by Dixon, Ruby
Mike gets up from the table. “Maybe we should see if he wants something. Give him a candy bar or some shit.”
I roll my eyes at Mike, because he’s always such a fucking do-gooder, and share a smirk with Bernie. “Do what you want. I’m gonna fucking play cards.” I tell Mike, and peek at his cards. Three aces. Fuck. That ass needs to fold. I nod at Bernie. “Just deal already.”
Bernie slaps a card down in front of me, and in front of Mike’s empty seat, then gives himself the final card. I look at the card in my hand. Joker. Well, well.
The camp’s really fucking silent. A pause seems to go on forever, hanging in the air. I wipe sweat off my brow, because it’s a jillion fucking degrees here.
“Holy shit,” Mike breathes.
I look over. He’s got his hands covering his mouth and stares at the kid.
The little boy’s got such sad brown eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it. He holds his grubby jacket open, and as he does, I see wires and clay strapped to his chest.
A bomb. Someone’s wired the kid and sent him to camp.
Everything explodes. The world turns into fire and screams.
I press a hand to my forehead, willing the visions to go away. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep well again.
• • •
The next morning, I offer to drive Shy around town so she can put in a few job applications. She wants to work because she hates sitting around the house, but it’s our fault she lost her job at the Taco Shack. Not that it was a fucking amazing job anyhow - she was making minimum wage there. But she wants another job so she can contribute, so I drive her from store to store so she can pick up a few applications. She’s probably not going to get any of these jobs if they remember she arrived on the back of a Harley, but fuck it, if it makes her happy, it makes me happy.
We pass by a pawn shop and it gets me to thinking. I turn my bike around at the next street, do a U-turn, and then head in the opposite direction of home.
Shy notices, too. Her arms give a little questioning squeeze to my stomach.
I turn my head sideways. “Gonna stop somewhere and get a snack if that’s all right.”
“Sounds good,” she says. I can’t see her face because the helmet blocks it, but I imagine it’s all soft trusting eyes and a smile.
Which just makes me feel like even more shit. Like I’m worthy of her smiles.
We pull off at a mom and pop donut shop that’s in a seedy part of town. Shy giggles at the sight of it, a sweet sound. “Donuts? At noon?”
I’m barely paying attention, though. My gaze is on the pawn shop across the street. There are bars on the windows and no cars parked in front. It looks unassuming. Inconspicuous. All sorts of things hide their true colors under a bland front, though. “See if they have some breakfast burritos left,” I tell her with a kiss to her head as I hand her my wallet. “And a few bear claws. And some milk.”
“Anything else?” She asks in a sassy voice as she slides off the back of the Harley and undoes the strap under her chin.
“Something with chocolate,” I tell her. Then I swat her ass as she saunters to the curb. “I’ll be there in a few.”
She gives me a thumbs up and heads into the tiny store, and I see the flash of her property patch disappear inside before I get off my bike. I remove my colors - even though it fucking kills me - because I’m going incognito. The moment Bernie - if it is him - sees Butcher patches, he’ll shut down. And I want to talk to him.
So I wait until Shy is inside at the counter, and then I cross the street to the pawn shop. A bell on the door rings as I enter, but no one comes out just yet. The store’s empty, and it’s a tiny hole in the wall sort of place. There’s old guitars on the walls, some rims, a bunch of TVs along a wall, and glass cases in front. I peer into the first case to make it seem like I’m shopping. Gold jewelry and grenades. Welp. That’s…random. There’s a gold necklace with a glittery S on it, and I decide to buy it for Shy. Maybe that’ll coax a smile out of her, since she’s been looking a bit sad lately.
“Muscle?” A familiar voice asks, and ice goes down my throat. I recognize that raspy sonofabitch’s drawl, even though it’s been at least three years.
I look up from the glass case and pretend surprise at the sight of Bernie. “Holy shit, my man,” I say, raising a hand so he can high five it and clasp it in greeting. “How are ya?”
He slaps my hand and gives me a bro-hug. “Fucking hell. I’m fine! Had no idea you were in town. I thought you went to Texas after you got out.”
I had, for all of a hot month before I couldn’t take it any longer. I’d retreated to New Mexico, and Duke City. Here, I’d hooked up with the Bedlam Butchers, met my buddy Beast, and the rest was history. Texas was just a bad memory. Had a lot of those.
Bernie looks good. Well, relatively speaking. He was always a wiry guy, and he’s thinner than he was before. Tanned. His hair’s dirty and he’s got a scruffy beard, and is wearing a shirt with oil stains on it. He’s got a rag in his back pocket, too, that makes me wonder what he was doing before he headed out.
I nod at him. “Texas didn’t suit me. Headed west. Met up with some friends. Didn’t know you were here.”
He grins, showing the gap in his teeth I’d forgotten. “Family said business was good here, so here I am.”
That makes me go cold. “Business?” I feign interest in the grubby pawn shop. “This yours?”
“Partly,” he says, then breaks out in another grin and slaps my shoulder. “You talk to any of the boys still?”
“From the platoon? Nah.” I try to stay casual about it. Don’t want him to know that every time I see anything military, it triggers all kinds of fucked up shit in my head.
Why’s there a kid in camp?
It’s just a fucking kid. Who the fuck cares. Deal the fucking cards already.
Maybe we should see if he wants something. Give him a candy bar or some shit.
Do what you want. I’m gonna fucking play cards. Just deal already.
A pause.
Holy shit.
Sad brown eyes.
Explosions. Screams.
I blink repeatedly. Present. Need to stay in the present.
He slaps my arm and then goes back behind the counter. “I don’t keep in touch either,” he says. “Bad memories.”
No shit.
“Glad I got out when I did,” he says, putting a cigarette between his lips and then lighting it. “You want a smoke?”
“I quit,” I tell him and lean on the glass cabinets. “Quit as soon as I got out.” Fucking hate the smell of ash now. Reminds me of too many other things. “Gym’s my drug of choice now.”
“You look pumped,” he says, then nods at the counter. “See something you like there? I’ll give ya a military discount for old friends.”
“Necklace there,” I say, pointing at the glass. “The one with the S on it.”
He gives me a contemplative look. “It’s a chick necklace.”
“It’s for a chick.”
“You got a lady?” He chuckles. “Holy shit. Never thought I’d see you settle down. Didn’t you like tag teaming ‘em?”
Still do, actually. I force a friendly grin to my face, hiding the turmoil inside. Kayfabe, Muscle. Kayfabe. “I have a girl,” I tell him. “Not really settled down. I’m not the type. What about you?”
If he says he’s got a family and little kids at home, I’ll be fucking sick to my stomach right here. Right now.
Holy shit.
Sad brown eyes.
Explosions. Screams.
“Me? Naaaaah,” Bernie says, and takes another drag on his cigarette. “Got other things on my mind other than women. Just trying to make a few bucks right now. Keep my head above water.”
I nod. I take the necklace and examine it as he hands it to me. The relief in my gut is palpable, but I’m still smiling like a fucking idiot. “How much for the necklace?”
Bernie gestures. “On the house for an old friend.”
Goddamn it, why’s he being so fucking nice. I go to pull out my wallet, then wince. Shy’s got it, probably buying up half the donut shop for me. “You don’t have to do that, man.”
“Sure I do,” he says, just looking smiling and so fucking happy to see an old war buddy. “Just promise to bring your girl around sometime. We’ve got a lot of jewelry. Might see more she likes. And we can knock back a beer or two. Catch up on shit.”
I nod and take the necklace, pocketing it. We say some more shit, but there’s a ringing in my ears. I’m on autopilot, total kayfabe. We joke for a few moments more, then I make an excuse about getting back to work. We part and I head out of the store and cross the street. By the time I make it back to my bike, I’m in a haze. I lean over and puke my guts up next to the back wheel.
Why’s there a kid in camp?
It’s just a fucking kid. Who the fuck cares.
Explosions. Screams.
It’s there that Shy finds me.
• • •
SHY
“I’m worried about Muscle,” I tell Beast at the gym the next day as I hold the heavy bag for him. He lifts his leg in a roundhouse kick and I automatically duck. Not that he’d ever hit me, but I’m still a little skittish about that sort of thing.
He straightens and puts his gloved hands on the bag, moving forward to talk to me. “What is it?”
I glance in the ring. Muscle’s there, banging his gloves together like a boxer and bouncing from foot to foot, likely to taunt the prospect he’s matched up with. The guy’s built, but Muscle’s a terrific fighter, so I have no doubts he’ll win. And maybe talking to Beast while Muscle’s in the ring isn’t the best time, but this is the first moment I’ve had with him alone since yesterday.
I lick my lips. It feels disloyal to tell on one of my partners to the other, and I remember that Stuart - my awful brother - snitched and got killed for it. My stomach curdles at the memory. Am I snitching? “He—he threw up yesterday,” I say. That seems safe enough.
Beast looks thoughtful. “Sick?”
“I don’t know. I guess we should watch him? If he was sick would he hide it?”
Beast’s mouth curves up in a half smile. “Depends on what it’d do for his image.”
I grin at that. Muscle does love to play up his image. My fingers go to the necklace he gave me last night. It’s pretty, but it puzzles me. The ’S’ threw me for a loop at first, because my real name is Cheyenne and not ‘Shy’, but I didn’t correct Muscle. The thought behind the gift was too sweet, and I was so very pleased.
But I’ve noticed that now that I’m wearing it, he doesn’t like looking at it. Or me. Maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe not. I toy with it a bit longer, then give Beast a troubled glance. “Do you think he’s upset at me?”
Beast gives me an incredulous look. “Why would he be upset?”
I shrug, but I can’t help but wonder. I tried to kiss him this morning and he brushed me off. Now we’re at the gym and he won’t even look in my direction. Or when he does, his smile fades.
It’s either my face or the necklace. I really hope it’s the necklace.
“I think I’m just being silly,” I say, and force a smile for Beast. I gesture at the bag. “You want to go again?”
He studies me with those dark eyes, then shrugs, shoves his sweaty hair back, and gives the bag another bone-rattling punch as I cling to it.
I don’t work out, mostly because the gym is for Butchers. Which isn’t to say that there aren’t girls hanging around, of course. There are always girls hanging around these men. Lucky’s in the corner, typing away at her computer, and her desk faces her ride partner’s. She’s always here, every time I come in. I think the gym serves as a base of operations of some kind, because a lot of people come in that aren’t in workout clothes.
When the guys finally decide to hit the showers an hour or so later, Beast gives me a sweaty kiss and then I head over to one of the chairs near the door to wait. If this visit is anything like the other ones, they’ll linger to chat with some of the guys in the back offices, so I pull out my phone. I have zero emails and not a single bite on the job front, which is discouraging. I play the latest candy-destroying app instead and try not to think about the negative balance my bank account currently has.
“Pfft,” says a voice nearby.
I look up out of idle curiosity.
It’s Mouth and another girl. They’re looking at me, and as I glance up, they smirk in my direction. “Hi sweetheart,” Mouth says in a mocking voice. “Did they forget their little puppy at the door?”
I recoil inwardly. I want to say something to defend myself. To let the two bitches know that I’m not bothered by them, but I can feel my throat locking up. I know I’ll stutter, and that will just make things worse. So I say nothing at all. Mute, I turn back to my phone, but the colorful candies on the screen blur in front of my eyes.
“Gee,” says the other girl. “I t-t-t-thought she’d have a bit more sp-sp-sp-spine.”
“Guess n-n-not,” mocks Mouth.
They both giggle at their joke.
I hate them so much. I clench my jaw. What is it they want me to do? Declare that I’m just fine, thank you? That I don’t need their friendship? My gaze slides over my phone to where Lucky’s busy working away. Lucky’s nice, but she’s not the same as me. I’m property. Lucky’s patched.
I shouldn’t want someone to come to my rescue, either. The Butchers are a pretty tough group overall. If you show weakness, someone’s going to throw it back in your face to see what you do with it. But I’m not used to confronting. Years of living with my dickhole abusive brother taught me that the smartest thing to do would be to stay silent and just try not to be noticed. It’s hard to break that sort of mentality.
Really hard when you have a stutter and everything you do seems to just encourage the bullies even more.
I can’t believe I’m being bullied at my age. This is schoolyard shit and I shouldn’t let it bother me, but of course it does. I want to fit in with Muscle and Beast. I want to make them happy with me, like I am with them. And I worry that the weaker I look to the rest of the club, the more it’s going to reflect on them. It’s not something I ever thought about before, but now I can’t get it off my mind.
Worse, I worry that eventually they’re going to see all the shameful things Mouth throws in my face and decide that I’m not worth the hassle after all.
• • •
That night in bed, Muscle’s tossing restlessly against me. We didn’t have sex tonight - the guys had a service call that ran super late, and spent most of the day in an attic, sweating their asses off. By the time they got home, they were both exhausted, and after showering, we all climbed in to bed together. The men drifted off almost immediately, so I didn’t wake them. I daydreamed for a bit and eventually fell asleep myself…
Only to wake up when Muscle’s arm smacks against my face, hard.
I rub my lip and turn away, towards Beast’s big chest. Muscle’s a rough sleeper sometimes. He has a lot of nightmares, and he’s not easy to wake from them. If it gets really bad, Beast holds him down. He’s never smacked me before, but he’s also asleep, so I can’t really blame him for it.
“Just fucking deal,” he mutters, head tossing.
His arm smacks me again. Then he stiffens, and I hear a soft cry come out of him that’s full of despair. It wakes Beast up, and I feel him stiffen beside me. I can’t stand to hear Muscle so upset, so I roll over to him and press my weight against his arm, lying on top of it so he doesn’t smack me again. “Muscle?” I ask softly.
He jerks awake, his eyes so wide I can see the whites even in the darkness.
I touch his cheek and whisper, “You okay?”
His eyes flick back and forth, as if he doesn’t really see me. If he does, he’s not focusing on me.
Then he flails, his body jerking so hard that the entire bed shakes.
WHAP.
His other arm smacks clear
across my face, backhanding me against Beast. A whimper of surprised pain escapes me. I’m stunned, my head spinning from the force of his hit.
Beast roars in rage, and then the entire bed shakes as he flings himself at Muscle. I’m trapped in the middle for a panicky moment, and then Beast grabs Muscle and bodily flings him across the room. I watch in horror as Muscle slams into the wall with a crash, leaving a dent in the drywall.
A moment later, Muscle bounds to his feet, startled. “What? What the fuck is it?”
Gentle hands touch my face. Beast’s there, holding me. My head’s throbbing so hard I can hardly stand it. He peers into my face. “You okay, babe?”
I nod, but the motion causes me pain and I wince. “I’m f-f-fine.”
Footsteps on the floor. “What happened?” Muscle asks from the other side of the bed. “Oh shit, is her face swelling?”
“You fucking hit her,” Beast grits, and I can tell by the sound of his voice that he’s utterly furious.
“It’s okay,” I say. “He w-w-was asleep.”
“It’s not okay,” Beast says. He caresses my face again and then kisses my forehead. “Wait here. I’m going to get a bag of frozen peas for your face.” He gets out of bed and as he does, he shoves Muscle aside. “Don’t you dare get back in that fucking bed with her.”
Instead of blustering or starting a fight with Beast, Muscle moves to the side. His face is troubled as he gazes down at me. He runs a hand down his face. “Goddamn it, Shy-girl. I never…You know I’d never hurt you.”
“I know,” I say, but my entire face throbs so I can’t smile to make him feel better. “You were asleep,” I repeat. “Really, it’s okay.”
He licks his lips. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I don’t point out that Beast has a bed, too. We just don’t sleep there anymore. So I nod. I want to tell him that it’s okay, that he can come back to bed, but I keep hearing Beast’s sound of rage. He doesn’t want Muscle back in bed right now, and I don’t think Muscle wants to be here. If he did, I’d fight to make sure Beast let him.