Loving Me, Trusting You

by C. M. Stunich

  My hand slips into my jacket while Mireya watches, tire iron clutched between her fingers. I don't know where she got it or how long she's been holding it for, but I don't care. I have to do what I have to do. I have to stop this before she really sees why they're here. Teaming up with Bested by Crows is fine, but when it's for the reasons that are simmering beneath the surface here, it's a fat load of smelly ass bullshit. I can't respect that decision.

  I pull the hammer back with my thumb and don't wait to hear whatever response they've got planned. My hand comes out and the trigger goes down, hitting the front tire of their Pres's bike and shredding the rubber to pieces.

  Chaos explodes.

  People are shouting and weapons are being drawn. One or more of us might die here today, but I had to do it. For her. These men came here because they don't want women to ride motorcycles? To participate in the politics and the inner workings of the groups they give their hearts and souls to? Well, fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all.

  I duck down behind my bike, making sure Mireya is safe behind hers, and I wait. Silence descends, cutting the frenzied activity like a knife. Nobody moves.

  “Who the fuck fired the first round?” somebody from Broken Dallas is asking, but no one responds. They're not going to because nobody knows. Except Mireya.

  Her brown eyes look orange in the harsh glare of the hot sun through the dust, turning the look she's giving me from fierce to deadly. She narrows her gaze on me and I know, just know that I'm going to get it later. I keep her in my sights and lean my back against the metal of my motorcycle.

  “I don't want to start anything,” Austin says, staying right where he is, standing up in the middle of this instant battlefield, chin up, shoulders strong. I don't think I've ever been prouder of him than I am in that moment. Despite the circumstances, I smile. I think he'll make an alright Pres if we give him some time. He's got the balls for it at least. “But I will if I have to. You got a problem with us being here, fine. You let us know and we're gone.” Austin pauses and a gust of wind whips around his face, slapping his sandy hair against his furrowed brow. “But if you fuck with us, we'll destroy you.”

  Cheers go up from our side, loud whoops of excitement and a thrill of danger. We don't do this sort of thing very often, but I have to admit, the rush of adrenaline is nice. I could get used to this. Maybe. Mireya isn't cheering, but she isn't unhappy either. Her face is perfectly neutral, schooled into this blank expression that's just begging to be read. I want to know what sorts of thoughts are going through her head. Does she suspect the same things I do? And if she does, does she know why I did what I did? I hope to hell she doesn't. Ignorance is bliss and all that, right?

  I watch my friend standing tall amongst a sea of crouching bodies and get ready for folks to pop up like daisies, for gunfire to rain down from the sky like hail, and for blood to be shed in a needless ritual of crap. That's the way of the road sometimes, you know.

  My muscles tighten and my body gets straight as an arrow, rigid and pulsing with pent up violence and barely restrained threat. I feel like a real man right here, getting ready to protect the woman I love. This primal bullshit would see me dead with a smile on my face, just so long as I knew she was going to be okay, that she could walk away from this without anymore scars, that one day, even if it's far off in the future, that she could smile and mean it.

  I scoot forward and inch across the dirty pavement towards her. Her brows wrinkle up and she tilts her head to the side like she thinks I'm fucking nuts. As soon as I've crossed the small bit of space between us and hide myself safely behind her tire, she opens her mouth to growl at me.

  My hands come up and grab her face, my lips meet hers, just a slight slide of dry mouths, burnt and cracked from the sun over our heads. The crackling energy inside of me transfers over into her body, sending chills along her exposed skin, snapping her spine taut and bowing her back. It's like I'm feeding my spirit into hers, infusing her with the wicked wild energy I'm feeling right now. I pull back and spin, rising to my feet in a fluid motion of muscle and purpose. I'm going to back my Pres, and I'm going to make sure we get a chance to do what we came here to do. Robbin' banks might be illegal, but on my list of immoral sins, it doesn't rank near as high as lookin' the devil in the eye.

  Okay, so I have no clue what that means, but I've heard Beck say it before and it fits. Anybody that think it's okay to tear the spirit out of these women deserves whatever he's got comin'. My thumb

  cocks the hammer back and a smile lights my face. I don't know where it comes from, but I hope it looks as good as it feels. Austin doesn't even turn to look at me, just stays facing forward, blue eyes solid and serious. Nobody from Broken Dallas moves, and for a split second there, things look like they might turn out alright.

  Guess I shoulda known better.

  I know Bested by Crows is coming before they even show up. I know because it's the worst fucking thing that could possibly happen right now. I've learned that if I expect the worst out of folks, they deliver.

  Gaine's an anomaly I don't even want to touch right now. What he's doing and why he's doing it, I have no clue. He wants to protect me like some ancient caveman? Fuck him. He thinks that because I lost it last night that he was some rights over me? I shake in anger just thinking about it. But then there was that kiss. I don't even know what to make of that. It felt good, electric, like I was sticking my nail into an outlet, letting the flavors of the world pass through me in electrons and white hot blinding energy. It was good, I'll admit that at least, but it doesn't change a thing. Gaine Kelley is not good for me, and I'm even worse for him. I've got to stop this before it goes too far. I thought I could handle it before, but I was wrong. Whatever pull it is that he possesses, I'm having a hard time resisting.

  I watch Gaine spin up and away, pulling his gun on our rival MC, putting forth a foot I never thought I'd see. Gaine is logical, the one that makes all the good decisions, that keeps a clear head. And here he is throwing caution to the wind? For me. It's all for me.

  I stand up, too, and reach forward, digging my hand into the back of Austin's jeans. Amy might not like it, but I figure I've been there before so fuck her. His gun comes out and rests heavy in my hand. I might not know shit about shooting, but really, there's not much to it, right? You pull the damn trigger and shit happens.

  In a lot of places, this kind of crap would never have the chance to go down. The cops would get called, do-gooders would do what they do best and things would happen. As of right now, here in this small town, Broken Dallas is law and we're on their turf. Some of the other Triple M'ers might not know how these sorts of things work, but I do. I've lived in a 'real' gang, suffered at the hands of a 'real' MC. I don't know what might've happened with Broken Dallas and Triple M before, but Kent must've worked some of his magic on them because I could tell you from experience that things like this normally don't work out.

  I aim the barrel at Will Walker's chest and hold it steady. Knowing I could blow his ass to kingdom come makes me feel better, but I manage, just barely, to hold back. Gaine was right. If I kill them in a fit of rage, I'll never be able to make peace with myself or my past. I have to make a conscious decision, and I have to do it right.

  I keep my arm very, very still.

  “I thought with Kent dead, the trap was set, the rat was caught. But that was no done deal. Our rodent is still very much alive, don't you think?” Kimmi asks, sliding out from behind her ride in a spray of wild hair and glimmering earrings. See, I really do like her. Any woman that can kick ass and look good doing it holds a special place in my heart. I'll just never tell her that.

  “You have to imagine that he had allies, am I right? We're going to have to do a lot more weeding to take care of this garden,” Gaine says, eyes focused on the rumbling herd of assholes rolling into the gate.

  “Amen to that,” Austin says with a slight quirk of a smile on his crooked mouth. The scar at the edge of his lip tugs at his face as he struggles to control h
is amusement at the current situation. “That's why I've got back up.”

  “Back up?” Gaine asks and then Austin's lifting his hand and beckoning with crooked fingers, drawing a group of Triple M'ers out from behind the rusted fencing, bringing the crouching bodies through holes in the chain link and out of bushes. There are definitely some bonuses to having a large group. Oh yeah, and to not shafting our women. Girls with guns, baby, all the way. I try not to smile.

  “Afternoon, folks,” Will says, climbing off his bike like he doesn't have a care in the world. He should. His impending death is near; he just doesn't believe it yet. But he will, most likely when it's too late. He walks to the edge of the perimeter Broken Dallas has made with their bikes and stands with his hands in his back pockets. Something about his demeanor is different today. His skin seems paler, more taut, stretched across his chubby as fuck face.

  He knows.

  This time, I do smile.

  “You Goddamn bitch!” he screams, spittle flecking the dry air and evaporating as if it had never been. It's so friggin' arid in this damn town. I'm already counting down the hours until we leave. “You really did it, didn't you?” Will laughs, and the sound is horrid, like nails across a chalkboard, bitter and tinged with sorrow. Huh. Didn't realize he had the emotion in him. Doesn't make me feel sorry for him. There is nothing he could do at this point to redeem himself in my eyes. His soul is black as tar and twice as sticky. He's out and that's that. I won't rest until my demons lie dead and bleeding, but on my terms. Right here, today, Will lives. Tomorrow, he might not be so lucky.

  I keep him centered in my gaze, but out of the corner of my eye, I spot Mack. He's wearing a helmet with a dark visor, and he hasn't bothered to take it off. I hope that under that mask, he's got tears streaming down his face. I hope he hurts half as much as he hurt me. I watch him and wonder, doing my best to imagine how losing a family member would feel. At least Walker didn't betray them; he was killed. There's something different about that, more melancholy maybe but not as damaging. Betrayal is an emotion that's hard to come back on. All the positives in this world are built on trust, and once that's gone, it leaves you nothing to live by. So here I am, twenty-eight fucking years old with a heart that can't feel, a brain that won't think, and a soul that's empty and barren.

  I flex my finger on the trigger, tasting the surge of violence, the rush of power. Gaine did something to me when he kissed me. I don't know what it was, but I can feel my legs shaking and my stomach churning. I want to charge down this slope and out those gates, race across the dry landscape until I find the sea.

  It's fucking weird. I don't get feelings like this. Bitterness, sarcasm, pain, I understand these things. This … longing I've got growing in my gut is new, and I don't like it. I don't like any of the things Gaine's been doing to me lately. All these years I've managed to resist him and now, suddenly, he's cutting through me like a warm knife through butter. Why? When I killed Tray, I felt a wound being carved into my spirit, and all of this newness is rushing to fill it. I don't know what to make of it.

  “Tray Walker was a good man, Mireya. Despite what you may think, he did a lot of good in this world.”

  “I don't give two fucks if he fed needy children or volunteered at a homeless shelter, that fucker deserved to die. He's lucky it happened so quick.” When Will starts to interrupt me, I lift my gun in the air and shoot. Bodies stiffen, muscles harden, weapons are raised. I continue. “But let me tell you this, and I'm sure it'll make you feel better. There's no need for you to mourn your brother because you'll soon join him.”

  “You uppity little cunt.”

  That's it, all I need to hear.

  I lower my weapon and fire at the nearest member of Broken Dallas. I don't know them, but they're here and that's enough for me. I don't shoot to kill, but I do hit the man in his calf, send him rolling back behind his bike as explosions erupt around me.

  I stay standing during all of it, finishing off the rounds in Austin's revolver before slipping it into the back of my jeans. The chains on the sides of my pants come unclipped in an instant, and then I'm just out there, swinging them around and smashing the links of metal into faces, groins, bikes, whatever gets in my way. This isn't about killing anybody, at least not right now. This is about showing strength, seeing whose dick is the biggest.

  I intend to show off a fierce as fuck lady boner.

  Mack appears out of the dusty melee with his eyes red rimmed and the devil's dance in his step. He comes at me with intentions that are nothing short of malicious and finds himself with a line of metal around his neck. When I was younger, right after I married Tray, I used to dance with chains. I'd put on some heavy metal and an outfit that would make a hooker blush, and I'd get up in front of the MC and shake my fucking ass like there was no tomorrow, like that moment was all that mattered. It was fun, and I'll admit, I spent half of that period of my life in a drugged or drunk daze, but it didn't last. The honeymoon period ended and things went sour. Tray stopped asking me to dance and started making me. He stopped holding me in his arms and started pushing me into others'. He started treating me like I was less than his bike, less even than the dirt beneath his boots.

  So I did what I'd always done, what he said made him fall in love with me. I showed him my spirit, I rode my girls through town and came back flushed and panting, but he wasn't the same. I don't know what happened to him or why, but it didn't matter, the moment I told him no and he laid his hands on me was the moment I died inside. Gaine thinks it was only Mireya Walker that passed away that day, that maybe he can get Mireya Sawyer back, but he's wrong. I don't want to come alive again because then I'll have to feel it all a hundred times worse than I do now. A necrotic soul doesn't bleed half as bad as a living, breathing, aching, loving mess. Es cruel, pero es la verdad.

  “Have you missed me terribly, Mack?” I ask as I pull the chains tight around his neck and lift my boot up to his stomach for leverage. Dancing with those chains made me good at handling them. After all, it's not all that sexy if the dancer smacks herself in the back of the knee and goes down wailing, and it certainly isn't impressive if she can't flip and spin and twirl like a deranged baton girl in a beauty pageant. So here I am, dancer turned ass kicker and I am destroying. I make the chains as taught as I can, holding Mack's windpipes hostage as people spin and scream and kick around me.

  I look at his reddened face, gasping for breath, hands outstretched and wonder how he felt when he was looming above me, taking things I never gave, hurting me in ways I never imagined. I thought of him as a brother, and he raped me. He raped me. He raped me.

  With a scream of rage, I squeeze harder and bring Mack down to his knees, dropping him to the pavement like a sack of weevil ridden flour. Useless. My blood runs hot as the sun and my eyes start to blur, white hot memories of anger and rage crashing into me, taking over, destroying my sanity. I'm losing it again, and I have nowhere to fall.

  And then I feel arms around my waist and my body spasms, loosing the chains just enough that Mack slips out, falling to the cement with a choking gasp. Sweat starts to pour down my face and my knees go weak as I slip a bit on the gravel and the dirt. Gaine holds me up with one arm and borrows one of the chains with his other hand, using it like a whip to snap a man in the knee caps. It's pretty fucking impressive, I'll admit.

  “Let fucking go of me!” I scream, but I don't fight. I can't move. My body doesn't belong to me in that moment, it belongs to the howling demons inside my skin, the ones that fight for supremacy everyday, the ones that I always just manage to hold back. Lately though, lately they've been kicking my ass hard, beating down the door of my sanity. I never should've killed Tray. There. There it is. I've said it. It hurts to admit it, feels like a betrayal of self, but that's it. That's the magic answer. I keep striving for vengeance when all I really want is peace.

  I scream and flail, stumbling from Gaine's arms in a pulsating frenzy, a collection of confusion and barely suppressed rage. I can't believ
e this. I cannot even freaking believe this. How could I not want to kill these stupid fuckers? And how, how, how could I regret taking out the worst one of them all? Obviously, something is seriously wrong with me.

  I squeeze my fists at my side and turn to look at Gaine.

  Or someone. Yeah, maybe someone is wrong for me.

  “You stay away from me!” I tell him in the middle of our mid-afternoon brawl. He looks at me like I've completely lost it, brushing his dark brown hair from his forehead as his eyes flick this way and that, absorbing the mess around us. Seems kind of counterproductive for me to start a shit storm in the middle of a tornado of crap, but that's kind of what I'm good at. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. “You don't touch me, you don't pander to me.” I point my finger at him and pause just long enough for him to shove a guy in the chest and send him stumbling back into the whirlwind that is Beck Evans. The redhead grins the entire time. “You treat me like an old friend and that's it, Gaine. This cat and mouse game is over.”

  I turn away and smash the instep of a man in a Bested by Crows jacket. I have no clue who he is, and I don't care. If he's a part of Tray's gang then he's trouble. Fuck him and the horse he rode in on.

  “Mireya!” Gaine's calling after me, but I'm not listening. I'm letting my fury boil up and spill out, letting it cascade down around me and crash into the rioting crowd like a tsunami. I take my frustration out on anyone that gets in my way, swinging my single remaining chain around like I'm still dancing for my first husband and his friends, for the people I called family and who called me cunt, saw me as nothing more than a place to hang their hat. “Mireya!”

  I move away from Gaine, purposely trying to lose him in the melee. It isn't difficult. There's a lot going on here and none of it is simple or easy. It's just a big, fucking mess. There are a lot of people that are going to be hurting come tomorrow morning. I get terrible déjà vu then, remembering the first time I'd seen Bested by Crows in years, at the bike show in Amy's town. We went to trash their bikes, and they came to trash us. None of my attackers were there then, so it was easier to distance myself. Here, they're all the fuck over.