What Might Kill Us

by M. N. Forgy

  I smile a cheesy grin and retort one last time. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

  He turns, looking over his shoulder at us before striding back into the bar.

  “You think he’s on to you?” Kane whispers behind me.

  Inhaling through my nose, I shake my head unsure. Looking this place over I’m not certain of anything, except if there ever was a hell on Earth… this is it. “I’m not sure, but he was definitely feeling me out.”

  Thumbing my pockets, I tilt my head back. “This town is going to get a rude awakening. The Devil’s Dust is about to turn this place upside down and show them what hell really looks like.”

  “Preach it brother,” Bobby chuckles and I smile. Feeling lighter than ever. Maybe that’s all I really needed, was to go on a run with my boys. A challenge to keep my dark thoughts at bay.

  Or better yet, maybe the idea of sweet revenge is just a fucking high nothing else can compare with.

  Yep, it’s time to drag these motherfuckers to hell. If they are who I think they are, in the end their blood is the only thing that will satisfy me. I seek revenge, for the love that was taken from me. A part of me needs redemption. For her. Maybe then my soul will be cleansed of the redhead that was never mine.

  Sitting at the window I watch the bikers talk among themselves. Mesmerized by their malicious grace. Just looking at them you can tell they’re capable of destruction, but beneath the ominous energy they bring you can see beauty. They’re so handsome I can’t pull my gaze away from them no matter how hard I try.

  “Who is that?” Jose questions, setting down a ceramic mug of coffee. Black just like I like it.

  “I don’t know,” I mutter, grasping the cup. I didn’t tell him about the guy I ran into in LA, it seemed insignificant at the time. Wasn’t like he successfully saved me or anything.

  Briefly taking my sight off the leather and danger from just across the street I glance over at Jose. His short hair is gelled to perfection, his slender face looking out the window in awe.

  “Are they working with Alvaro?” he continues, sliding into the booth. I turn back toward the window, watching them interact with each other, the same question on my mind.

  Just as I open my mouth to voice my unknowing, Alvaro exits the bar and heads toward them.

  I watch, trying my hardest to read their lips, their body language, anything to indicate if I can trust these bikers or not.

  Biting the inside of my cheek I’m fixated on the one that all of the men are surrounding. The one I ran into praying to save me, but Alvaro and his men were too close behind me. They captured me before I had time to catch my breath.

  “Did you hear me?” I snap my gaze from the window looking at a pursed lipped Jose.

  “What?” I blink rapidly trying to recall if he was talking to me or not.

  “Oh my God! You totally want to bump fuzzies with a biker!” Jose slaps the table in excitement.

  A laugh bursts through my puzzled expression.

  “Don’t laugh, you know you do!” He points at me, a perfect brow raised. “Shit, I do,” he says with pursed lips.

  With a tight lipped smile I shake my head. “No. I’m just intrigued. I’ve never seen actual bikers before.” I look back out at them, watching them. I’ve never met anyone capable of more strength and evil than Alvaro before either. I almost tell Jose that a seed of hope is blossoming in my chest, praying maybe these guys are my get the fuck out of here card, but I don’t. Saying it out loud is too risky and Jose knows it.

  He can’t stand Alvaro, but he’s just as stuck here as I am.

  His sister, Natalia, works the bar with me and helps sling drugs. She’s knee deep in debt with my family. Drug addiction is a nasty thing. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s a bitch, one that has it bad for Alvaro.

  “Their bikes put yours to shame,” he sighs, resting his head on his left hand as he stares out at the polished chrome and metallic motorcycles. They put everything to shame here.

  “Biscuits and gravy?” Jose asks, sliding from the booth. My stomach growls at the mere mention of it. There’s no hiding that I’ve gained a little weight coming to America, and it’s the plate of gravy every morning that has done it.

  “I’ll bring you some while you eye hump the leather goodness across the street,” he chuckles.

  “With extra gravy?” I implore, pouting my lips dramatically.

  “I wouldn’t serve it to you any other way,” he says as he walks behind the counter and into the kitchen.

  After eating a full plate of biscuits I dig in my bra for some cash. Fiddling out a sweaty five-dollar bill, I shake my head as I try and flatten it out against the edge of the table. The Anahi here in America is a chasm from the Anahi in Mexico.

  Never did I worry about anything in the elegant walls that made up the façade of my parents’ mansion. Surely never paying for anything on my own.

  I lived through much of my life with my eyes closed, purposely turning the other way to avoid hearing what went on within the family name. As if only hearing what was said out of context made it less true. That a little boy wasn’t robbed of drugs and killed by my family because he couldn’t pay what he owed. I was naive, plugging my ears and running down the hall to my canopy bed to protect my bubble of innocence.

  Shaking my head, I open my eyes and toss the money on the table, giving up on making it presentable.

  I may have had everything before, but it was stained with blood. The money that I just put on the table was all mine. I earned that five dollars making friends with an old timer at the bar.

  It was real, and my eyes were open the whole time. He told me how he used to help run a big time casino in Vegas before being fired. He looked like he’d been beat up, and needed a friend.

  Heading outside, the wind has picked up and sand from the desert ground is swirling in the air. I cough, shielding my face from the grains of dust hitting my eyes.

  Quickly I run across the street, my dress blowing up to my stomach showcasing my choice of panties for the day. I try to push it back down and dust swims up my nostrils causing me to choke briefly.

  Screw the dress. I cover my face with both arms and sprint to the motel. I dig the key out from my bra, my heart racing to unlock the door. Catching something out the corner of my eye, I find the tall biker I ran into in LA. He’s standing there, calmly opening his door as he watches me from the corner of his eyes.

  Time stands still while we stare at each other.

  The desert floor kicked up beneath us, greeting its newest hierarchy − The Devil’s Dust.

  His body turns to face me and his eyes fall, skimming me from top to bottom without shame as my dress ripples up my frame. His cutthroat eyes flick to mine and I suck in a sharp breath, sand filling my mouth as I take in the beauty of them. They’re so green, so beautiful with the small wrinkles forming around them showing how damaged of a man he really is. His thick brows furrow, making him look angry and unapproachable.

  His cheeks sculpted and defined with dark scruff, peppered with specks of gray.

  But then his lips form into a smirk, and I wonder what he tastes like. The glaze of lust slipping in, its mask like the sand that has settled onto my skin until I try to swallow and realize how bad my throat burns. The sting from the sand in my eyes, taking me from my sinful thoughts and just like that reality sets back in.

  With my hand still holding the key sticking halfway in the handle, I turn it, unlocking the door and quickly push through it, slamming it behind me.

  What is he doing here? I can’t help but question again.

  I’m scared to trust him. He could be working for Alvaro.

  But if he’s not, maybe he is here to save me.

  Reality slaps me in the face in the form of a headache as the truth reveals itself to me. He’s a part of a gang, and more than likely here for drugs. Not me.

  My heart beats in my chest like a drum, my hands shaky with unknown reason. Actually that is a lie, I know the
reason. The beast of a man, cladded in worn leather next door is why I’m such a mess. His presence is like a looming storm in the distance. You can feel the electric charge in the air, and know it won’t end well.

  Turning my head, I look at the wall. The room next to me holding something much bigger than anyone in this town has ever known.

  Bull.

  That’s what his leather cut that was barely containing his size had stitched on the front.

  The President of The Devil’s Dust motorcycle club.

  It’s her.

  Those whiskey colored eyes are something I haven’t been able to forget, the flash in them didn’t go unmissed. She remembers me.

  I wanted to reach out to her, comfort her but the look on her face reminded me of a stray cat. Like she may strike out in fear any minute.

  Rubbing the hair lining my chin I look at the floor in deep thought, trying to piece what it is I’m fucking feeling. I’m trying to focus on why I am here, which is for answers, but when I saw the girl my stomach did some teenage fluttering shit.

  Scrubbing my palms down my face, I groan.

  Fuck, I need a drink.

  Dropping my hands, I look around the room for the first time.

  The smell finally hitting my nostrils. This place is a complete shit hole, but I’ve stayed in worse.

  The bed isn’t made. The sheets wadded into a bundle in the middle, looking as if they reached the last spin in the dryer and were then tossed on the bed.

  Stepping further into the room, the carpet crunches beneath my feet. Pulling a boot up I inspect it. Cigarette burns polka dot the floor, stains splashed everywhere making it almost look like a piece of art rich fucks pay for.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter. I was wrong, I’ve been in some dumps, but this takes the fucking cake.

  Wind slams against the window, the curtains shifting from the hostile bellows even though it’s completely shut.

  Shaking my head, I grab my duffle bag and rifle through it for my fifth of Jack. My hands shake trying to pull the cap off, my tongue snaking out and slipping along the bottom of my lip at the teasing temptation just on the other side of the glass.

  As soon as I release the lid, the smell hits me. In my head I tell myself just one swig to make the shakes go away.

  Just one sip to make the nausea settle in my stomach.

  One little taste to cure the demon in me ready to drown in the bottom of the bottle.

  Pleased with my promise, I take a sip.

  The splash barely registering as it hits my taste buds. Drinking as much as I do, it takes a lot more to feel anything.

  Wiping the back of my mouth, I stare at the bottle not satisfied with the little I had.

  Shaking my head, knowing the promise before was bullshit. A broken promise I tell myself to sift through the guilt eating at me before every swig.

  I’m letting my club down.

  I’m letting everyone down.

  “Fuck,” I bite through gritted teeth. Closing my eyes, I wallow in the feeling of being a let down.

  I tip the bottle back and take three huge gulps.

  Sitting on the floor, my head against the wall I wait for the storm to pass. The wind slowing down its vicious assault on the window. After getting into my room, I took a shower to wash away the sand sticking to my skin. Changed my clothes into something a lot more comfortable than a dress.

  A knock startles me, causing me to jump where I sit. Narrowing my eyes, I wait, hoping whoever it is will either say who they are or go away.

  “Open the door, Anahi!” the familiar voice of Alvaro barks from the other side. Closing my eyes, a growl vibrates in my chest. I knew he’d be back.

  Scrambling to my feet, I open the door and he pushes through with a scowl on his face.

  “You know your shift starts in ten minutes?” he informs, striding into my room without even asking to come in.

  “I’m sure your guard dog will make sure I’m on time,” I sneer.

  He’s pacing the floor, rubbing his hands through his hair anxiously.

  “What’s up your ass?” I chuckle, loving seeing him so worked up.

  “Fuck!” He strikes out, hitting the clock on my nightstand. I jump at first, not expecting him to lash out, then a rush of anger swims over me. I don’t have a lot of things and for him to come in here and tear them up, which is not going to fly. Not with me.

  “Hey!” I point at him, not appreciating him coming in here throwing a tantrum.

  “Did you see them? Did you see those fucking bikers?” he continues to cuss, clearly undone by the presence of them. I guess that means he doesn’t remember Bull. That doesn’t surprise me though, Alvaro doesn’t do his dirty work, his men do.

  “Yeah I saw them; how could you miss them?” I huff, crossing my arms. The memory of sexy men in leather flashing in my head.

  He drops his hands slowly, his eyes peering at me like a snake across the pond watching its prey.

  “What does that mean, Anahi?” He tilts his head to the side, the profile of his face just as menacing.

  I shift on my feet, not liking his tone or the way he’s looking at me. “I don’t like the way you said that, so tell me what the fuck you mean by that,” he continues. I swallow, my heart picking up its pace in rhythm.

  Now in my space, his boots scuff along the tips of my toes and he lowers his head. “You want to fuck with bikers, little hermana?” I hate it when he calls me sister. Stepping up to him, my upper lip curls, my back breaking into beads of sweat from my sudden courage.

  “I’m not your hermana, perra!”

  His eyes flash with anger. Either from me declaring myself not his sister, or me calling him a bitch. Like the snake that he is, his hand strikes out cupping my throat. He squeezes briefly before releasing the pressure, just to show my life is in his hands.

  Dipping his head his lips brush against my ear.

  “You are whatever the fuck I say you are, Anahi. And right now, you’re my pusher. My bitch, and those drugs aren’t going to sell themselves.” He shoves me against the wall and I purse my lips defiantly. “You sell those drugs, or I’ll sell you. Do you understand what you are to me now?” He laughs, the sound bellowing through the room. His face tightens, his grasp clenching around my neck.

  “Do. You—”

  “Yes!” I grit through clenched teeth, my toes skimming the floor for traction.

  “Good hermana,” he smiles, before smashing his lips against mine.

  Releasing his grip on me, I fall to the floor rubbing the wetness he left behind off my lips. Baggies of drugs are thrown around me like confetti. I look upwards, glaring at Alvaro.

  “Sell them all,” he demands, then tugs my door open and stalks out but not before sneering at me.

  I want to break down. I want to crawl into that shitty bed where I’m sure more than one person has been murdered and cry. Cry for what my life used to be, cry for what my life has become.

  But that wouldn’t be a smart move. Crying won’t fix anything. No, I need to keep my emotions in check and be the woman my mother taught me to be. Sighing, I pick up the drugs and shove them in my back pocket before I swipe my work boots off the chair and leave.

  I notice sand has shifted onto the patio and up against the door. Sitting down on the concrete I shove a foot into one of the wheat colored boots and tie them up. They remind me of the boots the construction workers wore when they redid my mother’s kitchen back in Mexico.

  They’re comfortable. Sadly, I would have never thought of wearing them before, too caught up in high-end heels and jewelry. It’s funny how things change.

  I found these in the back of the bar on my second night working. My feet couldn’t stand the heels I had on any longer so I sold them to a woman who was passing through.

  After tying my second boot I stand and find my bike was knocked over by the wind. Shit!

  Grabbing it by the handlebars I pick it up, brushing the sand off its seat. Curious if Fixie will give me a brea
k and start, I try and kick start it, but again, nothing. This is why I didn’t escape using this, she’d never make it. I didn’t even chance it, I just ran into the desert nearly dying of a heat stroke before an oncoming car picked me up.

  I try to start it again, and lose my balance. My legs straddling the bike I have no choice but to fall with it.

  A strong hand grabs the right handlebar righting the bike before it topples over with me on it. The contact causing a current of butterflies to swarm in my stomach I jerk my head up in reaction finding Bull. A clean Bull. He looks like he showered, his damp dark hair falling into his face. The smell of soap and leather strong and making me inhale a noticeable breath.

  “This yours?” he asks, his voice rough and sexy all at the same time.

  Those fierce green eyes pin me where I stand, waiting for me to reply.

  “Um, yeah this is mine,” I reply, climbing off the motorcycle and placing it against the wall. Butterflies swarm in my stomach, making me feel ill. Why am I reacting this way? I don’t even know the man. Is it out of fear or lust?

  “What’s wrong with her?” He takes my response as a friendly invitation as he widens his stance and rubs at his chin.

  “If I knew, don’t you think I would fix it?” I clip.

  His eyes cut to mine, his hand dropping at my unfriendly tone. I roll my lips onto one another, internally bashing myself for being so unapproachable. I’m not used to friendly people around here, so having a genuine conversation is something new for me.

  “Do you remember me?” he asks and I suck in a tight breath. Looking under my china doll bangs, I part my mouth and nod.

  “Why are you here?” I whisper, looking around me for Carlos or any of Alvaro’s men. His eyes squint as he crosses his arms.

  “What if I said for you?”

  My chest burns to the point I feel like I can’t breathe, my whole body warming with his words.

  “If you think you can just show up here and whisk me away, you might want to re-think that,” I mutter, tucking my hair behind my ear. Alvaro won’t let me go without a fight. One that will have this town painted in red and smelling of metallic and gunpowder.