by Porter, Cat
“Don’t fucking compare me to him!”
“But no, I gave in—”
“Gave in? Gave in?” My voice got louder. “I never forced you to do anything. You’re the one who fought me—and with a knife, no less. Jesus, now I get the knife.”
“Leo gave that to me after Tommy got sent to jail. He said now I was free, and I should never give up my freedom for anybody ever again. That my life was back in my own hands, and I should fight to live it the way I want.”
“He’s right.”
“My knife may be small, disguised in a pretty, feminine package— unsuspecting, innocent—but inside it’s hard and sharp. A weapon. I’ve only used it a couple times, but just knowing that I have it on me, makes me feel good. Makes me feel strong, that I can take charge.”
“You are strong, Isi. Leo is a smart guy.”
“He is. He’s going to have to leave Meager again. I have to tell him about Claw.”
“I’m sure Leo can take care of himself.”
“That he can.” She took my hand in hers again. “What I said before about giving in? I didn’t mean you. I meant me—me giving in to me. I’ve always been attracted to you from that first time we met at Dead Ringers. And that night at the campgrounds after the Flames party, I said fuck it, I can have him for one night, I can live out that fantasy. Why not?”
“Fantasy?” I said.
“Yes, you, my fantasy. So I gave in to wanting you, I gave in to your kiss. I gave in. You know why? Because for years after Tommy, I shut off, held back, held everything in. After that, when it came to men, I only grabbed and never gave. Until you.” She put her hand on my chest, her breathing rough. “Until you.”
I cuffed her wrist. “Baby, I would never treat you the way he did. That’s not me, and you know that, right?”
“I know.”
I rubbed her arm. “Sweetheart, you are so exhausted by your family’s burdens and that store—”
She pulled out of my hold, but I grabbed her arm back. “Easy for you to say when you don’t have any family or the responsibilities that go with it,” she snapped. “Don’t switch the discussion around now.”
“Hey, I got my brothers. Their concerns are mine. I’m there for them like they would be for me. I’m not saying don’t help your family, of course not. What I’m talking about is how it’s so damn hard to stand straight under all that pressure you’ve taken on, and the hell your ex put you through. He fucking marked you, baby.” My voice broke.
“Shh.” Her fingers grazed my lips.
“No, I won’t hush.” I clasped her fingers. “You’ve buried all that inside you, but you haven’t let it damage your spirit, who you are, who you still want to be. And it’s hard. I know how hard that shit is.”
She cupped my face, tears spilling down her cheek. “I know you know.”
I covered her hand with mine. “Oh, how you do it, Isi. I admire you for it. I’m amazed at the woman you’ve become in spite of everything that’s happened to you. That’s why you sing, I know it is. That’s your piece of free. That’s where you fly without giving a fuck about anything or anybody. Just you, making your beautiful voice heard. Just you blazing bright. I love you, Isadora Dillon.”
Love. I hadn’t wanted it. I’d seen it change people, twist them into small, pained creatures, demanding, selfish beasts. Dependent things, moaning in the darkness using the word to declare revenge, to defend their misery.
But this. Me and Isi.
“I love you, Is.”
She stared at me, electrified. She pressed her body against mine, her face buried in my chest. I held her close, feeling her weight on me, liking it there. I could hold her up forever. She raised her head, her eyes full of tears, and my pulse charged. My powerful Wonder Woman, fighting battles and staying strong.
“I’ve never said that to anybody before,” I breathed, cupping the side of her face. “Never thought I could. I love you, Isi.” I brushed her lips with mine.
“Wreck—” her voice shook. She gripped my arms tight.
“I don’t want you to ever give up your freedom for anybody or anything. I don’t want you holding back who you are and what you want ever again. You hear me?” My mouth claimed hers, and she surged in our tight embrace. We kissed, and a ferocious need took hold of me. “I want to fuck those memories off you, off us. Burn them forever.”
“Yes,” she managed in between my licks and sucks. “God, me too.”
“Need you taking me in, Is. I need to see you lose yourself on my cock, and I need to lose myself in you.” I wanted to feel this moment, feel the burn of our skid marks on our road. Feel rooted in her. In us. I ripped at her belt, the buttons on her jeans. “Want your tang on my tongue. Want to dive into your pussy and feel you throb around me, feel you take me in over and over.”
We tore at our clothes, and there in the dirt, I reveled in my Isi, in her taking what she wanted from me, in her moans and cries and murmuring. I reveled in her body driving our pleasure, in her insatiable appetite for me, for life. Her appetite fed mine, made me hungry, and filled me up all at once.
With her every grip on my flesh, her strokes, her kisses, we burned. With her finding her high in me, and giving me, giving me, we burned. Under a darkening blue sky with a full moon hanging low over us, we burned.
Somewhere in the haze, in our blur, I heard her voice, not singing, not crying out, a simple utterance, lips grazing my flesh. “I love you,” Isi said. “I love you.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
1988
I’d bought the cabin and moved in, and it had quickly become a home for Isi and me. She’d made it one. The small house had become our special place, our cozy private nest in between the crazy of the clubhouse and the eerie loneliness of her family’s house. Her brother Leo had vanished which had taken a toll on her and her father, but she was glad he was staying away from the area. At least he’d phoned a few times at the store to let her know he was okay.
Between both our crazy schedules we’d have at least two nights out of the week that we’d spend alone at home. Tonight was one of our nights together, and I made sure to get home early. I grinned at the sight of her sleek royal blue ’72 Pontiac LeMans in my driveway.
“There you are.” Isi kissed me, a hand at my middle, as I kicked off my boots at the door. “Food’s ready.”
“Smells amazing. I’m starving.” I washed my hands in the kitchen and grabbed a can of beer from the fridge.
In the center of our small, round dining table stood the candelabra we’d used at the Halloween haunted house party, polished and filled with lit candles.
“Whoa, what’s all this, babe?” I took a seat. “Are we celebrating something special tonight?”
“I think every day should be a special celebration. It’s beautiful, why not use it?” She filled my dish with the beef stew she’d made and handed it to me.
I dug into the stew, the rich flavor filling my mouth. “This is incredible.”
Her face beamed. “See? That. That right there.”
“What?”
Isi’s face flushed with pink as she gently mixed the stew with the serving spoon. “I like taking care of you. I like you knowing that once you open that front door, there will be open arms for you—”
“And open legs.”
She let out a loud laugh. “I was going to say a good meal.”
“The simple things are the best as far as I’m concerned,” I said, wiping at my mouth with a napkin.
“With you, I appreciate the simple things. You’re always so grateful. A lot of men would take it in stride—that’s what a woman does—cooks, cleans, picks up shit around the house. She’s there where she’s supposed to be. Not you. I could burn your toast black, and you’d be thanking me while eating the charred crusts because you’re that grateful and that humble about being shown kindness.” She filled her own dish and finally sat down. “I love doing things for you, Wreck. I love taking caring of you. I always will.”
; My gaze lowered to my plate, and my eyes blurred, closed for a moment taking in the overwhelming richness and aroma of her words, of her cooking. I am grateful for her. So grateful. This is what family is.
My fingers slid up and down over the cold, wet beer can. “I’ve always fended for myself. So when this beautiful, amazing, whip-smart woman comes into my life and enjoys being there for me, in every way, it’s real special.”
Her face beamed. “It’s all real, baby.”
I was the luckiest man alive.
“This is so good, Is. What’s in it?”
“A bottle of red wine, mustard, garlic, salt, pepper, carrots, a bay leaf. My mother collected cookbooks. This is from the famous Julia Child’s cookbook. Mom and I used to watch her TV show, “The French Chef,” when I was a kid.”
“I’m impressed.” I scooped up another forkful. “It’s terrific. And yeah, even if you’d burned it, I’d definitely eat it.”
Isi let out a laugh, and we finished eating and cleared the table together.
“We have another singing gig in a couple of weeks.” She set our dishes in the sink.
“Great. Where?”
“A children’s festival at Pine Ridge.”
My eyes shot up to hers. “Oh yeah?”
“I’m really looking forward to it. They’re going to have a full program of arts and crafts, traditional dance and music. We’re doing the party at the end, the rock n’ roll. We need to practice some children’s songs for a sing along with the younger kids earlier in the day.”
I chuckled. “Different from biker parties and bars, that’s for sure.”
“Right?” She let out a laugh as she wiped down the table with a sponge. “I’m really looking forward to it. I feel like we’re going to be offering something to the community.”
“How did you get that gig?” I put the pot with leftover stew in the fridge.
“Stewart got it for us.” She blew at the soap bubbles, and tiny glistening bubbles floated in front of her. “He’s Lakota Sioux. He grew up there, has family on the reservation.”
Family on the reservation. My chest tightened. I have family on that reservation too, don’t I?
“What is it?”
“Huh?”
She dried her hands on a towel. “You just went somewhere else, like—”
“Nah, it’s nothing.”
“Nothing,” she repeated.
“Yeah. Nothing.” I touched her hand, but she moved it away.
“Well, one day—maybe—you’ll share some of that nothing with me.”
“Isi—”
Isi shut off the lights in the kitchen. “You don’t have to hide shit from me.” Her voice was softer. “Unless you want to, I guess.”
The tightness in my throat dislodged. I followed her into the living room, where we settled on the couch. “My half brother, my mother’s other son who I’d told you about? His dad’s Lakota, and I think they live at Pine Ridge.”
“Wow, really?” She tucked her feet underneath herself on the couch. “You haven’t seen him in a long time, right?”
“Yeah, since he was a toddler.”
“That would be so amazing to see him again, wouldn’t it? You have to come to the concert then, and we can ask about him.”
My back stiffened. “Uh, I can’t, Is.”
I can’t.
“Can’t what? Can’t meet him? What are you—”
“I can’t go to Pine Ridge with you.”
“Why not?”
“That weekend we have a club meeting in Denver. All the charters are going to be there. It’s mandatory. Can’t not go. I told you about it a while ago.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Babe.”
She blew out a huff of air, deflating like a stubborn balloon that wouldn’t fill with air. “Well, that’s convenient,” she muttered.
“Isi, it’s business. I’m real sorry I’m going to miss your show, you know that, but—”
“But not sorry about missing out on the opportunity to see your brother.” She searched my eyes. “Are you embarrassed that you have a Native brother?”
“Hell no.”
“Are you keeping it a secret from the guys? Would the club look down on it?”
“Nobody can do a damn thing about it. He and I have the same mother. And no, him being Native doesn’t bother me. I think it’s kind of cool, actually.”
“Yeah, it is.”
I leaned back on the sofa, crossed my arms, extending my legs on the coffee table Willy had made for me. “Sometimes, I wonder what it’s like for him, being half white and half Native and living on that reservation. Does he get shit for that? Does he wonder how he fits in? But that’s the age old question, isn’t it? I’ve come to realize that I don’t give a shit about fitting in.”
“It can be a long, hard road to get to where you are now. To be good with that.”
“Yeah.”
“I hate to eat and run, but I have to go.” She planted a kiss on my cheek.
“What?”
After eating we’d end up in front of the TV on the couch catching up with Sledgehammer for a good laugh, or Dynasty, Isi’s favorite, and eventually get up to no good by the time the credits rolled. But even if we didn’t, it was great to have that kind of down time together.
“Since the gig is last minute, we’ve got to get our set together, run through it, rehearse the children’s songs. I’m not sure how late it’ll be, so I’m going to go home after since we’re rehearsing at Len’s house and he lives in town. It’ll be easier for work tomorrow.”
“I’ll take you there.”
“It’s okay, honey, I have my car. You stay here and relax.”
I let out a breath. “Call me, let me know you got home safe.”
“I will. I’ll make it up to you this weekend.” She hugged me one last time. “I’ll do that thing with my tongue you like so much.”
I smacked her butt, and she laughed some more as she swept out the door. I watched her pull out, her headlights fading down the twisty road.
We both put up with a lot of lonely nights because of her work and mine. But our work made us happy, they were our dreams come to life. And we were living it.
I threw myself on the sofa and flipped on the TV. “China Beach” lit up my small screen. Are they fucking kidding me? A soap opera with nurses and doctors in Vietnam. I shut off the television, throwing the remote at the sofa.
My phone rang. Lots of noise and music clogged the line. “Wreck, it’s Kicker. Can you come down to The Tingle? I need all hands on deck tonight.”
“What’s going on?”
“Two of Shepherd’s little lambs are here—I recognized two of his girlfriends pretending they’re Tingle dancers and propositioning the customers.”
The Tingle had been doing really well, but The Shepherd had not let up on making his presence felt at the nightclub. They were little things, but we all knew the little things could build and escalate into some kind of explosion. He didn’t like that we knew who his dealers were and that we kept them out of the nightclub. He didn’t like that Cheezer, his contact boy in Meager, was dead and gone. And what he didn’t like the most was that we were the One-Eyed Jacks.
“On my way.” I closed the phone and grabbed my keys and my jacket.
In the parking lot of the club, Willy and I found a Shepherd girl fucking a customer in his car. They’d left the doors unlocked, and we hauled her out. “What the hell is going on?” screeched the guy pulling up his pants.
“Dude, not here,” Willy said.
We dragged the girl through the back entrance of the club to Kicker’s office where another half-naked Shepherd girl was biting on her nails.
“Found her in the men’s bathroom sucking cock with a side of blow,” said Kicker. “How much money did you charge him, sweetheart?”
“Can I have a cigarette?” was her response.
“No, bitch,” Kicker replied.
“Motherfucker is sending his o
wn women over here to screw with us,” said Willy. “You remember The Deuce, that tiny old bar in Rapid? Shut down last month, fire hazard code, they said. Two weeks later, The Shepherd was running it under a new name, The Lone Pony.”
I ran a hand across my mouth. “He wants the town to think we’re a whorehouse and drug den.”
The girls glanced at us, but only looked bored. “Willy, get rid of these two before I make them both suck my cock,” muttered Kicker.
“You get rid of all the blow?” I asked.
“Yeah, down the toilet,” he replied.
Police sirens blared outside. “What did I tell ya?” muttered Kicker. “Right on cue, motherfucking fucker. He called the cops himself.”
Willy ushered the girls out back, and Kicker and I headed out front to talk to Officer Ryan and his partner. I recognized the grim look on Ryan’s face. Duty called. His young partner, on the other hand, looked kind of excited. Eyes bright, a tight grin on his thin face. Guess he’d never been to a strip club before.
Ryan stepped forward. “We got a complaint…”
“I’m sure you did. Go on, do your thing,” I said.
Ryan’s partner marched through the parking lot with his big flashlight like a good Boy Scout methodically going up and down the rows of vehicles, looking for signs of illegal activity. Sorry, Charlie, you missed it. Ryan climbed the steps to the club.
“Come on in.” Kicker pushed open the doors, a salesman’s grin brightening his face. “Don’t be shy.”
The cops found nothing, and, luckily, they didn’t shut us down for the hell of it. But I knew there would be a next time. There always was with The Shepherd.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was the day after the rally at Sturgis had finished, and Steve had asked me to go up there to help an old friend of his who was having engine trouble with his bike.
“He hasn’t ridden in a long while, but from what he described, it doesn’t sound like it’s a major problem. He’s an old friend, Wreck. I’d appreciate it if you’d go,” said Steve.
Me and the guys had already been up there earlier in the week to check out the bikes, see friends from the area, and the Jacks charter from Colorado had come up for the event as well. We’d had a blast at the bars and then at Dead Ringers Roadhouse the night before they left. Having them bunk at our makeshift clubhouse in town had turned out to be a major plus. Often during rally season loads of clubs passed through and more often than not, local businesses in tiny towns like Meager would get hassled, and they wouldn’t make a lot of money. But one look at the full of bikes parking lot, and all the clubs that screamed through Meager did not stop—not once.