by Voss, Deja
“See!” I say to Brooks as she softly closes the door behind her, “Everything is fine.” He just nods and smiles back at me. He’s such a good man. Hopefully soon, he can be a good father, too.
There is a quiet knock on the door, followed by the woman in her mid-thirties who was probably more familiar with my lady parts than any other woman in the world shuffling her way through the room. Clipboard in hand, she sits down in her rolling chair and sighs.
“I’m sorry this took so long,” she says. “I hate to keep you waiting. It took me a little while to review your ultrasound.”
I don’t like the tone of her voice or the expression on her face. She looks like the kind of woman who’s sugarcoated bad news way too many times in her life. As if she’s about to read us a prepared speech from her ominous clipboard.
“I don’t want to alarm you two, but I’m very glad you came in when you did. The earlier we detect these things, the more likely we’ll have a positive outcome, and you definitely got here just in time.”
“That sounds serious,” Brooks says. “Is she okay?”
This is the part where I kind of black out and just let him take over, as a husband and as a support system. I feel fine. Maybe I’ve been super stressed-out lately, maybe I’ve lost a little weight and a little hair here and there, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who’s noticed. I attribute the fatigue to our busy schedules and trying to cram in enough sexy time to actually make said baby. I’m fine. I’m healthy as a horse.
Healthy as a horse with a lump on her ovary. Something about surgery. Something about a biopsy. Brooks squeezing my hand. Now he’s crying. I have never seen him cry before. It’s going to make me cry.
“Mrs. Harrison,” the doctor says. “Esther…” she says again, nudging my shoulder.
“How long do I have, Doc?” I ask. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to tell me I’m dying, but I’ve got a really busy schedule coming up. I’ve got a lot of things to do, and I need a time frame.
“Let’s just get this ovary taken care of. My goal is to preserve as much of your reproductive system as possible, but we are likely going to have to remove the ovary and the cyst. We’ll send it off for testing while you heal.”
“Just be honest,” I say. “Am I dying?”
“I can’t tell you that,” she says. “We’ll need to figure out what’s going on inside of you first. You’re young enough. You are in great hands, some of the best. You just show up for surgery, and we’ll take care of the rest. You’ll likely be able to go home the next day, and you’ll want to take it easy for a week or so.”
“If I’m going to die, I can’t afford to take it easy for a week or so,” I say. I’m a busy woman. There are things that I need to take care of for the club. There are things I need to do for Brooks. There are things I need to do at the ranch to make sure it doesn’t turn into some shit hole dive if I do croak.
“If you want to live,” she says sternly, “you’re probably going to want to take it easy for a week or two. Now let’s get some paperwork signed. It looks like we can get you in first thing tomorrow morning.”
I scrawl my signature on the sheets of paper while she goes over logistics about tomorrow. I hope Brooks is paying better attention than I am, because there’s a million things banging around in my brain right now, and which door of the hospital I need to use to go to check in for my surgery isn’t one of them.
“I’m really sorry, Esther, Brooks,” she says. “I promise we’re going to do whatever we can to get you well.” She shakes both our hands and leaves us there to marinate in silence.
Brooks’ face is red; he’s dabbing at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and I wrap my arms around him, hugging him close to my body. If I have one regret in my life, it’s the next thing that comes out of my mouth.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
“What the fuck, Esther? Am I happy? What do you think?”
“None of this would be happening if you didn’t make me come here. We could go on in ignorance in our happy little bubble until I just went to sleep one night and didn’t wake up. Now I gotta live with the idea that I’m dying. You know how stressful that is?”
I’ve never seen him so hurt before, and I’m definitely no pleasure cruise to be around on a daily basis. He breaks away from my grip and stands up from his chair, towering over me.
“You’re not fucking dying. They’re going to make you better. If I didn’t make you come here, they’d never find that cyst inside of you so that they could take it out.”
“Did you not listen to a word that woman said?” I asked. “Are you so thick that you can’t read between the lines? They are removing an entire organ from my body, tomorrow, after one ultrasound, Brooks.”
“Oh shit,” he stammers. “Do you think we should get a second opinion?”
I roll my eyes at him and stand up from the exam table. “I think we should get a pizza. I gotta start fasting soon.”
He’s doing that thing where he’s acting like I’m a hurt dog or something, not coming within three feet of me, but staring at me with sympathy, trying not to make any sudden movements. “Babe,” I say, grabbing his hand and lacing my fingers in his. “I’m sorry. That was really mean of me. What I said. This is not your fault. You did everything right. Everything is going to be fine.”
Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll actually believe it. I can usually talk him into just about anything, too.
“Come on, sweetie,” I say, dragging him through the waiting room. “Let’s go get some lunch and get back to the clubhouse. There’s a couple things I’m going to need to take care of at the ranch if I’m going to be out for a few weeks recovering.”
We walk out into the parking lot, and he’s still not talking to me.
“You don’t have to come with me tomorrow if you don’t want to. I know you’re busy. I can get Olive to come.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just trying to process all this. I don’t just bounce back from stuff like you do. I guess I’m just not sure what I’m thinking right now.”
“Don’t think about anything,” I plead. He opens the door to the truck for me and helps me in. “Except where we’re getting pizza from. You pick.”
“No, you pick,” he says.
“Oh come on, dude, it’s not like it’s my last meal on this earth or anything.”
Chapter 2
PRESENT DAY: BROOKS
“Easy,” Tank, our enforcer, whispers, throwing his arm out to hold me back from busting down the door to Jonah Wrigley’s trailer. Why Esther ever let this sleazy fucker run a tab is beyond me. “There’s no sense in going in there guns blazing. You really think he’s going to have the money anyway?” he chuckles, motioning to the accidental junk yard that is his driveway. “I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do with a 1989 Ford Taurus that has weeds growing out the engine.”
It doesn’t matter.
That bastard owed Esther money.
He was on her list of uncollected debts.
This is what she’d want me to do.
“I know, I know,” he mumbles. “He doesn’t have to pay us in money. This killing spree of yours is starting to get old, though.”
“Then stay the fuck outside,” I growl, “and while you’re at it, rip off that enforcer patch.”
“Woah,” Gavin says. “That’s enough, dude. Come on, just knock on the door. We’ll figure out the logistics when we get inside.”
I can’t even look these two in the eye anymore. I can’t look anyone in the eye anymore. Nothing makes sense and the only thing that feels good is hearing the sound of some sorry man pleading for their life. Even that’s temporary. By the time I get on my bike and head back to the mountain, the thrill is long gone, and all I’m left with is a head full of silence.
I throw the door open, slamming it hard enough that the knob busts a hole through the drywall behind it. Jonah is passed out in his recliner, his mouth wide open as he snores over the eleven o’
clock news. The place is dark and dingy, and I’m sure the furniture is older than I am. I don’t know what smells like death in here, but I’m sure the stained orange shag carpet and the cigarette smoke stained walls have something to do with it.
“Wake up, fucker,” I shout, pointing my gun to his forehead. He gasps himself awake, his eyes filled with horror, and he instinctively throws his arms up in the air. “Did you have a nice nap? Must feel good to be able to sleep at night. How do you manage that?”
“Brooks,” he stammers, “this is a misunderstanding. I’m sure. I can explain.”
“You owe my wife money, you pervert,” I shout. I slip my gun back into my waistband and grab him by the shirt. Something about the way he’s acting like he thinks he can talk his way out of this one makes me want to beat the shit out of him before I cover these carpets with his brain matter.
Why Esther even let this idiot run a tab at the whorehouse is beyond me. Sometimes she was a little bit too kind. A little bit too eager to help the less fortunate. I hope all those free blow jobs were to die for, because at this point, I have no problem taking his life in exchange for a couple thousand dollars.
I pull him up from the chair by his shirt and slam him into the coffee table face-first. He doesn’t even put up a fight, just lays there, defeated, bleeding from his nose.
“Jonah,” Gavin says, kneeling down next to him. “Please tell me you have three thousand bucks.” I kick the old fucker in the ribs with my dirty leather boots for good measure, and he rolls over on the floor, dry heaving into his hands.
“I have it,” he groans between retches. “Help me up.”
Tank grabs him by the arm and yanks him to his feet. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he says. “Just get the fucking money.”
He hobbles to the kitchen, flicking on the lights, and we follow behind him.
“You guys want a beer or something?” he asks. “I have whiskey, too. Hell, I got some coke from last night if you’re looking to party.” I stare right through him, my breathing so heavy I’m basically snorting. There’s not enough blood on his face. “I swear I was going to get around to paying ya.” He grabs a wooden chair from the kitchen table and drags it to the edge of the countertop then climbs it, reaching for a coffee can on top of the cabinets. “I just, I mean, after I heard the news about the incident, I wasn’t really sure how our little arrangement worked anymore.”
That’s enough to make me blow my gasket. Whatever was left of my sanity is lost there in that instant, and I rip the chair out from underneath him, smashing into his flailing body as splinters fly through the air.
“Yo,” Tank shouts. I look over my shoulder at him, but my rage is uncontrollable. I grab the leg from the chair and draw it back, fully prepared to impale Jonah right through his heart as he tries to protect his face. “Yo!” he shouts again, nodding towards the sink.
Standing there is a girl with long curly red hair. She can’t be much older than high school. She’s just a child. She has a black eye, and handprints around her neck. She grabs a glass from the countertop and proceeds to fill it with water from the tap.
I slowly back away from Jonah, and she looks over at me and says sheepishly, “Don’t mind me. Don’t let me stop you.”
“Josie!” Jonah wails. “Call the cops! Please!”
“The phone doesn’t work, Dad. It got shut off this morning, remember? You didn’t pay the bill for like months now.” I can’t tell if she’s just in shock, or if she’s taunting him. The stoic gaze in her eyes is almost chilling.
“Please,” he begs. “Don’t do this in front of my daughter. She’ll be traumatized for life.”
I could tell by the way she was standing there with a blank stare on her face, casually leaned up against the counter, she was already traumatized for life.
“You’re coming with us,” I say to the girl. “Josie, right?”
She nods.
“Go grab a bag. Don’t be fucking dumb. Tank, go with her.” He looks at me with bewilderment before following her down the hallway.
“Brooks,” Gavin says in a loud whisper, “what the hell are you going to do with a child? You’ve lost your damn mind. Last I checked, we weren’t in the kidnapping business. You know this fucker doesn’t have ransom money. Is it because she has red hair? Or is it the whole saving women from their evil fathers thing that does it for you?”
“Shut up,” I say. It had nothing to do with the fact that her hair was the same color as my late wife’s. It had everything to do with the fact that I wanted to inflict as much pain as possible on anyone who’d done my late wife wrong. I could kill this guy right now, and that would be the end of everything for him. Instead, I’m going to take away something that’s really important to him, make him live with that every day of his hopefully long life to follow. Make him feel the same pain I felt when the only person I truly had in this world got taken away from me.
“You need a coat,” I say when the two return to the kitchen. She’s wearing a hoodie and a pair of jeans, a tattered backpack hanging from her shoulder.
“I don’t have one,” she says. “This is all I got.”
“How do you call yourself a fucking father,” I say, giving Jonah a nice hard kick to the stomach. “How do you call yourself a man?”
“Can we go now?” the girl asks, looking up at Tank who towers well over a foot taller than her.
“This is a terrible idea,” Gavin says. “Brooks, you need to think long and hard about this.”
“Let me just remind you of something real quick,” I said. I take off my leather jacket and hold it up in his face so he can see the patch sewn across the front that reads PRESIDENT. I toss the coat to Josie. “Put it on or you’ll freeze your ass off on the ride home.”
I kneel down next to Jonah on the floor, the ugly laminate tile splattered with his blood. “If you call the cops, I’ll make sure I personally put a bullet through your head before they even have a chance to pick me up. Maybe hers, too. I really can’t be responsible for my actions since the incident you so kindly mentioned. We’ll just have to play it by ear.”
“Please don’t hurt her,” he pleads. “I love you, Josie. I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.”
“Whatever,” she says with a shrug. My jacket looks ridiculous on her. It hangs down past her knees. As much as I want to think the only reason I’m taking her is to hurt Jonah, I can tell from her battered face that she probably needs kidnapped. It’s what Esther would do.
“She’s riding with you,” I say to Gavin as we walk out the front door. It’s way too soon for me to put anyone on the back of my bike. Nothing about that feels right. “When’s the last time you ate anything, Josie?” I ask her.
I don’t even wait for her response. I pull out my cell phone and call Trixie, our adopted club mother. She took care of me when my father passed away, and she still takes care of me and the rest of the Misfits now, making sure we have food to eat and that the clubhouse doesn’t smell like a jizz dumpster. “We’ll be back in an hour,” I say. “Think you can whip something up?”
She never complains. Never asks questions. That woman would lay down her life for the club. Hell, most of our women would without even being asked.
“I’m sorry,” Tank says, straddling his bike, “but this is really fucking strange. Even for you, dude.”
I pretend like I can’t hear him.
“Don’t fucking wreck,” I shout to Gavin, over the roar of our engines. He flips me a middle finger. I have no idea what I’m doing as we ride off into the dark night, but I can feel Esther here with me, telling me that whatever the hell it is, it’s the right thing.
Chapter 3
Helena:
I grab the last of my stuff from my locker and shove it into my duffel bag.
“Do you really need to be standing over my shoulder while I do this?” I bark at Sheriff Goodwin. “You know I’m not going to do anything dumb. Just let me leave with dignity.”
“You
gave up your right to dignity when you shot Detective Roberts in the dick with a beanbag gun,” he says. “Hurry up, please. You need to get out of here before the newspaper gets here. They’re going to be all over this.”
“Oh I can’t wait, Steve,” I say dramatically. “Local news, national news, ya’ll just set yourself up for the biggest shit storm ever to hit this side of the Mississippi.” I’d shoot Detective Roberts in the dick every day for the rest of my life if I had the chance. Preferably with a real gun. That man had been sexually harassing me and all the other girls on the force for far too long. When he grabbed my ass in front of a group of new hires today, I didn’t even think twice about shooting him. He was lucky my taser was in my other pocket.
“You know you really don’t want to do all that, Lena,” he says sternly. “You’re a good cop. You have so much potential. I’m fully prepared to brush this under the rug if you keep your mouth shut. I’ll write you recommendations anywhere you want to go.”
He was right. I am a good cop. Being a police officer was my lifelong dream. Growing up with a scumbag deadbeat dad who was always just one step ahead of the law with his scams, dragging me and my stepsister down with me in the process, I spent my teenage years wanting nothing more than to become the woman who one day busted him.
I know if I blow the whistle on the kind of force the sheriff is running here, I will never be able to wear a badge again. Maybe I could become a private investigator. Maybe I could disappear into the military. But if I could only bite my tongue and walk out of here like I quit on my own accord for ‘personal reasons,’ I could have a new job in a new state tomorrow morning. I graduated at the top of my class from the police academy and have built a really decent reputation for myself. I took this job in North Carolina because I wanted to get away from my hometown, try to carve a fresh start for myself away from my sleazy family, and enjoy the luxury of not wading through snow up to my ass six months a year.