by Max Henry
FIFTEEN
Dog
Her reluctance to accept what she means to the people around her guts me. I saw the looks on everyone’s faces when she walked in—they showed hope for a change. The eyes of her brothers and sisters lit up as they saw the promise of something better.
Sure, Hooch has done the best he can since the club went to hell in a hand basket. But Mel holds something he never could—the softness that only comes with an empathetic feminine touch. They look to her, and they see someone who will care for them emotionally, not just physically.
Why can’t she see that?
Maybe her role was never more than a pretty face for most of her life, but shit, these people need that love, that light to get through the tough times. What she does for them mentally outweighs anything she could do in a traditional male role at the table.
When the devil’s knocking on our door, we all need an angel to remind us everything’s going to work out in the end.
And she’s that angel.
“Tell you what.” I place another kiss on her head and let go before I pick the woman up and take her to bed. “How about you finish this look off with makeup, hair, whatever the fuck you girls do, and we go back down there and have a few drinks. Loosen up, Mel. Show those people how much you’ve missed them, too.”
“You make it sound so easy,” she chastises, crossing the room to a low set of drawers.
“It is easy. Fake it until you make it, babe.”
Her hand still on the top drawer. “Because you know all ‘bout faking it, right?”
Why is it women can turn a perfectly uplifting conversation on its ass? “What’s this got to do with me?” I snap.
“What if I don’t want to be fake?” Mel turns, the heels of her hands resting on the drawers. “What if I thought I actually found something out there?” She jabs a hand at the clothing I’m about ready to fucking burn.
“Misery?” I ask with a shrug and a shake of my head. What the fuck else has she brought back with her?
“Reality.” She plucks at the clothes she wears, her face contorted with disgust. “This, this stuff is just some bullshit image that they all want from me. It’s all I’ve known, sure, but what if it’s not who I am?”
“You just said yourself you felt familiar with it,” I protest, my voice rising. “And now you’re sayin’ you don’t like it?”
“I just … I … urgh!” She tosses her hands in the air and slides down the drawers to the floor. Her slender hands curl into tight fists, and she pounds them punishingly into her thighs. “It’s all so fucking confusing.”
“Hey.” I drop to my knees and slide in before her, taking her fists in mine. “Why can’t you be a bit of both?”
Her dark eyes lift to find mine. “You think that’s possible?”
“Why the fuck not?” I smile with a shrug. “You said I’m the best fake there is. Learn from me, babe. It’s possible to be two people at once.”
She laughs, her hands relaxing inside mine. “We’ve known each other for what, three or four years, and I don’t even know who you really are,” she sasses. “How successful do you actually think you are at balancing two personalities when one is all you share?”
I rock back on my heels, letting go of her hands so I can offer one in a handshake. “Hi. My name’s Koen.”
“Koen?”
Fuck that sounds good on her lips—should have told her that sooner.
“I wouldn’t have picked that. Didn’t they call you something else before you got your road name?”
“Shithead. Grunt. Pisshole. Kid.” I smirk. “Take your pick. Nobody actually knew my name.”
“Koen,” she whispers again. “I like it.”
“Plus,” I say as I stand. “We’ve already met, because like you say, this is the real me.”
“And I get exclusive rights.” She smirks, pushing to stand also.
“You do.” I take her by the shoulders and spin her around. “Now get whatever the fuck you were about to get out of that drawer, and finish getting made up.”
“What’s the point?” she moans.
“The point,” I say with a smack to her ass. “Is I’m goin’ back downstairs, and when you get there, Dog will be the one waitin’ for you. Because as much as Koen likes hanging out with Mel, Dog wants to have a bit of fun with the hot-as-fuck president’s sister, too.”
She chuckles as I head for the door. “Can he handle fully-made-up Mel, though?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Although judging by the rush of adrenaline that has my gut twisted up like a sailor’s knot, I’d say I’m pretty certain I’ll conquer that challenge.
I round the top of the sweeping staircase at the same time as Crackers steps onto the bottom riser. His head lifts as he realizes I’m there, and he stills, beckoning toward the chapel with a jerk of his head.
“Spare a minute?”
“Sure.”
I follow the Fort Worth VP into their meeting room, marveling as I always do at the work of art encased at the end.
“What can I do you for?” I ask as I turn away from the sculpture of a rider kick-starting a panhead.
“Anything I should know?” He takes his usual seat, seeming reluctant to sit in Hooch’s even in the president’s absence.
“Don’t think so.” I stop on the opposite side of the table, my hands braced on the back of the sturdy timber seat before me.
“She seems not all there,” Crackers muses.
“She just found out half her family’s dead, man.”
“Aside from that.” He rolls his eyes, leaning back in the seat.
Crackers kind of reminds me of what I imagine I’ll be like when I’m older: same blond hair, same cocky attitude, and same reluctance to let anyone into his inner sanctum.
I sigh, and pull the chair out, dropping onto the seat. “She’s a bit lost without everyone else on his or her throne,” I tell him. “She says she doesn’t know what the point of being here is, but I think the truth is she doesn’t know how to lead on her own; she’s used to being Hooch’s, and even Judas’, accessory.”
Crackers nods, mouth turned down as he appears to think it over. “What you reckon? She needs somethin’ to do?”
“She needs someone to be.”
He frowns. “What do you mean by that?”
I shrug, picking at a divot in the table with my stubby nail. “Give her a role, man. But make sure it’s one where she feels like she’s giving back. Mel feels like she owes these people something, for whatever reason.”
He chuckles, jamming the tip of his tongue into his back molar as he eyes me. “You seem to know a bit about her, Dog.”
“Happens when you spend time with someone,” I counter.
I know what the asshole’s digging at. He can speculate all he fucking likes—he won’t get jack shit out of me.
“Make the most of it,” he drawls. “You’re going home tomorrow and she’s staying right here where she belongs—in Texas.”
I eyeball the fucker, knowing full well he’s not being an asshole for the hell of it. We protect our own, and that possessiveness only deepens the thicker into the club you get. Lincoln protects Lincoln, LA protects LA, and Fort Worth protects Fort Worth. Don’t even start into how fierce families are about loyalty.
That pig-headed devotion is what I love about these people. What I crave.
Is more than I’d ever have elsewhere.
“Still got plenty of hours to kill between now and the morning, though, brother,” I say as I rise from the seat. “Plenty of liquor to have, too.”
He chuckles as I toss a wink his way. “That we do.”
“So what the fuck we doin’ in here?”
SIXTEEN
Mel
Dog told me to get my ass downstairs well over two hours ago. Since then the noise penetrating the wooden floor beneath my feet has damn near tripled, the music shaking the old home right to its foundation.
The last fifteen minutes I’ve sat
here with a tube of lipstick in my hand, screwing it out, screwing it down, over and over and fucking over.
It took me twenty minutes just to put my goddamn mascara on. To say I’m not all that keen on parading around like a painted doll would be a huge fucking understatement. But deep down I know Dog’s right in his twisted kind of way.
Only way to face my fears is head on. Only way to remember what I used to love about who I am is to be her.
With a sigh, I roll to my knees and peer up over the edge of the set of drawers to the mirror propped up on top. The deep red hue paints my lips in a slick path, completing the transformation from Mel 2.0, back to plain old Mel.
Back to the dense cow who didn’t understand how fragile life was until hers was ripped apart in the blink of an eye. I’ll never forget how that day played out; Daddy had been hibernating in his office for days on end, barely coming out to eat. I knew something went down, just not what. Women aren’t privy to the inner workings, and until they directly affected me, that didn’t bother me in the slightest.
“Hey, sugar. You got some time for your old man?”
He’d stepped out late in the afternoon, his weathered face even more scored with lines of worry than usual.
“Sure, Daddy.”
And like a lamb to the slaughter, I’d followed him, knowing full well I trusted him with my life. My confidence turned out to be pretty damn justified.
“You gotta go away for a while,” he’d said. “It’s the only way I can keep this pretty face smilin’.”
Only I’m not smiling anymore. Yet what a fickle price to pay for having the rest of my life still laid out before me for the taking.
My chest shudders on an exhale as I set the lipstick down on the wooden surface, and smack my moneymakers together. I used to love painting these bastard things, knowing full well my practiced pouts and wide smile drew the men in like moths to a flame.
Now … it all seems so vain.
“You can do this, Mel,” I mutter to the sad wreck that stares back at me. “You’re a badass bitch, made to take names and kick ass. You’re a Coleman.”
The noise is unbelievable as I descend the stairs toward chaos. I forgot how overwhelming the layered sounds could be when you smash people’s voices over top of thumping bass and throw in a healthy dose of clinking glassware to boot.
A couple make-out in the entrance—nothing unusual around here—another making lovey eyes at each other as they no doubt work toward the same end goal. I step through the wide archway that leads into the main living space, and cringe as the first thing I’m met with is the sight of our treasurer, Digits, feasting on his favorite whore, Heather’s, tit.
I’m literally one more inappropriate sight away from turning around and heading back upstairs. How the fuck did I once think this was normal? More to the point, how the fuck did my parents ever see this as an acceptable environment to raise three kids? No wonder we all turned out the way we did.
Look for Dog. He’s the only reason I went through with this, that kiss back at the convenience store the only motivation to put my war paint on and face the masses.
I scan the room, finding Murphy spread out on one of the armchairs while he engages in a heated debate with a lifer, Crackers at the bar with his ass of choice, Beth, and a circle of prospects in the far corner cheering something on.
Yet no Dog.
“Hey! You decided to join us.” Crackers’ girl, Beth, greets me as I step up beside the two of them to get a drink.
I like her. She’s probably the most levelheaded and honest of all the property girls. Sometimes makes me wonder how she ended up in the role; it’s usually only self-depreciating masochists who seek out a life of being used and degraded for others’ pleasure.
“Thought I may as well get back in the saddle,” I muse as I reach for a bottle of vodka.
More like my foot’s stuck in the stirrup and it’s a case of get back on or die from being dragged along with the beast.
“You need anything, you shout out, hey,” Crackers says.
I give him a small nod as I unscrew the bottle. “You know I will.” I take a swig and cough at the burn. Fuck, I’m out of practice.
“Get it!” One of the prospects hollers from the corner.
The rest clap in unison, chanting, “more, more, more.”
“What the fuck’s going on over there?” I ask, thumbing to the small crowd.
Beth looks away, Crackers frowning a little. “You want to head out front and catch me up on what happened after you left?” he asks.
“There’s really not much to say,” I half laugh. “I sat in the forest and failed miserably at becoming friendly with the woodland creatures like Snow White.”
He fights a smile. “Bet it wasn’t all that dull.” He stands, forcing Beth back from where she’s been standing over his knee. “Come on. Beth can catch you up on things around here, too.”
“Why the rush?” I ask. “I’ve got nothing but time now I’m back, and besides”—I gesture to everyone around us—“it’s not all that quiet around here tonight. Pretty hard to hold a decent conversation, even outside.”
The smile fades from my face as I realize in that moment why Crackers is pushing so hard. He fucks up, glancing over my head to the crowd.
I swear I hear the cavernous echo as my heart hits the floor.
“What are they cheering on, Crackers?” I daren’t turn around.
He flat out ignores me, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a pack of smokes.
“Beth?” I implore her to answer me with my gaze, yet she looks everywhere but at my face, even going so far as to look to Crackers for guidance.
The rational side of me says this has nothing to do with Dog, considering I didn’t exactly broadcast the interest I have in the guy when we arrived. But the frenetic pace of my heart says it has everything to do with him.
I set the bottle of vodka on the bar and turn around, slowly, carefully. Crackers reaches for me, yet his hand slips weakly from my arm as even he gives into the inevitable and lets me go.
I make my way through the people milling about, enjoying their night carefree and unaffected, until I reach the crowd that’s stopped chanting. They erupt into an ear-splitting roar as I reach the outskirts and nudge a prospect aside to see what has their attention glued to the middle of this gathering.
I stare, my eyes glazed at the train wreck before me, yet all I see are trees. Trees and the way the dew would sparkle in the dawn light as I sat on the step of my trailer with a mug of cheap coffee.
I want to go back. Now. So badly, that I’d even forego a fast ride on the back of a nomad’s bike all over again in favor of the unrealistic option to just snap my fingers and be there.
“Mel.” Dog’s eyes go wide-eyed as he wobbles a step to the left, wiping his mouth with his forearm.
I sat upstairs for two hours and used the memory of this man’s words, his touch, to get me to have the courage to come down here like this, and now … Why do I trust people when others warn me not to? Why do I do this to myself?
The crowd falls quiet except for the occasional murmur as I spin on my heel and march from the room. I lash my arm out and snatch up the vodka on my way past, being sure to lay one hell of a hate-filled stare on Crackers.
He knew, and yet he did nothing.
“Mel!”
I glance over my shoulder as Dog crashes into one of the old ladies, his hands reaching out to steady her as much as himself while his gaze stays locked on me.
Well, as best it can when he’s absolutely hammered.
“Just fuckin’ wait up, would you woman?”
The alcohol sloshes to the top of the bottle as I whip around and thrust the vodka-filled hand angrily in his direction. “No, Dog. I won’t.” I stab the drink toward his circus. “Get back to it, huh? Before she gets too cold. I’ve got other things I’d rather be doing.” My eyes coast around the room at the faces turned toward me, at the pitiful eyes. “Fuck it,” I yell. “Pr
obably other people I’d rather do, too.”
He stands shocked as though my words have physically slapped him, his hair a fine mess, making him seem even more gorgeous in this moment of pain.
I hate him for it, for how he can be the biggest jerk there is and still command the room with his effortless charm.
The fornicating couple in the foyer have separated in the chaos, the guy going so far as to open the door for me as I storm toward the exit. The cold night air slaps me as hard as the words that spew from Dog’s mouth as he follows me to the exit.
“Run away again, Mel, since that fixed things so well last time.”
There’s no conscious thought in my next move, only pure agonizing injustice at how out of control I’ve been of my life the past year. I spin around and hurl the bottle at him, vodka spraying in a cartwheel as it flies through the air, narrowly missing him as he twists to one side to avoid the missile.
“Fuck you, you conceited goddamn asshole,” I holler. “Fuck you.” Tears stream down my face, my heart on display for the whole club as he crushes it beneath his dirt-covered boot.
This is why I promised to stay away from him the first time, why I knew we could only be friends. Because how else would it end with a guy carrying a reputation such as his?
I was a fool to believe anything would have changed around here in the time I’ve been gone. Men still take what they want, women still get treated like commodities, and I’m still stuck somewhere in the middle, too precious to touch, and yet not coveted enough to risk the consequences for.
I’m in the no-man’s land between the men at the table and the women who serve them.
Gravel crunches beneath my boots—at least I had the sense to choose my flat soled ones over the less practical heeled pair. I hotshot it across the yard toward the garage, only to change my mind at the last moment and veer right toward the small stand of trees. Something about their darkness, the shadows that promise respite from the world, call to me.
My shoes hit the grass, and yet, still gravel crunches. Fucker. My foot slips as I hasten to get away from him. Nothing he could say right now would soothe this anger in my heart.