by Sybil Bartel
“I did memorize it.”
“But you can’t read?”
He shook his head once. “Or write. There was no use for it in my assigned duty on the compound.”
I was so busy picking my jaw up off the ground, I didn’t even notice he said the compound. “But you’re smart. And you talk fancy.” And he was the most observant person I knew.
“Just because I do not know how to read does not mean I do not know how to speak properly. Slang was not allowed on the compound.”
“No, no, I get it. I’m just… surprised is all.” And the whole situation made my heart break for him and the childhood he’d had. “All those nights I read to you and you never read to me, I just thought it was because you liked hearin’ my voice.”
“I do.”
I fought a smile and lost. “Good to know. Well, okay then. How about you bring back any paperwork they give you at the recruiter’s office, and I can read it to you. We’ll go over it together.” I raised an eyebrow. “And then I can teach you how to read. And write.” Lord help us both. “Sound good?”
He fingered a strand of my hair. “I will not want to read or write when I return.”
I blushed hard as every nerve ending in my body pulsed with desire. “Okay, in the morning then.”
“Not then either.”
A nervous laugh bubbled up, and I stood on tiptoe. “Okay then, Mr. Scott, how about you tell me when you’re ready and we’ll go from there?” I kissed his cheek.
As his gaze pierced mine, he gripped the side of my face, and then he did what he always did when he was done talking about something. He abruptly changed the subject. “I do not think it is wise if your mother sees me, but I will escort you inside if you prefer.”
My body melting under his dominant touch, I struggled to switch gears. “No, you’re right. I was gonna suggest the same. In fact, I was gonna tell Mama I didn’t know where you were. There’s no sense in giving her or Daddy a reason to start searchin’ again.”
“Do not tell her where we are staying.”
“Not a chance. I know anythin’ I say to her, she’ll tell Daddy the second I’m out the door. Don’t worry, I got this.” I knew how to handle Mama.
“I am not denying you the chance to see her, but it is not without risk.”
“I know.” We had talked about it plenty over the past few weeks, and he’d never outright told me no. He’d just said it wasn’t a good idea, and I understood that. “But if you’re joinin’ the Army and I’m comin’ with you, then this may be my last chance to see her for a long while.” If ever. I wasn’t under any delusion that Mama hadn’t sold me out just the same as Daddy by being complicit, but she was still my mama, and I wanted to see her one last time.
My man nodded once, then he took me completely off guard.
Wrapping his strong, muscular arms around me, he pulled me close and for a long moment, he simply hugged me.
Then he pulled back and kissed my forehead. “I will walk you to the clearing and wait for you to get inside. If everything is fine, move the curtains on the front window. Then I will go to the recruiter’s and return for you as soon as I can.”
Not ready to say goodbye yet, unsure about how I felt being away from him, I put my arms around him one more time. “Okay. But make sure you come back for me.” And I almost didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t not bring it up. “And if you see any Lone Coaster bikers, or bikers at all for that matter, you hide.” I pulled back to look up at him. “You hear me? You hide.”
He cupped my cheek. “I am armed. Do not worry.”
“Come back for me, Tarquin Scott.” I didn’t know if I was warning him that he’d better, or begging him to keep his promise, but no matter, I had to say the words.
As rare as a cold sunrise in the Glades, the corner of his mouth almost tipped up and Tarquin Scott gave me his version of a smile. “Always.”
I waited until she appeared in the front window. She grasped the curtain and moved it back and forth. She could not see me where I was standing hidden in the shadows, but I nodded anyway.
Then I walked.
The further I went, the more the landscape changed. Woods gave way to fields, which gave way to lawns and houses, then buildings and busy roads. Everything I had been warned about growing up, I saw. River Stephens had referred to it as urban sprawl and the work of the devil. The scent of exhaust fumes, the rush of cars driving fast and honking, the scent of stale food from buildings with garish signs, I did not disagree.
Staying alert, I walked until I found the address.
The Army recruiter’s office.
Four walls, concrete block, freshly painted, and the same symbol tattooed on the brother’s arm from River Ranch was on the glass front door.
For a long moment, I stared. I did not know why that brother all those years ago had made me memorize this address. I did not know what he saw in me that compelled him to reach out to me like he did. But as I stood in front of a building that was nicer than any on River Ranch, I felt the depth of an isolated upbringing manipulated by a madman.
Hating River Stephens even more, I took one last breath of smog-tainted humidity and pushed open the glass door.
“Welcome!” A man who had a decade more turns around the sun than I was sitting behind a desk. Wearing a uniform and a smile, he stood. “I’m Staff Sergeant Miller. How can I help you?”
The air-conditioned room smelled crisp and fresh. Carpeted flooring underfoot muffled my steps. Walls of fine plaster surrounded furniture that was not roughhewn by hand. I had never stepped foot in such a fine place. “I want to be an Army Ranger.”
His smile wide and genuine, his uniform fitted to his body, his hair cut even and shorn close to his head—his appearance made me acutely aware of my too long hair, worn clothes, and my face that had not seen a razor since sunset before last.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place, and that’s a high ambition. I like it. A man’s got to know what he wants, right?” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk without waiting for a response. “Have a seat.”
I sat. In a chair not hand-carved from slash pine.
The man’s smile held as he took his seat again. “What’s your name?”
“Tarquin Scott.”
He nodded as if I had told him something he already knew. “That’s not a first name you usually hear. Is it a family name?”
I did not want to engage in conversation. I wanted to join the Army and get back to my woman. “No.” No one on compound had the same namesake as me.
“Well, I like it.” His hands moved across a keyboard as he looked at a screen facing him. “Let’s get some basic information on you, and then I can walk you through the process and answer any questions you might have.” He glanced up at me. “Sound good?”
“Yes.” Uneasiness, more so than on the journey here, settled in. I had only seen a computer once before in River Stephens’s quarters, and it had made me uncomfortable then like this one was making me now.
“Okay.” The recruiter smiled again then looked at his screen as his fingers moved on the keyboard. “Is your name spelled T-A-R-Q-U-I-N with one N?”
I did not know. “Yes.”
“Perfect. And Scott is with two Ts?”
Uncomfortable, not knowing the answer to that question either, I shifted in my chair. “Yes.”
“Birth date?”
“What?”
“Age?”
Fifteen turns around the sun, eighteen, twenty, maybe more—I did not know my exact age. I only knew the turns since I had been counting them myself. Remembering my woman’s reaction when she had asked me the same question and I had given her the honest answer, I did not tell the recruiter fifteen turns. I picked a different number. “Twenty.”
“Date you were born?”
I made one up. “November first.”
“Year?”
I had already told him. “Twenty years ago.”
He glanced up at me, and his ga
ze ran over my shoulders and arms before he looked back at his screen. “Right. Twenty.” His fingers moved across the keys. “Address?”
I did not know how he got his hair cut so even. “I do not have one.” I would ask my woman to shear my hair tonight. My knife was sharp enough.
The recruiter’s voice quieted. “No shame in being homeless. If you’re currently in a shelter, we can use that address.”
“I am not homeless.” The cabin was shelter. “I come from the Glades.”
He nodded again, but a line formed between his eyes. “Okay. Well, I just need an address of where you live, so I can enter it into the database.”
“Where I live has no address.” And no running water and no electricity and no fine furnishings like this space.
The Staff Sergeant let out a humorless laugh. “Pretty sure everywhere in America has an address these days. If you can’t find it on Google Maps, it doesn’t exist.”
I did not know what Google Maps was. I did not comment.
The recruiter’s eyebrows drew together in suspicion. “Do you have a record?”
I was not ignorant to the term. There were brothers on compound who had served time in jail. “No.”
“Where in the Everglades did you say you’re from?”
“I did not specify.”
“Right.” He nodded slowly. “So…?”
Not offering any more information, not moving, I held his stare and remained still.
His frown dissipated as he studied me. Then a small smile spread his thin lips. “I think you might actually make one hell of a Ranger, son.”
“That is my intent.”
His expression turned serious again. “I can see that. But tell me something….” His gaze dropped from mine as he looked at his lap before looking back up at me. “Do you think the United States Army will spend the money required to train you to become a soldier if they don’t know the simplest of things about you, like where you come from?”
“I do not presume to know what the Army thinks.”
The recruiter exhaled sharply. “That attitude won’t help you, son.”
Hiding my frustration, I answered evenly. “I have no attitude. I was giving an honest answer to your inquiry. I want to be a Ranger. That is all.”
Pushing back in his chair, the man clasped his hands. Then his expression softened for the first time since I’d walked through the door. “Okay, son, I’m going to offer you a deal. How about for the next…” He glanced at a clock on the wall. “…five minutes, you have my complete attention and discretion. Anything you want to tell me will be between just us. No judgment,” he added.
Weighing the possibility of his honesty, I remained still.
My woman had said people would want to use me.
I did not doubt her.
I knew the rarity of my situation. No one left River Ranch of their own accord.
What I did not know was how the recruiter would react to the truth. Which left me two choices.
One a risk, the other cowardly.
Walking out would mean failure of the one promise I had made to myself when the first blow struck my body after River Stephens condemned me to death. Walking out of the Army recruiter’s would be the cowardly move. I knew that.
But try as I might, time had put distance between me and the many sunsets ago I had made that promise, and I no longer harbored the singular taste for revenge in my mouth. I now tasted my woman.
Soft thighs, sweet cunt, full breasts—those were the tastes on my tongue now. The flavors I woke to every sunrise and bedded down to every night. With my cock swollen inside her tight cunt, there was no room for revenge. I had my woman to take care of now.
Which left the other choice.
Confide in the recruiter.
Lay down honesty in offering and stand tall to its repercussions.
My woman with child, there was no choice.
Briefly taking in the round object on the wall with two hands that ticked, I looked the recruiter dead in the eye. “We did not have clocks at River Ranch.”
The recruiter inhaled sharply, and the air inside the room that was free of dirt and dust and the scent of unwashed bodies turned thick with tension.
The clock ticked.
My heart pumped.
The air conditioning blew cool air over my flesh.
I did not move. I did not offer more. I did not elaborate.
I waited.
Eyes wide, expression frozen in shock, the recruiter remained silent. Then he nodded, slowly. “No, I would imagine you didn’t have many clocks on River Ranch.”
Nothing in his tone to indicate I was in danger, I gave him the rest of the truth. “I do not know my exact age. I do not have an address. I do not have a number associated with my birth or a record thereof to my knowledge. I did not have a last name that differed from the madman who resides over River Ranch until I gave myself one.”
I debated continuing.
The recruiter waited.
Practicality prevailed. I had more to lose withholding information. “My wife is with child. We cannot live off the land while she prepares for birth. I am not versed in childbirth. I would like to become a Ranger. My aim is true. My body is strong. My mind is sharp.”
“I don’t doubt any of that, son. Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“Is your wife from River Ranch?”
“No, she is not.”
He looked surprised. “May I ask if you are legally married?”
I hesitated.
He explained. “The reason I ask is because the Army is not going to provide any married benefits if you aren’t legally married.”
“She is mine. I fought for rights for her.”
The man rubbed a hand over his chin. “Okay, son. I’m not going to lie. This is all way above my pay grade. But as a father, I am concerned for both of you. You say you are living off the land?”
“As I have always done.” Defensiveness colored my tone. “I know how to take care of her.”
“I know you do, son. I don’t doubt for one second you know way more than me in that regard, and I’m fourth generation Floridian. My great-grandma raised her boys on swamp cabbage and deer meat. I know it can be done.” He looked at me for a long moment. “But I need to be truthful with you now. You ready for this?”
My muscles stiffened. “Yes.”
“I can’t enlist you. The Army requires proper identification, and you have none. It would take you months to go through proper channels to get a birth certificate, assuming you could get someone with proper identification to verify it for you, which, since you’re sitting here, I’m going to assume that isn’t possible because I’ve heard no one makes it out of River Ranch alive. That said, that very fact may be your ticket into the Army. But you would have to be willing to have a conversation with a friend of mine at the FBI and tell him everything you just told me.”
“No.” I stood. “No FBI.” The last time we encountered them on compound, they shot females and children.
Holding his hands out in a placating gesture, the recruiter stood as well. “I know the FBI is probably a threatening concept to you. I’m assuming you lived through their last raid of River Ranch?”
Short and clipped, I nodded once.
“My friend wasn’t part of that, I swear. He’s a good man, and he definitely won’t want any harm to come to you or your wife. All he’ll want is information. In exchange, you can ask him to expedite paperwork for you. Get you the proper documentation you need for identification.” His gaze held mine. “Then you can join the Army.” His voice quieted with conviction. “You could become a Ranger.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
“If I give information to the FBI, River Stephens will know I am alive.” And then I would be hunted.
The man’s face paled. “He thinks you’re dead?”
“I was vanquished.”
“Pardon?”
I gave him the whole truth. �
�I was beaten, stabbed and thrown out of River Ranch. Unconscious, assuming I was dead, they carried my body off compound and left me in the swamp for the elements.”
The man looked horror-struck. “How on earth did you survive?”
I gave the simplest of answers. “I wanted to be a Ranger.”
He stared at me. “Is that why you were kicked out?”
“No. I gave a female a flower. It was against the rules.”
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.
I made the decision. “Call your friend. I will speak with him.”
“No, Mama.” Out of patience, I yelled, “I ain’t stayin’ and you ain’t getting’ your cell phone back to call Daddy.” Lord have mercy, how had I put up with this woman?
“But, Shaila,” she whined, “we need Daddy. He’ll fix this. He’ll fix everything.” She swayed on her feet.
I’d had it.
I didn’t even know why I’d wanted to come back here.
The carpet was old and nasty. The house smelled like her weed. There was a month’s worth of dishes in the kitchen, and cockroaches were feasting on every single crumb they could find on the dirty countertops.
I couldn’t stay here another second.
“I’m done, Mama. There’s nothin’ to fix. I ain’t Daddy’s or anyone else’s property to be sold or bartered or used as some kinda pawn, so get that through your head. I ain’t becomin’ some biker’s old lady and that’s final. It was real… interestin’ seein’ you, but now I’m goin’, and I ain’t ever comin’ back. Have a nice life.” Or don’t. I no longer cared. “I’ll leave your cell phone in the garage on the counter. Guess you’ll be able to call Daddy as soon as you muster the courage to walk out there.”
“Shaila!” she cried in her pathetic voice. “Don’t do this! Don’t go.”
I turned toward the door and yanked it open.
Before I could make it outside to the fresh air not tainted with her drug abuse, she grabbed my arm.
“Mama,” I warned. “Let go.”
With surprising strength for someone as skinny as she was, her fingers dug into my arm. “No! You ain’t leaving till your Daddy gets here.”
“If you know what’s best for you, Mama, you’ll let go before I force you to let go.” No longer worried about making waves with her, she had no pull over me.
