by B. B. Hamel
But it’s more than just the work itself. I look over at Vernon and he grins at me, holding his drink up. I hold up mine and we both take a nice long chug and laugh together, just one more stupid joke in a long series of stupid jokes. That’s what I really love about this job. It’s the camaraderie of men down in the mine, risking their lives together, trying to make a real living.
That camaraderie’s been strained lately because of my new union job, but I’m trying not to let it get in the way. I need this shit. It’s what defines me, makes me want to keep going forward. Without the guys and this community, I don’t know what I’d be, if anything at all.
“Damn, boss,” Vernon says to me. “Look at that one.”
I glance over my shoulder, at some local townie girl dancing over with her friends. It’s around eight at night, and those girls are clearly drunk. They must have started at dinner, or even earlier. The girl Vernon’s looking at has long blonde hair and she’s shaking her hips, laughing as she spills her drink, and she looks back over her shoulder at me.
“I think she likes you, boss,” Vernon says.
I glance at him. “Stop calling me boss.”
He grins and shrugs a little. “Whatever you say.”
I sigh. “Fuck off, Vernon.”
“Don’t be such a bitch.” He grins and knocks his drink back. “You gonna go get that girl?”
“Nah,” I say, sipping my beer. “Not interested.”
“Why not?”
“Just not interested.”
“Well, shit.” He looks back at the girls and smiles, raising his drink to them. “I’d take any one of them back home.”
“Aren’t you married?”
He gives me a look. “Be real, Samuel.”
“Just saying.”
“Look at her. She’s practically tripping over herself, trying to stare over here at you. Totally ignoring me.”
I don’t bother looking back at her again. “Let it go,” I say.
“What’s with you lately? I don’t think I’ve seen you take anyone home in days, fuck, maybe even weeks.”
That’s true. Ever since I slept with Amelia, I haven’t been with a single other woman, which is unusual for me. I don’t know why, but I just haven’t felt like it. Honestly, all I can think about is Amelia these days, her and the goddamn contract.
This just makes me think about her more. I keep tasting her every night, my cock hard, stroking myself slowly until I can’t take it anymore.
I’m getting sick of these games, though. I don’t want to keep playing this shit anymore. Part of me is starting to regret taking this job, although without it I don’t think I would have ever gotten this close to Amelia.
“Just not interested,” I grunt at him finally.
He smirks at me. “It’s that fucking CEO bitch, isn’t it?”
I stare at him. “Don’t call her that.”
He cocks his head. “What?”
“Don’t call her a fucking bitch. You hear me?”
He shakes his head, mystified. “Look man, I know she’s nice and all, but fuck. She’s still the enemy. You know that.”
I lean toward him. “Don’t call her a fucking bitch.”
“Fine, fuck, I won’t.” He shakes his head, making a face. “But I think you’re getting a little too close to her.”
“What the fuck do you know about it?”
“You think we don’t see?” He laughs a little. “You bring her around the bar, give her a tour of the mine, fucking invite her to our picnic. People are starting to talk.”
“You can tell them to shut the fuck up then.” I slam back my beer. “And you can join them.”
“Man, what’s wrong with you? She’s the goddamn enemy. You’re acting like you’re some pussy-whipped bitch. How the fuck are you going to get us a good contract like this?”
I push back from the bar and stand. “Watch your mouth.”
“Don’t forget who you are,” he says as I walk away. “And don’t forget who she fucking is.”
I’m pissed as hell as I push through The Shaft’s door and head back out into the night. I don’t know why the fuck Vernon needs to be a dick like that and give me shit, but he has a fucking point.
Amelia is supposed to be the enemy. I know she isn’t, but to them, she’s everything they hate. She’s corporate, the CEO, the person that has all the power over them and refuses to give them anything. I know that’s not true, that she’s almost as powerless as we are. She wants to help, but it’s almost impossible for her to get anything done with Ingram breathing down her neck.
And so the fuck what if I bring her around? She’s still a goddamn person. She deserves to spend time with this community, considering she’s going to be a big part of it if she stays. She should get to know everyone, see them for the people they are.
At least that’s my excuse. Truth is, I just want to see her. It’s selfish of me, I know, but I just want to bring her around all the time, get to know her more. Maybe kiss her again, since that’s all I ever want to do when she’s around.
As I walk over to the parking lot, toward my truck, I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice the three figures get out of a truck nearby and start walking toward me. I’m so pissed and distracted that I don’t see them approaching until they’re right on top of me.
“Samuel Carter.”
I turn just before getting into my truck. “Yeah?” I grunt.
Three guys appear in front of me. In the half light of the moon and the weak yellow street lamp nearby, I can just barely make out their faces. The closest guy is Roger Lark, a heavy man with a bushy beard and hard, gray eyes. The guy on his right is Jimmy Brown, whip thin and starting to bald, with hawk-like features. And the third guy is Tom Sloan, taller than the other two, covered in muscles. All three of these guys are cops with the local PD.
“I hear you’ve been making trouble,” Roger says. He’s the oldest and clearly the leader.
“You three here to arrest me or some shit?” I ask them, except I notice that none of them are wearing a uniform.
Roger laughs. “We ain’t on duty right now.”
“Then what the fuck do you—“
I don’t have a chance to get out that sentence before Tom Sloan steps up and decks me across the jaw, sending me stumbling back. I see black for a second as rage overtakes me, spilling out. I’m bigger than all these guys, and I know I can break them into pieces.
But I react too slow. Tom and Jimmy are on me, fists slamming into my body, and I get tripped up by the fucking curb at the front of my truck. I stumble and Jimmy shoves me to the ground. I hit the pavement hard as Jimmy and Tom kick me in the back and the gut. I can only cover up my face to keep them from killing me.
“Stop,” Roger says finally, and the blows stop. Pain wretches through my skin and I’m struggling to breathe. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a broken rib or two.
Roger bends down next to me. “You know why we did this?” he asks me.
“You’re a bunch of fucking pussies,” I whisper and spit blood onto the ground as I heave myself up onto my hands and knees. That feels a little better. “Gotta jump me with three guys to make it a fair fight.”
Jimmy kicks me in the stomach again and I roll over onto my back, groaning.
Roger leans over me, shaking his head. “Watch your mouth, miner boy.”
“What the fuck do you want?” I manage to gasp.
“Ingram says to back the fuck off Amelia Evans. He says if you want a contract, you better stay in line. You understand me?”
My mind’s reeling. “So the cops do his dirty work?”
“Just us. Do what he says, boy. Don’t get yourself killed.”
With that, all three men disappear. I lay there and listen to their footsteps recede until they get into a truck and drive off.
I stay there for a bit, getting myself together. Pain runs up through my body, but that’s nothing compared to the rage that fills me, burning white hot.
N
ot only are my own people questioning my loyalties, but now that fucking scumbag Ingram is sending his rotten cop goons to jump me in a dark parking lot. Those fucking cocksuckers had to sucker punch me and kick me on the ground. And they think it’s going to fucking scare me off.
Fuck them. Nothing’s scaring me off. I slowly get up to my feet. I stumble over to my truck, holding my side. Fuck those guys, fuck everyone else. I’m not giving up on my people, and I’m not going to be scared away by Ingram. Now I’ll be ready for them if they try that again. Those rich bastards think they can bust up our union, but they’re so fucking wrong.
I get into my truck and drive back home, anger pouring through me like rain.
13
Amelia
Janet, did I miss a phone call from Mr. Carter?”
Janet shakes her head. “Nothing today, sorry.”
“Thanks.” I head back into my office and sit behind my desk, frowning.
I was supposed to meet with Samuel and the union guys today, but I haven’t heard anything from him. It’s been a few days since the picnic, and I know Samuel had a shift down in the mine last night. I know it’s irrational, but I’m afraid something happened to him down there, although I would have heard about it right away.
I call his cell, but I don’t get any answer. I spend a few hours fretting, feeling powerless and angry, before my phone finally starts ringing.
It’s not Samuel. “Amelia? This is Roy.”
“Oh, hi, Roy,” I say. “I missed you guys today.”
He sounds a little distant, like something’s wrong. “We’re really, really sorry about that,” he says. “Truth is, Samuel’s not feeling good.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“Oh, you know. Just a little sick, is all.”
I pause a second. “Roy,” I say. “Tell me what’s really happening.”
He sighs. “I’m not convincing you?”
“Not even a little bit.”
He laughs softly. “Hell, I guess I always was a bad liar. Look, truth is, Samuel got jumped last night and he’s not up for a meeting. Can we reschedule?”
My mind starts reeling. “Where is he?” I ask him.
“Uh, er, at home,” he says, surprised.
“Where’s that?”
“83 Orchard, just a little house, red shutters. Why?”
“Thanks, Roy.”
I hang up the phone. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this, but I can’t help myself. I grab my things and leave the office.
“Hold my calls,” I tell Janet on the way out.
I get into my car, type Samuel’s address into my phone, and start driving. It’s close by, takes me less than ten minutes to get there. His truck’s parked in the driveway and there’s another sedan out front. I park behind his truck and get out, walking fast to his front door.
His house is a tiny little thing, but it’s cute and well maintained. I don’t know what I’m doing here, since this is entirely inappropriate, but I can’t help myself. My mind just keeps reeling, obsessed with what Roy said on the phone.
I knock a few times, and finally someone answers, a woman in her mid-thirties. She blinks when she sees me. “Amelia?”
It takes me a second to recognize her. I met her briefly at the picnic. Vernon’s wife. “Hi, Sarah,” I say. “I heard about Samuel.”
She nods, looking confused. “Uh, are you here to see him? Does he know you’re stopping by?”
I shake my head. “Roy called me. I wanted… I heard about him.”
I suddenly feel stupid. This is so obvious, so insanely transparent. I don’t know why I’m making it so fucking clear how I feel about this man, but I can’t help myself.
“Come inside,” Sarah says gently.
I follow her into a simple living room. Big screen TV against one wall, decent couch against another wall, plain coffee table. Nothing in the way of decorations, which doesn’t surprise me, although there are these interesting antique-looking clocks scattered all over the place.
“Sit,” Sarah says, gesturing at the couch. I sit down and she pulls a chair up from the far corner, sitting across from me. “What did Roy tell you?”
“Just that he got… jumped,” I say.
She nods a little. “He won’t say by who, but he’s beat up pretty good.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Oh, god, yes,” she says, laughing. “It’ll take more than that to stop Samuel. He’s got a broken rib, some bad bruises, but otherwise he’s okay.”
I let out a breath and I feel some of the tension that I’ve been holding slowly fade. “I don’t understand how this happened,” I say. “He got into a fight?”
She frowns a little bit and chews her lip, like she’s trying to decide if she wants to tell me something. After a second, she takes a breath and sets herself. “Look, this isn’t unusual, okay?”
“What does that mean? He got beat up. Sounds pretty crazy to me.”
“He’s the union head,” she says slowly. “And we’re in a contract negotiation.”
I stare at her for a second. “You think… I did this?”
“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “No, not at all.”
“But someone at Evans,” I say softly.
She nods. “Someone.”
Our eyes meet and it hits me all at once. I know exactly who did this, and I know why Samuel’s not going to say his name out loud. I’m so angry I can barely breathe. Sarah gets up and comes around the coffee table to sit down next to me.
“He’ll be okay,” she says. “Trust me. Samuel’s been through worse.”
“I would never—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“I know.” She smiles at me kindly. “I can tell.”
I blush a little bit. “I mean, I’m just saying, he’s a good colleague, and—“
She cuts me off, again, laughing. “Yeah, of course. Great to work with.” She winks at me and I feel my anger melt away under a wave of embarrassment. “Anyway, I’ll go see if he’s willing to talk. That okay?”
“Sure,” I say, wanting this conversation to be over.
She stands up. “He’s on some pain meds right now, so he might be out of it.”
“That’s okay,” I say.
She nods and disappears up the stairs. I sit on the couch, stewing as my anger slowly returns, looking at all the old clocks.
Ingram did this. I know he did. This is his fucking negotiation tactic, trying to break Samuel, scare him off. I’ve heard about stuff like this, but I didn’t think people still did it anymore. It’s absolutely insane and terrifying, and I’m so fucking angry I can barely think anymore. The thought of someone hurting Samuel, big, kind, handsome Samuel, it makes my blood boil. He deserves so much better, but life keeps handing him shit.
“Come on up,” Sarah says, looking at me from the stairs. I didn’t even hear her come down.
I stand, taking a breath. She smiles at me kindly and leads the way up the steps, down a short little hall and into the back bedroom.
It’s a small space, mostly just enough room for a dresser, a bed, and a little nightstand. There are books stacked on the nightstand, and more clocks stacked all along the walls. Small metal parts are scattered all over the dresser and I’m guessing Samuel works on those clocks in here sometimes, because there’s a toolbox on the floor next to his bed.
But my gaze is drawn toward him. Samuel’s sitting up in bed, shirt off, bandage around his chest and his side. He smirks at me as we walk into the room, but I can tell his gaze is a little glassy, probably from the pain meds he took.
Purple blooms across his skin. His right eye is black, and when he shifts, he winces with his whole body. I put my hands to my mouth, shocked at the damage.
“I’ll leave you two,” Sarah says softly, and backs out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Samuel grins at me, cocks his head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Jesus, Samuel,” I whisper. “What
happened?”
He shrugs, wincing again, and glances away. “Occupational hazard,” he says.
“This happened in the mine?”
“No.” His gaze meets mine again. “This is because of you.”
That sends a shockwave running down my spine. “I had nothing to do with this,” I say, stepping toward him.
“I know that,” he says, sighing. “But there are people that don’t want me anywhere near you.” He gives me a serious look and I know exactly who he’s talking about.
Anger spills through me. “He wouldn’t,” I say.
“He would. Big business has a long history of beating and breaking unions any way they can, including this.” He gestures at his bandages.
I sit at the end of his bed, feeling shocked, outraged, furious. I knew Ingram was a pretty bad guy, but this is too far. This is criminal, and wrong on so many levels.
But Samuel doesn’t seem too upset about it. In fact, he’s still grinning, and despite his bruises, he’s still as handsome as ever. He’s practically glowing, actually, and I find myself intensely attracted to him despite everything.
“We’ll stop him,” I say suddenly. “We can go to the police. I’ll back you up.”
He laughs ruefully. “No, we can’t. Who do you think actually did the kicking?”
I gape at him. “The… police attacked you?”
“Three dirty cops did,” he says. “This is how this town works, Amelia. It’s corrupt to the heart of it. We can try to make it better, but we’re fighting a losing battle.”
“No,” I whisper. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.” He looks at me, suddenly angry. “Men like Ingram always win. Don’t you understand that yet?”
“He doesn’t have to win here. You have me on your side.”
He softens a little bit at that. “I know, but it might not be enough.”
I grip his comforter and stare at him. “I won’t let this go.”
“Good. Neither will I.”
I chew on my lip for a second. “Where do we go from here?”
“We play ball,” he says. “We negotiate, make a contract, keep moving forward.”
“And let him win?”