Echoes of a MC

by Bella Knight

  Sigrun floated, and Saber used a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “No more birth control,” she said.

  “Completely unnecessary,” he agreed.

  “Want to have boys, girls, or both?”

  Saber laughed. “Or transgendered, or agendered, or whatever it occurs to them to be.” He stretched and laid back. “Would you want me to quit, to be with them more?”

  “Up to you,” said Sigrun. “Shut up, kiss me, and take me out on a boat tonight. Preferably with grilled shrimp.” She floated more. “And Bobby Marley songs. And rum punch.”

  “We’re not in Jamaica,” said Saber. “But, I’ll see what I can do.” He got out, dried his hands, and fished out his cell phone. He looked up a website, made a call. “Wanna go snorkeling?” he asked Sigrun.

  “Mmmf,” she said, and rolled over, her creamy skin turning darker in the sun.

  A leg flopped over the other one, and he couldn’t help it. He reached out and stroked the leg. She groaned and put an arm over her face. He laughed, put the phone away in the bag full of sunblock, the pareos to wrap around female swimsuits, his shirt, their cell phones, towels, and a sightseeing book. Then he put the bag back and took two steps forward. He slid into the water and swam back to Sigrun.

  “Where were we?” he said.

  “Mmmf,” she said.

  “We can go snorkeling off the boat,” he said. “Then eat at a seafood barbecue on the beach, then, a steel drum band and dancing. Then rum punch and Bobby Marley songs, just for you.”

  “Mmmmf,” said Sigrun. Saber kissed her. She tasted like rainwater and hibiscus flowers. He floated too.

  He got them out of the pool and rinsed off the chlorine and sweat, put more sunblock on them, and got them into their pareos and loose-knit tops over their bathing suits. They walked to the port and hopped on the boat. They used the full-face snorkeling mask that prevented water from getting in, and they all saw numerous fish. No one wanted to get out of the water, but the smells of the barbecue entranced them. They went toward shore, and all got out and splashed up.

  There were plastic deck chairs and a huge barbecue and drinks in coolers. They took sodas and waters, and laid in the chairs, and swam from time to time, their stomachs growling for the barbecue. They had Jamaican jerked chicken, shrimp, fish on sticks with rice, and lovely key lime pie from a cooler.

  Back on the boat, they relaxed in hammocks as they floated. Then, they went snorkeling again. They got back in, and the band started up, steel drums and a dreamy version of “Coconut.” The Bobby Marley came from a young man with a wild spritz of crinkly hair and a huge smile. Everyone on the boat drank rum punch and sang “No Woman No Cry” and “Redemption Song,” and so many others.

  “You never know how many Bobby Marley songs you know until you’re drinking rum punch on a boat,” said Sigrun, happily. They kissed her, one after the other, fire dancing in Wraith’s eyes, mischief in Saber’s. He pulled them up, danced with them, a sandwich in-between two beautiful women, as the band played, and the soft, swaying breeze caressed their skin.

  They made it back, and they were laughing so hard it hurt. They got to the hotel and they stumbled into their huge, king-sized bed, laughing loudly. Sigrun’s gold clothing came off first, then Wraith’s. They danced to the songs in their heads, and they took off each other’s pareos. They kicked off their bikini bottoms and felt happy.

  Saber stood back, took them in, drank in the moonlight on their skin, the look of love in their eyes, and watched as their lips parted. Wraith kissed Sigrun first, and it lasted so long they both came up gasping for air. They parted, laughed. Then, Sigrun stroked her wife’s scars, the remnants of being thrown in the air by a truck driven by a now-dead assassin.

  “You are so beautiful,” whispered Sigrun, and kissed her skin, the skin of her hip, her side, all the way up to her shoulder and the scars from the surgeries there.

  Saber keep looking, his breath in his throat. He had no idea what he had done, in this life or any other, to deserve this… magic. He watched Sigrun breathe life onto Wraith’s skin, push love into her with her touch. Sigrun was gentle, her eyes luminous in the glow of the moon.

  Wraith reached out, stroked the lines of Sigrun’s face, her touch light, and beautifully gentle. Then, she had enough of waiting, and kissed Sigrun, pulling her wife to her with her fingers on Sigrun’s neck. They took another deep dive and came up gasping again.

  Saber went to the bed and he pulled down the sheets. He felt himself jump, inside and out. He watched Sigrun kiss her way down Wraith’s body, and then use her fingers to make Wraith insane. She pushed a little, and Saber caught her, breaking her fall onto the bed. He kissed her deeply as Sigrun used her fingers and tongue to make Wraith come, again and again. And then he slipped in, all the way, and groaned at her heat, how wet she was. He moved slowly, and Sigrun took over the kissing duties.

  Then Wraith flipped him over, and she did things her way, even slower, making him insane. He came in a world of sweet-clenching agony, unable to contain himself any longer.

  He laid on the side, panting, as Wraith did the same for Sigrun, with a slow, deep pulse to her movements, and Sigrun cried out until she was helpless on the bed. Then, they turned to him. He shouldn’t have worried about having enough for Sigrun. They used tongues and teeth, and showed a deep need for him, like the craving for Bobby Marley songs on the warm ocean. He came again, a victim of Sigrun’s mouth, and slid himself into her heat. It didn’t last long, but it didn’t have to. Afterward, they all slid into the wide jacuzzi tub, and, after a quick shower, they let the jets pummel them. They made their way, relaxed, back to the bed, and slept in a pile of soft sheets and warm bodies.

  They spent two more days just wandering the island, eating or sleeping at whatever time they liked, drowning in love and a perfect devotion to each other. They kept every moment in their minds, because they knew, after the events of the past few months, that someday, one of them might not make it home.

  “Murderers leave strings. The trick is to follow them back to their source.”

  2

  Exfiltration

  “You can do bad things for a certain length of time. Your victims may seem weak at first… but they eventually strike back.”

  They took the private plane to Virginia and landed in Charlottesville. They rented a nice SUV, and drove to the mountain town of Staunton, Virginia, just to investigate. Thandie and Daisy Chain had made significant progress on finding Mr. Evil Asshole, as Daisy Chain had called him. Daisy Chain got on a group call with Thandie, Wraith, Saber, and Sigrun. They were on speaker, on secured cellphones.

  “Evil Asshole did have police to the house a few months ago. Wife ‘fell down the stairs,’” she said, her voice dripping with disgust. “No charges were filed; broken arm, hit her head.”

  “Hit upside the head,” said Thandie. “Asshole. Hence the name Evil Asshole,” said Thandie. “Dug into his financial sewers.”

  “That far down?” asked Wraith. “Or that smelly?”

  “Both,” said Daisy Chain. “Got into the down and dirty. Asswipe has accounts in the Caymans, hidden brokerage accounts and trusts, and five layers of holding companies for everything. Dude should have used cryptocurrency like Bitcoin. Idiot.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Wraith, dryly. “Thandie, you keeping High Desert in business?”

  Thandie snorted. “Dude, you’ve only been gone four days.”

  Daisy Chain snorted. “Give her at least a week to screw up.” Thandie made a rude noise.

  “Focus, people,” said Sigrun. “Give us the GPS.”

  “Not so fast,” said Thandie. “We gotta time this op.”

  “Padawan, grown up, you are,” said Sigrun, in a Yoda voice.

  Thandie roared with laughter. “There is no try,” she said.

  Daisy Chain said, “Sending you the schedules now. Idiot keeps everything on an online scheduler. Thinks his encryption software is worth what he paid. Silly boy.”
r />   “Wife too,” said Thandie. “Getting the cast off tomorrow.”

  “Ooh, let’s talk to her today,” said Sigrun.

  “First on the list. Hair appointment. Or gym; lady does laying-down Pilates with the arm,” said Thandie.

  “After the Pilates, tired, in pain,” said Saber. His wives stared at him.

  “Man has a point,” said Thandie.

  “Wish he didn’t,” said Wraith. “I’ll take the hair appointment,” said Wraith. Now, two sets of eyes were on her. “Re-braiding.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Sigrun, snorting. Braiding time was when they bonded at night, chatting about their days, their plans, their hopes for the future.

  “Already booked time under a fake name, Ms. Jones,” said Thandie. “IDs in your packets. You two are a lesbian couple from New Mexico. Mr. Chuan, you are their lawyer. They are bad, bad girls needing protection from their evil deeds.” All three snorted. “Dead drop in Roanoke, turn right, mailbox place on your left, pick up a meal, make it to the hair appointment with plenty of time. Drop off our Ms. Jones, then off to the coffee shop across the street to wait on our trophy wife.”

  “I hate that terminology,” said Sigrun. “Women aren’t things.”

  “That’s how our asshole thinks,” said Thandie. “Women are objects, remember?”

  “Makes covering up gang rape more palatable,” said Wraith. “Evil fucking asshole.”

  “Let’s take this fucker down,” said Saber.

  “Word,” said Sigrun. They hung up and implemented the plan.

  Sigrun drove them right up to the mailbox place in Alexandria, Virginia. Wraith ran in, grabbed the small box, and ran back out. Inside were driver’s licenses, passports, shopping cards, the whole works. Sigrun got a leather biker’s wallet. Wraith was a standard woman’s wallet in a pale pink leather. Saber’s was really disgusting, a fake alligator wallet.

  “Now I have to buy a suit.”

  “Got a text on the Bond, James Bond, phone,” said Wraith. “Take two lefts, and then go straight a bit. Men’s shop near here. Suit already purchased, swear it’s one-hour tailoring.”

  “Wow,” said Saber. “And I get to keep the suit?”

  “Ladies are two more blocks over, then left, left, right, says the text,” added Wraith. “And yes, we get to keep the stuff, Bannon’s money, part of the reward money for taking out the other cartel’s bad people.”

  “Awesome,” said Sigrun.

  Saber went in and was whisked back to get a blue silk suit. It screamed money and lack of taste. He laughed in his head as the tailor took his measurements, then had him try on the suit and began taking it in. Could use this for a few ops, he thought. Drug dealer, evil lawyer, idiot middle-aged man who thinks he’s sexy. He had to keep from laughing aloud as he had the world’s most expensive suit for people “with more brains than sense” tailored to his body.

  Sigrun had fun picking out biker wear, jeans, and a leather vest with only a tiny camisole underneath that showed off her assets. Wraith eyed her up and down and said, “Doesn’t that chafe?”

  “My girls aren’t that big,” said Sigrun.

  “I don’t know whether to slap you or stick my tongue down your throat,” said Wraith, holding up a blouse against her tanned skin.

  Sigrun laughed. “Try both,” she said.

  Wraith grimaced at her. “Love shouldn’t hurt.”

  “Bad taste,” said Sigrun. “Forgot our target. Sorry.”

  “Yes, that outfit’s in bad taste,” said Wraith.

  “Try the blue,” said Sigrun.

  Wraith took the blue, sleeveless, crossover blouse and the black palazzo pants with a hint of silver in them, straight into the changing room. She came out, and found Sigrun changed back, holding a double handful of bangles and necklaces. Sigrun took some silver and some blue bangles, and a silver drop necklace. Sigrun took the rest back, and came back with some matching silver drop earrings. Then, Sigrun covered herself in woven black leather bands, with a silver spider choker on a silver web, on a black ribbon choker.

  “Very funny,” said Wraith, pointing to the necklace. Sigrun added a slave bracelet on her other wrist in pewter, then added ear cuffs to the top of her ears. “Badass,” said Wraith.

  “Let’s use our new credit cards,” said Sigrun.

  They found that there was already store credit, for more than they’d bought, so each one got another outfit. Wraith got a silver shirt and dark blue pants with a silvery wash, and a silver mesh bracelet with a matching choker. Sigrun got more badass jeans, and a black, leather, lace-up top, and topped those off with more chokers and bracelets. Sigrun had to get workout gear, so two stores over, they got a black t-shirt that had a cute cat with the caption Kill Them All, and black shorts.

  They left with their purchases, and then went to find Saber. They found him at the agreed-upon coffee shop. He was reading the local newspaper. His eyes widened slightly as he saw Wraith’s look. Sigrun’s look made him grin.

  He went to pick up his suit, and the ladies picked him up, post caramel-macchiato coffee bliss. They stopped to get a sports bag, water bottle, hair beads, and a cheap lock for Sigrun from a dollar store, and they both laughed as Wraith drove while Sigrun stomped on the bag to make it more beat-up. They twisted the clothes for the same reason.

  They made it to the Tyson’s Corner townhome, and they dropped her off two blocks from The Workout Joint. Sigrun saw their mark, and then rushed to enter ahead of her. She used the pass she found in her wallet and went in like a local to work out. She dressed near her mark, and then winced at the bruises.

  “Can I help you get that over your head?” she asked, because it had taken her only a few minutes to strip down and change. She gestured at the torn workout top.

  “I got it,” said Janine River Thomas. She winced as she put the shirt on.

  “I looked like that after my last kickboxing match,” said Sigrun.

  Janine winced as the back of the shirt caught on her glossy blonde ponytail. Sigrun reached up and freed her shirt. Janine was startled. “Sorry,” said Sigrun. “After a match, I don’t like anyone moving too fast near my face either.”

  Janine winced a smile. “No, I’m sorry. Thanks.”

  She made no move to correct Sigrun’s kickboxing-match impression. Her ribs showed as she pulled down the loose red shirt with a Nike swoosh on it. She was wearing Nike shoes, a (nearly) brand-new pair.

  Sigrun nodded at her. “See ya at the bags,” she said. Janine nodded. Sigrun hoped she actually took her up on it.

  Sigrun went out first, and jumped rope a bit, and did some repeated moves for a high-intensive, interval training workout. With punches, kicks, blocks, knees. Janine lifted some super-light weights with one hand, and she moved like an arthritic eighty-year-old dancer, with halting moves that covered a simple grace. She then laid on the floor and did some Pilates for her legs.

  Janine got some water, post-Pilates, and came over to the heavy bag. Sigrun swiveled to show Janine what she was doing, and walked her through some simple jabs and roundhouses, and a knee, slowly, then speeding up a little. Sort of like yoga for kickboxers. Sigrun kept her moves clean and showed her the correct form.

  The woman, still sore from her latest beating, bruises hidden under the folds of her shirt, was breathing hard. Pushing out breaths, after only a few moments of giving it a try with moves designed to barely touch the bag. Sigrun bade that she get herself more water, and the woman watched as Sigrun attacked a bag. Janine flinched at the hits, so Sigrun backed it up a bit so she wouldn’t make noise. Janine watched carefully.

  Afterward, Sigrun helped Janine to the showers, took off her shirt for her, and helped her unhook her sports bra. “Heat,” she said. “The water as hot as you can stand it. Think lobster.” Sigrun helped her slide on the rubber cover for the cast.

  “Thank you,” said Janine.

  “Anything for another fighter,” said Sigrun. They showered, and Sigrun dried her hair and braided it. She
was fast, now that she’d been doing it for so long.

  “Why the braids?” asked Janine.

  “Club I’m in. Motorcycle club.” Sigrun started on the second-to-last braid.

  “They… allow women?” asked Janine. She winced as she dried her hair, then threw the towel into the towel bin.

  Sigrun laughed, when she wanted to scream at being “allowed” to do anything. “An all-women club. We kickbox a lot,” Sigrun said.

  “They… I…” Janine dried herself and managed to put on lotion.

  “Need help?” said Sigrun, very, very quietly.

  “Yes,” said Janine, at a near-whisper.

  Sigrun nodded once, then finished her last braid. “I’ll hold the blow dryer when you need help on the other side.”

  “Can I have your braids?” asked Janine.

  “Happen to have an extra pack of beads,” said Sigrun. “Red, yellow, black, silver, gold?”

  “Gold,” whispered Janine.

  Sigrun texted Wraith while Janine blew half her hair dry. Skipping to phase three.

  Wraith texted back. Good. I would have hated taking out my braids. Pickup on its way.

  Sigrun put away her phone, put on her jeans and cami, and went over to help Janine dress and braid the other side of her hair. “My husband,” Janine near-whispered, “did this to me.”

  “Happens more than you know,” said Sigrun. “You’re not alone.”

  Janine worked on trying to stop the tears from falling. “I leave him, I get nothing. Not a dime.”

  “He gives you presents? Jewelry?” asked Sigrun.

  “Yes, but it’s all fake,” she said. “I read a website, it said to make a plan, money is a first step. I had it appraised, and it was worthless. Gold, diamonds, sapphires. Even the silver was plated.”

  “Is it worth your life to stay?” asked Sigrun. She slid on the bead, and wound a rubber band below it, onto the first braid.

  “No,” said Janine, almost voicelessly. “Not anymore.”

  “Family? Friends?” asked Sigrun.