Gin's Longing

by Joy Blood

  Grace.

  She plagues my mind day in and day out, giving me a reprieve from the dead eyes staring up at me from Brit’s lifeless body.

  I stuck around town until she graduated, keeping to the shadows and ignoring her texts. She always tried to talk to me, but after a while, she finally accepted I wasn't going to respond. I kept tabs on her, though. Kept a look out and watched from a distance as she graduated and went off to college. Then, when she found herself a boyfriend, that was hard to watch, but it was nothing compared to watching her marry the guy. Even if he was a good guy. The kind she deserved to be with. One who wasn't a murderer or would get her killed. Good guy. Not like me.

  The day I found out she was pregnant with the good guy’s baby, I decided she was better off on her own. I couldn't fucking do it anymore. Couldn't watch her be happy with someone else. Watch her belly swell with her growing child.

  I came back to the club after she went to college. I had shit to do, traitors to track down, but we still couldn’t find them. Whenever Rico uncovered something, it only added two more trails to follow—more fucking bread crumbs and dead ends. “Hey, G-man. You still up?” Sage yells from the other side of my door.

  “I fucking am now,” I grumble, and he’s already walking into my room before I'm out of bed. “The fuck you want?”

  “There’s a girl downstairs looking for you,” he tells me, and I jerk back.

  “Girl? What the fuck?”

  “Don’t know, man. Hope you been wrappin’ it up,” Sage jokes, then slaps me on the back before leaving. Prick.

  I'm only in my jeans, and as I look around my room, all I see are piles of dirty clothes strewn about. Maybe I should have had Sarah take some of my clothes and throw them in the wash. That’s who usually ends up doing it. I sure as fuck don’t know how to operate the washer. Deciding to just go down sans shirt, I close my door behind me and walk to the front of the clubhouse.

  It’s Tuesday night, so there isn't much of a party going on when I get to the bar. Just a couple brothers having a beer. I take a quick scan of the bar, my eyes drawing to the end. The room suddenly feels as if the air is starting to thin when I see who’s standing next to the last barstool, flicking something around in her small fingers.

  “Grace?”

  Her whole body jolts at my voice and she visibly takes a breath, like she needs a moment before she looks my way. Her face turns in my direction, and I immediately notice her eyes are rimmed red like she’s been crying for days and is about to start again. I take a couple steps toward her, and she does the same, wringing her hands together. “What brings you here, babe?” I ask, needing to fill the uncomfortable silence.

  “My...my ex took...” She stops, sucking in a breath. “He took her. Took my daughter.” The tears I knew were going to come spring free and her body shudders with sobs. “I got custody of her in the divorce, and he took her from me,” she says, barely holding it together. Without a thought, I reach out and grab her frail body before it crashes to the floor. She just fucking passed out. What the fuck? I clutch her in my arms, then hoist her up to cradle her legs over one arm, clutching her head to my chest. “Tell Brail I want him up in my room and to hurry the fuck up. Send up Reek too,” I bark out to the prospect behind the bar, who scrambles to make my orders happen real quick like as I walk up to my room.

  Throwing the door open, I stomp over to my bed and lay her down. Looking over her face, I try to assess her condition. I flick on the light, and that’s when I see it. Her sunken cheekbones and the dark circles under her eyes. She looks fucking tired even though she’s out cold. I didn’t see how thin she looked in the dim lights, but now…her once long blonde hair is shoulder-length, dull, and lifeless. She’s wearing a pair of skintight pants that show off every curve, only she doesn't have the curves she used to, even as a teenager. She’s rail thin, and when I lift her oversized t-shirt, what I see pisses me off even more. Dark bruises cover her ribcage, and I'm sure if I were to continue to look farther down under the line of her pants that reach up to her bellybutton, I would see more. Reluctantly, I roll her pants down to her waistline to look her over. As expected, I find more of the same along with a long scar that runs along the top of her pubic bone. “What’s up, G?” Brail walks in behind me, but I can’t move from looking her over. She looks like she hasn't eaten in days, maybe even weeks, and has met the steel toe of someone’s boot—more than a few times.

  “She passed out. Someone beat the fuck out of her,” I tell him as I reluctantly back away, letting him take over. Brail is the club’s medic of sorts. He did three tours as a medic, and after he got out, he couldn't find his place in the world—until he found the Riders.

  “She a club whore?” he questions, moving to stand where I was.

  “Na. She’s...a friend of the club.” He doesn't say anything more as he starts to assess her. Pulling her clothes off, leaving her in only a black bra and panties, a growl builds in the back of my throat and I want to pummel him for even laying eyes on the girl. I'm about to cover her up when Reek comes rolling through in his wheelchair.

  “What you need, G?” he asks, glancing over to Grace’s nearly naked body, then back to me. I quickly reach over to one corner of the bed and slide the blanket over to cover up at least her bottom half. There are too many fucking people seeing her fucking naked. I push that aside and talk to the man who can find out what the fuck she was talking about.

  “She said her ex took their kid after she got custody in the divorce. See what you can find on him,” I relay, my tone short and terse, but he doesn't find it offending at all. Just nods and rolls back out of the room. I know I need to leave the room too. Seeing her like this is fucking my head.

  I storm out, slamming the door behind me, then head down to the bar and get a drink. I need that chill to wash over me before I can confront anymore of what’s going on. I have been doing a damn good job stuffing my shit into the proverbial closet in my mind and moving on with my life.

  “All right?” the raspy whisper from Jake breaks into my self-medicating, and I turn to see him sitting next to me at the bar.

  “Fuck you doing here, Jakey Boy? Shouldn’t you be at home with the old lady and them young’ns?” I ask before taking back another shot of whiskey. It slides down my throat, pooling in my empty stomach like gasoline.

  “With Ellie. Shopping.” Ellie, Kimi’s mom in every way except blood. Long fucking story there, going way back before we lost Fuzz. Just the fucking thought of him while his baby girl is here under the roof of this club makes me need something stronger than whiskey. “Fuzz’s girl up there?” he questions, taking the offered bottle of water the prospect places on the bar for him.

  “Yeah. She came in all banged up and passed out. Said her ex took her kid. Got Reek working on it. If that’s what happened, he’ll find the kid.” Jake nods and chugs the water, almost draining the bottle. He places it on the bar, then tosses something my way. The matchbook I gave Grace them few years ago. Must have been what she was holding in her hand when I came into the bar. Guess she dropped it. I take the matchbook between my fingers. “I thought she was in good hands, man. I fucking failed her,” I admit on a groan and get up to leave, but before I can, Jake is grabbing my arm.

  “She’s alive,” he rasps, throwing out the very words I told him when he was struggling with his feelings for Kimi. I can only give him a curt nod before walking away. Fuckin’ kid.

  The minute I walk into Reek’s room, I'm assaulted with the heavy smell of weed. The guy always has one blazin’ when he’s in here. Says it’s for pain management, and who am I to argue? I smoke it from time to time for my own complicated shit. “Find anything?” I ask, walking over to the wall of computers he’s parked behind. Four screens line the wall. Two are blank, but the other two... “The fuck is that?” I get closer, trying to read what’s on the screen. It's an article about a man who was on trial for the murder of his wife and sister. He was never convicted due to lack of evidence, and they se
t him free. The man in the picture looks strangely familiar, but with the haircut...

  Reek clicks something and another picture pops up. That’s when I recognize the fuck. “The hell am I lookin’ at, Reek?” I ask, lost with the information while filling with rage.

  “Peter Wells. He was recently tried for the murder of his girlfriend and her sister. Guess who his fucking Lawyer was?”

  “Roger Reed,” I respond with Grace’s ex-husband’s name.

  “Yep. Got the asshole off with no jail time. Looks like he’s done some more dealing with some shady people. Including this asshole.” He gestures to the computer screen I haven't taken my eyes from, still staring into the face of the first motherfucker who had at my woman. Like I had told the club before, I knew their faces, not their names. We had a list, though. Each name a member of the Chicago chapter. Each one with a ticket to hell paid by the Riders of the Cental chapter.

  “How come we never fucking found this before?” I try to keep my voice level and not punch a hole into one of the four screens in front of us, but I'm reeling as to how this could have slipped by our reach.

  “I didn't find it before because it was buried. Came up when I started looking into Reed. Only looked into him a few years ago when you asked. The trial was after the fact. This prick must have some friends in high places to be able to hide this shit. I'm sorry, man. This is on me.” Reek hangs his head and scrubs at his short beard. He normally keeps it all shaved off, but now it looks to be about three inches long. Absently, I wonder what the fuck has been going on with him lately. He’s normally distant, but lately, he’s been spending more time in this room than out. Probably hiding from a skinny little thing with purple-streaked hair.

  “Don’t even, man. What did you find out?”

  “Strange shit. The divorce went easy. He let her have sole custody of their little girl without a problem. Settled for visitation. Pays alimony and child support. He went quietly into the night,” Reek explains, putting more questions on the table.

  “Into the night, then came back to beat the shit out of her and take their kid and split?”

  “G. She’s awake, man. Wants to see you,” Brail interrupts our conversation.

  “Good, maybe we’ll get more pieces to this fucked puzzle,” I say, turning to go back to my room.

  “She took a hell of a beating. Couple bruised up ribs. I got her all bandaged up, but she’s going to be in some pain,” he says as I walk past, quickening my pace.

  I walk through the door to find her propped up slightly, wincing as she tries to make herself comfortable on my small bed. Our eyes connect, hers filled with tears. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know where else to go. I...” she sobs out, and before she can say another word, I'm by her side.

  Nine

  Grace

  I drove all night to get here to him, and when I finally walked through the door, what did I do? I fainted before I could even get a look at the man I came to find. The man I’ve kept in a small box in the back of my mind for the last five years while I went on with my life, only stopping to think of him every now and then when I happened to hear a bike roar by or saw one in a parking lot somewhere. He was right there in the back of my mind, and I didn't think he would ever leave that spot. Even when I met Roger. He was so sweet and understanding. And a great father to our little girl, Tanya. My heart breaks when I think of her.

  “He has her, Gin,” I repeat the words I said right before I collapsed in his strong arms.

  “You said that, babe. Wanna tell me what that’s about?” he asks, smoothing my hair from my face.

  “He was so...” What was he so? “He was gracious. He bowed out and let me have sole custody of her. Then, just three days ago, he stopped by to talk.” I wince at the memory and shift in the bed slightly. “He had two men with him. I’d never seen them before.” The memory of being slammed to the floor then repeatedly kicked until I couldn't breathe comes flooding back. “When I tried to stop Roger from taking her, they came at me—kicked me in the ribs while I was on the floor until I blacked out from the pain. When I came to, I saw him holding Tanya and walking out the door. He just took her.” Tears come to my eyes yet again.

  “We will track him down. Reek can find anyone. She will be back in your arms before you know it, babe,” Gin tries to assure me, but I can’t seem to believe it. I can't hold onto that hope when I don’t know the person we are dealing with. I thought I did. Thought I knew Roger. He was my best friend. I was married to him for four years. Never once in our marriage did he raise his voice, we barely fought, and when we did, it was about normal things—bills, what movie to watch, what to have for dinner. We were great together, but in the last year, it was like he checked out. Then, one day, I was served with papers. To say I didn't see it coming would be a lie. He was always gone on business trips and had little to no interest in our sex life. The divorce was quick, went smoothly. He left, found his own place, and that was that. Then, two months after everything was finalized, he came into my house, took our daughter, and had two men beat the crap out of me. “Can you tell me what the men looked like?” Gin questions.

  “One was a bigger guy, round in the waist with a shaved head. The other one had shaggy blond hair that seemed to keep getting in his face. He kept jerking his head to the side to move it.” Gin grits his teeth as he stands quickly.

  “Tats?” he questions, looking much like the night he pulled Tarrance off me. “Like this one?” He pulls his shirt over his head and turns, so his back is facing me. A large black tattoo with a flaming motorcycle and rider is inked on the middle with the words “Hell’s Riders” under it.

  “I have seen that before, but no. They didn't have anything like that. But...” I trail off, remembering I did find something odd tattooed on the larger man’s arm.

  “What? Anything you remember could help.”

  “The big one. He had a tattoo. A large black one. Like it was meant to cover something up. It took up most of his upper arm.”

  “That’s good, babe,” Gin says as he starts toward the door.

  “Wait—”

  “I’ll be right back. Just need to talk to someone,” he tells me before he walks out of the small room, leaving me alone. I take a look around now that I’m awake and coherent. Whatever pills the man who bandaged my ribs gave me are sufficiently dulling the pain. At least, the pain caused by my bruised body. The pain from my ex-husband taking our child is still in the forefront of my mind.

  I wonder if I’m in Gin’s room. I has to be a man’s room. I am in a MC clubhouse after all. Dirty laundry is piled up in one corner of the space right next to a tall wooden dresser with every drawer open. The opposite corner houses a chair with that same leather vest I remember Gin wearing all those years ago when he helped me from the ground.

  The place screams bachelor, but as I move around the pillows to get comfortable, I swear I can smell a hint of perfume. Before I have a chance to try to brush that fact away, the door opens again and Gin holds it for a man in a wheelchair before following behind him. Handsome but unkempt. His beard could use a trim, and so could his unruly hair, which seems as if he had slept hard on it the night before.

  “This is Reek, babe. He has a couple photos for you to look at. See if you recognize any of them,” Gin says as the man strangely named Reek rolls over to the bed and places a small stack of photos on my lap. Is that weed I smell?

  “Some of them may look a little different now, so take a close look,” he tells me, then backs away to give me space. I look down at the pictures and see the blond-haired man staring back at me. Only, his hair isn’t long like it had been the day his boot slammed into my ribcage, over and over.

  “This one. This is the guy who...did this to me,” I say, then continue through the pictures, not recognizing any of them until the last. Narrowing my eyes, I take him in. Tall, broad shoulders, and long, shoulder-length hair. I do know this one.

  “Know him?” Gin asks, and I almost jump at how close he is now. />
  “Yes,” I say slowly, trying to remember the brief encounter. “It was maybe a year ago. I came home and found Roger and this man arguing. As soon as he realized I was there, he took off. I never saw him again, and when I asked Roger about it, he told me the guy was a client and had a tough case. That was the reason for the argument. So, I let it go.” Gin and Reek both look at each other, then back at me.

  “Did you hear what they were arguing about?” Reek asks, taking the photos back from my outstretched hand. At first, I shake my head. It was a while back, and I didn't really remember much because I didn't find it significant at the time. But there was something…

  “The man in the photo, he said something about...Wade. And that he wasn’t who he said he was.”

  “Motherfuck,” Gin says in barely a whisper, his fists clenching until his knuckles turn white before he walks back out of the room.

  “Don’t mind him,” Reek says, dismissing Gin’s abrupt departure. “Can I get you anything?” he asks with a raised brow.

  “Um. No. Thank you, though.”

  “All right then. You get some rest. I'm sure G will be back in a bit. After he cools off, no doubt.” I say goodbye to the man as he rolls out of the room and closes the door behind him, once again leaving me to myself.

  * * *

  I’m still awake hours later when a soft knock sounds on the door before a tall, slender woman with platinum blonde hair peeks her head from behind the door. “Hi. Thought you could use some food,” she says, opening the door the rest of the way when she sees I'm awake.

  “I could. Thank you.” As if on cue, my stomach growls, agreeing with my decision to eat. My appetite hasn't been much recently, what with the divorce going on and all. Even if it was a mutual agreement, it still hurt to go through with it. She sets down a plate with what looks to be eggs, bacon, and two slices of toast. Breakfast. How long have I been here?