Making The Cut (Selective Sinners MC #1)

by S. D. Hildreth

  Nervously sitting on the couch, I waited for him to get out of the bathroom. I looked around the house, surprised by the cleanliness. Everything was perfectly placed and the entire home appeared spotless. As I surveyed the contents of the living room, I realized everything in the home was symmetrical. The pictures hanging on the walls were all placed in a pattern. The lampshades were all perfectly positioned, none were out of place or titled. Two couches, a loveseat, and two chairs were in the living room. A coffee table in the center was decorated with two stone bookends and a dozen or so hardbound books that appeared to be no less than a century old. I stood from the couch and quietly walked toward the bedrooms. One room had a bed, nightstand, dresser, and weight lifting equipment. Again, everything was perfectly placed. I glanced in the other bedroom. One entire wall was a bookcase. After counting the spines of a few books and performing some simple math, it appeared there were over a thousand books in the case. A bed, nightstand, a sewing machine, and digital clock were the only other objects in the room. The bed, although made with a simple comforter and two pillows, was crease and wrinkle free. As I turned to walk from the room, I noticed a small cardboard box on the floor neatly placed by the door. I looked inside.

  My cap, gown, diploma, and the gift box sat inside.

  You sneaky fucker.

  I tiptoed back into the living room and walked toward the coffee table and bent down. I carefully traced my index finger along the spine of the books, A Bridge Too Far, Making of the President, The Blue and Gray, The Caine Mutiny, Midnight, Robin Hood, Closing the Ring, Cast the First Stone, Mark Twain’s Works, The Days of McKinley, The Birth of Britain.

  As I heard Axton turn the faucet in the bathroom off, I fell backward onto the couch and rested my cheek in the palm of my hand. A few seconds later, he emerged from the bathroom.

  “Your hands steady?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Your hands, do you shake?”

  “No, I mean not really. Why”

  “Here,” he said as he reached toward me.

  I took a small plastic tube from his hand. As I looked at it curiously, he explained.

  “Superglue. I need you to glue this back together,” he sighed as he sat down beside me.

  He pulled a dry washcloth from his front pocket and dabbed at the large cut across the knuckle of his middle finger.

  He raised the washcloth slightly and fixed his eyes on mine, “I’ll dry it up with this, and you squirt a little glue inside and pinch it together. Don’t smash it together, or it’ll look like shit when it heals. You only get one fucking chance with that shit, you know.”

  I scrunched my brow, “Superglue?”

  “Best shit ever,” he nodded.

  I glanced down at his hand. A cut which would probably require at least four or five stitches was across his middle knuckle and onto the back of his hand. As he dabbed the blood from it, I could see into the wound until it quickly filled with blood again. It appeared to be open clear to the bone of his knuckle.

  “Uhhm. That looks like it may need…” I began.

  “It needs Superglued. Give me that shit,” he snapped as he reached for the glue.

  I pulled my hand back sharply, “I’ll do it. Jesus, Mr. stubborn. Press down on it for a minute.”

  “Does this stuff hurt?” I asked.

  He raised both eyebrows and stared as he pressed the corner of the cloth onto the top of the wound, “Look at me. Do I really look like the type of guy that would complain if it did? And no, it doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts. It’s only uncomfortable for a second. Ready?”

  I pilled the cap from the glue and squeezed the tube until a small drop began to rise on the tip, “Go!”

  As soon as he pulled the cloth from his skin, I lowered the tip of the tube to the wound and attempted to make a perfect line of glue along the cut. As I was finishing my masterpiece, the blood began to boil from the cut. I opened my mouth and lightly bit the tube, holding it in my teeth. Half frantic, I pulled the washcloth from his hand as I pinched the cut together. Almost magically, the wound closed and stopped bleeding. After a few seconds of blowing on it, I wiped the excess blood.

  I sat back, placed the lid onto the tube of glue, and admired my handiwork.

  “A regular Florence fucking Nightingale,” he chuckled as he looked down at his knucles.

  “Yep. Now all I need is for you to get the syndrome or whatever,” I said as I handed him the tube.

  He shifted his gaze from his hand to me, “What syndrome?”

  “The Florence Nightingale syndrome,” I said as I stood.

  “Sit down,” he chuckled.

  “What do you know about that?” he asked; as if he were in shock I even knew who Florence Nightingale was.

  I sat lightly on the edge of the couch, “It’s where the caretaker develops a romantic interest for the…”

  “I know what it is,” he snapped.

  Well, if you’ve read all of those books in the back room, I’m sure you do.

  He studied his hand for a long moment and then glanced up and broke the silence, “I don’t like sleeping in my bed if I’m dirty.”

  I gazed his direction and attempted to keep my face free of expression, “Okay.”

  He continued to stare at his hand, “So we’re both going to need to shower. You’ll be staying here tonight.”

  Sweet Jesus.

  Thank you Lord.

  I looked down and began to pick at my cuticles. I had no intention of allowing him to see my face.

  “Okay,” the word barely escaped my dry lips.

  “So we can shower together or separate, but I’m exhausted,” he said as he stood.

  I glanced up and spoke almost apologetically, “Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

  “Look, don’t think for one minute you’re the first woman I’ve seen naked. People don’t make me uncomfortable. If you’re fine seeing my scars, come on,” he said as he turned away.

  I attempted to hide my excitement as I followed him to the bathroom. On this night I watched Axton beat a man half to death for attempting to claim me, learned he trusted me enough to allow me to tend to his wounds, came to his home for the first time, and now prepared to shower with him and stay all night.

  Progress.

  Axton and I were making progress.

  AVERY

  With my head on Axton’s chest, I waited quietly for him to fall asleep. As his breathing shifted to a soft effortless pattern, I relaxed and inhaled the scent of his soap on my skin. The first time I saw him naked was in the shower, and we didn’t even have sex. Seeing his naked body and not greedily attacking him was not an easy feat, but it was a necessary one. It was crucial that the relationship proceeded at Axton’s pace, not mine. Most women would be frustrated or disappointed with the return on their investment with Axton. I, on the other hand, was absolutely thrilled with what I had received from him. Dressed in one of his wife beaters and a pair of his extra-large sweat pants, the only thing absent was the low, scratchy rumble of his voice to comfort me.

  I stared at the ceiling and attempted to count the times I had ridden on his motorcycle.

  When we rode to the park and he asked me if I spoke Spanish. To eat in Wichita at the noodle place. Pizza downtown. When he dropped me off at work and went to make a deal. The ride home later. The other time he took me to work, and waited while I worked a two hour shift because Lori’s fat ass was sick. To eat noodles again. To the coffee place in Riverside the first time. Down to the spot by the bridge where the big tree is. Riverside coffee shop again.

  I started to fade in and out of sleep, and I wasn’t a third of the way done. I began counting again at the most recent, and started working backward. There were too many to count.

  To his house. To the barbeque. To get new shorts before the barbeque. The night we just went to relax. Graduation day back from Benton. To Benton. God, riding with all those bikes was so cool. When we rolled up to the restaurant at the airport, it sounded l
ike a hurricane. Everyone turned and looked. It was so cool to be a part of that. When we walked into the bar, I was so proud to be with him.

  When we left with the other group of bikers, God it felt so powerful. More than twenty of us, side-by-side at eighty miles an hour, following the curves together, staying a foot or so apart. It looked like a work of art as we flowed down the highway.

  He said slim and not at all the day we met. Before long this summer will be over, and I’ll have been on his bike the entire time.

  Pretty God damned slim, and not at all.

  Ha.

  Progress.

  Axton might be a big, mean, complex person, but to me, he’s Axton. I wouldn’t change anything about him, even if I had the chance.

  What do I like about him the most?

  Let me think...

  AXTON

  It had been almost twenty years since I had seen a woman wake up in my bed. I stood in the doorway sipping coffee as I watched Avery slowly migrate from sleeping soundly to waking up. She shifted in the bed, closed her eyes tightly as she realized the sun was up, and yanked the comforter over her head.

  “Are you going to wake up? It’s almost eight o’clock,” I said over the top of my cup of coffee.

  She pulled the comforter down to her chest and blinked her eyes a few times, “Was that you grinding coffee beans at like six thirty?”

  I nodded my head and took a sip of coffee, “Already worked out, showered, and made coffee. I’m ready to eat. What do you normally eat for breakfast?”

  “What time is it again?” she groaned.

  “It’s ten before eight. I was going to make a bagel and cream cheese. Maybe some bacon if you want it. I eat a light breakfast,” I explained.

  “I don’t eat pork. Uhhm, a bagel sounds good. A bagel and coffee,” she said as she sat up in bed.

  “Muslim?” I chuckled.

  She shook her head and grinned, “No, pork’s slippery and gross. I don’t eat bacon because it’s bouncy.”

  “Alright, no bacon coming right up. Well, I’ll get a bagel toasted for you. Coffee’s ready,” I nodded as I turned toward the living room.

  Avery was a very beautiful woman. Any fool could see it. What a man wasn’t capable of seeing made her even more attractive. There was no doubt she was extremely intelligent, but she was also very perceptive. I’ve never been one to explain to someone what I expect of them or what I would like to see them change in their life. People are who they are and it certainly wasn’t my place to be critical of them. I’ve always believed by the time we reach twenty-five years old, we are formed into the person we will live the rest of our lives as. Avery’s age and lack of experience in living life allowed her to continue to learn from being exposed to her surroundings and make adjustments as she saw fit.

  Her perceptive nature caused her to naturally pay attention to what my likes and dislikes were, and make modifications to how she acted and reacted in an effort to please me. The end result was her transformation into what I expected would be one of the best little Ol’ Ladies a man could ever ask for. Whether or not she was the woman I needed to spend my days with had yet to be decided.

  I dropped two bagels into the toaster, grabbed the cream cheese from the refrigerator, and two plates from the cabinet. As I was pouring Avery’s coffee, my phone beeped, indicating I had received a text message. Typically, I didn’t do a tremendous amount of texting or talking on the phone. To separate the text messages of the club from the text messages of customers, I had assigned different people different text tones. The tone of the chime on my phone was assigned to only one person.

  El Pelón.

  I sighed and reached for my phone.

  It’s one of your own. Meet me in an hour at Cortez. Come alone.

  My heart rose into my throat. I snapped the rubber band against my wrist a few times. Meeting at Cortez made me a little nervous. A joint known for violence, gang torture, and importation of illegal aliens, it wasn’t a place where I would ever be comfortable. Knowing I’d be the only non-Spanish speaking person there made me even more uncomfortable. I wondered if the entire thing was a set-up. He said it was one of my own. My mind began to race, wondering who it may be, and the amount of value I would place on the information El Pelón provided me. To think of one of my brothers betraying the club was impossible. As I snapped the rubber band again, I looked up at the sound of Avery’s footsteps.

  “So, no bacon?” Avery asked as she walked into the kitchen.

  I glanced up from my phone nervously, and held my index finger in the air, “I need to send a text.”

  Without speaking, she turned toward the living room, walked to the couch, and sat down. I pressed the keys on the screen, said what little I had to say, and pressed send.

  I’ll be there at 9:00 but I won’t be alone.

  If there were two people I knew I could always trust, they were Toad and Otis. For sheer intimidation purposes, Otis would be my best bet. I scrolled to Otis’ number and pressed call. After ten rings with no answer, I hung up. I scrolled to Toad’s number and pressed call. He answered on the third ring.

  “What’s up?” his deep raspy tone was proof enough he was clearly still half asleep.

  “Need you to roll with me brother. We got to be in Wichita in one hour. Come to my place?” I asked.

  “Gimme twenty, Slice. Shit, I’m still in bed, bro,” he responded.

  I heard Sloan’s voice in the background, asking him who he was speaking to. His response was what I would have expected.

  “Club business.”

  “I’ll be here,” I responded.

  I hung up and tossed the phone across the countertop, “Listen. I’m going to eat this and then I have to run. Club business. You can stay here if you like, I should be back in an hour and a half, maybe two.”

  I reached for the toaster, pulled the bagels, and dropped them onto the plates. Avery stood from the couch and walked into the kitchen. Although she looked cute, she seemed somewhat out of place in my sweats and wife beater. I fumbled with trying to spread the cream cheese on the bagel as I watched her walk into the kitchen.

  “You’re a cute little fucker,” I said as her gaze met mine.

  She grinned as she ran her hands through her hair, “Thank you. My hair’s probably a fucking mess. It was still wet when I fell asleep.”

  “Looks great,” I said as I slid the bagel across the counter.

  “You sure it’s okay if I stay here?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t. I trust you,” I responded as I bit into the bagel.

  “I uhhm. I noticed a lot of books in the spare bedroom. Can I read while you’re gone?” she asked as she stirred sugar into her coffee.

  “Knock yourself out, there’s plenty in there to read, that’s for fucking sure. You always wake up looking like that?” I asked as I tilted my bagel toward her.

  “Yeah, nice, huh?” she said in a sarcastic tone.

  She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and hesitated. Her hair was a sculpted mess, as if she’d purposely attempted to make it look as shitty as she possibly could. I didn’t have a mirror in my bedroom, and I didn’t think she’d been into the bathroom yet, so I doubted she knew exactly what she looked like. To me, seeing her wake up looking like she did was all the proof I needed to know she was far more beautiful than ninety-nine percent of all other women who were on this earth. I stood silently with the bagel dangling from my fingertips as I admired her beautiful face and perfectly proportioned body. I lifted the remaining portion of bagel to my mouth and bit into it as she stood and sipped her coffee.

  I gazed at her and snapped the rubber band repeatedly into my wrist as she nibbled around the circumference of the bagel. Standing across from me, unaware of my thoughts, feelings, or what I was about to go do, she looked innocent and beautiful as she gnawed at the toasted bread.

  You are a humble little bitch, aren’t you?

  “You look great, babe,” I responded as I
swallowed the bagel.

  Babe?

  Where the fuck did that come from?

  Fuck, Slice, you’re softening up.

  “Thanks. You always look the same. Hot as fuck,” she said over her mouthful of bagel.

  God damn, I wish I didn’t have to leave.

  As she stood beside the kitchen counter eating, I walked past her and into the living room. I couldn’t stand to look at her any longer without making a move. I opened the small cabinet at the end of the sofa and pointed inside.

  “There’s a CD player in here, some CD’s, and an iPod with a playlist on it. It’s wireless to the speakers in the ceiling.”

  She glanced up from her bagel and toward the ceiling, “Cool.”

  The sound of Toad’s bike pulling up reminded me of what I had to do. Getting the information about the robbery was high on my priority list, but the fact it included one of the club’s own men wasn’t what I had hoped for. Although I suppose I knew it was where the investigation was going to point, especially after talking to King, I had secretly hoped for another answer.

  I turned to face Avery, not really knowing what to say.

  “Go. I’ll be fine,” she sighed.

  As I walked toward the kitchen, she gazed down at her hand and continued to nibble at the small piece of remaining bagel. I reached for my phone, and hesitated; my eyes still fixed on her. With my right hand, I reached toward her face and lifted her chin slightly. As she glanced up, I leaned forward and kissed her lips lightly. As soon as our lips parted, I slid my hand to the back of her head and pulled her into me aggressively. I kissed her passionately, allowing our tongues to intertwine and my thoughts to rush places other than the potential violence which was before me. She dropped the remaining bagel onto the floor and gripped my ass firmly. After a long, impassioned kiss, I broke away, leaned back, and scanned her from head to toe.

  I shook my head in an effort to clear it, “You sure as fuck do. You look great, Avery.”

  “Where the fuck did that come from” she whispered.