by Chiah Wilder
“Good work. Have all the dudes who signed up cleared the background checks?” Paco asked.
Goldie nodded. “So far. I’ll keep you posted if something turns up.”
After discussing the financials for the rally, Steel adjourned church and the brothers shuffled out to the main room. The club girls greeted the men and immediately molded themselves into the ones who were looking for some intimacy. Goldie, Army, Sangre, and Muerto went over to the bar and picked up their waiting drinks.
“How you making out with your best bud’s sister? What’s her name again?” Army asked as he brought the beer bottle to his lips.
“She was fuckin’ hot. Does your friend know you’re fuckin’ his sis?” Sangre laughed.
“Damn, dude. If one of you assholes were messin’ with one of my sisters, I’d go ballistic,” Muerto said.
Nodding, Goldie threw back his shot. “Are you all done?”
“We haven’t even started, bro.” Army clasped him on his shoulder.
Turning to Muerto, Sangre said, “You shoulda seen him at Cuervos a few nights ago. He’s got that pussy-whipped look in his eyes. Like the one you had when you kept telling us nothing was going on with you and Raven.”
Muerto shook his head. “You’ve got a hard-on for your friend’s sister. This is gonna be interesting.”
“Fuck interesting. It’s gonna be damn fun to watch.” Army guffawed and Sangre and Muerto joined him.
“I’m just waiting until you’ve got this shit outta your system. And if it’s not out soon, I’m going to have to bash some heads. Get me another shot,” he said to Ruger, who promptly placed one in front of him while he mumbled his apologies for not having done it before being asked.
“What’s going on here?” Paco asked as he scooped up a handful of pretzels.
“Just asking Goldie about his best friend’s sister. The one whose pants he’s dying to get into,” Army said.
“Maybe he already has,” Sangre added.
“That cutie with the sweet ass? I heard you tattooed it,” Paco said.
Goldie gritted his teeth. He should’ve known that Skull and Tattoo Mike would’ve told the brothers about that. Or it could’ve been Kelly. No, my bets are on the them. The brothers gossip way more than the club girls. “I didn’t know it was Hailey when I gave her the tattoo.”
The men burst out laughing. “But since you found out, you’ve been running around with a boner for her,” Army said between snickers.
“I can’t say I blame him. She’s hot,” Paco replied.
“But your friend’s sister? Can’t you find another chick?” Muerto said.
“There’re plenty of hot pieces of ass every weekend. It’s fuckin’ awesome. You haven’t been to a party in a while. This weekend you should get someone to cover for you at the tattoo shop and have some fun. You’ll forget Hailey in a flash,” Army said.
He’s right. I should just lose myself between a stacked woman’s legs. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Goldie answered as he looked over at Skull and Chains screwing Angel on the couch.
Muerto placed his empty beer bottle on the counter. “I have to get to work.” Leaning toward Goldie, he said, “Dude, when you got a woman on your mind, there’s no pussy in the world good enough to take your mind off her. The fact that this one’s your friend’s sister sucks, but she’s in your blood. I know the fuckin’ look, and you’ve got it all over your face.”
Goldie watched as Muerto walked out, his jaw tight, his muscles tense, and his temples pounding. “I have an appointment in an hour. I’m out of here.” He gave his bothers a chin lift and went out into the bright sunshine.
* * *
It was a warm, drizzly Saturday night, and the bars at Saguro Street were packed, as usual. Tucked between the trendy brewery and the newly opened club, the High Dive had been around for four decades. The bar had undergone several renovations over the years, and the latest one had transformed the dive into a wannabe trendy bar. The scratched wooden floors and wraparound oak wood bar survived the previous transformations. A small dance floor had been one of the recent additions.
Goldie had just finished his last appointment and wasn’t ready to go back to the clubhouse. Restlessness had curled around him all night, and when his last appointment left, he’d told Liberty that he was taking off for the rest of the night. It’d been a while since he’d taken off early on a Saturday.
He’d been going to the High Dive since he’d turned eighteen. Elmer, the owner, was a crusty old man who always had an unlit cigar in his mouth. He’d chew on it furiously, especially when he was mad about something. He’d hired Goldie to sweep up and break down boxes when he’d been in high school and needed a part-time job. After he’d graduated, Goldie just started hanging out, helping as needed until he’d begun prospecting for the Night Rebels. Elmer still tended bar, but he mostly let his son, Carl, run the place.
Walking inside, the jangle of voices competed with the rock music as Goldie brushed against warm bodies on his way to the bar. The sallow light of the streetlamps trickled through the rectangles of colored lead-paned windows. Tilting his head at Elmer, who sat on a stool behind the bar, Goldie leaned on the bar, his eyes scanning the room and resting on a group of women in sequined dresses. One of the women caught his gaze and pushed out her red lips just a little. His eyes dropped only momentarily to her low-cut neckline, then away from her.
“The usual?” Carl’s voice resonated behind him.
Glancing over his shoulder, he nodded, then resumed his stance. The place was packed, and each time he came in on a weekend, the patrons looked trendier. He missed the dive-like feel the place used to have. Many of the old-timers hung out at the bar during the week, and if he had a chance, he’d sneak over for a couple of shots and to talk bullshit with Elmer and a few of the gruffy old guys from back in the day.
Picking up his shot, he let it slide down his throat, the scorching effect of the whiskey landing in his belly. He wrapped his fingers around the cold bottle of Coors and watched the crowd. A few women tried to get his attention, but he wasn’t interested. His mind was on Hailey, something that had become a habit for him. The way they’d kissed a few nights back blew him away. If Ryan hadn’t called, Goldie knew they would’ve ended up screwing.
“You having a good time?” a cute woman asked as she wedged her way between him and another guy leaning against the bar.
“Sure.” He turned away. He wasn’t interested in conversation, and he wasn’t on the make for any women—which was against the norm. Normally, he’d have already picked one out and been at her table charming the hell out of her.
“I’ve seen you before. You’re a tattoo artist at that shop down the street, right?” He nodded. “My name’s Nikki.” She held out her hand. He glanced at it and turned away. She giggled nervously. “I bet you meet all sorts of people, huh?” Again, another nod. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo but I’m afraid it’ll hurt. But so many people I know have them so it can’t hurt that bad. Does it?”
She was getting on his nerves. “Ask the people you know.”
“I have, and some say yes and some say no. So what is it?”
“I guess it’s yes and no. I didn’t come here to talk, okay?” He gave her a hard look.
“So you’re telling me to stop talking to you?”
“You got it.”
“That’s rude.”
“No, you talking to me when you know I don’t want to is fuckin’ rude.”
She ordered her drink and walked away without a backward glance, which suited him just fine. He only came in to have a few drinks before he headed back to the clubhouse. He knew the club would be crazy and he didn’t want to deal with it that night, which surprised him. Never one to forgo a clubhouse party before, he just hadn’t been feeling it for a while. Since I kissed Hailey that night at Cuervos.
He didn’t want to go there, so he ordered another shot and a beer. If he ended up getting drunk, he’d crash at Get Inked.
It seemed the only way he could get her out of his mind was to get smashed and pass out.
As he drank his beer, he saw Nikki sitting at a table filled with men and women. She was laughing about something, then leaned over and said something to a woman next to her. The woman turned to her and he stiffened. Hailey. She sparkled in a low-cut, lightly beaded, green top, and the way her face lit up when she smiled made him chuckle. Each time I see her she’s more beautiful than the last. Suddenly, all he could see in the bar was her; everything else was a meaningless backdrop. Then the sparks of excitement and desire snapped to anger as he saw the man’s arm, the one seated next to her, curved around her shoulders. Fuck that!
Pushing away from the bar, he shoved a few people as he made a beeline for her table. When he approached it, he saw her usual cohorts, Rory and Claudia. Nikki smiled smugly at him, smoothing down her silver sequined top, her eyes shining with anticipation. He went directly to Hailey, who had her head down.
“Let’s dance,” he said, ignoring the guy’s annoyed face.
Hailey glanced at the goon beside her, then back at Goldie. “No, thank you.”
Grasping her hand, he tugged her up. “I wasn’t asking, I was telling.” Placing his hand on her waist, he whisked her onto the dance floor.
The goon rushed up to them. “You can’t be dancing with Hailey. She’s my date.”
Goldie glared at him. “If you know what’s up, you’ll back the fuck off. Way off.”
The guy ran his eyes over Goldie as if he were sizing him up, and then with shoulders slumped, he mumbled, “I’ll let you have this one dance,” and shuffled back to the table.
Tossing her head back, Hailey’s eyes flashed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? He’s my date. You’re not.”
“Ryan told me to keep an eye on you.”
“What the hell does that have to do with this? Ryan’s concerned about Nolan, not all men.”
“I know he wouldn’t want you going out with a wimp-ass like him.”
Red blotches mottled her skin as she pierced him with her eyes. “You’re impossible!”
“And you’re fuckin’ cute when you’re mad.” His lips curled in amusement.
“You think this is funny? You’ve just ruined my date and you’re smiling?”
“I didn’t like the fucker.”
“Guess what? I don’t care if you like him or not. I’m the one out with him not you.”
“Why the fuck are you on a date anyway?” He drew her closer to him.
“Rory fixed me up. She’s worried about me not having a boyfriend. She thinks I’m still wallowing in my breakup with Nolan.”
“Are you?”
“No. It’s the opposite of that. I’m elated he’s out of my life. I’ve told Rory that, but she doesn’t believe me. It’s easier to play along than to have her on my ass about it all the time. At least this one is more fun than the last one.” Her body relaxed in his arms.
“You still big into eighties hair metal?” he asked.
She laughed. “Yeah. I can’t believe you remembered that.”
“I remember a lot about you, like how I noticed you weren’t a little kid anymore when you started high school.”
“I thought you always saw me as a kid.”
“No way. And a lot of guys noticed you. You were stacked back then, and I had to fight the urge not to bash the guys’ faces when they talked about you.”
“The guys talked about me? I never knew that. I mean, I noticed how they all stared at my bust. I used to hate that.”
“You can’t blame them. You had a great pair of tits. You still do.”
She cast her eyes downward, the light picking up the tinge of red streaking across her cheeks. He laughed and held her close, swaying to Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” As they danced, he sang the lyrics softly into her ear as he ran his hands down her back, stopping just before her ass. The scent of her surrounded him, and the more they moved, the harder he got until he had a full-blown hard-on. She tilted her head, her heated gaze met his, and then his lips hungrily covered hers as he kissed her frantically and deeply for the rest of the song.
After the song ended, she pulled away, smoothing down her hair. “I have to get back to the table,” she said.
“Why?” He grasped her hands again and started moving to the next song.
“Because it’s rude. I agreed to the blind date.”
“You don’t owe him shit.”
“Common courtesy. But I don’t owe you anything.”
“I don’t want you to ‘owe’ me. I want to be with you.”
Goldie watched her face as sadness crept in.
“Me too, but each time we try to start something, you freak out and bolt. I can’t keep turning my feelings and desires on and off at your whim. I get the whole thing with Ryan, but I’m a woman now, and neither you nor Ryan get that.”
“I totally get that you’re a woman. That’s the fuckin’ problem.”
“I don’t mean it in a sexual way. I mean that I’m grown and can choose who I want to go out with and who I don’t, and Ryan doesn’t have the right to tell me otherwise. I’d like to get to know you, but you won’t let me. We always end up kissing and touching each other, but then you let Ryan invade your mind and you’re gone, leaving me feeling empty and shitty.” Her voice quivered, and she pulled away.
“We need to talk. I know I’m acting like a fucked-up shit, but loyalty goes deep with me.” Goldie scrubbed his face with his fist.
“Then move on. Forget about me. Leave me the hell alone.” She spun around and walked off the dance floor, joining her table of friends.
At first he wanted to follow her, yank her to him, and cart her off to the tattoo shop so they could talk, but he let her go. She was right, he wasn’t being fair to her. He wanted to play it in the middle: touch and screw her, and maintain his loyalty and friendship with Ryan. He knew better. Life can never be played that way. It’s either all or nothing. The way he’d been acting, he wasn’t playing it straight with Ryan, Hailey, or himself.
Giving her table a sidelong glance, he wanted to rearrange the smug look the goon had on his face as he walked by, but he didn’t. He gave Elmer and Carl a chin lift, then walked out into the drizzling rain.
Chapter Nineteen
Susan O’ Brien had worked hard to become the administrator of Cherry Vale. Hailing from Ireland, she’d grown up poor. With her nine siblings and a father who liked to play the big shot in the village at the local pubs, her family barely survived on the meager government assistance her mother had to collect each month.
Coming to America was like a dream come true, and she promised herself she wouldn’t fuck it up like she did most everything in her life. Each month, like a dutiful daughter, she sent money home to her mother. Sometimes she felt guilty about not visiting, but she rationalized it away each time she wired the money to her mother.
Glancing down at the stats, she groaned inwardly. She’d hoped she could’ve kept the recent surge in dead patients internal, but that gum-cracking sheriff had to shove his nose in it. How she hated it when people chewed gum. It always reminded her of cows chewing grass. And when the people cracked their gum, well, it was like nails on a chalkboard for her. Sheriff Wexler loved cracking his damn gum.
Corporate had become aware of all the deaths and now the situation had blown up into a proper maelstrom. She groaned again and grabbed a small key from her coin purse. Unlocking the bottom drawer in her desk, she took out a bottle of vodka. She’d only have a few nips. God knew she deserved it after the hellacious week she’d had.
Pouring her medicine into the Dixie cup, she leaned back in her office chair and sipped it. The smoothness from the clear liquor calmed her as it made its way down her throat, spreading warmth in her chest, and finally in her stomach.
“What’s the big deal anyway?” she muttered out loud. “It wasn’t like the patients were young, healthy people.” She took another sip. The truth was that the fou
r patients who’d died in the last few weeks—Rose Higgins, Lucille Heller, Albert Swartz, and Henny Simpson—were all old, frail, and in poor health. She saw it as a blessing that those patients left the world to enter another one where disease didn’t exist. If one of the deceased patients would’ve been her parent or grandparent, she would’ve thanked God for sparing them more years of pain.
Another long pour in her cup. “That stupid sheriff’s saying it’s murder. Now I got all the attention on me.” She couldn’t screw this up. Her job paid well, and, for the most part, she loved it.
The buzzer on her phone made her jump, spilling her drink all over her desk. “Shit!” She quickly grabbed some paper towels and soaked up the liquid.
Pushing the buzzer, she said, “Yes?”
“Sheriff Wexler’s here to see you.”
“Thanks. Give me a minute.” She wrapped the paper towels in several plastic bags, sprayed air freshener on her desk and around the room, and popped in two mints. She went over to the door, plastered a smile on her face, and opened it.
“Sheriff Wexler. How good to see you. Won’t you come in?”
The tall man sank down into one of the chairs. “You got a problem at your facility,” he said without any pleasantries. How she hated boorish men.
“Do I?”
“You’ve got patients dying way more than any other facility in town or the county. Hell, you’ve got a higher deaths-per-patient ratio than any facility in Durango. Something’s going on here.”
She forced out a chuckle. “We deal in very sick patients. They die. Sometimes it happens that we have a rash of deaths, depending on how many terminally ill patients we have at one time. Sometimes we may only have one or none. I don’t know what more I can say.”
“There’re people a lot sicker than the ones who’ve died. Some of them weren’t that sick, like Mrs. Heller or Mrs. Higgins. I talked to their doctor.”
