by Bourne, Lena
“I still can’t believe you let them take you like that,” he says, laughs and slaps my shoulder. “Good thing we were watching you so closely.”
He chuckles at the dark look I pierce him with. “Then again, you handled yourself like a champ. Didn’t really need us there at all.”
“The order was to stay where I was,” I tell him. “And I obey Cross’ orders.”
At least eighty percent of my anger and annoyance at Blaze for busting my balls right now comes from the fact that I’m fall-down tired by now. Much too tired to put up with anyone’s shit.
He heard the edge in my voice, because his face turns serious in a flash. “I didn’t mean anything by it, you know that, Ace. I —”
“I’m glad you were there to watch my back,” I say more complacently. “Now I’m gonna go talk to Horse. Then I’ll come and tell them everything I found out.”
Blaze nods and watches me unlock Horse’s cell.
Horse is conscious, sitting by the back wall and where Piston looked scared to see me, Horse just looks pissed off. He has trouble focusing his eyes on me though.
“I knew you were a fucking liar,” he says. “I knew it from the fucking start, but no one listened to me.”
Whiny little bitch.
“You didn’t know shit. You just figured it had to be, because usually no one lives to tell of an encounter by Devil’s Nightmare MC, right? Not unless the Devils let them.” I smile at him as I say it, and despite the near darkness in the room, I can see his face turn even darker in anger.
“You fucking piece of shit,” he says.
I shake my head, on the verge of just walking out. There’s a huge bump covering most of his forehead and receding into the back of his head. It’s the result of my shovel hitting his head. It must’ve bled too, since half his face is streaked with caked dark blood. I bet he needs a doctor. Hitting him now will only make that more necessary. In fact, one punch now could be enough to kill him. He’s pretty much useless to me. Story of his life, I guess—being useless. Kinda sad if you think about it too hard, so I’m not gonna.
“Piston almost pissed his pants again and then squealed,” I tell him. “I know all about the deal Griff made with the feds to save his two little darlings. Or two little pussies, more like. Because what kinda man can’t handle jail? A spoiled little pussy, that’s what kind.”
“We were facing the chair,” he spits at me. “The fucking electric chair.”
His speech is slurred, but the volume of his voice and the venom in it are high. Does he actually expect me to feel sorry for him?
“And instead of facing your punishment when the time came, you decided to just put a bunch of other men in line for the chair. Or rather, you let your daddy do that for you too,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s low. We don’t have a lot of rules in our world, as you know very well, but we don’t talk to the cops. Your daddy should’ve known that.”
“He did. He did know that,” Horse says. “It was a hard decision for him. Very hard. He did it for us.”
“And now you’re all gonna die for it. Everyone, including all the Sinners who had nothing to do with this and wouldn’t have had anything to do with it in the first place. You know, the men with honor.”
He gasps, his mouth and his eyes wide. Then he smiles that mocking pussy smile of his. “Yeah, sure. That’s never gonna happen.”
“Oh, but it will,” I assure him. “And I’ll make sure Griff sees the two of you die before we send him to Hell. I bet he’s gonna wish he just let you go to Death Row. They hardly execute anyone these days. You’d have had an easy life there, and he could’ve visited you everyday. He might’ve even helped you escape from prison. But he thought he was so smart. Getting rid of the competition while saving his fuckup sons. He made a bad choice. What the fuck did you and Piston even do? Kill a bunch of kids?”
He jerks, his eyes very sharp and serious. Bull’s eye. And I wasn’t even trying to guess.
“It was an accident. They weren’t supposed to be there. Some kind of fucking Career Day shit. They weren’t supposed to be back there. No one was supposed to be there.”
“Back where?” I ask. But do I really want to know? I don’t, not really.
“In the back of the Savings and Loan we held up out in the sticks. The manager started giving us trouble then ran to the back to hide with the kids. Bullets flew, some of them hit the kids,” he says. “Some died. But they weren’t supposed to be there.”
What the fuck kind of twisted, entitled monster am I talking to here?
“What were you doing sticking up a bank anyway?” I ask. “I didn’t think the Sinners did petty crime shit like that.”
“I needed the money, OK? I owed it to someone, and Griff wouldn’t give it to me. So it’s Griff’s fault too, ” he says defensively. “And those kids were dead anyway. Why should we spend the rest of our lives in jail for it?”
“Is that what Griff said?” Why am I even asking this? I don’t want to know.
“Not in so many words.”
“Well he’s gonna watch you and his entire club die now,” I say. “And that’s literally what’s gonna happen. In so many words.”
He starts laughing and doesn’t stop. But his eyes are too serious for his merriment to be genuine. Why am I even wasting my fucking time here? I could be sleeping.
“You’re laughing because you’re father’s every bit as big a fuckup as his sons? Bigger even?” I ask. “I guess the apples didn’t fall so very far from the tree after all.”
He laughs some more then clears his throat. “You can’t even imagine what kind of asset Griff is to the feds. They’re never gonna risk him in any way, for anything. He’s got fed protection around the clock. You’ll never get near him or the club, and you’re all gonna go down when you try. All of you. They’ll probably storm this place too, when you try to retreat to it and free us. So you should let me and Piston go and save yourselves, while you still have the chance.”
He keeps chuckling and doesn’t even realize what he just told me. I’m suddenly very glad I came in here, and I let it show on my face.
“Thanks for that information, Horse,” I say with a big old wide smile on my face. “Now we’ll be careful. And just so you know, even if they bagged every last one of us, I’d still consider it a very poor bargain for even just one dead child.”
The color starts draining from his face. He’s mumbling something, but no coherent sound comes out of his mouth. He’s struggling to rise, but he’s even more woozy and unsteady than Piston was, and crashes back down to his knees as he tries to stand.
“Praying? Good,” I say as I exit the cell. “Not that it’ll help you much. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be in Hell.”
I don’t wait for his reply. A second after the cell door closes behind me, Horse starts screaming. I can’t make out the words, but he sounds very upset. Good.
At least Horse was useful to us in the end. Cross needs to know this right away. It changes a lot of our plans.
* * *
Stormi
We spend the first ten minutes of our reunion hugging and saying how much we love each other, while we smile and giggle and laugh.
“You have to take a shower now,” she tells me, and giggles some more.
“I do, don’t I?” I say and smile wryly, then laugh as she blushes.
She takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. “I just got a new shower gel, strawberry and mint, it smells delicious.”
“I bet it does,” I say as I enter the bathroom. “You could always pick the best stuff.”
“I’ll find something for you to wear while you shower,” she says. “Then you can tell me all about where you were while you get dressed. I missed you so much.”
There’s a brittle hardness that comes into my sister’s voice when she’s being serious, and it’s loud and clear now.
“Today’s about you, Misti,” I tell her in a cracked voice, and close the bathroom door befor
e she can say anything else.
It’s not that I don’t want her to know everything about what I went through, it’s that I don’t think she should have to know it. Bad enough that I have to live with it. No point in her feeling bad about it, or guilty, or sad. She would. She’s so delicate, so kind, so nice, so gentle—all the things I lack completely. There’s no need for her to know anything about the Sinners.
She’s right, the shower gel does smell delicious, as does the shampoo and conditioner from the same line. The smell of fresh strawberries makes me think of spring, of lazy days spent in the sun and in love, and I think of nothing else, while I wash the grime of the desert, and the dirt of the Sinner’s cell off me. Ace’s kisses and touches are washed off too, but those will be back. As soon as he returns. We’re free. I’m free. I’m home.
Misti has three dresses for me to choose from laid out on my bed when I emerge from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Two of my sister’s foster kittens are on the bed too, a skinny tabby and a gorgeous long haired black and white one. I pet it, letting its cotton-soft fur run through my fingers. A large part of my soul wants to just lie down with the cats and cuddle for the rest of the day. But I can’t do that yet.
One of the dresses Misti found for me is the dark blue summer dress that Grandma made me buy for my junior high graduation. I was gonna wear a black miniskirt and matching tank top to the graduation, but she’d have none of that. This button-down dress was and remains the only sensible dress I ever owned, and I only wore it that one time. It probably still fits, baggy as it was.
The other two are my mom’s, I think. I pick up the yellow one.
“Is this silk?” I ask, letting the soft fabric spill through my fingers.
Misti shrugs. “I doubt it. Money’s been tight. Where have you been?”
She just tosses the question out in that brittle voice.
“I think this might be silk,” I say, ignoring it. “Where’s Mom, anyway?”
“She’s at church, but she’s coming in like five minutes to take me to my appointment,” she says.
“I think I’ll go with this one,” I tell Misti as I pick up the blue dress. “Although none of them are really my style.”
Misti grins conspiratorially. “Just for today. OK?”
I smile at her on my way to get a pair of my old underwear from the dresser.
“Were you trafficked?” Misti asks in a near whisper. She spoke so quietly I could pretend I didn’t hear the question and maybe she won’t repeat it.
I hear a car arrive downstairs. “I think that Mom’s here. Go tell her I’m back.”
“I better.” She grins again and leaves the room, walking slowly like she always does because her heart won’t let her move fast.
I get dressed as fast as I can. The collar of the dress is a lacy doily, embroidered with the same kind of flowers printed on the dress, and it scratches my neck something awful. The dress itself fits fine, much better than it used to. It hugs my curves, like all dresses do, but it’s far too plain to be sexy.
My mom’s voice carries clearly from downstairs, though I can’t quite make out her words.
The reunion with my mom will be tricky, especially since I refused to speak to her on the phone for the last six months. But then again, I can handle it. Our relationship has always been tricky.
I wish Ace was here.
His arm around my shoulders, and his strong presence would make this day so much easier for me to handle. There’s so many things about it I’m dreading.
What if my mom is seriously mad at me?
What if she kicks me out?
What if the doctor can’t help my sister?
What if Ace never comes back?
That last one hits me like an unexpected punch to the stomach. Somehow I manage to force those questions out of my mind as I apply mascara, which is all the makeup I have time for. This time, when I emerge from the bathroom, Mom is standing where Misti stood the last time I came out. Her haircut is exactly the same as Misti’s, a jaw-length bob—they must’ve gotten their haircut together. Probably because of the documentary. Me and Misti both resemble my mom, and her hair is the same honey blond color as mine, but she got highlights and lowlights done. It makes her look younger. And faker.
“I ready,” I say kinda stupidly. That angry glare on her face won’t just go away if I pretend it’s not there.
“How nice of you,” she says scathingly. “You might’ve warned us you were finally coming back, given us at least a day or so to prepare. Your sister’s heart is not in the best condition, as you may remember, and mine’s not all that healthy either.”
That’s so typical of my mother, but for a wonder, I don’t want to immediately start angrily screaming at her. It’s not like she knows what I’ve been through. All she knows is that I disappeared and refused to come home, and refused to speak to her on the phone on top of it. I guess she has a right to be annoyed.
“I don’t want Misti to be late,” I say and slip past her out of the room, then continue to jog down the stairs. I almost trip and fall on the last step though. The hallway is crowded.
Misti and the pastor are standing by the door, surrounded by a film crew. There’s a guy with a camera, a girl with a microphone and a dude fussing with a very bright light. The girl is asking Misti something, the Pastor is smiling so wide I can see every one of his teeth, and Misti’s cheeks are a pale pink, which means she’s embarrassed as hell, since this is as much color as her cheeks ever get flushed with.
“What’s going on?” I ask my mom in a whisper as she joins me at the foot of the stairs.
“Keep your voice down. They’re filming,” she admonishes me in a hiss. “A lot of the money for Misti’s procedure was raised through the church, and the film crew will follow her around to do a documentary on it.”
“Publicity for the church in exchange for donations?” I say, my voice shrill, even though I’m trying to whisper. But come on, this is too much. “What happened to donating just out of the kindness of their hearts? What happened to helping one of their own?”
My mother gives me a very dark look. “It was Misti’s wish to do something as a thank you to the church. Making a documentary was partly her idea, actually.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” I snap. “Come on, camera-shy as she is?”
“Why do you care anyway?” Mom says. “Where were you when she needed you most? Gone, along with your empty promises that you’ll help her raise the money in time.”
Hearing that hurts in a way I hardly remember being hurt by my mother’s harsh words. But if I raise my voice now, if I stand up for myself now, I’ll make this day even harder and more stressful for Misti. It’s exactly like her to agree to doing something like filming a documentary, even though she dreads being the center of attention, and is terrified of public speaking. She always puts others and their wishes first. But filming this thing can’t be a good thing for her heart. Nor is me and my mother arguing.
“It’s not what you think, Mom,” I whisper. “I didn’t just disappear of my own free will. And I would’ve come home a long time ago, if I could.”
My mom’s eyes loose the angry sarcasm, revealing watery worry underneath.
“Were you trafficked?” she asks in that same brittle, breathless voice Misti asked this same question in. Both of them were clearly very worried about this and they weren’t even far off the mark. I’m gonna need to tell them what happened to me. They probably won’t stop asking otherwise. But how much do I tell them? Everything? When?
“We can talk later,” I tell her. “The last thing Misti needs is more excitement today.”
My mom just stares at me silently, tears swelling in her eyes and her mouth moving, but no words are coming out.
“They’re leaving, let’s go,” I say as Misti reaches to open the front door. The pastor and film crew file out of the house after her.
Mom sighs noisily and pulls me into a tight hug, her shoulder at my throat and kinda choking me
. “I’m so sorry, Stormi. So sorry for everything. It’s my fault, because I was gone from you when you needed a mom most.”
The words just gush out of her. They’re probably something she’s been thinking about for a long time. I tap her on the back clumsily, unsure of how to respond.
She releases me but keeps a grim on my shoulders. “Are you alright?”
I crack a smile. “I’m fine, Mom. Let’s go, they’re probably waiting for us. We’ll talk later.”
I’m not sure this later will come very soon. Maybe I’ll tell them everything one day, but why should either of them have to live with the fallout from the mistakes I’ve made? It’s bad enough I have to.
I step away from her and leave the house. She follows, wiping away her tears on the sleeve of her dress. The film crew is still filming, and they don’t stop until Misti and the pastor are seated in a large, dark red family van with our church’s name printed on the side of it in cursive white letters. My mother rushes to join them, and I do the same.
The last thing I want is to be filmed. Who knows where this footage will end up? What if Horse sees it?
The thought cuts off abruptly in my head, like I’ve been interrupted. That’s not a problem anymore. I don’t have to worry about Horse or any of the Sinners finding me here. Ace and his club will take care of them. He promised me I’m safe from the Sinners, and I now know I can trust and believe his promises.
I don’t need to worry about anything this morning. All I need to do is hold Misti’s hand and make this day as easy as I can for her.
23
Ace
We’re packed into the room Cross uses as his office in this bunker. As far as furniture goes, there’s a desk, a couple of chairs and a grey metal filing cabinet that’s completely rusted along one side. Cross is occupying one of the chairs, Ice the other, Tank is sitting on the side of the desk, and I’m leaning against one of the walls, standing between Hawk and Doc. The heat and close air in here, along with my now severe lack of sleep, are making my eyes slide shut every time I don’t concentrate especially hard on keeping them open.
