RIP ME: A Dark Romance

by Naomi West

  As I watched her now, these thoughts playing through my head, I found myself a little woozy, and leaned against the door frame. Cassidy reacted instantly.

  "If that's all settled, can we please do something about Archer's head? He's bleeding."

  "Barely at all," Dupont said, perhaps feeling a little guilty for hitting me.

  "I've had worse," I said.

  Cassidy rolled her eyes. "God save me from men who think medical care is an affront to their masculinity. I'm sure you'll make a very manly corpse, but not a very useful one. So how about you let me put a bandage on it?"

  I looked to Dupont, who shrugged. "Go on," he said. "Polo and I have to talk police stuff anyway."

  "There's antiseptic and bandages in the bathroom cabinet," Polo said.

  Cassidy took my hand and led me out of the room. I wasn't wild about the image of being led off by my girlfriend to tend to the boo-boo on my head. On the other hand, it was starting to throb a bit, and I was feeling a little light-headed. That said, I still felt like I had a part to play, and, as Cassidy had pointed out to me, playing a role like Archer Cyprian, President of Battle Pride, can become second nature, whether you mean it to or not.

  "I'm fine. I don't need a bandage."

  Cassidy pulled me into the bathroom. "Have you even seen it yet? Look in the mirror. There is a gash above your eye that looks like a war wound."

  I looked in the mirror. Admittedly, it did look pretty ugly. Ben Dupont hadn't been pulling any punches, and the man knew how to swing.

  "A bandage won't kill you," Cassidy said, taking charge.

  Maybe it was her newfound authority, maybe she was looking especially pretty, maybe it was the thrill of knowing her father was just downstairs, or maybe it was the knowledge that, once again, we might soon be saying goodbye, but, right at that moment, there were other things on my mind.

  I captured Cassidy with an arm around her waist as she turned back to me.

  "Instead of the bandage, how about you kiss it better?"

  Cassidy gave my forehead a perfunctory peck. "How does that feel? No better? Well, let's try the bandage."

  "I don't feel like your heart was really in that."

  I kissed her, and she responded, melting into my arms, before reasserting herself and pulling away.

  "Quit it. Now, sit."

  I sat down on the edge of the tub.

  "This may sting a bit."

  She applied antiseptic to my wound, but I barely felt the sting as I lifted her top and kissed around her belly, my hands roaming lower.

  "I'm sure they don't allow this in hospitals," said Cassidy, trying to maintain her cool, although I could hear the catch in her voice and her breath quickening.

  "They should. This is the best therapy. I've never felt better."

  "Well, at least it ought to stop the blood from flowing out your head, if it's all going somewhere else."

  Cassidy began to bandage my head as I unzipped her jeans and peeled them down her legs. If I was going to be saying goodbye to her today, then I was going to do it properly. The instant the bandage was in place on my head, I was up on my feet. Cassidy had kicked off the jeans, and she now sprang up into my arms, wrapping her legs around me and feeling me furiously hard against her. I pushed her back against the wall.

  "We'll have to be quick," she murmured as she kissed me. "And quiet."

  Though neither of us said anything, I knew that she was thinking the same as me—that this might be the last time for a long while. Cassidy's nimble fingers made short work of my belt and buttons, and she was soon guiding me between her legs, though by now I knew my own way. I watched her pretty eyes widen as I pushed into her. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out, and I covered her mouth with mine as I began to move inside her.

  Although it was a destined to be a short and frantic encounter, and although the presence of Cassidy's father just downstairs might have given it an air of the taboo, it felt nothing of the kind. Unconsciously and unwillingly, we were saying goodbye, and neither of us wanted that to be rough or lust-fueled. The circumstances were against us, but our feelings for each other made this more than the sum of its parts. It was tender, and it was loving. It was intense, too, of course, a world of sensation between us expressing the things we could not bring ourselves to say. And it was pleasurable. So completely in sync were Cassidy and I that I felt we had perfected a way of communicating through sex. While I had struggled to say, 'I love you,' in words, I had managed to say it last night through my body.

  When Cassidy had desperately wanted me not to leave her, she had lied and made excuses, but in our love-making she had put forward an honest and heartfelt argument that I understood far better. Now, we said goodbye to each other. No matter that it was quick and fumbling, no matter that it was up against the wall of a bathroom that would leave Cassidy with tile prints on her ass, no matter that her father was downstairs, that my movements were hobbled by the jeans around my knees, or that it had all the aspects of a desperate quickie. The meaning came through all of that.

  One of those things that people say about great sex with a person is that 'every time is like the first time.’ I wasn't sure if that was true with Cassidy and me. It would be truer to say that every time was like the last time, because it seemed that every time might actually be the last time. That was different, and that was special. If you knew that this might be it, then you made every time as good as it can be. Every time had to be the apex. Every time had to be an ultimate expression of what you felt for each other, told through sex. Every time had to be the perfect memory on which you would want to end. Cassidy and I were very good at that. Every time was perfect. Even in the most imperfect of situations, it was still perfect.

  As was so often the case with us, there was no need for words afterwards. Everything we might have wanted to say had been expressed through the act itself. We kissed tenderly, sealing our goodbye, before readjusting our clothes and heading back downstairs.

  # # #

  I was a little worried, as I was sure that Cassidy was too, that Dupont might have been suspicious of how long bandaging my head had taken, or worse, that he might have heard the rhythmic thumps of his daughter's buttocks against the bathroom wall. We had not taken our time over sex, far from it, but it can be hard to finish quickly when you're enjoying yourself so much. As we entered, Dupont looked up irritably from the table, where he and Polo were seated, discussing the legal aspects of the deal on which we had all decided.

  "That was quick. Give us another five minutes, will you?"

  "Sure, Dad," Cassidy said, and she and I retreated to the living room.

  We exchanged glances as we left, and a lot of unspoken words passed between us. It would have been easy to say, 'I wish we'd known that we had another five minutes,’ but the truth was, nothing would have made it more perfect. If that was to be our goodbye, then at least it had been a good one. The best one. A perfect one.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cassidy

  Regardless of how much it was part of the plan, it was nonetheless difficult for me to watch the man I loved being led away in handcuffs by the father whom I also loved.

  "Are the handcuffs really necessary?" I asked.

  "Maybe not necessary," Polo admitted. "But when you bring someone in to be an informer, the last thing you want is any appearance of chumminess. And that goes double when the informer is sleeping with the sheriff's daughter."

  "It looks like preferential treatment?" I suggested.

  "For sure," acknowledged Polo. "There is also the safety of the man himself to consider. If Archer comes in looking like the sheriff's best buddy, or prospective son-in-law, then how are his enemies going to react? Or his friends, for that matter. In Archer's world, the one thing you don't do is talk to the cops. If it looks like he's coming in willingly, then they'll skin him alive in jail."

  I nodded. "I get it. Although, I don't think there's much chance of him looking like my dad's prospective son-in-la
w."

  Polo shrugged. "Maybe not yet. Give it time. They're actually pretty similar people."

  "That's what I said!"

  "Don't tell your dad I said it," Polo said seriously.

  "Archer wasn't that wild about me saying it either," I admitted.

  "Another thing they have in common." Polo put his hand on my shoulder comfortingly. "It is all for the best, you know."

  "You think?" It was hard for me to believe that now.

  "I'm not saying it's the ideal situation," Polo hedged. "But, given the situation, this is what needs to happen. And I think it'll all work out."

  "Based on what?"

  Polo shrugged again. "Blind optimism? Come on, let's get you home."

  Between us, we had decided that, while Dad took Archer to the station, Polo would take me home. It wasn't ideally what I would have wanted. Obviously I would have preferred to stand by Archer as he went through this. On the other hand, I could see an upside. Given all that I had been through in the last few days, the idea of going back home to see Riley sounded pretty good. Looking back, I wasn't even sure how many days it had been. They had all blurred into a haze of travel, talk, and sex. There had been some bad moments and some wonderful ones, and, when you put the whole thing together, it was emotionally draining.

  # # #

  Riley met me at the door and waved goodbye to Polo as he headed off to work, then we went inside. This time I managed to hold off from crying when unburdening myself to my sister, who simply sat and quietly listened throughout. I think I told her everything. I never felt the need to leave out anything when talking to Riley. I told her what had happened and why, I told her how I had felt, and I told her how Archer had urged me to try to better understand Dad's point of view in all this.

  "You really love him, don't you?" Riley asked, when I was finally done.

  "I told you that already."

  "Yeah, but ..." Riley paused. "You know, Cass, there's love, and there's love. It's easy to fall in love with the first guy you sleep with, because he opens a whole new world to you. But this sounds a lot more like actual love. I'm sorry I didn't believe it when you first told me."

  Leave it to Riley to apologize for something perfectly understandable. "Maybe it wasn't then," I admitted. "Or maybe I got lucky. I don't know. Seems to me like the odds of finding the person in the world who's perfect for you are pretty slim, and, yet, somehow people make it happen."

  Riley nodded. "It's starting to sound to me like maybe you weren't the only one who got lucky."

  I knew what she meant and looked up hopefully. "You think?" It meant a lot to me that Riley might think something good about Archer.

  "The guy seems to have given up his whole way of life, just to please you. And maybe his freedom too."

  I sighed. "I hope not. And that's not why he did it. Not for me. For himself. He was always a decent man. He was just a victim of circumstance."

  "Maybe," Riley mused. "Maybe he didn't do it for you, as in, to make you happy. But I don't think he'd be doing any of this if it wasn't for you. You seem to make him want to be a better person. And that's not nothing. You've saved him from himself."

  "Or doomed him to jail," I said ruefully

  "Either way," Riley went on, "you've given him something special. Something that's maybe worth whatever jail time he might have to do."

  "I haven't given him anything," I scoffed. Archer had given me so much, but what could I claim to have given him?

  "Oh, yes, you have," Riley insisted. "In fact, I'd say that you've given him the same thing that he's given you. You've given each other yourselves back."

  Maybe another person wouldn't have understood that, but I knew my sister and instantly knew what she was trying to tell me. I had been lost, a stranger to myself and to my family. Archer had found me and brought me home. And Riley thought that I had done the same for him. Maybe it was true. He too had been struggling to resolve who he was inside with the life he lived and the things he did. If I had been any part of helping him find a way back to the good man underneath, then I was very proud and happy.

  "You know, I owe him a thank you, too," Riley said.

  "You do?"

  "For sure. Archer didn't just give you back to yourself, he gave you back to your family as well. It's great to see the Cassidy I knew from when we were kids back here. I owe him big for that. And I'm sure that Dad will feel the same. Maybe when he's had a bit more of a chance to think about it."

  We chatted a long while that morning. Although it had only been a matter of days, it felt oddly as if Riley and I had not spoken for far longer than that. Perhaps there was something in what she said. I had always felt close to Riley, but maybe a distance had developed between us these last few years, without my being aware of it. I had drifted off into my bad-girl persona, and she had not known how to address that. Now we were back as we had been, two sisters, chatting for hours about everything and nothing. We did not confine ourselves to recent events, pressing though they obviously were, but talked fashion, films, and, of course, stuff that was happening in Riley's life, too. I could be a selfish girl if I wasn’t careful, and I always had to remind myself that my sister had stuff going on as well.

  By the time we had finished talking, or at least by the time we stopped, it was lunch time.

  "I'll make some sandwiches," Riley volunteered.

  "Thanks. I've just got to make a phone call, then I'll come help."

  # # #

  Of all the promises I had made to Archer before he was carted off in the back of my dad's car, one had been practical more than personal. Archer cared very much for the members of Battle Pride, and he worried about them, and, of course, about what they might do in his absence.

  It was strange to hear someone concerned about members of a biker gang like that, and I reflected that all too often we did not see such people as people, or at least not as individuals. You saw a group like that on a street corner, and you made a whole bunch of assumptions, all of which revolved around them being 'those people.’ You didn't see them as individuals, but as types. Such people didn't have emotions, they didn't have hopes or dreams, and they certainly didn't have insecurities. I'd been every bit as guilty of this failing as anyone else, and I was grateful to Archer for opening my eyes to it. The best example was Joe Henry, Archer's young protégée, in whom he saw so much of himself. It was he, more than any of the others, whom Archer wanted me to check up on. It was a revelation to me to learn that an outlaw biker might be lost without his mentor, might be secretly scared of what would happen now, or might be upset at this turn of events. But Joe was apparently a passionate person.

  I called Joe from my room, using the number Archer had given me. A woman answered.

  "Joe's phone."

  I thought that the voice might have been Fran's, but didn't inquire further.

  "Hi, can I speak to Joe, please?"

  "Who's calling?"

  Was she jealous of another woman getting in touch with him, or was she being properly cautious for fear of who might be calling—the police, the Mafia, who knew?

  "It's Cassidy Dupont."

  "Miss Dupont. I can't tell you how happy we all are that you have taken an active role in our affairs. It was so dull down here, and now it seems like the shit hits the fan every time you pop up." Definitely Fran. Even had I not recognized the voice, its general tone would have given her away.

  "I helped you get Archer's Black Book back," I said defiantly.

  "But it was Joe who did the real work, wasn't it?" pointed out the voice on the other end of the line.

  I wasn't sure what, if any, argument I had to counter that. It was hard not to see her point of view. Since my appearance on the scene, Fran's business, and indeed her life, had been threatened by mafia thugs, and, while I thought it would be a bit much to blame me completely, there was no doubt that my influence on Archer had played a part in this outcome. However, I did not have to defend myself, as another voice, from the background, spoke
.

  "Who is it?"

  "Doesn't matter," Fran said dismissively.

  "Is that my phone? They're calling me. Shouldn't I be the one who decides if they matter?"

  "Don't make me hurt you. It's the Dupont girl."

  "Give me the phone."