by Voss, Deja
“You still want me to take you home?” Uncle Tony asks.
“I want you to take me to your nearest bathroom,” I say, my stomach starting to turn. “Preferably one with a very cold floor.”
***
I wake up in the spare bedroom of my aunt’s house. My head is pounding and the sunlight shining through the window makes my eyes blurry. There’s a couple of pills on the nightstand and a bottle of water, along with a note. “Be home at three, there’s food in the fridge and money for a taxi if you need it. We love you.”
I feel like garbage. I don’t think I’ve ever been hungover like this before. My ears are ringing and my mouth tastes like something died inside it. I chug down the water and the pills and will myself to keep them down.
As I make my way into the kitchen, I realize the box from the night before is still laying open on the table. I haven’t really given much thought to what happened last night as I promptly blacked out as soon as I unloaded my bad decisions all over Aunt June’s pristine bathroom.
I grab a carton of orange juice from the fridge, pouring myself a glass as I let my curiosity get the best of me and start digging around in that box. I have so many mixed emotions about the whole situation, but looking at pictures of Ava, my real mother, holding me in her arms and smiling in that hospital bed, pictures of her feeding me a bottle while she cradled me on her chest, pictures of her pushing me on the little swing that my grandma still kept in the attic, I wonder why I never put two and two together.
That ugly family portrait—the one where Mama dressed the three of us up alike in these tacky white dresses, I was probably only four, but I remember Ava throwing a shit fit, telling her that this was stupid, telling her these pictures should be just her and I, and that Mama shouldn’t be the one who was holding me. I just thought she liked me a lot and wanted us to have something special as sisters. She’s frowning in that picture and almost an arm’s length away from Mama and I. She looks like an outsider. I guess that’s what Caroline wanted.
I can feel the cold orange juice traveling down my pipes and into my stomach, burning all the way down. I instantly regret this decision. I should probably just find someone to cover my classes at the studio and go back to bed until it’s time to go to the nursing home.
There’s a little voice inside my head telling me that maybe I should do something else, though. My imaginary friend who’s been with me all these years. My real mom. Everything inside of me is telling me I need to find her. I fold up the picture I’ve been carrying around my whole life and tuck it into my purse.
If her last known whereabouts had something to do with a biker gang, then I guess I’m going to have to go undercover if I want some answers. I think I have a good idea of where I’m going to start.
Chapter 5
Micah:
The blackout blinds I have in my apartment window do little to hide the shit show going on in my bedroom right now.
“Fuck me,” I groan, looking over my shoulder at Kendall, sprawled out in my bed wearing nothing but a tiny black thong.
“Finally,” she says. “I’ve been trying all night, but apparently you’re the only man in the world who doesn’t get hard on molly.”
I realize I’m fully clothed, even though my jeans are unzipped, and it gives me a little bit of relief, even though it doesn’t really make a difference if I banged her or not. She’ll still tell everyone I know around here that I did.
“Where ya going,” she asks, grabbing my wrist as I push myself out of bed with a groan.
I jerk my hand away and head for the bedroom door.
“You got twenty minutes. Then you gotta go.”
My roommate, Gary, is already up for the day, sitting on the couch with his headset on, running through the desert with a machine gun strapped to his back. I can hear the gunshots and explosions going off from across the room.
“Wild night?” he asks, raising his eyebrows as he spies me.
“Not like that.” I’m sure he expected some sort of sordid story of my all-night fuck fest with Kendall, but that’s not even kind of the case. My night was filled with getting as fucked-up as humanly possible, trying to put that news story out of my mind, hoping I’d wake up today and it’d be a distant memory. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case at all.
“Are you ok, man?” he asks. “You look like shit.”
“Well, you look really pretty yourself, dude. Although Kendall’s in my bedroom looking for a dick down, and I’m sure she’s not really picky right now.”
He looks like he’s intrigued for a moment, then shakes his head. “I’m gonna pass. That’s all we need is her crazy ass running around here all the time.”
“I’m sure once she gets a look at your dong, she’ll take off running and never come back again.”
He shoots me a middle finger and goes back to his game. I was kind of hoping that maybe he’d want to go to the gym today or take the bikes out, anything to keep my mind off of this newest development. Something that doesn’t involve a lot of talking. Something that doesn’t involve me having to explain my entire life story to him.
“My dad died.”
I slap my hand over my mouth after I blurt it out. I don’t know what even possessed me to say that. He mutters something into his headphones and slides them off, turning his gaze on me.
“I’m sorry, dude,” he says. “You need to go home? Do you want me to cover for you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I really don’t want to.”
“Then don’t,” he shrugs. “If your old man is anything like my piece of shit old man, six feet under is the best place he can be.”
“But my family…” I say, trailing off.
“Where were they when you were laid up in Walter Reed?”
Probably the same place they always are, doing the same things they always do. That was as much my fault as theirs though. It’s not like they had any idea. I’ve made myself very hard to find, staying off of social media and only calling them from burner phones.
“I’m going to go for a ride,” I say, grabbing my leather jacket and my keys.
“Alright. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” He watches me suspiciously as I head for the door.
“I’ll be back in a few hours. I promise. It’s not like that.”
I just need to clear my head. The open road is about the only thing that can do that for me unless I want to stay in a state of blackout for the rest of my life. My bike was probably the only thing I really missed stateside when I was overseas. This thing has been through a lot of shit with me.
She’s old, but she’s trusty, my 1999 Harley Sportster 883. Custom pipes, custom deep blue paint job, this thing still flies. She was my first love, and maybe she’ll be my last. The only girl I need in this whole wide world, she knows exactly how to soothe my sorrows. I fire her up and peel out onto the side street, trying not to think about the places this bike has been, only worrying about the road ahead of me.
Chapter 6
Amber:
I check my make-up in the rearview mirror. Mama would definitely say I looked like a cheap hooker, my eyeliner dark as a raccoon, my hot pink lipstick topped off with red liner, giving me a permanent pout. I have on my tightest pair of ripped up skinny jeans and a plain black tube top underneath my fake leather jacket. I don’t know if I’ll be able to blend in looking like this or if I just look like someone who Googled “What do bikers dress like?”
There’s a row of motorcycles parked out front of the dive bar, so at least I know I’m in the right place. I don’t usually drive through this part of town, but everybody where I’m from knows about the Wrath Room, even though I’ve never met anyone brave enough to set foot in this place. I guess I’ll be the first.
A cloud of smoke hits me when I open the door, and my eyes struggle to adjust to the dim lighting while my brain struggles to adjust to what the fuck is going on here. There’s a topless girl straddling an old guy with a leather vest in the first
booth I turn to. She’s rubbing her tits all over his face while one of his friends’ cheers.
The woman I assume is the bartender looks trashed out of her mind, her head resting on the bar top. When she sees me walking towards her, she sits bolt upright and takes a long swig from whatever she’s got in that mason jar.
“Who the fuck are you?” she asks. If she didn’t look like she was about to rip my jugular out, I’d say she was a pretty girl. Her dark brown hair has these perfect natural curls that I would personally kill for. “Did Brick send you?”
“No,” I stammer. “I don’t even know who Brick is.”
“Are you with the Liquor Control Board?”
“No, I’m not. I’m just, I’m looking for somebody.”
“Boss says no selling your pussy here unless he gets a cut. And I get a cut for introducing you to him.”
I try to contain my shock. I know I look a little sluttier than I usually do, but I’ve never been mistaken for a freelance prostitute before. Apparently, I did a good job when I dressed myself today.
“I’m definitely not trying to sell my pussy.” I reach into my purse and pull out the picture of Ava, unfolding it and handing it to her. “Do you know anything about this woman?”
I know I’m really reaching here. That picture is over fifteen years old, and I’m sure if this is the kind of life my mother’s been living, she probably hasn’t aged too gracefully.
“What the hell kind of stunt are you trying to pull here, blondie?” she asks, staring me up and down. “This is obviously you with your hair dyed. Are you fucking with me?”
“I’m not fucking with you. I swear it’s not me. It’s my mother. It’s an old picture.”
The way she starts to laugh so hard she’s snorting draws the attention of everyone sitting at the bar. “You came here looking for your mommy? Oh my God, this is the most fucked-up thing that’s happened here in a long time, and that’s saying a lot.” I’m taken aback by the way she just keeps howling like I just told the funniest joke in the world. “Guys, can any of you point this girl in the way of her mommy?” she yells.
“I’ll be her daddy,” an old guy with a long white beard and gold teeth says. “Come on over here and sit on my lap.”
I try not to gag at the thought. I rip the picture from her hand and head for the door. “This was stupid,” I yell.
“Come here,” a man dressed in black from head to toe says, motioning me over to his table. He’s got greasy long black hair and a scar on his face that looks like whoever stitched it up did a really bad job. I cautiously walk over to him and he holds out his hand.
“Pretty woman,” he says. “I’ve never seen her before, though.”
“Thanks for your help,” I mutter.
“This,” he says, pointing to the tattoo on her hip. “This is Mountain Misfits.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a gang. They’re from Tioga. About three hours north of here. They’re some crazy fuckers who live out in the woods. You don’t hear much from ’em, but when you do, it’s usually not anything you want to get yourself tangled up in.”
“Will you take me to them?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Hell no. Last I heard, they were feeding guys from rival gangs to dogs. You’re on your own there, toots.”
I’m in way over my head here. My pepper spray and rape whistle probably won’t do me much good, but I’m sure if I show up and my mother is there, she won’t let anything bad happen to me. I have to do this.
“Can you get me directions or something? I really need to find her.”
He pulls out a stack of business cards from his wallet, flipping through them, and hands me one. “Gingerbread Ranch” it reads in bright pink lettering. “Premier Gentlemen’s Destination.”
“That might be a good place to start,” he says. “But if anything happens to you, it’s not on me. I haven’t even seen your tits.”
“I was never here,” I assure him. “You never saw me.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay for a drink?” he asks, stroking his beard and staring me up and down with his beady eyes, and I’m pretty certain that, even though he hasn’t even seen my tits, he’s probably doing a pretty good job imagining what they look like.
“No thanks, I gotta go. Thank you for your help,” I say as I walk away.
Looks like today is going to be a day of new experiences for me. I’ve checked going into a biker bar off my nonexistent bucket list. Next stop, my very first strip club.
I pull out my cell phone to punch in the address as I buckle my seatbelt. I have two missed calls from Aunt June, and even though I really don’t want to deal with her voice of reason right now, I should probably call her so she doesn’t worry when I don’t show up at the nursing home tonight.
“Hi, Aunt June,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay… but where are you?”
“I’m busy. I’m alright, I promise. Don’t worry about me.”
There’s a long silence on the other end, and I know that she’s definitely worrying.
“I’ll be back tonight. You gotta let me do this.”
“Amber, you’re not thinking straight.”
“Give Mama a kiss for me. Tell her I’ll be by to see her tomorrow.” Not that she’ll know the difference either way, but I haven’t missed a visit with her in the three years she’s been in the home. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be on this wild goose chase anyway.
“Please be careful. Please call me as soon as you get back. Where are you going anyway?”
“Just a little scenic country drive,” I assure her. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.”
“I love you, Amber. Please don’t do anything dumb.”
Well, I can’t promise her that. If she knew what parking lot I was sitting in right now, she’d definitely shit a brick.
“Alright, Aunt June. I love you too. I gotta go.”
I hang up the phone and let my GPS take over. I have the next three hours to figure out my game plan or talk myself out of this. I slide my sunglasses down over my face and head off to the Gingerbread Ranch.
Chapter 7
The further north I drive, the nicer the scenery gets. It seems like towns are few and far between around here, and I drive miles and miles down stretches of road without passing another vehicle. I feel like I’m in a completely different universe than the suburbs I grew up in. It’s definitely beautiful out here, though, the first signs of spring popping up through the thin layer of snow on the ground.
My GPS tells me I’m less than ten minutes from my destination, and my knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. Three hours is not long enough to come up with a game plan. All I know is that I can’t just waltz in there and ask if anyone has seen my mom, considering how well that worked out for me earlier.
Just act cool, I think. I honestly have no idea what that entails. I don’t think I have a cool bone in my body. I’m just a nerdy little yoga instructor who has spent her whole life trying to stay out of trouble. Maybe I should stop at the gas station and buy a pack of cigarettes. I don’t even remember the last gas station I passed though. This place is seriously remote. I really wish I had filled up my flask before leaving Aunt June’s, but I’m pretty sure these people won’t be too impressed if I’m hacking my lungs out and barfing on their floors.
I turn down a long dirt road filled with ruts. My rusty old Lincoln groans as I slowly try to navigate my way around pothole after pothole. My stomach is churning, and I’m not sure if it’s because I didn’t eat anything today or if it’s trying to tell me that this is a horrible idea. Probably a combination of both.
I can’t believe anyone would even have a strip club all the way out here in the woods. I can’t imagine anyone would actually want to drive all this way down this shitty dirt road just to see some naked women. Maybe my GPS is wrong.
Out of nowhe
re, three motorcycles come flying down the road so fast, leaving a trail of dust behind them. I swerve as far off the side of the road I can, afraid they’re going to hit me, but just like that, they’re gone. I didn’t even get a chance to look at them, to see what I was getting myself into. The dust cloud they kicked up leaves me nearly zero visibility though, and I grip the steering wheel even tighter.
I come up on these giant brick pillars, the wrought iron gate hanging wide open, and my GPS tells me to turn. This must be it. There’s nobody guarding the gate, and I’m not sure if I need to hit the buzzer or if I should just go. My jaw nearly drops when I look up ahead. Tucked up on the side of the mountain is a giant mansion, and even from way down here, it looks impressive. If that’s where my mom is living, I can see why she wouldn’t want to come back to our ratty little colonial in the suburbs.
I begin to slowly drive up the side of the mountain. The road narrows to a point where I don’t think I could turn around if I wanted to. Something inside of me keeps pushing me forward, even though the voice of reason in my head is telling me I need to call Aunt June so she can talk me out of this nonsense.
When I crest the top of the mountain, into the gravel parking lot of the mansion, I know I’m in the right place. There’s a giant wood carving hanging above the door that says “Gingerbread Ranch” and below it hangs a flag with that very emblem my mother has tattooed to her hip. I’m in the right place, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to be here.
I pull into the gravel parking lot and sit there, letting my vehicle idle. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone around. There’s no cars or bikes in the parking lot. Maybe they’re not open. Maybe this is my sign that I need to just get out of here and put this wild goose chase behind me.
Just as I’m about to shift back into drive, the door swings open, and out walks a petite redhead, talking on her cell phone. Even in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, this girl is a knockout. I can tell she works out. She looks like she’s angry, and she starts pacing around the parking lot, sucking down a cigarette as she yells into her phone. I’m sure she sees my car sitting here, but hopefully she just doesn’t care.