’m sorry, baby, can you just please go back inside. I need to talk to Kick alone.”

  “No. Whatever you have to say, you say it to me, too. If this affects me then I have a right to know about it. I already have enough people giving me reason to not want to walk out my door.”

  “I can’t risk it. I won’t risk it,” I say. It sucks, because for a good portion of my life, this dude was it; he was my best friend, my brother. He put a bullet in the man who was trying to kill me, and who would’ve raped Ana before tossing her body into a creek. He’s also the reason I first went to jail, and his being here is a death sentence for everyone.

  “At least let him stay the night,” Ana says. Sometimes she’s too damn good and trusting. “It’s freezing out there.”

  “Not my problem, babe.”

  “No?” she asks folding her arms across her chest. “The fact that he took a beating for us, or the fact that he killed a guy to stop him killing the both of us—was that your problem, or his?”

  “Ana—”

  “In the morning you can work out what to do with him, but he’s spent half the night in a freezing cold shed. He’s coming inside,” she says. I don’t like this one bit, but there’s no stopping her when she makes up her mind. Ana stoops to pick up his backpack from the ground. It’s worn, frayed around the straps, and the zipper’s been busted for years. I know because I stole it for him from an Army Disposals store when we were sixteen. I can’t believe he still has it.

  The rumble of a car cuts through the quiet night. Headlights sweep over the bottom of our drive, and make their way up the hill.

  “Fuck.”

  “The police,” Ana says. Her glare suggests she knows exactly what I’m thinking. Kick isn’t exactly an innocent man. In fact, with the years he’s spent in the club, there’s probably close to fifty warrants out on his head. Getting rid of him would be as easy as turning him over and watching him get dragged away in the cruiser, but as much as I hate to admit it, I owe him more than that. I owe him my life. I owe him Ana’s life.

  “He can sleep on the couch,” I say, admitting defeat. Ana gives me a grateful smile. I shake my head. “And we’re handcuffing him to the furniture.”

  “Kinky.” Kick smiles as he chews the piercing in his bottom lip.

  “Get in the shed. Unless you feel like spending the night in a jail cell.”

  He takes his backpack from Ana, and ducks inside just as the cruiser’s headlights wash over the yard. I throw my arm around Ana and whisper in her ear, “Ana, Kick being here spells a whole fucking world of trouble for all of us.”

  “What are the chances they’re going to come looking in Sugartown for him? Have they come looking for you here? The only reason he found us is because he knows my face. Everyone else who saw us that night is dead. He saved our lives, Elijah. The least we could do is give him a warm bed for the night.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh.

  Constable Jameson steps out of the vehicle, tugging his belt up under his protruding beer belly. “Evenin’, folks. Miss Belle said you had an intruder?”

  I pause for a half-second before saying, “Yeah, sorry. She’s not fond of possums.” I wrap my hand around the nape of her neck, mock strangling her. I don’t miss the chills that break out over her skin. Neither does my cock, because he’s currently springing to life in my pants, hoping to choke her in a much less violent fashion. “False alarm.”

  “You two okay? You need me to check out the property?”

  “Nah, we’re good. Bastard was raiding my beer fridge, but I scared him off.” I raise my brows. “He’s gonna have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

  “Well, if there’s no serious threat to your lives, I better get back to the station.”

  “Yeah, best to get back to catching the real criminals, huh?” I say, because sometimes I can’t resist being an arsehole. Especially when I know I’m right. “Maybe we can use some of that Turner money on pest control. This town could use some cleaning up.”

  Jameson gives me a snide smile and heads back to the car.

  “Sorry to call you out so late,” Ana says. “I hate those damn things, they’re like monkey/rat hybrids.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Miss Belle. We’re here to make sure all our residents are safe.” He looks pointedly at me.

  “Yeah, especially the ones with money.”

  “Let it go,” Ana whispers beside me.

  “You two have a good night.” Jameson jumps in the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition, blinding us with the cruiser’s headlights. Arsehole. When he’s back on the main road, I walk over to the shed and pound my fist on the door.

  “Pigs are gone. Get your arse out here.”

  Kick edges out of the garage, glancing arou
nd, as if he expects the cops to jump out of the bushes and slap him in cuffs. Sadly, that feeling isn’t one I’m unfamiliar with. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

  He puts his hand out for me to shake, but I ignore it in favour of folding my arms across my chest and levelling him with an angry glare. “Where’s your bike?”

  “Down by the main road, hidden in the cane, about a hundred meters away. I couldn’t risk the noise waking you up.”

  “How long you been living in our shed?”

  “Three days.”

  “He’s been coming into the diner for the past few days.”

  “What the fuck? You didn’t want to tell me that shit?”

  Ana twists her head towards me. “He looks different than I remember—not that my memory is all that great. I was kinda focused on the guy trying to rape me. After that, shock made pretty much everything a blur.”

  “I didn’t even know if the two of you were still together. I mean, you weren’t exactly the picket fences type, you know, Moose?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Sorry. Look, I couldn’t afford the shitty motel any longer. I left with nothing, and made do with what I could. I picked up work in an orchard on the way here, though that only lasted a week, and then I was back to square one. When I saw you two together the other day, I followed you home.” He pinches the bridge of his bleeding nose. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone, man. And I planned on coming to you—it’s not like I was just going to crash in your shed forever—but I had next to no cash, and I just had to take what I could get, you know? I was going to come to you at the shop, but I was biding my time, and your bat found me first.”

  I give a humourless laugh. “Yeah, it did.”

  “I just need a hand to get on my feet, and then you can send me as far away from you and your girl as possible. I don’t think I could handle the small-town life anyway. But I just need to get back on top.”

  “Are you any good with cars?” Ana asks. My head snaps around to glare at her.

  “No,” I warn.

  “I’m the best damn detailer you’ve ever met.”

  “My dad owns the garage in town, Big Bob’s Bikes and Auto. His doctor has suggested he take a little bit more time to unwind, but he can’t do that because it’s just him and the stubborn arse here.”

  Kick whistles. “You’re living the dream, Ethan.”

  “It’s Elijah, now.”

  “So weird,” both Kick and Ana say at the same time.

  “Come on, I’m freezing my breasticles off,” Ana says, and starts walking towards the house with a yawn.

  “You sure you’re okay with this, man?”

  “Does it fucking matter?”

  “Of course it does.”

  I give Kick the once-over. He stares back. The longer we size one another up, the more it feels like when we did it the day we met. Ten years old, so eager to be tough, fearless—someone our fathers would be proud to call son. It was the first club barbecue I actually had fun at. Kick said something about wishing my mum’s skirt was shorter, and I beat the shit out of him. He beat the shit out of me. Our dads just laughed, and watched on from the sidelines.

  It was another month before we spoke again. I’d been the one to provoke him that time, and we’d come to blows. We both walked away with bleeding noses and smiles on our faces.

  Looking at him now, with his dyed black hair falling over his eyes, and his lips twitching up into a half-smile at the corners—as though his thoughts are echoing my own—I see some of that punk-arse kid in him again. But time in the MC has screwed us both over, and though he may look like the guy I used to call brother—he’s not.

  “You make enough money, and you stay only long enough to get your arse out of town. After that, you split, and we never hear from you again.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he says, and fuck me if he doesn’t sound like a dejected puppy.

  “It’s not personal, but that woman there is my priority. You bring the club down on our heads and I’ll kill you myself, you got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “There’s one more thing. She’s mine. There’s no fucking tag teaming this time around, and if you so much as look at her the wrong way, I’ll rip off your dick and feed it to you. Are we clear?”

  “Yeah man, crystal.” He shakes his head. “I’m not interested in bitches; I’ve gotta keep light on my feet, you know what I mean?”

  I slam him back against the porch step railing. “Call her that again, and you’ll be out on your arse quicker than you can say ‘I’m sorry’.”

  “I didn’t mean no offense, Brother.”

  “Cade,” Ana shouts from the landing. I let go of Kick and trudge up the stairs after her.

  Once we’re inside, Ana hands Kick an ice pack and some Nurofen for his “broken nose”. Whiney bastard, it looks just fine to me. His cheekbone, on the other hand, well … that shit is fucked up. Ana makes up a bed for him in one of the spare rooms while he sits at our kitchen table and woofs down half a meat and pea mash pie and an apple Danish.

  “Your woman can cook, man. That’s the best fucking meal I’ve eaten in years.”

  “Yeah, I know how to pick ‘em.”

  “I’ll fucking say. Does she have a hot sister?

  “No.”

  Kick holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, backing off, no need to get your shanking blades out.” He glances around the kitchen. “It’s a pretty sweet setup you got here, brother. I’m happy for you.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to keep it that way, too,” I say, and thumb our keys and wallets, along with Ana’s bag, from the hall table. Kick watches me closely. “Safety measure. You understand.”

  “Yeah, course.”

  “I’m going to bed. You take anything that doesn’t belong to you, and I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

  “I’m not here to rob you blind, man. I just want a fair go, you know?”

  “Yeah, I remember what a fair go meant to the Angels, so you’ll forgive me if I’m not all that forthcoming with my trust in you.”

  “I get it,” he says, and takes his plate to the sink, rinsing it under the water and setting it in the dish rack when it’s clean. I turn to walk away, but his words have me stopping in my tracks. “You and I have never really been Angels though, have we?”

  “Nah. I don’t suppose we ever were.”

  “Good night, brother.” He shakes his head. “Elijah.”

  I say nothing as I stalk from the room.

  I HAVE to admit I didn’t expect to be taking in a stray when I warned Elijah that there was someone in our shed that night. Maybe it really was the wrong thing to do? Maybe I really do have no regard for my own self-preservation? Either way, I just couldn’t turn him away. I’m a sucker for handsome bad boys who need to get their life back on track. I mean, apart from the obvious attraction between us, I’m partly sure that’s what happened with Elijah. It’s like I see someone who’s damaged, trying to shoulder the burden of their life alone, and I just have to get out my nurse’s kit and start taping Band-Aids over all their problems.

  Elijah certainly wasn’t happy about my moment of weakness. That night, when we got into bed he rolled on his side, and fumed for several long minutes. I traced my hands down his naked back with feather-light touches, and pressed my lips to his neck. He flipped me over on the mattress and caged me in beneath him. Then he made love to me, deep and slow, as if we had all the time in the world, and didn’t have a fugitive biker sleeping in our spare room.

  Two weeks on, and things are still a little tense in the Belle/Cade household. Dad took Kick on as a detailer; we didn’t get a lot of demand for that in Sugartown, so he promoted him to working the phones, filling up the empty tanks, and opening up the shop, or closing when he or Elijah decided to knock off early, which wasn’t often, because Elijah was very clear about the fact that he didn’t trust Kick.

  Still, little by little, I could see my man slowly opening up to Kick, whic
h I suppose was a difficult thing for Elijah. He was fearless in so many ways, and terrified in others. Perhaps if it had just been him, he would have welcomed his friend back with open arms, but this constant need to look over his shoulder—especially now that the threat of the club finding us was made anew—meant he couldn’t relax, and he couldn’t let Kick in the way he once might have.

  How did I feel about all this? Honestly, my feelings changed from day to day. Kick was quiet; he helped out with the housework, cleaned up his mess, and oddly always had something funny to say in order to lift the mood in the house when tensions were high. After living with Elijah for so many years, it was hard not to be happy with someone who helped out, and wasn’t a complete shit when it came to cleaning up after himself.

  “Alright bitches.” Holly snatches me from my reverie. “Whose turn is it?”

  We all sit on the veranda, freezing our arses off, yet none of us are quite sober enough to consider the fact that we might all wake tomorrow with frostbite and pneumonia. Okay, I considered that about an hour ago, but I couldn’t be arsed moving so … here we are. We’ve been at this Cards Against Humanity game for close to two hours. Only we’ve been playing the drinking version, so we’ve had every different variation of shot/cocktail concoction and alcoholic beverage possible, and then some, and we’re all—as Elijah would put it—well and truly shit-faced.

  “It’s mine, but we’re all down to two cards each, so I guess it’s the last turn.”

  “I know,” Hols shouts. She’s enjoying the fact that Pepper’s having a sleepover at Dad’s with Sammy. One of them was supposed to remain sober enough to be a designated driver in case of a kiddie emergency, but I think both Holly and Jack could afford to let loose for one night. Elijah suggested they take their old room, and hey presto: we’re back to all being off our rockers, like the good old days. “How about we ditch the cards and play Truth or Dare.”

  “What are you, twelve?” Elijah laughs.

  “Jesus, Holly, what is with you and that game?” Jack asks. “Every time you get drunk you’re on our arses about Truth or Dare. If you want an excuse to strip off and run around naked, sweetheart, just have another shot.” He picks up a bottle of vodka and thrusts it towards her.