by Debra Kayn
She stepped away and glared at him. Dick.
Escorted out of the room, she lined up with the other visitors. She glanced at the clock above the door. One more minute, and she'd see Dutch.
Nervous energy, coming from the others waiting to go inside, spread to her. They were all here for the same reason. Someone they loved was sentenced to prison for a crime they'd committed.
On her eighteenth birthday, when Rachel and Skull could no longer keep her from coming to visitations more often, she started driving herself. Dutch hating her coming, but he never refused to see her. That gave her hope.
He needed to see that she still loved him. It was one thing to hear on the phone and another to hold her and kiss her. She could imagine how horrible his living conditions were. Visitations gave him the strength to keep serving his time. There was hope that he could get out early if he refrained from getting in trouble.
She grew frustrated at the injustices.
Nobody should get five years of their life taken away for having counterfeit money on their person when pulled over by cops. Dutch wouldn't tell her if he knew the cash was fake. And even if he had known, he hadn't killed anyone, and nobody got hurt.
She'd walked away from the first visitation knowing that, wrong or right, he was in prison because he was a WAKOM member, and whatever his job was within the club, he would serve his time.
"Go inside single file, slowly. Remember, this is a family visitation. If there are any problems, you will be escorted out of the room." The door opened, and the guard continued to warn everyone about the rules.
She tuned him out, knowing every rule by heart, and stood on her tiptoes, trying to see around those in front of her. All she wanted was a chance to make sure Dutch was okay.
Once she crossed the threshold, she hesitated, scanning the room. She found him sitting in the back corner. Her gaze connected with his. She swallowed, wanting to cry out in relief. Every second apart from him, she worried that something would happen to him.
Prison was a dangerous place. Every single person around him was a criminal. He had no choice but to co-exist with them. He couldn't go anywhere.
The walk across the room a simple reaction at seeing him. She arrived at the table within touching distance.
Although hugs and short kisses were allowed at the beginning of the visit and when leaving, she was afraid of overreacting and unintentionally breaking a rule.
He stood. She stopped in front of him, certain the imprint of her heart pounded against the front of her shirt with each beat.
"Marla Marie." He opened his arms.
She slowly walked into his embrace. He caught her the moment her knees weakened at the relief of holding him.
Then, his arms were gone. "Give me a kiss."
She lifted her chin. His lips touched, and the tip of his tongue skimmed hers before he stepped back, licking his bottom lip.
"Sit." He sat.
She pulled the chair closer to him and reached for his hand. They could hold hands the entire time. It wasn't against the rules.
"Everything okay at home?" He spoke, but he was thinking of something else.
He kept looking through her as if he could see something she wasn't aware of doing. She swallowed, wishing she knew what was going on with him.
"I've put a deposit down on an apartment." Her tongue stuck to the top of her dry mouth. "I can move in on the seventeenth of next month."
"Rachel doing okay with that?"
"I think so." She continually rubbed his hands, wanting to get as much of him as she could. "She went through her kitchen and gave me everything she wasn't using or had doubles of—that was nice of her."
Her relationship with Rachel and Skull had changed since Dutch left. They stepped back from punishing her for the rules she broke and let her do what she wanted. Though, without Dutch, there wasn't anything she wanted to do.
"Did you talk to Skull about withdrawing some of my money? You can get some furniture and have a little cushion to help with rent."
She shook her head. "I'll be okay."
"Marla Marie..." He squeezed her hands. "Take it."
She could move out of the house on her own. Because of what happened to Dutch, she'd saved all her money from her job. The only place she went was over to the gas station, where Alyssa worked, to talk with her during her lunch hour—which was free.
But it was time for her to move out. She had always imagined that she'd be sharing her life with Dutch, but she was doing it alone.
Rachel and Skull spent most of their time at the clubhouse, and she worked at the feed store full time in the office now. There was no reason why she needed to burden them anymore.
Her life had grown stagnate as if she was having a mid-life crisis, and she was only twenty years old.
She nodded, agreeing to take some money, only to appease Dutch. There was always second-hand furniture that would do until she saved up for new.
"Only three-hundred and fourteen more days." She closed her eyes an extra second and looked at him. "I can't wait until that day comes."
He looked down at their clasped hands. "Don't waste your life waiting for me."
She leaned closer and whispered, "Of course, I'm going to wait for you. I'm yours. We made plans for when we can be together again."
He looked around the room, working his jaw. It scared her when he talked like there wouldn't be a future for them. The closer to release, the more times he'd bring it up. Usually, she talked him through it and gave him something to hang on to.
She understood how hard it was for him to feel connected to the outside. Prison life had done its damage on him.
He met her gaze and pulled her hands closer to his stomach, not letting her go. "I don't know where I'm going when I get out of here."
She shook her head. "Then, I'll go wherever you go."
They'd talked about hitting the open road, but she knew he'd never leave WAKOM. She was fine with whatever he decided to do. She only wanted to be with him.
Their relationship, since admitting their feelings, was not a normal evolution.
She'd loved him since childhood. Though he could finally admit that he always felt that connection they shared, they had never been able to explore their relationship's sexual side. It was something she looked forward to doing because, without it, something was missing between them. A need they both craved and was denied to them.
"God damnit, Marla Marie." His mouth hardened. "You're not a kid anymore. Take a look around. You deserve better than this, waiting around for shit you don't know."
"Don't talk like that. You're worth it to me." She whispered, "I love you."
He stilled, and his mouth hardened. His intense gaze became violent as he looked at her. She pressed her back against the chair. She shouldn't have come.
He was having a bad day. Something must've happened.
He was talking crazy. There's no way he meant for her to move on with her life.
"Open your eyes." He stood, breaking the rules. "You love me because I made you love me."
She shot to her feet, more concerned about what he was saying than doing. "That's not true."
"Go away, Marla Marie. Live your life." He flung his arms out to his sides. "You're free."
"No. Don't do that to me. Don't do that to us." Her voice raised. "You don't know what you're talking about. I don't want to—"
He grabbed her upper arms, dragging her forward, and captured her mouth. She choked as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Pushing at his chest, she needed to stop him before the guard noticed him breaking the rules.
Hard and violent, he sucked the life out of her body. Her knees bent, and he hauled her up to her toes, kissing her brutally.
A whistle pierced her brain. She pushed against him, needing him to stop. Blatant signs of affection were against the rules.
He was ruining the visit. The guards would kick her out.
If he wouldn't stop, they could ban him from seeing her. She crie
d into his mouth, begging him to stop.
He pressed her lips against her teeth, numbing them in pain. She couldn't catch her breath. Inside, she screamed. He couldn't do this to her.
He couldn't do this to them.
Then, he was gone. His lips. His hands.
She stumbled backward, bumping into the chair, staring at the horror in front of her as two guards grabbed Dutch, struggling to put handcuffs on him.
Dutch took a step back, his gaze never leaving her eyes.
She scrambled forward. "No...no...you can't. He didn't mean it. He won't touch me. Let him go. Please, don't do that. We'll follow the rules."
"Miss, you must come with me." Another guard pulled on her arm. "Quietly, please."
"Don't touch me." She slapped out, trying to get to Dutch.
If they would listen to her and understand that Dutch was only being Dutch. He was a little rough and demanding, but she could calm him down. She only needed a second to talk to him.
"Marla Marie," barked Dutch.
She froze, gasping for breath at his voice.
His gaze hardened. "Go. Be free."
Unable to move, she watched them take him out of the room until the door closed with a loud clunk, shutting him out of her life.
The guard's grip on her upper arm tightened. Her feet moved under pressure. She walked, pressing the tips of her fingers on her bruised lips. Out of the gray world. Out of the barren walls. Out of the sadness.
Chapter 19
TWO PEOPLE WALKED OUT of the post office and went separate ways. Marla waited in her car until they were far enough away from the building. Then, she opened the door. Hurrying toward the dropbox to the left of the entrance, she focused on the four granite steps.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
She opened the lid of the blue rectangle box, dropped in the letter, and rushed back to her vehicle. Inside, she looked at the clock in her car and then up and down the street.
Right on time, a postal worker came outside, carrying a large, white plastic bin with the key in her hand leading the way. Marla's heart pounded. There was still time to take the letter back.
She could rush forward and snatch the letter from the postal worker. Of course, it was a federal crime, but maybe time spent in prison would be the best thing for her.
Gripping the steering wheel, she witnessed the postal employee clean out the outgoing mail and carry the full bin inside.
The door shut. Marla exhaled and slumped in the driver's seat, letting her forehead hit the steering wheel. What had she done?
She couldn't take anything she said to Dutch in the letter back.
In several days, he'd receive the correspondence in his cell, rip it open, and read everything she wrote.
After almost a year of moping around, feeling as if she'd die without Dutch, and writing him twice a week, begging him to write back, he'd given her no other options.
He wanted her gone. He'd set her free.
And that's what she'd done. But, not before she accepted the deed for the house her mom had rented when she was a child.
A deed Dutch couldn't even give to her himself. No, it was Skull who'd handed her the answer to her problems and the ticket to her freedom.
At first, it'd angered her that Dutch never told her he'd purchased the house years ago when she was only a child. They had no secrets between them.
Or, so she'd thought.
When she couldn't function after Dutch told her to go away, she'd lost her job. Realizing she needed a way to make a living, she set her search for employment in Moses Lake. While she hadn't found a job yet, moving was the restart she needed. It was the only way she'd survive.
She started the car and backed out of the parking spot. Being back in Moses Lake would allow her a break from everything she knew.
The Bellevue Chapter members would no longer be around, protecting her. Rachel and Skull could finally move on with their life without having her under their feet.
Away from Bellevue, she wouldn't run into Dutch all the time once he was released.
He was due to walk out of prison in three months, and she was determined not to be there.
Seeing him, knowing he wanted her out of his life, would be too much.
She drove through town and headed home. With the help of Alyssa and her boyfriend, King, she'd cleaned her childhood home from the years of neglect and painted the inside walls. Then, they helped her move her meager belongings in.
Rachel and Skull offered to help, but she needed to do this on her own. They would never understand that having them with her reminded her of Dutch.
Several motorcycles pulled out in front of her. She slowed, giving them enough space, and glanced to her right. A familiar pang brought her to a complete stop.
The Pool Hall.
Only ten years old the last time she'd been there, her life had changed that night when she decided to steal food to feed her hunger.
A car honked behind her. She startled, flipping on her turn signal and pulling off the road. Parked in front of the building, she took in all the details she'd missed when she was younger.
The green neon sign hanging over the front window. Someone had spray-painted an E over the A in Hall.
Motorcycles lined the left side of the parking lot, three rows deep. On the opposite side of the building, a cluster of teenage boys hung out, smoking cigarettes. Every once in a while, one would point toward the bikes, and their conversation became animated.
She glanced at the door, recognizing the paper taped to the wood. They served alcohol. Only people twenty-one years and older permitted inside the establishment.
Taking her keys out of the ignition, she grabbed her phone and purse. She pushed through the door before she realized what she was doing.
An overweight man wearing a familiar leather vest with a WAKOM patch lifted his chin behind the counter. "There's an opening on table three if you want to get in on a game."
"Uh, no..." She approached the counter and slid onto a stool. "Can I have a hamburger and fries?"
"Sure thing." The employee walked toward the back door.
She swiveled on the barstool and gazed at the loud, rough crowd. These were the kind of people she was used to being around. She understood their way of life and the way they communicated.
A bubble of excitement she hadn't felt in a long time filled her chest. Maybe the place would change her future a second time. Being here gave her the hope that somehow, her life would get better.
Being here made the loneliness subside.
A middle-aged biker approached the counter and banged his fist down. "Hey, Rubble, get me a fucking drink."
Marla turned around and braced her elbows on the counter.
"Where the fuck are you? I'm up next and need a drink," bellowed the biker.
Marla slid off the stool, walked around the counter, and looked at the man. "What do you drink?"
The biker's gaze narrowed, and he cocked his head, not knowing what to make of her jumping in where Rubble obviously worked. "Whiskey and coke."
"Ice?"
"Hell, no."
She smiled. The man would never know how comforting it was to be barked at.
It took her twenty seconds to find what she needed, and poured the drink into the glass in front of him. As he reached for it, she said, "You'll owe Rubble."
"Fair enough."
He turned to leave, and she said, "But I'll take a tip."
His cheek twitched in amusement, and he returned to her, holding up his arm and waving off the men at the table calling his name to finish his turn. "You're a bossy little thing."
She raised her brows and crossed her arms, waiting.
He flipped her a twenty-dollar bill. She grinned. Bikers were easy to handle. Much easier than trying to keep her temper while dealing with average citizens with overdue payments at the feed store.
She stepped over and put the cash on the till, setting a m
ug upside down on top in case it blew off, and Rubble wondered why he was short a few dollars.
Now, he'd get a little extra. A whisky and coke couldn't be that expensive.
Turning, she almost ran into Rubble. He frowned at her, holding a plate with a hamburger and fries piled on top.
Her stomach growled, remembering how wonderful the food tasted when she was starving at ten years old.
"Mine?" She smiled.
He nodded.
She took the plate from his hands, grabbed a ketchup bottle on the counter, walked around the end, and found an empty stool. Eating slowly, she enjoyed every bite. Every dip of her fry in ketchup.
Rubble probably wasn't a cook here when she was here last time, but he was good. The food tasted exactly as she remembered.
"You know your way around a kitchen." Rubble eyed her from a few feet away. "You're not scared of the men."
She shrugged, finished chewing, and swallowed. "I know bikers."
"That so?"
Now was as good of a time as ever to finish what she came here to do. She set her hamburger down and brushed off her hands.
"Are you hiring?" she asked.
"Depends." He lowered his chin and studied her. "Can you keep the customers in line when there's twenty of them yelling at you?"
She broke out in a grin that warmed her chest. "In my sleep."
"How many drinks do you know how to make?"
Without hesitating, she shrugged. "Only the important ones. As long as you have beer, whiskey, rum, I can satisfy any man here."
Rubble nodded in appreciation. Like, she'd thought, bikers were easy.
"Then, you're hired. Start tomorrow. Come in at six o'clock and work until we close at two in the morning. You'll be in charge of all drink orders and give me a hand if things get too busy or a fight breaks out, and I'm occupied." He lowered his voice. "Are you twenty-one?"
"As of three weeks ago," she said, sitting taller on the stool.
He harrumphed. "You look younger."
Not to be discouraged, she reached over the counter and shook her new boss's hand. Then, she poured more ketchup on her plate and enjoyed the rest of her dinner.
Now that she had a job in Moses Lake, she could settle down.
She'd come back home.