GIVE IN: God's Hellfire MC

by Naomi West

  She'd only been living at Patricia's for a while. And, honestly, it was nicer than when she'd been living alone. Sure, Patricia was gone most days for work, like she was today, but at least she had Patricia's cat to keep her company.

  Sort of.

  Mr. Wiggles was a cat, after all. He kind of ignored anything and everything unless he wanted to be played with, or fed. Most of the time, he just slept on the couch or perched at the top of his cat tree and watched the world go by.

  Oh, to have the life of a cat. That would be a sweet setup. No biker boys, no psychos stalking you and kidnapping you just so they could terrorize your man by leaving you out in the forest.

  Memories of that night loomed back up in her mind. Memories of his crappy old car, the stale stench of cigarettes, the feel of the blindfold over her eyes.

  She shivered despite the warmth of the room.

  They came and went, the memories. They stayed locked away most of the time. But, occasionally, they'd resurface for no reason, like now. Little bits and pieces that would just take over her whole world.

  Star got up from the bed and put her slippers on, then shuffled out into the kitchen. She grabbed some coffee and checked the time. Geez, it was almost noon, already. She'd barely done anything with herself all day long, just laid in bed trying unsuccessfully to read her new book. Even that, she couldn't get done right.

  How hard was reading, anyways?

  She took a sip of the stale coffee and grimaced. She needed to stop waiting so long to get up.

  She had a list of other things she needed to do, too. Get a job, for one. And with the baby on the way, Juicy Lucy’s was off the table. Maybe she could get another temp job. Maybe, almost a month later, people would be hiring.

  She shook her head at her naiveté and sighed. Nothing would have changed in the last month. This was a smaller town, and just not as many jobs as there used to be.

  Seemingly out of the blue, Patricia's doorbell rang.

  Her apartment was far enough back from the parking lot and the main road. Star hadn't been able to pick up the sound of Tanner's bike on any of the daily trips he'd made. But, still, she was pretty sure it was him.

  She just took another sip of coffee as he began to knock on the door for a few seconds.

  She didn't budge from the kitchen. She didn't head back to her bedroom, to hide her head under the covers like she wanted. She had no illusions that this would somehow all just disappear. But, she had her hopes. Maybe, he'd just forget about her. Or, she'd forget about him.

  Then, a few months from now, she could just show up on his doorstep with a chubby-cheeked little baby and a birth certificate.

  “Here you go, Mr. Rainier,” she'd say as she handed the document over. “Proof that you have a child. Now cut me a check and let me move on with my life.”

  Then, he'd give her a cashier's check for five-hundred grand, and they'd call it a day. No, they'd call it a life. An entire life. She'd move away from this godforsaken town, maybe go out to the west coast. Some place she could feel the ocean breeze on her face, and she could dip her toes in the water as she thought of better days.

  But, who was she kidding? She didn't have many “better days.” Not many more than what she'd spent with Tanner, at least. Those had been good days. Riding behind him on his bike, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. And, then, of course, there was always the time between the sheets. Or how honest he was, how he didn't dress anything up, or mince words with her.

  She set her coffee aside, realization setting in. She wanted him. She wanted him badly. But, she didn't think she could handle this life of his. Break ins? Fights in the street? She hadn't been built for this kind of thing.

  Of course, though, maybe she was wrong about herself. Maybe she could handle it? Maybe, in a world like his, you just had to expect that sometimes things were going to happen, things outside your control. And that, what really measured and tested you was how you dealt with what couldn't be handled.

  Did you break? Or did you bend like the willow in the wind?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Tanner

  “This the place?” Tyke asked.

  “Look like it,” Tanner said. “At least, I think it is.”

  The two men were pulled up in front of Aaron's childhood home. Rather, it was as far as Tanner could remember. He hadn't been overly close with the Roaming Wolf when they were kids, so he thought he remembered being over here one time or another.

  The house itself was a rundown shack. Ten or fifteen years before, it might have been presentable. But, not anymore. The paint was peeling off in giant strips, and it looked like a branch had taken out an eve at one point and exposed some rotten wood in the beams. A small front porch stood at the front, with a busted porch swing hanging by one chain on one end.

  “Well, let's go see who's home,” Tyke said as he swung his leg over his chopper.

  Together, the two men ambled up to the front steps.

  “Goddammit!” Tyke yelped. He must have stepped wrong, because the board on the second step snapped with a sickening crunch, plunging his leg down almost to the knee.

  “Just a busted board,” Tanner said as he offered a hand to pull him back out. “Come on, now.”

  Tyke got up out of the hole with Tanner's help. As he was bent over brushing wooden splinters off his jeans and boots, he glanced up and caught Tanner's eye. “You getting like a Texas Chainsaw vibe off this place?”

  “A little. If they invite us in, don't sit in the leather chairs.”

  “Especially if it has a face on it. Got it.”

  They turned back to the front door, a plain, unpainted wooden one with no windows. They tried the buzzer that was installed to the right of it, but there was no sounds of chimes or bells inside, so they just knocked.

  A minute or so later, they heard bustling inside the house. Slow, deliberate movement. “Just a minute,” an older-sounding woman said from the other side.

  Whoever it was on other side flipped some deadbolts and pulled back the chain before answering the door. She was a wizened, bespectacled, little old woman, easily in her seventies, that only came up to Tanner's chest.

  “Hello?” she asked, peering up at them. “May I help you?”

  Tanner and Tyke both looked at each other knowingly. They must have gotten the wrong house.

  She squinted her eyes and leaned forward a little, maybe to better focus on them. Then, she decided that wasn't working, and moved backwards. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I see your vests! Are you Aaron's friends?”

  Both men exchanged glances again, with Tyke having an undeniable little grin on his lips.

  Tanner turned to the little old woman, smiling as pleasantly as he could. “Yes, ma'am, we are. We were actually wondering if you could help us find Aaron?”

  “Oh, that nephew of mine,” she said with a long sigh. “Always running off and disappearing. He doesn't tell me anything anymore. Not that he ever did, mind you. But the occasional call wouldn't be too much to ask for, would it?”

  “No, ma'am,” Tyke said, shaking his head vigorously. “We feel the exact same. We've been looking for him for days now, but he's not even answering his phone.”

  “Well,” she said after a moment, “I know he had been staying with some girlfriend of his, just until he got his own place. I don't necessarily approve of those kind of living arrangements, of course, but these modern kids and their ways still astound me. Why, back in my day, that kind of behavior just wasn't appropriate for proper individuals to engage in.”

  “Do you remember this girlfriend's name?” Tanner asked. “Or where she was living?”

  “Ashley, I think. No last name, I'm afraid.”

  Tyke looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Do we know any Ashleys?” his facial expression said.

  Tanner thought he knew of one, a girl who drank at the Old Crow sometimes. He knew she ran with bikers most of the time, but wasn't exclusive to any of the clubs in the area. Early twenties, cute in a
trashy kind of way. He figured she'd be as good a place to start as any, and could probably start the hunt for her down at the Crow.

  “Does that help you?” Aaron's aunt asked. “Will that help you boys find my nephew?”

  “I think it will, ma'am,” Tanner said, a fake smile plastered on his face. “Have a wonderful day, now.”

  She beamed at her ability to help out the two nice, young men. “You too, dearie. Have a blessed day.”

  They were down off the porch and back onto their bikes in no time.

  “Crow?” Tyke asked.

  “Yep,” Tanner said. “Jethro can probably get us in touch with the girl. Then we can start there.”

  # # #

  They parked in the lot in front of the Regal, a roach motel of the highest order, and hopped off their bikes. It was one of those open-court styles, a single level with all the rooms facing out to the parking lot. A broken neon sign flashed on and off, advertising M-NTHLY RMS FOR RENT.

  Jethro, after a few well-placed phone calls, had led them to this place in search of Ashley. Apparently, she'd been staying in one of the rooms for the last few months. Together, the two men ambled down the sidewalk to her place.

  They skipped all the niceties on this one, and just pounded on the door. Inside, Tanner could hear movement, shuffling of stuff on tables. Whoever was in there, Ashley presumably, was worried they were the cops or something.

  “Ashley,” Tanner called through the door. “Open up. We just wanna talk to you.”

  “You the fucking pigs, man?”

  “No,” he replied, “we ain't the fucking pigs. We're here to ask you about Aaron.”

  “Aaron? Fuck that guy, man. He's a fucking asshole. I don't want anything to do with anyone who knows that son of a bitch.”

  “He ain't exactly our friend, neither,” Tyke said. “So just open the goddamn door and you can tell us all about how big of a fucking asshole he is.”

  She fiddled with the locks on her side and threw the door open.

  She was a petite blonde girl, barely over five feet tall, and maybe weighed a hundred pounds, with a shock of bright blue at the front of her hair. Piercings covered her ears and face, but didn't do much to distract from the giant shiner over one eye.

  Ashley pointed to her black eye. “That tell you enough?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Geez,” Tyke said. “Didn't expect it to get that descriptive.”

  She looked them up and down. “Hey, I know you guys. You're Blood Warriors, right?”

  “Yep,” Tyke said, propping himself up against the frame of the door with one hand. “That's us.”

  “You gonna kick his ass when you find him?” she asked.

  They didn't reply. The less they said, the better.

  “You guys wanna come in? Have a beer or something?”

  Tyke glanced towards Tanner, nearly begging with the look he was flashing him.

  Tanner shook his head, almost imperceptibly. They were here on business.

  “Really shouldn't,” Tyke said, his voice downtrodden.

  “You know where to find Aaron?” Tanner asked, wanting to make this quick. This chick looked like a classic club girl, a biker groupie with no shame. If he wasn't careful, she'd be pawing at Tyke like it was going out of style, and then he'd have to spend the next hour and a half trying to get the guy out of her clutches. “It's important.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Last time I saw him was about a week ago. He disappeared one night when we were supposed to be hanging out. Got into an argument with him,” she said, pointing to her eye, “and he gave me this. Haven't seen the cocksucker since.”

  “Any idea where he might have gone?” Tanner asked. “Friends? Places he might layup?”

  “Checked his aunt's house?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Not there, huh?” She opened her mouth and played with her tongue ring, idly clicking it against her teeth. Beside Tanner, Tyke was mesmerized by the display.

  “How we found you,” Tanner replied.

  “Only other place I can think of is the Wolves clubhouse, then. No one else wants that psycho motherfucker around any more than I do.”

  “Thanks,” Tanner said, slapping the frame of the door and turning around. He grabbed Tyke and pulled him along, and made sure the poor bastard's tongue was rolled up back in his mouth first.

  “You kick that motherfucker’s ass when you see him!” she yelled after them as they left.

  So, that was it, then. He was probably at the clubhouse, if only because no one else would let him stick around. Looks like they were back to square one. But, on the bright side, he had to come out of there sometime. A man wasn't meant to be a caged animal. Especially not if that man was a biker.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Star

  Star was sitting at Patricia's kitchen table, sipping her morning coffee, when the doorbell rang.

  Patricia, who was seated right across from her, didn't even bother to say anything. Instead, she just raised an eyebrow and exchanged a knowing look with her friend. They both knew who was ringing the bell, and they both knew how Star felt about talking to him. This had become a weird sort of ritual for the two of them.

  Star grabbed her cup and took another sip, slowly blinking her eyes. She'd be damned if she was going to get up.

  “Guess I'll be right back,” Patricia said, slightly exasperated by the whole situation. Star knew her friend hadn't signed up for this, and she loved her all the more for dealing with it. Patricia's chair squealed over the linoleum as she pushed back from the table and got up to go answer the door.

  Star didn't even watch her go. She couldn't blame Patricia for feeling at her wit's end about the situation. She felt the same way. But, she didn't know how to fix it.

  Patricia opened the door. “Hi Tanner,” she said in a singsong voice before it was even all the way open. “How are you today?”

  “Hi Patricia,” Tanner said back in his standard issue biker growl. Star swore they tested the recruits before they got their patches, just to make sure they were surly-sounding enough. “Star around?”

  “Nope,” Patricia replied quickly, automatically. “You just missed her.”

  Star could have recorded Patricia's responses from the last few weeks on one recorder, and Tanner's on another, then just played back this exact same conversation back over and over. The little trick would have at least saved him the daily trip to come over here. And, of course, it would save Patricia the hassle of having to turn him away every time.

  “Well, I need to see her,” he said, and paused. “I want to see her. Can you tell her I came by?”

  “Sure thing!” Patricia said, her voice artificially chipper, especially for this time of day.

  “Thanks, Patricia.”

  “No problem!”

  Patricia shut the door quietly and came back to the kitchen. “He cares about you,” she said as she sat back down.

  “I know.”

  “Why don't you just go back to him, then?”

  “There's no ‘going back,’” Star replied as she fidgeted with her coffee cup and spun it in her hands. “We weren't ever official, or serious.”

  “Serious enough to have a baby together.”

  Star glared at her friend. “You know what that was about.”

  “I know,” Patricia relented, clearly calling for peace before an argument started, “I know. But, geez. Star, I know I was against this guy from the get-go, but . . .”

  “But?” Star asked as she stared down at her hands and fidgeted with them.

  “But,” Patricia said, emphasizing the word, “I gotta give the guy credit for holding out like this. Not many guys would show up every single day just to be turned away. This is like some Tibetan monastery crap.”

  Star chuckled.

  “So, he's some sort of spiritual seeker coming up to the top of the mountain every day?”

  “Right,” Patricia said, her coffee mug half-way to her lips
, “struggling to get to the top, even through blizzards and over glaciers. And you're the grouchy Zen master.”

  Star rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Look,” her friend said as she put her coffee back down, “I'm going to level with you. I don't care if you live here for the rest of your life. We can grow up and be spinsters together, and raise this child of yours in a loveless pseudo-lesbian relationship. Dead-bed that shit all the way, only occasionally dragging neighborhood pool-boys into our bed when the sexual frustration becomes too great.”