Losing Me, Finding You

by C. M. Stunich

  I sigh and finish showering, determined to fall asleep before Austin comes back from wherever it is that he goes, just so I don't have to look him in the eye and hear myself saying it. Master. I guess that's what I get for reading Fifty Shades of Grey a dozen or more times. Naughty, Amy.

  Next time, I promise myself, Austin is going to be calling me Mistress. It's only fair, after all. Besides, if he's going to keep disappearing without telling me where he's going, then the least he can do is play into my perversions. He did promise to teach me anyhow. Asshole. As soon as Kimmi knocked on our door, he abandoned me with one foot in the shower and took off with nothing but a kiss to hold me over. Granted, I did touch myself a bit, but the release was nothing like it is when Austin's there to fuel me on.

  I dry myself off and crawl into that hotel bed, naked, feeling more at home there than I ever did in my parents' house. The only thing that's bothering me is Christy. I have to find out what's wrong with her. I wonder if I should call her again, but I'm afraid that she'll reject me, that she'll tell me she never wants to see or hear from me. I don't know if I can handle the rejection right now. I touch a hand to my belly. But she's your friend and you owe her to try again. Before I can question myself any further, my hand is creeping out across the nightstand and grabbing the phone, drawing it to me and dialing my best friend's number. I try her home phone instead of her cell this time. It's an old, corded thing, a virtual antique, just like the one we always had at my house. Oh, and it doesn't have a caller ID.

  She answers on the first ring.

  “Hello, Crandle,” she says cheerfully. I sit up suddenly and the blankets fall off my chest and pool around my naked hips.

  “Christy, it's Amy.” I don't let her interrupt me, just in case she hangs up. I want her to know that Crandle Rogers is not good enough for her and that he spent an exorbitant amount of time looking at my tits. If her parents are already trying to pair her up with him, just days after the failed attempt with me, then I know things are bad. He's a perverted bore to be quite frank, and I really, really don't want to see my best friend end up like Joan Jennise, thank you very much. I held my tongue that time. I'll be damned if I'm going to hold it now.

  “I know.” She pauses and takes a strange breath, like she's trying to hold back a sniffle.

  “What's going on?”

  “I had a wonderful time as well, and I'd love to go out again, but I'll have to ask my parents.” She emphasizes the word so strongly that it's now pretty obvious that she's being monitored. I decide to take a deep breath and let it all out, no holds barred, just in case something happens. After all, the beauty of the universe is that you never really know what's going to occur. I could die tomorrow, today even. So could Christy or Austin or whoever. So I seize the moment, and I hold onto it as hard as I can.

  “I love you, and I miss you, and I'm sorry. I was going to tell you that I had sex with Austin, but I didn't know how. I thought you were hiding something from me, too, so I justified the lie. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  “I can,” she says cheerfully, her voice forced and ridiculously false. “And I am.” I'm just waiting for her mother to snatch the phone away and start shouting at me. “How ever did you know?”

  “It still doesn't justify what I did, but if you want to tell me, I'm here.”

  “I do, absolutely. In fact, I couldn't possibly think of anything better, Crandle. How nice of you to ask.”

  “When can I call you back, so we can talk?”

  “Wednesday at six?”

  “You want me to call this number again?”

  “I'd owe you the world,” she whispers, and then she hangs up, leaving me feeling empty and anxious and jumpy all at once. I wrap my arms around my bare chest and close my eyes. Her parents aren't evil, but they can be cruel. I hope that whatever it is that they're doing to Christy, that she can survive for just a little longer. If I have to, I'll steal Austin's bike, so I can go back and get her.

  I toss the phone back onto the nightstand, crawl out of bed and sneak over to my purse. Inside, I still have both Adam and Daniel waiting for me, shoved in next to my pepper spray and a small photo album. Their pages are wrinkled, but I try not to blame myself. I was in a hurry after all, and I'm just glad they're here. Granted, I'd rather be spending my time with Austin, but a good book should do me just fine. With a book, you're never alone. I take them both back to the bed with me and fall asleep to the black and white whispers of literary love.

  “What in the shit is it now, Kent?” I growl as Kimmi leads me into his room with a frown on her face. The look she gives me says she doesn't like what's going on here anymore than I do. Something's up. It's obvious from the way Kent is acting. He's pacing the floor and running his hand through his hair. To be honest, I didn't know the man had any emotions other than greed or jealousy, so to say I'm a bit surprised is an understatement.

  “Bested by Crows is onto us,” he says, chewing at his thumbnail and pausing to shove Melissa off of him and onto their bed. Kimmi and I both pretend we don't notice that she's wearing skimpy lingerie and winking at us when we make eye contact.

  “How the hell do you know that?” I snap at him, crossing my arms over my chest. It always seems like I get interrupted in the middle of fucking Amy. I'd been planning on taking her up against the shower wall, all soapy and hot. Now I'm standing here in a pile of Kent's dirty fucking laundry.

  “They pulled into town about a half an hour ago.”

  “What?” Kimmi screams, stepping forward and getting into Kent's space. “How the fuck? We rode raw, no plans, nothing. Tell me how they found us, hmm?” Kent looks down at her feet and back up at her face. Kimmi takes a step back. Neither of us like to follow Kent's orders, but we do it anyway. For the most part. He is the president, after all, and loyalty and respect are key here. Without that, we're nothing but a bunch of criminal assholes riding around on motorcycles. “We have a rat, Kent.”

  “No, no.” He's shaking his head like he doesn't want to believe it. “They must've had someone tailing us.” I purse my lips and don't argue. Kimmi and I both know that's bull. Kent might not want to believe that one of his little pets, his followers, his dreg dragged up from the depths of hell, has betrayed him, but we both know it's true. Even Melissa looks concerned. Well, sort of. At least she's stopped winking at us.

  Kent pauses suddenly and swings his gaze between me and Kimmi. Is it me or does his skin look even paler today? Seriously, I'd bet a hundred bucks that the stupid fuck is a vampire. He's gotta be at least ten years older than me, but he doesn't look it.

  “Well? Any ideas?” he snaps, like we're both letting him down, and the whole Bested by Crows thing is our fault. God, I hate turf wars.

  “Well,” Kimmi begins, taking out a cigarette and sliding it between her lips with a scowl. “I'm not going through what happened last time ever again. If I hadn't parked down the block and hiked through those damn bushes, we never would've even known the fucking cops were staking us out. I am not spending my life playing the lipstick lesbian in a block of butch dykes.” Kimmi lights her cigarette.

  “So what do we do?” Mel asks, speaking up for the first time since we entered the room. It's hard to take her seriously when she's laying upside down like that, tits all but exposed for the whole world to see. What the hell was Kent thinking making her a part of our group? This bitch is gonna get us killed in there.

  “Obviously we abandon this gig,” Kimmi says, but before she can continue, Kent is grabbing the cigarette from her mouth and flicking it onto the floor where it singes the carpet fibers and melts them into a little lump. Nobody moves over to stop it.

  “We're running low on money, Kimmi. You like your smokes and your nice earrings?” Kent flicks his bony knuckled fingers at one of Kimmi's ears. “Remember, we have to actually have cash to pay for 'em.” He turns his black eyes to me and frowns, pulling out a cig of his own and lighting up. “Besides, don't you both have worthless girlfriends that
don't pull shit for shit? You want to keep them happy and fed along with the rest of your buddies. How about Gaine and Beck and Mireya? If you want to see how those twisted fucks will survive in the real world, be my guest. Otherwise, to keep Triple M alive, we need the three.” Kent's scowl turns into another croc grin, stretching wide and ugly over his face. He lifts up a hand. “Motorcycles, Madness, and … ” He stands there with his fucking hand in the air waiting for one of us to finish for him. Thank God that Mel's in the room because I'm pretty sure Kimmi and I woulda rather stood there in silence forever.

  “Money,” she says, sitting up and setting her feet down on the floor. For a split second, and I mean a split second, she looks real serious, like she knows something, but then she brushes it off and stands up with a smile, flicking her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.

  “That's right,” Kent oozes, turning away and kicking his dirty clothes out of the way with his boot like those pieces of fabric have personally o-fucking-ffended him. “We live for the motorcycles, we host the mad, and we do it all with that magical thing called money.”

  “What about your other 'enterprises'?” Kimmi asks, making little hooks with her fingers. She's still pissed about that cigarette; I can tell. Kent flicks aside the curtain on his balcony and looks out, pretending like he's real interested in something off in the distance. Personally, I just think he's crazy. I used to look up to Kent Diamond, but not anymore, and our name, our triple M's, they meant something to me. But now, now they're just becoming words, and Kent's turning from a protector of the outcast, a father to madmen and twisted folk, into a complete and utter asshole driven by greed and personal gain. Makes me sick to my fucking stomach, but like I said, unless Kent really fucks up, there ain't nothing I can do about it.

  “Business is slow, Kimmi.” He pauses and glances over his shoulder at us both. “And you're supposed to be the backbone of the group, the ones that keep us afloat through hard times.” He blows a puff of smoke against the glass of the sliding doors and watches as it drifts lazily back at his long, pale face. “No worries, though. I've got some other ventures lined up that should be taking off real, real soon. Until then, I need you. They need you.”

  Kimmi looks over at me and we exchange a long, hard glance. We've never told Kent about Fort Clinton. Like I said, he's a greedy motherfucker, and if he knew there was a hit this big out there, he'd have made us try for it years ago. Then again, he's right. Triple M needs money, and people need lookin' after, and I will be damned to the fiery depths of hell before I let my group suffer.

  “Kimmi's right about this job. We gotta let it go.” Kent listens to me talk and I watch as a vein pulses angrily in his neck. I lick my dry lips and wish I wasn't about to say what I'm gonna say. I'd rather see Kent unhappy than see the maniacal glee that's going to cross his face as soon as he hears this one. “But there's another hit we could try, one that Kimmi and I've been working on for awhile. It's about … ” I think carefully. “A hundred times the size of what St. Marlin's would give us.” Kent spins around and laughs. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say he cackles.

  “We were going to do Long Horn next, but I think we should go straight there,” Kimmi continues, speaking mostly to me and not really at all to Kent. “To Fort Clinton.”

  “So what do we do about Walker's group?” Kent asks, watching me carefully. “Should we teach them a lesson or two about who the big jobs belong to?”

  “No,” I say, despite every instinct in my body screaming for me to yes, to truly avenge Mireya and see some sort of justice come to pass. There isn't enough of that in the world. Thing is, if I play vigilante, then I'm taking a big risk, too big. Not when I have people that need me. Not when I have little Amy Cross curled up in my room, trusting me with every beat of her heart. “And we don't run out of here neither. If we go skittering across the plains, they'll follow. We stay as planned; we just don't do the hit. We pick a time on Wednesday morning and we leave as usual, and when we go, we do it quietly and unobtrusively. They've got a big group, so if we move fast, they'll never catch up, and we can be in and out, just like that.”

  “I like it,” Kent says, staring so intently at me that it feels like he really does have evil superpowers or some shit. “We take control, and we destroy our enemies by hitting them where it hurts. Just. Like. That.”

  I wake up in a wonderful mood, feeling more alive than ever before. I feel like the night's stripped me of myself and left me blank, like a canvas ready to be painted. Austin isn't back yet (or maybe he's come and gone), but I don't worry about it. I hop out of that bed and dance into the shower, throwing on a white cami and yes, a skirt. It's a black, lacy one that doesn't look so bad with my boots and my leather jacket. When I wore it before, I used to pair it with a pastel colored cardigan and ballet flats, and it looked more Mary Poppins than biker chick. I examine it in the mirror for awhile before deciding that I look okay, picking up my phone as I get ready to go out, thinking that maybe I can find Gaine and go for lunch again.

  I have a message.

  At first I think it's from Christy, but I'm quickly disappointed when Mireya's name appears on the little screen. I think about deleting whatever it is that she's sent, but end up wondering if maybe it has something to do with club business. I open the message.

  It's a video. Just like before.

  My heart gets caught in my throat and my thumb hovers over the play button like I'm waiting to cut the guillotine's rope. Whatever this is, I'm not going to like it, am I? I think as I build up my courage as quickly as I can and go for it.

  Images begin to move in front of me, familiar ones. Pictures of Austin's sweaty chest and face, his skull tattoos and the pistols on his pecs. He's groaning and thrusting and growling deep in his throat, but this time, the girl in the video that he's fucking isn't me.

  I see bronzed breasts and a flat belly from my first person view as the camera bounces around with each pummel of Austin's hips.

  Mireya Sawyer. He's fucking Mireya Sawyer. I'm watching a video of Austin fucking Mireya Goddamn Sawyer.

  The phone falls from my hand and hits the floor, bouncing a little before pausing to rest face up, so I can still see every little bead of sweat on his skin. I watch as Austin's dick pushes inside Mireya and try not to scream. Several emotions bombard me at once. The first, of course, is jealousy. I can only guess that this video predates me, but how should I know? It could be from one of Austin's famous disappearing acts. It could be from last night. I mean, that Mireya girl certainly acts like she owns him. How am I to know if there's still something going on between them?

  The second emotion is anger. Raw, white hot anger. This video tells me that Mireya not only hates me and wants Austin back but also that she was the one. She was the one who sent the pool table video to my congregation. I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides, trying to control myself. Never in my life have I been this full of raw, hateful energy. I want to swirl down the halls and find Mireya, wrap her dark hair around my hand and slam her head into the wall.

  Instead, I pick the phone up and tuck it nicely into my purse. Keep calm and carry on, Amy Cross, I tell myself. In the back of my mind, I hear another little whisper that says, Keep calm and beat Mireya Sawyer's ass. I open the door and force myself down the elevator and into the lobby where I'm guessing I might run into Gaine. When I find him, he's talking to someone in the lounge.

  Oh, God, no.

  I approach the table as calmly as I can, keeping a safe distance in case I explode.

  When Mireya sees me, her perfectly sculpted brows raise up and a sultry smile stretches her lips.

  “Good morning, Amy,” she says to me, tilting her head to one side. “I'm guessing you got the message?”

  “I got a message,” I say, correcting her. Gaine looks between the two of us like he's trying to figure out what's going on, but his face remains blank. It doesn't matter anyway. This isn't between him and me, this is between me and Mireya, and I intend to keep it that way. “C
an I ask you a question?”

  “Sure, Amy,” she coos, picking at the red polish on her nails like she could give a shit less about me. “You go right ahead.”

  “Why?” I ask her simply, keeping one hand on my purse strap and the other loosely by my side, just in case.

  “Why what?” she asks, pausing to pick up her beer. I watch her long fingers close around the brown glass of the bottle as she lifts it to her red rouged lips and drinks deeply, neck pulsing as she swallows.

  To be honest, Mireya is the girl I'll never be. She's tall and pretty and in control of herself. She exudes this aura of feminine confidence and power that I just don't have. I look at her in her skintight pants with her ebony hair glistening in an obsidian fall over her shoulder, and I just don't know what Austin could possibly get from me that he can't get from her. Mireya knows how to touch a man's body; I don't. She has history with him; I don't.

  But I'm still going to fight. I'm going to fight because I think that maybe, just maybe, I might be falling in love. And there's still the issue of my family. I can't say yet whether what she did was a blessing or a curse, but she did it without asking and that isn't right. Besides, why send me a video of her having sex with him? What does she expect to get out of that? I won't give Austin up that easily. She should know. She's the same way, after all.

  “Did you send the video of Austin and I having sex to my family and friends?”