by Chiah Wilder
Soon she was headed over for her bi-monthly run to Junkyard Blues. Sometimes she’d find the coolest stuff, and other times it was a bust, but she’d never think of not checking it out. Inserting Hammerfall’s CD into her player, she put on her sunglasses and drove to the junkyard.
Junkyard Blues was a two-block square of dead and broken parts a few miles out of town. A high cement wall enclosed it, topped with barbed wire. Inside, rusty, dented cars were piled high in precarious heaps, hubcaps were scattered around the ground like donuts in a supersized box, and stacks of tires lent to the pervasive odor of metal and rubber.
As she walked around, she picked up a couple of hubcaps, three sheets of scrap metal, and unscrewed a few hood ornaments from the dead cars. The one from an old orange Mustang caught her eye: a busty woman with long flowing hair. She’d use the woman’s head and some of her hair as a pendant for a necklace, or she might use the whole ornament as part of a retro collage. At the time of purchase, she never quite knew where the pieces would end up in her repurposed art.
Turning down one of the lanes, she saw two guys standing in front of a pile of broken cars. As she began to walk down the aisle, she recognized one of the men as being the doofus who lost a wad of money to her about a month before. What the hell was his name? Cory. Yeah, that’s right. Not wanting to have an encounter with him, she spun around and went in another direction.
Deciding that leaving was probably the best thing to do, she walked toward the office to pay for her finds when what looked like a 1930s’ radio caught her eye.” Fucking awesome,” she said under her breath as she put her items on the ground and ran her fingers over the scratched wooden console. Turning it around, excitement coursed through her; most of the small radio tubes were intact. She’d been looking high and low for them, and the ones she’d found and bought online were pricey. To find them at the junkyard was beyond awesome. She could already picture them filled with semi-precious stones, or beads of varying colors, or colored sand to create a Native American look. I can even put dried flowers in them, or just leave them clear. This is great.
“Look who we have here,” a gravelly voice said behind her.
Hair lifted on the nape of her neck and arms as her heartbeat raced. Fuck! She slowly turned around and gazed into Cory’s tight face, his eyes cold and hard. “Hey,” she mumbled. Darting her eyes around the area, she tried to figure out how she could get away.
“Taking a break from hustling, bitch?” Cory spit out, and the short guy next to him laughed.
With her adrenaline pumping, she pretended to be clueless. She couldn’t let him see how scared she was. Bad people lived off the fear of others; if he could see she was afraid, she knew that would be her undoing.
“Just looking for some things to repurpose. They have some cool stuff here.” Be friendly but not overdone. Nonchalance is the key.
Cory seemed taken aback for a couple of seconds, and then his face twisted in anger again. “Spending the money you steal from hard-working people?”
“Look, I don’t want there to be any hard feelings. I’ll give you your money back.”
“I don’t want it anymore, bitch. You made me look like a fucking fool.”
You’re already a fool, so don’t blame me, asshole. She bit her inner cheek so her thought didn’t accidentally slip out. Even though she was scared, she was also pissed that Cory was threatening to ruin what had started out as a good day. “I didn’t mean to. Just take your money and let’s put this behind us, okay?” She started to shuffle away but Cory’s friend came up behind her.
“I want a piece of your ass. I admired it every time I saw you. Your ass for my money. Seems fair. What do you think, Tyler?” Cory grinned like a grotesque pumpkin on Halloween. She shuddered.
“It’d be fairer if her ass was for both of us. After all, she hustled you out of your paycheck.”
What kind of an idiot bets his whole paycheck on a pool game? Fuckin’ moron! As images of what could be flashed in her head, she gulped down breaths to steady herself. She couldn’t lose her cool. Again she looked around, but it was as quiet as a graveyard. The only sound was the background clanking of a distant freight train as it sliced through the desert.
“Oh my God! What is that?” she yelled as she pointed behind Cory. He whipped around and his friend moved away from her, and she took off running. She knew the few seconds she’d distracted them wasn’t much but she ran with all she had, dust kicking up behind her heels. Her lungs struggled to keep up with her panting, feeling as though they would burst, but she kept going.
Right before she rounded the corner to go down one of the aisles, searing pain assaulted her scalp as she was snapped back like a rubber band. “Fucking bitch!” Cory’s voice boomed as his hand wrapped tighter around her long hair.
“Leave me alone!” Desperately, she tried to break away from his grip, but she was no match for his strength.
“Grab her legs,” Cory said to Tyler. He complied and soon Raven was on the ground, Tyler holding her down as Cory sank to his knees. Tyler’s hand muffled her screams, and both of them restrained her kicks.
“She’s a fighter,” Tyler said as he clamped his hand tighter over her mouth.
The bright sun beat down on them and black spots danced in front of her eyes. What am I going to do? Bile rose up her throat.
Cory ran his hands over her breasts and squeezed them. “You’re gonna find out what happens to bitches who dupe me.” Sneering, he unzipped his jeans.
She closed her eyes, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. He’s going to rape me. Oh God. No. No. No! Her insides screamed with terror as Cory’s fingers tugged at the waistband of her jeans. Tyler snickered as he hovered over her, his hand still pressed against her mouth.
A feral growl filtered into her ears as Cory’s friend said, “What the fuck?” His hand slipped away from her lips. She opened her eyes and saw a looming mass of a man standing a couple feet away from her. She guessed him to be six-four, and his shaved head shone in the sunlight. He had a bushy brown beard, plugs in his earlobes, and sported two sleeves of colored tats. Licks of ink rode up his throat from under the neck of his muscle shirt.
Without warning, he yanked Cory off her in one fluid movement, his massive arms shaking him as though he were a ragdoll. Cory swung his arms aimlessly but didn’t land a punch on the tatted Goliath. Tyler ran to his aid, and when he landed a fist in the tatted Goliath’s side, the man threw Cory to the ground and backhanded Tyler so hard that he stumbled and fell on his ass.
“Where the fuck are you, Diablo?” a husky voice asked.
“Here,” the man answered as he bent over and dragged Cory to his feet.
Coming around the corner, Raven sucked in her breath as Muerto appeared. She sat up and brought her hands to her heated cheeks as he looked at her, then at Diablo, and finally at Cory, suspended a few inches off the ground, his neck in Diablo’s hand. A gasp escaped her when she spotted Tyler approaching Diablo with a steel pipe. Without a word, Muerto jumped in, kicking the pipe out of his hands and landing several hard punches to the man’s face and stomach. Diablo threw Cory back on the ground and kicked him hard in the stomach.
In a matter of minutes, both men lay crumpled on the ground, blood trickling from Cory’s mouth. Muerto ran over to Cory and began kicking him, but Diablo pulled him away. “Enough.”
Muerto breathed heavily as he eyed the man groaning on the ground as Raven slowly rose to her feet.
“What the fuck happened here?” he asked Diablo, but his gaze was on her.
“Didn’t like how they were treatin’ her.” Diablo spat on the ground.
“Did they hurt you?” Muerto asked her. She shook her head. “You sure?”
The last thing she wanted was a major problem. She just wanted them to stop, and the guy who Muerto called Diablo had taken care of it. All she wanted to do was buy her finds, go home, and shut the world out. She wanted to get lost in her art; it was the only thing that made her feel be
tter when things seemed awful and out of control. Painting and creating jewelry were her therapy.
She cleared her throat. “I’m sure.”
Muerto spoke in a low voice to Diablo as Tyler stood, brushed off the dust from his pants, and helped Cory up.
Cory wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and glared at her. “This isn’t finished, bitch,” he muttered to her. She glanced at Muerto, but he was still talking in a low voice to Diablo.
As the two men walked away, Muerto’s hard voice said, “Leave her the fuck alone. Next time, I’ll kill you.” Without looking back, they disappeared among the junk.
Muerto came over and put his arm around her, his head dipping down toward her ear. “You sure you’re good?”
Nodding, she brought her index finger to her mouth and tugged the dry skin around her cuticle.
“Is this the woman who has your dick?” Diablo asked, his face hard.
Muerto pulled his arm away from her and walked toward Diablo. “No chick’s got it,” he said in a low voice, but she heard him. She bit her inner cheek.
“Thanks for helping me out,” she said to Diablo, extending her hand. “I’m Raven.” Diablo glanced at her hand and then her face without reaction. “Uh… I dropped some things I wanted to buy back there.” She pointed behind her. “I should go get them.”
“What were you doing in the junkyard? It’s hardly a place women like to shop at.” Muerto’s dark eyes were mellow and tender as he looked at her, and it gave her the warm-and-fuzzies.
“I check it out a couple times a month to get stuff for my art.”
“Show us where your things are. We’ll carry them for you.” Muerto came next to her and she quickly walked ahead as the two men followed.
When they arrived at the place where she’d dropped everything, she bent down and began picking the items up, her hands visibly shaking. Muerto took them from her and handed them to Diablo. “Take these to Bud. We’ll be there in a minute.” The tall man grunted and stalked away.
“I could’ve taken them. He was so nice to help me out. I don’t know—” Her voice cracked when the reality of what could have happened hit her.
In one tug, he had her in his embrace, the warmth from his body and his strong arms making her feel safe. Without warning, tears spilled from her eyes and she buried her head against him as all the fear seeped out of her. Muerto held her close, rubbing her back, and for a long time they stood there, the sun burning their skin, the muted wail of a train whistle echoing.
When her tears subsided, she pulled back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it. Thanks.”
He smiled and stroked her cheek with his fingers. “No worries. And no need for thanks. That sonofabitch’s still pissed at you for hustling him.”
Nodding, she blew out a long breath. “The moron bet his whole paycheck. I didn’t know that at the time or I wouldn’t have agreed to play for the whole amount.”
“That was his decision. You tell me if he ever bothers you. Does he know your name or where you live?”
She rubbed her chin. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure. Alina isn’t that big, and I stand out with my long hair. Anyway, after what you and your friend did, I don’t think he’ll bother me again. What were you guys doing here?” She slipped out of his hug.
“Looking for hubcaps for the repair shop.” He held her gaze.
Her mouth went dry. What’s going on with me? I’m so nervous. “I should go now.”
“Okay.”
They stood staring at each other, the pull she felt to him intense. Breaking eye contact, she started walking to the office. He came up next to her and put his arm tightly around her. I’m so attracted to this guy. I love his arm around me. Maybe I should give him a chance. Her common sense screamed that she was crazy and emotional. Who wouldn’t be? Two men had attacked her and scared the hell out of her, and Muerto and his friend had come to her rescue. Muerto was her dark knight who offered her aid and comfort.
That’s all he is. Don’t get all sappy and mushy over it.
He opened the door for her and she went inside, the cool air enveloping her. A smile brushed across her lips when she saw her items neatly piled on the counter. Diablo leaned against a wall inspecting a hubcap.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked the owner.
“Sixty bucks.”
As she pulled out her money, Muerto came over to the counter. “She’s a friend of mine. Make her a better deal, Bud.”
“I gave her my lowest price.”
“Bullshit. We’re buying a ton of shit from you. Give her a better deal.”
“You’re killing me, dude. I can’t go any lower.”
“That’s okay. Really,” she said as she gave the money to Bud.
Muerto ripped it out of her hands, giving her back twenty. “Forty’s enough.”
“Fuck, man.”
“You know I’m right.”
Bud pulled out a strong box and shoved the bills inside. “Thanks for your business, lady. What’s your name? I’ve seen you around here before.”
“Raven. I try to come in a couple times a month, but usually the long-haired guy is here.”
“Jake. Yeah, he’s here most of the time.” Bud glanced at Muerto. “You ready to settle up?”
Diablo stepped up to the counter. “We need one of the trucks to bring the hubcaps over.” Bud nodded.
“Thanks again, Muerto and Diablo… for everything.” She walked to the front glass doors.
“We gotta settle up here, then drop everything off at the repair shop. I’ll be in touch.” Muerto came over and held the door open.
“Yeah. Sure. Thanks again.”
“See you.” He dipped his head down and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Be careful. If you need anything, you got my number.”
“Okay,” she said softly. As she went to her car, she glanced over her shoulder, tenderness unfurling within her as her gaze went to his. He slouched against the doorway watching her. Turning around, tingles raced along her spine as she slid into the driver seat. Driving away, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that he was still watching her, his white T-shirt gleaming in the bright sunshine. For reasons she couldn’t articulate, she liked that he watched her until she was out of his sight.
I really like him. Maybe he’d be an okay guy to date. Then she remembered what Ava had said about the women who lived at the clubhouse only to service the men. And there was Ruby, whoever she was.
Disappointment crushed her good feelings as realization set in that he would never be the type of man she could get involved with. She could never survive another intense relationship with a man who would break her heart. Being a hustler, she knew the odds were stacked against her. She had no doubt that he’d be an intense, wild man who’d pleasure her beyond all her expectations. But she was sure he was also the type who’d leave one woman for another.
I don’t want that. One broken heart is enough for a lifetime.
Chapter Twelve
For the past several days, Raven couldn’t get Muerto out of her mind. His usually cocky attitude had been absent at the junkyard, and it made her think that they may have crossed some line in their relationship. What type of relationship do we really have? He was her landlord, but what they had between them was much more than a renter/owner interaction.
Why am I thinking so much about him? I’m sure I haven’t crossed his mind since the junkyard. He hasn’t called or dropped by. I’m definitely making more out of this than there is.
Padding onto the back porch to get her weeder and watering can, her bare feet glided over the shiny hardwood floor. Ever since she was a child, she’d preferred being barefooted whenever she could. She especially loved walking outdoors in her bare feet, her toes wiggling in the lush grass as she gardened or watered the lawn. Each time she came into her house, she’d toss her shoes off and enjoy the feel of the ground beneath her soles.
Armed with her gardening tools, she opened the
front door and went out on the porch. “Ow!” she cried as a stab of pain shot through her foot. Thinking she’d stepped on a bee, she looked down. Strewn on the welcome mat were many long-stemmed red roses. “What the hell?” she muttered aloud as she bent down and carefully picked them up. Glancing around for a card or something that would tell her who left them, she found nothing.
That’s weird. Maybe Muerto put them there. As she pictured the handsome biker putting the roses on her porch as she slept, butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She liked the idea that it was him, but her gut told her it wasn’t. He didn’t strike her as a flower type of guy. Anyway, she was pretty sure he’d want her to know he’d given them to her if he’d done it.
She considered Brent. No, he’d want me to know it was from him too. The way they were drooping told her that they’d been there for a while and were in desperate need of water. She went back into the house and took out a tall vase, filling it with water.
After she arranged the flowers, she went back outside to attend to her small garden. Happy that the oppressive heat from the last few days had dissipated somewhat, she adjusted her sun hat and went over to uncoil the hose. In her peripheral vision, she saw Walter walking toward her. Groaning inwardly, she turned on the water and aimed the spray nozzle at her vegetable patch.
He stood right next to her, uncomfortably close and invading her personal space. Each time she inched away from him, he filled the gap. Finally, she craned her neck and looked at him. “Do you mind? And what do you want?”
“You smell real good.” He inhaled deeply, his nose sounding stuffed up.
“Thanks. Can you move back? I’m trying to water.”
He took a step away from her. “I like watching your vegetables grow. I remember when you planted them in the spring. They’re coming along nicely. You’ve got a knack for it. Like my mother. She can grow anything. In that way you’re similar to my mother.”
How the fuck am I supposed to reply to that? “Thanks…?”
“You’ve got pretty feet. I like women who paint their toes. What color are yours? They look blue, but not as bright as the sky.”