by Jc Emery
“You’re preaching to the choir,” I say. “I just... I don’t get it.”
“This one of those things where you just want to bitch about shit, or you want it fixed?” he asks.
“Fixed, but I got a feeling I’m not going to like your proposed solution,” I admit.
“No, you won’t,” he says. “But at least you’ll have an idea what you’re looking at if you stay with him.”
“I’m not staying with him,” I say. Giving the pillow a punch, I look up at Diesel. He wears a flat expression on his face.
“Who you bullshitting?” he asks. “You know how this shit works, babe. He’s Forsaken. You didn’t pick him, he picked you. Sorry you don’t like it. So pick another club, fuckin’ hook your ass up with a civilian. We both know that won’t work out.”
“And if I don’t want to be with him?”
“You want my help or not? Lie to whoever the fuck you want, but not the guy who gave up freaky pussy to sit here and listen to you bitch about your fucking relationship.” Silence falls between us, and I let myself stare off into space. I need a few minutes to chill. Diesel’s right. I may not like what he’s saying, but that doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s no Duke. There’s only so much I can get away with with him, so instead of pushing it like I want to, I just let the room get silent.
“Rolled your eyes at him this morning, then said whatever when he gave you an order. Not good. Thing is, you didn’t start partying with the club not knowing the score. Not like this was an accident for you. You’ve got this club in your blood.”
“I don’t know where you’re going with this,” I say in almost a plea. This doesn’t feel like helping. This feels like a damn lecture. I’m not an obstinate child who needs to be reprimanded.
“Way you two handle your shit in private is up to you, but you cop that kind of attitude in public and the boys will never vote you in. It’s just the truth. We got rules for a reason, Nic. Can’t go about breaking them, no matter whose kid you are.”
“I feel like I can’t breathe,” I say, because that’s what it feels like—him telling me I can’t have my voice. Beyond hate, I loathe the message he’s trying to get across. “He just…”
“Only way this club works is for everybody to be on the same page. Why do you think we vote on a brother’s Old Lady? Because you being my brother’s girl is a big fucking deal. Means you’re not just his responsibility, you’re mine. Somebody fucks with you, they fuck with me. They fuck with all of us. Can’t take that shit lightly.”
“I get that,” I say quietly.
“Do you?” he says. “Being the club’s responsibility means that shit goes down and we put our asses on the line for you. Our wives, kids, our mothers—they take a step back if you’re in trouble if we vote you in. You get that? That means I’d die for you.”
“Wow,” I say and then huff. “You’re good at spinning a situation, aren’t you?”
“No spin, promise,” he says. “Straight up fact. That kind of commitment? Deserves a little more respect.”
“Two months, Diesel. Two months,” I respond flatly.
“That was fucked, no doubt. He needed his asshole ripped the fuck apart over that,” he says. For just a moment, I think he’s on my side, but then he says, “Privately. Don’t care that he was being a dick. That wasn’t cool, girl. Made his dick feel fuckin’ tiny, no doubt.”
“I know what the club is and what it’s not. I’m not dumb, but everything else?” I ask. Because as much as I can’t believe I’m admitting it to myself, I know the rules, and I broke them. But Duke can still go to hell. I don’t care what rules I broke. I’m supposed to be his, and he’s in another room with somebody else. “It’s wrong.”
“Yeah,” Diesel says, “it is.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts slapping his thumbs against the screen. I sit in silence, unsure if it’ll tick him off if I speak. “The shit we do requires us to be assholes. Can’t always turn it off just because we should.”
“I appreciate you coming in here to talk to me, but I feel like the biggest fool on the planet, and this feels like a lecture,” I say. He lowers his phone and stares at me, his expression still makes him look bored as all hell.
“You want to be Duke’s Old Lady or not?” he says. The question makes me freeze. I don’t know. It’s not something I want to think about right now. With every fucked thing that’s happened today, I ‘d rather stick a fork in my eye than to relive it all. Going for noncommittal, I shrug my shoulders.
“No really—turned down some freaky as fuck pussy—don’t shrug your fucking shoulders,” he says with a slight grumble.
“I don’t know that I can get over the shit he just pulled,” I say.
“But before that?” he asks. Before that everything was still fucked up. I told him he wasn’t going to touch me again, and then I left. And before I flipped out on him? It was only this morning, but it feels like it was days ago, at least—and things weren’t exactly rosy then, either. He came in with both barrels, caught me off guard, and was a real jerk. Still, he’s funny and when he tries, he can be sweet. And I know he’s always doing things for his mom even though he doesn’t want to. That’s got to mean something.
“Yeah,” I say, “I do—or I did.”
Diesel cracks an arrogant smile and says, “You sure? You hook up with him, you can’t ride my dick no more.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m okay with that,” I mumble, feeling my face heat.
Diesel just keeps on smirking and says, “He’s an asshole, no doubt. But you think you can be an Old Lady? That means you gotta remember that everything you do blows back on him, and everything he does represents you. Gotta respect each other in public. That’s all.”
“I know the code, D. That’s not the problem,” I say. I can feel myself getting more frustrated with him as time goes by. “He claimed me—twice—and then fucked another woman. In front of me.”
“Told you, not cool. But you do right and demand he does better. All you can do,” he says. I look down at the pillow in my lap, and a yawn escapes me. My body feels so heavy and rundown that once I stop really listening to anything Diesel’s saying, all I want to do is sleep.
“Lay down and take a nap,” he says. “I’ll stay and make sure nobody tries to come in.” I’m not sure where this side of him came from, but I could really get used to it. I won’t let myself think it’ll last, though. I close my eyes and lie down on my side, propping my head on the pillow as I let sleep consume me.
Chapter 8
The car radio crackles under the pressure to blast the new punk band that Jeremy insists on listening to at an epically high volume. My head pounds with the drum beat until I can’t take it anymore, and I reach over and turn the volume down until I hear the click of it turning off.
After seeing Duke and Dawn last night, I may have wallowed in my sorrows a bit too long. Even though I kept telling myself that it wasn’t getting to me, I couldn’t help that it was.
“What the fuck?” he asks, irritation evident in his tone.
“It was too loud,” I say and use my free hand to rub my temple.
“No, it wasn’t,” he says. “You’re just being a bitch today.” I bite my tongue to keep from responding. If I had a retort for every single one of his snide remarks, our entire lives would be one big fucking argument, and quite frankly, I just don’t think it’s worth it.
He reaches over and turns the dial back up, this time even louder. One fucking trip to the grocery store that he insists on going on and we can’t even have a peaceful trip. This shit is ridiculous. Five months, I remind myself once again. Just five months until he’s legal. Then I can slap the shit out of him without child protective services crawling up my ass for it. Not that I have the size or power to hurt him, and not that I want to, but right now I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking about it a lot. A lot.
I have work later today, but need to get the grocery shopping done beforehand
because, in Jeremy’s words, “We ain’t got shit” to eat, and he’s a hell of a lot more pleasant when he can make his pancakes for breakfast—which is part of the current problem. He didn’t get his pancakes this morning because he eats like a damn trucker and blew through the family sized box in under a week.
As we travel down Main Street toward Safeway, a blue Honda Civic coupe swerves in the right lane up ahead. It’s just enough to make me nervous, but not bad enough that the driver’s done any damage yet. The car speeds up dramatically and then comes to an immediate stop, causing the car behind it to slam into its bumper. Directly behind the accident is a wagon that swerves into my lane to avoid becoming the third and thus creating an actual pile-up, effectively cutting me off. I slam on my brakes, and my torso is thrown into the seat belt. The surprise of the accident gets to me. The cars behind me approach rapidly, giving little time to make a decision. Pushing aside my near panic attack, I hit the gas and maneuver around the accident and into the clear right lane ahead. As I pass the blue Civic, I flip the driver the bird and scream at her even though I know she can’t hear me over Jeremy’s own personal concert.
My chest heaves in frustration and fear. Meanwhile, Jeremy’s gripping the “Oh Shit” handle that rests in the curve between the windshield and the passenger window. He looks over at me with wide, worried eyes. For the first time in a while, I remember how young he actually is. Not that I forget his age or anything, just that right now I see the boy that tries so hard to be the man he isn’t just yet. He’s the only family I have, and I’m the only thing he’s got that’s keeping him from foster care—or the Stone house, but that’s not an option.
“Were you even paying attention?” he gripes loudly enough that I can hear him, but just barely, over the music. Feeling my temper not just rise, but explode out of my chest and coat the entire car with its venom, I reach over and turn the volume dial down so quickly that it actually pops off—again—and half stare at my brother and half watch the road.
“Shut up!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Just shut your mouth! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” With every word, my voice gets impossibly louder and more frantic. I’ve worked myself into such a state that I nearly miss the Safeway parking lot and end up taking the turn a little fast. My little car jostles its way into the nearest spot, where I put her into park and, with a heaving chest, stare at my brother. He opens his mouth, but before he can say a single word, I yell, “I said shut up!”
“Okay,” he says. His eyes are wide in surprise, and he raises his hands to the side of his head. “Calm the fuck down. Shit. Just calm down. Are you on your period or something?”
I can feel my eye twitching at the question, and my hands tense around the steering wheel.
“No, I’m not, thank you very fucking much! But it is coming up soon, so keep that in mind next time you try to mouth off to me or so help me God I might have to choke you!” I scream in one long stream of words that overlap and mesh together. An older woman walks past the car with a disapproving look on her face. Catching her eye, I yell, “What the hell are you looking at?”
The woman hurries up, huffing, and crosses the parking lot at high speeds. Beside me, Jeremy whispers, “Holy shit.” He says nothing more as I try my best to regain my composure. I take several deep breaths, close my eyes, and focus on the sound of my frantically beating heart.
“Do you need Midol?” he asks oh so quietly from the passenger seat. My throat constricts in response, and my gut tightens with such ferocity that I worry I’m going to make myself sick. I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t get a single word out.
My phone chirps from the center console. Removing my hands from the steering wheel I look over and see that I have two missed calls and a new text message. The text message is from Chel. DUKE & DIESEL. FORSAKEN PKG LOT. HURRY.
The message makes little sense to me, but I don’t wait long enough to let it soak in. Throwing the car into reverse, I back up out of the space then throw her into drive and peel out of the lot. I drive faster than I should back down Main Street toward the clubhouse. Jeremy grabs my phone out of my hand and reads the text message.
“What does this mean?” he asks. I shrug and find myself unable to speak. The phone chirps again and Jeremy says, “Another text. It says HERE. NOW. from ‘Diesel’.” Swiping his finger across the screen, he brings the phone to his ear and nods his head then starts laughing. It’s the same laugh he had when I told him a few weeks back that his principal means business about not graduating on time if he doesn’t cut out the bullshit. It’s the same laugh he gives just before he does something really awful. It’s this deep, throaty laugh that tells me I’m in serious trouble and he’s going to enjoy every moment of it. I don’t even ask what the voice mail he listened to says. Just in case it’s something embarrassing, which I’m sure it is.
Pulling into the Forsaken lot at a crawl, I finally let it sink in what I raced over here for. Duke and Diesel. What in the hell could those two be doing that would require my presence immediately?
Realization dawns on me why I’m here, and a sudden panic washes over me. Brothers don’t fight over Lost Girls. They try to avoid fighting over women in general. Forsaken is one of those clubs that takes care of their own and that means all of their own—men, wives, whores, kids, and associates. Though it’s a long shot to even consider it, I really hope Diesel isn’t making a stink of the whole situation with Duke.
Rounding the corner of the shop, I find that the gates to the clubhouse parking lot are open. With the tightened security it’s kind of a rarity to be able to just pull up into the lot. A crowd has gathered near where the guys park their Harleys, and, the closer we get, the easier it is to hear the shouts.
“Shit,” I say. Jeremy leans forward in his seat. I blink at him, and realize only too late that I’d sworn never to bring him here. I don’t want Jeremy to see this life. It doesn’t matter what I do here because I can walk away at any time. But what Jeremy wants—the patch—that’s for life. There’s no walking away from that. Sure, guys will tell you that you can patch out and cover your club ink and leave at any time, but they lie. Once the club has you, and they know what your weakness is, they’ll exploit it to further their own agenda. The club couldn’t operate on such a tyrannical level if it weren’t for its enforcers—the actual members of the club—who blindly follow through with whatever fucked up shit they have to do in the name of the club and protecting what they consider theirs. Just ask Butch—my dad—what a member will do in the name of his club. And it’s exactly that blind loyalty that wound my dad up in San Quentin Maximum Security Prison that I don’t want Jeremy getting all gleamy eyed over. I’ve seen it before at his age—with Ryan and Duke. They glorified the club and the life, and they couldn’t talk about anything else but being patched and what it would mean. I remember them going on and on about pot, and pussy, and money. They talked about the kinds of Harleys they would have and what they would spend their money on, but they never talked about the death and the sorrow, and all that the club leaves in its wake. Nobody ever talks about that. They only talk about loyalty and family, but some family they are. You either end up dead or locked up. There’s a reason there’s so few older Forsaken, and there’s a reason the club basically finances the town’s divorce lawyer’s daughter’s college fund. These guys are only ever faithful to their patch. I can’t let that become my brother.
So when I pull in and park, I cut the engine and turn to face Jeremy. He almost looks like he just stepped into a strip club with the way he’s eyeing the bikes and all the leather cuts that huddle around in a circle. “Stay put,” I say.
He won’t listen, but I have to try.
Chapter 9
When I crawl out of the car, the voices get louder and more pronounced. First, it’s Diesel, saying, “Fuck you, man. You knew what you were doing.”
“You already fucked me when you fucked Nic,” Duke shouts. The crowd gets very quiet and backs up just slightly. I can’t hear mu
ch as I approach, just the shuffling of boots on concrete.
“One, you don’t know shit. Two, that bitch Dawn was riding your dick like she was performing at the fucking circus! You were out in the open, jackass!”
Halfway to the crowd, I stop. I don’t really want to be witness to this—but there’s not much I can do. If I didn’t want to be part of this, I probably should have thought that over before I broke speed limits to get here.
“Did you or did you not take my girl in a room last night? Duke asks, his voice harsh.
“You are so fucking stupid it’s embarrassing,” Diesel snaps back.
Sneaking out of the crowd, Chel strides over to me. Her bright red hair needs to be redone, and her makeup is a little frazzled. She’s wearing velour sweat pants and a tight baby doll tee shirt, but her make-up is in full force. Glittery silver eye shadow, pink lipstick, and heavy black eyeliner. Reaching out with her perfectly manicured nails, she grabs my hands and pulls me toward the crowd. “Finally,” she says. “Now go break it up.”
I stop dead in my tracks and give her a wide-eyed and weary look. Surely she’s joking about me getting in the middle of this. “Oh, hell no,” I say.
“They are fighting over you,” she says, “And since you were too damn slow to answer your phone the first time I called, this little tiff got out of control. So, break.it.up.”
I pull my hand away and shake my head. “Fuck that,” I say. Suddenly, I feel like such a dumbass for being here. I shouldn’t have reacted like I did—racing down the street and beelining it here like there’s no tomorrow. I should have just figured out what was going on. Had she told me they were having a pissing contest and had decided to drag me into it, I would have done my grocery shopping like I planned and let them sort this shit out on their own.
“No, seriously. Diesel made me text you to get here ASAP, and then he started talking some shit about Duke and disrespect, and then Chief jumped in and backed Diesel up. Duke doesn’t dare get in Chief’s face, so he got in Diesel’s instead. So please, go break it up.”