by Paula Cox
I sigh. I don’t answer for a long time. I sip my coffee and look out the window. “Isn’t this the sort of town which seems like it would be thousands of miles away, not right across the water? When I first came here, I felt like I’d stepped back in time. But I guess motorbike clubs often like small towns like these; it helps them have to have a secure base of operations, I suppose.”
“Lana . . .”
I take another, longer sip of my coffee and then sigh again.
“I haven’t told him because his club is under attack by a psychopath killer. I haven’t told him because he has too much on his plate.”
“No,” Terry states, resting her chin on her interlocked knuckles and staring sternly at me. “That’s not it.”
“You’re not a mind reader, Terry!”
“Can I tell you what I think, and then you can tell me if I’m wrong?”
“I certainly will.”
Terry smiles, and then grows serious. “I think you love this man, Lana. Or, at the very least, you care a great deal for him. I am sure there is lust there, too, but I think you are lying to yourself when you say lust is the main reason you enjoy being with him. I think you care about this man and I think that you think that if you tell him you are carrying his child, he will no longer be interested in you. You fear it, you fear losing him, and so you’ve created this alternate reality in which you are not pregnant. You put it out of your mind when you’re with him and pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“You’re wrong,” I mutter.
“Lana!”
“You’re wrong!” I snap, jumping to my feet. Suddenly, anger grips me. I stare down at her, cheeks trembling, lips trembling, too. Am I going to cry? These hormones are absurd. “You don’t have the right to start lecturing me about how I feel!” I scream, and the old men in the corner playing checkers, and the young teenage girls at the counter ordering, turn and gawk at me.
I step away from the table, feeling my cheeks turn red.
“Lana . . .”
“I’m leaving,” I say, and before Terry can stop me I march out of the café and into the street, and then to the pickup truck. The biker in the passenger seat steps out and holds the door open for me respectfully.
She is right, of course. That’s why I’m so angry. Everything she said is right. I have created a world within a world, a world in which I do not have to face up to the fact that I’m pregnant, a world in which I can pretend that Kade and I are just young people who fuck and have fun and hold no responsibility. And if I’ve created that world, I haven’t done it alone. Kade, too, likes to pretend when we’re together that nothing else exists; it’s just us. When he’s with me, the blood and pain of his dead friends and his threatened club do not exist.
The biker driving asks me, “Are you okay, Miss Thompson?”
His name is Noname, I think.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Just fine.”
We return to the clubhouse and I walk through to the dorm, meaning to go back to my room, but just as I’m about to open the door Scud calls from the end of the hallway. “What about sitting in the bar awhile?”
He will often ask if I want to go and sit with him and every time I will tell him no. So when I turn to him and nod, and then walk away from my dorm room and follow him into the bar, I surprise even myself.
Chapter Twenty
Lana
The bar is empty apart from a couple of pledges shooting pool. The other guys, I know, are either out on business or posted all around Evergreen watching for Italians. I don’t know why Scud is allowed to just goof around when the other men are working; I’ve never asked. But if somebody were to question me about it, I would answer that he’s not supposed to be here and that he’s abandoned his post. I have no evidence of that and yet I am sure of it.
We go to the bar and Scud takes a bottle of whisky and two glasses.
“Not for me,” I say.
He replaces one of the glasses and leads us to a corner table.
We sit down, and already I’m thinking about how this is a mistake. Scud likes me. I’m not a fool. I’m not some naïve, inexperienced girl who can’t tell when a man clearly likes her. He likes me and maybe he’ll take it the wrong way if I sit down with him. But still, shouldn’t a woman be able to sit down with a man without him expecting anything from her?
I will sit here as he drinks a single whisky, I say to myself, and then I will go.
“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” His eyes regard me, all of me, in a roaming way. But not the roaming looks of Kade, where I feel my skin tingle wherever his gaze rests. It’s a roaming gaze that causes invisible worms to writhe across my skin.
“I’m sure,” I say. “In fact—” In fact I think I want to leave right now, even if you haven’t poured your drink yet.
“Sit down for a couple of minutes!” he snaps, in a tone of voice I’ve never heard him use before. He curls his lip as though disgusted I would try and leave. “You said you would. Just now—you said you’d sit down with me awhile.”
“I am sitting,” I say. Maybe it’s stupid, but I’m frightened. Frightened of Scud. Ludicrous. Kade would kill Scud if he laid a finger on me. But Kade’s not here right now and the pledges have disappeared somewhere, perhaps their dorm room, maybe outside. It’s just me and Scud and the clubhouse fills bigger than it has before, a large cavern with too much space and too many obstacles between me and the exit.
I’m being silly. Scud means no harm. Yes, I’m being silly.
He drains his whisky and pours another. “Don’t you want to know how I’ve been handling all this business with the Italians?” he says. “We’re sitting here and you haven’t asked me a single question.”
I want to say: “I didn’t realize it was my duty to show a sufficient amount of interest in you.” But something in the way he sits makes me bite my tongue. Leaned slightly forward, as though ready to jump across the table. It’s the same look Dad used to have sometimes when I was a kid, before he went into a rage. He never hit me, but he hit things, and before he hit things he looked exactly like Scud looks now. Like he’s waiting for me to say the wrong thing so he has an excuse.
Fear rules me. It shames me to admit it, but fear rules me right now, with Scud scowling at me like that.
“Oh, of course,” I say. No, I hear myself say. I am no longer in charge of my words. I want Kade to return, or Earl, or anybody. “How are you taking it, Scud?”
“It’s hard for me,” he says. He drains another glass of whisky and pours again. “It’s really hard for me. I’m a brave man, Lana, a very brave man. I have done lots of things in my life which prove this. I am a brave man. I am.”
He pauses, waiting, and I find myself saying, “I am sure you are.”
Where is Kade!
“But even a brave man gets worried. You should have seen what Mountain let them do to him. He didn’t even put up a fight! He just let them torture and kill him. Let me tell you, that’s not what I would have done. I would have gotten out of there no matter what it took. I would’ve fought.” He pours two more glasses, draining as he goes, and then slides the glass across the table to me. “Take a drink.”
“No, thank you.”
“I wasn’t asking.” He licks his lips. “I was telling.”
“I do not want a drink,” I say firmly.
I push the glass across the table. I’m nervous and I push with too much force. Even so, Scud could catch it if he wanted. But he doesn’t. All he wants is to make me uncomfortable. He watches as the glass slides over the edge of the table. But it doesn’t smash like he wants. It lands on a chair, on the cushion, and is about to roll to the floor when I reach under the table and grab it.
He sneers at me. “You won’t even have one drink. What’s the matter with you?”
“I just don’t want a drink. I don’t understand why that’s such a big deal.”
“Watch your tone,” he warns.
I want to laugh in his face when he says that. Who is he
to tell me what to do? What does he think will happen to him if Kade finds out how he’s behaving? And yet Kade is not here. This exchange is closed off from the rest of the town, the rest of the world. For however long it takes for more Tidal Knights to join us, Scud is free to do as he pleases. I swallow, nervous, scared, wishing I’d just gone into my room and locked the door behind me.
“I said, watch your tone.” He squints at me.
“Fine,” I murmur.
“Good girl.”
The invisible worms multiply. I fight the urge to shiver. Shame, shame. But I am afraid that if he sees me shiver, he’ll take it as a sign that he’s winning.
“So, why won’t you take a drink? Drank too much of Kade’s come, eh?” He winks at me, trying to make it into a joke, but there’s a malicious tone in there somewhere.
“I would thank you not to talk to me like that—”
“Fuckin’ la-dee-dah over here.” Scud rolls his eyes—marbles in skeletal pitted sockets. “You’re a biker’s whore, Lana. Here to please us. I can talk to you however I damn well please. And I won’t warn you again; watch your tone.”
“I am not a whore.” I’m scared, but this is too much. I can’t stand for this. What sort of woman would I be?
Scud leans across the table and breathes in my face, reeking of whisky and cigarettes. All at once, what sort of woman I am doesn’t seem very important. “You are a biker’s whore. I’ve heard you, moaning, choking on his prick. We’ve all heard you.” He smiles as he talks, as though trying to get me in on the joke. “I know what you’ve been doing. You’re a naughty devil, Lana. You’ve been moaning knowing that I’ve been listening. You’ve been moaning for me, haven’t you? That’s why you let me sit in with you in the day when Kade’s out. That’s why you’re here now. I always knew you wanted me, ever since I saw you in that fuckin’ bikini.”
“Wait—what?”
To say that I am stunned would be like saying this man is creepy: too-simple too-small words for a situation complex and sickening and confusing and terrifying.
“Don’t pretend you don’t remember,” Scud says, leaning back, giggling. “I came through that bikini café every day for three months when I had business on that side of the water. I always made sure to get your shift. Those tits . . . goddamn, Lana. Those tits are some fuckin’ nice tits. I remember the way you used to push them together for me. How you used to make sure my coffee was just the right temperature. How you used to make sure I had extra sugars just in case and a plastic stirrer. Always giving me special treats.”
They were not special treats. That was me doing my job.
I think back, trying to remember him. Maybe. It’s not impossible. But if he ever came by, I forgot him just as I forgot most of the customers. Too many faces to remember each one, unless they gave you a reason to remember. But then I think deeper, and yes—he did come by. On his bike. A pitted-faced man with leering eyes always too shy to say anything. How he has jumped to the conclusion that we have any sort of connection from the few words we exchanged, I have no clue.
“I’ve noticed, by the way, that those perfect pert tits have gotten bigger. Did Kade pay for them or what?”
“Stop talking about me like that,” I say. “You have no right to talk about me like that.”
“They’ve definitely gotten bigger.” He squints at them. “Yeah, they have. I can tell. They’ve gone up a cup size. A cup size at least! Maybe I should have a feel, you know, see if they’ve really gotten bigger? Eh?” He has the same smile on his face, as though he cannot see I am not in on the fun. He says it like we’re flirting, like I have let him touch me intimately before. He’s drunk and deluded and has no self-awareness, a dangerous mix.
I make to stand. He moves quick, darting around the table and grabbing my wrist.
“Woah! Where are you going?”
“You’re hurting me,” I say, trying to pull my arm away.
“Where are you going, though?”
“I’m tired. I want to go back to my room.”
“We’re not done talking.”
“I’m tired.”
“And we’re not done talking!” He sits on the chair closest to me, loosening his grip but not letting me go. “Why are you being a tease now, when we’re alone, when we can finally do what we want to do?”
“I don’t want to do anything with you,” I say. “Please let go of my arm.”
He stares at my chest, not at my face, at the way my breasts are overflowing my bra and my summer dress.
“They’re bigger.” He smiles, glances up at me, inviting me to join in.
“Scud, let go of me!”
“They are bigger, for sure.” He licks his lips, raises his eyebrows. “You don’t mind if I have a quick feel, do you, baby?”
“I do mind.” I try and pull my arm away. He’s too strong. He’s skinny and weak-looking, but he’s too strong for me. It makes me sick. I feel bile rise in my throat. I want to be sick, I realize. I want to be sick right in his face because at least then he’ll stop seeing me as some warped prize, stop seeing this as a flirty exchange. But my body is not on my side; the bile returns to my belly. “I very much mind. I want to go now.”
“Nobody’s here.” He waves his free hand at the bar. “It’s just me and you.”
“That’s not the point!” I snap.
“Keep your voice down.” He growls the command, shifting from playful to threatening as though he can flip a switch inside his head.
“I have no interest in you, Scud,” I say, staring into his face. He has hold of me now; I can’t placate him with nice words. I can’t baby-step around him. Fine. Fear and shame be damned. Fine. “I don’t think you’re funny or interesting or handsome. I don’t like you. I am not attracted to you. I barely remember you from the Twin Peaks. I have spoken to you these past weeks to be polite. Whatever romance you think has developed between us exists entirely in your head. I do not want you.”
For a moment, I think this has gotten through to him. He pauses, staring at me, seeming to understand. And then that flirty smile returns to his lips and he nods at the bar in general. “We’re alone,” he says. “There’s no need for that. Could you moan for me when I touch you, Lana? I love the way you moan. I know it upsets you that you have to moan for Kade just so I can hear. I know that hurts you. But it’s just me and you now.”
He reaches across for my chest. Without thinking, I tear my nails down the back of the hand which grasps my wrist.
“Ow,” Scud murmurs, more surprised than anything. He withdraws his hand.
I jump to my feet, adrenaline coursing through me. “Who do you think you are!” I scream.
“Keep your voice down!” Scud jumps to his feet.
I walk around the table, making sure to keep it between us. Blood drips from his hand onto the floor.
“I won’t!” I cry. “I won’t! How dare you try and touch me like that! How fucking dare you!”
“Be quiet!”
He jumps around the table; I jump to the other side.
“You’re a disgusting, small, pathetic man and I would never let you touch me like that!”
“Look at you, you fat whore!” Scud sneers at me, folding his arms. “You think Kade is going to stick by you for much longer, you fat cunt? You’re getting fat and sooner or later Kade is going to get tired of you. You should be happy a man like me is showing an interest.”
It always comes to this, I reflect. It always comes down to men like Scud thinking we owe them something. Men like Scud using us and insulting us and then telling us we should be grateful for the attention. Sick rises again in my throat. This time, I force it back down. I won’t give him the satisfaction. But my hands shake with rage, my legs feel like they might simply drop away beneath me.
“Look how fat you’re getting.” He sneers, and there’s mocking laughter in his voice. “How long do you think Kade is going to keep you around, you fat slut?” He giggles to himself, shaking his head as though he can’t be
lieve I would be so stupid. “You’re a cunt,” he goes on in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s all. Just a cunt. And the fact that you would think yourself too good for me is downright ridiculous. A cunt like you should be—”
“Stop saying I should be grateful!” I snap.
“You fat whore!”
“I’m not fat, you moron! I’m pregnant! I’m goddamn pregnant!”
As we talk, we move around the table, him trying to get at me and me making sure he can’t. By the time I shout at him that I’m pregnant, my back is to the door and he’s looking at me—and at the bar behind me. When I shout that I’m pregnant, Scud’s eyes go wide, fearful, and he immediately takes a step back and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He looks like a cowed kid trying to act casual in front of an angry parent.