Losing Me, Finding You

by C. M. Stunich

  “Shit,” I say and then I'm grabbing her behind the head and pulling her lips against mine, kissing the shit out of her right there in the middle of the street. She raises her hands to protest, but can't seem to find a fight in that, instead choosing to grab the edges of my vest with an iron grip. I feel myself getting hard, and I can't help but push my hips forward, grabbing her around the waist and grinding her into me, wishing we could finish this up, right here, right now. And then maybe you'll be able to get a logical thought through that thick skull of yours, Sparks.

  Amy stops us again, and I swear to God, I'm about ready to grab her around the waist, toss her over my shoulder and take her up to my hotel room.

  I rake my fingers through my hair and turn away, sucking in a deep breath to stay calm.

  “Austin,” she says and I remind myself that this is why women like Mireya are better for me. I understand them, and they understand me and what I want and what I need. This … girl, she don't know shit. “I have to get out of here, whether you help me or not.” Here, she pauses. “Who do I need to talk to?” I turn back to look at her, and see that she's squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Sweat drips down her neck and between her breasts, disappearing under the lace trim of her shirt. I swallow hard, squeezing my hands into tight fists at my side. All of this unused sexual tension is going to put me in a bad, motherfucking mood.

  “Kent Diamond,” I say and she nods curtly.

  “Where do I find him?”

  Shit. I stare at her hard, real hard, and I know that I can't send her to Kent. That's all sorts of messed up. I wouldn't send my worst enemy to Kent Diamond.

  “I'll ask him,” I promise. I was going to anyhow. There's just something about Cross that makes me want to do it, just for the possibility of what could be. You're scaring me, Austin, I tell myself, shaking my head to clear it, but God, she felt so damn good last night when I was riding her ass. That feeling of wanting to own Amy Cross has not gotten any better, only worse. I wonder how many times it's gonna take before it goes away completely.

  “And my friend,” she blurts. “She might … I just don't know.” She touches the palms of her hands to her forehead and closes her eyes for a moment. “You know what?” she begins, dropping her arms back to her sides. “Just forget it, just forget all of it.” And then she takes off into the shoe shop, leaving me wondering what in the hell just happened.

  I think about chasing after her, realize that I have never even considered chasing after any woman, and then spot Gaine down the block from me, coming around the corner with a purple bruise over his left eye and a limp that sure as shit wasn't there last night. Damn it all, but Amy Cross is going to have to wait.

  I wave Gaine over.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” he asks me, getting pissed before I get the chance to. His dark hair is matted with blood, and he doesn't look like he slept at all last night. I wonder where he's been.

  “Gaine,” I start, but he doesn't want to hear it.

  “Fuck you, Austin,” he says, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. His jaw is swollen and raw lookin' like he took a few hits. I don't want to ask, but I have to.

  “You did it, didn't you?” I say, shaking my head and trying not to hate myself. I stood my ground and my friends got fucked for it. I hate the way the world works sometimes. “You're Diamond's bitch now, too?”

  I'm barely able to move before Gaine swings out with his fist, missing me by a spare few inches before he stumbles forward and leans against the side of a telephone pole. Sweat is pouring down his face and dripping to the pavement, making his tattoos as shiny and livid as the bruises on the side of his neck.

  “It's not what you think, Austin,” he tells me, and I want to believe him because there's nobody out there that's better than Gaine, but I can't get behind Kent and his turf war bullshit. That's not the way things are supposed to work, and it's not something I want to get involved in. “And you know what? I'm not about to stand here and take shit from you.” He pauses and spits on the sidewalk next to my feet. “Whether you agreed with Kent's decision or not, you shoulda been there. I'm not going to justify myself to you.”

  And then he's pushing away from the wood and stumbling down the sidewalk like a Goddamn drunk. I let him go, staring at his back, at the Triple M colors he's flying, and I know that whether I like it or not, I've got to step in and deal with this shit on my own.

  Otherwise somebody could get hurt.

  I try not to think about Amy when I say that.

  “You stupid motherfucker,” I say when I walk into Beck's hotel room and find him naked in bed with Mel. She smiles at me and makes no move to cover up her lily-white ass with the sheets.

  “Good morning to you, too, Austin,” she says as she stretches like the cat who got the fucking cream and leans forward to press a sultry kiss to Beck's smiling lips. He slaps her on the ass as she gets up and watches her with twinkling eyes. The stupid fuck can't get enough of that bitch.

  “What the hell happened last night? Gaine won't talk to me, and he looks like a friggin' wreck.” Diamond chuckles, and I have to resist the urge to jump her ass and put her in a coma. Now, I'm not normally of the mind to go around hitting women, but Melissa Diamond has long since crossed over into a dimension all her own, so I think I could manage at least a couple o' hits before my conscience got the better of me. She slips into the bathroom and blows me a kiss before closing the door. “What the fuck?” I growl, but Beck just shrugs, sitting up and wincing as the blankets fall away and reveal a stomach covered in purple and green bruises. White bandages wrap around Beck's shoulder and obscure most of his Jolly Roger tat. “No more Diamond,” I tell him, but he never listens. One day the Pres is going to find out and Beck is going to lose his dick in a knife fight.

  “They were using chains,” Beck explains, pointing at his stomach. “It was just Gaine and Mireya and me – ” I take a step forward and Beck pauses, somehow realizing how serious this shit has just gotten. “Mireya?” I ask, and my tone is ice. Now she's involved in all of this shit? What the hell have I done? Was I too preoccupied with Amy? But no, that's not it at all. I didn't do what Kent asked because I didn't believe in it. He already holds the keys to part of my soul, and I'd like to keep the rest. “It was supposed to be quiet, you know, just in and out. We took some baseball bats down and we were just gonna rough things up. We didn't plan on going all the way.”

  “I fucking told you, all three of you not to get messed up in this shit.” Beck won't look at me, keeping his green eyes focused on the dresser next to the door.

  “Why not?”

  “I can't tell you, you know that,” I say although I wish I could. I wish I could tell somebody. But then, I got into this mess on my own and someday, I'm going to get out of it. For now, I think it might be best if I play Kent's games a little better. This burden should be on my shoulders and not my friends'. There's a reason that asshole picked the three of them for the job when there were plenty of other people who were more than capable. “Where do you think all the money comes from? You want to get a fucking job? Let me worry about this shit, and don't,” I point my finger at Beck's chest. “Go roughin' up other people's bikes.”

  “Code of the Road?” Beck jokes, wincing when his laughter pulls at the bandages on his chest.

  “Fuck you, asshole,” I tell him and then I'm out of there and storming down the hallway towards Mireya's room. I don't even make it halfway there before my own door is opening, and she's stepping out with a towel on her head and a robe over her shoulders.

  “Hey,” she says, and her voice is soft. When she looks at me, I can see that she's not angry about Amy anymore. She thinks the threat is over; wait till she hears about my request to Kent. She's going to stop looking at me with that soft smile, stop touching my arm with her fingernails and whispering hot words into my ears. I wonder if I'm okay with that? Mireya's been by my side for a long, long time, ever since Kent found me in the depths of hell and pulled me out of
it. He did that for Mireya, too, and so maybe that's why we're all still here, out of some fucked up sense of loyalty. Or blackmail. Either or. “I hope this is okay … ” Mireya pauses and gestures at the room with her hand, asking my permission. I nod once, very curt, very pissed off, and cross my arms over my chest. “Austin,” she starts and I stop her with a shake of my head.

  “Your promised to stay out of this shit,” I tell her, and she looks away like she's ashamed. “You're not trying to get back at me for fuckin' Amy last night, are you?” Mireya's head snaps around like she's been slapped and her slanted eyes open wide, burning with the fires of hell. When a woman looks at you like that, with the blood of the earth boiling beneath her skin, you know you done something wrong.

  “That little white bitch?” she asks, snapping her teeth together like she's trying to bite off the flow of words in her brain, like she could go on forever about how much she hates Amy Cross. “This has nothing to do with that little whore.” Mireya rips the towel off of her head and shakes out her long, dark hair. I think she's Spanish maybe, based on her accent, but she never talks about her past, so I don't know shit about it. Sometimes pasts are better left behind. I think that's the appeal of the open road. The wind holds no prisoners, and it banishes bad memories. If there's any magic left in the world, then I certainly know where to find it; we all do. “Nobody in Walker's group is worth the air in their lungs. If I could, I'd hang 'em all out to dry.” Mireya sneers and looks at the floor like she wants to say something but can't. “You think banging up their bikes was bad? If I ever get the chance, I'll kill them.” She looks up at me finally. “Whether Diamond gives the word or not.”

  I look at her, and I wonder how far this goes, what she and Gaine are hiding from me. It seems like this whole grudge goes beyond turf wars and livelihoods, like it's personal. I don't press for details, just step forward and wrap my fingers in Mireya's wet hair. She looks up at me, the anger fading from her eyes as quick as it came.

  “How was she, by the way?” Mireya asks, sliding her arms around my waist. I don't need to ask who it is that she's talking about it. My catch of the day, my little Miss Cross. Explosive, hot, tight, fucking delicious. I've never shied away from telling Mireya shit like that before. This time, though, my tongue gets tied, and I end up kissing her instead of answering.

  Mireya bites at my mouth hungrily, gnaws at my lower lip with her teeth and drops her hands to untie the sash around her waist, letting the robe gape open and flash me a long line of smooth, bronze skin and a patch of dark hair between her thighs.

  “I've still got those cowboy boots if you're game?” she asks me, stepping back and lying across the bed invitingly. I stand there like an asshole for a second too long before I finally take a step forward, but it's too late; Mireya saw my hesitation. She sits up suddenly, grabbing the edges of her gaping robe. “What the fuck, Austin?” she asks, glaring at my crotch like it's the enemy. I've got a hard-on going on; how could I not with Mireya lying on the bed with her full breasts exposed and her flat belly, her long, long legs? But I don't feel any of that fire or that heat. Maybe I'm just letting my anger at the Pres get to me? Shit, I don't know. “You not into chicks anymore?” she growls as she rolls off the bed and slaps my hand away when I reach out for her. “Or maybe that little blue-eyed bitch cut off your balls? Didn't think you were the type to let 'em go so easily.”

  I grab her shoulder with a growl and spin her around, slamming her into the wall hard and pressing my body firmly against hers, grinding my erection into her hip.

  “This has nothing to do with Amy,” I say, wondering why I still can't get that girl out of my mind. “I just don't like you getting involved with Mel and Kent's shit.” Mireya smiles, but it ain't a happy look.

  “Because you're worried about me?” she asks, and I don't like where this is going.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I tell her, grabbing a condom from my back pocket and unzipping my pants. I slip the latex onto my dick and grab Mireya's ass, lifting her up and slamming her back into the wall. “And stay out of that crap.”

  “Is that an order?” she asks me slyly, wrapping her legs around me, so I can slide into her.

  “Damn right it is,” I growl as I thrust forward and try not to feel like I'm betraying a girl I don't even know.

  I don't know how to feel after my encounter with Austin. My heart is thumping and my body is pulsing, begging me to race outside the doors of the shoe shop and throw myself into his arms. I want him to bend me over again, fill me with his long, hard cock, and grind into me until I scream. At the same time, I feel dejected, almost miserable. Christy still won't look at me, and we end up spending our short outing together looking at black flats and fuchsia heels – neither of which I like, both of which I buy.

  “Christy,” I begin when we climb into her car, but she doesn't want to talk to me for whatever reason, blasting the Christian rock station so loud that by the time we get back to our houses, my ears are ringing. I leave her sitting in the hot driveway without another word. Something's bothering my friend, but until she decides she wants to tell me, there's nothing I can do.

  “Amy?” my mother asks when I step into the house, blinking the hot sun out of my eyes and passing over my shopping bag without a second thought. My mother always checks my purchases. Always. She nods her head in approval at both pairs of shoes and pats my hand with a smile. “Good girl,” she says, praising me like I'm a dog or something. I try to keep my expression neutral, but an itty-bitty frown manages to crawl onto my face. “Now, your aunt stopped by with your dress. It's on your bed, so be careful not to wrinkle it.” She pauses and watches me as I set my hand on the banister of the staircase, desperate to move up the steps and lock myself into my room, so I can think. Admittedly, I'm a bit confused at the moment, a bit unsure of myself.

  Only one thing hasn't changed: I'm still leaving.

  Christy, Austin, today, tomorrow – all of these things are small factors that I have to consider, but they will not affect the final outcome. I will be free.

  “You're getting your hair done at six, so make sure you're up and showered.” I nod curtly and wait until my mother gives me some sort of sign that it's okay for me to go. This is the way things have always been, so it's the way they're going to stay until I leave. If I act differently beforehand, she'll know something is up, and she'll try to make me stay. I don't want to deal with that. “And paint your nails tonight. We don't have time to get them done.” Yeah, because you moved the wedding all of a sudden, presumably for my benefit. I feel a bit sorry for Jodie, but there's not much I can do about it. My family as a collective whole does not care about individual happiness. It's all about the image we present to the community and the rules that are carved into our souls with blood. “Now go along and get some rest,” she says, finally dismissing me from her rule.

  When I get into my room, I drop my shoes to the floor and pull off my sweater, throwing it to the ground and opening the windows in my room wide, so I can lean out and feel the hot breeze against my cheek. I can still taste Austin's mouth, feel his hands on my hips and his body inside of mine. I want him so bad it hurts, and I can't tell if it's just the sex I'm interested in or the man himself. I'm not exactly an expert when it comes to men, so I can't be sure of anything really. All I know is that I'm a walking, talking mess of nerves and hormones.

  I try to think about Sali Bend and how she dealt with Glance Serone because, fictional character or no, I consider her one of my best friends.

  The man was rude, crude, and inappropriate. I was taken with him the moment I walked in the door, and I knew from the first moment I saw him that it was going to be raw, it was going to be ugly, and I was going to enjoy every damn minute of it.

  I think that Sali's advice is about as good as I'm going to get in this situation and try not to think too hard about things. I will pack my bags, empty my bank account, and see what happens. I'll leave the whole Austin thing alone and, as Sali bend might say, see what the
hell happens. Either he'll ask this guy, Kent, about me, or he won't. I did tell him off anyhow. And then there's Christy to think about … I close my eyes and breathe in a mouthful of hot air. Screw it. I've got to learn to let go. After all, my whole life has been carefully planned and organized, structured and ruled over by others.

  I think it's about time I infused myself with a little chaos.

  I wake up on the morning of my cousin's wedding and take a peek under my bed, so I can stare at my duffel bag and know that this is real, that this decision has been made and that one way or another, I am leaving. I have to do that, so I can survive the poking and prodding and primping of my aunt's long, red nails as she pulls and scrapes my hair up into an ugly, messy lump on the top of my head.

  “Hold still,” she snaps, yanking me around aggressively. She's mad at me, though I don't see how any of this is my fault. I'm not the one that decided to move the wedding up; that was my father, actually. And my aunt has long since been my father's lackey. Maybe it's because they grew up together. Maybe it's because my aunt is a weak person, someone who follows and never leads. Maybe that's it. “Now get up and get your dress on.” Megan pauses and sniffs rudely. “And take some of that makeup off. You look like a whore.”

  I sigh as she walks out of the room and drop my face into my hands. Not much longer, I think, trying to find an exact date of departure in my head. After the motorcycle show is over, of course, just in case Austin does come through. I set my sights on the twentieth and rise to my feet before somebody else comes in and yells at me. The whole family is in a state of panic with people running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It's nauseating.