Scar

by Morgan Jane Mitchell

  “I couldn’t just put him in the ground.” Her eyes meet mine as she wiped her face of the tears, trying to pull herself back together.

  My brow creased as I held her gaze. “And now you want to die?” It made me angry. My words were harsh, but I just didn’t get it.

  “That’s complicated too.” She tried to pull away from me, but I held on.

  Our naked bodies pressed together, I wanted to remind her of what we experienced lastnight, when I felt I could stay in that moment forever with her and still never get enough. Words failed me. I didn’t know how to explain it to her. For once since I’ve met her, what I was feeling wasn’t complicated at all. My arm under her knees, I picked her up again and headed to the shower that was still running, running out of hot water in the back of my mind. Still grieving, Emery didn’t want to be kissed, so I lathered her up and got us both clean, doing my best on her long hair. Then when I’d finished, silently, I dried us both. I rubbed my stubble in the mirror, thinking I needed to shave.

  “Leave it,” Emery approved of my scruff. She wrapped herself in a towel, and I swept her off her feet again and carried her to the bedroom. “Not in here,” she pleaded, and I realized she didn’t want to be where her husband and his mistress had been. After laying her on the soft carpet in front of the fireplace, I got us a blanket and some pillows from the couch. Throwing Johnny’s old clothes on the fire, I stoked it until it roared. Losing my towel, I lied on my side, propped on my elbow, staring down at her. I slowly opened her towel, unwrapping her gently, trying to contain my eagerness but it was like Christmas and she was what I’d been wanting all year long.

  Emery sniffled, she wasn’t crying anymore but it’d been a bad spell. “I’m sorry, Scar, I’m not feeling very good. Goodness, it feels silly calling you that.”

  I quit tearing the paper. “If I tell you my real name, will you feel better?”

  She rolled her eyes and smiled a little. “Maybe.”

  Her tiny smile lit a spark in me. I wanted her for more than just easing my throbbing cock. “Well, there’s no maybe, it’s yes or no little lady. I tell you my real name, you laugh and give in and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll never be sad again. Hell, you won’t even remember your own name. Or, you say no, and I’ll remind you of our deal and fuck you senseless anyway.”

  Emery chuckled, “Well, sounds like an offer I can’t refuse but, first, what’s your real name?”

  “Edmond.”

  She sucked in a breath as she tried not to laugh, I could tell. “Really?”

  “You can laugh, it’s funny, I know. So, call me Scar, okay?”

  This time she wouldn’t deny me. I’d been good in the shower, ignoring my hard on as I soaped all the mud off her gorgeous body. I ran my thumb over her bottom lip, parting them before I leaned down.

  She stopped me. “Why?

  “Why, what?”

  “There’s always a reason. Why were you named Edmond?”

  Reluctantly, I propped myself back up to answer her. I didn’t want to talk about it. “My dad was some scientist, so he named me after some scientist. Why are you named Emery?”

  “My mom was a Deadhead, you know the song, a friend of the devil. Well it say’s sweet Anne Marie, but she thought it said sweet Emery.”

  I laughed, I knew the song. My cheeks burned with a smile as I realized she was already feeling better. She was all mine for the rest of the night, there was no need to rush. Descending to her sweet lips, I kissed her slow, savoring it.

  She wrapped her arms around my neck giving in for a moment, letting my tongue hit hers. Pulling her head away she laughed, “So did they call you Ed?”

  “That’s it, no more talking.” This time I kissed her, taking her breath away. After all, I’d promised to make her forget. Enjoying the softness of her skin against mine, I was slow, slowly touching her everywhere. Slow to leave her mouth and taste other parts of her, down her neck, her chest. Slow to find her sensitive parts but quick to enjoy her jump when I bit her nipple and squirm when my breath finally hit her clit. My tongue massaged her sorrow away, I hoped, as I kissed her in the most intimate way. When I finally entered her, I stared at her face, watching the fire dance in her chestnut eyes, wishing she’d never been hurt but knowing the pain she felt too well. Emery’s eyes were still swollen and red but shined with desire, a longing for me. I devoured her lips as I thrust into her. Maybe it was the fire light or the thunder that crashed, but I kissed her with the passion of a man in love, making love to her, something I didn’t trust but felt anyhow. Before I knew it, she’d rolled on top, and I guided her hips as I bathed in her beauty, the blaze illuminating her curves. The orgasm we shared hit me like a kick in the ribs. I didn’t need another and I was too overwhelmed for a cigarette. She lied on top of me, out of breath. Sated sexually but wanting more of her, I cocooned her in my arms and the blanket, her head on my pounding heart until morning.

  Waking to a hot breakfast and Emery ready to leave, I noticed she’d dressed in Kym’s hooker garb instead of the mistress’ clothes. I couldn’t blame her, so I gave her the diamond hoops I’d stolen off Kym’s corpse to complete the look. A gift from Amun, they were probably worth a fortune and since stealing from the dead was bad luck, they looked much better on Emery than they felt in my pockets. After all, she’d made me a wonderful breakfast. If Emery hadn’t stolen my heart last night, I was a goner now. With my belly full, I gave her a sweet kiss, enjoying the brief bliss of normalcy, knowing it couldn’t last.

  No longer Johnny Steven’s, I disappeared to the bathroom to become Scar again. I passed on my holey jeans, in favor of my black leather pants and pulled on my oldest t-shirt, gray, thin and comfortable. Remembering how much Emery enjoyed my stubble, I forgot shaving. I wondered if she would like the real me as I practically re-pierced my body putting in all my rings, my earrings, my lip ring and others, all over. I stuck my tongue out upset. I knew it’d grown up again. Wetting my hands, I slicked my hair back, out of my eyes and tied a black bandanna on. Lastly, I donned my cut over my leather jacket.

  Emery’s face lit up, surprised for a moment, but she didn’t utter a word when I emerged from the bathroom.

  “You ready to go, got everything?”

  “Got me, that’s everything.”

  I nodded since I’d forbidden her from taking the wedding rings, or anything that would connect her to this life.

  We drove to the bone yard first. Big Mike was good enough to have given me a key. My ride was right where I’d left it, under a tarp. Big Mike would strip Johnny’s truck for parts, disposing of the evidence.

  Emery was surprised when I took off the tarp. “That’s a nice motorcycle.”

  “Well, with as much traveling as I do.” I started to explain my need for hard saddlebags and an audio system but shut my mouth. We hadn’t talked about last night, and I was running out of time. I sat on my bike and tugged her to me.

  She climbed on me, eagerly straddling my lap, resting her elbows on my shoulders.

  “This is me, the motorcycle, the tats and piercings, the killing.”

  “I know,” Emery interrupted, kissing me, biting and sucking my lip ring into her mouth.

  My heart swelled as she accepted the real me. I stuck my tongue down her throat as my pants tightened beneath her warm naked center. Yes, Emery wouldn’t wear the mistress’s underwear either. I wanted to take advantage of the easy access, but we didn’t have time. My hands clutched her thighs as I thrust upward, rubbing against her, but I broke our kiss. “I’ve got to go. We’ve gotta go. Pick up something. From someone.” I wasn’t being too clear, intoxicated by her. Plus, I wasn’t used to explaining myself to anyone. I wasn’t even sure how much I should tell her. Emery knew too much already.

  “Okay,” she surmised slowly, “Your payment for killing Amun, I guess?”

  “Yeah,” I paused. “But then I’m heading somewhere else.”

  Emery’s mood darkened. “What about our deal?”

  “What ab
out it?” I challenged. I wanted her to say she’d been a fool. She didn’t want to die. But then, would she want her money back? I couldn’t let her walk away, no matter what I felt.

  “Last night,” she started, but I stopped her, placing a finger to her lips.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll talk about this. Right now, we’re off to visit an old friend of mine.”

  “And what about me?”

  We were going to be late and things could get dangerous. “You hold on tight and do as you’re told.” I started my engine, not giving her time to ask any more questions. Disappointed, she climbed on the back. I’d apologize later, if there were a later.

  A Friend of the Devil

  Emery clung to my back, making me anonymous as I rode into The Banshee’s backyard. Two hundred shiny Harleys lined the dealership sponsoring the charity ride. Hell on Heelz were known for their female centric good deeds. Riders paid fifty dollars a head to ride in honor of Legs, Shirley’s mom who’d been diagnosed with breast cancer last year. At age sixty-six, a fully patched member, she rode too. Legs, a big woman with her gray hair in a long braid, never showed off her legs anymore but I’d seen the legendary photos. She spotted me, waving her arms in the air as we pulled into the lot. I gave her a wink and blew her a kiss as we passed by. Legs could be an officer now for all I knew. Other than The Banshee, which was Shirley’s road name, known president of the mother chapter of Hell on Heelz, no one knew who was in the ranks. Unlike men, these women felt no need to parade around their statuses and conversely, they demanded all members be treated just as well as The Banshee herself.

  I left Emery on my bike, so I could walk down the lot to greet Shirley. Weekend warriors waited on their waxers and Hamsters showed off their choppers, all ready to ride with the Heelz. They were all Rider Clubs, no other MCs, so my cut turned a few heads as I got off my bike. You’d have to be stupid to mess with me or show me any disrespect while I displayed my originals. The Asphalt Gods, a true 1%er MC, outlaws with our three-piece patch and the reputation to back it up, frightened most law abiding citizens. Mine also bore other patches other than my handle, Scar and Nomad. 13 meant I belonged to the mother chapter and 17 stood for Asphalt Gods. OAGO meant Only Asphalt Gods Only. We followed no rules, even the load made up by the barstool bull shitters. We only acknowledged the bylaws of the Gods and our General, the president of our mother club in Arizona. We were affiliated with no one, but our own who were spread out all over 20 states and Canada. Shirley’s Heelz sported a three-piece patch too, and they’d fuck you up just as quick, but weren’t considered outlaws by many because they were women.

  When Shirley dismounted her purple, fully dressed Harley, men and women crowded her like flies to manure. Taking off her tiny brain bucket and shaking out her flowing mane of auburn hair, she looked as good as ever. Her bare arms sported sun faded tattoos, a colorful jungle scene on one arm and a lotus flower with other exotic shit on the other. Pink leather pants, in honor of the ride today, caught my eye, along with matching boots with silver accents and shiny spurs. Next, I noticed her new bike decorations and smiled. Shirley acted like a girl and was damn proud of it. A cute tiger cub stuffed animal hugged her bike along with mementos of places she’d been like the beads from Marti Gras hanging out of her saddlebags. The queen in these parts, she smiled like an alligator while greeting her fans and was just as dangerous. If you were to let the pink pants fool you, you’d be dead, and probably by my hand. Amun had learned the hard way; The Banshee had friends in the lowest of places.

  She hadn’t spotted me yet, the crowd focused on her. Her belt buckle glinted in the sun, spelling MILF in big letters, reminding me of her other qualities. Leaning back on her bike, she gave them a show while men took pictures of her and with her, or more honestly, with her larger than life titties. She sure gave Dolly Parton a run for her money. A man cuddled in too close, and she shoved him away hard, causing him to stumble backwards and land on his ass.

  I laughed, hanging my head for a moment. That was Shirley all right.

  “I’d know that laugh anywhere.” Coming at me from outta nowhere, she punched my arm, shouting, “Scar!” People parted, leaving us alone with only the change in her demeanor, a quick wave of her hand.

  I leaned down, giving her a kiss on the cheek, noticing she smelled like the road and weed. She squeezed my ass, a promise she expected more later. Shirley was twenty years my senior, but that didn’t mean shit. Without a thought, she’d taken my virginity when she was thirty-six, and I’d just turned seventeen. I was twenty-seven now, meaning she’d be going on fifty soon, but she was still as fine as wine, getting better with age.

  “I take it the deed is done?”

  I couldn’t tell her about Kym yet. “Yes, and I’m heading to California in the morning.”

  She scrunched up her face, confused. “You’ll have the whole amount?”

  I felt guilty for talking about my business with another MC. She’d want to know all about it later. “It’s a long story, but yes, I’ll have it all, soon as we settle.”

  We continued walking toward my bike and Emery, but Shirley became unusually quiet once she saw another woman, not speaking until we entered Emery’s earshot. “Thought I sensed the presence of that piece of shit scooter of yours. A fucking Indian, still don’t know why the General allows it.”

  I only chuckled. It was true, my bike wasn’t the favored brand, but it was my favorite, at first, my old Indian was my only way to rebel against the General. Now, my brand spanking new one made me look like a RUB to some, but I hadn’t been able to resist buying one that might outrun my brother’s hogs. Midnight blue, a Classic Chieftain, it was a beautiful ride. The chrome Indian Chief Emblem on the front, acted as a symbol of pride, sort of honoring the native blood that ran through my veins from the family who were taken from me.

  “This here’s Anne Marie.” I smiled at Emery with a wink, knowing she’d catch on. “Anne, The Banshee.”

  “Nice to meet you?” Emery cracked a crazy fake smile, reaching out her hand.

  Shirley ignored the pleasantries and got down to being nasty right away. “Anne Marie. Just Anne Marie? No leathers? She your property, Scar?”

  “Now, Shirley you know the Gods don’t really own women.”

  She shrugged, hoping her words scared off my girl, knowing her. “It’s only a matter of time. The General isn’t getting any younger.” Shirley never let an opportunity to remind me about her plight slip by.

  “Anne’s getting ready to go suit up for the ride.” I piled a wad a cash into Emery’s hand and gestured toward the door of the dealership. “Go on inside and tell them you need the works.”

  Emery walked off without a word, and I just had to trust her. I had Emery’s money after all, but as I watched her walk away, her ass swinging back and forth in her hooker clothes, I realized I needed her to come back.

  “Never thought I’d see the day you’d show up on my doorstep with a back warmer. You trust her?”

  “Yes,” I lied, quickly grasping my mistake. If Shirley knew I’d brought anyone I wasn’t sure about into her vicinity, I’d be crap on toast. I knew now I’d never be able to explain who Emery really was to Shirley, even if I said she’d been paying me to kill her. Who’d buy that? “She’s my girl.” I added for good measure.

  “You bringing her to my roost after we ride?” She asked with a pout.

  “With your permission of course.” I took hold of Shirley’s waist, towing her in tight against me, despite the onlookers. “It isn’t like that. Anne doesn’t change the relationship between you and me.”

  “Good,” she grabbed my crotch. “Mama’s hurtin’ for you boy. Until later.” She blew me a kiss as she sashayed away. “Let’s ride,” she announced to the crowd and folks started revving their engines.

  Emery walked out of the shop just in time, looking like a different woman. She’d pulled her hair up, showing off the diamond hoops I’d stole off Kym’s corpse. Emery sparkled, a vision in leather as she str
apped on her half helmet and slid her shades on. Painted on black leather pants with Kym’s sparkly, tight, red tube top revealed her tight tan stomach with all her white little scars. She’d topped off the look with a black, sleeveless half leather vest, shaped to let her boobs run the show. Plain, of course, since she wasn’t prospecting and this shop doesn’t cater to posers. She kept her shiny red heels on, saying she was only going to be on the back and didn’t need boots. I wanted to fuck her on the bike, right then and there, but knew it’d make Shirley as jealous as hellfire. I didn’t know how I was going to spend a night with Shirley and leave Emery alone tonight. I’d have to too because, knowing Shirley, she wouldn’t hand over the money until I satisfied her.

  Emery and I jetted out of the lot right after The Banshee and Legs. We’d be riding high and tight, so it didn’t matter if I didn’t know the route. Watching the flaming high heels on the back of Shirley’s cut, I wondered why I didn’t leave the Gods when she did. Unlike some other outlaw gangs, the Asphalt Gods allowed women to become fully patched members. We didn’t really own women even if we called them our property. Sure, we had our whores and the women prospects had it the worst. Traditions don’t change overnight. Wives still liked to be called old ladies and men were still just as protective over them as ever. And they still weren’t faithful and could be found at the clubhouse with a whore impaled on their dicks rather than sitting round the dinner table. The women members were just as bad, bringing in prospects they fancied fucking. But Shirley earning rank, being an officer was too much for the men to handle. Shirley fought hard, put the others in their place too many times to count. She’d been Road Captain for three years before she’d had enough disrespect from her so-called brothers. Truth be told, she’d have been the natural successor to the General. The men had known it, and wouldn’t have it.

  They’d tried to frame her for various offenses against the club, but ended up fucking up and getting caught red-handed every time. For a while, it was comical and commonplace to see how much abuse The Banshee could take. Then they started going outside the club and got Shirley fired from her job at the hardware store. The General couldn’t punish every officer, or maybe he just wouldn’t, so he decreed whoever wanted to leave the club could do so with no punishment, for a limited time of course. Eventually, Shirley shipped out.