by Nicole Fox
Wondering how much trouble I would be in with his father later, I spun on my heel and headed to work, my head bowed low to keep the rain out of my face.
Chapter Two
Colton
“Goddamn it, that hurts, Colton,” Tank complained, rubbing his eye. It was already turning black around the edges; it’ll be quite the shiner by the morning. I chuckled; he was going to be trying to use his injury to get pity from the girls by the next day. Most likely, that black eye will rough him up some pity pussy from the club’s ladies.
I had my own injuries from our “business meeting,” but I hadn’t been hit nearly as hard or as injured as visibly as Tank. Lucky asshole.
“Well, I don’t know about you,” I growled, digging through the pockets of my torn-up jeans for my keys. “But I could use a cold beer and a hot shower. That will put us both right as rain.” We walked up the rickety steps to my rented room, glaring at anyone who came too near. Most of the residents already knew to stay away from me; they all knew who Colton Sears was. Not a single one of these cowards even had the spine to look me in the eye.
It didn’t mean I could forget caution; there were no rules where I came from. That meant there could be enemies hiding in any corner of this place. So I kept a close eye out, glaring down anyone who came too close.
“Don’t look so down, Colton! We succeeded in what the Boss wanted us to do, so that’s all good news.” Tank slapped me hard on the shoulder, making me wince as he slammed his hand into some scrape or bruise from the tumble earlier. I’d kicked the shit out of some of those lower on the rungs of the motorcycle club’s society for getting uppity. On the Boss’s orders, of course. And considering, everything had gone pretty well. We only had to kill one of them. The man’s blood was still spattered across my new jacket and stained under my fingernails.
“I’m not down, Tank. I’m just sore. Let’s get to my apartment so I can relax a little, okay?”
We made our way up the stairs and around the corner to their hallway, and I thought about my neighbor, like I usually did on my way around this corner. I found always found myself looking for her, despite my promises to myself that I would stop. I wanted that woman, whatever her name was, wanted her more than any broad I had ever laid eyes on. I wanted to grab a hold of her neck and drag her into my room, pinning her to the wall as I taught her what rough sex was. She could use it; maybe it would get all of that sad, stuck-up out of her blood.
Too bad she’s the most boneless human being I’ve ever laid eyes on. Most of the trash I met around this place had the decency to stay out of my way, most averted their eyes, but no one cowered against the floor the way my neighbor did. Every time I walked by her, she curled up as small as she could, sniveling like a mouse hiding from a lion.
Women like that didn’t belong anywhere near me, that was for sure. The clubs had a tendency to chew up and spit out the weak ones; very few ever left the grounds alive. That’s the way my world worked. At least for people like her, it did.
I was so caught up in my simultaneous lust and dislike of my neighbor, I barely noticed when Tank signaled me to get down. I winced; how could I have let my thoughts of that woman cloud my surroundings so badly?
Now that I was looking, it was pretty clear the signs that had tipped Tank off in the first place. The planter I kept too close to my door had been disturbed; it was one of the many triggers I had around the entrance to my place to help signal me if it had been disturbed. I glanced at the door. There was a small piece of chalk attached to the bottom of the door that would mark the carpet if opened. I glanced down, seeing the little white mark on the carpet. Dead giveaway.
There was someone in my room.
Fuck. This is the last thing I need.
Tank pulled out his nine from inside of his jacket, getting into position on the far side of the door. I just rolled up my sleeve, mentally preparing myself for another battle. A deep breath and the world shifted.
Breeze from the north. A skitter of mouse claws on the wood above my head. A car honking in the distance, but I blocked it out, listening to the apartment. No sound coming from inside. The door was unlocked; I could see the bolt’s home in the door frame from here, and it was vacant. Tank was in position, his arms trembling a little with the beginnings of adrenaline rush. But I was cold, frozen from the inside out. I’d been at this so long, I didn’t get the rush of nerves anymore. Just icy, emotionless readiness that steadied my mind and made everything around me sharper.
Nodding to Tank, I wrapped my hand around the handle as silently as possible. Then I spun it and flung open the door in one swift movement, pushing the door out of the way as Tank slipped around my shoulder to point his weapon into the room.
Dean was sitting on the bed, a chip halfway to his mouth. He stared at the two of us with too-wide eyes, completely frozen on the ugly, brown comforter. Chip crumbs were scattered around him, creating a little circle on the bed.
Laughing, Tank slid his gun back into his pocket as he stepped into the rented room. “Well, you little bastard, you trying to get yourself killed?”
Dean laughed, the sound exaggerated and forced. “If you were trying to scare me, Tank, it didn’t work.”
I rolled my eyes stepping into the room and slamming the door behind me. “How the fuck did you get in here, you brat?”
“Marion helped me,” he said around a mouthful of chips. His brown eyes were still a little too wide. “You’re going to have to try harder if you want to scare me, Tank.”
I growled, bringing Dean’s attention back to me. “Who the hell is Marion?”
Dean rolled his eyes, bouncing on the bed like he couldn’t hold still. “Our neighbor, the pretty one. She took me down to the office and asked them for a key to let me in.” He held out the key in his grubby little hands and I winced when I saw it. As a nine-year-old, Dean probably didn’t understand the implications of living in a place where locks didn’t matter and anyone could get in. His little child’s mind was too young to grasp what real danger we lived in every day, with his dad being who he was.
Not a father any kid would want. I said, “And those assholes in the office just let you two in?”
Dean shook his head. He was bouncing on the bed now with his socked feet, still shoving chips into his mouth. “The office guy recognized me, and he didn’t want to make you mad. So he let me in.”
I was so furious I was shaking. “Where is that useless sack of flesh that’s supposed to be watching you?”
Dean rolled his eyes, digging at the bottom of the bag for more chip fragments. “She was easy to get away from; her boyfriend came over and they went into her bedroom. So I just left.”
Tank laughed again, slapping his hand against his knee before going to dig around in the fridge. It was empty except for two half-full bottles of ketchup and a case of beer. Pulling out two beers, he tossed one to me. I caught it, busting it open and taking a good, long sip. The icy cold liquid spilled down my throat, settling in my belly. I sighed, my shoulders relaxing the moment the sweet taste of hops slipped past my lips.
Is there no one around here that is useful?
“I told you Dean wouldn’t stay with the sitter. He always slips away, don’t you, kid?” Tank ruffled his hair before downing an entire beer in two huge gulps and tossing the can aside, grabbing for his second before I’d even taken a second sip of mine.
Dean jumped one last time before slamming down onto the bed with his butt, scattering chip pieces all over the room. “Yup!” His little chest was puffed up with pride. “That bitch ain’t never going to keep me; she sucks at her job and deserves to be fired.”
Shaking my head, I slammed the beer down on the side table next to the bed. Dean’s eyes darted to me. “You can’t just hang out here alone all day, you little brat,” I said, my voice a deadly whisper. It was the only thing Dean responded to anymore, and he turned to me with too-wide eyes. “If you won’t stay with the sitters, I guess I’ll just have to buy you a dog cage to
stay in while I’m away.”
Dean wrinkled his nose. “Yeah right.”
I wanted to slap him; Dean was all sass like his damned, crackhead momma. A bitch I’d regretting banging every day for the past eight years. Ever since she dropped off this little bundle of joy on my doorstep and disappeared. There was nothing I could do with him, nothing he would take seriously. It was impossible to tame him. The little jerk just did whatever he wanted, and I couldn’t be around enough to make sure he did what he was supposed to.
How on earth was he ever going to get out of the club life his idiot father was stuck in if he didn’t go to school?
“Marion’s a nice lady; she bought me these chips!” Dean said excitedly as he dumped the rest of the crumbs into his mouth and all over the bed. “They were so good; that stupid bitch you left me with didn’t feed me because she hates me.”
I rolled my eyes, glancing at the crumbs all over my sheets. “I’m sure Marion’s a real nice lady,” I said frowning. “I bet she doesn’t eat chips in other people’s beds.”
But Dean just grinned at me, his little face and hands covered in greasy salt. “Well, where’s the fun in that?”
Chapter Three
Marion
I have to press my forehead to the cold metal of the railing to wake myself up. I’m not sure how I’m standing after all of that nonsense at work. Karen cut out of work again today without calling in, leaving me with an eleven-hour shift and an incredible ache in my back. My spine groaned again as the bus shifted, and I had to fight to keep myself upright. The old lady I’d given up my bus seat for smiled at me with her toothless grin, her ancient, lined hands quaking like she was having a seizure.
I bet no one else on this damned bus would have given up their seat, why did I? But I knew why; it wasn’t because I felt good afterward. It was because helping people was the way I was built. I mostly did this kind of thing out of habit. It was what my father would have done. It didn’t matter than not a single asshole on this whole line would give up their seat to someone who was practically asleep on her feet.
Cursing myself, I took a long, deep breath of the rancid air inside of the bus. It woke me a little, enough to take a look around at the people in the seats around me. I was the only one standing. None of the others on the bus would even look in my direction.
Most likely they don’t want to have to feel sorry for me so they can keep their seat. If they pretend I don’t exist, their conscience stays clear. Bastards. I glanced out of the windows, watching as the muddy, dirty streets passed by in a blur of grays and browns.
Working at the diner wouldn’t be so bad if the assholes who ate there weren’t so grabby. I frowned. As a pretty waitress, flirting with the customers always got me a little more consideration come tip time, but it was a fine line. If I ended up being too heavy-handed at it or flirted with the wrong guys, I could end up with handsy assholes that spend my whole shift trying to put their hands down my pants.
The bus stopped in front of my place after an eternity or two. My feet dragged as I stepped off the stairs into the wet, dripping streets. There wasn’t really any drainage down here, so the streets just kind of filled up with water like kiddy pools that festered with mosquitoes and other vermin. I stepped over what I could and walked around what I couldn’t, unable to even bear the stink of the sitting water. And I only have one pair of shoes, so it’s best to keep them as clean and dry as possible for work tomorrow. I nearly growled at that thought. If Karen calls out tomorrow, I’m going to break one of my fingers on purpose and bail.
I climbed the million stairs to my shitty motel room, each one harder than the last. My feet felt like lead in my shoes, and I was having a hard time not weaving all over the stairs in my wariness. I probably looked pretty drunk to anyone else who was around. Get to your room quick, before someone thinks you look like a target and takes your tips again. After the first time, I’d learned to hide my tip money a little more creatively, shoving some in my shoes and even sewing a couple of secret pockets in my uniform.
I always learned my lesson the first time something went wrong. It was a shame I didn’t learn about how people can betray so easily before I lost my whole life to my ex-best friend Jessa.
Taking a deep breath as I walked by Dean’s place, I tiptoed past that too-quiet door. I didn’t want Dean’s father to come out and see me; the way he looked at me made me feel ill. So I slid past that door and unlocked mine as quickly as I could. As soon as the door was closed, I shot the bolt home and took a deep, steadying breath.
Pulling little wads of money out of my various pockets, I threw the bills down onto the bed, my hands trembling as I counted the meager earnings. “Pathetic,” I whispered out loud, glaring down at the weak looking total before me. It would take years to save any amount of money with this weak haul. And after a double shift today, too…
I counted up the money I had saved up after I’d taken out everything I’d needed for food and necessities. There was a little more than three hundred dollars in my aluminum lunch box, not even enough to make rent for a month if I ended up without a job or ill. It was mostly just the leftover money I had from selling all of my possessions when I’d realized I would no longer be able to afford to live in my old place anymore. There wasn’t much left inside of that sad little box, but it was my whole life. I had to swallow hard to get rid of the tears threatening the edges of my eyes.
Setting the money back into the lunchbox, I wrapped the whole thing in a plastic bag and resealed it. There were a loose couple of tiles on the bathroom floor that I pulled up, shoving the lunchbox inside to hide it from potential thieves. It was the safest place in the whole building, I’d wager. If a thief found this haul, they’d deserve the paycheck they’d get.
I changed out of my work clothing, rubbing out the worst of the stains and spraying it with a little perfume. I couldn’t afford to wash it again until tomorrow, not with the lousy haul I’d ended up with. Not like I have the energy to walk down to the laundromat right now anyway, I suppose.
Pulling a brush through my hair, I sat down on the bed and closed my eyes. I wanted to pretend, and when I closed my eyes, I felt like I was back at home. My father’s voice floated up the stairs from his office. “Pumpkin, it’s time for bed. Let me brush your hair out,” he’d say. And I’d grin like an idiot before running down the stairs with my brushes.
But who doesn’t like having their hair brushed?
When I opened my eyes, however, my father wasn’t there. There’s only a crappy motel room, rife with wide brown spots of mold on the ceilings and an itchy carpet that I was afraid to walk barefoot over. There’s the rickety bathroom, filled with broken tiles and a leaky sink. The only part of my room that I liked was the view, a view I’d had to scrub the windows with white vinegar and newspapers for several minutes to see.
Even though it was partially obscured by the wooden replacement for the one broken panel in the window, the view was spectacular. From here, I could overlook the river that ran through the middle of town without having to smell it. There were a couple of robust looking trees and I could see the tops of many of the buildings around. Being on the fourth floor did have some perks; along with not having many drunks pass out in front of my door, I got to see the view of the city that I had always wanted.
Even if this isn’t how I wanted to get it.
I pulled out a box of baking soda I’d stolen from work and sprinkled it around the edges of the carpets and around the edges of the bathroom walls. It wouldn’t keep the bugs out entirely, but it would help. It was all I could do since I couldn’t afford the bug spray I’d need to really create a barrier for them. After sprinkling the windowsill, I sat down on my bed and stared out of the window into the night skyline, admiring the glittering gold and silver lights that lit up the streets.
Throwing my blankets off of the bed, I study the undersides in search of bugs or worse, but find nothing. Perhaps keeping my room as food- and bug-free as possible was working
out. I kept all of my food and pans and plates in the fridge; it seemed to be the only place the bugs couldn’t get into. It meant the roaches abandoned my place for homes that were less clean and less covered in baking soda.
After turning off all of the lights but the lamp by my bed, I crawled in, pulling the covers up around my head. I stared at the dirty popcorn ceiling, my eyes tracing the little outlines of the bits of plaster.
My eyes started to droop a little as the sounds of the city lulled me into a kind of trance, and I slowly started to fall asleep. I hoped I would dream of the old days before I ended up here. Perhaps if I couldn’t live that life for real, maybe I could live it at night.
But those thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sounds of very loud gunfire.
I bolted upright, my eyes wide and clutching the sheets to my chest. It took me several second to realize that A) no one was shooting at me, and B) the sounds were actually just coming from the TV next door. The sound shuddered through the paper-thin walls making the wooden headboard of my bed quiver with the sound. Frowning, I banged on the wall, but Dean didn’t seem to hear me.