by A. C. Bextor
“What happened was an accident,” I plead, really not liking where this is going.
“Accident or not, Leglas caused a scene. That scene ended with you on the ground, holding your head, and not being able to focus.”
“Elevent,” I try again, placing my hand to his chest.
“And it ended with me not bein’ able to breathe,” he talks over. “I won’t forget what I saw or felt. And that’s on him. So he’ll suffer for it.”
My eyes widen. Elevent shows his thoughts and emotions. He doesn’t share them with words. And he just did. I could cop to this, tell him I’m glad he has. Explain that women may be fierce, but we’re still soft. We need words.
But I don’t. If I do, I may never get that from him again.
Instead, I insist, “I feel like you’re overreacting.”
“And I feel like fuckin’ you.”
Oh God.
“Now, is there anything else we gotta talk about before I go about doin’ that?”
“Nope.”
“Good,” he returns. “Now brace, you little fuckin’ pantry thief. ‘Cause I’ve been wantin’ in there since you said you’ve done ‘bad, bad’ things.”
Damn it to all hell. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?
“Some of the guys aren’t down with this,” Advay tells me, standing at my side and taking in the dark room. “They know Leglas didn’t mean to hurt her.”
I don’t give a fuck. I meant what I told Mia. The imagine of her laying on the ground, her eyes closed as she held her head, writhing back and forth in pain, will never be a passing memory.
“They don’t get a choice, Advay,” I seethe. “Shit happens all the time. How can we expect others to handle themselves, when we can’t handle ourselves?”
“I get it.”
“And what’s it say that the VP of this fuckin’ club can’t control himself around another brother? One of same importance.”
“Leglas and Gypsy go at each other all the time,” Advay decides to defend. “No one says or does shit.”
“Again, Advay. What’s it say Leglas can’t curb his ego? Especially when we have guests from another club and possible recruits here?”
Advay’s dark eyes narrow as they peruse the room.
Leglas’ angry body is strapped to a chair, his hands tied securely behind his back. His chest is covered in heavy twine, as every member here knows that’s what it’ll take to hold him down. His hair is damp from sweat. His bottom lip is bloody and his nose is already swollen.
To force a lesson, to teach and test the others, I ordered Max, Blaze, and Wilson to get their hits in first. Giving them Leglas after he’d already been beaten down would be much less effective. They need the experience of looking into a man’s eyes, a man guilty of hurting a brother, and dishing out the punishment he rightly earned.
A club can tell a lot by a prospect’s reaction to this. Lessons taught the hard way help build the character and strength they need for when issues more pressing come.
“Yeah,” Advay finally gets out again. “I get it.”
“We’ve done the same,” Gunner states, coming to my side and seconding my motion.
“You’ve done what?” Advay challenges, lifting his arms and running his fingers through his long hair.
Gunner watches while I do as Advay ties a knot to his head.
“Club brother made a fucked-up play for a woman who was already taken.”
“That’s Peril,” Advay points out with agitation. “This is Saint’s.”
“Different club, sure. But the same codes gotta apply,” Gunner claims. “Otherwise, you find yourselves drowning in chaos.”
Advay’s jaw clenches.
Gunner doesn’t care as he continues, “There are things you do and things you just do not. In our club, the members know if they step out of line, they get what's comin' to them for doin' it.”
“Glad for them,” Advay gives. “But again—”
“And you don’t know Hem or Shame,” Gunner interrupts. “But I can tell you this, they took what Ace did personally. And ‘cause of that, the punishment was long and hard.”
“Enough,” I clip, the image of a man I’ve never seen coming to mind’s eye. “Get the rest of the men I chose in here.”
For obvious reasons, I left Gypsy out of the fold. He didn’t start the fight, didn’t lay first hit. For the present time, he’s nursing an ego bruise, being as Leglas had his ass to the dirt on the first strike. His punishment comes when I force him to be the one to fix Leglas when we’re through.
Same as kids being made to hold hands after a fight, I expect they’ll settle and be better for it the next round.
“Elevent,” Leglas calls, his voice hoarse. With his heated eyes on me, he nods once. His hair falls around his face, his beard dropping to his chest. “Let’s get this done.”
As I said, Leglas has a penance to serve. He knows it as we all do. He’ll pay it and we’ll be done.
I cannot believe this.
What the hell is wrong with these people?
I don’t fit in here. I never did, never could.
As I hit the last step with a furious foot, my body rocks and I freeze midstep. My mouth falls open at what’s in front of me.
I’m shocked, but not surprised.
I knew, but wasn’t prepared.
I thought the situation was delicate, but what is it is complicated.
Cricket has her back to me. Inside the clinch she’s in, she obviously has no idea I’m here. And why would she, being as her focus is not on the room or its people.
Jesus Christ.
We’ve all heard that story about a girl who fell down the rabbit hole. Well, now I’ve fallen through the rabbit hole—an entirely different kind. There’s no other explanation for what’s going on in this madhouse today. It’s been made up of one ridiculous scenario after another.
My bad day started an hour ago when I woke to find Elevent gone from bed. No goodbye, no note left on the table beside this bed. Nothing. He was gone. Normally, this kind of hasty exit wouldn’t bother me. I know he’s busy, and after last night’s mess with Gypsy and Leglas, I also know he had things to see to. But before falling asleep Elevent and I shared, a lot. We shared pieces of ourselves that I thought were important. So when I woke up naked and alone, I was immediately annoyed.
During my search for him, I ran into Joz, where she happily explained that Elevent and a few of the other brothers had gone to ‘do what needed done.’ To get more out of her meant I had to spend more time with her. This meant I had the pleasure of holding a semi-smile as she painted her damn toenails. From all she shared, I figured they’d be out back for a while. They were dealing with Leglas’ punishment.
Annoyed by her lack of any real details, and her enthusiastic manner in what little she relayed, I left her mid-sentence and took off in search for Vante. I’d hoped he’d not had one thing to do with such animalistic and juvenile behavior.
When I couldn’t find him, assuming he was wherever Elevent and the rest of the boys were, I etched his name to my not-so-happy-with list.
Becoming exasperated, I started toward my next hopeful target. Cricket.
And here we are. Standing in the kitchen of the club, where I’ve graduated from kind of cranky to downright livid.
Someone, for the love of God, please tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing. Or at the very least, tell me I’m the only one who has seen it.
You are kidding me.
Gypsy’s body is flush with Cricket’s, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist. His other holds a heap of her hair. She has one hand on his cheek, the other wrapped around his neck. The woman is holding on for dear life.
A subtle moan from her, coupled with a reactive growl from him, nearly penetrates my resolve, thinking I should leave them to it. Then, of course, I remember why I’m down here in the first place—the fact that Leglas is currently under the gun, so to speak.
At this thought, I clear my throa
t and do it loud.
Gypsy pulls her face away from his. His eyes come to mine over her shoulder, and they narrow, past edgy and on to angry. We stare each other down, his determination matching my own. I tilt my head to the side, debating whether to call her name or leave her be. This is when he releases his hold on her and steps back.
Coward.
“Like we’re not already in the middle of a shitstorm,” I reprimand, meant for both.
Gypsy looks down to study his boots.
Cricket’s head lifts and turns in my direction. Her eyes are swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her nose is red. Her hair is over her shoulders, hanging down in long waves over her back.
“Shit, Mia. I’m sorry,” she gives, like I care for an apology.
“Are either of you aware of what’s going on right now?” I interrogate, pointing to the mudroom and the door leading outside.
Cricket nods, shame blanketing her beautiful face.
When neither she nor Gypsy make a move or say a word in answer, I push, “And no one is doing anything about it?”
“There’s nothing for anyone to do,” Cricket explains. “This is the way it is.”
As if.
“Gypsy?” I pressure next. “You have no issue with this?”
In a surprisingly gutsy play, Gypsy brings Cricket to his front, where he wraps his hand around her waist. She settles in, grabbing his hand, and lacing her fingers in with his.
“Are you kidding me?” I whisper to myself.
Gypsy then advises, “I have no issues with what Elevent wants. So, no.”
I guess probably not. Apparently his worry isn’t if Leglas stands guilty today, accepting his punishment. His focus is on other things.
“Where are they?” I question. “Where did they take him?”
On my own, I could go find them, search the property building by building, in hopes I’m not too late to stop the madness. My swollen face would probably work against my case, but I could try. Even if I don’t care much for the idiot who gave me the shiner in the first place.
“You’re not going anywhere,” another voice enters, and I turn around to find Lane.
Great. As if dealing with Joz wasn’t enough this morning. Now Lane wants to join the fun.
“Can I help you?” I clip.
Since Elevent turned Lane out, we haven’t been at odds. She could’ve been off nursing her wounds, maybe spreading stories, or perhaps finding another bed to warm. I have no idea. But the peace without her in my space has been nice.
“Maybe you can help me,” she returns, her words apprehensive.
Turning back to Gypsy and Cricket, their guilty expressions gone, as is the togetherness they had shared earlier, I insist, “I’ll be back.”
Gypsy smiles. Cricket frowns. I scowl at them both.
“Outside?” Lane queries, nodding to the back door.
As we step out, the sun hits my eyes and I wince. The pain radiating in my face is severe. I’ve been too preoccupied with this human scavenger hunt to remember to take an aspirin.
“Can we sit?” Lane asks next, pointing to the cement stairs.
She doesn’t wait for me to respond.
In her faded, concert tee shirt and an old pair of jeans, Lane takes a seat on the stoop just outside the door. She stares out to the driveway in contemplation before saying, “You and Elevent are together now, I’m sure.”
“We are,” I tell her, following suit and sitting at her side.
Her version of what together means and mine likely differ, but after my day, I’m in no mood for semantics.
“I figured,” she gives. “Guess I figured you two were together before you did.”
Sure. Why wouldn’t she? Whatever.
“Anyway, I just kind of wanted to make sure you and I are cool. You don’t know me—”
“No, I don’t know anything about you,” I return, my tone harsher than intended. “Other than you care about a man worth caring about.”
Her cheeks flush and she nods.
“But whatever you still have, or had, with Elevent has nothing to do with me.”
“You’re so confident about everything,” she assumes, surprised at my pledge.
“What do you mean?”
“The other girls here, they can be vicious.”
And rude, and gross, and slutty, I hold back because not long ago, she was one of them.
“If I were you, knowing the things Elevent and I have done, I’d scratch your eyes out.”
For the first time today, I laugh. Out loud. And hard. Not because what she says is funny, because it’s not. However, I picture myself doing what Elevent’s doing right now—intentionally hurting another person for a very stupid reason.
“Are you all right?” she queries, a scared smile crossing her lips.
My laughter dies, now picturing Leglas in the throes of accepting his punishment.
“Nope,” I return, shaking my head. I sigh. “But I will be. As soon as all this is over.”
“This is never over,” she explains. “I mean, this is nothing. After today, no one will say a word about it. Next week and the week after? Who knows?”
“That is encouraging,” I return quietly, mainly to myself.
Lane stands, offering her hand to help me up. I accept, grateful she asked to talk. If anything, she’s taken my mind off my worry for a bit.
“Well, I’ll be straight,” she says. “Leglas probably agrees with what’s happening to him. You may not understand or accept it, but I’m telling you, he and the rest of them will be fine.”
“Now you’re so confident.”
Turning to grab the handle to the front door, she smiles. “I’ve been here a while. And one thing I know is that these men aren’t like the women. They fight like animals and it’s done.”
Good to know.
“And I’ll warn you,” she says low, still holding the handle but not opening the door. “All that testosterone in one room for however long it takes to release it?”
“Yeah?”
“Brace, my friend. ‘Cause no matter how I warn you, you’re not ready.”
Now what in the world does that mean?
Finally, she opens the door, steps through, and leaves me behind, uttering, “Good luck.”
Rabbit hole. I must have stumbled into the goddamn rabbit hole.
“How is he?” Mia jumps from the end of couch to interrogate as Sty and I enter the bar.
Leglas is fine, he’ll heal quickly and we’ll all move forward. This is how we are—how this shit runs. Once it was over, no one left in the room paid a second thought to anything else.
Mia has. She’s obviously been stewing.
She’s flustered and furious as she adds, “Where is he?”
“Mia,” Sty greets on a curt nod. “Good morning to you too.”
“Can I see him?” she rallies next. “I want to check on him.”
“Jesus Christ, woman,” Sty clips in exhaustion. “We didn’t beat him to death for fuck sake. Just knocked him around some.”
Pyke sighs from his place on the couch, uttering, “Guys, leave her be.”
Mia brings her hands to her hips at the same time she kicks out her leg. The guys and I have learned this is a warning—Mia’s about to throw down.
Sty must not notice, or with the chaos of the morning he doesn’t care, because he baits, “I know where you come from you don’t practice our ways, but—”
“No,” I call, cutting him off.
Advay laughs as he sits on the couch behind Mia. She turns to him, and I can’t see her face, but I’d guess she’s got her narrowed eyes on him.
“Where I come from?” Mia questions tersely, turning back to us.
Max and Blaze, standing together at the end of the bar, both smile as Blaze voices, “Yeah, Mia. You know. Where there’s no loud music. And men don’t communicate with fists.”
“Damn it, guys,” Pyke punishes. “Knock it off.”
“Tip jars are customary,”
Sty adds, no longer annoyed but outright smiling.
“You told them what we talked about?” she stammers to me in accusation. Her face is turning red, her eyes hurt.
“El didn’t share,” Sty quickly states. “You did. Old building, Mia. Walls are thin.”
“Oh, my God.”
“We hear that from you on occasion too, but most of us ignore it.”
The pink in her cheeks fades and her face pales. “No. No. No.”
“Angel, come here,” I order.
“They hear me,” she says to herself. “They hear us!”
“Trust us,” Advay returns, charged with provocation. “We don’t listen to that shit.”
“El,” Max calls, weighing in on the panic in her eyes. “Your woman’s head is about to explode.”
“Don’t call me that,” Mia hisses. “Don’t ever call me that.”
“Call you what?” Max returns.
“I’m not Elevent’s woman,” she states.
“Oh yeah. That’s right,” Sty recalls. “Forgot you’re never gonna be ‘claimed’.”
Advay barks a laugh. Sty turns around to hide his.
“Jesus Christ,” Pyke punishes.
“Angel, I asked you to come here,” I remind.
“You didn’t ask,” she snaps. “You ordered.”
“Same,” I tell her. “Now get your ass over here.”
“Did you tell them you claimed me?” she strangles out in disbelief.
Another laugh from Advay. An eye roll and murmur from Sty. Pyke sits straight up, ready to intervene.
“Christ, Angel. No, I didn’t tell them I claimed you.”
Her furious gaze falls. An expression passes and I have no read on what it says.
“Angel?” I prompt. “Do you really want to discuss this here?”
“Why not?” she berates, throwing her arm out and pointing to the hall leading upstairs. “Obviously they’re all listening anyway!”
If Mia wants to get this out now, we will. She won’t welcome what I have to say, or the delivery.
Sometime last night, it occurred to me. I figured her out. Mia Zanders doesn’t want to be claimed. Well, so be it. She doesn’t have to be.
“Tying yourself to me at night,” I start and she flinches. “Burrowing in so fuckin’ close your body heat outplays mine.”
