by Amy Isan
The music bleeds from the speakers and swirls around us. Sara catches the attention of a jock-looking guy, and they dance together. His hands wander around her body as she grinds, and I find myself wrapped around one of the guy's friends. It's a rush. My face burning and sweat tickling my back under my bra. His eyes are dark and enthusiastic, maybe too enthusiastic. As the song starts to blend into the next, I push him away and head back toward the bar to get a drink.
"Another round?" the bartender asks. He finishes another order and sets it on the tray for the waitress. I nod and hold up my fingers.
"Two."
"Where's your friend?" he asks.
I shake my head and gesture behind me without turning. I bite my lip and try to talk without slurring my words. I'm surprised at how weak I am at holding liquor. "She'll show up."
The bartender pushes the drinks to me and winks, and I shrug it off. I move back through the throng of sweat and dancing, and find Sara. I down my drink and take her wrist, pulling her arm back and placing the sloshing and dripping drink into her hand. She downs it without a thought and then shoves the glass back into my hand. Her attention is too caught up on the hispanic dude she's with, and I can't argue with that. She looks blitzed, but at least she's not whining about Mark.
I drop the glasses back at the bar and move into the crowd again. The bass kicks in and I lose myself to the music, but start to get anxious. Something doesn't feel right, but I can't tell what. Maybe the last shot was the one past my limit. I clutch my stomach and move out of the crowd, bracing myself on the edge of a stool. The group of people near me move away, and I'm grateful for the space. My eye twitches and I shake my head furiously. Not now, I didn't come out tonight to stress out about nothing.
There's a commotion at the front of the bar. I turn my head against my elbow and try to see what's happening. The bouncer is stepping backwards into the bar, and it looks like he's scared. A group of thugs are storming past him, and he shouts over his shoulder to the bartender.
"Michael, call the police!" he yells.
One of the thugs moves past the bouncer and reaches the bar in two large steps. He slams his hand on the counter and shouts over the noise. "Don't even think about it, Michael."
The noise has caught the attention of most of the bar now, and the music has gone quiet. The men at the entrance of the bar look extremely pleased with themselves. One of them turns and shuts the front door, closing out the relatively cool summer air. It's too dark to make the men out, but there is something familiar...
The large man that threatened the bartender orders a round of drinks and calls back to the gang. "Bomb, whattdya want? It's on the house." He shoots a look at the bartender. "Right?"
"Yes,... of course." Michael no longer looks like an example of manliness.
The name he called out... 'Bomb'... Logan? I stand up, but immediately regret it when the world swirls around my vision, like I'm in a shaken snow globe. I also don't know if I want him to see me when I'm like this. I'm kind of a wreck. I scurry from the bar stool and hide back in the crowd of people that were dancing. Sara is dumbstruck, but looks too drunk to really understand what's going on.
"Cassie!" she screeches when she sees me. I shush her and try to push my hand over her mouth. She only shoves me away and slurs my name again, "I was wondering where you went!" I forgot how loud she gets when she's wasted. A couple of the people in the group separate from us and leave a gap, which is the last thing I wanted them to do. Sara hangs on my arm and feels like a pile of bricks. Her fingers dig into my shoulder.
"Stop, get a hold of yourself," I try to reason, but even my adrenaline from seeing Logan doesn't change the fact I'm drunk too. My words feel sticky in my mouth, and I try to shake it off. What am I doing? Hiding from him? Better question, what are they doing here? Are they looking for me? Will they recognize me from the car accident? My terror isn't helping, and I'm starting to think that maybe I just don't want Logan to see me in a panic. He's never seen me quite like that before.
Forget him though, what about his gang? I'm delirious and too parched to think straight, and before I can even grab Sara's hand and duck into the back room, one of the bikers is approaching us.
He's grizzled with red stubble and a red mustache. He grins with a bit of a smugness, and cocks his head. "Don't I know you?" he says.
I shake my head and dig my nails into Sara's arm. "No, I don't think so." I try to look away, but he dives back into my field of view.
"No... you look really familiar," he says. He turns back toward the group and waves his hand. "Bomb, come here a minute."
Not Bomb. Not Logan. I shake my head and drag Sara away with me. Before Logan can turn around to respond to his comrade's call, I slip out of the crowd and into the back room of the bar. Sara doesn't resist, but her lethargy isn't making it easy. I hear the man's voice call out after me, "Hey!"
My heart races and I feel the alcohol turn sour in my stomach. Not here, not here. I search for a way out, and find the fire exit. I run up to it and Sara calls after me. "What are you doing?"
"Help me get this," I beg. Despite the emergency exit sign, a large table is blocking the exit, and I can feel the men coming up behind us. "Hurry!" I want to scream.
"I don't even know what's going on," she says. I shake my head and manage to knock the table over, and it makes an enormous noise. The gang in the front room start moving toward the back as I shove the door open. It screeches against the threshold and the fire alarm starts blaring. I squeeze Sara's wrist and pull her out of the bar, before turning and trying to close the door again. It doesn't budge.
My head is spinning, and I'm not in any condition to run from anyone. I stare up and down the darkened alley and try to determine which direction we came from. "Come on!" I urge Sara.
"Stop!" She rips her arm from me and rubs her wrist. "What the fuck is going on Cassie?"
"Come on!" I repeat. "I don't have time to explain, but those guys are bad news! Jesus Christ."
Her eyes widen and I swear she gets three drinks more sober. "Why didn't you say so?"
I don't have to coerce her anymore, thank God. We run down the alley toward the street. As we spill out onto the sidewalk, I hear noises coming from the emergency exit door to our backs. I look over my shoulder and see two men stumble out and turn their heads toward us. "Shit!"
Sara and I turn down the street toward the capitol. "There!" I point at the lone cab parked on side of the road. "Don't do this to me..." I murmur. Sara's heels clack against the concrete right behind me, and our breathing has gone rough.
The men who slipped out of the door behind us spill into the street alongside us, and they shout down the road. It only makes me more frenzied. Sara and I skid to a stop and slam into the back door of the cab, which rouses the driver. I can't tell if he was sleeping or reading, and I can't be bothered to care. He gives me a wicked scowl over his shoulder, but I barely even register it.
"Help! Let us in!" I slam on the window. I probably look like a drunk lunatic, but I don't have any other ideas. He frowns and shakes his head, before gesturing up to his roof. The light is off. I nod frantically. "I know! That's why I'm screaming!"
He gazes past me and must see the men in dark leather quickly approaching. He unlocks the doors in that instant. I yank on the handle and feel like I'm going to tear the door free from the car. Sara spills in after me and the cabbie screeches onto the road, just as the bikers collapse next to the parking meter. One of them grabs his phone and lifts it, and the other plants his hands on his hips and kicks the ground. I collapse from fear and exhaustion.
Before I can fall asleep from the shock, the cabbie rouses me. "Man, I don't know what the fuck you did, but those guys looked pissed."
Sara actually laughs. "Yeah, careful who you give your number to around here," she gives me a wink and then gives the driver directions to our house. I silently thank her and slide down the seat.
Fuck my seatbelt, I need another drink.
CHAPTER 3 — LOGAN
"What the fuck was that?" I demand after Driver and Sword come back into the bar. A bunch of the college students and drunks have already left, or managed to slip out after the fire alarm surprised all of us. Sword looks beat, but Driver has flames in his eyes.
"Sorry, boss," Sword says, panting. "They got away in a cab." He holds up his phone and shows me a blurry picture of the cab racing off with a woman's pale face in the rear window. I grimace, and snatch the phone from his hands. He clamps his mouth shut and rolls his eyes. "Gonna follow up, huh?"
"No."
I turn away to stew in my anger and Driver speaks up, stopping me.
"That woman, she looked familiar..." Driver says, trailing off.
I bite my tongue. I know she looked familiar. She was Cassie. I shake my head for his benefit and exhale. "Don't they all?"
He narrows his eyes on me and opens his mouth to say something, but Sword grabs his shoulder and drags him down to his level. He pats Driver's chest and shoots me a grin. "The boy is raring for some pleasure, I'm sure."
"Yeah," I reply, without a follow up. I turn away from them and scan the crowd, feeling like I might see her again. I don't. Thank God.
I can't chastise them too much, because I did say we were going to scare some people tonight, but I didn't mean her, obviously. But they couldn't have known. Still makes them damn stupid. If they hadn't dashed out after those two, we might not have had five slip out afterward. It doesn't really matter, but I can't help be a little pissed about it. I need them to listen to me, and listen to each other.
"Look, we're done here anyway, these bar hoppers will have a story to tell about us. Next one." I gesture for the men to follow me, and they start to spill out the front door. I shoot a glance at the bartender. "Don't call the cops," I remind him.
Outside, the men and I are tasting the cool breeze wafting through the city. The smell of street hot dogs and tamales remind me of California. Some of the other people on the sidewalk squeeze against the building to avoid us, while others cross the street. The sound of boots and stretching leather feel loud compared to everything else.
We hit the next six bars without issue, barely taking any lip from the bouncers and bartenders. I almost feel like it's too easy, but then I remember where we are. Basically, everything here must be easy prey in comparison to what I'm used to. The drinks we snatch from people and the bars satisfy the men, but my mind is still thirsty to see Cassie. I never give this much of a shit normally. It was the look in her eyes... panic and fear. For the first time in my life, I felt a pang of something snap inside my chest when I saw her like that. I don't want her to experience that again.
I look at Sword and Driver, who had chased her down the road and into a cab. They're laughing about something, but I feel wronged. I can't be this defensive about a woman I hardly know — especially with my crew needing me on their side. I scoff and take another drag of my beer, before Rifle sits down next to me.
"The rookies bothering you? I thought you— " he says.
"Shut up, Rifle, you don't know shit," I bite back. He holds up his hands, almost mockingly, then takes a drink of his beer before settling down. This last bar is pretty barren, as it's nearly closing time. The bartender and bouncer have pretended that we aren't there, which is somewhat annoying too. Almost feels like we're invisible. I try not to think about it.
He rolls his glass between his hands and takes another long draw from it. He sighs heavily and turns back to me, but keeps his voice low. "This ain't California, Bomb. Things don't work here like they did there."
I'm quiet, but mostly stunned. A rash of rage surges through me, and I want to knock him off his stool and onto the floor. I steady my hand and clutch my jeans. He's right though, I just don't want to admit it. He stands up and finishes his drink, and sets the glass down on the bar with a clink, before walking away from me.
What the fuck? I'm never like this. I don't have time to deal with this shit, I need to get my head in the game, or else.
I expected more resistance. I thought the bartenders would spit in our faces, the bouncers would pull out knives. That cops would show up and drag a couple of us to jail. Nothing though. I chuckle and stare at the dregs of my drink. I'm almost bored, really.
Worse yet, the men aren't engaged. I glance around at the other bikers, some joking and knocking beer onto the floor of the bar. The bartender throws his hands up in disgust, but doesn't say a word. I needed them to band together, but it's been nothing more than a recess for a bunch of kids. God, I feel old all of a sudden.
I pull out Sword's phone and flip it open. The picture of Cassie is still on the screen, and even with the blurriness and night glare, I can tell she's messed up over it. I have to set that right too, God dammit.
Do I? I swirl the last sip in my glass and watch the foam evaporate. I could just forget about her. What is she anyway? Just another woman. There are tons all around the city. Yeah, that's right.
Tank knocks me out of my thoughts with a hard slam on my back. I rock forward and catch myself on the bar, and I look over my shoulder at him.
"What's up, Bomb?"
I grin and shake my head. "I'm thinking there isn't enough beer here."
"Should we hit another?"
"Nah, we've had enough tonight. Let's get the boys back to the club and hash it out there." I stand up and slide past Tank's massive body. I feel his eyes follow me and I leave the bar, stepping out into the night air. It's late, and I'm barely buzzed. I need more than that to finish off tonight, that's for sure.
I find our bikes stashed in an alleyway near the first bar we hit up, and kick start mine to life. After twisting the engine a couple of times, I guide the bike toward the street. Tank and Sword and the others show up as I slide out of the alley and onto the road. One of them shouts something at me, but I can't hear it.
A couple of minutes later, I'm on the highway. With the streetlights strobing my exposed shoulders, I weave between the slow cars on the road. Like usual, it feels like they're parked. Just large red, green and black cones for me to move around.
Roaring engines behind me heat my back and burn my ears. I pulse the brake and the men catch up faster than I anticipated. Riding in formation, Tank moves to my right and the others follow suit in their positions. A glance over my shoulder reveals that tonight might have been more successful than I thought. The men are stony eyed and stoic. No mindless weaving and joking. For once, we actually look like a real club.
Surge would be proud, I'm sure.
. . .
As we pull our bikes alongside the clubhouse, the night is still pitch black. The men and I stumble inside. After they spread out to their respective chairs and dark corners, I jerk them to attention with a roar.
"Listen up!" I yell. Petrol looks stunned. I choke back a laugh as I avert my eyes and scan the rest of the group. "You men were in fine formation tonight."
Rifle scoffs, but I don't even need to glance at him to tell he's fucking with me. I continue, "To finish your group-initiation, I need you all to get your guns and trade them with each other. We'll need the protection in the next two days, as I expect our name will get around."
Petrol and Sword blink and look at each other. I frown just as Tank leans over and whispers in my ear. "They don't have guns."
I stare back at him in shock. "What do you mean they don't have guns?" I say loud enough for them all to hear.
Petrol grins uneasily and speaks up. "We never thought we needed them."
"Jesus," I say. "If you guys want to be in a real outlaw club, you need some fucking guns." I close my eyes and relax, cooling my temper. "Then how about this? You all go get a gun if you don't have one." I look at Rifle. "I expect you have a gun, at least."
He nods, "Surge insisted."
"I wish he did the same for all of you. Go get guns, and exchange them. You'll be entrusting your life in your brothers' hands everyday out there, and what better way than with your own weapon?" I rub my sore hand and smile.
"Meet back here tomorrow night with a weapon. I don't care how you get it. Just don't get arrested."
With that, I conclude the night's events. Petrol disappears in the back, while the other men and I get ready to leave out the front door. I grab Tank by the arm and stop him. "What's Petrol doing?"
"He lives here. It's his bar."
No one had told me. I release him and go out the door to climb on my bike. It really doesn't matter anyway, but it is surprising. As the men pull away from the bar, the roar of their motorcycles echoes behind them. I'm left lingering, the last one behind at the curbside.
As I start my bike, I find my resolve for the problem with Cassie. The image from Sword's phone haunts me. I have to settle things. At least make a clean break. The idea of leaving her with that last impression makes my stomach churn. The fact I can care so much doesn't make me feel better.
. . .
My exhaustion forces me to reach Cassie's by muscle memory and instinct. It helps that the area is so familiar, but only in a vague sense. I didn't grow up in Arizona, but the streets and houses near Cassie's remind me of my own childhood.
Christ, am I really getting nostalgic?
I pull my bike up onto the sidewalk in front of her apartment and shut it off, before kicking the stand down and throwing my leg off it. My hand grazes the rough railing as I ascend the steps. I want to blame the impending hangover for why I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, but it's a flimsy excuse at best. At her front door, I try to peer through the peephole, never understanding why I bother.
I knock on the door three times, hard enough to wake the neighbors. A dog barks down the corridor, and someone curses at it to shut up. The sun threatens to crack the horizon and spill light over the reddish desert that expands beyond the city limits.
Light appears behind the peephole. It moves away and Cassie calls out through the door, her voice unmistakable. "Go away."
I furrow my brow and lean on the door with my arm. "We need to talk."
The handle doesn't twitch and she replies through the door. "No. We don't."
