by Voss, Deja
All I can do is watch. Maybe the inside joke is on me, that Esther will never be mine alone. Esther will always be owned by the club, just like I am.
* * *
Esther:
“Hey, where are you going?” my dad asks as I walk through the clubhouse. He’s sitting at the bar with his usual glass of whiskey, puffing on a cigar while some lady is hanging all over him, trying to become my new stepmom.
“Over to Brooks’s. Him and Gavin are having a bonfire tonight.” We swam all day, rode four-wheelers, and by dinnertime, I was beat and had to come home and take a nap. Plus I wanted to look good for the party. I know there are going to be girls from our school there fighting for his attention, girls who are much prettier than I am. I might not be able to compete, but I can at least try. I’m wearing my favorite denim skirt with a plain green tank top. I know green is Brooks’s favorite color, because, duh, I’ve known him my whole life. I know everything about him. Maybe it doesn’t make a difference, but I’m going to stack the odds in my favor the best I can.
“I’m sorry, Esther, but I can’t let you do that,” he says to me, frowning, staring at me like he’s angry, and I’m trying to wrack my brain for anything I could’ve done out of the norm lately, but I’m coming up short.
“Since when do you care?” I whine. My dad has never given me rules. As long as I don’t openly judge him or question his choices, I can fly under the radar and do whatever I want. I turn my head the other way, he turns his. It’s our unspoken parent child relationship.
“Come talk to me in my office,” he says sternly, untangling himself from the drunk lady with the bleach blonde hair and putting his arm around me, escorting me to the office of the clubhouse. “You want a beer?” he asks, heading to the mini fridge.
I roll my eyes at him. If my dad is offering me alcohol, it means he’s going to lay some bad news on me, like when I was twelve and he finally told me Santa wasn’t real. Yeah, we’re kind of off like that up here on this mountain, and my dad isn’t necessarily the best at raising children. Thank goodness for people like Aunt Trixie, who looks after us like we’re her own, or I probably would’ve thought I was going to die when I got my period for the first time.
“No, I don’t want a beer. I want to go to Brooks’s.”
“Honey, sit down,” he says, motioning to the desk chair. “We need to have a talk. You’re growing up so fast, and I don’t think you understand what that means.”
“Dad, I know what sex is. If I open up this office door, I can probably see it in progress in front of me. But if you’re worried about me, I’m not doing it. Gavin won’t even let the guys at school talk to me, let alone bang me.”
The look on his face is priceless. I can see the wheels in his head turning behind his dark eyes, like he didn’t see that coming, like he has to be very careful about the next thing that comes out of his mouth. I must have outsmarted him. I do a little victory dance in my mind.
“Are we good?” I ask, getting up from the chair.
“You’re going to go live with your Aunt Mary in the Poconos. She’s coming to get you in the morning,” he says, point-blank.
“OK, Dad,” I laugh, rolling my eyes at him.
“I can’t keep you safe here. This isn’t the place for a teenage girl to live.”
“Daddy,” I whine. “Aunt Mary’s house is so boring. She’s like eighty-five and she watches soap operas and talks to her cats all day. What about my friends? What about Gavin? It’s his last summer before college and I want to spend time with him!”
“I don’t know how to explain it to you, Esther. You have something valuable, just because of who you are, who your father is, who your grandfather is. Someday, you will understand. Someday soon. You’d do anything for the club, wouldn’t you?” he asks. “You are just as much of a Mountain Misfit as any of these guys patched in, right?”
I don’t know what he’s asking me to do, but I do know that when it comes to matters of the club, I would do anything. I would take a bullet for my big extended misfit family. I might not be able to ever be a true member because of my gender, but that wouldn’t stop me from acting like one, even though I’m still just a kid. It’s in my blood. It’s what we do.
I nod, feeling tears rolling down my face. I don’t know what he wants from me, I don’t have any idea what I have, but I’m sure whatever it is, I’m going to give it willingly, no matter how I actually feel about it.
“Go pack your things, Esther,” he says.
“How long am I going away for?”
“I don’t know yet, honey. I’ll make sure Aunt Mary has enough money to buy you whatever you need, though. You won’t have to worry about anything.”
In this moment, I’m worried about everything except my things. What’s going to happen when I’m gone? To my brothers? To Brooks? Surely by the time I get back, he’ll probably have a girlfriend. Hell, he might even get married! What’s going to happen to me? Why am I not fighting my dad about this? Why am I willingly walking off to some fate that I don’t yet understand.
“Can I at least go to the party and say goodbye?” I ask him.
“Do you really want to do that to yourself?”
I think about how hard it’s going to be to let go of the life I know. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it will just be easier if I disappear without a trace. I’m sure this situation isn’t permanent. I trust my father as the president of the club, and he wouldn’t even suggest this if it wasn’t of utmost importance. It’s time for me to grow up, just like my brother. Just like Brooks had to. It’s time for me to do what’s best for the club.
“I love you, baby,” he says. “You know this is for the greater good.”
Over the next year, I learned I would never have the chance to sell my soul. When I walked out that door, when I packed up my stuff like a good little soldier and left for my Aunt Mary’s, my soul was already sold. My life was about to change. When I finally came back to the mountain, everything was different. I was no longer princess Esther.
I was broken.
I was empty.
I was unrecognizable.
I was the queen.
Present Day
Brooks
“Can you hurry this shit along? You’re acting like we’re fucking prospects or something, Dad.” Gavin is pacing around the little office of the clubhouse, hands in his pockets while his father, Moses Boden, president of the Mountain Misfits MC, slowly counts the stacks of money, checking and double-checking each and every bill. I just stand in the corner, nursing my beer, not even slightly surprised by the scene playing out in front of me.
Moses is looking old, grayer than usual, the whites of his eyes damn near yellow in this light. He’s puffing away at his cigar and taking a long swig from his glass of whiskey after he counts each stack of cash and sorts it on the desk in front of him.
Keep up the good work, old man, I think. As many times as I’ve wanted to kill this guy, I think he’s doing an ok job of doing it to himself. The way his lungs rattle when he clears his throat to talk sounds like nothing short of imminent death.
“Last drop was short,” he says to Gavin.
“Not on my watch. Not on Brooks’s watch. You’re being a dick.”
It’s a power thing with Moses. It’s always a power thing. I don’t really say much because my silence pisses him off more than putting up a fight. He still wants to treat Gavin and I like we’re teenagers, and the way Gavin whines and argues with him constantly makes me think that maybe he still is.
I, on the other hand, am playing the long game.
Waiting him out.
He’ll die eventually, old, alone, with nothing to show for his legacy but a bunch of children who hate him and a handful of ex-wives who feel exactly the same way. Nothing to show for it but the fact that he killed my father to get where he is today. The ugly truth none of us talk about because fighting with Moses gets you nowhere in this club.
He’ll die, and Gavin and I will do what we need t
o do to get us back on top, to get the Mountain Misfits functioning like we’ve always wanted it to. A bunch of men and their old ladies living on this mountain, self-sufficient, free from society below. A bunch of men united by our love for motorcycles and our need to live life on our own terms.
“What’s your hurry, son?” he asks. “Why don’t you stay and have a drink with your old man?”
“I’ve got a woman and a baby at home who I haven’t seen in two days, and I’m going back out again tomorrow morning to work on the moonshine stills. If the cash is short, put it on my fucking tab.”
“Priorities,” Moses laughs and shrugs, his beady eyes still transfixed on the piles of money on the desk in front of him.
I don’t want to end up like the old man, but the way my life is looking, it’s a reasonable possibility. No priorities or loyalty to anyone but the club that raised me, the club that made me into the man I am today. No woman to settle down with, but plenty at my disposal to keep my bed warm if I’m so inclined. No kids. No future. Just another Mountain Misfit living and dying by the patch. It’s not what I want, but it’s what men like me get.
“Pick you up at seven?” Gavin asks as he heads out the door.
“I’m right behind you,” I say.
The clubhouse bar is pretty quiet tonight. There’s a couple guys shooting pool, and a heavy fog of smoke hangs in the air. Morgan, the bleached blonde dirty birdie who’s been hanging around the club looking for an old man for as long as I can remember is standing behind the bar taking selfies with her cellphone, popping her chest out like no one notices the fact that she has big fake tits and she needs to remind the world on a regular basis.
“Where’s Esther?” I ask, setting my empty bottle down on the bar.
“Aw, who cares, Brooks? Why don’t you stay and hang out with me tonight?”
I’m not gonna lie; I’ve been hard up enough more than a few times to make that mistake with Morgan. But it was back when we were younger. When we were in our twenties, she was cute. Now, though, she’s just sad. I’m sure you could say the same about me.
“I have mail for her,” I say. “Is she coming in tonight?”
“She’s off.”
Music to my fucking ears. I worked hard today, and I’m beat after driving all over the place collecting debts for the club. Most people we deal with know the drill by now, but there’s always a handful of assholes who want to try and bargain with us or think they’re above our order. Neither Gavin and I really mind getting our hands dirty, but listening to men cry like little girls while we do what we have to do to get them on the same page as us gives me second hand embarrassment. I hate that feeling.
I earned this night. It’s time for me to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes. It’s time for me to scratch one of my itches. If anyone knew this was my thing, I’d probably end up shot, but no one is ever going to find out. I’m pretty certain I do a fairly decent job of keeping my tracks covered, at least.
“I’m getting out of here,” I say.
“Brooks,” she pouts. “Come on. It’s slow tonight. How about I give you a tour of the liquor closet?”
“Trust me, I’ve seen that closet before,” I say, heading for the door. “There’s nothing in there I want any part of.”
Nope. Right now the only thing I want a part of is taking the long way home. The walk from the clubhouse to my house that passes right by Esther’s trailer. The mail is just a front, just in case. I’ve never had to use it before. There’s really no way I can justify the things I do in my mind, no matter how hard I try. I could say I’m looking after her, checking in on her to make sure she’s alright. Just like old times.
I can’t help that the girl doesn’t believe in window blinds and likes to get into some pretty kinky shit on her days off from work. Any man would be stupid not to stop and watch the things she does to that perfect body of hers.
I head off into the darkness, leaving my bike parked in the clubhouse garage. I’m going out in the woods for the next few days, so it only makes sense. It’s just another one of my many fronts. It kind of makes me feel worse about the things I’m about to do, because we’re both playing this game, but I’m the only one that knows about it and I make all the rules. I’ve never given her a chance to hide, never covered my eyes and counted backwards. She’s never had the chance to strategize because she’s completely unaware of what’s going on in her own back yard.
It’s not just the sex thing, either. I like to watch her cry. I like to watch her pray. I like to watch her do her dishes. I like to watch her talk to her cat and watch TV and fold her laundry. The things she does when she’s alone, the things only I get to see, make me feel like I have a part of her that no one else has. It’s not like she hasn’t always carried a huge part of me, no matter how far gone we actually are.
When I hit the driveway, I notice all the lights are on in her trailer. I see the movement in her bedroom. It must be that time. I feel the stirring in my pants. It’s definitely that time. I creep across her yard, and tuck myself inside the rhododendron tree, waiting for her next move.
Chapter 3
Esther:
Sometimes a woman just needs to feel pretty.
The way this purple crushed velvet teddy hugs my curves, it definitely makes me feel pretty. I curl my red hair into loose spirals that hang down my shoulders. I know it doesn’t matter. It’s not like people are going to be looking at my face anyway, but for me, I treat this like I’m getting ready for a hot date with the man of my dreams. I even spritz on a little Chanel No. 5.
I know what I’m about to do is fucked up. I know I’m not right. But it’s my only option. It’s the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore. It’s the only time I have the luxury of feeling pretty.
In my line of work, I always do the fucking. The guys in the club say my job is “to do the things that require feminine mystique.” My father was the one who coined that concept. I was the one who perfected it, though. It’s just a nice way of saying I’m a whore.
I fuck bad men so they give us what we want. Power. Guns. Money. My pussy keeps us out of a lot of trouble. I’m always in control, always have to maintain the upper hand with these convicts, criminals, murderers, and worse. Sometimes I don’t even have to fuck with their bodies. Sometimes I just have to play their mind games, which is almost worse. I don’t like when these assholes get in my head. It’s already a crowded enough place, full of all my demons, all my regrets, all the decisions that brought me here… all the desires and urges I have to live a normal life, with a normal husband, and put this shit behind me. Sometimes I feel like it might just explode.
I’ll never be entitled to that life. My sole goal in my life is to protect my family, my club, my legacy. It’s not about me or my loneliness.
So I make the best of what I have. And sometimes that means using a chatroom full of strangers to make me feel good about myself. It makes me feel more normal in this strange life. In my line of work, I always do the fucking. But here in my bedroom, dressed in beautiful lingerie, it’s not like that. Call it a compulsion, call it a perversion; sometimes I just don’t like to have to be in control of the situation.
I light some candles in my bedroom. I grab my bag of tricks from the drawer in my nightstand. I sprawl out on my big fluffy rose-printed comforter and open up my laptop. My hands tremble a little bit as I log into the totally anonymous chat site.
Every day is a new man or two. Sure, I have regulars that frequent my rooms, but they’re all the same to me, strangers or otherwise. They’re just tools I use to get what I want.
“You look stunning tonight, Elena,” someone types. “Are you going to be a good girl for us?”
Elena, my alter ego, is always a good girl in the worst possible ways.
I play with the strap on my teddy, making sure my face isn’t anywhere near that camera, and I feel myself getting more and more aroused by the minute, my core craving exactly what I came here for.
I’m jolte
d from my fantasy life by a loud crash on my front porch, my metal garbage cans clattering around. I can see the motion sensor light click on outside my window. I slam my laptop shut and grab my bathrobe.
Living out here in the woods, it could be anything. It could be a bear, a stray cat, a stalker, or one of the Misfits dropping by. You’d think I’d hear their bike in the driveway if it was one of them. I doubt if they caught me in the act, they’d even raise an eyebrow. They’d probably just think I was refining my craft and go about their day. It’s definitely not like that with me and the guys. None of them would ever look at me as anything more than Esther. I might not be able to be a patched-in member of the club because of my gender, but I’m just like any other brother. I just play a very special role. A role that makes me definitely undatable.
I grab my pistol from the dresser, just in case, and creep to the front doorway. I flip on the lights in my foyer and peek out the window in the storm door, but I’m not seeing anything. I slide on my sandals and slowly crack open the door, pointing my gun out into the night. As I scan the porch, the garbage cans are in fact knocked over, and a raccoon stares right back at me, fearlessly, as it chews on an apple core.
It’s a cute little thing with big wide eyes.
I would let him stay, but my cat, Mr. Gingerbread, would probably be all sorts of jealous.
“Shoo,” I yell to the dumpster diver. “Get out of here, dude.”
The critter scurries off into the night, clutching the apple core in his paws, and I start picking up the stray trash from my porch. I’m cussing at myself for not remembering to wrap the bungee cords around the lid like I normally do. Messing around with garbage wasn’t really something I wanted to get into tonight.
I’m so distracted by my efforts that the shadow creeping across my lawn almost doesn’t register to me until I hear the footsteps in the grass, coming closer and closer.