by Harley Stone
Guilt and anger stabbed at me, making me feel like shit. Like the asshole I was.
Sage called it ‘survivor’s guilt,’ but that seemed like such an insignificant title for the way her death had so irrevocably changed me. There was no getting over it or moving forward. I was a different man now than I’d been four years ago, and there was no going back.
And now I couldn’t even remember the face of the woman who’d forever changed me. I’d have to bring out the box of photos again. I’d gladly torture myself to burn her image back into my memory.
“Yes!” Mindy shouted. She was still putting on a show. For who? Me? She didn’t need to try so hard. This was never about her. “Fuck me! Harder!”
Pissed at myself, at the memories I couldn’t force to return, I was all too willing to oblige. I plowed into her harder, faster, wishing I could fuck it all away. Wishing I could fuck myself back in time. Wishing I could fuck myself into the grave beside Genie.
“Oh God, I’m coming!”
Mindy’s voice anchored me to a world I no longer wanted. Anger burned within me. Needing an outlet for it, I fucked her through her orgasm and onto the next one. “Is this what you want?” I asked.
“Yes! Please, yes! Fuck me!”
She took everything I gave her. Her limp body made me miss the way Genie would fuck me back. The way she would arch her back, wrap her legs around me, and squeeze my dick inside her. The way she made damn sure she got hers. I clung to those memories, wishing for something other than the boring woman who was under me.
I fucked Mindy until my body was so spent it came in self-defense, forcing me to stop so I could catch my fucking breath and calm down my heart. Exhaustion left me feeling empty. Hollow.
Not even sex could bring back memories of Genie anymore.
Mindy was breathing heavily as she collapsed on her stomach beside me. Disgusted with her, with myself, with the world, I smacked her on the ass and said, “Time to go.”
She pushed up on her arms and stared at me. “What?”
We both needed a reality check. “I don’t care where you go, babe, but you can’t stay here.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock as hurt flooded her dark eyes.
Did she expect us to cuddle? Not going to happen. I needed her out of my bed, so I could finish off the bottle of Jack sitting on top of my mini-fridge and pray it was enough to knock me out. Pray it would keep away the nightmares of Genie’s exploding AAV. Why the hell could I remember every detail of the instantaneous explosion while the face I’d borderline worshiped for years was nothing but a blur? What was wrong with me?
Everything. As evidenced by the naked stranger in my bed.
“But… I sucked your dick. In front of everyone.”
Rolling out of bed to dispose of the condom, I nodded. “Sure did.” What did she want from me? A fucking trophy? She wasn’t even that great. Did she think I’d let her stay here? That she could fill the hole inside me? Without my memories, that hole was all I had left of Genie and no random cut slut was going to touch it.
I collected her clothes from the floor and tossed them to her. “You knew what this was before you came up here.” I wasn’t going to lead her on, and I didn’t want to hurt her, but she wasn’t moving and I needed her gone. Steeling myself against her pained expression, I said, “By the way, your oral skills need some work. Kim’s much better. Maybe you should ask her for a lesson? Or check in with the guys downstairs, I’m sure they’d be willing to give you some practice.”
Her nostrils flared, and she made a strangled noise, a cross between a growl and a sob. Her face turned red and blotchy and her eyes hardened. Good. Anger would take her out of here and make sure she never came back. Anger would save her from me.
She shook out her blouse and tugged it on while scooting out of the bed. “You really are an asshole, you know that?”
“I told you I was.”
“Well, forgive me for thinking you could at least be a decent human being.” She shoved her legs into her pants, hopping as she tugged them up.
What did she think the word ‘asshole’ meant? Pretty sure it wasn’t synonymous with ‘decent human being.’ I shrugged.
“You’re not that great either, you know?” she snapped. “I didn’t even come. And your dick’s not nearly as big as they say it is. You’re never getting into this pussy again.”
She stood there for a moment, glaring daggers at me. I don’t know what she was waiting for. Did she expect me to call her out on her lies? Or to apologize? Or to beg her to climb back into my bed? How big of an asshole did I have to be to make her leave?
“Noted,” I replied.
Her face only darkened. “Fuck you, Eagle!” She grabbed her shoes and stormed out of my room, slamming the door behind her.
Relieved she was finally gone, I marched straight for the fifth of whiskey sitting on top of the mini fridge and headed for my bed. Since I could no longer fuck to remember, I planned to drink to forget.
Naomi
I WATCHED FROM the front porch of my cute little one-bedroom rental house as a candy apple red Acura pulled into the driveway and idled. The driver’s side window slid down to reveal a dark-skinned, dark-haired beauty, her flawless makeup drawing attention to high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and lush red lips. Lush red lips that were currently drawn tight in her signature I’m-going-to-rip-you-a-new-asshole scowl.
Resisting the urge to creep back into my house and hide from that mean mug, I flashed my best friend a weak smile. “Hey, Monie Love.”
I’d met Monica Johnson on the first day of boot camp when she’d told me we were going to be besties because strong, beautiful, intelligent women needed to stick together. I’d always been a little insecure—especially around women—and she was bold and assertive, skating the line between cocky and confident like an Olympic champion, making me instantly jealous of her skill. Hoping she’d rub off on me, I let her draw me into her hemisphere.
We shared a dorm, had a common dream of piloting aircraft, and we both worked our asses off like we had something to prove. She’d been my study partner throughout flight school, and I’d given her the nickname Monie Love after a nineties rapper, due to an especially drunken celebratory karaoke night after we’d both passed our exams. She was loyal, funny, brilliant, driven, and she didn’t take shit off anyone. Especially not me.
I loved that about her.
But, she could also be a little intimidating.
“Don’t you, ‘hey, Monie Love’ me. You already know I’m pissed. Get your ass in this car, girl, we’re about to have a come-to-Jesus meeting.”
Dammit. I hated her come-to-Jesus meetings. They usually involved me seeing the error of my ways and apologizing for my infractions. I had a sneaking suspicion about the subject matter she wanted to discuss, and it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. I sucked in a deep breath and slid into the passenger’s seat, settling my backpack on my lap as I braced for the onslaught I knew was coming.
“That’s the extent of your luggage?” she asked, eyeing my bag.
We were both taking a long weekend, but she probably had multiple suitcases stuffed into her trunk, one for makeup and hair products alone. I, on the other hand, was strictly a carry-on girl. If I couldn’t fit it in my carry-on, I probably didn’t need it. Especially considering I still kept a room full of clothes and personal items at the headquarters of my dad’s motorcycle club. “I don’t need much,” I replied.
She harrumphed. “Correction, you can’t carry much. Probably due to all that other baggage you’re lugging around all the time.”
I didn’t want to ask, but knew she wouldn’t stop until she got it off her chest. “What baggage?”
“The baggage that makes you treat people like shit and act like a raving bitch nobody wants to work with. Lennox is asking to be reassigned, you know?” She threw her car into reverse and backed out of the driveway, spearing me with another glare before focusing on the road.
Yes, I kne
w. Travis Lennox was a new member of my flight crew, and during our most recent aerial refueling training he froze, costing us valuable time and almost making us fail the training. “That’s probably for the better. I don’t think he’s cut out to be flight crew.”
“Not cut out for it? Bitch, please. Lennox is new. He needed your reassurance and encouragement and you dressed him down in front of everyone. He was a mess before the training even started. You put all this pressure on your crew and you expect them not to buckle under it.”
Of course I did. Flight crews handled high-stress situations regularly, and there was no room for amateurs who froze. I was doing the kid a favor, probably saving his life. “Shit will be a lot more nerve-wracking when we’re refueling over the ocean. If he can’t hack it in training, he really won’t be able to hack it out there.”
“Bullshit,” she said, stopping for a light before turning on the road that would take us away from Cannon Air Force Base and toward the Albuquerque, New Mexico airport. “Everyone’s first aerial refueling is a crazy stress-fest. Don’t act like yours was some cake walk. I remember.”
We’d gone through flight training eight years ago. Sometimes it seemed longer, like I’d been flying forever and hadn’t actually gotten anywhere. “They keep sticking me with kids who don’t know their shit, and it makes me look bad.”
Monica rolled her eyes. “They stick you with kids because everyone agrees that you do know your shit, and if anyone can train them, you can. Naomi, you could build these kids up and get them combat ready, but instead, you choose to break them down and make them question what they’re even doing in the service. Now, cut the bullshit and tell me what this is really about.”
I’d never been a good liar, and Monica could always see through me. Even when I couldn’t see through myself. I took a moment and thought about what was bugging me. What about the training had set me off. “Every time they stick me with a new kid, they pull me off CSARs.” Combat search and rescues were my passion. The ops involved swooping into hostile territory to pick up servicemen, essentially saving the day and doing my little adrenaline-junkie, wannabe-superhero heart good. I lived for the action and hated being sidelined. Training newbies was the worst kind of being benched.
“Girl, you are the only active female in the twenty-sixth Special Tactics Squadron. You graduated at the top of your class, above even me, which I’m still salty about because I know you were holding out on me during those study sessions. You’re the best helo pilot I’ve ever seen, and you know you can fly circles around everyone else in your squad. You’ve worked your ass off to get here, and you’ve arrived. Can’t you just chill the fuck out for a minute and enjoy it without being ‘on’ all the time?”
“Arrived where?” I asked. “Enjoy what? I have to be perfect to get their respect, but not too perfect, because I don’t want to out-perform and intimidate them. And now, because I’m doing well, they pull me back to babysit? That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
She snorted. “Don’t talk to me like I don’t know the struggle. Four percent of all Air Force pilots are female. Two percent are fighter pilots and I know I don’t need to tell you how many are black and female and fighter pilots. No matter how hard I work, no matter how many commendations I get, some fool will always be whispering about affirmative action creepin’ into the military, talkin’ like that’s the reason I’m here. Like I didn’t earn my way. Like a strong, intelligent, beautiful black woman couldn’t possibly handle the G-forces and blow shit up. But I don’t know what you’re hollerin’ about. We knew what we were getting into when we signed up. Shit, Naomi, we went for the jobs we knew would be the most challenging. What did you expect? This isn’t daycare. There’s no naps or treats, and nothing is fair.”
She was right, but it didn’t make me feel any better. “I don’t know. I guess I thought it’d get easier eventually. I’m sick of playing by their rules. I just want to go out and perform my job to the best of my ability. Is that so hard?”
“You’re the only one making it difficult. You know I’m only telling you this because you’re my girl and I love you, but you don’t get to be sick of it. You knew the rules when you signed up. You knew it would be hard. Hell, that’s why you did it. So, you sure as hell don’t get to turn into some woe-is-me the-man-is-out-to-get-me bitch about it. You do that, and every single misogynistic asshole out there wins. They get to call us moody bitches and complain about why we don’t belong. We’re not going down like that, Nae. Not when our bodies are made to handle G-forces better. We belong in the sky. We own that bitch.”
Monica always had a way of making me see things differently, and she was giving me just the slap across the face I needed. This was why I loved her. Even when her words hurt, they made me think, made me want to be better and work harder.
“But girl, you already know all of this. I swear, I will never understand why you march around the base with a stick up your ass. You’ve done everything you set out to do. What more do you have to prove, Nae?”
It was an excellent question with several possible answers. Maybe I wanted to prove that I wouldn’t quit and walk out when life got hard like my mom had. Maybe I needed to show the world that I had what it took to be the daughter of Jacob “Jake” Lincoln, Army Special Forces veteran and president and founder of the badass motorcycle club I’d grown up in. Maybe I was desperate to assure myself that I was every bit as valuable as my brother, Tyler “Link” Lincoln, who was also an Army Special Forces veteran and would soon be taking the club’s reins from our dad.
No. I’d lived with the pressure of my family my entire life and it sure as hell wasn’t bothering me now. Something else was. Something more unattainable than the sense of self-worth I could never seem to foster within myself. “Did you hear that the Green Berets allowed a woman on the Q Course?” I asked.
The Special Forces Qualification Course was an important step in Army Special Forces training. Until recently, the course had been closed to women. When my dad had first come home from serving our country, I’d sat on his lap and told him I wanted to be a Green Beret, just like him. He’d laughed and brushed my hair out of my face, telling me it was impossible. Girls weren’t allowed to be Green Berets. It was the first time I’d ever felt truly disconnected from my father. I wanted to forge my own path along his legacy, but the fact that I was a girl had kept me from it.
“No way! How’d she do?” Monica asked.
“Failed.”
“Dammit.”
Indeed. I’d always wondered how I’d do on the Q Course. My father and brother had passed it, but would I? I’d worked my ass off to get where I was, but without that measurement, I felt like I hadn’t proven a damn thing. I’d never measure up to that standard. Not when my gender forced me to use a different yard stick. It wasn’t even like I wanted to be a Green Beret after those childhood fantasies passed. I just hated that it hadn’t been an option when I’d enlisted because I didn’t have a penis.
Kind of like the way I’d never be a patched member of the motorcycle club my dad had started. The club my brother was taking over. It didn’t matter that I was also a veteran and could drive and fix motorcycles. I didn’t have a penis, so my acceptable aspirations for club life were limited to a property patch.
I could only get in if some biker made me his ol’ lady.
Fuck that.
I didn’t want a penis, but not having one sure did close a lot of doors.
“You need this vacay,” Monica announced. “You need to remove that stick from your ass, turn it into a flag, and let it fly. You’re about to be surrounded by some fine-ass biker man candy, right? Your challenge for this event, should you choose to not be a candy-ass bitch and accept it, is to find some especially tasty looking morsel and take a big, juicy bite. You pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.
How on earth could I miss the meaning behind that? She was so ridiculous, I couldn’t help but laugh. Gifted at drawing me out of my
own insecurities and keeping me from taking myself too seriously, this girl was my diamond. My rock.
“I’m serious. When’s the last time you got laid?” she asked.
I thought back, but couldn’t remember. Most of the guys on base were good guys—and not the misogynistic assholes I made them out to be when I was frustrated—but they liked to talk, and I wasn’t about to become the subject of any whore rumors. Men could sleep with whomever they wanted and not get a word of flack about it, but when a woman made her way around the base people called her a slut, her career suffered, and nobody took her seriously anymore. That wasn’t a price I was willing to pay for a little nookie.
“Don’t answer; your face and your puckering asshole tell me all I need to know.”
“My asshole is not puckering!”
“Sure, sista. Whatever. You need to find someone who knows how to work that tension out of you. Hell, I do, too. You know that’s why I’m flying home, right?”
For me, home was Seattle, Washington. Monica was also a Pacific Northwest girl, hailing from Portland, Oregon. “Portland seems like a long way to go just to get laid,” I replied. “Besides, I thought you were going home for your sister’s graduation.”
“Trust me honey, my boy toy, Bo, is worth it. Nobody cares about high school graduation. That’s just an excuse. As soon as the plane touches down, I’ll be hittin’ up Bo and he’ll give me what I need. We hook up every time I come home, and that man knows I’m a goddess and worships my body accordingly. There’s nothing serious between us, but girl, can he ever remind me that although I’m a badass, I’m still a desirable woman with physical needs. That’s what you need. Some strong, sexy man who eats pussy like a diabetic going down on a bowl of ice cream. I’m telling you, it will change your life.”
She was killing me. Throwing back my head in laughter, I decided Monica was right. I needed to get laid in a major way. Not by anyone in Dad’s club, though. I’d never messed with any of the Dead Presidents. They were all older, and I’d known most of them since I was a child. I definitely wouldn’t be sampling from that crusty old smorgasbord.