by Hazel Parker
“So,” I said, taking a deep breath. “There’s something you need to know about me, something that I didn’t reveal earlier. I should have said this, but—”
Before I could say a word, though, I looked over her shoulder and saw three men entering.
They all wore Devil’s Mercenaries jackets.
And the one at the front was Zane.
I quickly moved Courtney behind me. Zane must have known who I was, because even without my cut, he walked upright to me, sneering in my face.
“Sensei,” he said. “I guess you’re in charge of your little Scrummy Saints now?”
I just stared at him, trying to balance not saying anything in front of Courtney and intimidating him. It was a balancing act that was impossible.
“What the fuck do you want?” I said.
“I want justice,” he said, daring to pat my shoulder. It was the kind of aggravated move that, in a private place, would have started a firefight. But here, in public…
Actually, the real question was why Zane wasn’t starting something right here.
“I came for all of the officers of the Saints,” he growled. “I got Trace. Your VP is nowhere the fuck to be found. Maybe he ran like the coward he was. But—”
He cut himself off when I heard footsteps. I looked over and saw BK, Krispy, and Mafia suddenly standing there, pistols in their hands.
Well, if Courtney hadn’t figured it out yet, she sure as hell had figured it out now.
“You’re fucking terrible, but you’re not stupid,” I said. “You’re outnumbered right now, Zane. You want to take us down? Fine, but you will die. And I know you.”
It all came to me as I spoke.
“You don’t care about getting caught on camera because it’s a game to you. You want to show it all to the police and to us as you terrorize us. But you don’t want the game to end. No one does. So you can end the game here, sure. You can win by killing three of us. But you won’t win the whole thing. If you thought that you’d get a free shot on me, I’m afraid you’re dead wrong.”
Zane stared at my face for the longest time. He came close, close enough to headbutt me. BK raised his gun, but I motioned for him to stay his fire. He’d know when he actually needed to fire, and it wasn’t right now. The last thing I needed was for more public violence to break out in Green Hills; maybe it was the coward’s move, but if we did something as inflammatory as killing the new face of the Mercs in public, that was just going to continue the cycle.
“You’re a lucky fucking old bastard, Sensei,” he growled. “Watch your back. You won’t have it for much longer.”
He leaned over my shoulder, eying Courtney.
“And for your loved—”
I grabbed him roughly by the collar, bringing his face back to me. The two Mercs behind him raised their guns, but no one fired.
“You want to fight us?” I said. “You fight us. But the second you bring non-club members into this? I will hunt you down myself and kill you. And a Saint never makes a promise he can’t keep.”
I let go of Zane as he stared furiously at me. He took one more glance at Courtney, looked back at me, smirked, and then walked out of the building.
“Follow them, boss?” BK said.
I shook my head.
“Make sure the immediate area is secure,” I said. “But otherwise, let them go. They came because they thought they’d get a free shot on one of us.”
BK nodded and walked outside, his pistol in his hand. I motioned Mafia and Krispy to go back to the table, perhaps find Megan if she had gone hiding in the bathroom.
And then I was left with the ugly confrontation that, because I hadn’t had it before, was now going to be about as ugly as possible.
“What… the fuck… was that.”
Courtney’s words were not a question. They were a demand. I sighed.
“You saw it,” I said. “I’m a member of the Savage Saints, Courtney. I actually left the group about a week ago or left as one of their officers. I wanted to be able to do this. I wanted to spend time with Alyssa. But then Trace, the president, got hit by the guy who just walked in here. The VP is not here right now, though he’s physically fine. And so they asked me to come back.”
I sighed.
“I said yes. I should have said no. I should have receded into the background and let younger people take over. But… I have a problem having hard conversations, unfortunately.”
“You could say that,” she said.
I could tell she was trying to maintain a calm demeanor, but she was struggling mightily. Her wide eyes and trembling body were giving her away.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “This is something that I should have told you before, but… I didn’t. I care about you, though, Courtney. I know I should’ve—”
I didn’t get the chance to finish that, because she uncorked a wicked slap with her right hand that left my cheek stinging and my face looking down at the ground.
“You fucking care about me?” she said, nearly in tears. “You knew my husband was murdered by your gang, and yet you seduced me and took me to bed and never told me that you were part of the gang that murdered my husband?”
“It’s not a gang, Courtney, it’s—”
“I don’t care what the fuck you call it; it’s something that killed Nathaniel!”
Tears started to pour down her cheeks. You fucking put yourself here, buddy. This is on you.
“You know, I can’t pretend you didn’t invigorate me. You got me excited like no one else ever has. You got me to a place I didn’t think I could go. But now? Knowing this is all smoke and mirrors? I feel like a fucking idiot. I feel like someone who got used just for sex.”
She raised her hand to slap me again, but she hesitated. I didn’t even try to block it. I deserved whatever was to come. If she kicked me in the groin, I’d take it. I would deserve the punishment.
Instead, she dropped her hand and burst into sobs.
“Fuck you, Vance,” she said before storming out of the restaurant.
Chapter 14: Courtney
How the fuck could I have been so stupid?
I knew something was troubling Vance from the way he’d acted right before we left the apartment. I sure as fuck didn’t think it was the fact that he was part of the gang that murdered Nathaniel.
I said I didn’t care what he called it, but to me, honestly, the Saints were a fucking gang. The Saints committed illegal acts, killed my husband, and never apologized for it.
And now, in fact, they had done the opposite—one of their members had literally given me a “fuck you” by sleeping with me and not saying anything until the aftermath.
I felt so horribly used and stupid. I had never felt this way. It was like… it was like I was the naive high schooler again, being told by someone that I was loved, only to realize after the fact that I was just pussy to them. At least Vance hadn’t said he loved me, but really, I was just making up shitty excuses for him not to be the massive dick that he was.
As I stormed out of the restaurant, Vance kept calling to me, begging for me to give him a chance to say something more. But what needed to be said?
“Courtney, please!” Vance said as I got into my car. “Courtney!”
I started the car, putting my hands on the steering wheel, ready to roar out, before I rolled the window down.
“You got five seconds,” I snapped.
“Think of the person I am, not the group I’m with,” he said. “It’s a group I had left anyway. You can ask Alyssa. Please. Just consider it.”
I did.
For all of half a second.
And then, giving him the middle finger as I pulled out of the lot, I sped away, nearly hitting a squirrel crossing the road on my hurry out.
I cried the whole way back. I was a blubbering hot mess as I tried to make the slightest sense of what had happened. Why had it happened to me? Why had such a cruel twist of fate come my way?
It was unbearable to think I had s
lept with a Savage Saint. It truly was a savage, despicable act, and I felt disgusted at myself for doing it. I wanted to just fall into bed, fall into a black hole, and never have to emerge again.
And how this would affect things with Alyssa… God, class was going to be so fucking awkward. She certainly wasn’t going to act in any of my shows. And she didn’t even deserve to be caught up in any of this. She was just a sweet and charming kid. Clearly, she got her good genes from her mother. She’s not nearly the asshole her dad is.
Fucking prick. Fucking asshole!
When I got back to the apartment complex, tears were streaming down my face like a flood. I didn’t even bother to wipe them away; more would follow. I knew I looked like a hot mess, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be seen by anyone right now.
I tried to find anything good about what had happened, anything that I could clean to as a sort of “well, there’s at least that.” I tried in vain to struggle for the slimmest of silver linings, but…
“Think of the person I am, not the group I’m with.”
I did. I genuinely tried to do that. If not for the betrayal of the truth, I really would have seen Vance as a sweet gentleman who had my best interests in mind. He took me out, he confided in me a truth he apparently hadn’t even told his daughter—in retrospect, that was now quite an obvious red flag, considering that that was the first hint he wasn’t great at revealing truths that made him look bad—and showed me a great time. The sex was great. That was undeniable.
But…
It was all just so badly tainted by the lie of omission under it all. He was part of the group that killed Nathaniel.
He’d had multiple chances to admit that he was part of the Saints. If he actually had confessed that before some asshole showed up threatening to kill him, then maybe I could have… well, I probably wouldn’t have stayed with him, but at least we could have ended on honest, respectful terms. At least I could have been able to teach his daughter for the rest of the quarter and the rest of her high school career in theater without any serious problems.
But no.
I got used. I got played.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I swore to myself right there that I wasn’t going to fuck this up ever again.
Actually, that was the silver lining I was looking for. I had gone on this date because I was ready to date again. When I recovered from this, I wouldn’t also still have to recover from what had happened to Nathaniel. I would properly mourn it, of course, but I could move forward. I could move on with someone who would treat me better.
I hoped.
Right now, I just… I just…
I needed a fucking drink.
It was a crutch, something I needed very badly at that moment. It was something that I knew would provide me some sense of relief. Yes, I had gone over a week without a drink, but that was nothing in comparison to the record two months I had set right before that. A week was what I was able to hit in the old days before AA really started to get me in line.
Besides, AA would understand. Anyone in AA would realize to have been lied to the way I had been would mandate some sort of therapy. Since my next AA meeting wasn’t until next Wednesday, I had to do it on my own, and the bottle would be my counselor.
As I walked up the stairs, the tears still streaming down, a voice in the back of my head told me it was a bad idea. It was the rational voice, and the rational voice had gotten progressively stronger throughout the days. It wasn’t going to be something that I could totally shut out.
But I hated the rational voice almost as much as I hated Vance right now. I wasn’t in a rational state, so rational thoughts weren’t going to win me over. They were just going to piss me off. The more I tried to convince myself that things were fine, the worse I was going to be. I just needed one night of some good drinks—OK, yes, I needed more than one drink—and then I would be fine.
I’d be fine. I’d be hungover tomorrow, but I’d be fine. I’d get to school and be fine.
I opened the door, went inside, and found the bottle of wine under the sink that I hadn’t finished about a week ago. Contrary to my initial thoughts that I would be able to avoid the bottle if I just hid it someplace I wouldn’t remember it, I actually remembered it perfectly. Maybe you should have just thrown it out.
Shut the fuck up and drink. You need this right now, Courtney. Just take a sip and be done with it.
I opened the bottle and, without hesitation, took a gulp straight from it. It tasted… it tasted good enough for what I needed.
Why had I ever gone away from this? Why had I ever thought that leaving the bottle behind was a good idea? Because you know it will cause long-term damage. You know it’ll ruin your day tomorrow. You know—
Shut the fuck up.
I then grabbed the bottle and started drinking straight from it. I finished the whole body in about twenty minutes as I moved around the house, first angrily staring out from my porch, then moving to the TV and flipping to whatever TV station could hold my attention for a span of three minutes before I moved on.
But the one bottle of wine wasn’t enough. No, tonight, I was going to get all of my drinking out of the way. I was going to go all out so that when I woke up hungover tomorrow, maybe I could forget all the bullshit that had happened tonight. And on the plus side, I’d have gotten so drunk that I wouldn’t crave it for a long, long time. And by that point, I would’ve been back in AA long enough that I wouldn’t have to suffer any consequences.
What the fuck could go wrong with that plan?
I left my apartment, forgetting to lock the door, and headed downstairs. I wasn’t yet feeling the effects of the booze, though I admittedly had a higher tolerance than most—as well as the somewhat dangerous ability to hide the fact that I was drunk better than most. I got in my car, put the keys in the ignition, and hesitated. What the fuck are you doing, Courtney? You’re about to drive drunk? You want to lose everything?
What the fuck do I have to lose? I lost the man I loved a few years ago, and tonight, I lost my dignity and my soul trying to move past him. There’s nothing to lose.
So fuck it. Stay focused on the road. Stay sharp. You’ll be fine.
I shut out the rest of the voices and pulled out of the parking lot, heading to the nearest liquor store. Despite my condition, I actually drove fairly well, or I thought I drove fairly well. I stayed in my lane, I drove the speed limit, and I was safe at all the red lights and stop signs.
I still couldn’t believe what the fuck I was doing, but what the fuck could I believe about today? It was ridiculous what Vance had put me through. If something happened tonight, I hoped that he felt guilty about putting me in this spot.
I got to the liquor store and went straight to my favorite: the gin. When I checked out, the cashier gave me a strange look—I didn’t think it was that obvious that I was hammered, but perhaps I was.
What the fuck did I care?
I headed to my car, noticing a police vehicle pull in. It didn’t sound the siren, but it moved close enough that it could have cut me off from leaving. I may have been drunk, and I may have been a touch paranoid, but I had a feeling the cashier had called the cops and had someone positioned there. So, in an effort to protect myself, I literally threw my keys to the passenger’s side and sat in the front seat.
And I cried some more.
I couldn’t overstate how embarrassing this all was. The Saints were not some outcasts in Green Hills; they were integrated into the community. Their kids went to school at my high school. So did the kids who would later go on to be members. The Saints partook in numerous charities here, which should have been a way for me to feel good about them, but instead, it just reminded me that they had effective ways of covering up what assholes they were.
I reached for that bottle of gin and drank straight from the bottle. It tasted like shit, lukewarm and all, but at this point, I just wanted to pass out. I just wanted to close my eyes, let the night go by, and wake up and tr
y and pick up some of the pieces tomorrow. I didn’t have a lot of hope for the day after, but I had no hope for tonight. Tonight and today had been irrevocably ruined.
In a way, it was kind of genius, right? I didn’t have to worry about the cop pulling me over. It wasn’t illegal to drink and park. It was to drink and drive, but how could I do that if I didn’t have my keys?
The tears, though, never seemed to stop. I was amazed I had this many tears in me; it was almost like the tradeoff for coming to life was that I could also cry more easily and more frequently. If that was the case…
I didn’t want to make that fucking trade.
I’d just stew in my misery the rest of my life. I fucking hated the feeling. I fucking hated everything!
I got through about a third of the bottle before even I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to prop it up on the passenger’s seat, but I’d forgotten to put the cap on, and all of the gin spilled out onto my seat.
“Oh, oh, god, oh, God, oh, God, oh, fuck!”
The damn thing was going to smell like gin for the next decade. That was going to be a really big fucking problem when I went to school on Monday. What else could fucking go wrong?
I needed to get home. I needed to get the fuck out of here. Really, I needed to just fucking… I don’t know, go to Las Vegas or Mexico or someplace far, far away from here. I needed to run until my legs collapsed, I needed to drive until my car ran out of gas, and I needed… I needed…
I leaned forward, soaking my top in the gin still seeping into the seat. I didn’t even care; I just needed my fucking car keys. I found them in the space between the seat and the car. I put them in the ignition when I remembered something.
“Oh…. Riiiiiight! Hahaha, the cop. The fucking goddamn cop!”
I opened the door and nearly fell face first into the concrete. If the cop was there, he probably would have arrested me out of pity and for my own safety. A hot mess was an understatement; I’m not sure there was a word to describe how I felt right then.