Losing Me, Finding You

by C. M. Stunich

  “I shouldn't be, sugar,” I tell her, thinking of our long ride tomorrow and about Fort Clinton and Kent and all the other crap that's going on. “Since we're leaving tomorrow morning, bright and early.” I pause. “But I've gotta tell you something.”

  “You mean about Mireya?” she asks. Ah, perceptive little lady I've got here. I scoot my hips back, just a bit, hoping I'm not going to get another hard-on. Yet. Amy has a habit of givin' 'em to me left and right. I squeeze my arms tighter around her chest to make up for the gap between our hips.

  “Yup.”

  “About the video … ” Amy pauses. “When was it taken?”

  “Video?” I ask her as she tries to squirm away from me and sit up. “Where do you think you're going, beautiful. You ain't gettin' away from me yet.”

  “Austin, I have to know,” she says. “I won't be angry, but I just have to know. Where's my purse?” I shrug and figure that if she left it downstairs, Gaine's probably got it. She sighs and leans back against me. “This may not be any of my business, but Austin … ” Amy takes a deep breath. “When's the last time you slept with Mireya?” I think about that for a minute, but I don't know why. There's only way to answer that question – honestly. To do anything else would be to spit in this beautiful girl's face, and Austin Sparks does not disrespect.

  “The day after we had sex in the bar,” I tell her without shame. I didn't have any obligations to her then though I can sort of feel in my chest that maybe that wasn't the best choice to make, not for Mireya, not for Amy, and definitely not for me. Amy stiffens for a moment and then relaxes into a sigh.

  “She sent me a video on my phone of the two of you … ” Amy doesn't need to finish her sentence. I'm a smart guy, so I get it.

  “Shit. No wonder the two of you ended up tussling like alley cats. You know, don't you? That she sent that video to your family.” Amy nods her head and shifts, so that she's staring at the ceiling instead of the wall, pale blue eyes gazing upwards without the slightest hint of anger in 'em.

  “I do.”

  “And you're not angry?”

  “Pissed.”

  I pause for a moment and run my fingers along her belly. She shivers and closes her eyes but doesn't say anything else about it.

  “I'm sorry,” I tell her because I am, truly. This whole thing between her and Mireya is about me, and it shouldn't be. I shoulda made it clear to Sawyer years ago that I wasn't in love with her like that. But me, being the fucking dumb ass that I am, didn't see it until it was right in front of my face. Yet another reason to hit Fort Clinton. You owe these girls now, Sparks. Better see to it that you deliver.

  “Don't be,” Amy says, opening her eyes again. “It's over now.” I watch her face and I can see the respect there that she's got for Mireya. A good fight will do that to you, you know. 'Specially if you get your ass beat around a bit first. I grin nice and big.

  “Looks like you did some damage to Sawyer, eh? Never thought I'd see the day.” Amy smiles back, and her eyes sparkle a bit.

  “I don't condone fist fighting, you know,” she tells me, but her voice has this edge to it, like maybe she liked it and she shouldn't have.

  “Well, you did a damn good job. I don't think anyone's ever put the moves on Mireya like that. I doubt she'll be bothering you for awhile. Least she'll think twice about it before she does.” Amy chuckles, but it dies away quickly, replaced with a thoughtful face that tells me before she even speaks where this is going next.

  “Mireya. You said there was more to her, that she'd had it rough. Why? What happened?”

  “Sure are a nosy, little thing, aren't you, Miss Cross?” I'm teasing her, but I think she knows that. She waits patiently for me to continue, and I end up rolling onto my back with a sigh. I really hate this fucking story, and I've only known it for a handful of days. Same amount of time you've known Amy, but shit, Sparks, if it doesn't feel like it's been forever. In a good way, o' course.

  “There's a group of bikers run by a guy named Tray Walker,” I say, growling the name out like it's poisoned. “Mireya used to be married to the asshole.”

  “Mireya used to be married?” Amy echoes, sounding just as surprised as Kimmi when she found out. Apparently, it doesn't take years of knowing the damn girl to figure her out. I smile a little and then frown. I think it's impossible to tell this story with a happy face.

  “He was the Pres then, just like he is now, but he was new and he was implementing some changes.” I'm already starting to scowl, already beginning to feel my blood boiling hot and angry. Tray Walker is here, in this city, right now. I could go find him and beat his face in. It would be a service to humanity. Then again, that stupid ass thought could get me killed real easy, too. “He didn't tell his new bride about any o' them, until he took her bike away.” Amy doesn't interrupt me, just waits there patiently for me to continue, mind mulling over my words. “He'd decided that women were no longer going to be full-fledged patched members and that they either had to ride on their man's bike or get out.” Amy's gentle face doesn't change expression. Instead, it freezes there, stuck somewhere between neutral and annoyed. I hate to admit, but she looks a little scary like that. I like it. “Well, Mireya isn't one to give up easy, so she organized a women's ride, taking all the girls in her MC out on their bikes in protest.” I pause because this next part makes me so sick to my stomach that it's hard to breathe. “When she got back, Tray, he took her bike and smashed it up real good, and then he … he held her down and raped her, let his buddies come in, too. All night long they kept her there and tortured her, and then they dumped her naked on the side of the road, all bruised up. If it wasn't for Kent finding her, I don't know what woulda happened.” I remind myself to cut the guy some slack. He did save me and her both after all, along with the rest of this motley crew.

  When I glance over at Amy, I see that her eyes are brimming with tears.

  “I see,” she whispers, and I can tell she wants to say more but doesn't how to, doesn't how to put into words how she feels about that. But at least she can shed a tear for the enemy. That's a character trait I can admire.

  “So you don't have to go feeling sorry for her or anything, but I just wanted you to know where she came from. I didn't even know until a few days ago, but I wish I had. There's a lot of stuff that she does – that she's done – that makes a whole lot more sense now. I wish I'd known how bad she was hurting.”

  “Don't even think about it,” Amy says, turning to me and folding her hands beneath her cheek. “Don't think about treating her differently just because you know. That act doesn't define her. It affected her, I'm sure, but it doesn't make her. I think she's just a strong-willed woman that knows what she wants and is willing to fight for it.” I reach out and touch my fingers gently to the tip of Amy's nose and she winces.

  “I guess you're right about that, sugar,” I tell her, unable to fight it anymore.

  My cock is swollen and wanting now, despite my horror story, and I just can't resist reaching over and grabbing Amy by the hips. I pull her on top of me and keep my eyes on her face as she angles back and slides her wetness over my cock.

  “Austin,” she whispers as she starts to ride me slowly, grinding her pelvis against mine. I reach up and cup her full breasts, running my thumbs along the pink skin of her nipples until she shudders and clenches tight around me.

  “What is it, beautiful?”

  “You know how you said I was yours before, until I became a full member?” I slide my hands back down to her hips and hold on tight, careful to avoid the colorful bruises that are starting to spring up on her pale skin.

  “Yeah. And I meant that shit by the way.”

  “Well,” she moans, letting her head fall back so that her wet hair drips sexily over her shoulders and down her back. “I just fought for you, so for now, at least, you're mine, too.”

  It's too early the next morning for me to force more Nickelback on the group, so I settle for a little AC/DC and let 'Highway to Hell' tri
ckle through the intercom system in our helmets. There might be a few eye rolls in the bunch, sure, but I figure that nobody can really come up with a valid argument against good, old fashioned rock and roll. Not with the wind whipping around them and teasing them with her cold fingers, beckoning us into the sunrise that's burning up the sky straight ahead of us.

  I listen to the sound of my bike and the beating of Amy's heart and try not to let myself get nervous about Fort Clinton. It's gonna be tough, especially since we don't know if Walker's going to trail us out here. The faster he comes after us, the less time we have to plan. If I had my way, I'd spend about two weeks in town before I moved in. I think we'll be lucky to get two days.

  I take the curves a bit faster than I should, pulling the group along with me in a roar of thunder that's deafening but brilliant, a sound I wouldn't change for the world, that I won't apologize for. It's the sound of freedom in the gas of those engines, a promise that things can change and keep changin', that nothing has to get stale or old, and there's always a new perspective out there, one you've never seen before.

  I hope that after this week, I'm still around to see it.

  We ride straight through, stopping only for gas, and manage to make it all the way from St. Marlin's to Fort Clinton in less than a day. Anyone that says that ain't impressive riding is full of shit.

  “Can I talk to you?” Gaine says as soon as we pull into town and stop as a group in an empty church parking lot. Our usual first ride through didn't yield a single, damn hotel, further ingraining my hatred of Tray Walker and Bested by Crows. It's hard to cart forty-nine assholes around the country and not know where you're staying. That's why I usually like to plan shit out. Damn that motherfucker for making me rush through this shit. I wanted to show Amy what we were like, give her a good first impression. Now, I'm thinking that maybe she's just looking at us all like we're chickens with our damn heads cut off, moving this way and that with no purpose. I let out a sigh and touch my fingers to Amy's gloved hand. I smile when I feel her heart beat racing against my back.

  “Can I get off the fucking bike and figure this out first?” I ask as I reach up and remove my helmet. Amy sits back, and the loss of her warmth makes me feel ice cold out here in this drizzly, weird ass weather. What happened to the South? Everything around us is wet and gray lookin'. I hope there're no storms rolling in.

  “I tried to talk to you last night, but you wouldn't answer your phone, and then this morning, you were avoiding me like the damn plague. What's your fucking problem?” I look at Gaine as I climb off the bike and tell Amy to hang tight for me for a sec.

  “This better be important,” I tell him as I move across the cement towards Kent. “Because I'm still pissed at you for telling Amy about Brock.” Gaine winces and rubs at his broken heart tattoo. His dark eyes look troubled and are near as cloudy as the splotchy sky we're standing under.

  “I'm sorry about that,” he tells me as we move forward. “I am, and I owe you one for it, but I felt like she had to know. I don't know why, and it sounds kind of stupid now that I'm saying it here, but I just went with my gut.”

  “Well,” I tell him, glancing over and wishing he wasn't all bruised up. Seems like all my friends are hurtin' because of me. “You were right.” I point at him when he starts to grin. “But if you tell another soul, I swear on my life, I will kick you in the Goddamn balls.”

  “She's the one, isn't she?” Gaine asks, and I roll my eyes. I don't buy into that fairytale shit.

  “She's something, Gaine. I just don't know what that is yet.” He grabs my arm and stops me before I can get within hearing distance of Kent and Melissa. When I look at his face this time, it's all seriousness and hard, hard choices. What the hell is going on?

  “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, Austin. It's about – ”

  “Well,” Kent says, appearing from out of fucking nowhere like he always does. There are no shadows around, but maybe since the air is so damn gloomy, the bitch can just materialize from anyplace in this stupid one-horse town. “While you two ladies were busy gossiping, I hopped on my phone and found us some places to stay.”

  “Places?” I ask, turning to Kent with a raised brow. Gaine just stands there quietly and scowls. “You mean, as in separate hotels?” The pale wraith of a man shrugs and doesn't look all that concerned. I point out that our group hasn't split up like that in almost three years and how bad it might be if Bested by Crows were to come into town and find us scattered.

  “It's that,” Kent begins as Melissa moves up to join us. She looks even less like herself today, paler, less flirty. Plus, she's not wearing a lick of makeup. I can't ever remember seeing her like that before. “Or go somewhere else.” He levels me with a stare that says that isn't a fucking option. Now that Kent knows how big this deal is, he isn't going to let us back out of it. I glance away and focus on Amy straddling my bike. She's got a book in her hand already. Where it came from, I'm not sure, but as I watch her, she tucks a strand of hair behind one ear and gives me another rager. Goddamn it. I don't make any move to hide it. If Kent or Gaine has a problem with my hard-on, they can go fuck themselves. “That's what I thought. There's a small inn on the south side of town were we can host a good portion of the group, whoever it is that isn't … ” Kent pauses and gives Gaine a sour look. “Participating in any business activities would best be housed there. Across the street, there's a motel for another group and just down the block from here.” Kent points his spindly finger back towards the direction we rolled into town. “Is a bed and breakfast where you're going to stay.” He pauses and pretends to think for a moment, but I already know what he's going to say. “It's a big, old, rambling house with a porch swing and,” Kent pauses to throw a sickly smile my way. “It's right across the street from the Fort Clinton National Bank.”

  Austin doesn't seem all that happy when he walks back to the motorcycle and gives me a tight-lipped smile, but I'm ecstatic when I find out we're staying in a small bed and breakfast that's housed in a building more than a decade old. It's got enough character to give Sali Bend a run for her money, and a clawfoot tub in the bathroom that I can already imagine Austin and I sitting in together.

  If I ever see him again, that is.

  He disappears as soon as we check in, leaving with Kimmi and moving down the hallway like there's a cloud hanging over his head. I watch him go and wonder for the millionth time what he's up to. I'm leaning against the doorway to our room (which is quite beautiful incidentally) when Mireya walks by and notices me staring at Austin's head as it bobs down the stairs and out of sight, followed close behind my Kimmi's red-orange waves.

  “I wouldn't be surprised if he was banging her, too,” Mireya drawls as she slinks past me, duffel bag slung over one of her shoulders. I stare at her and am glad to see that for every bruise I've got on, she has at least one to match.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask her, not wanting to play into whatever game she's trying to trick me into, but unable to resist the niggling memories of Kimmi touching Austin's arm, whispering in his ear, touching his … his crotch. Maybe he thinks I didn't see him when he was stalking through the lounge towards me and Gaine, but I did.

  Mireya shrugs and scoops some of her black hair back with her fingers.

  “Because he's never once told me what he does or where he's going, not once. In a decade.” Mireya emphasizes the word, just so I can't forget for even a single moment who was here first, who has more history, more stake in this claim. Still, possession is nine-tenths of the law, and I'm the one who has Austin now. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

  “Never?” I ask, wondering if I could live with that, if I could watch him disappear everyday and not know what he was doing or where he was going. I was laboring under the idea that he would tell me sooner or later. My stomach flip-flops and I feel sick.

  “Never,” Mireya says, and then she moves off down the hallway and slams her door behind her. I wait for awhile hoping I'll see Gai
ne or Beck walk by, so I can have someone to talk to, but I don't see anyone else. As far as I could tell, there are only a few of us staying here: Austin, Mireya, Kimmi, a girl named Margot, Kent and Melissa, and of course, me. I wonder how we were chosen or if there was some sort of lottery or something that I don't know about. The inner workings of Triple M are still a complete mystery. I mean, I've only just now figured out that the phrase flying one's colors means wearing your jacket or vest with the patches on it. I wish someone were around to fill me in. No, no, not someone. Austin. I wish Austin were around.

  I sigh and turn around, retreating back into my room with its grand, four-poster bed and its bloodred sheets. It's quite grand actually, probably one of the nicest places I've ever stayed, but then again, I don't exactly have much to compare it to. The one and only vacation I ever went on was when my father took us to his mother's funeral in Connecticut. We mostly stayed in chain hotels though, nothing at all like this, and if I said I had any fun on that trip, I'd be lying. Thinking about that makes me start to wonder about my family and how they're doing. No, I haven't been gone long, but I can only assume that something about this whole incident has affected them. Or at least I hope it has. My father has a very bad habit of erasing things he doesn't like from the family's collective memory. It's sad to think that he might try to do the same with me. I consider calling home to check, but I realize immediately that I'm not ready for that – emotionally, spiritually, or otherwise. I don't know how long it'll take, but a few days has not been enough. If I call now, I'll feel trapped again, and I can't have that, not when I'm just starting to realize what it's like to be free.

  I tap my fingers on the windowsill and wish the clock on the nightstand would move faster, so I could call Christy. I'd call her now if I could, but I don't want to risk blowing it by getting us caught. It feels like she needs to talk to me about something, like if she doesn't tell me, she'll explode. Besides, it gets lonely sitting by myself for hours at a time. If I really could convince Christy to join me, I think this whole outlaw thing would be a lot more fun.