by A. J. Downey
“Mace ask you to come?” I called down the bar after a moment of quiet. The last song had played on the jukebox and the next hadn’t started yet. He nodded and his dark eyes roved over me.
“He misses you, you know,” he said.
I couldn’t look at him when I said, “I miss him, too.”
“Yeah?” he asked. After the next song started, I picked up the remote to the system and turned it down so we could carry on a conversation.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Then why haven’t you reached out?” he asked, and it was a good question.
“I don’t know,” I answered, honestly. I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t want to go too deep with anyone. I was scared, maybe, that if I let this thing slide that I would let other things go and before I knew it, I would be in over my head. I was afraid that maybe Mace was the right man for me, and that would get him hurt or killed.
I felt like a walking poison with Max still out there, felt like the entirety of Seattle PD was on his side. I didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore. Should I run further? Harder? Was I just being stubborn staying here? I didn’t know. I didn’t have the answers.
All I knew is that I felt incredibly alone now more than ever. That I didn’t feel like I could even talk to Mace about it after he had gone behind my back like he had and everything hurt.
An emotional raw and grinding ache, like my soul was broken and every time I moved, those broken pieces ground and grated together in the most unnerving way. I honestly didn’t know what or how to sooth that hurt in any way.
“Want some unsolicited advice?” Dump Truck asked from down the bar, holding up his glass and looking at it, rattling the ice a bit and watching it swirl in the dark, syrupy liquid.
“Didn’t you just solicit said advice?” I asked with a smile. He glanced at me sideways and grinned.
“I do believe I just did. Want it anyway?”
I nodded. “Shoot.”
“Communication is key to any good relationship. You two aren’t doing yourselves any favors sitting and stewing in your feelings not talking to each other.”
I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and nodded.
“You’re right,” I declared. “And I think I know that—”
“So, what are you scared of?” he asked.
I nodded slowly. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Isn’t it just?” he asked then left me to my own thoughts on the subject.
Rather than face them, like the coward I was, I threw myself into closing in record time.
Dump Truck, to his credit, didn’t push or pry. I think he’d achieved whatever goal he’d had just getting me to think things through on my own. He struck me as the wise beyond his years, Zen type. Patient, endlessly so… and I wish I was that way too, but alas I was me – a chaotic, anxiety riddled mess on the inside, and that was on a good day.
The walk home was slow, and we talked. I could tell he was asking questions without really asking; that he was prying apart the gordian knot of my feelings one strand at a time, trying to get to the heart of my problem. The thing I appreciated about Dump Truck’s way was that he was patient about it, and was doing it in such a way that I could see and follow his reasoning.
He should have been a therapist, not a mechanic.
“I thought this was supposed to be my side gig,” I joked as we rounded the corner to my building.
“What?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Listening to people’s problems, throwing out a suggestion or two, and letting them sort themselves out.”
He laughed. “It is sort of the bartender’s way, isn’t it?”
“Cheaper than therapy.” I sighed miserably. Had I the access to mental health services, I would undoubtedly take advantage of them but alas, such was the way of American healthcare. The much-needed services were typically overloaded and out of reach unless you made a hundred thousand dollars a year or more.
We stopped in front of my door and I looked up at DT. He looked down at me and I felt incredibly small. Tiny. He was massive.
“Thanks for listening and for not judging,” I said.
“No problem,” he said back and cleared his throat. “It’s how family is supposed to do. That’s the thing about us. In a lot of ways, we work how society is supposed to but doesn’t. At the same time, we don’t always work how we’re supposed to. It’s a mess, but down at the bottom of it all, you won’t find any other group of people half as loyal or dedicated to each other. We don’t quit on one another when the shit gets real – remember that, Raven. I think you’re the same kind of people and I would hate to see you quit while you’re ahead. You and Mace both.”
I nodded slowly and considered his words.
“I miss him,” I said. “I just don’t know how to get around this immovable object that is this break in trust.”
“You hear him out, I mean really sit and listen. I think he might surprise you,” he offered.
I nodded slowly, and we both looked up the street at the chug of an approaching Harley. Fenris swept up to the curb, and he looked at us both. He settled on me and a weird look flickered across his face.
“Mace,” he said, and I felt myself blanch. I didn’t even think about it. I just got on his bike.
25
Mace…
“Shit, man. I knew this was bottom of the barrel shit, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”
I looked up and over from the sheaf of letters in my hands to Mav picking his way through the shelves of pottery and shit up here to where my corner of the barn loft was at.
“It’s not so bad,” I declared. “What brings you up here?”
“Figured I’d come check things out for myself.” He pulled over a milk crate and waved me down when I went to sit up off the mattress on the floor that I called my bed.
I kind of froze in a half sit-up crunch thing and finally eased back down.
“And?” I asked.
“And ask you some questions about your parole and shit, get caught up on what’s going on with you other than Raven.”
“Need me back on runs?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes, but no at the same time.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“We protect our own, you know that. I’m not going to ask you to do any shit that’s going to get you locked back up and put another strike on you. That would be fucked up, and it’s not how this club operates. Our members ain’t disposable.”
“We all take risks, Mav. We know that shit when we sign up. Nothing’s changed about that.”
“Calculated risks, bro… calculated risks. We live our own lives by our own creed, sure, but we don’t go buck wild like the rules don’t exist. We know they exist.”
“We just don’t care,” I said grinning, and he grinned back and nodded.
I filled him in about how much time I had left with Kim and how that shit was going. He raised an eyebrow when I came clean and told him she’s where I got the tea on Max and his whereabouts.
“For real?” he asked.
I nodded slowly.
“For real, and I didn’t exactly ask,” I told him. “She volunteered.”
Mav gave a low whistle.
“Best keep Ms. Kim in your hip pocket,” he said.
I nodded. You never knew when someone like Kim would come in handy.
“You playing model prisoner?” he asked.
I nodded again. “System had one thing right, Mav. I was and can be one angry S.O.B. It was a painful lesson to learn to chill the fuck out.”
“Pick your battles,” Mav agreed, and I nodded.
“I don’t regret taking out that pig,” I said. “I didn’t do it from a place of anger or passion. The rage was there and real, but it was cold as ice. I was careful. I wanted you and the club to have plausible deniability.”
“I know what you were doin’ just like you know the rules and why Glass and I did what we had to d
o.”
I nodded. I knew. They couldn’t look weak. There had to be consequences for something like that. Doing something so large and that could impact the club as a whole without the club’s knowing or a vote wasn’t something you did. It just wasn’t. It could give other brothers the wrong idea and as much as the citizenry wanted to look at us like we were a bunch of fuckin’ animals – we weren’t that. The rules we had were a lot fewer, and looser than society’s, but they had to be ironclad. It was the only thing keeping us from going full Lord of the Flies or some shit which would just have all our asses up on charges and leave what families we had to struggle. We weren’t about to fuckin’ go there. Especially Mav who had Marisol and her kid brother relying on him.
We talked about a lot of things, basically catching up. Before I’d been locked up, Mav and I had been thick as thieves and right after? Well, his duty as pres kept him from visiting as often as he liked. We traded letters but most of them didn’t get to me, intercepted by cops and the fuckin’ COs looking for shit on the club. I don’t know how much of my shit got to him, either but I was guessing not a lot. We talked about that some, and he pretty much confirmed my suspicions.
I’d sat up on the edge of the mattress, forearms propped up on my knees and he looked me over.
“You look exhausted, bro.”
I nodded. “I am. Too many early ass mornings and even later nights.”
“She worth it?” he asked me, searching my face, and I nodded.
“Can’t explain it, but she’s worth every waking moment and every breath I take. I don’t regret a fucking thing, man… except maybe my order of operations. You know?”
He nodded and heaved a deep breath, letting it out slow.
“You put any thoughts toward the future?” he asked.
“With her?”
“Either way,” he said with a shrug.
“I sure as hell don’t see myself still living up here in five years, bro.”
He laughed at that and nodded.
“Her place ain’t much better,” he said.
“At least it has a bathroom,” I said, and he nodded.
“You coming to the club tonight?” he asked.
“You know I’ll be there,” I said.
“Ride with me. I’m headed back that way. Maybe we can come up with something to get you outta here and into something better. Something suitable to both of you?”
I looked off into the gloom of the loft and sighed. “The longer this goes without her contacting me, the more I’m starting to feel like it’s going to be a future on my own. You know?”
“I wouldn’t give up just yet. It’s only been a couple of weeks and Raven strikes me as a complicated lady.” I heaved myself to my feet and sighed.
“She’s only complicated in her simplicity,” I said. “She loves simple things, lives simply, and doesn’t ask or require much, but she gets so inside her own head, lets herself overthink and over feel and things get complicated quick. I love her for it. Live for every minute of it. You know? She’s a challenge but she challenges me to be better… do better.”
He nodded and smiled. “I like you two together.”
“Yeah, I like us together, too,” I said quietly.
“C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink back at the club.”
“Ha ha,” I muttered and heaved myself to my feet.
The ride to the club was cold and damp but not a soaker. One of those pervasive clammy chills that crept in under your riding leathers and made it hard to get warm without a hot shower or a shot of whiskey on the other side.
Unfortunately, the hot shower was out of the question. The showers at the club were still out of commission and needed to be properly plumbed. The whiskey, though? We had a damn decent supply of that on hand and coffee a plenty. I was in need of both.
“You boys look chilly!” Ms. Momma Kat declared.
“That we are, Momma, that we are.”
“Get ‘cha some Irish coffees?” she asked.
“You read my mind,” I said to her and shot her a dazzlingly flirtatious grin. She blushed, waved me off and went to make up some coffee with some strong whiskey in it. I grinned at Mav and winked, and he chuckled.
Momma Kat was a treasure to the club and should always be treated as such.
Mav and I were bullshitting about this, that, and the other when we heard it – shouting, an altercation, whatever – and the back door of the club flew open hard enough to hit the wall.
“Help!” Tic yipped, and Mav and I hauled ass as one. Tic was lying on the floor, hands clamped over near his crotch, blood seeping out from between his fingers as a vehicle peeled out outside on fifteenth, Fenris bellowing rage.
“Fuck! Fen! Get in here!” Mav yelled.
“No! Go grab Raven!” I yelled over him, then looked at Mav. “This is bad. Help me get him in the chapel.”
We hauled Tic up between us in the narrow hallway and Fen disappeared out the portal of the back door.
I had every faith my woman would know what to do.
26
Raven…
The cold and damp were biting for such a short ride, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was Mace, and what could have happened. I tried to pretend the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes were from the wind, but the tightness in my throat wouldn’t let me sell the lie to myself. Fenris pulled up to the front of the club, off sixteenth street, and I jumped off, tackling the front door and barreling through. I stopped short at the sight of Mace, hands slicked and smeared with blood, in the hall toward the back door.
He froze when he saw me and Maverick came out of his office with a super large, soft-sided, med kit. The kind that paramedics carried.
“Raven,” Mace called. “Help me!”
My medic’s training kicked in and with a slight shake of my head, I strode forward and took the kit from Mav and asked, “What’s happened, who’s hurt?”
“It’s Tic, in here.” I followed Mace as he pushed through the door across the hall to the chapel. A room he had shown me, and that was tight, but impressive. Tic was lying on the table, bar towels soaking crimson as he shook and shuddered, trying to apply pressure down low to one side near his right hip.
“Getting a little lightheaded here, bro!” he rushed out, voice shaky. I set down the kit and ripped open the top.
“What happened?” I demanded.
“Fucker stabbed me,” Tic uttered.
“Shit,” I muttered and pulled on a pair of gloves. “How bad, do you know?”
“Not bad but fuck, it won’t stop bleeding!” Mace declared.
I handed him some compresses and ordered him, “Use these.”
I snatched the trauma sheers from their place in the top of the kit and started low on Tic’s pant leg cuff, heading up his leg.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!” he cried and writhed to get away from me.
“Stop it!” I snarled. “I’m trying to save you!”
“Fuck!” He was sweating and panting. When I got through his waistband and peeled the blood-soaked denim back, I almost froze at the gleaming silver cage around his cock and balls.
“Who has the key?” I demanded.
“Dahlia,” he said, and his pallor was going a whiter shade of pale, whether from blood loss or for having been exposed, I didn’t know.
I looked up at Mace, put my gloved hands over his and applied pressure like a motherfucker on Tic’s wound.
“Find Dahlia, get the key,” I demanded.
“Got it.”
“Oh, man, don’t let anyone know!” Tic begged.
“Secret is safe with me, bro. Just don’t fuckin’ die!”
Tic made a frightened noise, tears slicking down his sweat-soaked temples as he stared at the ceiling and I promised him, “You’re not going to fucking die. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
He nodded but wouldn’t look at me. He was scared, bottom lip trembling, and he needed to be. He was losing a lot of blood. I took Mace’s
place and glimpsed Maverick on his phone in the hallway. He looked in and he looked afraid for his man on the table. I made sure to block all view of Tic’s manhood with my body, preserving his modesty until the door swung shut.
I assessed quickly how bad it was and where the blood was coming from.
What a fucking mess, and definitely high and almost outside my skill set. I had stitched wounds before, but nothing this bad. However, I had assisted on an emergency one at Burning Man where a nicked vein was concerned. I think this was what I was looking at. I just needed to get in there, get it clamped, and figure out what to do from there.
“I’m sorry, Tic, hang in there for me. This is going to hurt,” I warned him, and he nodded without looking at me, staring hard at the light fixture over the table.
I gritted my teeth and dove right into what needed to be done.
Mace ducked his head into the room and said, “Just stabilize him. Eulogy is on his way, so is Dahlia.”
“How long?” I demanded.
“Dahlia, in a few minutes. Eulogy, we got lucky – he was in Centralia which is an hour and a half. Sooner if he rides like a bat out of hell.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “Don’t let Dahlia in here, just get the key and get him unlocked,” I said.
I applied more pressure and swallowed hard. I didn’t know how long an artery or vein could stay clamped without permanent damage. That was beyond my knowledge. I was hoping the Oregon doctor guy for the club could get his ass up here sooner rather than later and I could hand this off.
Shit. Fuck. Goddamn. Motherfucker, I thought savagely and took a deep breath. This was not a time for me to panic. This was a time for me to get my fucking shit together, do what needed to be done, and get the job handled. I could fall the fuck apart later.
“Who stabbed you, Tic?” I asked. I needed to keep him focused on something. I needed to keep him talking, from slipping completely into shock.
“Some fuckin’ meth head, man! I don’t know!”
“Okay, why?”
“I don’t really know that either! Something about turf and us not being so bad!” I barked a laugh.
