by Kim Jones
“There really isn’t much to tell. I’m in between jobs and using this time to study and explore possible career opportunities in the medical field.” Saylor’s words are as smooth as silk to every ear but mine. I feel my face frowning when I realize that this is something I didn’t even know.
“The club could use a good nurse,” someone adds, but I’m too busy with my own thoughts to figure out who said it. I should have asked her these things. I don’t like that they know more about her than I do.
“I’d be happy to lend a hand anytime.” I notice a nervous tone in Saylor’s voice that wasn’t there moments ago. I look down at her and she looks to me with pleading eyes, but someone is demanding her attention before I can decipher what she wants.
“What I want to know is about your time with Dirk.” My eyes go to a voice I know all too well. Chaps, the national enforcer who helped train me. He was a retired Navy SEAL and believed that a man who governed himself should be able to prove his physical and emotional ability to handle any job.
Chapters had each other to lean on. When one couldn’t perform a task, another stepped in. When the club gave me an order, I had no choice but to execute it myself. No matter the conditions.
But Chaps’s idea of training consisted of leaving me in the dark for a week with a gallon of water and only my thoughts to keep me company. He said mental endurance was more powerful than physical. When they let me out, I proved my strength by breaking his nose as soon as he opened the door. We haven’t got along since then. I can feel Saylor’s eyes on me, but I keep my focus on Chaps. He is too unpredictable.
“I’ve known Dirk for years,” Saylor starts, and her voice is back to normal. “He has always been there when I needed him. When life got tough, it was like he just magically appeared. A week ago, I asked him to take me away with him. The anniversary of my mother’s death hits me hard every year and I just needed to get away. He agreed, although I think my large appetite and unpredictable, untamable hair gets on his nerves sometimes.” She adds the last part on a laugh and I know it’s to let me know she is joking. I hear Roach’s raspy laugh that turns into a cough, giving me the distraction I need to check on her. She shoots me a wink, and it’s all the confirmation I need. I turn back to Chaps, who is wearing that fucking smart-ass smirk while he looks at my girl.
“I bet I could tame your appetite and your hair.”
“Dirk, where is the bathroom?” Saylor is at my side with her hand on my arm before I can react to Chaps’s comment. Jimbo stands between me and Chaps with his back to me, blocking my view of the motherfucker I want to hurt. Bad.
“Dirk?” Saylor’s pleading voice is more powerful than any thought or feeling inside me. I turn to look at her and she shakes her head, begging me to keep my cool. “Please show me to the bathroom.”
I look back at Chaps, but all I see is the back of Jimbo’s cut. He is saying something to Chaps, and if any of them are smart, they will put him in his place before I do.
I grab Saylor’s hand in mine, letting every-fucking-body know that she is with me, and lead her inside. When she goes to piss, I walk in with her. She stands at the sink, taking deep breaths and playing with the necklace at her throat. “Dirk, I really need you to keep your shit together.” Her choice of words are not very wise.
“Nobody talks to what’s mine like that. Nobody. I don’t give a fuck who it is. He’ll be lucky if he walks out of here.” I’m growling and I don’t want to. I’m in her face and I shouldn’t be. Her flinch is the only thing that makes me realize my actions.
“Dirk, I’m trying really hard here to make this right. You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed to fix my mistake. All I’m asking is that you try and control your temper. They’re just words.” Her breathing is fast and she looks like she wants to cry. She knows nothing about sacrifice. I was willing to give up everything I’ve ever known for her. The last person she wants to talk to about sacrifice is me.
“This is my club. You are my problem. If you make a mistake, I’ll fix it. Words will get you hurt just as fast as actions with me. Don’t act like you know them, Saylor, because you fucking don’t.” I spit my words at her. There is so much malice and force behind them that I find myself taking a step back to keep them from physically hurting her. But Saylor doesn’t want space between us. She closes the distance and I feel her finger in my chest as she speaks.
“Don’t you yell at me,” she says, her voice quiet but shaky with anger. “I know you’re mad about what he said. I know you’re mad because you can’t control the situation. I know it drives you crazy to know that I might be in danger. But have you ever thought about how I feel? If I lose you, then I lose everything. Do you have any idea how infuriating it is to know that you could be taken from me, all because you’re a jealous asshole and can’t keep your temper in check?” She stares at me and I wonder if she wants an answer. But I’m too angry to say anything else. If I do, she might just get her feelings hurt, and I know better than anyone that words are something you can’t take back.
She takes a deep breath and releases it, trying to calm her temper, I think. But when she grits her teeth before she speaks, and pokes me hard in my sternum, I know it didn’t work.
“Now, I’m going to have a drink at the bar. And if you really want to protect me, then be smart and protect yourself. Because if they hurt you, then I’ll give them no choice but to hurt me too.”
Saylor storms out of the bathroom, leaving me so fucking confused and horny that I’m tempted to go to the bar and drag her back in here just so I can fuck her.
I light a cigarette and close my eyes, willing my mind to slow down and process her words. It’s never occurred to me until this moment that she cares for me just as much as I care for her. She doesn’t want to lose me. She doesn’t want me to do anything stupid because she doesn’t want to lose everything. That everything is me.
From what I know of Saylor, she is fully capable of doing something crazy to protect me. She already has. It wasn’t as extreme as this, but it kept me from killing a gas station attendant and some horny independents.
Images of Saylor waving a gun around and bashing heads with a beer bottle are not something I want to see in real life. Chaps was testing me. Pushing me to my limits. He knows he struck a nerve and he is likely to try it again. As much as I would like to kill him for his comment, I want Saylor more. So much more that I am willing to swallow my pride and give Chaps a warning, which is all I need to do. If he fucks up after that, the club will know he was given a chance and will back me if it gets physical.
I look at myself in the mirror, and the man looking back at me isn’t the same man he once was. I open the bathroom door and scan the room, spotting Saylor’s curls immediately. She is sitting with the ol’ ladies at the bar, drinking and laughing. She is happy. She is safe. She is mine. And nothing else really matters.
Chaps is pissed when I walk back outside. I notice the amount of people have doubled while I’ve been gone. They are expecting me to retaliate. I look into every set of eyes around me. The men sent to stop me glare at me murderously, and I’m sure they are pumping themselves up in their heads.
Roach sits expressionless, waiting for me to strike. Once it is stopped, he will confront me, but even he knows not to step in now.
Jimbo looks pissed. By the way his nostrils flare each time he looks at Chaps, I know his anger isn’t directed at me. This could happen how they all expect it to. If it did, I would walk up to Chaps and immediately throw the first punch.
Since he is on his feet, I know it’s what he’s predicting and maybe even what he wants. If this was a regular chapter member, there wouldn’t be an issue. But, this is a National. A man who worked hard to get where he is and is one of the most respected men in the club. And because it’s me who he is up against, everyone knows shit can get bad really fast. They know I couldn’t give a fuck less about his title, and we have history. I won’t do what I’m known for; I’ll do what is right by Saylor. Then Chaps
calls me out.
“You got something you wanna say, Dirk? You brought this threat into our world, and I think it’s time you answer for it. So, do what you do. You don’t fucking scare me.”
I’m just about to take a step toward him when I hear Saylor’s laugh carry through the bar. There is no doubt she knew I was fixing to fuck up; she always does. That laugh gives me the strength I need to do what I know is right.
“Saylor is mine. Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her, and don’t fucking test my patience where she is concerned again. I believe I’ve proved my loyalty to this club, and my word should be enough to stand up for any transgressions you try and accuse me of. She rode with me. She knows nothing. She is not a threat, will never be a threat, and don’t refer to her as a threat again. I’ve never given this club reason to doubt me. And if I remember correctly, I’ve pulled the trigger for you more than once, Enforcer. This is your last warning. You won’t ever get the chance to fuck up a third time with me.”
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring into the eyes of the first man who has challenged me and didn’t get a fight. But it’s long enough to force him to shift on his feet. A patch holder I don’t know assists Roach until he is standing between us. He first looks at Chaps, and when he speaks, there is no denying the warning in his voice.
“I won’t stand behind you if you pursue this.” Jimbo seconds his motion, and soon all the Nationals agree that Chaps should stand down. While they wait for his decision, Roach turns to me, and I find that sparkle of pride I longed for from my grandfather in the eyes of my brother.
“There is no problem here, Dirk. The club trusts you will handle yourself and your property, like you always have.” I feel my chest swell with pride at the thought of making Saylor my property. Branding her with my patch, my name, and my club would be the equivalent of marriage for people unrelated to an MC. It would show everyone in my world that she was mine, not that anyone would have any doubts after today.
Chaps steps up next to Roach, and my feelings shift immediately, as do my eyes. And what I see is not defeat, but respect, not that I need it from him.
“You’re a good brother, Dirk. I never should have doubted you. It won’t happen again.” When he sticks his hand out to me, I know that even Saylor’s laughter couldn’t persuade me to shake it. I give him a nod, and pull a cigarette from my cut. Ignoring his outstretched hand.
“We need some beers,” I tell one of the patch holders who was sent in for reinforcements.
“Sure thing, Dirk,” he says, and disappears inside. Conversation starts and the whole ordeal is squashed and forgotten, just like that. Not another word will be spoken about it. Beers are passed around and a toast is made in honor of the anniversary of our club. We pour some out on the ground in honor of fallen brothers and drink in honor of our patch.
Chaps tips his beer bottle toward me and tells me, “One day, Dirk. One day you will shake my hand.” I take a pull from my beer, knowing that will never happen, but keeping the thought to myself. Then, I hear Saylor’s laughter again, and now I’m not sure it won’t.
10
“DIRK, DON’T LET me fall off,” Saylor slurs as I practically carry her to the bike. While I’d been on the porch with Nationals, she had been taking shots with the ol’ ladies at the bar. Three hours and a fifth of liquor later, she was finally ready to call it a night.
“I won’t, baby.” I help her with her helmet, and then on the bike, pulling her arms around my waist and locking her fingers together. The place we are staying is only a few minutes from here, and I take my time getting there. The last thing I need is for her sexy little ass to fall off. I turn down the gravel drive, unable to keep the memories of my childhood from flooding back.
This is not my home and never was. My bike is my home, and it has been since I was old enough to ride. This is just a place that reminds me of who I am and what made me that way.
The white, wood-framed house hasn’t changed a bit. If the Prospects from a nearby chapter didn’t keep the yard cut, you would think it was abandoned. I can’t remember the shape I left it in the last time I was here, but I’m sure Saylor won’t complain. It’s probably better than most of the cheap-ass motels we have stayed in. And she thinks they are perfect. I really need to get her a dictionary.
I pull the bike under the old carport, next to all the other shit that hasn’t been touched in the last ten years, and cut the engine. Saylor is laying on my back and if she is passed out, I don’t know how in the hell she stayed on. I unlock her fingers and hold her hands in mine, mentally preparing myself for what lies inside the house.
“I’m comfortable. Let’s just sleep out here.” Saylor’s words are slow and slurred. I like getting to know all the different sides of her.
“Deal.” I don’t want to go in any more than she does. I hate this place, but it’s my responsibility, and since I have to be here a few days anyway, I might as well get it over with.
“Whose house is this?” she asks, her head still on my back. I don’t know why I feel the need to tell her, but I do.
“Mine.” I feel Saylor’s head lift, and watch her in my mirrors as she looks around the dark carport.
“I didn’t know you lived here.” I can tell by her body language that she is ready to get off the bike and explore the place. Nosy little shit.
“I don’t live here. I just own this place. Let’s sleep.” The need to share shit with her vanishes just as suddenly as it appeared. I should have known better than to expect her questions would stop.
“Does anyone live here?” she asks, moving to get off the bike. I stand and help her, ignoring her question, thinking maybe she will just let it go. When I don’t answer her, she asks a different question. Fucking conversation. “Did you grow up here?” I grab our shit from the bike and move through the carport easily, despite the shit strewn everywhere. I know this place better than any, and it hasn’t changed in years. “It’s quiet here.” Saylor says, and before I can process that her words are a simple observation, I’m lashing out.
“I don’t wanna talk about it, so stop asking so many fucking questions.” I kick the shit outta something, an old carburetor, I think, and the noise causes Saylor to yelp. Now I want to kick the shit outta myself. I should apologize, but I can’t bring myself to speak.
The padlock on the door is rusted and I’m struggling to get it open. What I really want to do is kick it down, but I’ve done a good enough job at scaring the shit outta Saylor. No need to fuck things up worse. I hear shit being moved behind me and turn to find Saylor half sitting and half laying on an old lawnmower. I can’t make out her face, but it’s bright enough I can see her body is limp, and I’m hoping like hell it’s from exhaustion and not from me. “You okay?” I ask, my voice low and hoarse.
“I would be if you would hurry the fuck up and get me to bed,” she huffs, and suddenly, I’m not angry anymore. I’m not pissed at myself, her questions, or this rusty-ass lock. I’m just happy that she is making an effort to be bitchy and isn’t sad. I manage to get the door unlocked and push it open. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and rat piss fills my nostrils, and I know I’m home. My stomach turns at the thought of referring to this place as home, and the fight to not retrigger old memories is won. And it’s not in my favor.
“Dirk! Get your wormy little ass in here and get us a beer!” Black yells, and I’m on my feet at the sound of his voice. I know I won’t get to it fast enough. I know that no matter how I bring it to him it won’t be good enough. Just like I’m not good enough. I know this because he reminds me of it every day. “Damn, boy. You ain’t worth the shit paper I wipe my ass on. Your daddy should have shot his wad in an ant bed instead of in your whore of a mama.”
I grab the beer out of the fridge, making sure not to drop one or shake them up, and pass them around the table. The smoke in the room is thick, and I know it’s drugs and not cigarettes. And it’s not the kind of drugs that looks like cigarettes either. Black calls it do
pe. I don’t know what that is, but I do know not to ask. I wait to see if he wants me to do something else. “What the fuck you want, a hug? A cookie? Get the fuck outta here!” He is yelling, but it is at my back. At the sound of his voice, I’m moving. This time, I’m glad it’s away from him. I leave my door open, afraid he might holler for me and I won’t hear him, then I disappear into my hiding place to re-lace my shoes for the twentieth time today.
I listen to the voice I’ve feared my whole life, and it is as loud in my head as it was in real life. I can still see everything. I can still smell everything, and I can still feel the same chills rolling through my body as I did when I was a kid. Not that I ever was. I sure as hell wasn’t ever treated like one or got the opportunity to act like one.
I shake my head, physically trying to remove the memories. I turn around and Saylor’s sleeping form is all I need. I scoop her up in my arms and carry her inside, kicking the door shut behind me. The sound doesn’t even wake her.
There isn’t a bed in this house I want to sleep in, or couch I want to sit on, but the furniture shouldn’t bother Saylor. She doesn’t have the memories that I do. I lay her down on the couch before pulling the air mattress from the large tote that still sits in the middle of the living room floor. I plug in the pump and stand there in the dark, waiting for it to inflate, and dread checking the house. That would mean I had to turn the lights on. And tonight, I really didn’t want to see this place in color. But I haven’t been here in months, and it is very possible that there are snakes or raccoons or some shit that have somehow made their way inside.
I leave Saylor, dragging my feet down the hall to the small bedroom, and stop. Might as well get the worst over with first. Fuck. I turn the light on, and the room comes into view, the sight drying my mouth and quickening my heartbeat.
“Pussies cry, Dirk. Are you a pussy?” I shake my head, furiously wiping the tears from my face. Black charges across the room toward me. I’m so scared I stop breathing. I know he is going to hit me. I could try to run, but that will just make him even angrier.