Devil You Know

by Max Henry

  “Useless bunch of stalkers they are then.” I stare at the floor, calculating what the probability of Dylan finding me is. What if I try another town, perhaps? If we move a little while from here? Get some distance between us?

  “Does he have any way of locating you? Any shared friends?”

  I stare at him with an eyebrow cocked. “Have you seen many friends?”

  “True. I don’t like the thought of that jackass ever getting near you again, is all.”

  “You can’t say his name, huh?”

  “I feel like I’d vomit if I did, I hate the guy that much.” Malice stares at the wall opposite us, and a storm brews beneath his indifferent exterior.

  “Well,” I say, eager to change the subject from one that looks like it’ll make Malice implode, “I did see a couple of houses in the paper the other day that looked okay. Parson Street and . . . damn, I forgot the other.”

  “Can you remember who was listing? We can always call and check?”

  I nod, and crawl back to his open embrace. He wraps his arm around my shoulders once more, and we stay huddled together as he searches out the listing on his phone, and dials the realtor.

  Unsettled business still hangs around us like a fine cloud of smoke, fogging our view of the future we have together, but at least we seem to have the tools to clear it now. Communication has been opened between us, and a much as I hesitate to say it, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t had that little accident with Ty’s ‘mislabeled’ pills? Would he have come back? Would he have stayed away? How long would it have taken to realize that we’re better doing this together?

  I chastise myself for thinking so morbidly. The outcome of that mishap isn’t one I can dwell on, and to be honest, I’d rather spend my time here and now, making the most of what I do have.

  A man who loves me—Jane.

  A man who I love, too.

  BRONX GIVES me a nod as I enter the kitchen, and head for the fridge. The cool air swirls around my feet as I stare blankly into the near-empty interior. It’s Ty’s week to host the boys—our first time without Tigger.

  None of us can get in the mood.

  “You expecting to find an answer to something in there?” Ty asks.

  “Fuckin’ be nice,” I reply. “So much has changed the past few weeks. I’m having trouble knowing which way is up.”

  “I hear ya, brother.” Bronx takes a swig of his beer. “How’s Jane?”

  I snag a bottle of water, and shut the fridge. “Everything with her is so new. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

  “Who says you will?” Ty crosses his legs at the ankles, and leans into the counter.

  “It’s what I do; fuck things up. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but you know why you do?” Bronx says.

  I shrug. If I knew, doesn’t he think I would have done something about it by now?

  “Because you think you will, so therefore you do.”

  “You’re telling me that if I think things with Jane will be perfect, they will?”

  “No. But if you fuckin’ well try, then maybe, yeah, they will. You can’t expect to grow anything if you don’t water it. Perhaps if you start giving two shits about your own state of mind you’ll be a lot more use to her?”

  “You bastards are always on at me about this, huh?” I take a swig of the water, irritated that once again my so-called friends have brought the issue back around to me. Only this time, instead of being irritated at them blaming me for the way I am, I’m mad knowing I’ve been thinking the same way.

  It’s me. I’m the thing getting in the way of a guaranteed future with Jane.

  “I told you she hadn’t spoken to her parents in ages, eh?”

  Ty nods.

  “She called her mom the other week when I told her to. Just picked up my phone and did it. They’re still finding things awkward, but she managed to put the past behind her and try again.” I sigh, and admit the one thing I know they’ll agree with. “She wants me to call my dad and meet up with him.”

  Ty’s eyebrows rise up. “Will you?”

  I shrug. “Haven’t decided. Most likely not.”

  “Do you think you should?” Bronx asks.

  Fucker. “Yeah, I probably should.”

  “You know what, Malice? He may actually have a fuckin’ good reason for leaving you alone all these years. Perhaps he’s the same as you; thinks you don’t want a bar of him?”

  “Maybe.” Probably. “It’s been so long, though, that it kind of feels as though we’ll never get past the shit between us, you know? I wonder if maybe things are left best as they are?”

  “And what, let it rot you from the inside out? Keep being a closed-off asshole because you can’t resolve your daddy issues?”

  “Fuck you, Bronx.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who’s taken this fucking long to get his head out of his ass and see the sun on the horizon. It’s all up to you,” he says, tipping his bottle at me. “You fuck this up with Jane, or your dad, for that matter, and it’s all on you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Before you assholes get to fisticuffs,” Ty scolds, “don’t forget we have Tigger’s funeral tomorrow. Both of you pricks have to be there early.”

  “Why?” Bronx asks.

  Ty slaps a hand to his head, and groans. “Don’t you listen to anything I tell you? Were you there the other day?”

  “We’re pall-bearers,” I say. “So make sure you get your ‘mom’ to iron your shirt,” I tease.

  Bronx flips his middle finger at me, and sculls the last of his beer. “I’ll catch you guys there, then. Better go take my washing to Mom’s.” He pokes his tongue out as he passes by, and grabs his helmet off the bench.

  “Early,” Ty reiterates as Bronx heads out the door. He turns, and shakes his head at me. “Probably off to get his latest fuck-buddy to do it, more like.”

  “I swear to God, that guy’s dick will fall off one day.”

  Ty chuckles, and raises his beer. “Too true.” His expression falls, and he noticeably clears his throat. “I still feel bad about Jane finding that shit, eh?”

  “Done is done.” I chug the water, and recap the bottle. “She’ll be okay. She’s still seeing that counselor, and we’ve agreed to find somewhere to live soon.”

  “Yeah?” He looks as excited as a kid at Christmas. “You two are quite serious about it then?”

  “As can be.” I swirl the water in my hand. “I still worry my problems will ruin it.”

  “Why?”

  “What would you be looking for if you left a situation like hers?” I ask. “Stability, security, somebody to give you a normal life? What’s normal and stable about me?”

  “The fact you feel so strongly about her,” Ty reasons.

  “I love her, man.”

  He hisses through his teeth. “Then you best pull your head out of your ass and get your shit squared away. Call your dad, talk to him, and for fuck’s sake, accept the life we have. It’s not perfect, and yeah, there are always going to be risks. But fuck, man, it could be a lot worse. We both know that.”

  I nod, and open the bottle to down the last of the water. It could be a lot worse. At least these days I have a roof over my head, steady income, and options. Maybe said options are hog-tied to my obligations to the criminals we work for, but fuck, at least I still have them.

  “I’ll catch you tomorrow, huh? Better go check I still have a dress shirt that fits.”

  “You two are hopeless.” Ty laughs. “Go home before Jane wonders where you are.”

  I mock salute, and head for the door.

  “And for God’s sake, call your dad,” he calls after me as I head down the steps.

  Yeah, nah.

  • • • • •

  ALL LIGHTS are off next door as I pull up to my place in town. I breathe a sigh of relief. Yep, I seriously considered buying a new shirt tomorrow to avoid having to return here.

  I kill the engine, and step out of the pic
k-up. Crisp evening air pricks at my face, and I scout the yard in front of Jane’s old house. The grass is longer than usual, and weeds dot the garden. No prizes for guessing who looked after the place.

  I can’t shake the feeling of being watched as I head to the front door. Once more I sweep her yard, only to find nothing more than the signs of a kept man who no longer has his slave. To be sure, I push the button on the fob, and double-check the pick-up is locked.

  Luckily for me, my wardrobe heralds not only one dress shirt, but a choice of two. I pick the gray one and take it plus a pair of dress slacks, and my formal shoes. Everything in the house seems in place as I wander through to the front door. The steady tick of the kitchen clock is the only noise to be heard.

  Eerie.

  My eyes zone right in on the windscreen the minute I step foot outside. I fuckin’ knew the asshole was about. My feet crunch the stones as I march toward the graffiti. Anger builds inside while I throw my things in the passenger seat, and take a step back to read the poorly scrawled word.

  CUNT.

  The guy’s vocabulary is impressive, to say the least.

  I gingerly reach out and touch the dark goo that he’s used to write it. A quick rub between forefinger and thumb, and my assumptions are confirmed—engine grease.

  Fucker.

  I’m positive he did it knowing I’d have to stop and clean it off before I left. My ears keen to every tiny snap of the trees as I make my way up the drive to the garage. There’s no sign of the prick, but I’m one hundred percent certain that he’s watching, waiting.

  Bring it on.

  I find a rag and something to get the sticky shit off the glass, then head out the tilted door. With my back to the car, I push the door down, and lock it. The whistle of something solid moving through the air garners my attention, and I drop what’s in my hands as I duck to the left. An aluminum bat lodges firmly in the steel garage door to the sound of a frustrated growl behind me.

  Fucking knew it.

  “Evening, asshole,” I greet as I turn to face the prick.

  He sneers at me, already lifting the bat for another go. To my advantage, the dick has been drinking. His inebriation is clear as he wobbles in his assault, the bat once again missing my head, and taking my shoulder instead.

  “You shouldn’t drink before a game,” I taunt, pain spurring me on.

  The bastard beat his wife without a care, my father wants to reconnect after seventeen years, and I bury one of my closest friends tomorrow.

  I’m ready to dance, fucker.

  Our struggle doesn’t last long. The wanker swings with the bat, and then his fists when he loses grip on the handle. But every strike is off, every blow a waste of energy. I duck and weave, easily missing each and every fist he hurtles toward me. The moron stops to catch his breath, and I take the option presented to me.

  The gleaming silver one lying at my feet.

  “You can’t fuckin’ have her,” he slurs, lunging toward me.

  “Neither can you,” I say, and swing the bat high.

  He falls to the ground with a grunt, and goes quiet.

  Very quiet.

  I stare at his motionless body for a moment, adrenalin thrumming.

  My fingers search for his pulse, to no avail.

  Shit. I finally did it. I’ve killed a man.

  I pull my phone out, and dial Ty with shaking hands, all while I watch for any movement at all. Anything.

  Nothing.

  “What’s up? Did you leave something behind?” Ty answers.

  “Man, I need a favor.”

  “EVERYTHING OKAY?”

  Malice gives me a smile as he walks in the house, but it holds as much promise as asking Santa for an easy divorce this Christmas.

  “Fine. Totally fine.”

  I spot the clothes in his hands, and his dour mood makes sense. Of course he’d be off when Tigger’s funeral is tomorrow.

  “Will you be okay?” I ask, gesturing to the clothes.

  He looks down at them, as though he’d forgotten they were in his hands, and nods. “Yeah. I think so.” His eyes lift to me, but they’re tired. “Do you have a dress to wear?”

  “You want me to go, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Um, I think I do.” If not, I know I have a clean blouse and dress pants.

  Malice drops the clothes on the back of a chair, and heads for the sofa. He sits, and waves me in. I take up my spot next to him, and relax the moment he pulls me in to his side.

  “Ty asked how you were tonight.”

  “He doesn’t need to worry,” I say. “I know it was a mistake.”

  “He still feels bad—as he should.”

  “Well, I don’t hold it against him.”

  Malice kisses the top of my head. “I love you, Jane.”

  Something’s got into him, but as usual, he’s stashing it away for himself. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Positive. Did you hear back from any agents this afternoon?”

  I nod, and sit up to retrieve my phone. “I did, actually.” I find the listing, and pass the phone to him. “This one. They said it’s vacant at the moment so we can have it if our paperwork checks out.”

  “Make it happen, then,” he says, passing me the phone. “I’ll get my stuff from the house this week and cancel the lease.”

  “I feel terrible you’ve been paying for two houses all this time. I want to pay you back when I’m able.”

  He smirks, and I feel hope swell that he’s not as down as I’d first thought. “Let you in on a secret. Ty’s been letting us stay here for free.”

  “Why say you were renting it, then?”

  “Well, I was. Until he knew you were here. He wants to help out.”

  For a guy who co-ordinates bounty hunters for a living, the guy sure has one hell of a heart in him.

  “I owe him one,” I say.

  “I think you can call it even after what he left lying around here.”

  Fair call.

  Malice pulls me in to his side again, and traces lines along my arms and side with his fingers. We sit in silence, enjoying the quiet, each other’s company, and the knowledge that there’s no pressure when we’re around each other.

  We’re two broken halves, happy to be one mismatched whole.

  “You know what?” I ask.

  “What’s that, babe?”

  “I love you too, Malice.”

  His breath hitches, but he recovers quickly.

  The night draws on, and in next to no time he’s asleep beside me. I lie with him as long as I can before my joints begin to protest. I should move him, but the guy looks positively drained. Instead, I pull free slowly, and search for something to cover him with.

  I stand before him, the blanket in my hands, and watch him sleep. His eyes move ever so slightly as he dreams, and his dark lashes brush against his cheeks. His brow creases, then smooths. I wonder what he’s dreaming of. Is it bad? Is it his past? Or is it an entirely new nightmare?

  He grumbles and rolls as I place the blanket over him, but doesn’t wake. Softly, I perch on the side of the sofa and rest my hand on his hip.

  He’s full of troubles, but not many of them are ones he’ll share with those who love him. I’ve seen the concern in Ty’s eyes when he talks with Malice, and macho as Bronx likes to make out to be, I know he’s the same. Damn, even Tigger showed brief signs of concern for Malice the two times I met him.

  What is he so afraid of?

  Why won’t he still let me all the way in?

  WE FOLLOW Ty back to our house after Tigger’s funeral for a private wake. Tigger’s mom invited everybody to the small gathering at her sister’s house, but we politely declined. The boys simply wanted to grieve in peace, and in a way I could understand why. They have things they need to talk about, memories to share, and information to sift through that isn’t public knowledge.

  They want to talk about what they’ll do about the hit on Tigger.

  Ty
insisted that he arrive at the house first, and I’ve been wracking my brain the entire trip from the funeral parlor to think why. What’s so important that he has to get there before us? I know it’s his house and all, but the way he pushed the matter seemed a little over the top.

  His white Audi crawls up the drive in front of us. My eye casts over the lush green grass sprouting after the rain. It’s poetic, how in nature the dark times can bring such beauty. I can only hope the guys will walk out the other side of what they’re going through at this moment with the same light.

  Ty pulls up out front, and as we round the last bend to line up beside him, my eyes fall on a bike parked near the side gate. I glance to Malice, who looks at me and shrugs. Great.

  “Do you think it’s someone you guys do work for?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “None of them own a Triumph, as far as I know.”

  We step out from the car, curious. My guess is that Ty knew they’d be here, hence the need to arrive first. He damn near vaults the front of his car to reach us before we get clear access to the door.

  “Whose is that?” Malice asks, pointing to the bike.

  Ty raises his hands to placate Malice, but he’s cut short by a deep voice over his shoulder.

  “Mine.”

  Malice ducks his head to the side, and takes a step back. “Fuck off. Not today.”

  “Look, man,” Ty starts.

  “Nothing, okay?” Malice hollers. “I’ve got nothing to say to either of you.” He glares at Ty. “How could you?”

  I stare in shock as Malice turns heel and storms down the driveway. Do I go after him? Or does he need to be alone? My eyes drift to the stranger standing on the far side of Ty’s car. He’s tall, tanned, and wearing the badass biker look like a pro. He turns, and heads toward Bronx, allowing me a clear line of sight to the cut he wears.

  Fallen Saints.

  “Is he one of the guys you work for?” I ask Ty.

  He looks toward Malice’s shrinking figure, and sighs. “Nah, Jane. It’s Malice’s dad.”

  Shit.

  • • • • •

  AN HOUR later, we finally manage to coax Malice into the same room as his dad. The two of them sit opposite each other at the small table, and carry on the best staring contest I’ve seen in a while.