by Brent, Cora
“Promise?” Rachel touched my arm lightly.
“Just tired,” I whispered. I heard Rachel hail the waiter for the check.
Back in the car, the descending light played prettily on the painted surface of the desert. I was glad for the sight of it, glad I was not back in Jericho Valley.
“You think I’ll ever see my sister again?” I asked Rachel.
She sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
Chapter Nine
Rachel gave me the bed in her trailer for the night. Casper lived there with her but he had volunteered to move over to the clubhouse for the night.
“Told you he was a rare case,” she said, looking after him lovingly as he departed with a ratty backpack slung over his shoulder.
I’d forgotten all about the small satchel I’d carried with me when I stumbled out of Winston’s car. Someone, Grayson perhaps, had left it on the tiny dining table in Rachel’s trailer. I pawed through it, relieved to find my toothbrush and other toiletries. But the few articles of clothing inside; the simple brown dress and the loose shift, the plain white underwear; all of those I put in a pile on Rachel’s table.
“I don’t want these,” I said tersely. I decided I would rather caper around the desert naked than wear the austere garments of the Faithful.
Rachel understood and swept them under her arm. “You’ll never see them again,” she said firmly and disappeared outside for a few minutes, returning empty handed.
I heard the noise from the bar as the night began to get underway. More bikes showed up; some of the riders wore jackets of other clubs, some did not. A few beat up cars rolled in as well. Rachel explained that she basically managed the Riverbottom, but that Kira and Casper would cover for tonight so she could stay with me.
We didn’t talk about Jenny anymore, or Jericho Valley, or anything which had happened in the past twelve hours. She gave me a soft t-shirt and a pair of loose nylon shorts to sleep in and then crawled into bed beside me, bringing her computer tablet. She turned on an episode of a quirky show called Arrested Development and I dozed off against her shoulder. As the pictures on the screen blurred in front of my exhausted eyes, I understood the true meaning gratitude. I was grateful to be in this snug trailer far away from Jericho Valley with my beloved cousin instead of being assaulted in the house of my husband. I was grateful that there were decent people in the world like Callie Lopez. And most of all, I was grateful to know that there were really were men who, underneath a rough exterior, had courage and decency. Men like Grayson Mercado.
Rachel held me like a child as I drifted off to a blissful sleep. My body’s pursuit of essential rest crowded out the nightmares which lapped at the corners of my mind. And for that too, I was grateful.
***
My cousin was up with the sun and though she tried to move quietly, I awoke to the sound of her soft rustlings in the trailer’s tiny kitchen.
I sat up gingerly, still sore in a thousand places. But the sharpest pain was receding as my body was finally getting a chance to heal without being damaged more. A growl rose in my stomach, which I also took as a good sign. Rachel smiled at the sight of me and offered me some toasted cinnamon raisin bread and a bowl of cut fruit.
Rachel sat across from me and pulled back the soft curtains covering the small window next to the table. The Riverbottom was quiet and lifeless. A row of motorcycles were parked in front, which I guessed belonged to the Defiant men. Though they all looked rather similar, I observed subtle differences between them and recognized Maddox’s showy bike with the painted flames as well as Grayson’s simple black Harley.
I was able to see the higher roof of the clubhouse beyond the bar. Rachel had explained that Kira and Orion lived there and the men occupied the place as the need arose. Some Defiant members lived in town. The rest lived in the row of trailers casually parked in the several dusty acres surrounding the bar. Rachel pointed out the pair of neat Coleman trailers which belonged to Teague and Brandon. Maddox’s Airstream was similar to the one Rachel and Casper lived in. A badly dilapidated single wide had been vacant since the prior tenants had fled the year before. And there, at the far end of the rest of them, was where Grayson lived. Rachel said it was the oldest one on the lot and Teague, who took some pride in knowing about things, had pointed out that it was virtually an antique. I stared curiously at Grayson Mercado’s home. The trailer was a long beige cylinder with strangely round windows.
Rachel started telling me a similar version of the story Kira had related, about the insidious Talia. I only listened and nodded, peering outside at the hummingbirds which paused by the succulent cactus flowers Rachel kept in clay pots. She seemed to be getting at something in particular by talking so extensively about Grayson. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was wasting her time. I simply couldn’t think about any man that way. And despite Rachel’s assurances to the contrary, I wasn’t sure when or if that would change.
A movement caught my eye at the far end of the lot and Grayson emerged from his trailer, shirtless and wearing only a pair of dark pants which he absently pulled up a notch before stretching languidly. And despite the fact that I had had disdained all thoughts of men only a moment ago I found myself gaping at the sight of his strapping, well-muscled body. When he abruptly turned a backflip in the desert sand I jerked, startled.
Rachel raised her eyebrows at me and turned back to her coffee, a small smile on her face.
Kira barged in without knocking a few minutes later. I got the impression she did that often. She carried a laptop under her arm and grinned at me delightedly.
“You look so much better today!” She sat down directly on the floor and opened her computer. “Hey, can I have some toast too? Brandon keeps eating all of my cereal.”
Rachel laughed. “That kid eats anything that’s not locked up.”
Kira agreed. “He probably ate all that hair you cut from Promise’s head yesterday.” She looked at me. “By the way, I like it. Your haircut. Hey Rachel, what’s your wifi password?”
“RayCas0428. You ask me that at least once a week.”
“Yeah,” Kira grumbled, typing. “My memory is gone to shit lately.”
“Too much sex sapping the brain cells?”
“Mmmm,” Kira leaned her head back and closed her eyes, as if in memory of ecstasy. She jumped up suddenly. “I’ll be back. Got to take care of some morning wood.” She blew us a kiss and let the aluminum door shriek closed behind her.
“Wow,” I said.
“Ah, yeah,” Rachel laughed. “Miss Kira thinks the art of screwing wasn’t invented until she came along.”
I didn’t know how to answer that so I chewed on a piece of cantaloupe.
Rachel pulled Kira’s laptop onto the table and squinted at the screen. “What do you say we order you some clothes? When Kira got here we had a fine time touring around Quartzsite trying to cobble together a wardrobe for her. If we order it now and opt for overnight shipping you’ll have plenty to wear tomorrow.”
“Rachel.”
My cousin looked at me.
My hands twisted in my lap. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything.”
Her face was tender. “No need,” she said quietly. “I always hoped that someday my cousins, my sisters, someone, would leave Jericho Valley and come to me.” She took my hand in hers and spoke in a halting voice. “I’m so glad you’re here, Promise. So glad you got away.”
“I am too,” I whispered. As she hugged me across the table I glanced out the window. Grayson Mercado stood in the barren sandy lot with his arms crossed. He was staring thoughtfully in our direction and for a brief moment our eyes met. Then he dropped his gaze and turned around, disappearing back into the old trailer.
Rachel helped me shop for clothes at Kohls.com. After selecting a few pairs of jeans and some t-shirts, she talked me into shorts as well as a few stylish dresses, saying I would be glad for the light fabric in this desert heat.
After about twenty minute
s, Kira bounced back in, flushed and giggling. “Sweet Jesus,” she howled, “I love taking it from behind!”
“Go fix your Sex Hair,” Rachel chastised her and Kira twisted her long blond locks into a quick ponytail.
Smiling at their comfortable banter, I retreated to the tiny bathroom and showered. As I combed my fingers through my shorter, more manageable hair, I looked at myself in the mirror. I no longer looked like a Faithful woman, which pleased me. I gingerly felt around the edges of the tape Callie had secured over my cracked ribs. It wasn’t as painful as it was yesterday. She had said it would take three to four weeks to heal completely but would feel a little better each day. The bruises on my breasts were still dark, but were beginning to yellow with recovery around the edges and the mark on my arm had faded considerably. I pulled on the same sundress Rachel had given me the day before and opened a new package of underwear she had left for me.
Once I’d dressed, the only noticeable trace of the abuse I’d endured were the welts from when Winston had whipped my legs. The marks were red and hideous but I knew they would fade. It was the memory of those terrible days which would be more difficult to heal from.
“Look at you!” Kira smiled when I opened the door. Then her gaze traveled down to my legs and her face fell.
I couldn’t bear it anymore; all these people feeling terribly sorry for me. I was free. Other women and girls were not. There was no need to pity me.
“I look okay, right?” I asked shakily.
Rachel put an arm around my shoulders. “You look beautiful, Promise.”
Soon after, a shadow fell across the door and I looked up to see Casper in the doorway. He only seemed to have eyes for Rachel though.
“Hey, baby,” she purred, rubbing her long legs together and then jumping into his arms.
I looked away when their tongues began lapping unabashedly but Kira stared at them avidly. Casper picked my cousin up as if she weighed nothing and spoke to us without even looking in our direction. “You ladies mind giving us a half hour of privacy?”
Kira winked at me and pulled me out the door after I grabbed a pair of Rachel’s sandals.
Though Rachel’s Airstream had been on the warm side, it was nothing compared to the blazing heat outside. I looked up at the brilliant blue sky, marveling over the fact that it was possible to be this hot at only nine am.
“Want to come to the house?” Kira asked. “I think later I’m going to give those damned ginger snaps another try.”
“Oh,” I said with surprise. “Is that what those were supposed to be?”
“Yeah,” Kira said slowly. “I thought molasses were the same thing as vinegar. I was wrong,” she admitted with a shrug.
The door to one of the Coleman trailers smacked open and Teague emerged, looking a little worse for the wear. He ran a hand through his graying greasy hair and offered up a glare in our direction before lighting a cigarette.
“Those’ll kill you,” Kira called helpfully.
He smiled. “Somethin’s gotta.” The stick glowed between his dirty fingers. “Where’s the man?”
Kira smiled. “Recovering.”
“Christ almighty,” Teague spat. “You guys are like fucking rabbits.”
Kira strutted in front of him. “Instead of nursing your jealous streak why don’t you go find a lady of your own?”
“Had one,” he smiled. “Biggest pain in the ass ever walked on two legs. But damn she gave great head.” He frowned at me slightly and tipped his cigarette in my direction. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“Shit,” Kira crossed her arms. “Teague apologizing. Is that a pig flying over Q Mountain there?”
Teague glared at her and put out his cigarette on the side of the trailer before heading back inside.
She laughed and jerked her head toward the house. “So how about it?”
“Yeah,” I said, looking off in the direction of Grayson’s trailer.
Kira seemed to read my thoughts. “Maybe you could stop by first. He’ll be glad to see that you’re doing better.”
“Okay,” I chewed my lip.
Kira muttered something confusing about chopping more morning wood and then left me on my own.
I walked slowly to Grayson’s trailer, feeling very conspicuous and crossing my arms self-consciously. Up close I could see the trailer was closer to a butterscotch color than beige. The contours of its structure combined with the small, round windows gave it an oddly space age look. Two objects which looked like gigantic thread spools sat underneath a thin awning which stretched from the door about ten feet out. The small sapling next to the trailer seemed oddly placed.
I ran my hand under the fringe of the tree’s small branches and with a sigh rapped on the door. I wasn’t sure how awkward an encounter this would be; the last time Grayson had said a word to me was just after I’d crazily torn my dress off and revealed myself to him and the rest of the men of Defiant.
He reached the door in seconds, still shirtless. Surprise registered on his face when he saw me.
“Hold on,” he said gruffly and ducked back into the dark interior. He returned in a moment, pulling a shirt over his head while opening the door.
“You look better,” he smiled at me.
I pushed my hair back, still unused to the way it fell lightly into my face instead of being tied back in a heavy braid. “Thanks,” I said softly.
He motioned to the objects outside his door. “Pull up a spool.”
“A what?”
He sat down on the flat surface of one of them. “They were once cable spools. Now they double as tables, chairs, whatever.”
“Oh,” I sat down carefully on the other one, crossing my legs at the ankle.
Grayson’s eyes traveled down my bruised legs and a grimace crossed his face but he tried to hide it a second later. I felt a bit shy being alone with him and he seemed to sense that, keeping himself at a careful physical distance.
I swallowed. “Thank you,” I said softly.
He knew what I meant. And he wasn’t going to say it was nothing or any such trifling nonsense. “You’re welcome,” he finally said.
We sat in silence for a moment and when I glanced up I realized he was studying me. This close to him, I also saw how handsome he was. His skin was a few shades deeper than the olive-skinned Italian sisters who had studied at Hale with me. His lips were full and his eyes were dark and guarded.
“Who’s Jenny?” he finally asked in a low voice.
I exhaled thickly. “My sister. Married off to a depraved leader of another community. She’s sixteen,” I finished in a choked voice.
“Fuck,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t say it was okay. Anyway he knew it wasn’t.
“How do you feel?” He looked me up and down critically.
“Angry,” I said. It was an honest answer.
Grayson nodded soberly, staring at the unlaced black combat boots he wore. “Shit. I don’t fucking blame you for that.” He raised his head and gave me a slight smile. “You really do seem a lot better though.”
I tried to smile back. “I must have looked pretty nineteenth century to you.”
He thought about that. “I guess.” He was quiet a moment. “And how did I look to you?”
Raw. Dark. Dangerous. But that wasn’t all. “You looked like my last hope.”
He was thoughtful. “You don’t have a lot of people who look like me where you come from, do you?”
I thought about Winston calling him a dark devil. I thought about the terrible things the Faithful church taught its children. “None,” I said honestly.
He stared me right in the eye. “You’re safe here, Promise.”
The sound of his voice saying my name was like an electric shock. He meant I was safe with Rachel, with the Defiant Motorcycle Club. But more than that, he meant I was safe with him. “I know. I knew that right away, Grayson.”
My words seemed to ignite something in his eyes and he looked
away, sighing deeply. A hot wind skated over us and my hair fell in my face again. I pushed it back and saw him staring at me again. I wondered what exactly he saw. A broken thing to be pitied most likely.
The hard, unsupported surface of the spool was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to sit on. I shifted and winced, hating that he would again be reminded of how he had found me. He started at my painful shudder and almost seemed like he was going to reach for me before he stopped himself and gazed out toward the Riverbottom. As he leaned forward, the sleeve of his t-shirt slid up, revealing a tattoo on his left shoulder which extended halfway down his upper arm. It was a cross outlined in thick black lines. Inside were the words ‘No man can judge me.”
“I know,” he said softly. “What it’s like to feel wronged. Furious. It’s not an easy thing to endure and it’ll eat you alive if you let it.”
I remembered what Kira had said about Grayson’s time in prison. Specifically that he had been innocent of the crime which landed him there. I assumed that was what he was talking about.
Grayson seemed to snap out of his brief spell of melancholy in a heartbeat. He grinned. “So, you burn that ugly dress?”
I laughed. “All of them.”
“This one suits you better.” For a split second I caught a look in his eye, the look of how a man sees a woman. And then it was gone so quickly I figured I had to have imagined it.
I rose sluggishly from the spool. When it seemed I might stumble, Grayson’s hand shot out to steady me. His hand lingered on my elbow a few seconds longer than necessary. I didn’t want to leave. I felt less vulnerable with him close by. But, I reflected, I couldn’t expect the man to trail around in my wake, defending me from the world like a persistent bodyguard. I would need to learn how to stand alone if I was going to find a way to help Jenny, if I was even going to find a way to help myself.
“Well,” I said as he reluctantly withdrew his hand, “maybe I can aid Kira in figuring out her cookie recipe.”
“Oh, shit,” he laughed. “I’m afraid that might be a lost cause.”