by Lena Pierce
***
I pace around the room, annoyed at myself for letting memories take me over. Probably Jackson stopped calling her, or he did something worse … I looked Janine up on Facebook a year ago out of curiosity and found an intelligent-looking, pretty woman with her arm around another intelligent-looking, pretty woman. I didn’t even know which one was Janine.
I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to convince myself to attempt sleep again but also too restless for it.
I jump to my feet when the door flies open.
And there he is, my big brother, sweating through his shirt. His lanky black hair is wet and all twisted together like seaweed. He steps into the room and kicks the door closed behind him. He wobbles a little. That, and the stink of alcohol that closes in around me, tells me that he’s been drinking.
“Always looked down on me,” he mutters, swaggering to the window and resting his hands either side of it, staring out. “Always thought you were better than me, didn’t you?”
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, inching close to the door. He didn’t lock the padlock. It hangs uselessly from the handle.
“If you touch that door,” he says, turning, “I will give you to my men.”
I freeze near the door, wondering if he’s serious. “I’m your sister,” I remind him. “Even you aren’t that evil.”
“Evil!” he breaks out, pacing across the room with a snort. He steps between me and the door and folds his arms, looming over me like a drunken weasel or rat. But even weasels and rats can be dangerous. “Is that what you think, you deluded little girl? That I’m evil? Because the way I see it, I did a damned good thing by picking up our old man’s responsibilities. Yeah, that’s right. You can make that cunty sneering face all you want!” He slams his fist into his hand and then grabs my wrist and drags me to the bed, pushing me down. He is stronger than he looks, all sinew.
I land with a judder that shakes me to my teeth. “You’re a joke!” I snap. “You’re not like Dad. Dad was strong. Dad was calm. Dad was levelheaded. I never saw Dad drunk, not once. Look at you … you can barely stand!”
He weaves from side to side. “The boss gets to drink as much as he wants, little girl. He also gets to fuck any club girl he wants, as many times as he wants. Does it bother you, little girl, thinking about your friend Sissy going from your store straight into my bed? Does it remind you of your little friend?” I keep silent and try to keep my face straight, but he sees it: the old pain made new. “I’m gentle with Sissy,” he whispers. “She’s a good girl and knows her duty. But Janine; she was a bitch. She didn’t know how to please a man. She acted the whore to begin with, oh yes, but when it got down to it …”
“She’s a lesbian,” I tell him, shocked that he’s bringing her up now when her memory has so recently captured me. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing!” he shouts. “Not really! Got that dog-bone chest out and rubbed against it some and … her face! Like I’d stabbed her or something!”
“You’re sick. I can’t believe you’re my brother.”
“Where would you be without me?” He points his finger down at my face. “I was all you had, and I did right by you. Even now, I’m doing right by you. Keeping you safe. Making sure nobody can hurt you. I saved you from the fire!”
“Dirk saved me,” I mutter.
“Following my orders!” He thumps himself in the chest. “I run this place! And you can say anything you damn well please about how I didn’t tuck you in or sing you fuckin’ lullabies, but you had a roof over your head and food in your belly. That was me, Meghan. Me.”
“What do you want me to say? Do you want me to fall to my knees and congratulate you? Do you want me to spend the rest of my life thanking you? So you gave me food and water and shelter. Okay, thank you, Jackson, thank you so much. Thank you for ignoring me and making me feel like dirt when you weren’t ignoring me. Thank you for making a mockery of Dad’s memory by acting like a spoiled teenager all your damn life. Thank you for taking advantage of my friend. Thank you so much!”
He falls to his knee and places his hand on my knees, locking his grip so that I can’t move. He looks straight into my eyes. Somewhere in there I see him: the boy he once was, the boy who laughed and played before Dad died. But he’s buried very, very deep, so deep that I don’t think I’ll ever really see him again. In a moment the boy passes and only Jackson remains.
“You’re hurting me,” I tell him, trying to wriggle away.
“You’re ungrateful,” he says, voice oddly calm now. “That’s what you are. You can dress it up however you want, Meghan, but the truth is that you’re an ungrateful, spiteful little cunt and you always have been. Even when you were a little kid you were a spiteful little fucking slut. You try and act high and mighty but I remember the time I came home and found you with those two guys. Try and act high and mighty then!”
I wriggle down the bed and stand up, shaking my head in disbelief. “We were working on a science project,” I tell him for the thousandth time.
“A science project!” He laughs madly, following me across the room. He flexes his hand; my knee throbs where he grabbed it. “You must think I’m a real idiot to believe a thing like that. I know what you were doing.”
“Just go away.” I fold my arms, try and stare him down. I used to be able to shame him into leaving me alone.
But he doesn’t look ashamed. He laughs again, this time louder. Then he goes deadly serious. “Pathetic,” he says. “Fucking pathetic. You’re not special, Meghan, because you have some lame little store and talk to the bikers like you’re their friend. The only reason they talk to you is because they want to fuck you. That’s the truth of it, and you know; deep down you know it. Why do you think they’d go all the way down there when there’s a supermarket just down the street, open twenty-four hours? They want to fuck you, you pathetic little girl.”
“Maybe some of them do,” I allow, keeping my voice calm. “But that doesn’t explain why the place is full every night, and not just with bikers.”
He makes a sniffing sound like I ruined his insult, and then, without warning, darts across the room and shoves me up against the wall. He pins me to the wall with one hand clamped around my neck. He raises the other in a fist, aiming it at my face, tears clinging to his eyes: mad, drunken, violent tears.
“You never said thank you,” he growls. “Not once. You never fuckin’ said it. How hard would it have been, Meghan? How hard could it possibly be to let your brother know that you’re grateful for all he does?”
“But I wasn’t grateful,” I wheeze, throat straining under the pressure of his hand. “I was never grateful.”
“You little—”
He throws his fist at my face.
Chapter Seventeen
Meghan
Just as his fist is about to crash into my nose—and I can do nothing but squirm and wheeze in his grip—Jackson is yanked away. I don’t see who yanks him away at first, only know that he’s gone by the pressure suddenly releasing on my neck. I collapse to the ground and then quickly pick myself up to find Dirk with his arm wrapped around Jackson’s neck, dragging him toward the door.
“Who is that?” Jackson snaps. “Who fuckin’ dares?”
“It’s me, sir,” Dirk says evenly. “If I let you go, are you going to do anything stupid?”
“Let me go!” Jackson snarls. “Right fuckin’ now!”
Dirk turns so that Jackson is on one side of the room and he and I are on the other. Then he lets him go and takes a step, standing in front of me. I can’t see his face but his breathing is slow and steady. His hands are open, not clenched into fists like Jackson’s. “I won’t let you hurt her, sir.”
“Let me …” Jackson turns in a circle, addressing an imaginary crowd: “Let me. Fucking let me! If I wanted to, I could have her trussed up like goddamn cattle, bent over a table with my men taking turns on the ungrateful slut!”
“She’s your sister, sir.”
“I don’t give a damn!” He charges straight at Dirk with the speed of a would-be killer. He throws an overhanded fist at Dirk, but Dirk dodges it almost casually and once again wraps his arms around Jackson’s neck, holding him still. “Get off me!” Jackson snaps. “Stop grabbing me!” He sounds ten. Younger.
“I’m taking Meghan out of here, sir,” Dirk explains calmly. “I don’t want you raising your troops, so either you decide to stay here or I’ll have to incapacitate you in some way.”
Jackson throws his body back, shoving Dirk in the belly. He slides weasel-like from Dirk’s grip and turns on him, fists raised. “Come on, then! Try and use that fancy army shit on me now!”
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Dirk says. “Just let us leave.”
“Where are you taking her?” Jackson pants. “Why?”
He glances at me briefly. His expression is difficult to read, but it’s different than it has been since he swaggered into my store. It’s not love—no, it can’t be—but there’s something there. It’s like a fiery sort of tenderness, or a protective urge. Or something like that; something I’m not used to seeing. Something that means he’s looking out for me even if neither of us really knows why.
“I don’t see that I have to explain that to you, sir,” Dirk says. “It’s just what’s happening.”
“You’re a goddamn fool if you think she’s worth it,” Jackson retorts. “She won’t give you what you want. Jesus, Dirk, don’t you have enough club girls? You’re a lady’s man!”
“I’ve never been with a single club girl,” Dirk says.
Jackson flinches. “So fuckin’ what? Then today’s the day to start! I’ll give you ten girls, ten, all to yourself, and your bonus plus double. That’s what I’m willing to pay!”
“I have money, sir.”
“What the hell has gotten into you?” Jackson snaps desperately. Then his eyes narrow and he looks at me. “Oh.” He nods as though the world finally makes sense. “She’s cast a little spell on you with that hole between her legs, has she?”
“Are you stepping aside,” Dirk says, “or are you gonna get in my way?”
“I’m not just letting you take her.” The tendons in his neck strain.
The shout would’ve been loud, but Dirk is across the room in a flash. He closes his throat with his fist and then jabs him three, four times in the belly. Jackson hunches over—straight into Dirk’s knee, which comes flying up at a dangerous speed. Jackson’s nose bursts and blood gushes onto the floor. Dirk drags him to the bed and throws him onto the floor, and then, to my disbelief, kicks and punches him until Jackson crawls under the bed. When he’s under the bed Dirk jumps across the room, grabs the desk—knocking over the microwave and a notepad—and props it against the bed, blocking Jackson in. He screams and shouts, but the blood and the desk muffle him.
Then Dirk grabs me by the hand and drags me to the door. “Be quiet,” he says out of the side of his mouth. “And do exactly what I fuckin’ say.”
I swallow. “It’s not like I have a choice, is it?”
He glances at me again, and now all the softness is gone. Now he’s the same Dirk who swaggered into my store. “Just be quiet,” he whispers. “I’m getting us out of here, all right? Don’t argue.”
“I’m not arguing. Hurry up!”
He opens the door and peers down the hallway. When he sees that it’s clear he drags me after him, toward the door, and then presses us flat against the wall when the door opens. It opens onto us, trapping us behind it. A man walks in, whistling to himself. He has huge arms and a reddish-gray beard, and a mean look about him.
“Sissy?” he whispers, making my blood turn cold. “Where are you, little Sissy? Sissy?”
“Is that Rider?” I say, my voice barely the ghost of a voice.
He squeezes my arm.
“Is it?” I persist.
“Yes,” he replies, even quieter than me.
Rider hit me a few days ago. He didn’t do it hard. It didn’t leave a bruise or anything.
I don’t think. I step out from behind the door and punch him as hard as I can in the side of the belly, throwing my whole body into it. My body strains under the effort of the blow, my muscles aching, but Rider just grunts like a cushion struck him. He turns on me, hand going for his hip—for his gun—and then Dirk springs forward and leaps on the man’s back, crushing his throat in a sleeper hold. Rider shoves Dirk into the wall, stampeding like an elephant, but Dirk’s arms are carved from metal. Eventually Rider stumbles to the floor, eyes falling heavily.
“Don’t do that again,” Dirk says, grabbing my wrist and dragging me violently outside.
He jumps onto his bike and nods for me to do the same.
I hesitate, looking back at the clubhouse.
“The fuck are you doing?” he snarls, staring the engine.
“My friend—”
“Makes her own decisions,” Dirk interrupts. “We’re not waiting around for her.”
“Promise me we’ll help her.” I fold my arms and stare him down. “I’m sick and tired of being dragged everywhere, of being told what to do. Jackson’s going to be pissed when he sobers up, really, really pissed. Who do you think he’ll take it out on? Us? No—so I’m not going anywhere until you promise me we’ll help Sissy.”
Dirk moves his head from side to side, rolling it, and then lets out a shaky breath that is indistinguishable from the growl of the engine. “I ought to just leave you,” he says.
“But you won’t,” I reply, suddenly confident. “You can play it cold all you want, Dirk, but I know the truth. You saved me instead of following Jackson’s orders. You won’t leave me after that.”
“We’ll help her if we can. Now get the fuck on the bike before I drag you on.”
Behind us, the door to the clubhouse flies open and two men come running out, hands on their hips. I leap onto the bike and clutch onto Dirk. He speeds away, skids around a corner, and then surges down the road, ducking between traffic with a skill I can barely appreciate, since we’re moving so fast. Once we’ve been driving like this for a few minutes he slows down and glances behind him, and then speeds up again and drives like a madman for another five minutes. There’s nothing much I can do except hold onto him and pray that I don’t get thrown to the concrete.
Eventually, he pulls into the parking lot of another rundown motel, coasts to a room at the end just like last time, and then climbs from the bike and opens the door. He stands at the threshold, nods inside. “Come on,” he says. “Don’t make me wait all day.”
“The ground feels funny,” I tell him, holding my arms out to my sides. “I feel like a sailor.”
He smiles, laughs. And then kills the laugh as though annoyed at himself for being so casual. “Come on.”
I walk into the motel room and go to the edge of yet another bed. It seems like my life has been reduced to walking to the edges of beds, sitting down, and waiting for something to happen. But at least I got Rider, I console myself. I may not have done much damage but I got him nonetheless.
Dirk closes the door behind him and walks into the room, standing over me with his thumbs tucked into his waistband. He looks scary and yet I am not scared. His sighs, rubs his goatee, and then nods at the bed. “Stay here,” he says, “or I’ll tie you to the bed.”
“Where would I go?” I mutter. “I don’t even know where we are, you were driving so fast.”
“I had to drive fast,” he counters. “Otherwise we’d be dead.”
“Fair enough. Where are you going?”
“What’s that to you?” he says, snappish. He makes for the door. “Just stay here. That’s my advice, anyway, but you’re a free woman and I can’t force you to do shit. Just know that if you leave I can’t protect you.”
Before he says anything else he leaves the room, closing me into semi-darkness. I go to the curtain and pull it open, letting in the light, and watch him climb onto his bike and ride out of the parking lot. Then I close the curtain, r
emembering the way those men charged at us with guns, and lock and double-lock the door. I return to the bed and bring my knees to my chest, rest my chin on top of them, and try not to think.
I try not to think about Sissy back there alone and what Jackson will do to her when he climbs out from under the bed. I try not to think about Rider and the anger he’ll direct toward her. I try not to think about Dirk and the way my body tingled when he threatened to tie me to the bed.
I fail, I fail, I fail.
Chapter Eighteen
Dirk
I ride quietly around the roads surrounding the motel, checking all the alleyways and the hidden places with my army senses turned up to the max. I feel like I’m overseas again as I climb off my bike and search the inaccessible alleyways, like any second somebody could spring up with a gun in their hand. I should’ve made friends in the club. I’m pissed at myself for being so detached. A lone wolf is all well and good until the cold rises and he’s left outside, alone, to freeze to death. But no, that won’t happen to us …