by Nicole Fox
“No,” he says flatly. “I don’t think I will. You see, maybe I would’ve if you’d asked me a little nicer. But if there’s one thing no man likes, it’s a woman who doesn’t know when to play nice. It ain’t for you to talk to us like this, darling. You need to learn some manners. The last thing a man wants to hear is some fuckin’ whore telling him what to do, telling him how to act. Most of us have had enough of that shit from our old ladies, so I reckon we need to restart this whole thing. Let me tell you how it’s gonna go. You’re gonna walk to the end of the hallway, think hard about how much you really love your brother, and then come back here and ask me nicely.” He leans forward, his reek of whisky and sweat washing over me. I fight the urge to gag. “Men like smiling women, friendly women. Men like the sort of women who know how to make a man feel happy to see her, not some uppity whore who doesn’t know her place.”
I force the tears back, turn around, and walk to the elevator. But instead of walking back up to him like he wants, I ride the elevator down to the parking lot and call Granite.
“Yes?” he answers. Ever since the kiss outside my house, he’s been acting strange. It’s the same here, his voice slightly distant.
“It’s me,” I say pointlessly. He knows who it is. “Brandon’s been stabbed and …” I explain it all to him. “And they won’t let me in to see him.”
“Wait there,” he says, voice changed now. He doesn’t sound distant or strange anymore. “Those fuckin’ Skulls. Don’t move, Allison. I’ll be right there.”
I go to my car and sit on the hood, staring down at my feet and trying to think about nothing but the shadows or the ambulance or the passersby, anything but my fear, my anxiety. Granite pulls in a few minutes later, wearing no helmet or leather. He walks over to me and opens his arms. And even if he looks awkward, it’s still the most welcome sight I could ask for. I fall into the embrace and rest my head against his chest. I feel safe as he wraps his arms around me, holding me close.
“I’ll get you in to see your brother,” he says. “You don’t need to worry. And Allison, I’m sorry, all right? Can we agree never to talk about that kiss again?”
“You don’t need to be sorry.” I kiss him softly on the cheek, slightly rough from where he hasn’t shaved. “But if it makes you feel better, we won’t talk about it.”
“Okay.” He steps back. “Good. Let’s go up.”
We head into the elevator. I can’t stop my foot from tapping on the floor, the sound like the thudding of the elevator’s heartbeat.
“Calm down,” he mutters. “Never let them see that they can get to you. Once they know that, they’ll never stop.”
I take a deep breath, rub tears from my eyes, and then follow Granite out of the elevator and down the hallway toward Handlebar. He turns, smiles, and then his smile falters when he sees Granite. “Are you crazy?” he says, and then laughs gruffly. “You’re gonna walk in here with no leather and no gun and … you Thunder Riders really are stupider than I thought, aren’t you? Jesus Christ. The hell’s the matter with you?”
“No.” Granite steps forward, facing down all ten of the bikers without showing a hint of fear. “Nothing’s wrong with me, fellas, but I can see by the way some of you are lookin’ at each other that you know who I am.”
Handlebar glances back. Granite’s right: several of the men shift uncomfortably.
“So here’s how it’s gonna go,” Granite goes on. “You’re gonna let this girl in to see her brother, or there’s gonna be a problem. Maybe you really do find it funny, hearing that from me, but I reckon it’s more likely that you don’t want to go toe to toe with me. There ain’t no shame in moving aside. There’s more shame in doing what you want just ’cause you wanna be tough. Well?” He walks right up to Handlebar, staring into his face. “How tough do you fellas feel?”
Slowly, Handlebar steps aside. He waves a hand at the other bikers. “Let her in. It don’t mean shit to us.”
Granite turns to me, nods. “Go on.”
I walk by them, into Brandon’s room, but not before I hear Granite say, “You’re gonna pay for pulling this bullshit. Going to war with outlaws is one thing. Getting in the way of a woman tryin’ to see her brother is something else.”
Chapter Fifteen
Granite
Maybe some part of me guessed they’d pull some shit like this, because I ain’t surprised when I get outside and find my bike completely trashed, the wheels taken off and the chassis sitting on a bed of bricks, graffiti covering it and the handlebars twisted round so they’re facing the other way. I’m not angry. It’s more like finding out that I’ve got to work another four hours when I thought I was done for the day; I’m more just pissed.
I go back up to her brother’s room and sit outside, waiting. The Brass Skulls have gone now, which is a good decision on their end. The last thing they want is a pissed Thunder Rider coming after them. I sit there for a long time. I’m not about to go in there and ask her to hurry things up, and if I’m being honest the main reason I’m waiting is ’cause I wanna see how she’s doing.
Eventually she comes out, eyes red. She seems surprised to see me, but not in a bad way. She walks over to me and sits in my lap, resting her head on my shoulder. “He’s going to be okay,” she murmurs. “That’s what the doctors are saying, anyway, but it still kills me to see him like this. He’s got tubes going into him and he can barely breathe. He’s wheezing like hell. Apparently it was with some random guy at a bar. The other bikers egged him on to say something to this bodybuilding type and the bodybuilding type didn’t take too kindly to it.”
“They rarely do,” I mutter. “Those sorts aren’t exactly known for keeping it cool.” I touch the back of her head, stroke it. Seeing her in this sort of pain makes the whole question of how to treat her not like I’d treat a club girl pretty damn simple, ’cause if a club girl came to me like this my first instinct would be to get away. But with Allison, my instinct ain’t to run away. It’s to comfort her. I’ve gotta believe that means something. “Tell me how I can help.”
“You are helping,” she whispers. “It was nice of you to wait for me, too.”
“Yeah, though that wasn’t all my choice.”
“What do you mean?”
I explain to her about the bike.
“Wow,” she says. “Those jerks.”
“Jerks. That seems a little mild to me, truth be told. I was thinking of somethin’ with more F-bombs in it.”
“Those fucking fucks?” She raises an eyebrow.
“That’ll work.”
“So I’m guessing you want a ride?”
“If it ain’t too much trouble.”
She slides off me onto the chair next to us. “Of course not,” she says. “I just …” She explodes into tears. It catches me off guard ’cause there’s no warning for it. One second she’s sitting there and the next tears are streaking down her face with a vengeance.
I put my hand on her back, feeling pretty damn useless.
“I just keep thinking about how he was when we were kids.” She wipes her tears with the palm of her hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to burden you with this. It just keeps coming back to me, the way he would always be there for me, you know, the way he would always do what’s best for me and Mom. And now he’s in the hospital because some asshole in a bar stabbed him. It makes no sense to me. Life doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I agree. “I can’t count the number of times I asked the world what the fuck sort of racket it was running by killin’ a kid like Jimmy, but the cruel truth is that the world never has any answers. It just keeps on bein’ the world. I’m sorry, Allison, I know that ain’t what you wanna hear right about now.”
“It’s okay. I’m just glad that you’re here. Come on, let’s get going.”
We head down to the parking lot together. She leads me around the side of the hospital where it’s quieter. “I’m parked down here—” They leap from the shadows of an alleyway: dum
psters and rats and discarded cigarette butts. The handlebar-mustache fuck grabs her by the arms just as two more leap on me from behind. I’ve been hit in the back of the head before, but I’ll never get used to it. I fall to my knees, try’n get up, and then they hit me again. My vision goes woozy and a moment later—I think it’s a moment, anyway—I open my eyes to find the handlebar-mustache prick pushing Allison up against the wall.
The two men at my sides hold me up by my arms. My first instinct is to thrash and kick and fight, but then I realize that they think they’ve worked me over harder than they actually have. They think they’ve really messed me up, where in reality they’ve only partly messed me up.
“Think about what you’re doing,” I say, staring the bastard right in the eye. “This ain’t gonna go well for you. You know that. This here is my old lady. What do you think’ll happen to you if you’re caught messing with a Thunder Rider’s old lady? Do you think that’ll go well? You’re livin’ in a goddamn dreamland. Let her go or this’ll get ugly.”
He uses one hand to pin her up against the wall as he turns to me. He’s a strong motherfucker, I’ll give him that. She just lays flat against the wall; if she moves, she’ll end up choking herself. “What do you think will happen if you keep running off that mouth of yours?”
“I’m gonna give you this choice once, and only once. And I suggest you take it, ’cause I’ll never give it to you again. You let her go and you call your dogs off. You turn around. And you go home. If I never see you again, I won’t make you pay for this.”
“Make me pay?” He cackles madly. “Folks talk about you, Granite. The famous Granite. Took out fifty guys on his own, they say. A fuckin’ psychopathic focused killer, they say. But I know the truth. That’s all horseshit. You’re just a man, and a man ain’t nothin’ to get excited about. You’ll cry just like the rest of them when you see your girl turned into fucking mulch in front of you. Come here, sweetheart.” His hand goes for her crotch. “Don’t be shy.”
“Stop!” I snap. Somethin’ in my voice must be wicked, because he does stop. “Listen to me. I don’t wanna kill you motherfuckers, but I will, all right? So why’nt you just step down and go on your way? I don’t want to hurt you but if it comes down to it, what do you expect me to do, eh? The fuck you think I’m going to do when you treat my old lady like this?”
“You know, you’re making a whole lot of threats for a fella who’s being held back as we speak.”
That’s because I’m buying time, gathering my energy, and then—
I flip one guy over by yanking him by the chest. At the same time, I grab the knife from the other guy’s belt and stab him in the throat, stab him twice so that his blood pisses onto the tarmac. I toss his bleeding body at the leader and then leap after it, hacking at his face. He roars and lets go of Allison, tackles me, throws me to the ground. I roll aside just in time to avoid a crushing boot, and then stab him through the calf muscle, his jeans immediately turning red. He lets out a scream and then I lean up and stab him in the thigh.
“Fucker,” he hisses, limping back so that it’s him and his men on one side and me and Allison on the other.
I stand up quickly, spreading my hands. “You wanna go for round two?” I spit on the ground. “Or you decided you had enough of this shit? I’ll go all day, you fuckin’ fuck.” I spit again. I don’t normally get this angry from a fight, but Allison is wheezing close to my ear like a wounded animal.
“You think you’re real tough, don’t you? A real fuckin’ tough guy. But the truth is that you ain’t shit. You got lucky with your little trick. Well-fuckin’-done. But this ain’t the end.”
“Just leave,” Allison says. She points at the bleeding man. “Look what he did to your friend. Do you really think it’s a smart idea for you to hang around after he did that?”
“Wow, what a fuckin’ miracle.” He grins widely. “A whore said something smart. She’s right, but we’ll be back.”
They limp away, leaving us alone. Allison collapses against me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and burying her face in my chest. Her weeping is like the trembling of a volcano, vibrating her whole body.
She grabs my face and stares into my eyes. “Promise you won’t leave me,” she says. “Not tonight. Please, Granite. I can’t be alone, not after …” She weeps again, crumbling in front of me.
“I promise,” I say.
Chapter Sixteen
Allison
“I’m not saying I don’t wanna watch over you. I never said that, goddamn. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“It’s your tone.” My own tone isn’t much better: clingy. But I can’t help it. After everything that’s happened since we left the hospital—Brandon discharged, cars following me—I can’t help being a little clingy. And if I’m being honest, it’s more than a little. “I get it. You’re here. I’m really grateful for that. But you don’t have to talk to me like I’m some sort of chore you have to complete. I don’t mean to annoy you, or make it so you can’t do what you want, or whatever. I just … I don’t feel safe.”
He sips his beer, eyes closed, taking steady breaths. “Listen to what I’m saying. Listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth. Not my tone, or my body language, or any of this amateur psychologist shit. Just listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth. All right? I am happy to be here. I am happy to watch over you. I don’t have a problem with any of it. Okay?”
“But . . . when you say okay like that, it sounds like you really don’t want to be here.”
He stands up, goes to the window. It’s late evening; he’s a silhouette. “I’m not used to this kind of stuff, Allison. You can’t just expect me to sink right into it. It’s been—what? Three days since that shit in the hospital? You’ll never catch me saying that you’re safe after three days, but what you do need to think about is what you’re gonna do about the way you’re handling this shit. ’Cause if there really are people following you, and if your brother really is missing—”
“What do you mean if?”
He sighs, rolls his eyes. “I don’t wanna get into this,” he mutters.
“Well, what do you mean by if, though? Because I told you those cars were following me. I saw them with my own eyes. Every time I turned, they turned.” I sit on the couch, legs stretched out under the coffee table, pulling a thread from my shorts and rolling it between my thumb and forefinger. Sooner or later there’ll be no thread left. “So when you say if, I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about.”
“You ain’t a trained outlaw or a cop or anything like that, that’s all I’m saying.”
I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. I think it’s my second but it must be more than that, because I opened the bottle earlier and now it’s empty. My vision is blurry; the world is blurry. I roll my head on my shoulders and, sure enough, feel the drunkenness roll around my body, as though signals are being beamed from my skull to the tips of my toes.
“That’s not an insult.” He leans against the doorframe, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, hair still messy from where we had sex earlier.
“Could you please not lean on that? It’s not very sturdy.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t that seem slightly petty to you?”
“Wow.” I drain half of my glass and push past him back into the living room. “It’s petty of me to not want you to break my apartment. I never would’ve guessed that. That’s crazy.”
“No,” he says, following me. “It’s petty of you to tell me not to lean on shit just ’cause you’re pissed at me for telling you that you ain’t a goddamn cop or an outlaw.”
“You don’t have to swear all the time.” I drop onto the couch.
“Swear?” He drops onto the armchair. The distance between us is a few feet but it might as well be miles. “What do you mean? When did I swear?”
“I don’t know—all the time. You say ‘goddamn’ like other people say ‘the’.”
“So now y
ou wanna police my language as well as where I lean and don’t lean. Is that it?”
“You don’t have to be so dramatic,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not trying to police anything. I’m just talking to you. And for the record, there were three separate cars. But if you don’t want to believe that, then fine. What about the phone calls?”
“The phone calls are real,” he says. “I heard the messages. I reckon it was the Skulls tryin’ to creep you out.”
“So there we go,” I say. “I’m not lying.”
He lets out a tired groan. I want to stop, but I also want him to admit I saw what I saw. Life is whirring out of control and the last thing I need is the only person I can really talk to about this doubting me. “You don’t have to groan at me like that. I’m not a freaking animal.”