And here they were, on duty.
“So that’s Jesse,” said Rowan, squinting into the darkness.
She’d never met the man face-to-face but they’d formed a deep bond over their mutual interest in addiction recovery. Jesse was a recovering heroin addict, and Rowan was finishing a master’s thesis in mental clinical health. Rowan’s work with Alabama State University involved running a program in Mexico treating addicts from indigenous communities and Jesse, who happened to be half-Mexican, had volunteered to participate long-distance. Pairing up with Rowan helped him, her, and the club. Rowan had connected Jesse with her friend Chitto Miller, a fellow war vet, talked with him on the phone at all hours of the night, sent him encouraging cards, and was excited to meet him in person despite the odd circumstances.
And the circumstances were definitely odd. Rowan had never had to babysit a kidnapping victim before.
Voices were audible outside, a man and a woman. They were arguing heatedly, the words obscure but the tone piercing. Rowan could see their silhouettes tussling inside the jeep, arms gesticulating wildly. The woman slapped the man, threw open the door to the jeep, and sprinted off into the darkness screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Help! Anybody! Help!” The cries echoed off the cool stone hills, but there was no one around for miles to hear.
No one, that is, except Bronson and Rowan.
“Well, it seems to be off to a good start,” Bronson observed wryly.
Rowan’s lips tightened. She had no reason to like the Auditores: Cosmo had been a lewd and crude boss while Joey had held her and Bronson at gunpoint - had tried to kill them. But she still felt sorry for the girl. One couldn’t help the family one was born into; Rowan knew that from her own life experience with dead-beat parents. She turned and gave Bronson her best eyelash-batting routine.
“Better get out there and do that safety in numbers thing you were talking about, honey.” Rocking up on tiptoe, she planted a light kiss on his lips. “And try to be gentle. You can be so gentle when you want to be. I’ll oil the handcuffs and fluff the pillows like a good ole lady.”
“God I love you,” said Bronson. He smacked her ass and opened the bungalow door, jogging into the night.
Rowan hugged her arms around herself, watching Bronson and Jesse’s shapes disappear beyond the reach of the porch light as they chased after the hapless girl. She checked her watch. It was almost 10pm. Reinforcements would be joining them soon, including Chitto. Though he wasn’t in the MC, he was Rowan’s closest friend in Las Vegas and had also helped save Bronson’s life the day they’d escaped. Axle had asked him to join them now, knowing he could be trusted – and also knowing, as Rowan suspected, that they could use all the help they could get.
Rowan turned and critically surveyed the broken air conditioner, cursing under her breath and smiling ruefully to herself. Bronson was a whiz with a motorcycle engine, but household appliances? Different story. She hunkered down to see if she could make any sense of the mess.
When Rowan heard a motorcycle engine roar up outside, followed by heavy boot steps and the front door squealing on it’s hinges, she looked up expecting a friend.
“Hello?”
The voice made Rowan’s blood freeze. It was a familiar voice all right, but not a welcome one. She scrambled up to her feet, remembering the last time she’d heard it. Her hand balled into a fist and clutched the wrench behind her back and she crouched against the wall, trembling. She saw Dolce an instant before he saw her. Quickly surveying the room, she realized it would be totally pointless to run. Besides, they were technically on the same team.
Not that that had stopped him from trying to rape her before.
“Anybody home?” He turned and saw her, recognition dawning in his face. His head cocked to the side and he let out a surprised grunt. “Well, well, well, I do declare, if it isn’t Miss Alabama. I sure never thought I’d bump into you here, Blondie, I swear to god. That is not what I figured on happening tonight. Shit. What the fuck brings you back in my path?”
“Dolce,” she said, keeping her voice firm. “Good to see you again.”
He laughed. “Oh boy, you’re still a terrible liar. How do you manage to survive? You know, Blondie, there are some questions I’ve just been dying to ask you.”
Dolce’s laughter died, a hard glint shining in his good eye. The scar over his glass eye made him look even fiercer to Rowan’s mind, and she winced as he stepped towards her. Dolce noticed and stopped, assessing her.
“So he’s here too, I’m guessing.” Dolce’s voice was deceptively calm.
Rowan lifted her chin. “Yes. Axle asked us to come and help. Why are you here? I mean, it’s just, we were expecting Smiley.”
“I just brought the supplies. Smiley was supposed to, but he had a little too much tequila to drive. Thought I’d do him a solid. Goddamn twist of fate, eh? Finding you all alone like this. Funny old place, this world. So. You going to tell me what I want to know or do I have to draw it out of you?”
He leaned against the door, his posture unconsciously mimicking his actions on that terrifying night long ago. Rowan remembered him hitting her, overpowering her. If it hadn’t been for Bronson stepping in at the right moment…she felt her pulse race and swallowed convulsively.
“I…”
Like an answer to prayer Bronson and Jesse reappeared in the light out the front window, dragging a kicking and screaming woman with them. Interrupted by the sound of their voices, Dolce stood erect and glanced outside.
“Hold that thought,” said Dolce, arching his eyebrows menacingly. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
The door squeaked open and the room was filled with noise and chaos.
“Vaffanculo!” Shouted the rabid woman, spitting and tossing her weight around like a caged tiger.
“I think she likes me,” said Bronson.
“Don’t bet on it,” grunted Jesse. “She rightly hates everybody right now.”
“Fuck you!” The woman gnashed her teeth and thrashed, making it awkward even for the two well-muscled men to guide her in any particular direction.
“Ah! I think she bit me,” said Bronson, sounding surprised. “Did you bite me? That’s not very nice.”
“You can’t keep me here!” screamed the woman. “You can’t do this to me! Let go! Let me go!”
“Well actually,” Bronson grunted, pinning her arm to her side, “We can, and we are.”
Jesse looked exhausted. “Please, Celestina, calm down.”
Rowan watched the awkward procession as they stumbled through the doorway in a huddle, like drunken contestants in a three-legged race. The woman was never still long enough for Rowan to get a clear look at her face and her main impression was of a dark-haired, wild banshee clawing for freedom.
“Celestina?”
Hearing another woman’s voice seemed to shock her into stillness. Celestina peered up through her crazy hair and fixed burning black eyes on Rowan.
“What kind of a woman are you?” she hissed. “How could you help them do a thing like this?”
Rowan took a deep breath. “Nothing’s as simple as you think it is, sweetie. We’re not going to hurt you. I’m here to help keep you safe.”
“Safe? I was safe before I met him!” Celestina turned and spat at Jesse, who took it without wincing. “I was safe before you brought me here!”
With greater calm than he felt, Jesse reached and deliberately wiped the spit from his eye. “No, quierida,” he said. “You only thought you were safe. Without me, you’d have been in the blast at Caesar’s today.”
“Without you there’d be no blast at Caesar’s today!”
Jesse sighed and shrugged. “Have it your own way. But whatever you think, we’re your best chance at coming out of this thing alive. Not even your father could protect you as well as we will. This way, you are out of the heat.”
“Right,” Bronson said cheerfully. “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”
Rowan
and Celestina both glared at him.
“Glad we cleared that up,” said Dolce. “So you’re welcome, Miss Auditore. Can we move on now please? I’d like to greet my long lost brother-in-arms. Mr. Ramsey, I presume? Long time no see.”
Bronson and Jesse snapped their heads in Dolce’s direction, not having realized until that moment that he was in the room. Jesse, aware of the bad blood between them, licked his lips and searched for a way to diffuse the tension.
“Where’s Smiley?” asked Jesse wearily.
“Drunk,” muttered Dolce.
Jesse swore under his breath. “Look Dolce, now is not the time for personal quarrels. We have the club mission to think–”
“Fuck the club,” shouted Dolce. “I want answers from this motherfucker. Where’s Lola? Huh? What happened to her? And where’s our money? Huh? What the fuck have you done for the club lately to give you the right to tell me to back off? You just show up again out of the blue and I’m supposed to give you the hero’s welcome? Fuck that!”
“Fuck me,” groaned Bronson. “Dolce, it’s been a long day. None of that stuff matters right now and you don’t really know what you’re talking about. We’re kind of in the middle of something here, can’t you let it go, man?”
In answer, Dolce’s fist landed on Bronson’s nose with a resounding crack. Blood spurted. Bronson tripped sideways, bumping into Celestina and Jesse and sending everyone off-kilter like dominoes.
“Are you all insane?” Celestina screamed.
“Jesus, you idiots!” shouted Jesse.
“Son of a bitch!” bellowed Bronson.
Jesse regained his footing and herded Celestina away from the door and rabid bikers, ushering her into the living room. He pushed her back against the wall with Rowan to give Bronson room to fight, using his body as a shield to protect the women from the action.
True to form, Bronson came back swinging with an uppercut that nailed Dolce’s chin and sent him reeling backwards, tripping and slamming on top of the formosa kitchen table. It snapped like a balsa wood toy under Dolce’s weight and the whole jumble crashed to the floor, Bronson throwing himself in with a guttural curse, pinning Dolce and pounding him with punches.
“Just like old times,” Rowan muttered, shaking her head and wincing.
“I’ve never seen Dolce win,” Jesse grumbled, bemused, “How could he, against a fucking UFC champion. But he never quits and he doesn’t care. You gotta hand it to him. By the way, you are Rowan? It’s nice to meet you in person.”
“Nice to meet you too, Jesse.”
“What the fuck is happening,” muttered Celestina.
Rowan and Jesse shook hands around Celestina, who was watching in fascination as Dolce bit Bronson’s left calf and received a blow in the temple in response. Rowan smiled wanly at the younger woman.
“I’d tell you that you get used to the crazy,” she joked confidentially, “But it’s just not true.”
Celestina turned and fixed a withering frown on Rowan. Her look silenced Rowan. Celestina then rolled her eyes up at Jesse, who stood a maddening few inches away from her face. Celestina’s nostrils flared with emotion and she clenched her jaw, staring angrily at his chest. Rowan’s intuition told her that Celestina’s look held a cacophony of feelings: rage, confusion, shock, hope, desperation, pain, longing, tenderness, and loathing. She sensed that she was witnessing something private.
While Rowan studied her, Celestina closed her eyes and let her head fall on Jesse’s chest. The gesture seemed to take him by surprise and he stiffened, breath catching, and then turned to look down at his captive. He leaned in as if to kiss Celestina’s hair but stopped himself and took a deep breath. Remembering Rowan’s presence, he met her searching eyes and raised an eyebrow in vexation.
There must have been the sound of another engine approaching the house but no one heard it over the scuffling, and it wasn’t until the door burst open and a brawny Native American filled the frame that anyone noticed anything new.
“Chitto, good! Come over here and watch Celestina,” said Jesse, waving him over.
Chitto picked his way around the fight, dodging a wayward kick, and kissed Rowan on the cheek in greeting. Celestina’s soulful black eyes flickered up to his and then dropped to the floor.
“Ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat.
Rowan smiled. She had never known Chitto to forget his southern manners. He took a hold of Celestina’s arm and nodded at Jesse. Jesse took a deep breath, steeling himself, and took a moment to watch the fight between Dolce and Bronson. He shook his head in disgust.
“Right then, that’s enough!”
Jesse snapped himself away from the women and waded into the melee of men. He grabbed hold of Dolce’s collar with one hand and pushed Bronson’s forehead away with the other, separating them like a traffic controller. Both were bloody and breathless.
“Seriously,” Jesse shouted. “This is neither the time nor the place. Dolce, I believe you have the supplies from Smiley. Would you go get them please? And Bronson, you are supposed to be fixing the air conditioner. It’s hot as hell in here. We have fucking jobs to do, women to protect. This is not your American kids summer camp for fuck’s sake. We have just kidnapped Cosmo Auditore’s daughter – which was your bright idea, Dolce, by the way – and we’re in very deep shit. Maybe you can pull your heads out of your ass and treat the situation with respect? Eh? But I don’t know that’s just a fucking suggestion! What do you think?! Would you rather keep rolling around on top of each other like horny pigs? That’s constructive!”
“Sorry Jesse,” muttered Bronson. “You’re right.”
“Horny pigs?” Dolce wheezed with laughter through a split lip.
Jesse jerked Dolce’s collar angrily. “All right, you pick the metaphor. I give up. I’m going to take Miss Auditore upstairs and I want things organized when I get back down.”
“You’ll take me nowhere.” Celestina’s voice was icy with rage. “I am quite capable of removing myself from your company, with pleasure. Which room is for me?”
“Top left,” said Rowan.
Celestina stepped away from the wall and stared at Chitto until he released her arm. Without another word and with her head held high, she climbed the stairs and disappeared into the darkness of the upper floor. The battered and exhausted Ruiners stood for a moment in silence.
“I wasn’t kidding about the AC and the supplies,” barked Jesse. “Move it!” Bronson and Dolce scattered to their tasks, glowering and muttering all the way. Jesse’s voice softened. “Chitto, please go make sure Celestina has everything she needs, and most important, make sure she stays upstairs. I think she’d rather not have me near her right now, but someone needs to guard her. She’ll probably try to jump out the window or some fucking thing. Ok, thank you. I want to talk to you, Rowan.”
Chitto nodded and slipped away.
Rowan slipped her hand through Jesse’s arm and led him outside into the black desert night, away from everyone, to find a moment of privacy. A few cold stars blinked down at them, the sand crunched under their shoes.
“So, you and Celestina,” Rowan began.
“Obviously,” groaned Jesse. “Just another one of my bright ideas.”
He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit up, offering one to Rowan. She declined.
“That didn’t look like a faceless one-night stand to fill the void to me, Jesse.”
“All right, it was two nights I guess.”
“And some feelings.”
Jesse grunted.
“Don’t play tough with me Jesse. You don’t have to act different than our conversations on the phone. We’ve been able to be pretty honest.”
“Women,” he said, a hint of laughter returning to his voice. “You never give up with your questions about feelings.”
“Look, I am so glad I get to meet you in person,” said Rowan. “You’ve been fighting hard to stay sober, I know how hard it’s been. I want to talk about all of this wit
h you later, but right now I think there is something more important, something that’s going to creep in your skull and make you want to use, and you just have to hold on.”
“Yes,” Jesse rasped. “You’re right. It’s her, Rowan. She’s under my skin and under my roof and now she knows the truth. She hates me. It was easier when I was alone, when it was just hard to sleep. That I could handle. When I wanted a hit, I could just ride all night, be alone in the desert, or call you in Mexico. That was all before I saw her. Before I knew her name, it was perfect. It wasn’t like any other girl. She saw into me, you know? And she didn’t wince. Now I just want out.”
“You love her?”
Jesse was silent.
“This is going to be hard, Jesse. You know the Ruiners need you. You know they mean a lot to you, even if you don’t feel that right now. You can’t quit now. Do you have any heroin with you?”
“Of course not.”
“Give it to me, Jesse.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Come on.”
A pause. Mechanically, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a small bright yellow toy balloon wrapped around what looked like a black gumball. He rolled it between his thumb and index finger and handed it over to Rowan with a sigh.
“That’s it?”
He pulled out another, a blue balloon, then a red one, and handed them to her.
“Black tar. Is that all you have?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it, Jesse! Am I going to have to clean the jeep and the house looking for your stash? What about your syringe? Give me your syringe.”
“Fuck, Rowan, I was just gonna chase the dragon ok, just a quick hit. I don’t have a syringe. You’re even bossier in person.”
“Matches.”
At that, Jesse’s frustration broke and he laughed. He waved his cigarette in the air playfully. “Come on Rowan, you’re not going to succeed in keeping me away from matches. They call me Nitro for a reason.”
“Just shut up and give them to me.” Rowan held out her hand, then pocketed the black tar and matches that Jesse produced. “Hey, you made it another day not using. Right? When you think about it, whatever we’re doing, stop and talk to me and we’ll handle it ok?”
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