by Vivian Gray
She grabbed the woman’s arm and gestured for me to grab the other, but I just slid one arm under her knees, and the other around her back and scooped her up. She was light, mostly skin and bones from what looked like years of drug abuse. It wasn’t hard to spot a long-term addict. They had a hollowness to them, as though the drugs were eating them from the inside out.
We walked around the edge of the room, avoiding the bloody mayhem in the middle. The boys were backing away, prepared to follow me out. Buzz was still moving in the center of their circle, but he didn’t look near as haughty as he had when we’d first walked in. He was on his hands and knees, his head hanging between his meaty shoulder blades, spitting out blood.
“We’ll be back in two weeks,” I shouted over my shoulder. “This time, I’ve given you a warning, so we won’t be as kind if you are unprepared.”
Chapter Three
Kenna
By the time we made it outside, the reality of what had just happened was beginning to sink in. I could still feel Buzz’s sweaty hands stroking my body, and I thought about how many showers it would take for me to get clean again. Then, my mom groaned in the stranger’s arms, and I remembered she was still sick. The ordeal wasn’t over. Then, I remembered the stranger.
He’d shown up out of nowhere, marching in like a square-jawed Robin Hood figure, saving me and carrying my mother out in his arms. Even without the heroics, I would have found him handsome. His hair was ruffled into dark spikes, like ocean waves at night, and tattoos snaked up his muscular arms. Even though it was cool outside, he wore a plain gray T-shirt with dark jeans and sleek black boots.
“Where should I put her?” he asked, my mom still limp and mostly unconscious in his arms.
I realized I’d been staring at him and jumped into action, unlocking my car and opening the passenger side door. He bent low and set her gently into the seat before closing the door and straightening up. For a moment, he looked uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure whether he should stay or leave, but then his features smoothed out and he looked past me down the end of the street.
“I’m Trigger, by the way.” He didn’t say so, but it was clear he was the leader of the men with him. Inside, they’d waited for his command to attack, and outside they huddled in a group behind him. They were giving us a small amount of privacy, but still lurking around just in case.
“Kenna,” I said, pointing to my own chest, my hands nervous and trembly. “Thank you for your help. I’m sorry that I…” That I what? That I was blackmailed and assaulted by Buzz? That my mom continued putting herself in danger and then expected me to save her? I didn’t have anything to apologize for. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I’d felt relatively stable, but suddenly emotions were welling up inside of me, and before I knew it, I was crying. Tears were burning my eyes and leaking down my cheeks. Strangled sobs burst out of me, and I was so incredibly grateful to Trigger for interrupting Buzz and helping me out of the crack house. Before I could stop myself, I threw myself at him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, face pressed against his chest.
I felt clench up beneath my touch, but it didn’t matter. His body was strong and solid beneath me, and I needed that, if only for a second. I needed to feel held up, protected, cared for. I spent so much of my time taking care of my mom and the house and the bills. It was nice for only a second to feel like someone had my back.
His arms were thick cords of muscle, and his chest felt like it belonged to a marble statue. He smelled like cigarette smoke and pine needles, and I took a deep breath in. And then, Trigger pulled away. He slid my arms from around his body and stepped away from me.
“I came here to collect money, not to save anyone or become anyone’s hero.”
“But you did it anyway,” I said, thinking that perhaps he was modest.
He shook his head. “It was clear Buzz didn’t have my money, and I didn’t want my trip across town to be a total waste of time. So, I helped someone. Call it charity, call it my good deed for the year. Whatever, I don’t care. I have a business to focus on, and I can’t go around saving skanks and crack whores,” he said, gesturing to where my mom was slumped against the passenger side window, “from every drug dealer they owe money to. So, enough with the ‘poor little me’ act. Scurry on back to whatever dank hole you crawled out of and leave me alone.”
My mouth opened and closed several times, making me feel like a fish out of water, but I couldn’t stop. When Trigger had first approached me, I’d been tense and defensive. Then I’d allowed him to help me, taking him for a kind of biker vigilante. And now, he was cold and cruel, pushing me away. I couldn’t make sense of it.
He turned on his heel and walked back towards the collection of men behind him, each of them donning leather of some kind with tattoos up their necks and across their knuckles. One man, short and stout with brown cropped hair, winked at me and licked his lips. I grimaced.
“Thanks for your help,” I said one more time. Even if he was an asshole, at least he’d taken the time to save my mom and me. Most assholes wouldn’t have even done that. “I came to save my mom and Buzz wanted me to pay. He said I couldn’t help my mom until I’d given him something… it was all I had. I didn’t want to, but I had to—”
He turned around to look at me while he walked backward. “Get out of here. And don’t come back to this part of town or you’ll wind up dead.”
“Is that a warning or a threat?” I asked, genuinely curious. The meaning had been pretty ambiguous, and I wanted to know who my enemies were.
In response, Trigger lifted his middle finger high into the air and then turned away, marching down the road, his men in pursuit, head tucked down between his shoulders. I watched him walk for a few seconds and then realized that no matter what his meaning had been, he was right. We were in a terrible part of town, and my mom needed clear medical attention.
She was asleep against the windowpane, but in the light from the lamppost I could see that her eye sockets looked sunken in and hollow, her lips were cracked and bleeding, and she had bruises on her head that ran all the way across her scalp.
I slid into the driver’s seat and started my car up – it took three tries for the engine to turn over. There was a hospital only a few blocks over, but it was one of the worst in the city. The next closest one was half an hour away.
I looked at my mom, at the way her thin chest seized with every breath, the way her wheezes sounded like static coming from an old TV set and made my decision. I pulled away from the curb and headed for the nearest hospital, hoping we’d get there in time.
***
Trigger
I regretted saving the girl as soon as we got outside. Her wide, doe eyes wouldn’t leave my face, and I knew I’d just earned myself another “admirer”, as Dean liked to call them. She was looking at me like she was moments away from falling on the ground and kissing my feet.
I didn’t like to make a habit of saving people. In most instances, people deserved whatever they had coming for them. However, occasionally, it was hard to watch someone be taken advantage of. Especially young women. I’d watched my mom be tossed around by an uncaring world, and it made me slightly more sympathetic to their plight. If I could, I wanted to kick them in the right direction.
Then this girl threw herself at me. Her tight, tiny body was wrapped around me, and even with everything that had happened to her that night, she smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. She was sobbing, tears and who knows what else was pouring out of her face and leaving a wet spot on my shoulder. I hadn’t saved her for any kind of a reward, and even if I had, this would not have been my first choice.
I slipped out of her grip and moved away, trying to make it clear I didn’t want anything to do with her. The Broken Mavericks had enough club girls as it was. We weren’t in need of another one, especially one who was willing to sleep with someone like Buzz. The thought of it made me slightly nauseous. She started explaining, rambling on about her mom and Buzz, and I j
ust wanted out of there. I told her to get lost, and I left.
Part of me still wanted to help Kenna. The last thing I wanted was to see anyone end up like my mom. It had been a slippery slope from stripping to prostitution, and by the time she got there, it was impossible to get back out. She owed her pimp money and worked herself sick trying to pay him back, but in the end, he’d killed her, stolen what little money she had on her and left her for dead by the side of the road.
However, like I’d told Kenna, I didn’t have time to help every slut and crack whore in the city. I got her out of a close scrape with Buzz, and that would have to be enough for the time being.
I heard her car finally rumble to life behind us, and then she flipped a quick U-turn and was gone.
“She was sexy,” Dean said, hitting the back of my shoulder and laughing. I would never tell him, but the punch had hurt, and it was still stinging when his voice went high, and he started mimicking Kenna. “Thank you so much, Mr. Trigger. You saved my life back there. How ever can I repay you?” He pressed his chest forward, playing with his imaginary breasts, and winked at me.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That is not what happened.”
“But it could have.” He rolled his eyes. “You have little admirers all over this city. If I were you, I’d pay more attention to them. No sense in letting them go to waste.”
I shook my head. “I’m not going to sleep with someone who would ever sleep with Buzz.”
“Were we in the same room?” Dean asked. “Because it did not look like she wanted to be there.”
Before I could respond, a man lunged at us from the alley. Dean was already turned towards him, fists raised, but the man fell on his face on the concrete. He was coughing, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. And then, I noticed the blood splatter on the concrete.
“Help me.” He croaked, reaching out towards me.
I looked at Dean, an eyebrow raised. Hadn’t I already done my good deed for the day? Could I really be expected to help someone else?
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m sick,” he said, dragging himself across the concrete the way I’d imagine a zombie desperate for brains would.
“So?” I shrugged.
A few of my guys chuckled behind me.
“You helped her,” he moaned, rolling onto his back.
Then, I recognized him. He’d been curled up in the first corner of the large room back at Buzz’s.
“You’re a junkie.” I turned away from him, no longer interested. I liked helping people who stood a chance, but this guy was a goner. He’d be a druggie until the day he overdosed, and Buzz dumped his body on the sidewalk.
“Please,” he begged, swiping out at my leg, his hand grabbing onto my jeans.
I shook him loose. “I’m not interested in helping those who won’t help themselves. The hospital is only a few blocks away, crawl there.”
Dean laughed and walked away, followed by the other club members. I began to follow them when the man let out a horrible hacking sound. I turned just in time to see him vomit blood. Then he lowered his face to the ground and began to cry.
I hated how bad I felt for him, how much I wanted to help him. He didn’t deserve it. He had pumped himself full of toxic chemicals to the point where his organs were failing. He deserved to die on the concrete, yet…
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, already annoyed at myself for being such a bleeding heart, and turned around. I wedged my hands under his armpits and began hauling him up.
“You have to help me, or I’m going to drop you and walk away,” I said.
The man scrambled to get his skinny legs beneath him. “Thank you, thank you,” he mumbled, his lips covered in blood. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. If you vomit blood like that again, I might throw you off the back of my bike.”
He pinched his lips closed in response.
Dean didn’t seem surprised when he turned around and saw me helping the man. “Are you going to put him on the back of your bike?” he asked as he came around to grab the guy’s other arm.
I nodded.
Once I was on the bike, I grabbed one of the man’s arms and pulled, while Dean pushed him up and over the bike. Once he was on, he wrapped his arms around my waist, clasping his hands in the front.
“How romantic.” Dean snickered.
I ignored him, started the bike, and took off for the hospital. It would only be a few minutes out of my way.
I planned to drop the man off at the entrance to the ER and leave, but by the time we got there, he was nearly unconscious. His hands were still wrapped around my waist, but just barely. His eyes rolled around in his head, his eyelids flapping like flags in the wind. He looked like he was in bad shape, and I worried about leaving him on the ground outside the hospital could be considered manslaughter or something if he died. So, I parked the bike on the sidewalk and carried him inside.
The waiting room was bathed in the fluorescent glow of overhead lighting, and people in various forms of distress were sitting in blue padded chairs. Everyone moved out of the way as they saw me approach, either because they got an eyeful of me and got nervous or because they saw my blood-spattered friend. We made quite the pair.
When I reached the check-in counter, I leaned the man against the corner and coughed, drawing the nurse’s attention. She watched as a drop of blood dripped from the man’s mouth and then sighed.
“Do you know what happened?” she asked, gesturing to another nurse to grab a gurney against the back wall and wheel it around. It was amazing how easily they could communicate without words.
“Drugs, I guess,” I said, shrugging.
She all but rolled her eyes at me. “Right. You guess.”
“Hey, I don’t know this guy. I just found him on the street and did the right thing. Don’t assume I know anything about him.”
The nurse, whose nametag identified her as Shonda, ignored me and came around to help lay the man back on the gurney. She hit his face lightly. “Can you hear me, sir? Sir, can you hear me?”
He groaned in response.
“Well, I’m going to go—”
“Actually, can you stay and fill out a few forms?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know this guy from Adam. We are perfect strangers.”
“Just fill out everything you know, and it would really help me out a lot. Please?”
She didn’t wait for my answer, clearly leaving the decision up to me, and wheeled the man down the hall and through a double set of doors. I thought about just turning around and leaving. It would be easy, and she’d never be able to find me. Yet, some sense of obligation kept me there. I groaned and moved to sit amongst everyone else waiting in the ER.
“I’m a fucking saint today, apparently,” I mumbled to myself.
A woman with a twelve-year-old boy with a bloody towel wrapped around his finger glared at me, probably disappointed in my foul language. I gave her a wide “go screw yourself” grin and plopped down in one of the seats.
Chapter Four
Trigger
The longer I waited, the more frustrated I became with myself. Why had I decided to stick around? I didn’t know that junkie. I honestly didn’t care at this point whether he lived or died. I’d done the whole Good Samaritan act, and that should have been enough. Yet, there I sat in my uncomfortable blue seat, waiting for the nurse to reappear with some paperwork.
I wanted to leave, but then I’d think about how annoyed it would be to finally decide to go, stand up, and then have her come running up to me with a clipboard and a pen. It had been long enough that she should be coming out any minute. Right?
I sighed and ran a hand over my face, tugging at my tired eyes. Hopefully, Dean and the boys had moved on without me. We still had several more stops on our collection tour for the night. Shank had left The Broken Mavericks in a pretty bad place where money was concerned. He didn’t collect when he should have, and
people became complacent. Now, we had to show up in full force to get them to pay, and it was exhausting.
A nurse came out from behind the double doors, and I sat up expectantly. She moved across the room towards me, but then swerved at the last minute and collected the mom and her son.
“He decided to ride his skateboard down the basement stairs,” the mom said, shaking her head.
Her son smiled at the memory, still pleased with himself, despite his mangled, bloody finger.
The nurse wrapped her arm around the boy’s shoulders and moved him across the room and back through the double doors.
I sunk down into my seat, disappointed. Further down the row I was sitting in, I noticed someone else do the same thing. She had sat up, alert, when the nurse walked into the room, but her spine had nearly bent in half when she left. Her blonde hair was twisted back into a large, messy bun on top of her head, exposing the delicate line of her neck and the way it tapered into her shoulders like cut glass. Her face was buried in her hands, clearly distraught. I almost felt bad for noticing how sexy she was. Almost.