by Paula Cox
The object picks me up, holding me to him. I can smell that familiar scent again, leather and oil. I suck in a deep breath as I force myself to look up into those dark, smoky eyes covered by the strands of blackish-brown rivets of hair. “How are you here?” I ask Mack, still gasping for air.
He pulls me towards a chair in the hospital’s main waiting area, pulling it underneath me to force me back down. “It’s okay. I’m here. Try and take a deep breath if you can.” He pulls his jacket off and places it on my shoulder. The weight of it should overwhelm me, but it does the opposite. After a few minutes, I’m breathing normally and seeing clearly. The wave of panic has been pushed aside and something else has taken its place.
“Anna,” he finally says, kneeling before me, “I am so sorry. Randall told me about your mom on the drive over, and I tried to get here as fast as I could. I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Good. I don’t want you to say a damn thing to me.” I throw off the jacket, pushing it back onto his lap. “I should have been here seven days ago. If I had, she might have… she might have made it. But instead, I have to worry about burying her now.”
“I don’t know what to say, Anna. I did it to protect you. You had to know that. That night, we had no idea what was happening. I lost three of my men to Riley.”
“Stop it, Mack! I don’t give a fuck about Riley anymore—and I sure as shit don’t care about your goddamned club! I should never have taken you up on your offer. I should have dealt with this by myself. But now my mom’s dead—and it’s all our fault! Nothing you could do or say could make that any better.” I stand up. The pain and rage built up inside of me threaten to explode if I contain it any longer.
“Anna… come on. Please. You know that I didn’t want you to have to go through this. Everything I did was because I love you.”
“Love?” I almost giggle at the sheer absurdity of his dropping an L-bomb like that. “Are you fucking kidding me? You locked me into that home without even a phone call or a text. You wouldn’t let me go see my mom when she needed me to the most. That’s fucking love to you? Are you out of your mind?”
I’m seething, my chest heaving, my heart beating incredibly quickly. I don’t even care; I just push forward. I feel my lips curl up into a sort of twisted smile as tears simultaneously sting my eyes. “I see it so clearly now. I was blind at first, but now I get it. You’re a narcissist and an addict. You’re not capable of loving anyone but yourself—yourself, and that goddamn club you’re so hooked on.” I stride past him, out towards the rest of the waiting room so that I can do the next part in public. I shake my head and say in a loud voice, “It’s your lucky day. You’re free. I’m done. We’re done. Goodbye, Mack”
He calls out my name over and over again, but I am already too far gone. I head back towards my mother’s room where I know he can’t get to me and where I know I am meant to be.
CHAPTER 21
“If everything goes to plan, it looks like we can have the project completed in about ten weeks, maybe less if the weather stays warm and we don’t get any record rainfall for November.” My contractor stares back at me with a wide, satisfied grin on his face. No doubt, he thought I would be pleased with this news. He should know better. After working with me for the past two years, he knows me well enough to not push off crap as gold.
“Ten fucking weeks? Are you serious, Orlando? You really think I am going to be okay with your men working on my property for ten weeks? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. It needs to get done, and it needs to get done within a few weeks. You hear me?” I place my hands on the top of my desk and push off to stand. I am done with this meeting. I should have canceled it, but after what happened in the hospital with Anna, I was too frazzled to think about the routine stuff I had on my plate the next day.
“Mr. Steel, getting it done in a few weeks’ time isn’t realistic. For one, the fire department hasn’t finished the investigation. In fact, most of these renderings are based on what small glances we could get a look at from the taped off areas. If they take as long as they usually do, ten weeks could actually be a pipe dream.”
“Don’t worry about the fire department or that investigation,” I shoot back. “I’ll take care of them. They’ll be gone tomorrow, and you’ll get your men in there to start working.”
Orlando peers at me. Despite his best efforts to look unfazed by me, I can tell he’s uncomfortable just sitting here in this room with me. Like all the civilians I bring in to headquarters to do some contract work, he practically shrivels with me standing above him. He only sinks further down into my leather office chairs when I open the door, calling for one of my men down below. I can only imagine what he thinks is about to happen to his poor soul.
His voice shivers and quakes as he rings his hands around the rolled up blueprint renderings of the new brick buildings I am having constructed in place of the burnt ruins. “I—I can try, Mr. Steel, but that’s as good as I can promise. I guess if we moved around some of our other work and canceled on a client or two we could get it done sooner, maybe by Christmas—”
“Thanksgiving. My sister’s restaurant needs to be opened by Thanksgiving. That gives you three weeks to get your shit together. You say you can cancel on other clients, do that. I’ll compensate you for it. Tell me the cost of those projects, and I’ll make sure your men get that pay in their timesheets and that your reputation goes up in my community.” I open the door further for him, ushering him out. He passes by me nervously, looking both to the left and the right before heading down the metal staircase. As he takes his first step away from me, I call back, “Have I ever given you reason to doubt me, Orlando?”
He looks over his shoulder, nodding. “No, I suppose not, Mr. Steel. I’ll be in contact with you tomorrow about the fire department’s investigation and when we can get in. If you have any strings with the city zoning and permit boards, I’d be calling in favors there as well to fast track it. Until then, I’ll have the cement workers on call.” His fancy Italian leather shoes pound on the steel stairs as he rushes down and out of the building. I barely catch a glimpse of him as he takes off.
Alone again, back in my office, I write down the few to-dos to add to my list. The fire department shouldn’t take much work on my part. Detective Joey already checked in with me this week about the possibility of getting those fire department workers out of my hair sooner rather than later. The city shouldn’t be a pain in the ass either. I’ve got guys there that owe me so many favors for little deliveries I’ve made for them over the years. The rest of my list is a bit more complicated, a list of names with checks or ‘X’s next to them.
This has been my life the last week—names on a list crossed off one by one. There’s been phone calls to family members, funeral plans for those without loved ones, and memorials to attend where they’ve let me in. Then there is the problem with my club as well. After the ambushes, it wasn’t like my guys were fond of taking my orders. For the first time with me in the lead, I heard grumblings of my demise. Some said I had been seduced and distracted by Anna. I was what they called “blind to the puss,” too consumed in a woman to see her bigger plan.
I had no reason not to trust Anna. There were no signs that all this time she’d been working with Riley. The night we stormed Riley’s basement and she stabbed him with the knife was enough for me. No one in their right mind would have planned that kind of deception out, not even a psycho like Riley. But it was hard to convey that to the guys that weren’t there with us. My grip on them had to grow tighter if I was going to maintain control.
So I did the only thing I knew to do, I worked them to the bone on the streets and riding the routes. I worked them until they were exhausted from daily night shifts and early morning pickups. I worked them until their pockets were lined with the profits.
When they weren’t doing sales, they were in charge of hunting for me. Each mark they brought in, I paid them out of my own paycheck. I called it a commission. Money was the be
st way to shut up a man, and by the end of this week, their lips were practically sealed. They were begging me to cool it, thus giving me back the control I need. Anna’s name hasn’t been mentioned to me in days, except by weekly reports from the three guys I assigned to twenty-four hour watch duty.
That’s how I learned about her mom. I was furious when Randall called to say she had gotten out of the house and he had no choice but to bring her. Of course he did, I reasoned. But he explained what he had told her, and I contacted a contact at the hospital who read her mom’s chart to confirm it. When the nurse told me she had minutes, I flew on my bike towards Anna, hoping that she would make peace with me when it was all over.
What I did isn’t forgivable. I’m a person who has never asked for forgiveness one day in his life, but even I understand that. What’s worse is that I know she had every right to do what she did in that waiting room and walk out on me for good. And part of me knows that this solved our problems. Riley would stay away, if I knew him well enough. His only goal is to get to Anna, and my club is just collateral damage. With her unguarded, he’s free to pursue her or kill her, whatever it is he has in mind.
“Mack? You called for me?” My thoughts are interrupted by Randall, Anna’s old guard. He peeks his head open through the still-open office door. “I did what you asked me to. The stuff is right out here. Where did you want me to bring it?”
“Bring it here, into the office. I’ll have you deliver it later when we get a handle on where she is headed.” After she left me, I called off her guard. I would find her, in time. But for right now, it was better to risk Riley finding her than push her even further.
Randall brings in a large cardboard box into my office and then leaves as quickly as he walked in. I stare for a minute at the box, examining it from afar as if getting too close to it would cause it to explode or something. From my seat behind the desk, I can see the arms of t-shirts sticking out from a pile of dirty clothes. A perfume bottle is wrapped up in a bright yellow bath towel and her makeup kit is spilled out over the top. It’s a collection of her.
After a few minutes, I get the gall up to actually touch it. I dig through the box, examining each and every thing they managed to find. At the bottom are a few books she had purchased. Among them is a notebook with her tattoo renderings. Small doodles of stars, moons, arrows, and faces line the pages randomly.
Mixed with the charcoal and ink drawings are a few notes she wrote to herself. Most are just lists of things she needed to get done: “Work until 8 PM. Dinner with Mack. Laundry day!” But there’s also phone numbers, “Mom’s Cell—498-9232. Ian’s Hospital—489-8370, Room 120. Mack’s Burner—498-3300. Roxy’s Work Phone—555-080-9012 ext. 345.”
Her mom, Ian, me… she’s lost so much, and I’m responsible for a great deal of it. In most cases, guilt rolls off of me like my skin can protect itself from it. But the regret I feel for pushing Anna to this place isn’t disappearing, even a few weeks later when I’m still walking around the clubhouse with that notebook under my arm.
I had tried to absolve myself by first going to her mom’s funeral, but it was closed door. She had seen to that. Only a few cars dot the parking lot, one I recognized to be her new ride. I waited for her there, but she didn’t see me standing in the cold with my leather jacket pulled up to my face to protect me from the wind. I wanted to call out her name, to rush to her, but as she sobbed with her arms around Roxy, I knew this isn’t the place.
My next attempt is at the old tattoo shop. Anna’s managed to pick up work there with the regulars. Like I predicted, Ian wouldn’t even let me through the door without an appointment or a name to give. And waiting in the parking lot for her to get off from her shift was impossible with the security gate in place. I did wait for her just outside though so I could follow her back to her new apartment about two blocks away. As she unlocked the door, she peered suspiciously over her shoulder, her hand tight on her purse where I knew she was probably packing a gun or knife.
For a moment, I thought she saw me. There was this look in her eyes that softened at the sight of something in the distance near where I was parked, but she didn’t give me or the object more than a few seconds of her time before she slipped inside and up the stairs. A light turned on moments later on the top floor, and I was left to stare at the outline of her moving through her apartment.
Today, I am carrying this notebook with me, close to my chest. I’ve tucked it into my undershirt so the cool paper binding presses into my skin. It’s to protect it from the debris from the work site. With it safe and secure, I head out to see Orlando, who is hunched over the hood of his truck with a member of his team. They chat in Spanish about the work ahead for the day.
“How much more time?” I ask, staring at the building. Four walls, a roof, and a floor have already been formed as if overnight. The massive payments for their speed seem to be encouraging the process at the pace I need it to be done.
“Two days for the tattoo shop. Six more days for the restaurant. You’ll get the Thanksgiving opening you want once your sister orders the new fixtures and furniture. Do you know what you’re going to do with that tattoo parlor? Have you got a guy to order the equipment and furnishings? If not, I know a person who does it for a living. Good guy named Ian. He’s been doing some side jobs now that he’s retiring for good.”
Ian… of course I know Ian, and I have no doubt that after working with Anna, he knows damn well who I am too. Still, I turn towards my architect and say, “Yeah, I’d like his help. But do me a favor and don’t tell him where the shop is or who owns it. If you have to, lie. I don’t want him giving me lower quality shit just because I may be his competition. I’ll pay him whatever he wants.”
Orlando nods and heads off to make his phone calls. I walk back towards headquarters, a phone in my hand. With a few days for the place to be finished being put together and another few days for the tattoo equipment to be ordered and set up, I don’t have much time. She has to be here for the opening. This is her place and always will be, but I know she won’t accept an invitation directly from me.
The notebook shuffles around on my chest as I climb the stairs, and I remember that page I turned to the first day I found it. I get back to my office and frantically peel the pages back looking for the numbers. There, listed after mine, is the name of her friend Roxy. Even with the little I know about her, I can tell that she is the one living person I can use to get Anna back to me. I just need her to listen.
I leave a voicemail at her work, asking her to meet me at a coffee shop not far from headquarters after her shift is over. Although I know Anna’s not a snitch, I make sure to add that she and Anna aren’t in danger for reassurance. I wait for hours in that booth, hoping against all reasonable expectations that she’ll show. I sit there quietly, staring at the door with my hands clasped around Anna’s notebook until finally she spots me.
Red hair and bright green eyes, she’s as I expected her to be—minus the tattoos. She’s certainly more clean cut than Anna, but edgier in other ways. Roxy certainly didn’t look like the genius scientist Anna always made her out to be either. There was nothing about her that said “major nerd” either.
She spots me instantly though I’m certainly not hard to miss. I stand out like a sore thumb among the hipsters with their fake beards and oversized glasses staring into their computer screens and drinking their tiny lattes out of paper, reusable cups. I stand when I see Roxy, pointing towards the open chair I saved for her in the corner of the quiet shop, but she doesn’t sit right away.
“Mack, I guess?” she asks, her arm clutching to the handle of her purse as if she thinks I’m some common thief.
“Yeah. You Roxy?” Of course she is, but she’s making me nervous enough to ask dumb questions.
“What did you need from me? I don’t have much time before I’m supposed to meet A— a friend for dinner.”
I stand, pulling out the chair from behind her. Softly, I say, “You don’t have to do that.�
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“What?” She sits across from me, still without pulling her chair in. She’s got enough room to escape, I guess.
“Lie to me. If you’re going to see Anna later tonight, that’s none of my business. I called you here to talk to you. I’m not going to pry you with information about her or force you to talk to me.” I pause, letting her soften a bit. She shifts around in her metal chair before leaning back, her arm draped over the back as she peers toward the window. Still, she doesn’t let go of the phone in her hand.
“First things first,” I continue, “I’ve got her stuff, including this notebook. I want to make sure she gets everything back that she wants. If not, I could donate it or drop it off some other place. It’s all in the van outside, if you want to give it to her directly and cut me out of the equation.”
She nods as she looks back outside towards the parking lot. A motorcycle club president driving around the one minivan in the parking lot is probably hard to imagine, but I thought it would take an edge off the situation if I did. Plus, I’m not lugging that box around on the back of my Harley to make a point.