by Amy Isan
It barely helped last time. I crack open a beer and drink it. The fridge barely keeps it below luke warm, but it and its friends will get the job done.
I throw away the frozen dinner and pull the bed out from the couch. It isn’t much, but it’s mine. I've never cared for creature comforts. I can't imagine the idea of me, standing in a Bed Bath and Beyond.
My thoughts turn from towel super stores back to Cassie. She seems like the kind of woman who'd get pissy if a pillowcase wasn't just-so. I imagine her body wrapped around mine. Her smooth hands stroking my chest. I sink down into the thin mattress just thinking about it, and I feel myself growing harder. Another night of temptation, I can tell. It’ll be hard to keep myself from visiting her again — especially if I didn’t even scare her.
Soon after slackening my boxers and climaxing, I fall into a strange dream.
. . .
I’m wading through a river, the water soaking through my leathers and touching my stomach. It’s chilled, but only vaguely, like I’m numb to it from being in it for so long. The moon hangs like a strange jewel in the sky, much too big to be real. Other people are in the water too, but they’re just standing around, barely moving their lips in a pantomimed kind of talking. Their eyes are all distant and staring off into the horizon, and none of them will glance at me, despite my shouts. Walking through the water is like fighting a tide, almost impossible and exhausting to the core. I push past several people whom I barely recognize, women with brunette or blonde hair, almost faceless.
On the other side of them is another woman. She stands alone in the middle of a small island, but it’s dry and not submerged. I step up out of the water and feel a lightness overtake me. It isn’t just from slogging off the wet clothing covering my soaked legs, but almost like I’m floating. She turns as I disturb her tranquility, and I can finally see it’s who I thought it was: Cassie.
She grins at me, her eyes grow soft, and she opens her arms. I almost stumble racing toward her, but it feels like she isn’t any closer, like I can’t reach her. My clothes are still too wet. I strip off my jacket and leathers, and I feel like she’s a bit closer. Every leather article comes off, including my black stained boots, and naked now, I can reach her.
She extends her fingers to touch me, and then her grin changes to a look of disgust. She scowls and shuns me, turning back and diving into the murky water. The marsh ripples and echoes around where she dove in, but she’s gone. I’m left standing, naked, on an island. Surrounded by bikers and rotting, sunken motorcycles.
I wake up from the dream, more hungover than I thought I’d be. I roll out of bed and get dressed. I gotta get on my bike. I need to clear my mind.
. . .
At the bar, every one else’s bikes aren’t even parked right, half of them are facing the wrong direction and one looks like it’s teetering on collapsing. What the hell is going on? Before I even get to the door, I can hear arguing, and I brace myself for the worst.
Inside, Tank is holding back two of the guys from coming at each other’s throats. One is sporting a bruised lip and his jacket is off. I try to not make a scene as I approach.
“... What the fuck do you plan on doing, you chicken shit?” Rifle screams at Driver, but Tank holds him back from landing another blow. “You think this is just a high school drama club?”
Driver shakes his head and spits up some blood. He isn’t even fighting Tank’s strong arm, but he is pretending to lean into it. “I bet this is your fault anyway.”
“What the fuck is going on?” I interject, grabbing their attention. Tank stares at me and clears his throat before raising his voice to speak over the commotion.
“Rifle says that Surge is gonna die, and Driver threw a punch at him.”
“Wait, what the fuck? Surge is going to die?” I scowl. “Rifle’s full of shit, I just saw the old man yesterday.”
Rifle sneers and pulls away from Tank, freeing himself from the strong grip. He lowers his eyes and stares at me. “Then he didn’t tell you. The doctors found cancer.”
“Cancer?” I repeat the word, but it feels empty and meaningless. It doesn’t hit me. “What are you talking about? I think he would have told me.”
“He didn’t tell anyone,” Rifle says.
“ — That’s why he’s full of shit,” Driver says. “He’s just making shit to stir us up.”
My skin bristles as a chill runs up my spine. Rifle’s eyes are smug, but he doesn’t look like he’s lying. He isn’t smart enough to lie about anything and get away with it. But twisting the truth might not be lying, and I won’t really know how serious things are until I can get to Surge myself and talk things out. Until then... “Just back off, Rifle,” I say.
“What are you going to do about it, rookie?” Rifle goads me. I shut my eyes and let a moment of rage pass over, and I turn to Tank.
“Has anyone gone to see Surge since Rifle started spouting this shit?”
Tank shrugs and shakes his head. “No, he just showed up this morning and started pushing everyone’s buttons.” I can feel Rifle’s gaze digging into my cheek, but I continue to pretend he isn’t there. I’ll deal with him another time.
“I heard you got driver’s information, the bitch who hit Surge.” Rifle’s voice is like a bug in my ear. But his words make my heart start racing, as I feel everyone turn towards me.
“I don’t have time for this shit.” I sigh heavily. “I’ll be back soon,” I say. I shoot a glance at Driver, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Rifle the whole time. He needs a distraction. “Driver, come with me.”
Driver breaks his gaze and gawks, as if he doesn’t believe me. I nod and wave for him to come. “Come on, we don’t have time to argue about it.”
“I wasn’t—,” he starts, but shuts his mouth. He’s right behind me as I walk out the door, leaving Tank to deal with Rifle and the others until we get back.
. . .
Driver’s riding is sloppy, and I remember again how young he is. A part of me wants to cheer him up, and another part wants to yell at him. If Surge knew what was going on back at the bar... I want to say. I push the thought out and let the drone of our bikes and groan of the road dull my thoughts until we reach the hospital.
Same routine. In the parking lot, into the reception area, and into Surge’s room. He’s propped up with some pillows behind his head, and he’s reading a motorcycling magazine. At first glance, he appears just fine. Just the way we left him yesterday.
I knock a bit too harsh and step inside without invitation. His eyes shoot up from the magazine and dance between Driver and I. He looks groggy. “What’s going on?”
“Rifle’s spouting shit at the bar, saying you’re dying.”
Surge frowns, and shakes his head. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if he’s thinking about something. I shove Driver forward and sit down in a seat. “Well?”
Surge sighs heavily and sets the magazine down on the bedside table. “Always a baby.” He breathes again. “They did an X-ray when I came in yesterday, and found something strange in my lower stomach. The results came back and they think I might have cancer.”
“Cancer? What the hell? You’re too young for that,” I protest. Even though I feel it, the words sound hollow to me. He isn’t old, but he does have more grey than anyone else in the gang. “Are they sure?”
“I’m not dying, as Rifle said. But I’m not doing great either. They don’t know how long I’ve had it, and the doc says they’ll have to do surgery to take a look.”
“Jesus...” Driver whispers. He's staring out the window of the room, his eyes glazed over.
“Yeah,” Surge says. “Shitty luck all around.”
“Shitty luck? What about the fucking drug deal?”
Surge glares at me and reaches out to grab my jacket. He jerks me closer and growls at me. “Keep your fuckin’ voice down, boy. Don’t worry about the stupid deal, it’ll get sorted one way or another.”
I shake him off and sit back in the chair. I’m p
issed, but I don’t know why. Everything is shit. “Why the hell is Rifle still tagging along at the bar, anyway?”
“He’s lost, I can’t just kick him out,” Surge begins to say. I shake my head and he stops.
“Bullshit. I don’t care if he’s lost, let someone else take care of him.”
Surge stares at me, and shakes his head with some regret. “I’m sure you’d have liked that when you were younger too, huh?” I hate it when he’s right, taking me right back to when I was still a chump. I guess I’ll always be a kid in his eyes. It’s useless to argue with him.
I shake my head.
“I heard you know who the driver is that hit me.”
I freeze up. I clamp my mouth shut and lower my gaze. I squeeze my jeans and feel like I’m going to tear a hole through the coarse denim. “You hear that from Rifle too?”
“I just know you better than that, Logan.” Surge lets out a breath. “I’m sure you’re doing what you need — but that doesn’t mean the others will agree.”
After a few moments of staring at the tiles on the floor, I pound my fist on my leg and stand up, only briefly glancing to Surge and Driver before walking out the door into the hallway.
I have nothing else to say, nothing that’ll do him or me any good. Leaving now is the only right choice, otherwise I might do something more than bruise myself. I’m in a daze as I cross down the hall to the lobby, and out into the sunlight again. The clouds have cleared up, and short black shadows have nearly shrunken underneath their owners in the parking lot. All the cars ripple with light, and the beat-up chrome on my bike looks gnarly and beaten with age and torture. If riding doesn’t help sort my mood, what can?
I hop on the bike and kick it into life. The engine roars and takes me out of the parking lot, down the highway, and out of my mind. If Surge is really that sick, then what can the club do?
Nothing right now. I weave between two slow ass cars and rev the engine to high hell down the road. I’m flirting with fifty over the limit, but I’ve never been stopped. If Surge can’t be the one to handle the gang this weekend, then who will? Certainly not Rifle... Tank is too timid despite his size, and lacking in the experience that’ll make him really give a shit. He hasn’t seen it all go horribly wrong.
. . .
After parking my bike at the bar, I burst in through the front door. The men don’t look like they’re fighting, but their attention shifts to me in a suspicious way. I ignore the air of bitterness, and walk right past Tank and slam my hands on the ruined table. As I look between the men, I realize Rifle isn’t anywhere to be seen.
“Where’s Rifle?” I ask. Tank clears his throat and steps forward from his bouncer-like post against the pillar.
“He went out to get some smokes, but he’s coming back.” Tank hesitates, then continues, “He wants to take over the club since Surge isn’t game.”
“Bullshit,” I spit out. “He’s in no way fit to run the club, especially with shit going down this weekend. Why not you? You’re the vice president.”
Tank shrugs. “No shit Rifle can't be leader, but neither can I. I’m not cut out for it, I can’t think on my feet like Surge can. Everyone else is too... inexperienced.”
I fume and fold my arms across my chest. The tight leather creaks against my arms and shoulders, and I find it somewhat soothing. Fighting the tension of the leather lets me relieve some steam without going ballistic on someone. After collecting myself, I close my eyes and start telling the men what’s going to happen.
“Rifle wasn’t lying, but he’s still an asshole” The other men chuckle. “The deal is still on this weekend, and we need someone to take over and handle it without Surge around. Someone who isn’t Rifle, for fuck’s sake.”
Tank clams up, and the others, most noticeably Six-Shooter, avert their gaze from mine. I try and meet them, but they all pretend to be more interested in their half-eaten burgers and fries. I clear my throat, and draw my hands together, threading my fingers.
“I’m the only one who knows how these things can go wrong, and I’ll take over the club while Surge is out of commission. I can prepare for... any problems. I’m more experienced than anyone anyway.”
Tank shakes his head, and drags me closer to him so only I can hear him. “You don’t want to do this, Logan, really.”
“I have to,” I say. I pull his hand off my jacket and stand up straight again. I clear my throat and look to the other men. “But we’re not gonna get any footing with a bunch of pussies running in our crew. You all need to toughen up, it’s not play-time anymore. Hopefully the drug deal with make you realize how real this all is. If you can’t stomach that, you better leave now, before we have to strip your cut off your corpse.”
A couple of the men murmur and look around, as if they either don’t want to be the first to stand up, or they’re waiting to ridicule anyone who does. I scan my eyes over the group of thrown together stragglers. Six-Shooter, Tank, Petrol, and Sword. The gang really is anemic without Rifle, Surge, and Driver here. I’ll have to talk to them separately. Especially Rifle. I’m starting to see why Surge is keeping him around. At least someone else was restless for change.
“Surge didn’t put this in place so we could fuck it up,” I say. I breath in sharply. “An opportunity for a small gang like us to get a leg up over any of the others in the territory is huge, especially if things are in turmoil. If the other clubs get wind that we’re this weak-willed, it’s over.”
Six-Shooter clears his throat and leans over onto his elbows. “So what d’ya want us to do?”
I meet his gaze and give him a slight nod. “You can’t fight with each other anymore. I know Surge stressed that, but it’s more important than you realize. We’re brothers here, and as much as I hate to say it, even Rifle with all his shit-stirring. And before this deal goes down, we’ll start acting like the brothers we are.”
Sword snorts and gives me a sideways glance. “Brothers?”
“Brothers. Tighter knit than blood.”
A pale smile crosses his lips, and they all start to agree. The air changes from tension, not quite camaraderie but hell of a lot better than whatever was going on before. Tank smacks me on the back and nearly throws me onto my face, but I nod to him. It’s a start, at least. Another thought crosses my mind, and I decide to go with it. “We’ll have an initiation, a new one. I don’t know what you boys were subjected to when Surge let you join Ruin MC, but no more casual-riders will be walking around with our name. After I’m through with you, you’ll be men.”
I clench my jaw and wait for any protests. No one stands to leave, and they all seem to be in better spirits. As for me, I need something else to calm my nerves. Something more carnal and lustful. My mind goes to Cassie, and her severe eyes and knitted brow. Like my thoughts had strayed far from her all day.
CHAPTER 7 — CASSIE
The next morning, I drag myself out of bed and crawl into the shower. I feel groggy and out of it, and worst of all, frustrated. My dreams were tumultuous and eerie, and too realistic to get grips on. One of those nights where the emotions flooding your dream hang over you all day like a wretched cloud. What else can I do but try and ignore it?
After bathing and getting dressed, I silently creep into the kitchen to find Sara there with Mark. She’s sitting on his lap, being altogether too disgustingly flirty for me to handle. Mark’s hand is angled on her thigh, but mostly hidden under the edge of the table. They’re making kissy faces at each other, and making my mood that much more sour.
As I slip past and reach for the fridge, Sara’s gleaming smile fades and she turns her head to talk at me. Not to me, but in my general direction. I’ve lived with her long enough to know better. She’ll avoid my gaze if I try to meet her. “Who was that last night?”
I pull up the carton of milk from the door and crack open the spout. Just before I pull it up to my lips, I play dumb. “Who?”
Sara’s voice raises an octave. “Cassie! I’m not stupid! We both saw him!”
Placing the milk back in the fridge, I eye for something to eat. I pretend to not hear her, not wanting to get into it. With my head still ducked in the chill air, I talk into the carton of eggs. “Just a guy I met the other day...”
Sara sighs and I hear her whisper something to Mark. My eye twitches, and I instinctively grab it to try and stop the spasm. I hate it when this happens, it’s like hiccups but worse. Once it starts, my eye will be twitching all day long. My mom used to say that it was because I made goofy faces as a kid, but growing up, I know it’s from stress. I groan and shut the fridge shut. I don’t want to be here anymore.
“Where are you going?” Sara calls after me as I walk past her and grab my sweater and bag. Without another word, I open the front door and leave.
The sun is blistering, and I’m already missing the relatively cool winter nights. It never gets really cold where we live, but it’s better than facing ninety degree weather days for four months in a row. Thinking about wearing something white outside? Forget about it. Too bad darker colors just make you sweat more.
. . .
At work, I duck under Becky’s assaults and try to make my way through the day unharmed. While she had been nice for a few days, her mood has been tanking recently. It wasn’t unusual, and I probably should be used to it by now, but after months of watching her go back and forth through her bipolar phases, I'm just exhausted. It doesn't help I'm the only one she ever focuses on.
“Cassie, how nice of you to join us,” she says as I shut the door behind me. She’s dripping with sarcasm so thick that everyone in a four block radius must know she’s displeased. I speed walk past the confused clients and their dogs, and disappear into the back room. I steal a look at the clock in the break area and realize I’m not even late.
Becky walks into the room, her eyebrows knitted and face scowling. I stare into my locker before fishing out my apron and tying it on. “You’re late, again.”
I shake my head and hold my eye to try and stop it from twitching. I’ve gotten good at pretending I just have something in it. “I’m not late.” I finish tying the apron. “It’s ten till eleven.”