Lawless half-glances over his shoulder with his mask of indifference fully secure again hearing our laughter. His shift of body language is a cold shower to Leslie and her attempts at flirting. Anger fills her eyes in a blatant dare with me, causing my own body language to answer hers. Chapel is no longer even bothering with the pretense of a massage, but simply holding me to him. For whose benefit, I am not sure.
“Yeah, dicks are tricky things,” Aimes says, staring at Lawless without bothering to censor her emotions. She is ever the best friend.
J.D. and Simon come to some hidden mutual agreement. Both struggles to allow the other to place commands and suggestions. It only serves to confuse the rest of us in our rooted loyalties as the bags are loaded into my truck while Chapel keeps watch over us.
Leslie is Lawless’ new shadow. She follows him closely, never letting an excuse to glance my way slip past her. Aimes constantly whispers into my ear with each battle line drawn like a devil on my shoulder. She whispers with each lingering touch Leslie places on the body I have thought of as mine for so long. She hisses it with each of his refusals of acknowledgement for me in his flirting with her. I think about Chapel’s gun with each smile Leslie is flashing my way.
Simon, Ross, Aimes and I squeeze into the length of my truck’s cabin. The closeness of the situation sets Aimes and I at unease, or perhaps it’s just Ross’ smile. It seems to grow when he is nervous, showing more teeth than it had before.
Simon has become a locked chamber of emotions. His only speech is instructions of where to go. I wonder if he is second-guessing all of this now that it is becoming real. The deep growl of the engines behind us telling there is no turning back now. Not for Simon, and not for me as I steal one more glance at arms resting where mine used to.
As their motorcycles follow us out, I stare at the surrounding area swept in the last of fall’s beauty upon the ground. It turns the hillside into a colorful scene as the leaves’ reds blend with the oranges to fade into gentle yellows. It resembles the flickering flames of warm fires. Even as the air bites with cold fingers, the ground holds the illusion of warmth all around us.
It’s amusing how we think of fire as comforting as we crave its light to burn the darkness away and making us feel secure from the night’s dark secrets. The crackling flames are used to fill our bodies with desire as its heat warms us on cold nights. We never see the possibilities of the destruction the fire can hold until it’s too late.
Until one spark escapes, stealing all we hold dear in a blazing defiance for our well-being, we never really consider how risky craving something can be. I watch as Leslie rides behind Lawless, grasping his waist tight and I pray the new fire we are each seeking will be gentle with us.
Chapter 23
We drive in awkward silence due to the close proximity of the cab. Even the beaming Ross seems stilled as each mile draws us closer to either a new victory or a new tragedy for both of our sides. Simon is taking us through back roads and winding countryside paths with clipped directions and added avoidance to our conversations. With no one to watch the show, the man that was so eager to flirt just moments ago is now more of a pouting partner than a fondling flirt.
We pass Risen on these back roads in their statuette states. They slowly awaken hearing the noise of our arrival. Rhett doesn’t pass up the chance to toy with them in his twisted ideas of fun. He begins an obstacle course, swerving around and through them with reckless enjoyment. It does nothing to encourage peace with Simon as we watch the show in the mirrors of the truck.
“Are all of you crazy?” Simon asks.
He is finally forced to smile when Rhett cuts a corner a little too closely, almost becoming the toy himself. It would bring me a certain amount of joy to watch him drop his motorcycle now. Every man needs a little ego check.
“No. Just Rhett. Hells is just an extra special touch of “Hey y’all, watch this”,” Aimes answers with offhanded flair. “Where are we going anyway?”
“You’ll know soon enough,” Simon says. His voice still holds that edge of warning and doubt.
“You know for future references; I prefer my surprises to be the sparkly type wrapped in gold. Not so much a mysterious location with possible rotting people wandering around as an extra special welcoming committee,” she says, exaggerating the last part with false enthusiasm.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” His flirtatious smile is back as he keeps his attention straight ahead on the road, searching for something. “There is a turn up here. It is pretty easy to miss if you’re not looking for it,” he tells me.
I am not looking for it. I am still watching Rhett as an excuse to stare in the direction behind me. I am using it to watch Lawless and his new rider. I don’t want anyone to know how they are destroying me as I watch them. I use Rhett’s antics to cover the fact my heart is beating with each slide of her hands over Lawless’ chest. That my stomach is clinching as her hands sneak to caress his inner thighs and how I am growing physically ill with his smile.
“We should have buried Shaw,” Simon’s voice drags my eyes forward.
“Who?” I ask, not out of interest, but more for the excuse to distract me from the mirrors.
“The one they killed. We should have buried her.” His voice is coated with regrets. I have a sense they are stacked deeper than just the one body we have left behind. He says, “She was Leslie’s friend. We shouldn’t have just left her there like that.”
“Yeah, she looks real torn up over it. I can hear her sobs from here.” Aimes is watching the same show in the door’s mirror as she replies.
“We all deal with stuff differently,” Ross offers. I can feel his smile without even having to look at him. It’s a dazzling white shade of a forming migraine.
“Well, her path of healing must lie through her vagina,” she offers back, winning a new red ribbon from me.
Even Simon has to smile as her observation floors Ross into silence. It takes a moment to get used to the shock factor of my friend. Her lack of filter is what I have always loved about her. She does not play any games or hold any schemes. She is just her- self with no apologies for it. I am hoping she and Ross are stuck together more often just to watch the smile choke from his face, because if he keeps his smile up, I will most certainly choke him myself.
Simon is right. The turn is a sharp, hidden secret and I have missed it. I slam on the brakes, scattering the riders behind me with my sudden stop. Reverse is a wonderful thing and I slam the truck into the gear, making her engine roar with the force of my backtracking. Her lights cast a red glow upon Lawless as I take up every inch of space between us before slamming on the brakes again. He never flinches in my dare, but Leslie’s scream is satisfying enough for me.
“Holy shit, Hells!” Aimes says, from the force of my actions. Her face is one of pure pride.
“Hey y’all, watch this,” Simon mutters, still bracing against the dash.
Ross says nothing but just stares at me. If slinging the truck around will remove his smile, I may learn a new way to drive.
“This turn here?” I ask innocently, ignoring them with my eyes still staring at the man behind my truck in the mirror.
Lawless’ eyes are safe from me behind the tinted glasses he is wearing. His face is blank even with Leslie animatedly talking in his ear with exaggerated hand motions. Rhett and Marxx both start clapping from the show as J.D. laughs, staring down at his fallen motorcycle with amusement over my brashness.
“Yeah, this turn here,” Simon answers, and I can feel his eyes on me. Men are so afraid of our feminine mood swings.
My warhorse navigates the turn with ease after Chapel helps
J.D. lift the fallen Harley. They follow us into the sharp curve as we turn onto a narrow access road leading us through a tall, un- kempt grass field. Deep ruts are visible from the many attempts to keep large service vehicles on such a narrow strip of asphalt. Even with their large size, the tires jar riding over so many deep potholes, forcing me to keep
my attention on my driving.
I no longer feel the need to watch what is going on behind me. I think I have made my opinion of his actions very clear. I do hit the brakes a little too hard here and there along the path just to watch them brace behind me. It’s the little things in life.
Simon reaches over and taps a pattern with the horn. The smart asses behind us play a game of “Simon Says” with the same melody. I don’t need to glance to see which two it was. Aimes and I exchange questioning glances at his sudden need for musical skills.
“Slow down or you’ll be running over my crew this time,” Simon tells me, as a giant barbed wire fence comes into view.
“What the hell is this?” Aimes asks, taken aback by the first sight of our new home. “Are we at a prison?”
“Close,” Simon answers her, wearing a mischievous smirk upon his face and Ross just smiles.
The gate does not swing open to allow us through but slides to the side. A man stands at the entrance with a high-powered rifle slung across his back. His green eyes, so close to my shade, are watching us drive towards him. His clothes give hints at the well-toned shape of his body even from this distance. He waits with a shy stare as I roll my window down for him to talk with us. For a moment, I forget how to speak.
“Dolph, did Ramero make it back?” Simon asks of the man. “Yeah, a few hours ago. Was wondering when you’d show up,”
Dolph answers in a soft-spoken southern drawl. He never turns his body fully to us. He leans sideways into the conversation, keeping the men behind us in his sight. The view of his well- toned arm keeps me entertained more than their conversation. “What’s all this?” he asks.
“We made some new friends,” Ross answers with his smile. Dolph leans in closer, resting the same arm I have been memorizing the shape of on the truck’s door to see the man. His face is showing his disappointment with the answer or perhaps just with Ross all together. “Guess this was your idea?” he asks Ross with annoyance.
Ross just smiles still, ignoring the question. Ross doesn’t seem to have a very big fan club.
“Family reunions, so much fun,” Aimes says to me, hinting at being ignored by their conversation.
Dolph holds her in his sight, trying to figure out if she is serious or toying with him. The emotions flash across his face before releasing her without any comment as he pulls back from the window. Aimes is making no new fan club members today either. “Lock the gate up and meet us up at the school. I will fill you in,” Simon tells him.
Dolph answers with a short head nod and a step back, allowing us to pass. Leslie and he exchange greetings in glares as Lawless drives by him. He doesn’t seem too thrilled with discovering her either. Maybe he is just not the cheerful type.
Chapel is the last one through when Dolph slides the gate shut behind him. There is a finalization with watching the gate shut. For better or worse, we are now a part of their world and they a part of ours.
“Should we wait for him?” I ask. I am still watching Dolph, and Simon doesn’t try to hide his amusement. “It just seems rude to leave him like this,” I say, trying to hide my discomfort of being so transparent with my thoughts under the guise of kindness. Sometimes it works. I see with Simon’s grin this is not one of those times.
“No, it’s best to let him walk back to the school. He needs some time to adjust. I can only imagine how your crew and Dolph are going to get along,” Simon tells me with the same amusement upon his face.
“He seems pretty harmless.” Aimes allows the statement to hang, forming more of a question.
“Yeah, you silent ones always do,” Simon says, as he catches my eyes in the rear-view mirror with sincere honesty.
I can’t help it. I look at Ross with obvious disbelief at that assumption. Feeling my eyes upon him, he does not smile at me but Aimes does. She is having the same thoughts as I am about the “silent ones” being dangerous.
We are used to our blusterous crew with their foul language, short tempers and male jokes. That to us is dangerous. Not the quiet man at the gate with his shy stares and short framed sentences or Ross with his instant smile and crowd pleasing needs nor me for that matter with all of my baggage stacking up around me. At this rate, I can go on a world tour and still have plenty of clothes packed for the return trip.
“Wait, did you say school?” Aimes asks and I was wondering how long until she picked up that clue.
“Yup,” Ross’s smile has rejoined us, “a high school.”
“We really are in a prison!” She melts down onto the seat as a sigh escapes with the realization of where we are finally settling over her. I love my Aimes.
High wire fencing surrounds the perimeter of the school. I hope the barbed wire wrapped around the top is an afterthought of our new world and not part of what they once considered necessary for a school day. The school itself is a giant brick building of gothic intent. The slate coloring is a depressing grey against a darker roof matching the asphalt drive. Rows of narrow windows etched in the same dark coloring prove what a monster this place once was with its looming three stories. From our entrance, the building appears to be a giant rectangle of connecting halls wrap- ping around itself. Standing against an overcast sky, there are no welcoming feelings expressed from what I am seeing.
Simon instructs us to pull through an archway that has been opened for us with our approach. The inner courtyard is completely protected by the high thick walls of the building keeping the heart of the building secure. Many archways provide entrances to each internal section with various heights of steps to each. It casts an illusion of different depths to contrast against the dreary, grey coloring. People are scattered about with their silent stares watching our approach. Their distrust mounting as each loud engine pulls in behind me. Their cold demeanor is matching that of the building they call home.
“Cheerful. Think they know any campfire songs?” Aimes asks, sinking down on the bench with the weight of the stares.
The courtyard itself is a main slab of dark concrete attached to the building with just as darkly colored paths leading to the many stairways. A dry, brown lawn circles the concrete in an attempt to provide scenery with its many benches. Aimes is right. This is not like any high school I have ever seen. These kids were truly in a prison. The people who live here now seem no friendlier than prisoners themselves.
Simon instructs me to park over to the side of the concrete where it has been designated for such a purpose. Many cars, in many sizes are parked in rows along the one wall. I spot among them the blue minivan from the Welcome Center. It still wears the markings of its encounter as either proof of its survival, or its shame depending on which side of the event you sat.
A woman is running toward my truck with tears upon her face, and for a moment I pause in uncertainty over what to do until Simon steps from behind me to catch her as she falls into his arms. She clings to him with desperate strength from a deep relief of finding him and the fear she held of never seeing him again. They speak in soft tones to one another, ignoring the world around them.
“When he came back without you…,” her voice cracks under the strain of having to finish the thought.
“I will always come back. Always,” Simon tells her, holding her head between his hands so she is forced to see into his eyes. He needs her to see the depth of sincerity the words hold. His thumbs glide in a comforting pattern along her face to help ease her fears. He holds her to his body as they both still seek the reassurance of one another. I am watching them providing the proof to their hearts they are both still alive. Today did not take the one pos- session they would not survive to lose. I can’t help but to wonder how much of his dedication to this woman the reason for him is siding with J.D. Here J.D. has been thinking his mind game al- lowed us passage, but it very well may be that Simon has used us. “Where is Kira?” He finally finds his voice, regaining his composure.
“She is resting. When you didn’t come back with Ramero, she didn’t take it well,” she say
s. I listen to the bits and clues of their conversation she is giving me.
“I’m sorry.” Simon closes his eyes as pain streaks across his face and I wonder who Kira could be to cause such emotions. “I’m so sorry,” he says again.
“You’re here now. That’s all that matters,” she answers softly, trying to ease his pain. “I guess we have you to thank for that?” She turns to me with her face still damp from their emotions. “Shelia,” she says, extending her hand to me.
Shelia’s skin is richer in color than Simon’s. Her eyes hold the beautiful depths of color only their race can obtain. Those eyes are red rimmed from expressing the sorrows she thought had come to call her heart home. Her hand trembles slightly from her frayed nerves with the morning’s events. I can only imagine what the fear must feel like to watch the one you love to leave you knowing he may not come back and then to watch those fears come to life. I hope I never have to.
“Helena,” I answer, taking her hand. I grasp it firmly, letting her know the sorrow I feel for her. “Not so much my doing.”
“Yeah, she only chopped her way through a whole caboodle of dead peeps to reach your man here when he got left behind by his own. No big deal,” Aimes adds an ended point to her words with a sharp pop of her very pink gum. She has perched herself on the edge of my warhorse’s bed, swinging her legs adding to her abundance of charm. “How is Romeo anyway?”
“Ramero,” Shelia corrects her. “He isn’t doing well either.” “Yeah, guilt is a bitch like that.” Aimes smiles her “look how cute I am” smile, popping another pink bubble.
Shelia has no answer to another award-winning observation from Aimes. She does not offer one. Instead, she eyes the men behind us with curiosity and caution. Unconsciously, she steps back into the safety of Simon, watching those behind us.
“Are they with you, too?” she asks.
Aimes pivots her upper body to glance at the group of men huddling together over the black frames of the motorcycles. Leslie is still perched on the back of Lawless’ like a Queen holding court. Her comments make the men laugh and they return her flirting with their smiles. J.D. has been watching us with Simon. His smile is forced and not amused by what he is seeing around him. I guess redheads are not his style?
Dawning (The Risen Series Book 1) Page 16