by M. Never
But that’s bullshit. None of us are immune to emotion. Not even me.
I tried to turn it all off. Put up a wall, and strut around like I don’t need a goddamn person to survive. What bullshit that turned out to be, because here I am wallowing in my own self-inflicted misery. Karma taking a fucking sledgehammer to my head and that shitty wall.
My heart has shriveled up in my chest, and it seems no amount of booze is going to kill off the pain.
“Maybe we should call it a night, seeing as the sun’s up?” Popeye tries to persuade me to give up my bottle.
“I decide when I call it a fucking night, ol’ timer. Back off, or I’ll put that knife through your fuckin’ hand.”
The knife I’m referring to is the one my father stuck in the bar top ten years ago, no one is supposed to touch it. It’s a reminder of what happens when you cross the Club, and most importantly, its president.
“Easy there, Slash. I’m just looking out for my boy.”
“I’m not your fuckin’ boy. I belong to a fuckin’ man traipsing all around the world with his expensive pussy. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of us anymore.” I tighten my fists till my knuckles are white. “You should have seen him eating at some fancy French restaurant dressed in a suit that probably costs more than my bike.” Cop out, deserter, cocksucker. We really are related and have way too much in common when it comes to bouncing on the people we supposedly care about.
“You saw him?” Popeye inquires.
“FaceTimed him. Yesterday.” The thought of that conversation kills me. For the first time in three years, I was able to speak to my father, and for half a second, life was good. It was almost perfect. And then BAM! T-K-O.
I never saw it coming, but oh, man, did I feel it. I still feel it. And I have a feeling I’m going to feel it for a long-ass time.
Love is torture. A death sentence, and I’ve been convicted.
“How about I take you home, Slash?” Harley seductively slides her hand across the bar and rests it on mine. Her thumb ticks back and forth over my clammy skin as she gazes at me with come-fuck-me eyes.
Even in my drunken state, the touch feels wrong. It’s hard and heavy compared to the light, loving, dusting of my Snow’s. With blurry vision I inspect our adjoined hands. The contact makes my stomach twist into sickening knots. It feels criminal. Misguided, like a betrayal.
“I’ll take you home and make you forget all your problems,” she promises, leaning over the bar, her tits pouring out of her shirt and practically into my mouth. The busty brunette is hard to pass up, she’s a vixen blessed with wicked ways. I know because her lips have been wrapped around my cock more times than I can recall, and if I was another man from another time, I would take her up on her offer, lickity split. But I’m not another man. I’m Kira’s man. Kira’s possession. I belong to her, mind, body, and soul, whether I want to or not. She has possessed me in ways I can’t explain, and as easy as it would be to leave with Harley right now and forget all my problems in her warm pussy, my loyalty would never allow it.
No matter how I desperately need the distraction.
Sadly for me, the come-on isn’t even a turn-on, I’m limper than a dead fish in the seafood section of the supermarket. Nope, only one fucking woman can command this body, and I have done a spectacular job of amputating that relationship.
“I think you should take Harley up on her offer,” Popeye encourages. He and everyone else knows what she’s willingly serving up to me on a silver platter. A hell of a good fuck. No strings attached.
But I can’t even entertain the idea. I reject the notion. Kira has ruined me. Fucking destroyed me.
The recollection of her sweet surrender has me aching. “Fuck, I’m yours…I’m all fucking yours.” I steal a large swig of bourbon straight from the bottle, eager to numb my mind and kill off the memories invading it like the enemy. They haven’t given me a moment’s peace since I left her. They’re my demons dragging me into hell, and the only way to atone is to crawl back on my hands and knees and offer Kira something so rare it’s only witnessed during a full, blood red moon.
My remorse. My regret. My repentance. My admittance that I was wrong.
“Thanks for the offer, but there’s someplace else I have to be.” I push the bottle in her direction and stand. Swaying slightly on my feet, Hawk is in my face before I take two steps toward the front door. “Hold it.”
“Get the fuck out of my way, Hawkeye.” I command. That’s right, not order, not instruct. Fucking command.
“You aren’t going anywhere. You’ve been drinking all night.”
“I’ll take a fucking cab.” I push him.
“Slash,” he slams his hand on my chest and cocks his head. “How the fuck do you know you can trust her, man?”
“Because I fucking do.” And that’s enough.
“Don’t let some high-price pussy cloud your judgment.” He lowers his voice and achieves pissing me off in a new-record time.
“She isn’t just some high-priced pussy,” I wrap my hand around his wrist and squeeze. “She’s the most important person in my life, and I fucked up because of you.” Hawk’s expression morphs into surprise. He wasn’t expecting my blame, and was surely thinking what everyone else in this room was thinking. That I was just getting laid. Using Kira to get my rocks off, and maybe that was the original plan. But things changed. Everything changed. I changed. “Now get the fuck out of my way before I knock you into next week.”
We are tangled up in a face off when there’s a bang at the front door.
“Answer it.” I nod at Vet. Who the fuck would be rollin’ up in here this early in the morning?
I can’t see whom Vet’s talking to, but he shuts the front door holding a Tiffany-blue box. “He says it’s for you.” Vet places the box down on the bar top in front of me.
“Who said?” I ask, confused.
“The kid outside. Said he has a delivery for Slash.”
“And that was it?” A girlie, blue box.
Vet nods awkwardly. He isn’t the best with people. Relates better to animals than humans, hence the nickname.
“Is it tickin’?” Popeye pokes the box with his walking stick.
“Not as far as I can tell.” I pick it up and shake it. It’s light as a feather.
“What’s the card say?” Breaker asks over my shoulder. Everyone has now crowded around me and my new mysterious box.
I take the white envelope and slide the card out. It’s white with black writing. It reads:
SLASHES ARE SO PRETTY in the Snow.
SOMETHING about the message gives me the chills. I rip open the box to find something puzzling inside. Locks of blonde hair tied with white ribbon. There must be a dozen pieces of them.
“What in the fuck?” Breaker expresses.
Just as I lift one piece up, my phone rings. My heart jolts, and I rush to answer it.
“Ky,” Kira cries my name in a bloodcurdling way.
My entire body turns cold as ice as the puzzle pieces snap together rapidly.
“Kira? Where the fuck are you?”
She’s so hysterical I can barely make out a word she’s saying, but home and hair come through loud and clear.
“Kira, calm dawn, I’m coming. Lock yourself in the bathroom and don’t let anyone but me in. Understand?”
There’s nothing but sniveling on the other end of the line. “Kira, say you understand,” I press.
“Yes,” she shrieks.
“Gimme me a gun,” I order Popeye. We keep a few Glocks behind the bar. “Give them one, too.” I nod back to Hawk, Breaker, and Vet.
“Prez?” Vet voices.
“We’re going to Kira’s. Shoot to fucking kill.”
Popeye pops out 9mms onto the bar like it’s a fuckin’ gun range.
“Roll out.” I stick one in the waistband of my jeans as I head for the door.
“Popeye, don’t let a fuckin’ soul into this place until I get back.”
“
Done,” he complies.
Outside, the morning sun is bright and warm. It heats my icy veins as the gang of us tear down the highway toward Kira’s house. All I keep hearing is her panicked voice and the way she called my name. Nothing has ever sobered me up faster in my life.
I was a fucking moron to leave.
I left her defenseless.
I left her unprotected.
I left her, plain and simple, and it was the stupidest decision I have ever made.
We pull up to Kira’s in record time.
Jumping off the bike, I punch in the code to the front door and barrel inside.
“Spread out. Shake it down,” I order the others.
Hawk, Vet, and Breaker all go their separate ways as I pull the gun from my pants and creep upstairs.
The house is as silent as a morgue. Making my way down the hallway, I come to Kira’s door. Pushing it open slightly, I inspect the room.
Nothing’s out of place. No one is here.
“Clear,” I hear Hawk yell from the first floor.
Sigh of relief.
“Kira,” I rush inside her room and bang on the door. “Kira, it’s me. Let me in.”
Nothing. I wait. “Kira. Open this fucking door, or I’m going to break it down.” I bang harder. A mix of fear and panic asphyxiating me.
The lock finally clicks, and I hurry inside. I find Kira in a ball in the corner, shaking and crying and . . . her fuckin’ hair.
“Kira.” I fall to my knees and gather her into my arms. She’s limp and lifeless and terrified. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” I hug her tightly, thanking Jesus she isn’t hurt. Well, physically anyway.
She sobs in my arms, and all I can do is hold her until she lets it all out. She clings to me like I’m life. Like I’m air. Like I’m the sea she uses to escape.
When she finally settles, she looks up at me with red, puffy, fragmented eyes.
It destroys me.
I did this. My pride allowed this to happen.
“I’m so sorry, Snow.” I kiss her head.
“Someone was here. They cut my hair.”
Jesus, she’s been reduced to a scared child. I’m falling to pieces inside.
“I know. I’m getting you out of here.” I haul us both up to our feet. I walk Kira out of the bathroom and head for her closet. I grab a book bag off the floor and hand it to her. “Pack it, and let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” She holds the pink backpack warily in her hands.
“Outta here. You’ll stay with me until we can figure out whoever this psycho is.” I finally take a good look at her. A real look at her. This motherfucker really did a hack job on her hair. It’s nearly all gone, the ends choppy and all uneven. “Change. C’mon, hurry up.” I grab her toothbrush and comb out of the bathroom and throw them in the bag.
Kira puts on a pair of three-quarter-length jeans, and leaves on the flowy white tank top she’s wearing. She throws a few more items into the bag, and then we’re out.
When Kira notices her reflection in the mirror hanging in the hallway, she stops dead in her tracks. She inspects herself, touching her hair like it’s a foreign object.
She looks over at me and the tears start to well again.
“It’s okay; we’ll fix it.” I take her face in my hands. “You’re still beautiful, and still my Snow.”
Kira doesn’t humor me with a response. I’m sure there are a cyclone of emotions spinning inside her right now, many I’m responsible for.
I lead Kira downstairs where Hawk, Vet, and Breaker are waiting.
She tugs her hand out of mine when she sees Hawk. They are going to have to learn to play nice later, ’cause we are getting the hell out of here.
“Ignore him,” I tell her. “The only person you need to be concerned with is me. No one else matters,” I speak softly, wanting to keep her calm.
Kira gazes at the three men staring back at her. They’re all similar to me. Rough, rugged, edgy, and fearless.
But the way they look doesn't seem to bother her. It’s the way she looks that does. When she puts her hand on her head and hides behind me, I die. I drop dead of heartbreak right on the spot. Kira has never shown insecurity. Never shown weakness. Not once, even during our worst times. Our nastiest fights. She has always stood tall and proud and confident. But this? This is tearing her down.
“Hey.” I put my arm around her.
“I need to fix this fast.” Her voice is so tiny.
“Then I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“I don’t know where to go. I can’t walk in to my regular salon like this. It will get back to my mom immediately.”
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“Um, Prez?” Vet clears his throat. “If you need some place to take her, Petie’s ol’ lady owns a salon in West Hollywood. I’m sure she’d fix her up.”
I look down at Kira. “Whatya think?”
“What other choice do I have?” She’s at a total loss.
“All right, call Petie. Tell him to let his ol’ lady know we’re on our way and text me the address.
“Dahlia. His ol’ lady’s name is Dahlia. She’s real nice,” Vet addresses Kira.
“Thanks.” Kira clings to me.
“All right, let’s go.” Just as I take my first step toward the door, the alarm trips.
“Sonofabitch.” Kira skyrockets through the ceiling.
“Fucking Christ.” I punch the code in, then slam my fist into the keypad, cracking the touch screen. “I’ve had just about enough of this goddamn thing.”
“That’s one way to fix it,” Hawk grunts.
“Well, someone needed to do something.” I drag Kira out the door with Vet, Hawk, and Breaker behind us.
Handing Kira my helmet, I give my guys instructions. “Head back to The Lion’s Den. Check on Popeye. I’ll be back later to sort this shit out.” I throw Kira’s backpack to Vet. “Drop it at my place.”
They all give me the thumbs-up, and we drive off to our different destinations.
Kira rests her head on my back the whole ride. It’s like I can feel her despair seeping out through her cheek.
All I keep thinking about is how I want to hold her, hug her tight, and promise that I’ll never leave her again. Promise that she’ll always be safe. That she’ll always have me.
Promise that I’ll never break another promise again.
That’s what I really want to tell her. What I really want to confess. I failed her. I failed us, and we were only just beginning.
I have a lot to work on. Pledging your loyalty and actually sticking by your word are two very different things.
I like to think I’m loyal. I try my hardest to be, but I seem to fail miserably when it comes to the people closest to me.
I rest my hand on Kira’s as we pull into the strip mall parking lot where Dahlia's is located.
The neon sign reads “Rockin’ Redners.”
Kira slides off the bike and takes in the outside of the establishment. It isn’t terrible, in my opinion. A little flashy, but definitely not a dump.
“Better than I thought it was going to be.” I reach for her hand.
Kira shrugs. “I wish I had a hat.”
“You can leave the helmet on.”
She shakes her head. “Let’s just get this over with.” Her tone is shaky but sounds like it’s getting stronger. Maybe the shock is starting to wear off.
We walk into the salon hand in hand to find it’s completely empty. A tall, curvaceous woman with long, jet-black hair and blue streaks immediately greets us.
“Hi.” She smiles brightly, taking an inconspicuous notice of Kira’s hair. “I’m Dahlia. Welcome.”
“I’m Ky. This is Kira. Thanks for taking us on such short notice.” Now that I see Dahlia’s face, I recognize her. She doesn’t come around the bar much, but Petie has taken her on some club rides.
“Well, when Petie tells me his Prez needs my help, I help.” She grins warmly at Kira. “Let’s get you
in a chair.” She reaches her hand out.
I hold my breath and pray that Kira takes it.
17
Kira
I STILL SORT OF FEEL LIKE I’m in a fog.
I stare down at the proffered hand in front of me, wanting to take it, but for some reason am hesitant.
“Go on, Snow,” Ky encourages me.
I don’t have much of a choice, so I place my hand and some faith in Dahlia’s palm and let her lead me through the salon.
As she washes my short, chopped hair, I want to crawl into a hole and die.
This is humiliating.
I’m still trying to process the shock. Process the image I saw in the mirror when I realized what had happened. That someone had been in my house. In my room. That they violated my privacy and took away a part of me. All while I slept in my own bed. I begin to shake as I replay the memory, falling back into that black place when I felt alone and scared.
“You cold, sweetheart? I can make the water warmer.”
“I’m fine,” I force out, at the same time fighting back tears.
Dahlia peers down at me with warm, dark eyes. She seems very sincere. She knows something went down and is trying her best to temper a bad situation.
“Okay, all done.” She helps me sit up with a towel around my head. Not sure what I need it for. Most of my hair is gone.
Once I’m in her chair, she towel-dries my wet head. “Where is everyone?” There are eight other stylist stations in the place, yet there’s not another soul besides us. Me, her, and Ky.
“Sent them on a break. Figured a little alone time was in order.” She winks at me through the ornate mirror.
“Good call,” Ky adds as he sits in the waiting area flipping mindlessly through a magazine.
“Okay, let’s see.” Dahlia combs my hair, piecing it apart to inspect the damage. As I watch her move my short stands this way and that, a chunk of emotion erupts from nowhere.
“I’m sorry.” I cover my face and hide the tears.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t cry. We’ll fix it.” She places two consoling hands on my shoulders.
“I don’t care about my hair.” It’s not a total lie. I hate the way it looks and that all my beautiful length is gone. It’s more the fact that it happened at all. That my heart is broken, and the man who abandoned me yesterday was so quick to come to my rescue today. I’m confused. I’m a mess. I’m tired, and I feel so ugly. Ugly inside and out.