The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen

by Debra Kayn

  Nobody could speak Marla Marie's name and walk away alive. Brother or no brother.

  "Everyone, get out of here," shouted Woody.

  Spots invaded Dutch's vision. Rage boiled inside of him. Prison had taken everything from him. He'd walked out with nothing, not even his freedom.

  Taken off the road, Woody had him staying in Bellevue. He'd put fourteen fucking miles on his Harley since arriving. He couldn't live cooped up in one place.

  None of the women available at the clubhouse replaced Marla Marie.

  The drinks, the drugs, the fights only temporarily numbed him.

  Every time he fucking turned around, something reminded him of what he'd lost. Even the clubhouse was filled with memories of Marla Marie. He couldn't go around Rachel and Skull's house because he expected her to be there. Every time he walked out of the clubhouse to get on his Harley, he expected to see her standing beside his motorcycle, bouncing up and down in excitement. The women hanging around touched him, and it was Marla Marie's hand he felt on his skin. Marla Marie's pussy, he imagined around his dick. Marla Marie's breasts, warming his chest.

  He'd spent the last five years keeping to himself in prison, on guard, and fighting to keep the other gangs away from him. He wanted to sit in silence and have Marla Marie at his side, understanding his need to just fucking be—no questions, no irritating jabbing, no demands.

  He couldn't sleep.

  Hell, he couldn't breathe.

  Woody let go of him. Dutch sagged forward, gasping for air.

  It took him two attempts to gain his feet under him and stand. Even then, the room spun, threatening to knock him back down.

  Skull slapped him on the back. He rocked forward onto the toes of his boots before landing flat-footed. He needed a drink.

  Woody threw a towel at him. He caught it before it bounced off his chest to the floor. Wiping his face, he could feel the trickle of blood running down his forehead where Poker busted a damn beer bottle against his head.

  "You need to stop fighting." Wood widened his stance. "I look around at my men, and half of them are wearing damage that came from you."

  "Then, send me back on the road." He tongued his lower lip, swollen and sore. "If the cops want to come after me, they're going to nail me if I'm riding around Bellevue or out on the interstate."

  "That risk is too big for WAKOM."

  "Come on, man." He held the towel against his forehead. "If that was the case, the whole club would be sitting in prison. I took their interrogations and kept the club free. Five fucking years, fighting to stay alive in prison, so everyone else could sit pretty at home."

  Woody exhaled heavily. His president knew what he'd done. His loyalty wasn't in question. It was the second time in his life he could've caved and handed over names in exchange for a lighter sentence or no sentence at all. He'd paid his dues in blood.

  "We've regrouped and changed things since you've been here." Woody met his gaze.

  "You're still laundering money. It can't change that much that you'd take me off the road."

  Woody sighed. "The Feds will be watching you."

  "Who's riding between the chapters now?" he asked.

  "Allman."

  "Keep him on the road, but let me be in charge of communication." He gritted his teeth as nausea hit him. "I'll take the brunt of the danger off him if the Feds are watching. It's harder to catch two of us, and he'll have the package."

  Woody looked at the vice president, then walked off. Dutch let his chin fall to his chest. He was going to throw up if he couldn't get a drink soon.

  "Here, brother," said Skull.

  He cracked his eyelid open and took the bottle offered to him. Putting the whiskey bottle to his lips, he chugged until he had to breathe.

  "Still bleeding?" Skull grabbed Dutch's hair and yanked his head up. "I'll grab the kit, and we'll see if the tape will keep it closed for you."

  Dutch moved over and righted an overturned chair, sitting his ass down. Cradling his head in the towel, he leaned over and planted his elbows on his knees.

  He wasn't willing to throw his life away. Marla Marie was out there alone because of him.

  He'd sent her away after watching her waste away while he sat his ass in prison. Every visitation, she lost her spark. It was only a matter of time before the damage he'd caused scarred her for life.

  The only option he had, sitting in prison, was to send her away. Let her get a taste of life and rely on her friends, on Rachel.

  He should've known she'd fall back on relying on herself.

  She left Bellevue and never looked back.

  Sitting in a house that only brought pain, Marla Marie took the deed for her childhood home that he'd bought for her. He never planned for her to live there again. Hell, he'd bought the house because he was trying to keep one step ahead of the cops if they investigated a missing child.

  He wanted to convince himself that he'd bought it for Marla Marie because he felt like he owed her something from her past since she lost everything, including her mom.

  He assumed someone had hired her in Moses Lake because she stayed away from Bellevue.

  In six months, she'd called Rachel and Skull once. Fucking once, to tell them she was doing fine. But she wouldn't come back. It was too painful.

  He knew her reasons.

  It was because of him.

  Footsteps echoed in the clubhouse. He raised his head, and Woody approached him, pulling up a chair.

  "You can go back on the road. Any communication between the chapters that can't be done over the phone will be through you. Allman will continue carrying the money." Woody motioned for Skull.

  His brother-in-law came with the First Aid kit. Adrenaline filled Dutch. His route would take him to Moses Lake. It would take him ten minutes from the pool hall to get to Marla Marie's house.

  "When do I start?" he asked, ready to ride.

  "We've got the rally on Saturday and Sunday, and you'll need to hit Moses Lake on Monday." Woody studied him. "You'll have to be in Spokane by the following Wednesday, back here by Friday the twenty-first."

  That gave him four days to get in shape to ride. Most importantly, it would give him nine days to stay in Moses Lake before he had to leave.

  "I'll be ready," he said.

  "Keep your head." Woody wouldn't let go of the conversation. "I know you're dealing with shit being back on the outside, but put that all behind you. Keep your ass safe. I'd hate to lose you again."

  "Yeah." He'd be ready.

  Skull hovered over him, taking the towel from him. "Hold still."

  He closed his eyes. Sitting in the chair, letting Skull tape him up, he had a hard time sitting still. He wanted to be on the road. He needed to see Marla Marie.

  Five minutes later, Skull finished. "That should do it if you stay down for a while. Don't go jump in the shower yet. Give it a few hours."

  The men Woody kicked out earlier trickled back inside, giving Dutch a wide berth. He stood, testing out his head. He'd need to keep his distance from the others until it was time to ride out because if one of them opened their mouth about him robbing the cradle or missing the sweet honey he'd had running around years ago, he'd kill him.

  "Good?" asked Skull.

  "Yeah." He handed over the bottle. "Tell Rachel I'll stop by the house before I ride out on Sunday."

  If he was going to set things right, he needed to have a talk with his sister.

  Skull scratched his jaw. "I take it you're going to hunt down my daughter."

  "She belongs to me."

  "Not anymore."

  "Bullshit." He lowered his voice. "I sent her away because it was what she needed."

  "What do you think she needs now?"

  He reached into his vest pocket, retrieved a cigarette, and popped it into his mouth.

  Looking Skull square in the eyes, he said, "Me."

  Marla Marie would never admit it to anyone, but in her heart, she knew he would always be in her life. He'd made a p
romise, and barring prison or death, he wasn't going to leave her.

  Walking out of the room, he went upstairs and shut the door to the bedroom. Anxious for the days to roll by, he went through his duffle bag, making sure he had everything he'd need for the trip.

  He found the last letter Marla Marie sent him before he was released from prison and carried the envelope to the bed. Many times he'd thought about opening it. But he knew if he didn't like what was inside, he couldn't do a thing about it in prison.

  Then, when he got out, Woody kept him in Bellevue, and he couldn't face what was inside.

  Slipping his finger underneath the corner, her ripped open the flap and pulled out the letter.

  Dutch,

  When you're released, you'll find out that I've decided to take the deed for the house you gave me. I can't walk away without telling you thank you. Thank you for seeing that I needed help and stealing me away from a life that would've hurt me. Thank you for giving me to Rachel and Skull, making sure I had a family life surrounding me. Thank you for being the one constant person in my life.

  Most of all, thank you for your time.

  When you get out of prison, you're free. Ride safe, and I hope once in a while, you'll take a second and smile when you think of me.

  I'll do the same when I think about you.

  Marla Marie Smith

  Part Five

  As he stepped forward, he went back in time, careful not to make any fast movements or scare her into fleeing.

  Chapter 23

  THE TWO GLASSES OF rum and Coke ruined Marla for any attempt at playing pool. She swayed to the music, having given Clyde her cue stick fifteen minutes ago.

  She couldn’t give the men any competition. At the most, she was their entertainment as she tried to make the ball go into the pocket. If she only had six inches more in height, the game would be easier. Half the time, she couldn't even reach far enough on the table to take a shot.

  "Hey, Marla, grab me a beer," shouted Buck.

  "Get it yourself." She grinned, or she thought she had. "I'm not working tonight."

  "Ah, come on, sweetheart." Buck held out his arms. "Don't treat me like that."

  Rubble moved between them and handed Buck a drink. If she gave these men an inch, they'd take a mile.

  Mike looped his arm across her shoulders and held out a joint. "Are you going to the rally this weekend?"

  A pang tightened her chest. She was aware of everyone's excitement to travel to Bellevue and attend the yearly rally with the other Chapters of WAKOM Motorcycle Club. If she was honest with herself, she wanted to see Rachel and Skull and catch up with Alyssa and her old friends, too.

  She shook her head at the offer of weed. Having enough alcohol in her, she didn't need a hit. "No, I'm not going—"

  "Hey now, having to put up with all of us and serving us food and drinks, you're family now. Hell, you do more for me than my old lady." Mike kissed her head. "I'll find someone who can take you."

  She couldn't go. No matter how much she wanted.

  "Thanks, but I'm busy that weekend." She finished the rest of her drink. "I better head home. I'll see you tomorrow, Mike."

  Taking Alyssa's advice, she tried to fit in. In the last week, she'd come over to the pool hall twice to eat dinner when she wasn't scheduled to work—and she limited herself to two drinks.

  Tipsy enough to slow her thoughts but still able to walk and see herself home.

  Rubble came and took the empty glass out of her hand. "Do you want someone to take you home?"

  "Nope. I'm fine." She squeezed Rubble's arm. "I'll see you tomorrow at six o'clock."

  As she wound her way to the back door, she made her excuses to the other men and left with a smile on her face.

  The fresh air hit her face. She inhaled deeply and checked her pocket to make sure her house key was still there.

  The sun hovered on the horizon. She'd left her car at home and walked the familiar path through the field earlier. Knowing if she headed home before seven-thirty, she'd have forty-five minutes before it got dark.

  The walk was therapeutic and gave her time to slow down and clear her mind.

  Besides, the longer she put off going back to the house, the better.

  Finding a routine was hard when she was set in a rut. But she was trying to be around others on her time off. She just had to push herself to go somewhere else but the pool hall.

  For now, she found comfort in being around the bikers and in a place where she worked. She could hide how lonely she'd become.

  She'd thought Moses Lake would make her feel like she belonged, but it wasn't any different than Bellevue. Any connection she had here had disappeared after finding out her mom had died when she was thirteen years old.

  She entered the field, taking out her phone, and quickly texted Alyssa that she was going home. A promise she'd given Alyssa weeks ago in case anything happened to her—though she felt safe in Moses Lake.

  Alyssa texted her back, and she smiled. It felt good to know someone cared, and she promised to call Alyssa as soon as she set foot inside the house.

  The weeds tickled her legs. She veered to the left, toward the crossroad, knowing if she continued walking straight and ran across the highway, she'd slog through two inches of mud and muck.

  Her phone beeped. She looked at the screen. Rich was calling her again.

  She ignored the call and let it go to voicemail. While it was nice to catch up with him, she wasn't interested in him traveling to see her and take her out to dinner.

  Rich would never be more than an old friend. She had no interest in getting involved with another biker.

  Everyone she grew up with was only a reminder of her past. She needed to keep moving forward.

  Plus, she was scared that Rich would bring up Dutch. There would always be questions.

  She argued with herself often that coming here, living in the house, secluding herself at home, working at the pool hall, she'd surrounded herself with a life that involved him.

  That she never wanted to forget him.

  Maybe it was true. Maybe everything she'd achieved had set her up for a disappointing and lonely life.

  Maybe she wanted to pretend that everything that surrounded her reinforced her feelings. That Dutch was the only man for her.

  She hadn't worked out the answers to all her questions yet. Maybe someday, she would.

  Hurrying out of the field, she jumped the ditch and walked onto the road. Looking both ways for traffic, she crossed the highway and headed down the last stretch to home.

  To others, walking home alone at seven-thirty at night while the setting sun warmed her back wouldn't be an achievement. To her, it was a sign of taking care of herself. Something she couldn't manage to do when she was ten years old and scared to death Dutch was going to leave her, but at twenty-one years old, she was killing it.

  She retrieved the key out of her pocket at the front door and slid it in the doorknob. Lifting her foot to kick the bottom of the door, she stopped when the wood gave way, smoothly swinging open on its own.

  She looked behind her, suddenly nervous.

  The door had always given her problems. It was even worse after having been vacant for so long.

  Her pulse accelerated. Had someone fixed her door?

  Without any thought, she walked into the house. "Dutch?"

  She hurried through the kitchen. "Are you here?"

  She searched the living room. Not finding him, she changed direction and rushed into the bedroom.

  "Du...?" She slammed to a stop.

  He wasn't here. She went back through the house to shut the front door. For a minute, she thought he'd returned to her.

  She pressed her hand to her chest. The alcohol had gone to her head, or she was losing it.

  Dragging herself to the couch, she sank down where the cushion indented and curled her legs underneath her.

  She couldn't keep living each day waiting for him to return.

  Dutch w
as gone from her life. Wishing him back wouldn't make him show up.

  Lifting her phone, she pushed the contact number for Alyssa.

  Her friend answered on the first ring. "You're home?"

  "Yeah."

  "What's wrong?"

  Just like that, Alyssa knew she wasn't okay. She was falling apart.

  "You know the front door of the house? The way it always sticks?" She leaned against the arm of the couch, not waiting for Alyssa to answer. "It doesn't stick anymore. That's weird, right? I mean, I unlocked the door, and it opened on its own."

  "Creepy. Do you think the house is haunted?"

  She rubbed her forehead. "No, I thought...well, I thought Dutch was here."

  "Oh, honey."

  She hated the pity in Alyssa's voice. By now, she should be used to living without him.

  "Will you tell me what he looked like when you saw him?" She pulled her legs up higher. "I just need to know if he's okay."

  She lied to herself and Alyssa. It killed her not to know how he was doing, but she also knew Alyssa wouldn't tell anyone that she'd asked about Dutch.

  "Well, I hadn't seen him since we were sixteen years old." Alyssa paused. "He looks older. Not old-old, but he does have wrinkles on his face. His beard has some gray in it now. Not much, but some."

  She swallowed. He'd started getting gray in prison. At first, she hadn't noticed, but toward the end, it became more pronounced since he let his beard grow wild and long.

  "He was okay, though, right?" she asked.

  "I guess. He was partying at the clubhouse."

  She closed her eyes. There were women there who would jump at being with him. Especially knowing he spent five years in prison.

  "Was he with anyone?" she whispered.

  "Marla." Alyssa sighed. "You don't need to put yourself through this."

  Emotions clogged her throat. "Tell me. I need to know."

  "He was...pretty far gone. Drinking and whatever else he was on."

  She grimaced. "He was with a woman."

  "Yeah," whispered Alyssa. "But, you know, it probably didn't mean anything. The bikers screw everything with two legs and are always switching around. He was toasted. I doubt if he even knows what he did that night."