by Naomi West
Six long years without a family. With a mother who couldn’t take care of him. “They’re my family,” he said firmly, as if reading her thoughts. “They’re all I need.”
What about me? Could you ever see yourself needing me?
“You’re brave,” she told him finally. “You’re strong. You matter, Pistol.”
He swallowed. Eyes blazed for a moment with what looked like anger. She knew the feeling: the certainty that you were to blame for every bad thing that had happened in your life.
Could you ever trust me with your secrets? Ever trust me to know how to make things better. I may seem like a good little girl. But I can fight, when I need to. I can fight for you. For both of us.
Neither said anything for a while. Eventually, the twined their arms around one another and fell asleep in an embrace.
Chapter Twenty
Pistol was happier than he’d been in a long time.
Despite his uneasy feeling that he’d revealed too much to Katrin when he’d told her about his mother, he continued to open up to her, and she to him. Some part of him trusted her. Trusted her more than he’d ever trusted anyone. Even Kong. Some part of him missed her when he went to work. When he came home to find that she was out running errands.
Some part of him felt that, against all odds, this marriage was … working.
He didn’t know what to make of that feeling.
“How did you fall in with the Souls, exactly?” Katrin asked one evening as they lay in bed together.
Pistol tensed, then made himself relax. This was the hardest part of his new relationship. The sex, he could do. All day every day. This getting-to-know you stuff? Terrifying.
“I was sixteen. A real punk-ass kid.” He swallowed.
C’mon, just tell her. This shit’s all in the past. If you’re still getting sentimental on it, that’s your problem. You need to grow a pair.
He continued. “I finally left my mom’s house.” He didn’t tell Katrin about the promise. About the way his mom had gripped him and begged him to stay. “I left her a note saying I’d send some money when I could.” He could still see her face, pale and hollow. Her wild, desperate eyes.
Katrin squeezed his hand. “That must have been really tough.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well. I did it. I left. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I’d couch surf for a while. Just find people in my area and pretend I was a backpacker. Spent most of my time in bars. Getting drunk and looking for fights. Got my nose broken more times than I can count.” He grinned, but Katrin didn’t. His smile faded. Damn the pity in her expression. He didn’t deserve it. “Anyway, one night, I picked the wrong bastard to mess with. Middle-aged, black hair, porn star mustache. Tons of tattoos. I just started slurring stuff at him. I don’t even remember what; I was drunk off my ass. He stayed quiet, ignored me—until I came at him.” He shook his head and shifted on the mattress. “Shoulda known something was up. The bar had gone quiet—none of the whoopin’ and hollerin’ you usually got if a fight was goin’ down. But little prick that I was, I just kept going. Took a swing at him.”
Katrin’s brow had furrowed with concern. “What happened?”
“He had me on my ass so fast I didn’t even have time to blink. I got up, came at him again, and he spun me around, and pushed me over the pool table. Twisted my arm up like he was arresting me. Told me to think carefully before I took this any further.”
“Let me guess. You took it further.”
“Hell yeah, I did. Fought like a wildcat. He just kept blocking my blows, shoving me away. And finally, he got me in a headlock. Drove a fist right into my stomach. I couldn’t get away. He was strong as fuck, and I was drunk as fuck … and I started to panic.”
“You thought he was going to kill you?”
Pistol shrugged again, trying to be nonchalant with his next words. “It was more than that. I guess I kinda… It reminded me of my mom. Just … she used to beat the shit out of me. Hold me down, and just… I know it makes me sound like a pussy, that I didn’t fight back. But I didn’t want to — to fight her.”
“Pistol.” Katrin sounded shocked. “Not wanting to hurt your mom doesn’t make you a pussy. I hate that word, first of all. And second of all, you were a child. You shouldn’t have had to fight back against the woman who was supposed to be taking care of you.”
He stared at her grimly. He didn’t want to think about this shit. He couldn’t believe he was telling her all this. Pouring out his fucking feelings like some teenage girl at a sleepover. “Well, at any rate. I went nuts. This guy was holding me down, and I didn’t — I didn’t beg or anything; thank God I hadn’t lost my balls completely. But I guess he could tell I was panicking. That I wasn’t fighting out of anger anymore. I was fucking terrified. He said, ‘If I let you go, are we cool?’ I nodded. He said, ‘will you come outside and have a smoke with me?’
“I didn’t answer. But he let me go. I staggered back, yanking my shirt straight, doin’ all this punk fronting. But I did go out with him for that cigarette. He pulls his smokes out of the saddlebags of this giant Harley. Introduces himself casually as Pedro Ortiz, and suddenly I get why everyone in the bar thought they were about to watch a slaughter. This was Kong Ortiz, President of the Blackened Souls motorcycle club. And I’d just fuckin’ tried to fight him.” Pistol laughed in disbelief at the memory. “A notorious criminal, with a whole gang at his disposal. I mean, these guys were legends. I just kept thinking, ‘Even if I make it through tonight, I’m gonna get taken out in the next few days. No fuckin’ doubt about it.’”
Katrin smiled, looking more than a little nervous. “But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t. Kong gave me a cigarette. Clapped me on the back. Told me I ought to go home and sober up. I made some dumbass comment, like ‘the night is young.’ He saw right through me. Asked if I had anywhere to go. I guess I waited just a second too long to answer.” He rubbed a hand over his chin, caught up in the memory. “So he took me back to the clubhouse. At the time, it wasn’t much. I mean, it still ain’t much, but back then, it was pretty much one big roach nest. Still, part of me felt like I’d just been invited to Buckingham fucking Palace, you know? I crashed on a couch there. The other guys, they gave Kong some crap about bringing a kid in there. ‘Don’t expect me to change his diaper’ — all that. But Kong told them to back off, and they did.”
“And you stayed?” Katrin asked.
“Sort of. Kong said I could stay as long as I needed, as long as I pitched in with chores and stuff. Found myself a job. I didn’t much like being told what to do, so I’d wander away, stay gone for two, three days at a time. Turn up stinking drunk with my face busted up. Finally, Kong took me aside. Said if I stuck around, he’d teach me to ride. But if I kept going out and drinking, getting in fights, then he wouldn’t hesitate to kick me out on my ass.” He sighed. “So I buckled down. Started kicking in around the clubhouse wherever I could. Got a job at a fast food joint. Kong taught me bikes. Ford taught me guns. They took me to this tattoo parlor where the guy didn’t give a shit how old I was; just started inking me up.”
“And things were better, after that?”
“Yeah. Things were better. Until I turned seventeen.”
“What happened then?”
Pistol didn’t particularly want to get into this next part. He took a few seconds to get a handle on the anger that coursed through him at the memory. “Got a call from my mom on my birthday. Begging me to come home. She sounded so bad. I mean, just … sick, and…” He swallowed again.
Did you go to see her?”
“No. I hung up on her.” His throat tightened. “I guess that call stirred up some shit. I went out drinking. Came back with a split lip. Kong said that was it. That if I really valued the brotherhood, I wouldn’t keep jeopardizing myself. Said I could pack my stuff and I had two days to find somewhere else to go.
“I packed and got out that night. Stole one of the bikes from the clubhouse garage. Stole a gun from the s
afe. And rode to San Antonio.”
Katrin gave a slight inhale.
“Bummed around there for a little while. Almost started to imagine I could start a new life there. Away from my mom, away from the club, away from anyone who was gonna tell me how to live my life.”
“I’ve thought about doing that too,” Katrinsaid softly. There was a quiet intensity in her expression. “After my mom died. Get away from my dad. Start somewhere fresh — somewhereI chose, not him.”
Instead you’re stuck here with me, Pistolthought ruefully. Listening to the tale of my emo years. Wanting me without really trusting me. Needing me without actually wanting me. Because the alternative is to strike out on your own. And that can be a cold and lonely path.
“I thought it would change everything,” he said quietly. “But I was still the same old me. One night I picked a fight in the alley behind a local bar. The other guy pulled a knife. Fucked me up pretty bad. But I eventually pulled my stolen gun. Shot him in the shoulder. Self-defense, but still, I was scared out of my fuckin’ mind. I left him there bleeding. Found a payphone — I’d lost my cell somewhere in the fight — and called Kong.”
Katrin exhaled.
“I said ‘I’m in San Antonio. I’m hurt pretty bad. I can’t go to a hospital.’ He didn’t ask questions. Drove up there, drove all through the damn night. Brought me home.”
Gripping the payphone. Shaking, trying not to vomit. Covered in blood — he wasn’t sure whose. Wasn’t sure if the other guy was gonna live or die. Kong’s low growl telling him to stay put had been a lifeline.
“I’m glad he was there for you,” Katrin whispered, stroking his shoulder.
Pistoltried to grin. “He ripped me about four new assholes once I was patched up. But he took me back.”You’ve got potential, but you’re too brash. Learn some patience, some humility. It’ll serve you well. “I stopped fighting after that. Well, until I was made an official member of the Blackened Souls. Then—sanctioned fights.”
Katrin was quiet for a moment. “When did Deion join?”
“He joined about three years later. He was a couple of years older than me, but we hit it off. Been inseparable ever since.”
Katrin’s expression grew sad. “Until now.”
He captured her hand in his. Kissed it, and met her gaze. “I still see him. We’re still brothers.”
“But it’s not the same, is it? With my father in control?”
He shook his head. It wasn’t the same. Leonard had cast a shadow over everything.
She sighed.
“Let’s make a deal,” he said, voice low.
Hazel eyes regarded him intently. “What?”
“Let’s not talk about him anymore tonight.” He kissed her hand again. “Let’s not bum ourselves out. I just told you my sob story. Now let’s focus on something better.”
She half smiled. “Like what?”
“Liiiike… I don’t know. What do you want to tell me?”
She pursed her lips. “Mmm. I don’t know. I feel like I still have a million questions about … you.”
“I doubt I have any good answers.”
She smiled. “It’s just … strange that I never really got a chance to know you.” She touched his buzzed hair. Brushed her fingertips softly over his temple. “Normal couples, they get to date. They get to learn each other.” She blushed. “Not that we … I mean, we were forced into this…”
“Still. I’d have liked to take you on a romantic first date.” Well, not bullshit. Just something he hadn’t really thought about.
Her smiled returned. That sexy, warm smile that drove him wild. “Yeah? Where would you have taken me?”
Crap.
He thought for a moment. “If we’d had a chance to date, I’d have taken you…” He swallowed. He really didn’t have any practice with this. He’d wined and dined a few girls, sure. But just to get them into bed, not because he actually cared where they ate or wanted to go to a museum or a play or whatever. He was a McDonald’s and Netflix guy. Had no idea where he’d take a girl for a romantic evening. There was the amusement part out by the Harris County border. Chicks liked shit like that, right? Holding hands on the Ferris wheel? Guys winning them stuffed animals?
“Well, I’d have started by takin’ you out to dinner. That Italian place downtown. Split a bottle of wine. Eat our weight in pasta. And we’d have to get dessert too — no skipping dessert.”
He’d taken a couple of girls there when he’d had a little extra cash. Some girls didn’t hop into bed on the first date, and he’d liked a challenge. So he’d taken them out a couple of times first, always to the Italian place where the snooty manager eyed his tattoos with disdain.
Yeah, a real romantic hero — taking girls out to dinner whenever I scored some cash in a drug deal.
Katrin laughed softly and nestled closer to him. Damn, she smelled so good. How did girls smell like this? He was pretty sure even if he used her shampoo and body wash and perfume, he wouldn’t smell this good. “What would we have for dessert?”
“Uh, chocolate, obviously. Chocolate cake, maybe? Girls love chocolate, right?”
“Some do, some don’t. We’re not actually all the same model, you know.”
No kidding. She was — God, so fucking different from anything he’d expected. He stroked her hair, almost tentatively, half afraid she’d pull away. But she closed her eyes. Let him touch her.
“Do you?”
She smiled, keeping her eyes closed. “Yes.”
“Okay, so chocolate cake. They have a really good one there. You ever been?”
A furrow appeared in her forehead. “No.”
Right. Because she’d gotten to town and then literally been taken hostage the next day. Probably not a lot of time for fine dining. “Well,” he went on, “It’s got that chocolate sauce — chocolate gaucho or whatever.”
“Gaucho?”
“Gancho? Garnish? I forget what it’s called.”
“Ganache?”
“That’s it.”
She laughed incredulously. “Gaucho?”
“I knew that wasn’t really it.” But he did feel a stab of genuine embarrassment. No, he didn’t know what fancy shit was called. His mom hadn’t exactly had a lot to teach him on the subject of ganache.
“All right, so we have the chocolate cake with ganache. Then what?”
Then … we head back here and fuck like animals? Okay, a first date had to be more romantic than that, right? He remembered something Deion had told him once, and grinned suddenly. “Then we go to the planetarium.”
Deion swore up and down that chicks loved the planetarium. Rialto had a nice one, with an observatory and a movie theater that showed science documentaries. Deion said you could take a girl to one of the nighttime constellation sessions, feed her some shit about your sign and how it suggested you were compatible with her, buy her a Saturn keychain from the gift shop… “Girls are all about Saturn. Prob’ly because there’s a ring on it.”
Katrin tilted her head back to look at him. “The planetarium?”
“Yeah. Don’t you like … planets?”
“Sure. They’re fine.”
She placed her head back on his chest. He stroked between her shoulders. “All right,” he teased. “You seem less than thrilled with my first date plan.”
She lifted her head again, giving him that inscrutable half smile. “It’s fine.”
“Fine, huh?” He shifted. “All right. What would you want to do instead?”
She propped herself on one elbow. Pursed her lips and pretended to think. “Hmm. How about a motorcycle ride?”
He jolted. Then slowly grinned. “A motorcycle ride?”
Her smile became shy, and she nodded slightly, her cheeks pink. “Yeah. A motorcycle ride. Way out into the desert, where there’s no one else around. We could take a blanket. Maybe some chocolate.” She grinned at him. “Chicks love chocolate.”
He grinned too. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
“Damn. Why didn’t I think of that?”
She placed a hand on his chest. Let her fingers drift back and forth. “Then we could fuck until we’ve got sand in all the wrong places.”
He whistled. “Damn, girl. You’ve got a dirty mind. On a first date?”
Her cheeks colored further, but she laughed. “Oh, like you’ve never had sex on the first date?”
“Touché.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“To be fair, though, I haven’t had many dates, period.”
“You just love ’em and leave ’em?”