Twist (The Brazen Bulls MC Book 2)

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Twist (The Brazen Bulls MC Book 2) Page 30

by Susan Fanetti


  Making her. Not giving her a choice. They’d had a not-small fight about it, and he’d won it with brute verbal force. He would not be denied.

  Leah had never before held any kind of gun, unless a pink plastic water pistol from the dime store counted, and she would have happily finished out her whole life without ever having done so.

  But here she was, aiming a gun—a Smith & Wesson .38 Special, to be precise—at a stack of hay bales, trying to hit the old Wham! poster Gunner had dug out of the shed. She’d missed with the huge Glock, and the Remington 30.06 had been a disaster—her shoulder felt practically broken and certainly bruised. The S&W was at least a little bit more comfortable in her grip.

  They were all of them so unbelievably loud, though. Every time she fired, she squeaked like a mouse and jumped off the ground. George Michael and the other guy were completely unscathed.

  Gunner’s hands dropped from hers, and his arms circled around her waist. “Baby, c’mon. You gotta learn this.”

  She knew he was right. For the past few days, he’d been on edge. She knew it had to do with the club, and she suspected that something had gone wrong on that run he’d been on the week before, when he’d come home in the middle of the night, and she’d found him standing under the shower in the dark, his head dropped low.

  Well, it wasn’t exactly a surprise that the club did dangerous things. It hadn’t fully occurred to her, maybe, that she herself might get caught in those dangerous things, but if he was making her learn to shoot, then obviously, she might.

  And that was the real reason her hands had been shaking so hard all afternoon. The realization that she lived a life in which she might need to fire a gun and hit a target. Not George Michael and his fabulous Eighties hair, but a living, breathing, human target.

  But it was the life she lived, and everything else about it was what she wanted. So she squared her shoulders and took the breath he’d told her to take. “Don’t fucking call me baby,” she said, and fired again.

  This time, she managed not to make that awful, babyish squeak, but she still jumped, and the members of Wham! smiled on, undisturbed.

  They were going to be at this for a while.

  ~oOo~

  Leah’s job was only part time, three days a week, and Gunner worked basically full time, plus his club stuff, which overlapped his station hours, as well as, a few times a month, extended them, sending him off on ‘runs’ into neighboring states. A couple of times, he’d been gone overnight.

  So far, on the days she had to drive back to Grant, he usually was working as well. He left for work near dawn and thus was out of Leah’s hair while she got ready for her own job. On those few occasions when she had to work and he didn’t, or he was going in later, he drove her crazy and always made her late. He wanted to shower together. And fuck. He wanted to stand behind her in the kitchen while she was making coffee. And fuck. He wanted to watch her put her makeup on. And fuck.

  On those days, she was usually pretty sore, sitting at her desk. Not that she minded half as much as she let on.

  But on this day, in the middle of October, Gunner woke up subdued and distracted. She knew why, so she made him a bigger breakfast than usual—which would probably still make her late—and let him be quiet.

  He was going to visit a friend of his in prison, at the Oklahoma State Penitentiary. Gunner didn’t talk about Maverick often, but when he did, there was always a tinge of melancholy in his voice, even if he was telling a story that made him smile. Leah was a little bit jealous of this man she’d never met, which was stupid. She wanted to be what Gunner needed most in the world—and she was. But Gunner needed Maverick in some way, too.

  There was guilt in that melancholy as well, but he didn’t want to talk about that, and Leah figured it was Bulls stuff, so she didn’t want to know. Most of the old ladies had told her in one way or another that she needed to decide, first, if she could deal with what the Brazen Bulls MC was, and if she could, then, second, how much she wanted to know and work that out with Gunner.

  She’d decided she only wanted to know the things Gunner wanted to tell her. She wouldn’t push. If he wanted to keep those things secret, well, she understood about secrets, and she knew there was often a good reason to keep things unsaid. But if he needed to talk about something, she would always listen, no matter what.

  So far, he’d wanted the secrecy.

  While she was putting on her mascara, he came to the open bathroom door and leaned on the jamb. “You’re going to church after work, right?”

  She stuck the wand back in the tube. “Yeah. I’ve got the kids for choir practice. But I’ll be home around…seven? Are you going to the clubhouse after you see Maverick?” He wasn’t on the schedule at all today; when he was off and she wasn’t, he usually spent the day under the hood of the Chevelle or at the clubhouse, drinking.

  A lot of girls who didn’t wear a lot of clothes hung out at the clubhouse. Most of them were really good looking. Like at least sevens. Though Leah trusted Gunner, it didn’t make her feel awesome to know he was getting drunk around a bunch of girls he’d fucked a bunch of times, girls who were there specifically to get fucked. She liked it better when he spent the day working on his car.

  But the weather was gross today, gloomy and rainy and weirdly warm, so she wasn’t surprised when he said, “Clubhouse, probably. I don’t know.”

  She stopped in the middle of brushing powder over her face. “Are you sure you’re in the mood for this visit? You seem extra down.”

  He offered her a smile and reached out to brush his hand down her arm. “I’m good. Just the weather, I guess. He’s expecting me today. I can’t bail, and I don’t want to. It’s been, fuck, four months since I’ve seen him. I’ve never gone anywhere near that long without a visit. I’m such an asshole.”

  “You’re not. There’s been a lot going on.”

  “That’s a bullshit excuse. Anyway, I might stop in Grant on my way back, check in with Dad and Deb, and swing by the mayor’s office, if that’s okay.”

  Leah laughed. McAlester was south of Tulsa, and Grant was northwest. There was no stopping in Grant ‘on the way’ between their apartment and the prison. “Are you driving or riding?”

  “Driving. I can’t deal with riding in the rain today.”

  Finished with her makeup, she turned, lifted onto her tiptoes, and pressed a light kiss to the cheek he’d tipped down to meet her. “I’d love for you to stop by. I hope everything goes okay with Maverick. Love you.”

  He turned his head and hooked his hand around the back of her neck, covering her mouth with his, kissing her fiercely, like he meant to take sustenance from her.

  ~oOo~

  That afternoon, about an hour before she was supposed to have ended her day at the mayor’s office, and well before she had even started the stuff she needed to do at HBC, Leah pulled through the open gate and parked in the Bulls clubhouse lot.

  She went in through the front door and saw Mo and Willa sitting at the bar. Zach was nearby, in a bouncy seat at his mother’s feet.

  Mo stood up and came over. “Good for you, love. You came right away.”

  Of course she had. “Where is he? What happened?”

  Mo’s smile was a little condescending, but not in a mean-spirited way. She took Leah’s hand and led her to the bar.

  “It’s better than when I called,” Willa said. “Rad’s got him now. But…Gunner gets…”

  “I know how he gets,” Leah snapped, irritated that Willa thought she could tell her about her own boyfriend, and still really worried about Gunner.

  An hour earlier, Willa had called and said simply that he was having a rough time. He wasn’t hurt, but she needed to get to the clubhouse. Leah had scrambled to find someone to cover her kids’ choir practice—and it had been a scramble, because the HBC congregation had not embraced her return to the fold—and then driven back to Tulsa as quickly as Harvey, her yellow Cabriolet, would go.

  Unfazed by Leah’s tone
, Willa nodded. “Okay. He’s downstairs with Rad. You know what’s down there?”

  “The gym, right?” She’d never been down there, but it was where Gunner said he worked out. The old ladies gave each other a pregnant look, and Leah thought the top of her head would burst. “Jesus CHRIST! What’s wrong!” She stomped her foot—and then realized what she’d said. Her hand nearly jumped up to cover her mouth, but she locked her elbow and stopped that from happening.

  Still, she’d never said the Lord’s name like that before. From the time she could talk, she’d been taught about the evils of blasphemy. Her attitudes about religion had shifted a little, and, until the Sunday that had just passed, she hadn’t attended services since she and her father had had their troubles, but that truth was deeply ingrained in her. Gunner thought it was cute.

  Mo took her hand again. “C’mon, love. See for yourself.”

  ~oOo~

  There was a gym in the basement. There was also storage and laundry. And a boxing ring of sorts. They had one outside on the mammoth patio, that looked like a regulation ring—for all Leah could tell. This one was not; mats were laid directly on the floor instead of raised on a platform, and it was about half the size. But it had ropes, and they were strong enough to resist a man’s weight—she saw that as Gunner flew back into them.

  He and Rad were in there, stripped down to their jeans, their feet bare and their hands taped up, beating the shit out of each other. Delaney, Griffin, Becker, Eight Ball, Simon, and Wally stood watching. They were quiet, which seemed strange.

  Both men were soaked in sweat, grunting and panting, but Gunner was getting the harsher deal, absolutely no question. His nose bled freely, and he had a lump like a golf ball over his eyebrow. It looked like his mouth was swelling, too, though it was tough to say for sure; his beard obscured too much. But he spat out a thick wad of red onto the mats, so yeah, his mouth was probably swollen.

  Leah had seen Gunner throw a punch more than once; she’d watched him punch her own father on two separate occasions. But this seemed different. He fought Rad wildly, almost like he wasn’t trying to hit him so much as piss him off.

  He didn’t defend himself, either. Leah didn’t know about boxing, but from the images she’d seen and the few minutes here and there of big fights on television, it seemed like you were supposed to block or dodge or something. Gunner just let Rad hit him. In the face, in the stomach, wherever. He always swung back, but he didn’t try to protect himself.

  “What happened?” she breathed, not really speaking to anyone.

  “D’you know where he was this morning?” Mo asked in response.

  “Yeah. He went to see Maverick.”

  “He didn’t say, but I think that went badly. When Gun gets to a certain place in his mind…well, Rad is trying to help him out of it.”

  “By beating him up?” If this was how Gunner got, then no, she hadn’t known about this.

  Mo patted her back. “I think I should let your man decide to tell you more.”

  “You had enough?” Rad growled as Gunner fell again into the ropes. He sagged there for a second, and Rad backed off, waiting. “Time to take a breath, kid.”

  “Fuck you.” Gunner’s voice sounded like his mouth was full of marbles. Or possibly loose teeth.

  Leah could tell he was going to keep fighting. “Gun, stop!”

  Both men in the ring—and most of the people watching—turned to her. “What’s she doing here?” Gunner grunted.

  Hearing him refer to her in the third person while he was staring right at her hurt more than the question he asked, but her hurt feelings were not high on her current list of priorities.

  Rad grinned at her. Other than being sweaty, he didn’t look like he’d been in a fight. Gunner, on the other hand, looked like he’d been fighting a steamroller.

  “Hey, darlin’. Good timin’.” Rad caught Gunner in a fast, hard embrace that seemed more aggression than affection, then climbed over the ropes and grabbed a wad of cloth—his t-shirt—off a wooden chair against the wall. Willa, with Zach in her arms, went to him, and he pulled his family close.

  Gunner was still standing in the middle of the ring, staring at Leah and bleeding. She went to the ropes and held out her hand. “Gun?”

  “Why are you here?” He stayed right where he was, like she wasn’t literally reaching out to him.

  Yeah, okay. That hurt. “Willa called me at work and said you needed me. Do you want me to go?”

  He didn’t answer. Feeling like something much bigger, much worse was suddenly happening in her life, Leah marshaled all of her will and kept herself calm. She stepped back from the ring and turned around.

  They had an audience, which she’d forgotten about. All the people who’d watched Rad beat up Gunner literally were now watching Gunner beat up Leah figuratively. She squared her shoulders and walked toward the stairs.

  Mo grabbed her. She didn’t speak or pull her arm. She simply, subtly, held Leah in place.

  “Wait.” Gunner’s voice behind her. “Wait.”

  Leah didn’t turn around, but she could see by Mo’s expression and the movement of her eyes that Gunner had left the ring and was coming up behind her. Then she felt his hand on her back, and Mo let her go.

  “I’m sorry. I do need you.”

  ~oOo~

  Leah hadn’t been in one of the little bedrooms on the second floor of the clubhouse since the night of the party in the summer. The night her life had changed. Gunner led her into that same room, and it looked, as far as she remembered, exactly the same.

  He led her in and then walked away. Leah went to the door and saw him go into a bathroom at the end of the hallway. He rummaged around under the sink and came back with a small plastic tackle box with two pieces of red tape crossed on the top. A makeshift first aid kit, then.

  “Will you help me out with this?”

  She nodded and took the kit from him. He came into the room and sat on the bed. Leah put the kit on the dresser and opened it. There were cotton balls and a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, as well as some antiseptic wipe packets, antibiotic ointment, assorted bandages, a tube of superglue, a bottle of aspirin, and some of the ice bags that got cold when they were crushed.

  Gunner was going to need most of it.

  He sat meekly while she used a few wipes to clean his face, and then used cotton balls to dab peroxide over the cuts, but he was still noticeably tense—with that hot hum that scared her. “I don’t understand what happened, Gun.”

  He shrugged, but that wasn’t good enough. Secrets were one thing, but this felt different. She stopped dabbing and stared at him. “I need to understand.”

  “It was rough at McAlester today. Mav’s in a bad way.”

  “I’m sorry.” She went back to tending his wounds. “But…how…I don’t get what was happening with Rad. Or why Willa said you needed me.”

  He flinched from her touch and then stood abruptly, forcing her to step back, out of his way. “You know what? I can handle this on my own.” Grabbing the open kit, he turned to the door, like he meant to just walk away.

  “Gun! What is going on?! Please!”

  “FUCK!” He threw the kit across the small room. It struck the wall, and first aid supplies scattered. The bottle of peroxide—Leah hadn’t closed the flip top—lay on its side on the carpet, glugging fizzily. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He kicked the door, then kicked it again. And again, until the wood splintered. Then he dropped his head to the door and sagged there, panting.

  A toxic brew of fear, worry, confusion, and sadness swirled in Leah’s blood and weakened her knees, and she sat heavily on the bed. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

  They sat in the noisy silence of Gunner’s rasping breath for what seemed like hours. Leah’s mind wouldn’t work; all she could do was sit there and be worried—for him, for her, for everything. At last, he spoke. Without moving, still leaning by his head on the door, he said, “I need hurt.”

  “What?


  “Hurt. Pain.” He stood up straight and spoke directly to the door. “I need to get hurt. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that slows my head down. That’s what Rad was doing. I needed him to beat me up.”

  She still didn’t understand. “What?”

  His shoulders lifted and drooped as he sighed loudly and turned around. “You know the woman who left the messages when I was in the hospital? Evelyn?”

  Oh, she felt sick. Finding the will to make words, Leah nodded. “You’re still seeing her?”

  He took a step toward her and stopped. “No, Lee. I haven’t been with her since I’ve been with you. I saw her once, to break if off, and that’s it. But…that’s what we did together. She hurt me. She got off on it, and so did I. It helped me get calm.”

 

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