by Zoey Parker
She sighed.
That box was no good. She made her way to the next one, and its contents were just as disappointing: some rubber bands that looked to be in such poor shape that she almost mistook them for twine; a pen, but it didn’t have its cap and the ink had long since dried out; another mass of paper; and some coins.
The rest of the boxes were similar, until she got to the last one. That seemed cliché, as if there was something she was looking for that she couldn’t get until she'd exhausted all her other options. That wasn't it. She didn’t even know what she wanted; all she knew was that she needed some sort of distraction.
The last box was full of cards. There were three separate decks in there, but they all looked like they were just the type of cards you'd play at a bar or a casino or some crap like that. She liked cards, though, and she was pretty good at them from the times she'd spent playing them with co-workers at bars past. And she'd been pretty good at them as a kid, too, playing them at school and outside of it with the few friends she'd managed to have.
She flipped through the cards. All but one of the packs didn’t have a box or any kind of container for them to rest in, so it was difficult to determine which card belonged to which deck, even though the designs on the outsides of them were somewhat different. Eventually, though, she came to the conclusion that neither of the first two decks she’d flipped through were complete. Damn.
But one pack in the tin had never been opened. The plastic seal was still on it, and that made her feel just a little bit better. This one had to be a full deck, unless something terrible had happened to it. Well, it wouldn’t so much be terrible, at least, not in comparison to other things, as it just would be disappointing. Maybe Victoria had bad enough luck that this deck would have some kind of factory defect and be missing some cards, or have duplicates. If that was the case, Victoria felt like the entire world was stacked up against her.
And maybe it was, but probably not to the extent that a simple deck of cards would be a dud. She cut through the plastic with her fingernails after some struggle, and pulled the cards out. She flipped them in her hands, running her fingers over the thickness of them, and found that the deck did appear to be a full one.
She sighed with relief, running her hand through her hair. She needed to relax. She put the old cards back in the box, setting the full deck on the coffee table in front of her.
Once the deck of cards was safely there, she returned her attention to the boxes. Stuffing everything back where it came from, without really paying attention to what went in which box, she turned her attention back to the deck of cards.
It was tempting to just throw the boxes beneath the coffee table, but that'd probably piss off Darren. Besides, it looked like everything within the safe house was placed there for a reason. It was clean, tidy, minimalist. He, and anyone else who ended up going here, because there was no way she was staying here for long, probably wouldn’t appreciate her making a mess of it.
And though she didn’t want to care what Darren thought about her, she didn’t want to resort to being the type of asshole he was. She sighed again, less happily this time. Then she stood up, taking all the tins in one arm, and moved to the bookshelves, placing each back where it belonged. Well, maybe not exactly where it belonged, but close enough to where the tins had originally come from that she felt no pangs of guilt.
Then she finally made her way back to the couch, pulling open the box again and spreading the cards out on the table.
She just had to take her mind off of the here and now and think about other things. Grabbing a couple cards and trying to put them in order from Ace to King, she stretched and thought about lost, carefree days of playing solitaire.
# # #
Darren
He was still in the bathroom.
He grabbed his jaw, rubbing it thoughtfully. Not that he liked to put that much thought into things. Well, he did, but he didn’t like having people think he was that kind of guy. It'd absolutely ruin his rep. Still, he stood there, just outside the shower.
He’d quit reaching for the towel a long time ago. Victoria had already left and he didn’t need to get dry just yet, so there was no reason for a show of modesty. Besides, there was no modesty to be had; Victoria had seen his cock as it was already.
He wondered how she felt about it. She clearly wanted him, but she wasn't trying to get him right now. And he didn’t want to freak her out in the middle of something as major as this, so he was waiting for her to go to him. Because that was exactly the issue: the only reason they were in the position they were right now was because someone was trying to kill her.
And it wasn't like he should be focusing on the fact that she was attractive, and the fact that she was obviously attracted to him. He should be working on finding her killer. But he couldn’t just leave her here, and there wasn't anyone he could leave her with. Either way, there was definitely no way he was going to leave her in this place by herself.
His mind went through the amount of people who knew where this safe house was. Not many. He could easily trust another member of the Bloody Saints to stay here and look after her if need be, but he really wanted to be the one to make sure she was safe. It wouldn’t be right if someone else did it. Why? He didn’t know why. He didn’t really give a fuck either way, though. Looking too far into it might make him seem overemotional. And if there was something he wasn't, overemotional definitely was it.
He put a hand out and placed it against the wall by the shower. He wasn't so much leaning to support his weight as he was just leaning for the sake of doing it. It wasn't helping him at all, though.
He walked over to the sink so he could look in the mirror that hung above it. His hand went back to his jaw, and he stroked the hairs there. Maybe he should shave. He didn’t. There was no point in doing it. Maybe Victoria liked the rugged look, and what did it matter if she didn’t, anyway? He didn’t feel like it and didn’t even have a razor in the first place.
Of course there were no razors here. Sometimes the people at the safe house weren't there willingly. The last thing on their minds was a shave. His jaw tightened as he thought about it, and his hand fell away. That sucked, but it was life. What point was there in complaining about it? It wasn't like they hurt people here. Sometimes a member of the club made a bad choice, though, and they had to be detained here until whatever they'd fucked up could be settled.
So, no razors. That way a guy – or a girl, but that had never happened before Victoria – couldn’t attack someone, or themselves. It was for the best, really, but just then it was pissing off Darren to no end. What else didn’t they have here? Victoria was still pressing him to go to the store, too.
He looked in the mirror at his face and the lines there. There was no epiphany that made him look at himself this way; he wasn't hit by anything that made him wonder about his life, how he got here, what he was going to do about it. He already knew what he was going to do about it once he found the bastard who’d tried to kill Victoria, he was going to slaughter them. She didn’t have to know that, though. He didn’t know how she'd take it.
But it wasn't even about Victoria. This entire thing was about him. The only reason someone would bother with putting a hit out on Victoria would be to upset him. They must have thought that she was his girlfriend, and so that meant that someone – or several someones – was out to get him. That wasn't anything new.
People had been trying to get at Darren Saylor since he was just a little boy. That came with being born into a club. You couldn’t really leave when your father was the head of the organization. If you did, that meant you wouldn’t really have anyone to go to. You could come back to the club if you wanted, but then you'd have to join back up again. From the bottom.
Darren would know. That was exactly what had happened to him. It wasn't that he didn’t want this life. There were parts of it that were alright: the way the boys looked up to him, the way he could get any woman he wanted, the bikes, the money, and the
late hours. There was a lot of it that was okay. But there were also parts of it that were fucked up, that he didn’t want to get into, that haunted his dreams at night.
And another thing that sucked about being in any club at all, regardless of a man's position within it – there were no answers. He couldn’t just go looking for what he wanted to know and expect to find a neat solution to any question. No, of course it couldn’t work out that way.
And so it followed that there was absolutely nothing he could do to figure out who was trying to harm Victoria. Not from here, anyway. His hands went to his hips where he’d usually wear jeans, searching for where his pistol would be tucked in the back of them. Of course it wasn't there; he was naked. Why had he forgotten that?
And fuck, the way Victoria looked at him. There was nothing about this that could be easy, was there? But no. He was going to leave her alone, until she was begging for him. Until then, he might as well just work on this mystery. Finding a killer was easier than dealing with that type of woman, anyway.
He finally picked up the towel. Dimly, he dried himself off, starting from his legs. He couldn’t stop thinking about Victoria. He had other things to think about, but they also involved her, so it wasn't like this was going to help him at all.
There was only one way this path of thoughts could go, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. He ground his teeth at the thought of it. What kind of man could be around a woman 24/7 and not have anything happen between them? He brought his hand closer to his cock, nearly touching it…
…before stopping. No. He wasn't going to masturbate to Victoria. She wouldn’t know that it happened, but it would still feel like giving into her. He refused to do that. He had to figure out what was going on between the gangs, between the Bloody Saints and the Broken Skulls.
So maybe he was going to be forced into leaving Victoria alone, at least for a while. He couldn’t figure out anything about what was going on when he was all cooped up in here with her, anyway.
He dried himself off and got dressed quickly, and then he stepped out into the hall.
He was on his way towards the front door when he realized just how shitty his plan was. He couldn’t just leave her in this house by herself. And even if he called someone to come stay instead to rectify that issue, she probably wouldn’t be cool with it. He didn’t want to have to deal with an upset Victoria, and he didn’t want to deal with Victoria trying to start a fist fight with one of his men. She was way smaller than all of them, but he doubted that would stop her from trying anyway.
So he had to stay. He gritted his teeth again. He didn’t want to stay, but as the time passed it looked like he had fewer and fewer choices. So he would have to figure out what was going on from here. His hands went to his jeans; he felt for his phone, his wallet, and his pistol. They were all there, but that didn’t really comfort him much.
He looked behind him, over his shoulder towards the living room again. Victoria was sitting on the couch. She had her arms out towards the coffee table in front of her, a bunch of cards scattered all over the surface.
It looked like she was playing cards with herself.
He sighed. She must be lonely. But still, she would barely talk to him. What was wrong with her?
What was wrong with him, for that matter?
He felt a dull ache rise in his chest. There had to be a reason that this was bothering him so much, but he wasn't going to bother looking into that. It was better to push things like that away before there was any chance of them hurting him. Not that he could be hurt. He’d put aside what other people thought of him a long time ago, and nothing hurt him anymore. Even 20 punches to the face probably wouldn’t faze him that much, although he couldn’t deny that something like that would cause some pain.
Yeah, he had to go back. His hand was at the doorknob before he realized it, though, and he let his hand fall away with hardly any sound at all. A soft sigh escaped his lips, gruff in its quietness. And then he turned back, getting ready to go down the hall and towards the living room. Back to Victoria. Back to where some part of him felt like he belonged.
But he had something to do first.
He’d just checked it a few moments ago, but that didn’t comfort him any. His hands went back to the back of his jeans, making sure he felt the familiar coldness of his gun there. Content that everything was where it should be, he continued on his way.
But he didn’t start back off through the hall and all the way into the living room, as he’d originally intended. He could always go back to Victoria, or so he hoped. Even if she wanted nothing to do with him after all of this was through, she was still here right now.
Being around her could come later. Everything that he had to do had to do with her anyway, so it wasn't like he was neglecting her just because he wasn't spending time with her. Part of him didn’t even think that she wanted him to spend time with her, anyway. If she did, she could come to him.
But not right now. He made his way down the hallway and turned off to his left, before he got anywhere near Victoria. Yeah, she couldn’t even see him from here. He was safe.
He kept going. Victoria wouldn’t know that this second hallway was here. Not yet, at least, and it didn’t matter anyway. Maybe eventually, if the two of them were stuck here long enough, he would have to show her around. Until then, he was more than happy enough to keep the safe house's secrets.
The second hallway was small and couldn’t even be considered a hallway, really. Not unless you knew where the other entrance to it was. He made his choice and went a few feet traveling in one direction, looking for the door that was end of this hallway.
He found it quickly. He didn’t even have to put his hands out and go searching for it in the half-dark. Not all of the lights in the house were on. He could see the shimmer of a few behind him, as well as all the lights Victoria had turned on: the one in the living room, the one in the kitchen. He couldn’t see what else, but it was easy to guess that there were a few more on he wasn't naming.
It was difficult to ignore the fact that she was there, that she existed. That he was the one who was going to have to take care of her, regardless of how she felt about it. That was okay, though; he didn’t have to ignore it. He just didn’t need to think about it right now.
He pushed the door open.
There were a lot of places in the safe house that were invisible to the naked eye. Nearly invisible, anyway, so much so that the average person wouldn’t be able to figure out they were there without having someone like him to explain it to them. That was the point. He briefly wondered if maybe he should let Victoria know about any of these places, but he figured there would always be time to do that later. Besides, it wasn't like she needed another place to hide right now – she was already hiding.
The room the door opened into was more of a closet than a room. It wasn't the tiny size that Darren had gotten accustomed to when he hid over at his friends' apartments, but it was still a closet nonetheless. His hand dragged along the wall, looking for the light switch he knew was there.
He found it. Instantly, a light went up on the ceiling of the room, the only source of light being the dull light bulb hanging from the ceiling on a string. It didn’t look the best, especially not in comparison to the rest of the house. People didn’t usually go in here anyway, though.
Across from where he stood, the light illuminated a low bench. The bench was built into the wall, so that if someone wanted to sit on it and wait in this room without being seen they could. To the left of the bench was another small door. When it was opened, it would reveal a small cabinet that held boxes he hadn’t opened in God knows how long.
He didn’t bother thinking about what was in there, though. That wasn't what he was interested in dealing with. He walked over to the bench, sitting down on it as quietly as he could. The room was soundproofed so that Victoria wouldn’t hear him from where she was, and probably not from anywhere, unless he was being really loud and a door or two was open
, but it was habit. Darren wasn't used to being the type that could just exist as he wished; he had to hide, sometimes.
Not that he liked it. But when he didn’t hide, things like this happened. He sighed. He could remember this for later and change so it didn’t happen again, but he probably wouldn’t. That wasn't the type of thing for him to do.
His hand reached to the right of where he sat. He dragged his hand over the wall, looking for the lines he knew would be there. Finally, he found it. There were a bunch of lines etched into the wall. Some of them were just lines, but others were something more.
Pressing against the wall lightly with his fingers, he added more pressure to the wall until he heard that familiar click he was looking for. The wall opened, revealing a little hollow. It looked like an average drawer that had been unlatched, never mind that the latch there wasn't visible and it was hard enough to find even in the light.
He probably wasn't going to be able to look through all of it just sitting here, though. He leaned over, so it was easier for him to get what he was looking for out of the spot in the wall. He crouched down, holding his weight on knee with the other up while he rifled through the little space.
