by Cathryn Cade
"No, no," Manda said. "I totally needed to get out of there. You were right, he wanted us to move in together. Can you believe it? 10 days, and he w-wanted us to be a couple. Right, like that's gonna work."
"Oh, God," Chloe mumbled. "I should've stayed out of it. Me and my big mouth."
"So, how's your classes going?" Manda asked, drinking more wine.
Chloe sighed. "Fine, thanks. I did okay on the test. But Manda, maybe you should—"
"No, no," Manda repeated, waving her hand in dismissal even though Chloe couldn't see her. "Quit second-guessing, girlfriend. You and mom were right—better to be safe. After Tim, I don't need to be hooking up with another guy right away. I'm gonna keep myself to myself, do my new job and... get a life."
"Your mom gave you the same advice?" Chloe sounded like she was choking. "Oh, my God... now I know I screwed up."
Manda frowned into her empty wine glass. Her celebration wasn't turning out to be very cheerful. And she needed cheer, lots of cheer, to stave off the hollow feeling in her chest. The feeling that said she was the one who'd screwed up. Even though Sara and Billie had agreed that T-Bear was impulsive, Manda still felt as if she’d failed to grasp something precious offered to her.
"But, Clo," she asked, clutching her phone. "If... if it was real, wouldn't he have been willing to go slow? To give us time to just date and stuff, instead of insisting on all or nothing?"
"Well, yes."
Manda sighed. "That's what I thought." Although, maybe in her quest for slowing down, she'd gone too far. She truly hadn't meant to make him think she wanted to just be 'fuck buddies'. Euww, she hated that term. Or worse, leave him believing that she might want to sleep with other guys. No way could she imagine that. Not after experiencing John 'T-Bear' Turner's brand of loving.
"Anyway," she mumbled. "It's over. Time to move on."
And wasn't that going to be fun, working on Main Street in his little town, where she'd see him go by morning, noon and night. Except that she wouldn't be working nights, so at least she'd be spared that.
This thought didn't help.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
* * *
Manda started Wednesday morning at the Flying Bean.
She caught on very quickly to the machines, the recipes and she flat-out loved the computerized cash-register. Instead of typing in dreaded numbers, she could select coffee drink names, such as black, latte, Americano, etc, and the machine spit out a small paper receipt which she could give the customer or recycle.
The owner, Dina Torres, a buxom brunette who was very pregnant, was so happy to have Manda as her new employee, she told Manda to help herself to two drinks per shift, plus a granola & yogurt or a muffin, and banana or orange. Manda was thrilled, as this meant she did not have to buy her own breakfast, or coffee, and could save that money.
She watched Dina from 6 to 7 that morning, began making drinks under her supervision, and by noon when they closed, she was doing everything by herself.
Dina watched her from her stool, rubbing her belly. As the last car rolled away near noon, she smiled. "If you want more hours, you could stay open until 1 or 2," she offered. "That would be up to you. I think we could make sales to justify the extra time, especially now that warmer weather is finally here."
"I'd love to," Manda said instantly. With her wages, plus the tips that some customers left—even without her being funny—she could well afford to stay at the motel, buy food, and have enough left over to save money each week. That she would essentially be living hand to mouth, with no insurance, car or fall-back plan, she preferred not to face, at least not yet.
After a week or two, she'd start looking for another part-time job, one that she could work afternoons and evenings, even into the night. She needed the money, and it wasn't like she had anything else to do.
Also, if it took her the next twenty years, she would pay T-Bear back for her hospital bill.
On Thursday, Manda picked up three evening shifts a week at the grocery store, mopping floors and cleaning the bathrooms. They gave her a uniform of navy polo and pants, and like the Bean, paid every two weeks.
Friday, she opened an account at the local bank, which she unfortunately had to pass JJ's Auto to reach. But after scanning half-warily, half-hungrily for a glimpse of T and not getting one, she made it past, and got on with her life.
Dena had another employee, a local college student, who worked the Sunday shift at Flying Bean. Worn out from 10 hour split shifts 3 days a week, and 7 hour shifts three more days, Manda was sleeping like a log.
She had to invest in some sturdier shoes, but luckily found a thrift store on one of the side streets in town, run by the local senior center. It specialized in knick knacks, tacky artwork, and clothing.
She bought two pair of nearly new cross-trainers, some new footie socks, a green cardigan sweater that was washable, a smaller pair of jeans and a windbreaker that was an ugly shade of yellow but had big pockets.
She also found a backpack to carry groceries, and a madras-cloth hobo bag that looked like it had been made in India. It would work for a purse/carryall. She also found a wallet,
The grand total for her pile of purchases was under twenty dollars—not bad at all.
She was trudging back to the motel when a Harley idled along behind her, and then stopped. Every muscle in her body tensed, Manda stopped and then looked over her shoulder. To her intense relief, it was Moke who sat his bike nearby, not T.
She waited warily, but he nodded peaceably. "How's it?" he asked in his deep, quiet voice.
"Okay. Um, how are you?"
"Good enough. I see you walking around town."
A week ago, Manda would have smiled. Now, she merely waited for him to tell her why on earth he'd stopped to chat. Airway Heights was a small town, and she'd seen other Flyers around town a lot in the week she'd been on her own.
None of them had smiled or offered to chat. It had taken her the week to stop flinching every time she made eye contact with one of them. By now, she was just too tired to care.
And while Sara and Billie had been friendly and helpful in moving her out, she’d seen nothing of them since. She wondered if their cordiality had been real, or faked to get rid of her more easily.
Moke regarded her for a moment with his dark eyes. "Okay. You need anything, you let me know."
"What?" Manda blinked. "Why would you say that?"
He shrugged. "T's a good man, but sometimes... maybe he moves a little fast. You stick around town, maybe he'll rethink."
"Well maybe I won't rethink," she said, her temper flaring. "So, nice to see you, Moke, but I've got to go."
She stalked away, clutching her bag so tightly her arms shook, and glowering at the warm, sunny afternoon. "Maybe he'll rethink," she mimicked under her breath. "Like I care. Big, ginger dumbass."
And if she had to blink tears from her eyes as she walked, it was just the afternoon wind, that was all.
Back at her motel, Manda changed into her cleaning uniform and a pair of her new cross-trainers. These were black, and ugly as sin. Perfect, she assured herself, as she didn't have to worry about what happened to them. She pulled on the green cardigan, bundled the yellow jacket into the backpack with her new wallet and her phone, locked her room door carefully behind her, and set off for the grocery store.
By the end of her shift, she was exhausted. Her floor cleaning had included a slippery, sticky spill of an entire jug of fruit punch, and the bathrooms seemed to be especially disgusting.
She and the other janitor, Encilio, a quiet older man, left the store at eleven pm, and one of the managers locked up and waved goodbye.
Encilio nodded goodbye to Manda—he had a heavy accent and rarely spoke unless he had to—and headed off to the east.
She started west. Most of her route was well-lit, by the powerful street lights along this main thoroughfare.
But just on the edge of the store lot, two huge semi-trucks from a Seattle produce company were parke
d for the night. Manda could either walk behind the nearest truck, or skirt clear out into the road. She chose the easier option, through the dark shadows between the western edge of the store, the rear semi-trailer, and the gas station next door.
This was a mistake. A very, very bad one.
She was too tired to do much more than cast a cursory glance around before starting through the dark patch.
But then, from out of the darkness, she was grabbed roughly by the arms. Before she could draw breath to call out, her attacker pushed her against the wall of the store.
Sucking in a shaky breath, Manda let out a yelp of terror, and struggled in her captor's grasp. He was taller than she, but slim, and when she kicked him in the shins he grunted in pain. He stank, of sweat and stale cologne and booze.
"Let go of me!" she gritted, kicking him again. Her arms were trapped, but she drew back her head, ready to head butt him.
"Fuck!" he grunted. "Manda! For fuck's sake, it's me. Tim." He held up his phone, the light shining between them so she could see his face, and upper body.
She froze, her heart pounding. "Tim?" she breathed. It was him, but he looked terrible. Like a tired, dirty version of himself.
"Yeah," he said. "Fuck, you about broke my leg, bitch." The light flicked off, leaving them in the dark again.
"Don't you call me a bitch, you—you lying loser asshole!" she shot back and kicked him again.
He let go her arm with one hand and grabbed her hair, yanking it painfully. "Fuck, stop it," he panted. His breath was horrible. "I need to talk to you, that's all."
"Talk to me?" she demanded, reaching up to grasp his hand. She dug her nails into the flesh of his thumb, and he let her hair go. "Why would I want to talk to you, when you scare me half to death? Huh?"
"Because, if you don't, your friend will get hurt." He hissed. “Chloe.”
Manda froze again. "What? What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about how you're gonna help me," he said, and shook her. "You're gonna do what I say, or your girl is gonna pay, see? There are guys who will make sure of it."
"I—I don't understand," she fumbled. "Tim, what happened to you? Why did you do that to me? What did I ever do to you to deserve being bartered away like a-a piece of meat?”
He laughed, a horrible humorless sound. "What did you do? Nothing, you were there. I needed money."
She was there? He was crazy, that was it. He'd gone flat out crazy. He was twitching and shifting on his feet like a marionette being jerked by strings, and he was thinner than she remembered... the pieces clicked together in her mind, and she recoiled from him.
"Oh, my God," she said. "You're using, aren't you? You're on something." He looked and acted like the stoners that hung out near their last apartment in the Tri-Cities, and he smelled like them too. Like he’d stopped caring about himself, about anything but getting the next fix.
"Never mind that," he said, squeezing her arm painfully.
"Ow," she flinched. "Okay, okay. I'll help you. I'll do anything, just—just tell me what you want."
Or at least she'd say so now, because there was no reasoning with someone using.
"Simple," he told her. "Lucky for you. You're gonna spy on the Flyers, listen in on 'em. And find out when and where their next meet is with the Black Wolves."
"Wait, what? Who are the Black Wolves?" she asked, drawing a complete blank.
"Another club outta Sturgis, South Dakota," Tim said impatiently. His grip on her arms tightened, and he shook her.
Manda winced, not only from the pain but from the combined stench of his bad breath and the strong cologne he seemed to have dumped on himself. "Who they are, that's none of your business. You just find out when they meet with your boyfriend's club, you hear me?"
Manda wrenched her arms from his grasp and stepped back.
"Or what, Tim?" she demanded. "Or you'll steal my money, and my stuff, and abandon me in a strange town? One where the only person I know is your sketchy friend, who is a pimp."
Tim's gaze skittered away, but not before she saw a sly look flash across his face. "Rezan?" he said. "No way."
"Yes way, Tim," she snapped. “Your buddy told me everything—you asshole. And by the way, I want my stuff back. Where is it? In your car?"
She looked out of the alley at the vehicles parked along the edge of the gas station lot. But instead of Tim's gold Nissan, she saw a chillingly familiar, flashy red-and-black Charger.
"Rezan is here?" She backed away from Tim, her revulsion complete. "So now you’re just doing his dirty work for him?”
"None of your business," he told her, but a little smile played around his lips.
"Tim, are you nuts?" she demanded. "He's a crazy, violent creep! He beat me—offered me to men for money."
The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. Betrayal socked her in the belly. "You don't even care that he hurt me, tried to use me, do you? God, you're as—as creepy as he is."
He flushed. "Least I'm not too dumb to hold a job."
She glared at him. "Yeah, the reason you don't keep a job is because you keep screwing everyone over. At least I'm not a soulless user like you and your friend."
"Shut it. You just keep your fucking opinions to yourself, and get the intel for me. You hear me?"
Manda's lip curled. "I hear you." Disgust roiled in her, along with fear. How had she ever found him attractive? He was like a mean, little kid who never wanted to grow up, who wanted no responsibility.
"Yeah, okay then. Be a good girl, and you'll be fine—and so will Chloe." Throwing back his shoulders, he gave her a smile that reminded her chillingly of the one Rezan had worn when he hit her.
Her guard up, when Tim lifted his hand, she slapped it away. Ugh, was Rezan giving him lessons now?
"No!" she snapped. "I'll do what you want, but you don't get to touch me again. And before I give you your information? I want my things back."
"You just better worry about your friend and yourself," he told her. "'Cause we know where to find both of you. And we can get to both of you, anytime we want." He turned away and strutted back out into the street.
Her heart pounding, sick with the aftermath of adrenaline and fear, Manda watched him cross the street to Rezan's car, and get in the passenger side.
The car immediately roared out of the lot and onto the highway, narrowly missing an old sedan. That driver had to slam on the brakes to avoid him, as witnessed by the flash of tail-lights. Horn blared, and Manda saw Rezan's hand appear from the drivers' side window of the Charger, flipping off the almost victim.
She pushed a hand into her purse for her phone. Should she call the police, tell them she'd just seen Rezan in town?
But then she decided against that and pulled her hand out, empty.
Chloe—she had to protect Chloe. She lived in crowded apartment complex near campus, with hundreds of people coming and going every day. So easy to get to, and so hard to protect.
The only problem was, to save her best friend, Manda might have to put the lives of the Flyers on the line.
And T-Bear's along with them.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
* * *
Saturday, close to midnight, the Flyers' clubhouse was still rocking, music playing and voices and laughter echoing. Typical weekend, as Flyers, their family and friends partied, people drifting in and out of the clubhouse.
Stick was closeted in the meeting room, with Rocker and Bouncer. They were discussing the situation with the Black Wolves. Stick had relayed the new information given him by Rav.
"You trust him?" Rocker asked.
Stick thought this over, and nodded. "I do. He's always been straight with us, was open about his decision to go nomad. Knew it caused some hard feelings but wanted it bad enough to go anyway.'
'Chains mentioned him a time or two, said he was doing a good job for them at the casino. Stopped a few situations before they turned into bigger problems, got along with most everyone.'
"Knew I didn't like that Firewalker kid," Bouncer said. "Smug little bastard."
Since Bouncer liked very few people, this surprised neither Stick or Rocker.
But Rocker nodded. "His woman had bruises. Covered up with heavy makeup, but still there. Reckon he gave 'em to her?"
Stick shrugged. "Wouldn't surprise me. If he's the kind to double-cross his own club..."
"So what we gonna do about him?" Bouncer asked.
"Now that," Stick said, "Is the question, ain't it?"
Bouncer opened his mouth to say more, but Rocker held up a finger, staying him.
Rocker rose, and prowled silently across the room to a door on the end of the meeting room. It led into the garage on the north end of the complex, used for motorcycle repair and the occasional drop-off of merchandise of one kind or another.
Rocker jerked the door open and froze.
Stick leaned forward to look past him, and his brows went up in surprise.
The person lurking there was not at all whom he would have suspected.
Gaze on the eavesdropper, Rocker spoke over his shoulder. "Stick? What you wanna do here?"
Stick drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. Then he nodded to himself. "Call in her man. He can help us decide."
Rocker smiled—not a pleasant smile. "Good idea."
* * *
In the wee hours between Sunday night and Monday morning, Manda was shivering.
Not only because she stood outside in a dark, dirty alley in downtown Spokane on a chilly spring night, but because she was scared. Just about to pee her pants scared.
She felt exposed, as if instead of the dark, she stood in a spotlight, while ranks of faceless men watched her hungrily from the darkness beyond her sight. Ready to leap at her, and do their worst.