by Nikki Pink
It started with the hair and nail polish. But it went on. If I was buying new clothes, he would be with me. Even little accessories, he wanted to be there. At first I had items of clothes he didn’t approve of, and he would suck in air through his teeth and tell me that, if I didn’t mind, he’d prefer it if I wore something else?
Of course those shirts and dresses, those pants and skirts that he didn’t like disappeared too, over time. I never saw him take anything, and it happened over such a long period of time that I didn’t really notice - it wasn’t until we were seniors in high school that I really thought about it, and investigated, and realized what he’d done.
He was very rarely overtly controlling, it was all very subtle. If I went to take a second scoop of ice cream, he’d give me a little look that said do you really need that? And I’d guiltily re-consider.
Dewey kept careful watch of my weight. He didn’t want me working out and getting strong like him, but he wanted to make sure I stayed thin. When no one but us was around he’d make disparaging remarks about the heavier set girls, and tell me, “I’m glad you’re not like that, babe. I couldn’t stand it if you got like that.”
I’d nod and agree and giggle at first. Later I just remained silent - it wasn’t like I had a choice; I couldn’t ever get like those girls, he wouldn’t allow it.
The first time I realized he was truly warped was when Mom got sick. It was cancer. My bubbly, smiley mother withered before our eyes. It was the beginning of senior year, the worst year of my life.
It was rapid. Her health failed far quicker than the doctors said it would. Near the end she’d sit in the living room, in her chair, a drip feeding her IV tube. Dad sat there too, he’d lost his construction job after an accident, but his disability payments were enough to let us keep the house, just.
When Mom got sick and Dad got injured he changed. He’d sit there all day, ‘keeping her company’, when in actual fact he was keeping a case of cheap beer company. A case of Natty Ice, starting at midday (only alcoholics drink in the morning,) and ending whenever he finally passed out.
That’s when he said it. We were in my kitchen, and he had a cold arm wrapped around my unfeeling shoulder. He whispered in my ear, “We’ll be able to spend more time together soon, babe. Soon it’ll just be us.”
I turned and stared at him, not believing he’d told me to look on the bright side of my mother’s rapidly impending death.
I let out a sob and ran up the stairs to my room, leaving his no doubt confused visage behind. I ran into my room and slammed my hands down on my vanity, staring into a stranger’s eyes in the mirror. The girl before me had bright red lipstick, bright blond hair, and sunken, ruined eyes. Who was she? I sure as shit didn’t know.
I ran to my bed and buried my head in my pillow, wracking sobs passing through my body. I barely recognized my own life by then. Who was this blond haired girl with blood red cosmetics, a dying mother and drunk father? Where had she come from? Where had the happy girl from the happy family gone?
Soon he was there, lying on the bed next to me, an arm and then a leg wrapped over me. Comforting me? No. Soon a hand was under my skirt and a meaty finger was inside me. As tears ran down my cheeks he whispered in my ear, “It’s okay babe, let it all out,” as his breath quickened.
Soon his pants were down and he was inside me, holding my shaking, young body tight. He loved it when I cried.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Bottle
Shit, I think I’m getting addicted.
Not to her, to this stupid little box I’m talking in to. Shit, maybe to her too. There’s something about that crazy broad.
Anyway, talking like this clears the mind, clears the head. It’s fuckin’ weird. I guess I see why those Catholics like talking in that box to their priest.
Enough about that.
Shit, that poor Karen. No wonder she’s so fucked up. It seems her ex is a complete fucking loony toon. I think she got through most of my flask before my goddamn phone rang again, too. I know I would have ended up with her sobbing into me again if Twist hadn’t called.
I’m not cut out for all this comforting shit. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Give me a jaw to break, a nose to smash, an engine to pull apart - I’m your man. Getting a woman to stop crying though? Man, I don’t know how to do that shit.
Usually I wonder what’s up with all the emotional bullshit women put out. Surely they take it too far. But Crazy Eyes? She’s seen some fucked up shit in her day, so I guess I understand why she’s so emotional.
The rest of them bitches out there in the world though?
Fucked if I know.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Karen
I hadn’t finished telling Bottle everything, hadn’t gotten to the worst part, when his phone rang again. This time he spoke in English.
“Yeah... uhuh... no shit? We’re coming.”
He reached over the table and grasped my hand. I gave him a wan smile. I felt drained and was glad for the warmth strength he offered.
“Time to go. Twist has found something again. You okay to come?”
I shrugged and sighed. What choice did I have. And where else would I go anyway? I didn’t have anywhere left. I gave his hand a squeeze and we rose together. He dropped a twenty on the table from a surprisingly chunky billfold and wrapped an arm around my shoulder as we headed to the exit. It was getting dark outside now.
I climbed onto the motorcycle behind him, and tried to count how many times I had been on a bike now. It was strange how quickly it had become natural to sit astride this powerful metal beast. It was a comfort to me now to feel it purring beneath me as Bottle started it. A shiver ran down my spine as Bottle gave her a gentle squeeze with the palm of his hand and we soared back to the clubhouse, the bike growling between my legs, hungry to tear up the road ahead.
My hands ran over Bottle’s soft jacket to rest on his jean-clad thighs. They vibrated along with the bike and I rested my head on the biker in front of me for the I-don’t-know-how-many-times that day.
Everything would be alright, wouldn’t it? They’d catch Dewey, save their friend, and then kill the motherfucker. At least that’s what I hoped.
In the clubhouse Gauge and T-Bone nodded their heads and held up their hands in greeting. Bottle clasped each of their hands as I trailed up behind him, feeling shy again.
Rock music was pouring out of the speakers now and there was a small crowd of people hanging around. The teenage girls from the day before were back again, this time giggling at a big bearded man over by the pool table, a prospect judging by the lack of a full patch.
Bottle pulled out a chair for me as we all sat down. Twist came over to join us holding a brown paper bag.
“Sit down.” Bottle’s voice was firm but not unkind as he spoke to the young prospect. “What’s in the bag?”
Twist sat down and grinned. “Whole-grain flaxseed low-gluten bagels with low fat Argentinian grass-fed cream-cheese. Organic.”
“The fuck’d you just say?” growled T-Bone.
“I think he just said he’s coming out,” said Bottle.
The three club members laughed at the frowning younger man, who re-phrased his earlier statement: “Organic bagels.”
There were nods of comprehension around the table.
“How do they taste?” asked T-Bone, leaning forward and eying the bag with an appraising look.
Twist laughed. “Like shit.”
I smiled and the men around the table laughed.
“Fuck it.” T-Bone grabbed the bag and upended it on the table. Four bagels individually wrapped in saran wrap fell onto the stained table. T-Bone frowned at the bag and shook it again. I could hear something bounce around inside the bag, before an envelope finally dropped out onto the table.
Twist had a serious look on his face. “That’s why I called. The bagel chick said she had been told to give it to the first biker who came in. She said she’d told him bikers never go in there,
but the guy had been insistent.”
“How the fuck did he know we’d be looking for him there?” growled T-Bone.
Before I could open my mouth Gauge was already speaking. “She said he was intelligent.” He nodded his head indicating me as he continued, “He may be an asshole, but he’s not a stupid one. He knew we’d be hunting him, and he knew what she’d say to us about him being a health nut. Fuck, he even guessed we’d find him at the Motel. The shifty fucker is way ahead of us.”
Bottle was leaning back in his chair, shaking his head and frowning. “It’s time to stop the bullshit. We’ve got to get ahead of this fucker. We should be second guessing his moves, not the other way round. Fuck.” Bottle shook his head and sighed before leaning forward and picking up the envelope. He held it up. “Well, what do you know.” He shook his head in mild surprise as he indicated the front of the white envelope, upon which was simply written Bottle.
I frowned. “Why the fuck is he writing to you?”
T-Bone laughed. “You jealous?”
I glared at him. “Whatever he says, it’s bullshit. He’s a sneaky, lying motherfucker.”
Gauge raised his eyebrows at me. “A sneaky, lying, boyscout mother fucker?”
I couldn’t help but grin and nod.
Bottle turned the envelope over in his hands, looking at each side before finally opening it. He slid out a yellow piece of paper from inside that had clearly been ripped from a legal pad and his eyes began to run over it.
I saw Gauge concentrating on Bottle, a frown on his lined and goateed face. “Let me guess. Fuckhead wants to trade her for Red?”
Bottle slowly nodded as he continued reading the letter. A chill ran down my spine as I looked at the serious faces of the four men around me. They wouldn’t actually trade me for their boy, would they? Maybe I should just run.
But shit, I’d just spent the night with Bottle. That had to count for something, right? He wouldn’t screw me and then, well, screw me, would he?
I felt butterflies in my stomach. It wasn’t exactly easy to trust people when you’d had a life like mine, and Bottle and crew weren’t exactly beacons of respectability. Maybe I should run.
But how far would I get? And if I made it out of the clubhouse where would I go? I had no cash on me, no home to go to, my car was wrecked and there was no one to call.
Shit.
I’d put my lot in with the bikers, and now it was time to find out whether I’d made the right choice, or whether I’d be traded like a piece of meat.
Bottle finished reading the letter and carefully folded it in half. “Gauge, T-Bone, we should have a talk about this. You,” he nodded his head at me, “you’re going to have to wait a while, if that’s okay.”
I suddenly felt chilly. Night was coming on, the booze had worn off, and my tight t-shirt wasn’t cutting it any more. But that wasn’t the only thing; I was also getting increasingly nervous. Would the bikers continue to help me, or would they give me up as a lost cause and trade me for their prospect? I shivered.
Bottle glanced at me as I shook. “Don’t worry. We’ll work this out. Come on, you need to wait back here.” I examined his face but I couldn’t tell if his frown was due to concentration as he thought things through, or whether he was having darker thoughts.
He reached out a hand to me, and I took it as I stood up on legs that felt far weaker than they should have. Bottle gave my hand a squeeze, though his grip wasn’t as firm as earlier, as he led me through the clubhouse to an unmarked door at the back. I glanced over my shoulder back at the table, where T-Bone was unwrapping a bagel while talking to Gauge, their voices inaudible under the roar of rock music rolling across the room.
One of the bitchy looking girls from earlier watched me being led through the clubhouse and shook her head at me, clearly pissed off that I was heading out back with Bottle again.
Although I felt like crap I still gave the bitchy girl a shit-eating grin in return. She’d no doubt be pleased when Bottle returned without me in a minute or two. I could imagine her smirk already.
After we left the main room of the clubhouse we entered a dimly lit hallway with a number of doors leading off it. We stopped by the third door and Bottle pulled out some keys from the pocket of his jeans, quickly sliding one into the padlock that kept it secure, no doubt from ‘lost’ hangers-on and visitors to the clubhouse, perhaps looking for a more secluded place to fuck, or, for the even more foolhardy, something to steal.
I leaned against him, as he opened up his room, still shivering as he pushed the door open and reached for the light switch.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back soon.”
I turned back toward the door but it was already closing as Bottle disappeared back into the dingy hallway. The door closed with a click, and I listened intently, praying I wouldn’t hear what I knew I would.
After a second or two it came. The sound of metal brushing against metal and then a click, as he locked the padlock and secured me inside the room.
I slumped to the floor with a sigh, my back sliding down the door. With my knees pulled up against my chest I let my head thump down into them.
Well that choice was made for me. I wouldn’t be running away any time soon.
What would happen next? I was now locked in the Sons of Mayhem clubhouse, and they had just received an offer to trade me for one of their own. Was that it for me? I knew if they handed me over to Dewey that’d be the end for me; if I was lucky I’d end up dead.
If I was unlucky? I shuddered at the thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Bottle
Bottle squeezed the padlock together and it locked itself with a chunky click. He felt bad about it, but they couldn’t have her pulling a disappearing act now. They needed her to get Red back.
Shit, if he’d left it to Gauge she probably would have been locked up in the storage shed outside - she wouldn’t have been the first to be locked in there.
But no, he was nice guy Bottle, so she was locked in his room instead. He just hoped she wouldn’t trash it.
T-Bone and Gauge were sitting on one side of the table, the yellow letter laid out in front of them. Bottle didn’t go to the head of the table, that was Jase’s spot whether he was there or not, but instead he sat across from them on the other side.
“All right, you read it, thoughts?”
T-Bone let out a hacking cough to clear his throat before speaking, “Should we call the prez?”
Bottle swallowed. Should they? Should they call Jase? He looked over at Gauge, trying to read his face, but as usual it was impossible to read what the man was thinking. The ex-military man was as inscrutable as they come.
Bottle steepled his hands in front of his face, took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. He looked up at Gauge and T-Bone. “I’d like to sort this out ourselves, before they come back. I’d like to show that I can do this, y’know?”
Gauge nodded. “We can fix this, no need to worry the boss.”
T-Bone cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay. I guess it’s not worth calling Jase yet.” His eyes ran from Gauge to Bottle. “So what are we going to do?”
Bottled placed his hands down on the big hardwood table in front of him. “Well, we sure as shit ain’t doing what Dewey-Dickface says.”
The other two men nodded but didn’t laugh. Gauge flexed his right hand as if to relieve an ache then squeezed it into a fist and pushed it into the palm of his left hand causing his knuckles to crack loudly. “First, I don’t trust this shithead. If he just wanted the girl, why didn’t he just kidnap her instead of Red?”
Bottle nodded. “Yeah it doesn’t make sense. But remember, she said she thought he was fucking with her. Y’know, riling her up by kidnapping her new boyfriend. Shit, the fucker thinks he’s using us to get at her. There she is, running to us for help, and then we flip her over to them — dashing her hopes, destroying her spirit, all that good stuff.”
Gauge and T-Bone nodded. The ex-soldier squeeze
d the fingers of his left hand into a fist before cracking those knuckles too. “Well, by snatching Red he fucked with us. Even if we didn’t give a fuck about the woman,” he paused to give Bottle a pointed look, “we’d still be lying down like pussies if we allowed the kidnapping of Red to go unanswered. That shit ain’t right. We didn’t let the Mexicans fuck with us, we sure as shit ain’t going to let one whole-wheat-bagel-munching-boyscout-fuckhead treat us like his bitch.”
T-Bone growled in agreement as Bottle smacked the table. “Couldn’t put it better myself big man,” he said. “So how are we going to do this?”
Gauge raised his right hand to his goatee and rubbed it thoughtfully. “I’ve got an idea.”
Bottle grinned at him. “Let me guess, fire?”
T-Bone and Gauge chuckled. “Not this time. Although...”
Bottle laughed. “Fuck that. What’s the plan?”
Gauge looked Bottle up and down, as if to appraise him. “How do you feel about waiting under a camo-tarp with a rifle for about 30 hours?”
Bottle raised his eyebrows. That didn’t sound like fun at all. “Sounds like military shit to me...”
Gauge let out a low chuckle. “Sure as shit is. I’d love to do it, but I’ve got the security shit to deal with while Jase is away.
“So what’s the plan?”
The older man dropped a toothpick into the corner of his mouth and gave a grin as he chewed. He was clearly enjoying rolling his idea over in his mind.
“Our boy scout friend has told us exactly when and where to meet. We’ve got 36 hours until then. That fucker is on his own and trying to look after Red.” He paused. “At least we hope so.”
“So?”
“So, he’s setting himself up for a trap. He’s not as bright as he thinks he is. His letter had some bullshit warning about not trying anything funny, but there’s no way in hell he can monitor a kill-zone that large all on his own, for 36 hours straight.”
“Kill zone?” asked Bottle.
Gauge let out a throaty chuckle. “Yeah. Kill zone. You remember how to use a rifle?”