by A. J. Norris
Ironside Sinners
By Kelsey McKnight
Chapter One
Vera Campbell leaned back against the cold metal lid of the cooler, surveying the dimly lit bar. The regulars were all seated on their usual stools, bottles clutched in their coal-lined fingers. She could see each crack and wrinkle in their faces, all blackened from the dust of the mines that kept the town of Erikson, Pennsylvania, alive.
It would have been a normal Friday if a leather-clad mob of boisterous men didn’t burst through the doors, upsetting the predictable routine. They were all ribbing one another and taking over the strip of tables closest to the windows. Vera noticed the locals watching the newcomers out of the corners of their eyes, obviously displeased. She was on their side; out-of-towners were usually quick to make a mess and tipped a little too lightly.
Sighing, Vera glanced over to the bar’s owner, Eddy, who shrugged and continued replenishing napkin holders. She straightened her black tank top and waited for one to come make an order. There was no way in hell she was going to approach them. They all wore the same sleeveless black vests over their shirts. A massive red patch had been sewn on the back of each, depicting a savage-looking axe and the words “Ironside Sinners” stitched above it. She didn’t need to be a cop to know those guys meant trouble.
When one finally did strut up to the bar, his face covered by dark glasses and a wild beard, she plastered a smile on her face. “Hi, welcome to The Fuse, what can I get you?” Vera pulled a worn miniature notebook from the back pocket of her jeans and poised her pen over it.
“I’ll take…” He paused, looking back over his shoulder to his group. “Twelve shots of the top-shelf whiskey and twelve beers.”
“What kind?”
“These assholes don’t care.” The bearded man chuckled, slapping his credit card on the faded and scratched wood. “Just keep it American-made. And open a tab, if you please.”
She turned away to the register and looked for her boss. Eddy had gone, probably off to his office, leaving Vera alone to serve the savage-looking men. She splashed generous shots of amber liquid into the glasses on her tray and then added two-dozen Budweisers. Balancing the platter on her shoulder, she rounded the bar and found a sliver of space between their two tables to place her tray.
Working on autopilot, she began sliding the shots and bottles to the patrons. But she knew she needed the tips, so she twisted her mouth into another smile and tried to make some small talk. “What brings you guys to Erikson?”
“Our brother here has some unfinished business.” A black-haired biker nodded toward a broad-shouldered man who sat slumped in his seat, his windswept brown hair obscuring his face. He wore a plain white t-shirt under his vest, and a series of tattoos began at his fingers and snaked up his tanned arms. She was never one for the bad boys, but she could appreciate a good set of muscles.
Vera looked away from him and held her empty salver to her hip. “Can I get you guys anything else?”
They all shook their heads, slowly getting back into their own conversations.
“Okay, if you change your minds, I’m Vera.” She was about to turn away when a familiar voice rasped her name.
Her blood running cold, she looked again at the swarthy biker, whose familiar hazel eyes peered at her, challenging, and his mouth spread into a grin. “Vera, I haven’t been in town ten minutes, and I had to run into you.”
She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to run, to hide, to pack all her belongings into her Jeep and drive out of state. Instead, she forced herself to smile and clamped her jaw tightly in case she vomited all over the table. Seeing him again, after all those years, was more than she could handle. So she turned on her heel and dropped her tray on the bar on her way to Eddy’s small, closet-like office.
“You okay, girl?” Eddy asked, looking up from his computer. “Those guys not giving you any trouble, right?”
“Um, no, they’re fine. They have an open tab. I’m just not feeling very well.” She forced a cough. “I think I’m getting sick and I don’t know if I’m contagious.”
He took off his horn-rimmed glasses and glanced down at his watch. “Well…you only had another two hours and you’re off tomorrow…yeah, go on ahead home and keep me posted on how you’re feeling. We could get Greg to cover your shift if you’re not okay by your next day in.”
“Thanks, Eddy.”
Vera slipped around the edge of the bar, not even bothering to close out her register, and snagged her purse from her locker in the storage room. She debated leaving out the front door, but that would put her directly in his path. God, she couldn’t even think his name. No, it was safer to slip out the back exit, where the deliveries took place.
It was already sunset when she hit the parking lot and began walking to the far end of the front, where her car was parked. Passing in front of the main window was unavoidable, but she kept her eyes on the driver’s side door, just focusing on getting out, getting home, and trying to forget the look on his face. A line of shiny motorcycles sat in a near row by the main entrance and she vaguely wondered which was his, but shook the thought from her mind. It was none of her business, and she liked it that way.
“Vera, wait up!” he called.
She instinctively turned and watched him jog toward her, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes as he looked from one end of the lot to the other. She could hear the faint jingle of the long chain that, she assumed, held his wallet in place. Her hands shook on the handle of her purse, and she gripped her keys so tightly they cut into her palm. Besides the rapid pounding of her heart, Vera was frozen in fright.
“Why did you just duck out?” he asked as he stopped before her.
“It was the end of my shift,” she lied.
He nodded, biting his lip, just the way he used to, so many years ago. It used to drive her wild. Hell, it still did, but the feeling was overwhelmed by fear and anxiety. He glanced over at the bar then shot his gaze back to her.
“You look good, Vera.”
She swallowed. The way his gravelly voice caressed her name made her vaguely uncomfortable. “You look…” Her eyes slid to his arms and spied a tattoo of the same axe that marked his jacket. “Colorful.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He chuckled, crossing his arms over the wide expanse of his chest. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Yeah. For about two years.”
“Serving the same old miners, the same old drinks…same as always,” he mused.
Vera bristled. “Hey, just because you weren’t happy here doesn’t mean you get to talk down about these people.”
His brows rose. “I wasn’t. Some things just never change.”
“Yeah, actually, they do,” Vera whispered, fingering the mermaid keychain in her hand.
They regarded each other for a moment, the way old lovers do. They each took in six years of transformation and growth that only came from aging. Vera didn’t know what he thought of her—she didn’t think she looked much different at twenty-four—but he was taller, broader, more muscular, more tattooed, and held the sturdy aura of strength that only belonged to powerful men. If she didn’t know him by voice and the way the right side of his mouth lifted more than the other when he smiled, she might not have known it was him.
“My mom died,” Vera told him, almost mechanically, the words falling from her mouth.
His face fell and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Wow…I’m sorry, V.”
The old nickname sliced. “Don’t call me that,” Vera hissed. She turned on her heel and began hurrying to her truck, not stopping even when she heard him behind her.
“Vera, I’m sorry!” he shouted to her back.
But as Vera sat behind the steering wheel, driving the familiar route to her old childhood home, she realized that while Heath Bronson had called her name, he didn’t follow.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Vera whined into her wine glass as her best friend, Rebecca, topped off her own.
They sat together in the liv
ing room of Vera’s house, both nestled in the worn brown couch that had been in there for the better part of Vera’s life. Rebecca watched some loud horror movie on Netflix, half-listening to Vera go on about the shock of seeing Heath after all those years, but after hour two, she had rightfully checked out and left Vera to her own musings. The more pink wine went in, the more depressing mantras of lost youth came out. If Vera were a bit more sober, she would have been able to get a grip on herself.
“Okay, Vera, look,” Rebecca pleaded patiently, setting her glass on the coffee table before gently taking Vera’s. “I know this is super weird for you and all, but it’s not like he’s moving back into town and wants to marry you, or something.”
“Don’t even joke like that!” Vera scolded, tucking her bare legs up to her chest. “I don’t know how long he’s staying. Could be forever.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I doubt it. I’m guessing he’s here to sell off that old farm his uncle owned. It’s a total dump now.”
“Well, I hope it sells fast,” she grumbled, watching as Rebecca left the couch to go into the kitchen where she could smell pizza.
Vera stretched her legs out and stood, whipping her dark hair out of her eyes and wrapping her long cardigan more tightly around her. The sun was going down, and it would be completely dark soon. She padded to the front door and was about to turn the porch lights on when, through the sheer curtains, she saw a figure out by the oak tree in the yard. She could even see a motorcycle parked by the street.
“Fuck,” Vera hissed through her teeth, stepping back from the window. She was hoping she wouldn’t have to see him again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Shut your potty mouth.” Rebecca laughed, coming from the kitchen holding two plates piled with pizza.
“He’s here!” Her voice was a whisper, which was silly. There was no way he could have heard them.
“What?”
“Him.” Vera flattened against the wall, the back of her head bumping into a picture frame.
Rebecca crept up to the window, pizza still in hand, and peeked out. Then she shot backward. “Fuck.”
“I know!”
“What is he doing here?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Want me to go tell him to shove off?”
Vera shook her head, squaring her shoulders. “No. I’m going to go deal with him.”
“Or you could just, like, ignore him and come eat?” Rebecca offered, holding up a plate.
“No, I need to see what he wants.” Taking a deep breath, she stepped up to the door and unlocked the deadbolt.
The early summer grass tickled the soles of her feet as she strode toward Heath, who stood with his hands in his pockets. He was looking up at something on the tree. Looking at him, with his sharp jaw and muscled forearms, made Vera wish she had changed into something other than pajama shorts, a tank, and a black sweater. She felt positively frumpy, and not at all how she wanted anyone, let alone her ex, to see her.
“Vera.” He nodded as she stopped before him.
“What are you doing here?” Vera crossed her arms.
Heath glanced up to the house, then back at her. “I thought about knocking a few dozen times.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He grinned, flashing his straight white teeth, made whiter by his sun-kissed skin. “Still a hard-ass, I see. I just wanted to come and see if you were okay. You left pretty fast earlier, and I don’t want to screw up your life by being back in town.”
“You’re not screwing up anything. And don’t make a big show about being worried about me,” she ordered bitterly. She recalled waiting for another phone call. She had promised herself that she would answer if he called a second time. But he never did.
Heath didn’t flinch. “Okay, I guess I deserved that, but I’m not trying to be a dick.”
“Okay, and as you can see, I’m fine.”
His eyes strayed down her body, settling on her brightly polka-dotted shorts. Then their gazes met. “Cute.”
Vera felt heat creep up her neck and settle in her cheeks. If only she had changed. “Look, it’s not like I was expecting company.”
“I didn’t say they were bad.”
“Great. So, you’ve seen that I’m fine and now you can go back to your Sons of Anarchy bullshit.”
He playfully pressed a tattooed hand over his chest. It sat right below a patch that said “1%” and covered another that said “Sergeant at Arms.” “Ouch. As much as I love the show, it’s nothin’ like that.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on, Vera,” he pleaded, obviously careful to use her full name. “I don’t want things to be weird while I’m in town.”
“How long will that be?”
“Maybe a week. I need to get my uncle’s farm sold.”
“Okay, well, good luck with that.” She turned to go back into the house, but a strong hand gripped her arm. She looked over her shoulder at Heath, who had a pained look on his face. “What are you doing?”
“Vera, can I just ask you something?” he asked, releasing her.
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t you come, that night?” Heath’s voice was low and soft, barely audible over the sound of the cicadas chirping up in the trees.
A pang of hot guilt settled in her stomach and she bit her lip, averting her eyes away from his intense hazel gaze. “That was really long ago, Heath.”
“But I still think I deserve an answer.”
She shifted uncomfortably, deeply regretting coming out of her house. “Just go,” Vera ordered. “Just sell the house and go back to wherever it is you live now.”
Heath regarded her for a tense moment, his almost sad demeanor quickly hardening. His lips twisted into something Vera would call a sneer and he turned from her, stalking across the lawn to his bike. He threw one leg over the motorcycle and kicked it to life with a roar. Then he sped off, never looking back.
Vera gritted her teeth. She never wanted to be nasty. She didn’t want to be that sour girl that spit poison, especially to someone who never did anything wrong. Slowly, she stepped over to the tree, an old thing with twisted branches and deep roots that buckled the sidewalk. Vera stood where Heath had and looked up, seeing what she had ignored for six years.
High up on the trunk were their initials, “‘HB+VC’,” sloppily carved there years ago with a pocketknife. She reached up and ran her fingers over the only smooth part of the tree, the rest covered in thick bark. Vera remembered Heath cutting it one night as he was dropping her off from a double date. He was so proud of his handiwork and never failed to mention it every time they walked past the old tree. Back then, it was a reminder of their young love and midnight promises. But now it left a bad taste in her mouth.
“Hey, you okay?” Rebecca asked.
Vera hadn’t heard her come up behind her. She was too engrossed in her own thoughts.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She turned to look down the road where Heath’s motorcycle had disappeared. “I think he’s gone for good.”
Chapter Two
Vera sipped her coffee as she drifted down each aisle of the town’s grocery store. Some might think it weird, but she relished the predictability and quietness of the supermarket. Everything had its place, the same people milled around the produce stands, the same kids argued over boxes of cereal, and the same old cashier bagged her food at the end. Pair the trip with a hot cinnamon latte from the coffee shop next door, and she was a happy girl.
She was deciding between two brands of jarred tomato sauce when a flash of black caught her eye. She carefully peered through her sheet of dark hair to see Heath at the end of the aisle, tossing boxes of pasta into his basket seemingly at random. Vera’s blood ran cold and she slid out of the aisle, careful to minimize the clanking her wedge sandals threatened to make on the tile. While she knew he wouldn’t cause a scene, she felt very embarrassed about being so cold to him the night before.
Dismayed at her shopping trip
being infringed upon, she pushed her cart quickly through the store, skipping a few things on her list in her haste to get out. She couldn’t even understand what he was doing there. Did he plan on cooking for his biker buddies? Making a soufflé? The thought was ridiculous. The Heath she knew couldn’t even boil water. But maybe the new tattooed Heath could.
She was just dumping some bananas in her cart with a shaky hand when Heath meandered into the produce section. Vera gasped and ducked out of sight, hopefully hidden behind the banana stand. She could feel her heart pounding and wished the floor would open up and swallow her.
“Vera, what are you doing?” Heath asked, leaning against the wooden structure and looking down at her in amusement.
“Just, ah…looking for my earring,” she explained as she began groping around the floor.
He narrowed his eyes and the corners of his lips twitched. “When did you get your ears pierced?”
Vera could have died. She could have dropped dead right there between the bananas and mangos and strolled through the pearly gates, happy as a clam. Even being pulled into hell by fiery demons would have been preferable to having Heath observe her beside his scratched black biker boots. For the first time in her life, she wished she got her ears pierced at the mall like a normal teenager.
“Did I say my earring?” She laughed nervously, righting herself and brushing off her long peasant skirt. “I meant my ring.” She flashed an empty hand, her bangles jingling merrily on her arm.
“Oh, what does it look like?” Heath put down his basket and crouched low, peering under a display of apples.
Vera debated making a run for it and leaving her groceries behind, but she knew she couldn’t. “Silly me! I left my ring at home.”
“Mhm.” Heath stood, standing a good foot taller than her, even in her heels. “Doing some shopping?”
She glanced down at her full cart. “Well, obviously.”
“Yeah, shit…that was lame.” He looked down, biting his lip and rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit he had clearly never outgrown. “I’ll let you get back to it.”