by Marata Eros
I open my eyes, and his next words are a weapon, each one a bullet to my heart.
“Then I meet this beautiful girl.” His eyes rove my face, and the tears come faster now. “She's so beautiful, it hurts to look at her.”
Sam's soft sobs are the only noise in the room.
“She doesn't tell me I'm dumb or make fun of me. She teaches me. And when I hold her, all that shit that happened fades away to nothing. Like it didn't never happen. That she made that nightmare go away for good.”
“Trainer—”
“Shut up!” he bellows, his breath blowing the hair that’s come loose from my messy bun. “You wanted to know.” The last word seethes out from between his tight lips.
I cringe back, and Sam sobs.
“But she'd rather believe everyone else but me. Her fancy ex. Her best friend. Because they think they lived what I lived.”
He steps in so close to me, I can feel the heat of his breath on the top of my head.
My fingers ache to hold him. What he’s mistaken for distrust is really just confusion, the result of miscommunication and bad timing.
“They didn't live a minute in my shoes.”
My bottom lip trembles. “I know, Trainer.”
His fingers cover my lips, and I suck in a sob. “What—?”
“Don't talk. I'll learn how to read, Krista.”
My eyes widen as his finger traces the contour of my bottom lip, his fingers saying goodbye. I feel it down to my toes.
“Just not with you.”
“No!” I yell.
Trainer spins on his heel, striding toward the entrance to the school.
I chase after him, leaving behind the classroom where we made love, where I taught him he was smarter than he knew.
Turns out he was smarter than all of us.
*
Trainer slammed the door, making the glass shiver inside the frame. He clearly isn’t going to talk to me, so I watch him stalk to his bike, jump on, and roar off. When I can no longer see his figure, I trudge back to the classroom, where I sort of fold myself into one the classroom chairs. I bang my knee in the process.
It hurts, I guess.
But I don't care. All I can think of is Trainer and how I blew it in a bunch of small ways.
They were all ways that mattered, though.
“Krista…” Sam says helplessly.
I don't look at Sam. I just sit there, staring.
A tissue box lands on the desk, and I suddenly become aware of the wet heat of my tears cascading down my face.
Lifting my cast, I study it, as a fresh wave of tears bursts.
“This is my fault,” Sam cries, plopping down beside me.
I shake my head. “Nope, it's mine. I should've just gone to that cabin last night after they released me from the hospital. Shouldn't have waited even a minute.” Angrily, I swipe away the tears. “Trainer coming in on your comments was just cementing his feelings that he was second in my heart. That trust was last place. He's too fragile emotionally to deal.”
I put my head in my hands, and my arm gives a painful squawk. “God.”
“It's a mess,” Sam says.
I nod.
“And I didn't even get to the part that he referenced. The judge let him off. I guess there was so much history of abuse that Brett's hospital records were like the Dead Sea Scrolls. This was just the latest pimp that took out all his awfulness on the son of his prostitute.”
Air squeezes out of my tight throat. “Figured that. I mean, Trainer's not a cold-blooded killer. But I have always sensed a willingness to protect others.” In a low voice, I add, “Except for himself.”
Sam and I exchange a loaded glance of remorse, sadness, and emotional exhaustion.
“I was going to say that despite all those facts, there's a counterpoint to it all.”
“Except the cock part.” My smile is rueful, my heart heavy.
A sad little laugh slips from between Sam's lips. “Yeah,” she says softly, “that's not up for debate on being a negative attribute.”
She takes my hand, and I give her a bone-crushing squeeze back. “You're not mad?” she asks.
Sam meant well. It was just bad timing, and I don't have the heart to come down on her, even if I didn't want to accept responsibility. It's too close to the anniversary of her parentsʼ death. I don't know if she could handle it all.
Shaking my head, I wrap icy fingers on my forehead. “No, I feel like kicking my own ass, but never yours.”
“He loves you,” Sam says. “Even I could see that, and I was last in line when they were handing out intuition.”
My sadness is so vast, I can hardly speak past it, but I do. “He did.”
Past tense.
Chapter 25
Trainer
Don't care if I die.
Don't care if I live.
Thought I had somethinʼ.
That's what I get for thinkinʼ.
The Arniesʼ words from the past crowd my head, and I pour on the speed. Gotta get to the club. Touch base.
Touch something.
Can't get Krista outta my head. Her face lingers there in my mind.
Sadness.
Confusion.
And a fuck ton of sorry.
Can't get past those words from Sam. How could I?
Pet. Big cock. Murderer.
That's what I am to them. Some dude who walks around killinʼ people, fucking women, like I’m no better than a dog.
Okay.
Had enough of that attitude growinʼ up. Don't need no more of it.
Turning off the backroads highway, I hit the long road leading up to our new club. My bike eats up the pavement Vipe just paid a shit ton for. The club’s more like a fortress. None of us are complaining. Me and the brothers take security to a paranoid level.
Kinda natural for me anyway.
Ripping into the vague temporary outlines of parking stalls, I have the kickstand slapped out and the bike settled in less than two seconds.
I jump off and jog to the front door, bang it open, and scan the dim interior.
I see Storm first.
“What the fuck?” he says, taking me in.
Not explaining nothinʼ to him. “Noose around?”
“Hey, man, maybe just chill before you go bustinʼ in there.”
“Fuck. Off,” I say so quiet, I'm not sure he hears me.
Storm retreats, hands up, palms facing me. “Hey, man, whatever the fuck—your funeral.”
Yeah.
Then the guys are coming out of church with lots of loud talking, back slapping, and the general brotherhood of being Road Kill MC.
Noose sees the look on my face and gives a small nod to Lariat and Wring. Snare's not around.
“Trainer.” Noose stares at me. “Looks like someone stepped on your puppy.”
I swear to God I growl.
“Holy Christ,” Lariat says, turning back around from being halfway to the door.
Noose says real careful like, “Let's go outside.”
“Fuck you,” I seethe between my teeth.
“Oh shit,” Storm says in a thready voice.
Noose nods like he understands. Hell, I don't even understand me. I'm so jumbled and fucked up, I don't know what direction I'm going. “I got ya, Trainer. I got what ya need.”
Then I whirl, stride to the back door, and jerk it open. Tearing out of the building, I use the broad concrete steps I usually sit on when I want to be alone and think.
But I don't wanna be alone now.
Noose pours out of the front and meets me around back. Lariat and Wring flank him.
“What's going on?” Wring asks quietly, looking between me and Noose.
“Fuck ya all,” I holler. I can feel the tears burning for exit, and there's no fucking way I'm gonna cry in front of my brothers.
Zero chance.
“Okay.” Noose shoves me.
Surprised, I stagger back then crouch. Roaring like a wild animal, I charge.
My
momentum knocks Noose on his ass, his face registering surprise for a second before he gives an expert roll, and I tumble off, springing to my feet.
“Hey, man—” Lariat begins, and Noose interrupts him, but his attention is still on me. “Nope, Trainer's got something he's gotta get out of his system.”
Noose barely get the words out before I punch him in the jaw.
“No fucking way,” Wring says, moving in.
I straight-arm him too, and he staggers back.
Eye's narrowing, he comes for me.
“Back off, brother,” Noose hollers.
Wring halts, hands fisted.
I face off with Noose again.
Noose's hand blurs, slapping my face so hard, it rocks me back on my heels. A slap should be less than a punch. But it stings like hell. I shake my head, bell rung, and raise my fists.
“Wanna go more?” Noose asks.
“Yeah, ya fucker.”
“Okeydokey.” Noose runs at me, head to my stomach. He flings me six feet across the parking lot.
I land hard on my ass and stand.
Noose closes in.
I step in and strike him hard with a fist to the gut then one to the face.
“You stubborn fucker!” Noose grabs me around the waist, flinging me to the side. I land again on my knees then stand.
“Beating the shit outta me isn't gonna make it better, Trainer,” Noose says, spitting blood to his left.
My abraded fists drop. “I—”
Noose's drop too. “Ya done?”
“Wasn't trying to”—I rake my hand through my hair—“do what I done.”
Noose grins. “I know that.”
“You're idiots,” Lariat says, shaking his head.
“You got something to say?” Noose asks.
My eyes flick to Lariat and Wring. “Fuck it, you guys need some uterus time? I gotcha,” Lariat says.
Noose rolls his eyes, grabbing his package. “Yeah, so fuck off. We don't need an audience.”
Wring gives a chin lift, then he and Lariat walk off.
“Not here,” Noose says, gingerly moving his jaw as he whips his head toward the back of the club.
I realize we'd fought all the way to the front.
I follow, knowing I fucked things up even more than usual.
*
We're at our post where we normally jaw shit, asses on concrete. ʼCourse, that was back when Noose and I were talking a lot.
I had Krista for the last two weeks, and haven't been doing much talking back here with Noose—or thinking. I've been with my lady.
Didn't need Noose. Had her.
Noose glares at me, cocking his head to the left, and I can just make out his profile from twilight fading to dusk. “ʼKay. Spill your shit.”
I open my mouth then close it. Don't have the words.
Noose helps, even though I don't deserve dick.
“Gotta be about pussy to make you beat the shit outta me.” He chuckles.
I nod. “Krista.”
“What happened now. She blaming you for the ass-over-tea-kettle that broke her wrist?”
“No.”
“Give it to me then.” He cups his fingers toward himself in the classic gesture of come on.
Tying my hair back, I wince at the new aches in my body. Ones I gave myself for going after Noose.
“Sorry, Noose,” I whisper.
He hikes a shoulder. “Fuck it.”
I look at him, and clear gray eyes stare back. No bullshit.
“I don't know why I—”
“Whatever, tell me the problem.” He digs his cigarette pack out of the interior pocket of his vest, flips the lid, plucks a cig out with his lips, and lights it in one fluid motion.
“She's got a friend, Sam.”
Noose dips his chin, scattering smoke between us. “Yeah. Know who she is. Folks were creamed on a highway five years ago. Not getting over it. Court stenographer.”
I blink and reply slowly, “The lady who keeps the record during the court crap?”
Noose nods, blowing a stream of smoke. His jaw partially flattens, and I know he'll toss a ring.
He does.
Memories of the Arnies broadside me. Taking a deep breath, I look down at my boots, trying to level my shit. Sometimes the past sneaks up on me when I'm not expectinʼ it.
“What?” Noose says.
I suck in a couple more breaths. “The men used to do smoke rings.”
“All of ʼem?”
No, just the worst one. “No.”
“Shrinks call that a trigger.”
I give him a sharp look, surprised out of the horror of my past for a sec. “Trigger?”
“Yeah, see something that reminds ya of bad shit that happened before. Makes a man feel sucker-punched. Depending on the shit.”
Noose blows another ring, and the ghost that haunts me dissipates.
“Gotta face that bullshittery.”
I nod, kicking a pebble of the square of concrete at the base of the steps. “Hard sometimes.”
“It'll go. Rose makes that shit better.” His lips twist, and he crosses his arms, cig sticking out of his mouth like a flag, the ash lengthening.
“So Krista…”
“She believes her friend. Said Krista couldn't keep me like a pet with a big cock. And that I was a murderer.”
“Ya are.”
My head jerks up.
Noose shrugs one shoulder again instead of saying anything right away. He takes a drag and tilts his jaw back, pushing out a flat stream like a wedge of opaque white. The smoke hits the air and shatters into tiny spirals. “Me too. You're in good company.” He chuckles. “Ya got a big cock. That's no well-kept secret.”
He kicks his head back and props it on his shoulder, giving me hooded eyes. “She dig your junk?”
I frown. “Yeah.”
Noose sweeps his palm out. “So that part's good. What's this pet thing?”
“I don't know, seemed kinda like Sam was calling me stupid, and Krista was believing her.”
“Nope,” Noose says in crisp reply.
“Why do ya think?”
Noose shakes his head. “People that teach kids who need extra work don't choose to do that because they think they're dumb.” Noose taps his temple. “Think that through. Doesn't make sense. She's a big-heart type, wants to make the world better and that shit.”
I laugh. Can't help it. “You have a way of putting words together.”
“I'm not wrong.”
No.
“So you think I should have stuck it out, seen what was what before I got the hell outta there?” I rest my hands on my knees, letting them dangle between my legs.
“I don't know. Not much for an audience, and her BFF was hanging around, talkinʼ about your cock and killing like she knows something. If a man's got something he wants to get off his chest, comes out better with just your girl around. Just sayinʼ.
“So I handled it wrong.” Fuck.
“No, you handled it the best ya could for the time and situation. Maybe there was some shit you misinterpreted.”
“You and Krista”—Noose uses his cigarette to point at me—“seem pretty pure, like you two just”—he slaps his hands together, and more ash flutters to the rough concrete between us—“happened.”
“We did,” I admit. “I mean, I wasn't thinkinʼ I was gonna be strung out over my teacher. Or any lady.”
Noose chuckles. “Annnd… that's how that ball bounces.”
“Listen, now that you got all your aggression out”—he jerks his jaw to the right—“for today, maybe you go by Krista's place and hear what she knows, fill in the shit she doesn't with your version. The true version.”
The seconds tick by, and after a minute or so, I ask, “How did you know what I needed?”
Noose grins, smoke swirling around his face. “Cut from the same cloth. When I can't handle shit, figure it out fast enough—whatever—I just get pissed off and want to lay my hands on something an
d shake the shit out of it.”
That's how I felt.
“Some men don't do feelings,” Noose says, briefly touching his chest. “I'm not in touch with the feels.” He snorts.
“Me, either,” Trainer says.
“Yet, we're the kind of dudes that when circumstance forces us to get in touch with it, we fight for our lives so we don't have to.”
Sounds right.
“So how can I, ya know, not beat you up every time I can't get the emotional stuff in control?”
“Fuck if I know.” Noose's smile flashes back like a wink. “But let me know when you figure that shit out, ya hothead.”
After putting out his smoke on the tread of his boot, he sticks the butt in his pocket, muttering about Rose kicking his ass for tobacco pockets. He stands in front of me, his eyes roaming over my body.
“You look like shit.”
Probably.
“Clean up here and go to your girl.”
“I don't know if she'll listen.”
Noose grips my shoulders. “I think she will.”
“How do ya know?”
His eyes flick to mine for a minute then away, he drops his hands from my shoulders. “Gut instinct.”
Good enough for me.
Chapter 26
Allen
Krista walks out of her little friend's house.
I'm certain she's bent the cunt’s ear with a battalion of sniveling. “Oh, my wrist,” and “I have a biker cock now” and “Allen is so mean.”
Yes. A bleeding heart like Krista would feel obligated to carry on about her lot.
Her lot's about ready to get a good deal better, though.
Oh my, yes.
Rotating my stiff neck, thanks to that freakishly large parasite she's fucking, I shut the door of my Aston Martin. Wasn't feeling the BMW today.
The click of the door closing breaks the bubble of quiet as I cross the street to the sidewalk in front of Samantha Brunner's house.
Actually, it's hers by default because of a handy little accident five years before.
Krista fumbles awkwardly with the door handle of her Fiat, and some sixth sense warns her of my presence.
Her head comes up, and the body that was so soft a moment ago goes tense.
I'm practically hanging out in the middle of the street, but it’s not well traveled. As a matter of fact, Sam's house dead ends at the loop of a cul-de-sac.