RECYCLED MEMORY

by Richardson, SH

  One shot changed that; there was no going back.

  We walked side by side back to the main house to pick up my bike. The tension between us was thicker than the dust storms I’d experienced in the Middle East. We’d never had any trouble talking to each other in the past. We used to share everything, no matter how small or trivial it seemed at the time. Grilling her for information now would only make her to shut down further, so I took the chance on a less volatile topic of discussion.

  “You cut your hair and dyed it black.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes, a long time ago,” she answered, surprised. “I needed something new, completely unlike the old me, so I started with the hair.”

  “Pity. I kind of liked the old you. That girl liked to ride my cock till’ her insides were raw, then begged me to give her more.” I smiled down at her, but she didn’t return it.

  “Well, she’s dead. Get over it,” she snapped.

  Her answer was like a punch to my nuts I never saw coming. Maribel turned her back on everything about the past, cut her family from her life, and chose to work a menial job instead of living up to her full potential. She didn’t need me to remind her of what we were; those two people were forever altered by fate. We could never go back. We’d loved each other once, the out-of-control Romeo and Juliet kind of love, with too many hormones mixed with unhealthy teenage angst. Maribel was definitely onto something with her denial of the past; we weren’t those lovesick people anymore. I had a lot of ground to cover if I ever expected her to trust me again,

  It was the only way for me to save her and myself.

  The bike was parked right where I’d left it the night before. My dick hardened at the sight of her gleaming in the morning light. That bitch was badass. Buck was right when he said she was special. With all things being equal, I’d much rather he were alive to enjoy his most prized possession instead of me.

  “Is that the same bike from the night of the school dance?” Maribel pointed to the Pussy Magnet.

  “Yeah, Buck left her to me when he passed away, said he always wanted me to have it in case anything ever happened to him.”

  “I read about what happened in the newspaper. I wanted to come to the funeral, but I didn’t think it was such a good idea. We didn’t exactly end things on good terms, you and I, and Buck was…” She paused. “I didn’t want to cause you any more grief than was necessary.”

  “Like you said, Pocket, that was the past. Who really gives a shit, right?” I repeated her words from earlier. “And just for the record… We never fucking ended,” I grumbled.

  Range stepped from the house before we had a chance to mount up and pull off. It was barely past dawn, and he was dressed and ready for a full day’s work at the junkyard. I was so proud of my brother for taking over and keeping things going the way Buck always had when he was alive. The junkyard was a big part of his life; it had saved him from that piece-of-shit father of his and given him something worth living for. He’d carved out his little piece of heaven, and with Clover by his side, he was finally happy. He deserved that and so much more. We all did.

  “Mem. Maribel.” He flicked his chin toward the two of us. “You’re both up awfully early.”

  “I’ve heard that a few times now.” She asked, “What does it mean… Mem?”

  “Short for Memory. Nickname given to me by my squad leader in the Marines. He used to say once I set my sights on the enemy, they were nothing but a fucking memory. Name stuck.”

  “Oh. Oh, my.” Maribel’s skin was flushed, and her cheeks turned a cute shade of pink. I thought about leaning down and kissing her pouty lips, but she wasn’t mine to touch. Not yet.

  “I hope I didn’t get you into trouble with Clover last night, Range,” she tried to recover. “I didn’t mean to start such a ruckus by telling everyone that Marci is my sister. Didn’t know it was such a sore subject around here.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Maribel, She’ll be fine. Besides, Clover will use any excuse to jump my bones and sexually dominate me.” He smirked. “She’ll sleep till noon after last night’s little episode of who shot John.”

  Maribel rewarded Range with her beautiful smile and a shake of her head at his line of bullshit. She knew full well there was no way for Clover to overpower Range’s freakishly big ass in the bedroom.

  “Then I’m sorry you had to endure such torture at the hands of your overbearing wife. Next time, I’ll keep my stupid mouth shut.” She grinned.

  “Shit, I hope she has enough left over to punish my ass again tonight. You feel me?”

  Fuck. He reminded me of Buck more and more every time he opened his mouth.

  “Pocket has a shift at the diner, wants to head home to change first,” I spoke directly to Range.

  “You think that’s wise, brother?” Range raised an eyebrow. “Could mean trouble for her.”

  I knew what he wanted to ask, but interfering with how another brother handled his woman went against the code. Buck always said that each man had his own way of dealing with certain shit, his woman in particular. Stick your nose in and watch it get chopped off if you fucked with the wrong one. I’d call on my brothers when the time came. Until then, I had things under control.

  “It’s all good. She won’t be in any danger, not while I’m around.”

  “You both know I’m standing right here, right?” Maribel sassed. “I won’t be needing anyone’s fucking help, especially his. Been dealing with shit a long time, Range. Today is no different, regardless of what he says.”

  She hooked her thumb in my direction, and for the second time that morning, I wanted to throw my tongue down her smart-ass mouth and shut her up good and proper. We didn’t acknowledge her little outburst; she wasn’t calling the shots. I was all too familiar with her mouthy ways, and it had never stopped me from doing things the way I saw fit before.

  It for damn sure wouldn’t slow me down now.

  “Check in with Fox down at the tattoo shop, Mem. He’s got a line on that intel you were looking for. I woke his ass up this morning at the ass crack of dawn, and he was one pissed-off motherfucker.” He shook his head with a smirk and started down the steps. “Missed you, girl. Welcome home,” Range whispered to Maribel the moment he passed where she was standing.

  Maribel’s whole demeanor changed when we were finally alone. Her heavy sigh and unfocused glare were hard to watch without the consuming need to hold her in my arms. Seeing her sad or upset over anything had always been my undoing. Just like now. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to comfort herself from whatever dark thoughts had entered her mind. I needed her to believe that she wasn’t alone and that I’d always be there to protect her.

  “What’s going through that pretty head of yours, little pocket? Talk to me, baby… please.”

  “He seemed so happy and so deeply in love, Marcus. It nearly broke my heart seeing the way his smile danced in his eyes,” she whispered.

  “Why, baby?” I reached out and touched her soft cheek with the back of my hand. “Why would loving someone break your heart?”

  She steeled her spine and moved away from my touch.

  She raised her chin with defiance. Her eyes flashed like lightning bolts.

  “I’m ready to leave now, Marcus, if you don’t mind.”

  The fuck?

  “We’re not finished here, Pocket, not until you tell me what I want to know,” I barked.

  “I have a better idea, Marcus,” she seethed. “Why don’t I tell you something you don’t want to know? Like how I tried for days after you left to spend time with Range and the rest of the guys, but none of them would see me? Or how Buck mended the fence by the playhouse, so I couldn’t get back in after you’d left. Or how he threw me out of the junkyard and told me never to come back, or he’d electrify the entire area to keep me out. Are those some of the things you wanted to know, or should I tell you more?”

  Maribel swiped at her eyes and wiped away the wayward tears that
had escaped during her angry speech. I wanted to drop to my knees and beg her to forgive me, confess that it was my idea to have everyone cut her off, so she could live her life to its fullest. Just when I though my morally bad actions had justified the means, she managed to cripple me with the truth about what it had really accomplished. It was the dull blade of the knife that had cut her heart from the inside of her chest supplied by the one person who had sworn he would never hurt her. Once we climbed on the bike and took off toward the open road, I realized that out of everything she’d said, she’d never answered my question about love.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Maribel

  WHY COULDN’T I CONTROL my emotions around that man? I wasn’t that girl anymore. One innocent question about love, and I completely lost my shit like an adolescent fool. He had this way of getting under my skin. I wanted to rip his eyes out or fuck him into next week all within twenty-four hours of his reappearance. Either alternative would work towards getting him out of my system for good and putting an end to this unwanted partnership. I hadn’t asked for his help, but of course Mr. Tough Guy had to go and shoot someone in the leg. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d forcefully nominated himself as my own personal fucking bodyguard. I needed to find the manual for this brand of new and improved bullshit. How to shake off your ex-boyfriend for Dummies.

  Fucking hell.

  Where was Tony Robbins Life Coach when I needed him?

  The first stop on this motorcycle-traveling freak show was at a tiny little strip mall nestled in the heart of Remington Township. I’d passed it many times on my way to Nipsy’s but never had a reason to stop before today. A tattoo shop, a candy store, and a laundromat; sounded more like the start to a nursery rhyme instead of the reason for Marcus to drive us there. According to my trusted chaperone, Fox was the name of the man who Range had decided to call at the ass crack of dawn, and he owned the tattoo parlor at the far end of the plaza. I much preferred a trip to the laundromat, considering my uniform was covered with yesterday’s meatloaf special we served at the diner mixed with the DNA of an unknown gunshot victim. I probably smelled far worse than I looked, which served his ass right for insisting that I tag along.

  “What are we doing here, Marcus? The stores aren’t even open yet.” I pouted.

  “Fox has an apartment above the tattoo shop, and I won’t leave you out here alone while I talk to him, so move your sexy little ass before I throw you over my shoulder.” Ugh. So bossy.

  We walked around to the side of the building and approached a hidden door. Seconds after Marcus rang the bell, we heard a buzzing sound that allowed us entrance inside, which led to a flight of stairs. The climb to the top left me completely out of breath, but once the door swung open, I was panting for another reason entirely.

  Fox didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet. He wrenched open the door with enough force to tear it off the hinges before he walked away with a throaty grunt. I barely caught a glimpse of his face, but if it was anything like the view from the back, this guy was definitely at the top of the fuckable list. He was tall, well over six feet, and from the look of his unruly hair had been sleeping soundly before Marcus and I arrived. He was shirtless, and his muscled back reminded me of an inverted triangle, broad across the shoulders with a tapered waist that disappeared into a pair of silk sleeping pants that hung deftly low above his ass. And what an ass it was. Two firm globes of hardy flesh that barley jiggled when he walked toward his spacious kitchen. There was a tattoo painted across one of his shoulders of an eagle carrying something I couldn’t make out in the dimness of the room. Neither of us said a word as Fox reached inside his cabinet and grabbed three large cups and sat them on the counter before filling each with freshly-brewed coffee. He still hadn’t turned around to face us, and I was starting to get a little worried that perhaps I was in for a letdown. Four healthy sips from one of the cups, and he finally turned and offered us each one of our own. One look into his dark, sleepy eyes, and my pussy did its own version of the Cha Cha slide right between my legs.

  Holy fuck balls.

  “I should start charging you junkyard motherfuckers for waking me up this time of the morning.” Ohmigod. That voice was pure honey to my ears and the soundtrack for my own personal thirty-second fantasy staring this man and his pierced nipples. Breathe, Maribel, breathe.

  “My bad, brother,” Marcus replied. “Maribel Laine, meet Mace Fox. An old friend and fellow jarhead. Mace here is a retired Navy SEAL and owns the best fucking tattoo shop on the east coast. He can also be an asshole if he doesn’t have his coffee or muscle drink shit in the morning.”

  Marcus smirked.

  I swooned.

  “Damn right, fucker. Didn’t leave the shop till after three this morning, and I went home alone. No pussy and no sleep make Fox a mean motherfucker,” he growled. “S’up, Maribel.”

  Hearing the man say “pussy” made my tongue roll out my mouth like a cartoon dog, flap around on the floor for a bit, then roll back up like an old school window shade.

  “Nice to suck you… I mean meet you. Nice to meet you, um… Mace.” Way to go, nutcase.

  “Hmmm…interesting,” Marcus mused.

  I’d hoped for a hasty escape from my little faux pas, but of course that shit didn’t happen. Marcus’s roguish smirk suggested he’d heard every word and was fully aware that I found Mace Fox attractive. What hot-blooded woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to ride that horse into the sunset if she had the chance? Mace was hot as all get out, but he wasn’t what I longed for. That position was securely held by a leather-clad tough guy whom I craved more than my next breath.

  “You wanna talk in front of your woman?” Fox asked while he continued to sip his coffee. “It’s messy, Mem. You might want to ask her to leave.” Fucking hell. Here we go again.

  “You do see me standing over here, right? I can decide for myself, MACE.” And once again, I was totally ignored until Marcus gave him the chin lift that indicated it was safe to speak. I stomped my foot like a petulant child, which earned me dual sexy smiles that almost made it all better.

  Almost.

  “Darragh MacCabe,” Mace announced. “Youngest son of Connor MacCabe, head of the Boston-based Irish mob, runs the underground fights up and down the east coast. His daddy put him in charge of the operation to test his metal and prove his worth to the family. That cocksucker you shot last night works as his muscle when it’s time to collect the bets. He’s smart, cunning, and damn ruthless when it comes to his paper.”

  How the hell did he know about the shooting incident? Was it broadcast on macho man television last night or something? I glanced over at Marcus, who sipped from his coffee cup while he listened intently. Never once giving anything away.

  “Any word as to why they thought Maribel was into them for a bet she never fucking made?”

  Marcus slammed his cup of coffee down so hard it sloshed all over the counter. Fox casually grabbed a roll of paper towels and wiped up the mess with a shake of his head. He was definitely a neat freak judging by the look of things. The kitchen was spotlessly organized without a utensil out of place. Once he was satisfied that everything was pristine again, he addressed Marcus’s question with a hint of hesitation.

  “Her boyfriend” —he paused—“was up big, made a fucking bundle on one of the under cards. Guess he thought he could break the house, bet that much and what he didn’t have. Lost his ass on the last fight of the night.” Fox ran a hand over his face in frustration.

  “How much?” Marcus roared. The boom of his voice shook the very foundation.

  “Two hundred and fifty large, brother. Said his girlfriend’s father was the chief of staff at some hospital and was good for it. Left her holding the whole nut, skipped town last I heard.”

  “FUCK! Motherfucking shit. Bitch made pussy.”

  Marcus was beyond pissed. He was herculean in his outrage, beyond anything I had ever seen from him before. The longer he thundered, the harder my hands shook with dread. I
tried steadying my breathing, in through my nose and out of my mouth, but my lungs failed to fill with much-needed air. A heavy weight threatened to crush my chest, and my vision danced with flashes of light right before it blurred in a darkened haze. The cup of hot coffee I held in unsteady hands spilled down the front of my off-white uniform, and I was powerless to stop it. I was trapped in the hold of a full-blown panic attack, something I hadn’t experienced since I was a teenager.

  The porcelain cup slipped from my grasp and crashed to the floor.

  This can’t be happening.

  Not now.

  The echoing between my ears was enough to distort the panicked cries from Marcus and Mace, although I was vaguely aware of their flurried movements. Strong arms hoisted me up from the ground, where I was quickly carried away to a nearby room and stripped of my uniform. The shouting intensified as my brain registered every third word of what they were saying. Burn. Skin. Fuck. Hurry. The moment the spray of freezing water assaulted my overheated skin, all five of my previously dormant senses returned at once. I fought, scratched, and screamed until finally I was nothing more than a boneless heap of shivering despondency over the loss of someone else who had sworn to care about me and would never leave.

  “I’m right here, baby. Hold on to me. Don’t let go, don’t ever let go.”

  The harsh spray of water was turned off, and I was wrapped securely inside something warm and plush. Marcus held on to me as if I were a precious doll, afraid I might break if handled too roughly. Through chattering teeth and a throat raspingly thickened from too much crying, I tried to speak, but it was no use; it all sounded like babble.

  “Mmm… sssscccaaarrreeeddd… Mmmmcccuuusss… sssscccaaarrreeeddd of being aaalllooonnne.”

  “Shhh, baby, please don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart, little pocket,” he hushed.