by K. L. Savage
“Are you safe up there?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. I do this all—woah—” the ladder teeters, “—the time.”
“Just let me know.”
“Everything in the store is fifty-percent off. Have at it.”
I want to ask her why everything is on sale, but I figure it isn’t my business. “Actually, I’d love to try on the dress in the window, if that’s okay. I’m getting married tonight, so I would love to see if that’s the one.”
“Congratulations!” she says, the metal of the ladder creaking. She isn’t tall enough to reach the light with the ladder. She’s on her tiptoes, stretching her arms, and is sticking out her tongue as the pads of her fingers graze the bulb. “Just one second,” she grunts.
The door opens, and Bullseye walks in, followed by Tongue, Sarah, and everyone else. Bullseye stares at the disaster in the middle of the floor. He runs to the ladder just as it tilts to the side, and Ruby screams.
And witnessing Bullseye saving her is like something out of a movie. He catches her in the nick of time, cradling her in his arms.
“Oh, gosh. Thank you,” she says in choppy breaths.
“You’re welcome.” Bullseye continues to stare at her, and Sarah bumps my hip with hers when we get the same idea.
Bullseye sets Ruby down, well, I think it’s Ruby. She never said what her name was, but she has a big ruby ring on her finger, so it has to be her. Bullseye grins when he sees how short she is. Her forehead comes to his stomach, and she’s skinny. “You’re tiny,” he says.
“My attitude is six-foot-six, so you better watch it with the short jokes.” She waves a fist in the air. The scowl on her face falls when she turns away from Bullseye and stares at me. “The dress in the window, right? It’s been there awhile. I’ve been waiting for the perfect person to ask for it. I think it’s going to look great on you.”
“The peach one?” Tongue asks. “That will look gorgeous with your hair up and your complexion. Good choice.”
“Oh my god, what the fuck is that?” Ruby screeches when she sees the gator.
“You owe me five bucks,” Maizey says. “Pay up.”
“She doesn’t count, sweetie,” Sarah whispers, kissing her daughter on top of the head.
“This is Happy. He is allowed in here. He is my emotional support animal.”
She points her finger to all of us and laughs. “You lot are a bit crazy, aren’t you?” She side-steps away from Happy and climbs on the stage, then unzips the dress from the mannequin. “I’ve seen it all now. Damn, gators as emotional support animals. I need me a glass of wine after seeing that; I tell you what.”
“Is she talking to us?” Maizey whispers loud enough for her to hear.
“Sorry, I do that.” Ruby jump off the stage and stumble, running right into Bullseye again.
“We keep meeting like this. I’m going to need your name,” he says, flashing his cocky smile.
“It’s on the shop.” She saunters by him and heads toward the dressing room. She slides the red curtain to the side and hangs the dress. “I’ll grab some heels. Not stripper ones. Not that I have anything against strippers, but something classy,” she tells me.
“Mommy, what’s a stripper?”
“A woman who likes to dance and she makes money,” Sarah explains with a questionable tone.
“I want to be a stripper!” Maizey cheers.
“Never sweetie, never. Daddy won’t allow that ever.”
I snicker as I head toward the fitting room. The floors are all shag carpet, but everything is clean. Nothing has been updated, which makes me like this store even more. I play with the material between my fingers, feeling the aged lace. I try to imagine the story this dress holds, but I know anything I think of won’t do it justice. “Hey, Ruby? How old is this dress?” I ask.
“From the ‘50s. It’s an original, a real classic.” Her voice comes closer, and she places a closed toe, three-inch heel on the ground. The shoes are a nude color with a thin ankle strap and, she’s right, the heel isn’t a stripper heel.
“Okay, try it on. Let’s see it,” Tongue says, tickling the chin of his swamp kitty.
I close the curtain and get undressed, starting with my shoes. My toes dig into the harsh material of the carpet, and as I slide off my pants, the mirror exposes the bruises on my thighs from Knives. My heart thumps when I think of him, and it has me getting undressed faster. I can’t wait to meet him down the aisle.
Stepping into the dress, I’m careful as I zip, since it’s so old. I bend down, slipping my feet into the heels. Before I show my friends, I take a look in the mirror on the wall and gasp. I hardly recognize myself. It fits me just right. The dress stops just below my knee, hugging my curves and showing the delicate ridge of my collarbone since the sleeves hug my arms. I twist my hair up like Tongue suggests, tying it like I usually do without a hair tie. My eyes water.
There is a glow to me I can’t explain as I look at myself. Maybe it’s the slight sweetheart neckline of the dress or how the events of tonight happened so fast that I can’t believe I’m here.
All I know is whatever led me here; I need to be the woman Knives deserves. I’ve been lost this past year, trying to find a way to live again. I’ve been doing odd jobs for Reaper, nothing special, which has to stop, and I need to try harder to find something I’m good at. For me. For Knives.
He’ll help me find my way.
He has so far, and I know with him, I can do anything.
I open the curtain and look down, stepping out for all to see. I’m nervous. What if they hate it?
Everyone gasps in awe.
“That’s it.”
“I love it.”
“So pretty!”
“Give us a twirl, Mary,” Bullseye says.
“Oh, I knew it would find the perfect home,” Ruby grins, dabbing the tears under her eyes. “Sorry, I’m a sucker for weddings. Don’t mind me.”
“Let’s have the night of our lives before we can’t,” I say. “I’m going to keep it on, if you don’t mind.”
“Absolutely not,” Ruby says, her ring glittering in the light. “It’s all yours.”
I want this to be the best night, since my life is on a timer, but my father is going to be in for a rude awakening.
I’m going to fight for the rest of my life
They say like father like daughter, but I don’t think that’s true. I’m nothing like him, unless you consider how much I want Knives, then I guess our greed is the same. We only apply it differently.
“Can you believe you’re getting married?” Sarah asks with wobbly lips, her hormones getting the best of her. “You’ve been through so much.”
I didn’t before, but I do now.
Holy shit.
I’m nervous.
I’ve trimmed my beard, shaved the sides of my head, and I’m wearing a suit.
I never wear a fucking suit. The last time any of us dressed up was for Sarah’s prom. I look in the mirror, rub my beard with one hand, and make an impressed expression.
Damn, I clean up fucking good. I really do.
I dip my hand into the black silk lining of my inner pocket and pull out the plastic bag holding the rings. I know, it’s supposed to be in a pretty box, but I don’t have one.
“You okay? Are you getting cold feet?”
I don’t have to look to see who it is. I’d know that voice anywhere. “What the hell are you doing in my room, Mason?” I straighten my tie and grab my cologne. I don’t wear it often, just for special occasions, and I consider this the most important occasion of my fucking life.
“I’m checking in on you,” he says, leaning against my bedroom door.
“Well don’t. That isn’t your job anymore, remember?” I place the cologne on the dresser and pick up four stars and slide them into my pants pocket.
“It will always be my job. You don’t think I kept track of you? That… what? I forgot about you? You’re my brother.”
“I was your brother. Was.” I
grip the edge of the dresser before pushing off and facing him. “You left me behind just like everyone else.”
“Thomas—”
“My name isn’t fucking Thomas, okay? You don’t get to call me by my name. There is one person in this world who can call me that, and I’m about to marry her. Stay out of my way tonight, Mason. Just stop,” I beg of him. “Just. Stop. Don’t ruin this day for me. Act like you don’t exist. You seem to be good at it.” I shove by him, slamming my shoulder into his as I walk out of the room, leaving my past and who I used to be behind me.
When I walk to the main room, I feel like there is a part of me missing, and it isn’t because Mary isn’t here. It’s the fact that Mason has popped back into my life out of nowhere, and no matter how much I fight him to stay away from me, deep down, I’m fucking glad he is here. I’m happy he is alive, but I can’t get over so many years of him being alive and me feeling like I’m drowning.
“Well, look at you. You aren’t so ugly after all,” Tank says, wearing a powder blue suit that is not easy on the eyes, but it matches him.
I don’t know how or why, but he pulls off the look.
“Whatever, I look better than you do. I look better than all of you,” I point out. Everyone is in their suit they wore to Sarah’s prom.
It’s probably the only one they own.
Except for Reaper.
He is wearing black on black, looking more like he is about to go fuck shit up than go to a wedding.
“Is everything set? Where are Moretti and Maximo?”
“Moretti is coming with. Me and Mercy are staying here to keep an eye on Maximo. I’m thinking he can give us more information than he has been saying,” Mason says from behind me. “Go get married. We will be here to hold down the fort.”
I nod, not having the energy or the heart to bite his head off again. Moretti comes from the basement, a crisp expensive suit on, something he used to wear all the time, and he is pulling at the collar. “I cannot believe I used to wear these all the time. Are you sure?” Moretti directs his question to Reaper.
“Just as sure as you saying you wanted Tool to suck your cock,” Reaper laughs, rocking on his toes as he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Did I really?” Moretti swings his gaze to Tool, who looks very uncomfortable. “I can see why. You are a marvelous looking man. You still don’t suck cock?”
Juliette giggles, hiding her face in Tool’s shoulder as he stares at the floor, white as a sheet. “Nope. No, cock. Sorry, Moretti. Juliette is my ol’ lady.”
“Well, we can all suck each other, I don’t mind,” Moretti says just as Tool takes a sip of water, which he promptly spews out in a massive spray
And now Patrick is soaked. “Oh, fuck, Patrick. I’m sorry.”
Patrick takes out a handkerchief and wipes his face clean. Sunnie helps him too, grabbing a napkin from the shutdown bar in the corner of the main room.
I really miss that fucking bar, but I’d miss Patrick more if he weren’t here, and if we had booze lined up everywhere, I don’t think he’d have a chance in hell at making it out alive.
“It’s fine. Just answer the man, okay?” Patrick gives Tool a sly smile, teasing him.
Tool spins on his chair as Moretti waits patiently, unbuttoning the top of his collar. “Sorry, Moretti. Juliette and I only suck each other. I’m flattered, though.”
“It’s okay, I don’t remember liking men too, yet here we are.” He fusses with the collar of his shirt again and curses something in Italian. “Are you sure I wore these? This makes no sense. They are fucking uncomfortable. Who would wear something like this?”
“A rich mafia man,” I say, hoping he understands that the clothes he has on are the clothes that encompassed the reputation he earned.
“Well, that’s not the case anymore, is it?” he says, sadly. “Okay, let’s go get Knives married.” He cocks his head as he studies me.
“No, sorry, Moretti. I don’t either. I’m marrying Mary, remember?”
“None of you are any fun. You’re so boring when it comes to your sex lives,” he huffs. “Can we go? Being in this clubhouse is making me cranky.” Moretti heads out the door, and for some reason, we all follow suit as if he is in charge of getting the show on the road.
When we all walk outside and shut the door, it hits me how serious the moment is. I never thought I’d be here or that I’d get married. I take the first step down the stairs, the first step to start the rest of my life, when my phone rings.
“Don’t answer it,” Slingshot says, launching a skittle at me. “It’s time to marry Mary. See what I did there? Did you?” He laughs at his own joke. “I’m fucking funny.”
“You’re a fucking idiot, is what you are,” Poodle says.
I do what they say. I ignore the call because there is nothing in this world that is going to stop me from enjoying my night unless it is Mary calling to say she doesn’t want to get married. Or what if she doesn’t show, and I’m standing there at the end of the aisle looking like a real bastard?
Shit. This is how people feel when they are in love? I hope the anxiety ends, because my stomach is in knots.
A bunch of the guys hop on their bikes, and my heart twists, reminding me I have to drive a fucking car. I hate driving a car. I’m not the best at it, but I do it if I have to.
My phone rings again as I walk to the Bronco, and when I stop at the driver’s side door, my gut turns, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Something isn’t right. I glance around to see what the issue is, but the guys are laughing and having a good time. It’s been too long since we have all gotten together and have had fun. Too much shit has happened. Tonight is the night we deserve for ourselves.
But something is wrong; I feel it. It’s like when you wake up one day, and you have that ache in your gut, the one that tells you not to get out of bed because you know something bad will happen. Then, you chalk it up to it being nothing, just stupid negative thoughts, but you walk out the door, drive to work, and get in a car accident, or you spill hot coffee all over you, or you see something you weren’t supposed to see, and you tell yourself, ‘I should have stayed in bed.’
I feel like we should have never left the clubhouse.
I’m doing my best to chalk it up to nerves and ignore it, but every time someone does that here, bad shit happens.
The sun is setting, the lower temperatures have kicked in, and while the horizon is beautiful on the edge of the desert, the beauty camouflages the ugliness that’s being hidden right now.
I just have no idea what it is.
My phone rings again, vibrating more intensely than the last time, or maybe that’s just how it feels, and I decide to answer it. My limbs are sluggish; my mind is fuzzy. A cold sweat drenches over me. I lean against the truck, staring at the name on my screen.
I know she’s gone when I see Bullseye’s name.
I can’t say how I know, but I feel it, and that’s how I know.
I try my best to answer, I do, but I’m frozen.
“You going to answer that, Knives? It keeps ringing over and over. Is it Seer?” Reaper places a cigarette between his lips and lights it, watching me out of the corner of his eye. When I don’t answer him, he blows out the smoke, and the phone rings once more.
Then someone else’s phone blares.
And someone else’s.
Then Reaper’s.
My new phone flashes Bullseye’s name again, and with a deep, broken intake of air, I slide my finger across the screen and put it on speaker. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” I feel dead inside, like Reaper carved a hole in my chest and fucking ripped my heart out.
“Knives, fucking finally!” Bullseye panics as he speaks. He must be running because there is static in the background as if he is moving. “We don’t know what happened. She walked out of the store. Dress on. We were walking to the car right behind her and climbed inside, and that’s when we realized she wasn’t with us. We checked inside the store again
. I’ve run all over, Knives. She isn’t here. She just disappeared. It’s like she vanished. One minute, she’s there, laughing and talking, happy. All she did was talk about the dress, and you know how much she loves you, and then it stopped. Mary isn’t here. She isn’t anywhere. Mary!” he yells out her name and hearing it without her answering kills something inside me.
Reaper rips the phone out of my hand. “No one fucking vanishes, Bullseye! I want everyone to look, except for Sarah. I’ll be there to pick them up. I don’t want you leaving that area until you have talked to everyone. Searched everywhere, even the dumpsters. Fucking look!” Reaper hangs up the phone and lets out a ferocious roar, tossing my new phone across the damn desert.
It can keep it.
“Knives, look at me,” Reaper grabs my shoulders, but I’m limp all over. I can’t seem to think, breathe, or move. “Knives? We will find her. We always find them. Always. She’s going to be okay. Knives,” he snaps his fingers in front of me.
I expect rage. I expect fury to take over, and I go on a warpath, but all I feel is this numbness again. My past is playing on repeat all over again. This is why I didn’t want to get close.
Everyone always leaves.
And I’m always left hurting for everyone.
Reaper slaps me across the face, and all eyes are on me. “Fucking listen to me; you don’t get to call it quits. Not now. Not when she needs you most.” He slaps me again, but his words don’t penetrate.
“Aye, Reaper. That isn’t what he needs,” Skirt says. The brass knuckles glimmer against the sun as he slips them on.
“I didn’t want to bruise him on his wedding day.”
“He ain’t getting married, Reaper,” Skirt says, launching his fist through the air and punching me right in the jaw. The pain shoots to my head, my heart, and wakes me up. I’m bloodthirsty.
I fall to the ground and cry out.
“That’s it. Let it out, Knives. Let it out.”
My ears ring from the hit, and blood pools in my mouth. The taste of it, the pain, it brings me back to the present.
Mary is missing.
I lift my head just as the blood drips down my chin.