by Liz K. Lorde
Luke smirked, “I think you and me can help another.”
“Would we now? You know, in our world, you can have too many friends.”
“In this town? For me? I’m worth the risk, have a little confidence.”
Fenris tittered, “F’you say so – what can you do for me, Reynolds.”
“Give you what you need. Protection. If you’re looking for greener pastures, you’ve come to the wrong place – your boys’ll get ganked at every corner; the town has eyes, and it does. Not. Know you.”
The man sank back into his wooden chair, placing his hand over his glass of iced water – the condensation well-formed and rolling down lazily. He brought it to his lips.
Luke glanced at his phone which was out on the table. Still nothing from Sexton, he thought. There was still a certain unease in being outside, but given the unusual location for a meet; the crowd of locals buzzing about served as protection enough in and of themselves. If he could convince the dark haired man to accept his help, he would have another ally in making a name for his own club – a fresh start for everyone.
Fenris placed down the glass of water. “You make this place sound so sinister,” he remarked, “not every day is blood and killing and violence, you know.”
“And yet, if those days were to happen – wouldn’t we be the most likely to live them?”
“What kind of protection can you offer me here. You’re just one man – not even a President.”
Luke finished off his piece of toast and then leaned forward in his chair, “I have men loyal to me. More loyal than they are to their President – to my President.”
Fenris tilted his head, “With words like that, one might get the impression you’re planning something.”
His eyes wrinkled as a smile walked along the lines of his face, “I’m not a schemer. I’m a doer. My men keep me well informed, and the club that I’m … affiliated with, is the strongest in Sequim bar none. What they tell me, I tell you – you need muscle? You’ll get it. Quid pro quo.”
Fenris put a finger to his chin and a pensive look colored his features. “Who’s to say I couldn’t take you to this President of yours and reap the reward?”
“You don’t know him like I do. He’s old and stubborn. He’d pay you handsomely, but he’d only give you scraps for intel. You can play the long game with me, or you can turn a quick dollar and risk my boys comin’ for you.”
“And you’d do this out of what,” Fenris laughed, “the kindness of your heart?”
Luke glanced over his shoulder and then brought his gaze back to the man, “You pay me a retainer.”
“Oh?”
“Two thousand for a year, or an even twenty up-front. After that, we can do business however we see fit.”
“S-a lot of bones, friend. I’d cut your evaluation in half, and front you ten next week for our mutual partnership here.”
Luke’s face darkened, and his jaw clenched, “You seem like a smart guy.”
“ I am.”
“Then don’t make a stupid move.”
“A stupid move would be trusting a man I’ve just met.”
Sweat began to form on Luke’s head, he could feel it skirting along his scalp – the sun battered the shopping mall relentlessly. Luke rose from his chair and pushed it back some, looking down at Fenris, “I seem like the kind of guy you couldn’t trust?” Luke wiped at his forehead with his sleeve, “you coming out here’s gotta mean something.”
“Sit back down.”
Luke remained standing, “I have the connections, I have my ear to the ground – and I have some muscle. Twenty’s more than fair for your safety.”
The dark haired man seemed to consider the offer for a moment. “I’ll consider it. Will have to bring it up at church.”
Consider? I’ll take that. Luke stuck out a hand, and Fenris went to his feet; the two men looked one another in the eye and exchanged a firm handshake. “Sounds good.”
“Stay safe while you’re out here, bargain maker.”
Just have to make sure that their MC grows only just enough. I’ll keep Fenris on a short leash.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gabriel
Allen was sitting at Gabriel’s bedside, beaming like a crocodile; his cold blue eyes assessing Gabriel’s health. “Good to see you back in the real world.” The clock on the wall ticked away, the hour hand landing firmly at 9 PM.
“Not back yet,” Gabriel lamented.
“You’re a tough bastard,” his grin widened, “this ain’t nothin’ compared to you kid.”
A smile walked along the lines of Gabriel’s face. “Thanks, Prez.”
He closed his eyes for a spell and emphatically shook his head.
“Have you been looking for the other guy? Able’s killer.”
“’Fraid not,” the brick house of a man reached into the pocket of his jacket, producing a cigarette and lighter. “Contacts down in Bell Hill are dodging my calls, and the ones that are talking—“ the man took a drag, “well, you know how it goes kid. You can tell when they’ve got the know. Quick and done conversation, sketchy excuses – all blowback from this shit with Earl.” Allen’s eyes glanced over to Gabriel, a sadness forming on the creases of his face. “I’m glad the fucker’s dead, for what he did to ya. It’s a hell of a mess now that I’ve gotta clean up.”
“It happened quick,” Gabriel averted his eyes, “I really didn’t get a great look, but I’m sure it was his guys. Who offed him?”
“Nobody’s sure, but I’ve got my suspicions.”
“Hope the bastard rots in hell,” a beat of time passed, “you know, I don’t like asking you this…”
Allen’s brow raised.
“I’ve already talked to a few, and I just – want to ask for fairness’ sake. But… did you have anything to do with Able’s murder?” He gauged the man’s face, looking him dead in the eye.
The President chortled, “You kiddin’ me? Think the doctor’s might have missed somethin’ with your head.”
“Just had to ask,” Gabriel said. “As a formality.”
“Yeah,” Allen replied, “I’ll let that pass.”
A jolt ran through Gabriel’s chest. The hell’s he mean?
“D-you happen to see Luke? Figure he might have come around here, seeing as you’re awake and all.” Does he know he was here?
Gabriel’s heart quickened in his chest, and he became more aware of the heated blood moving throughout his body. “I wish, you not seen him in a while or something?”
The cigarette hung on Allen’s lips, the cherry ember at its end glowing bright. There was only silence for a moment then, and then Allen let out a smooth roll of smoke. “Mm, yeah, he’s been MIA for a while now. Ever since Earl died, as a matter of fact.”
“Well that can’t be coincidence.”
“No, I’m sure it isn’t. And you’re sure, you ain’t seen him around. At all?”
Gabriel shook his head, “Nope.”
The man chuckled to himself, “That’s funny, ‘cause I talked to a pretty little receptionist down the way. Says she saw someone fitting Luke’s description.”
“Weird,” Gabriel replied. “Maybe he was seeing somebody else.”
Allen got up from his chair, and his face darkened in anger. He moved in closer to Gabriel, blowing a puff of smoke in the man’s face. “Let me make this clear for you, Gabriel. Luke? He’s a dead man. I won’t have disorder in the club, and that’s all he seems to be causing lately – now I’m paying the price for his shit.”
Gabriel tightened his fists beneath the blanket of his bed. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be, “He’s a good man, Allen.”
“And I’m not asking him to be one. When I say jump, he needs to say how high. I know he was here, so don’t fuckin’ play with me, what’d you two discuss?”
Wouldn’t you like to know. “We didn’t discuss shit,” Gabriel boomed, “he was here, you’re right. We talked about what happened the day I was shot, and he made
sure that I was okay – he was concerned. And he told me that you’re on his shit list, so yeah I didn’t want to say anything. Fuck off outta my space will ya?”
Allen moved back a step and cocked his head to the side, “Alright,” he said, “know this, if I ask you something about him – if I catch you around him. You best answer me right the first time, I won’t have disloyalty in my ranks.”
Gabriel’s jaw clenched and a hot tightness formed within his belly, “Understood.”
The man’s big, toothy grin came back, “Music to my ears.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jasmine
Kate sat there like a deer in headlights, Jasmine herself looked even more dumbstruck. I feel sick, Jasmine thought, convincing herself not to throw up and to push down the nausea. How could she be here? Why was she here?
Carice Giuseppe placed a tentative foot forward and brought her hand out, towards her daughter. “Jasmine…”
This couldn’t be happening. Hot licks of fire danced inside Jasmine’s chest, “Mom – what, what are you doing here? You can’t be here,” Jasmine proclaimed.
Getting up from her seat, Kate set down her tea, “I’ll give you guys some space,” she awkwardly mentioned.
Carice lowered her hand, and her legs began to buckle beneath her. “Please,” she sincerely begged, moving towards the now vacant chair.
Jasmine shook her head, “No, mom. I don’t want you here. You just – you just walked out on me. You left me, everybody.”
The woman sat down in the chair across from Jasmine, her tired face full of wrinkles and hurt and sadness. She did not say anything, not for a moment. “I know,” Carice somberly admitted. “I messed up, I always did – even before you and Marcus; before David.”
Every word was another twist of the knife. Jasmine sucked in a breath through her nose – it felt like someone had come over and personally hammered a set of nails through her fingers; they had become stiff and so too had the rest of her.
“Jasmine, honey – I can’t put it into words, I’ll never be able to truly tell you how sorry I am.” Sorry doesn’t come even close to cutting it. I had to go through hell because of you, and you left without a note or a word or an I love you.
It felt like she was seventeen all over again. “Mom … just … tell me why,” Jasmine’s eyes stung and her bones were sorrow soaked. “I just want to know, I want to know why you left me – why you left us. Didn’t you care?” Jasmine felt the lump in her throat grow, and the fiery snakes in her belly twist. “Why didn’t you want me?” She pleaded, “you never did,” she said it so softly now, she was not sure that her mother could hear.
The lines on Carice’s face became colored with shame, and she tried to get a word out, but her daughter would not let her.
“I waited by the window, I waited to see if I’d, if I’d see your headlights or maybe Dad would come back with you – but you never came back. Do you know what it’s like, Mom?”
“I’ve lived a life of fear,” the woman sputtered, her words coming out with a sort of lisp that seemed to come and go. Something’s not right. “And I’m sorry, if I have to – to get on my knees, I will.” Clear liquid rolled from Carice’s eyes. “I’m a coward, and I always have been, before you, before your dad.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Jasmine asked, “why are you shaking like that?”
The clear blue that were her mother’s eyes looked away from Jasmine then, and a moment of silence hung between the two; finally she said it. “I have Huntington’s.”
Something hot shot up into Jasmine’s throat and lodged itself there. No – what? “What do you mean?” Jasmine’s voice became strained and the color in her face began to fade. She’d heard bits and pieces about the disease, one thing in particular, that it was genetic.
“When I left, I fled to Sweden, where I heard through a friend of your father’s that there was a doctor, on the fringe, who could help me. I went through a couple of drug trials, and initially they seemed promising; but as the years went by, the disease continued to grow. It became harder for me to do anything, really. It slowed the progression, but I won’t have many years now.”
The knife invisible twisted in Jasmine’s chest. For so long she had walked the tightrope of hating and wanting to forgive her mother. She tried to swallow away the lump in her throat, “That’s why you left?”
“I would be lying if it was the only reason,” Carice admitted, “but it was the biggest reason. I couldn’t stand the thought, for a long time, of anyone knowing.”
“You were ashamed,” Jasmine breathed, “just like I was ashamed to have had such a heartless person be my mother.”
“I deserve that,” she clicked her tongue and threw her head to the side in a jerking motion. Her face reddened, and she seemed uncomfortable – or at least, more uncomfortable than she was before. “I just want a chance,” she pleaded, “just a chance to make things better, not right. I know I can’t fix things between us, certainly not between your father…”
“I can’t do this right now,” Jasmine shook her head, getting up from her part of the booth.
Carice looked up at her daughter, “Jasmine, pl—“
“No,” she interrupted, “just, give me your number and I’ll call you. Okay?” She extended her phone to her mother.
Carice sullenly obliged, and the two parted ways once again.
Jasmine quickly informed Kate that she had to leave, and got inside of her car – feeling like every nerve in her body had been frayed.
***
Driving down the highway, Jasmine found it becoming more and more difficult to ignore the knots in her stomach; the warmth and pulsing in her blood and the airy lightheadedness that seemed to come and go when it pleased.
I don’t care if she’s dying, she tried to convince to herself – wheedling the idea that she was above the mortal reminder of family.
But deep down she knew better.
The road itself, seemed to stretch on endlessly – time had decided to play a cruel game with her mind. Every second seemed to drag on and on and on and on. Every second was a torturous reminder of the past; each heartbeat flicking the channel of her mind to another faded, but still painfully present memory.
She remembered most of all, the nights she would spend out with her then boyfriend – who would try to convince her to come and stay with him.
Foolish girl, you were always so naive. Instead of the comforting arms of that man, she held only the company of an empty home. The creaking floorboards would sing her to a hurtful and bitter sleep, the tears and sobs that made her so tired and exhausted, that she finally could find the time to rest.
I would wake up in the middle of the night… figuring that I’d heard your car pull up. Jasmine remembered then, the pain of going back to college alone and the constant stress of having to juggle it, along with two jobs.
It felt good to grab the wheel tight, though not as good as it would feel to tell her just how much she hated her.
Hate was a strong word. It was a word that Jasmine tried not to keep in her vocabulary, but she had fallen victim to it on those hard nights. It was familiar to her. Nostalgic.
You have to forgive her, she chided. Shouldn’t forgiveness come from a place of love? She wondered. Of understanding? It shouldn’t come out of guilt. You cannot forgive her, if it comes from guilt.
Rolling to a stop at the light, the intersection itself was remarkably desolate. The light above glowed maroon as the falling sun cast an orange bloom over all; an army of clouds, milkwhite, soldiered across the sky and a constant ticking of her turn signal rang through the air. Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick. Jasmine let out a frustrated breath and sank back further into the seat of her Rav4. The hum of her engine continued as she idled there, waiting for the light to finally turn. From the corner of her eye, a shadow moved across the rear view mirror.
She brought her eyes to focus on the mirror and narrowed them slightly. Breathing became slower, and a pricklin
g heat washed through Jasmine.
It was the same car that she had seen before. The car turned into the neighboring lane at Jasmine’s right, slowly pulling up next to her Rav4. It was a dark car, one that had seen a great deal of wear and tear. Scratches and dents adorned it. The man inside of the car had olive skin, and when she got a good look at him – Jasmine recognized him as Carlos. The man had dark, large gauges that rested inside the lobes of his ears. Shadowy ink covered some of the revealed spots on his well-toned body; those muscles only being partially obscured by his white tank-top.
Carlos had a wicked smirk etched on his face; he reached for something unseen and in the breadth of a few heartbeats, pulled out a sawn off shotgun.
Oh, fuck. Jasmine wanted to throw her foot to the pedal, but the barrel was staring at her just as much as the man was. She took her hands off of the wheel and put them up, trying to keep her composure.
In a quickness, the man was out of the car and stalking around Jasmine’s Rav4. She felt her foot twitch, and for a moment considered the possibility of trying to run the man over. She quickly decided that would be a very bad idea, considering the spread of the gun and the closeness of the man. Carlos maneuvered to Jasmine’s side of the vehicle, keeping the shotgun pointed at her – only the glass of the window separating them. His hand reached for the door and swung it open. “Out.”
Jasmine’s whole body felt uneasy, and even though it was a simple command, it took a moment to process. She turned her head when she heard the sound of a car approaching; a white, pristine Lexus with dark tinted windows. The car rolled to a stop much earlier than it would have normally, and waited there for a spell.
“I said get the fuck out,” Carlos barked, shoving the barrel of the gun against Jasmine’s chest, and then grabbing her by the shoulder and forcing her out.
The Lexus went into reverse and whipped around, cruising away like it hadn’t seen a thing.
Red turned to green and Carlos forcefully dragged Jasmine over to the beater of a car that he was driving, “f’you say a word mi flor I’ll blow your fucking head off.”