A Lil' Less Hopeless

by Tara Oakes

  I had barely hung on, these past weeks. Maybe not knowing was better? Not having the confirmation of my worst fears might be better than the alternative. Maybe the slight glimmer of hope that she might come back to me one day was worth it. Sometimes hope is all that gets you through. You snuff that out and there's nothing left.

  My thoughts start to randomly shuffle and splinter off in tangents as sleep takes over.

  ******

  The roaring of bikes past my open window, welcomed me to the morning... as well as the wicked headache pounding my fucking skull. I was still dressed from the night before... dick still loose from my pants where the sweet butt left it. I rubbed my eyes. The phone ringing in my pocket woke me further.

  I absentmindedly reach for it, my aim shaky and careless. Confusion crept into my hung over senses. It was Tiny. We had plans to hit up the shooting range today. I check the time. 9:08. Fuck...

  I flipped open the phone, my cracked, raspy voice answered it. “I'll be there in twenty.”

  I dropped the phone against my shoulder, the weight of it proving too heavy for my whisky-weakened muscles.

  It wasn't real.

  I inhale deeply. It was never fucking real. The dreams were happening less and less lately, but the emptiness they left behind never changed. I swallowed hard and braced for the wave of nausea that I knew would wash over me as I climbed out of bed and made my way to the john.

  I knew I wouldn’t be getting there in twenty minutes. Tiny knew it, too. But he'd wait for me, and wouldn't mention a goddamned word when I finally got there. My brothers, my club... they were all I had left. The empty feeling slowly faded as I reassured myself that he'll be there, the club will be there... waiting for me.

  ******

  NOW

  I close the heavy front door quietly behind me. It's almost eleven in the morning, but all the curtains are still drawn and the quiet is all too telling. I crashed at the clubhouse last night, giving the girls their privacy. Lil's had texted me when they finally got in from her bachelorette party about three a.m.

  I knew they were on their way back to the house, I knew everything that happened last night. One of the perks of being the VP and having my men watch over the girls, is having eyes in the back of my head. I see it all. I know it all. In fact, I know some shit from last night that I'd rather not, but am damn glad I do.

  Stripper heels, Solo cups, and purses are strewn all over the house. It looks like they had themselves a little after party. I smile as I see the dick shaped streamers and balloons hanging from the doorways.

  There's a pile of brown curls and sequins poking out from under a blanket on one couch, while the other has Sunny and her barely-covered tits on full display, snoring away. Damn, how does Tiny listen to that all night?

  Wrapping paper and shredded ribbons litter the floor. A giant pink dildo is lying on the coffee table with little bottles of lotion and shit surrounding it. There's a little black lacy number half out of a box, not far from it. My dick starts to tingle. It's like my fucking birthday and Christmas in one. Lots of presents that I can't wait to use on my girl.

  A throat clears behind me, and I turn to see Blue, in nothing but his boxer's behind me. He nods to me and I follow him back into hallway, away from the sleeping girls. I raise my eyebrow at him in question.

  “Having a good time, stud?” I ask sarcastically.

  He uncrosses his arms and points to the closed bathroom door, down a few feet from us.

  I nod in the direction of the guest bedroom that he obviously came from.

  “Get your shit. You're gonna need to take some of these girls home when they wake up. Did you take the pictures?”

  A wicked smile plays out across his lips. Good.

  Blue disappears, and I lean back, resting against the wall. I cross one ankle over the other and wait. I hear the running water shut off, and know it can't be long. I probably shouldn't take as much satisfaction in this, as I am.... but, fuck it. I'm a good judge of character. I had this chick pegged from day one.

  The door opens inward and a very sloppy looking Christine shuffles out. Embarrassment flashes briefly before red hot anger replaces it. She knows she's been caught. Life is good.

  She arrogantly raises her chin and walks right past me, to join Blue in the spare room. Raised voices escape into the house followed by a stumbling Blue, trying to hold up has pants. His leather is thrown at him from Christine's direction. He struggles to catch it and hold up his drawers at the same time.

  I can't help but laugh at the show. I may not have orchestrated it, but hell, things couldn't have worked out better. Sometimes fate just steps in and takes care of things for you. Things are gonna get tough soon. My girl needs to know who's real and who's not. She needs to know who she can lean on.

  I try to hide my disdain, but it isn't happening. Christine rushes past me in a frenzy, throwing a tantrum before slamming the front door behind her. The front windows rattle and the deep echo vibrates through the house, causing the girls to stir.

  Blue looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “She actually wasn't half bad.”

  ******

  “Why is it pink?”

  I tear my eyes from the screen on my phone, to watch Lil's as she cleans up the mess from the bachelorette party. The garbage bag in her hands filling with the endless amount of tissue and ribbon that were cluttering the house. She's holding up the huge funny looking Dildo that I had seen when I came home this morning.

  She cocks her head to the side and eyes me playfully. “Maybe I should just throw it out?”

  I throw my phone down on the upholstered seat next to me and swiftly make my way to her, sweeping her into my arms, so that her bare toes are dangling above the hard wood.

  “I've got better ideas for it,” I suggest as I lead us down the hall. She giggles like a schoolgirl and makes a halfhearted attempt to escape.

  The house is quiet, with all of the girls having left except Jess, who was showering. Charlie had lingered behind a little to help Lil's clean up what was left of the giant penis-shaped cake left out in the kitchen, before Clink suggested they go grab some breakfast at the Silver Spoon diner.

  The jury is still out in my mind when it comes to Charlie. Other than catching her snooping around the clubhouse a little while back, I had no real reason to be suspicious of her.... It's just... there's something I can't figure out about her. Something that tells me to be on guard.

  I actually feel the tiniest bit guilty about being so wary of her. She's been a good friend to Lil's, even though she's a newcomer. A hell of a lot better friend than that bitch, Christine.

  It was barely two days ago when Lil's called me crying because Christine had uninvited her to be one of her own bridesmaids. I know Lil's was really looking forward to that shit... poofy dress and all. That's OK, though. I pegged Christine from day one. I know what type of chick she is. Thanks to Blue and his endless raging hard-on towards certifiable bitches, now I have a little insurance policy.

  It's a win-win situation, as far as I'm concerned. My boy got a little piece of ass, and Christine is kept in check.

  We reach the bedroom and Lil's drops the pink plastic toy on the floor where it bounces. Now both hands are free to work into my hair and add to the intensity our bodies are giving one another. Her mouth is a mixture of icy mint that tingles my tongue and scorching heat.

  Just as I take my mouth from hers, barely long enough to pull her shirt above her head, the doorbell rings.

  Fuck. I'd yell out for Jess to get it, considering we're a little busy here, but I can still hear the shower water running.

  “Don't get started without me. I'll be right back.” I kiss the tip of her nose and leave her behind the closed bedroom door.

  I check the side window before opening the door to see Tiny standing on my front porch.

  “Sup, bro'?” We grasp hands and pull into a half hug, slamming each other's leather-covered back. I look past him to the red mustang pulled into the driveway
and nod my head in curiosity. It was a shitty day. Gonna start raining any minute. The big guy was such a wimp about riding his bike in the rain. Says he doesn't wanna get his hair wet.

  “Pussy!” I call him out, as I move aside to let him in. “Babe! It's your brother!” I alert Lil’s.

  We make our way into the kitchen before Lil's manages to join us, looking disappointed.

  “I didn't hear your bike roll up...” she observes, as Tiny helps himself to a cup of coffee.

  I lean back across the counter top, crossing my arms. My eyebrows raise and I feel like having a little fun at the poor bastard's expense.

  “Your brother's not a fan of riding in the rain... He'd rather drive around town in that cherry bomb of a chick car.”

  Tiny throws a little shaded glare my way, while sipping on his coffee. “Sunny picked out the car dickwad. She gave me the best head for days after I brought it home. It was worth every fucking penny.”

  My baby girl starts to make gagging sounds. “TMI. You hungry?”

  That's a rhetorical question for Tiny. The guy can always eat.

  “Yeah, why not? It's lunchtime, right?”

  Lil's grabs a small plate from the cupboard and sets it down with a clattering noise on the counter top. She reaches for the pastry box tucked away and quickly opens it while withdrawing one of the biggest knives from the butcher block. With a loud slam, she wields the knife down harshly into the box, causing both Tiny and myself to jump a little.

  Tossing the knife into the sink, she turns and drops the plate down in front of Tiny with the ceramic vibrating from the abuse. She pats her brother's shoulder, hard.

  “Enjoy. Next time... call first.”

  We watch her leave before noticing the plate she prepared for him. It's a large piece of the frosty cake from the night before. The dick cake. She just served Tiny the entire “head” of it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LIL’S

  I love my brother. But he can be such a damn cock block sometimes. I blame him for my foul mood tonight.

  “Jess! You ready? I'm starving!”

  Not only did I not “get” any this morning, but now he's whisked Jay away to their little bachelor party. I'm not stupid. Jay might be telling me it's a patch-in party, but I know damn well it's a bachelor party. I don't expect to see either one of them, especially sober, for the next twenty-four hours.

  Whatever. I'll have to send Jay a pic of my pretty new pink toy later to rub it in a little. If I have to be all wound up for the next day or so, then so does he.

  “All right, all right!” Jess grabs her keys and we file out, locking the front door behind us. We take Jess's car... it's a little more comfortable than mine. I’m more concerned with the environment and gas mileage by driving a hybrid. With a rich daddy like Jessica's... she's more into the luxurious side of things.

  We have the same taste in food more or less, so dinner is an easy decision to make. We stop over at one of my favorite Mexican restaurants. With Jay not being a huge fan of this place, I haven't been able to come here since I've been back in town. Not much has changed, though. The salsa is still the best I've ever had, and the little Mariachi band playing in the corner looks to be the same three men as I remember. The only thing that would make this night perfect, is if I could enjoy one of those golden frozen margaritas that Jess is sipping on across from me.

  I'm just about to put a chip piled high with fresh salsa into my mouth when I hear a chair pull up behind me.

  “Miss Kaegan?”

  I pause the chip's ascent into my mouth, turning to acknowledge the suited middle-aged man now sitting next to me.

  “Who's asking?” That probably sounded a lot bitchier than I meant.

  I notice there are three other similar-looking suited men standing nearby. The gentleman who addressed me reaches into his front pocket and carefully withdraws a slim looking leather wallet, which he skillfully opens with one hand while completing his introduction.

  ******

  They really knew what they were doing when they designed these rooms. The harsh bright light is cruel to your eyes. They leave you sitting in here for long stretches of time but you can't even close your eyelids and try to rest. The weird blue-toned light seems to penetrate right through. The cold, hard, unforgiving metal of the chair makes it difficult to find any position that could even resemble comfortable.

  But that's what they want, I guess... they want to wear you down. I've told the same story now to three of these men, each coming in with their neat little manila envelope, introducing themselves as “Special Agent So-and-So.” They all explain how they just need to verify the information in my statement. Then they proceed with the questions, twisting my words and the facts to see if I'll correct them... or if they have succeeded in tripping me up.

  So far, so good. I've managed to stay calm, keep the “facts” straight and keep my wits about me. I haven't been able to make a phone call yet, which I'm pretty sure is illegal. Jess was taken along with me, but we were separated almost immediately. Thank God I didn't tell Jessica anything about what really happened. She's a sweet girl, but no way would she be able to keep it to herself under these conditions.

  I tap my fingernails against the hard metal surface of the table watching the ringed ripples play on the coffee’s surface from the vibrations. Just as I'm lowering my fingertips again, the door opens yet again, with yet another suit, another manila folder.

  Wait. Holy fuck.

  “Hi, Lil's.”

  Wow. He's actually going to try to play this off like it's no big deal.

  “Hi yourself, Pretty Boy.”

  He smiles warmly and pulls up the chair across from me. “Sorry about all this. I really am. I've been doing my best to get them to hold off on bringing you in.”

  “Well, thank God for small favors,” I say, trying to mask any signs of shock.

  He laughs under his breath. “I need your help, Lil's.”

  Oh, he needs help all right. “Do you, now?”

  Chris sits back and loosens his tie. “Hear me out.”

  He holds his hands palm up in front of him. “I've been undercover with the Slayers for a while. We were gathering intel, building a case. We had almost everything we needed and were just about to make a bust when you were taken. Things started to really heat up... and we thought maybe we could could get just a bit more... really make the charges stick.”

  “And that got a girl killed,” I add.

  Chris takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair. “And... that got a girl killed. You're right. I'm not looking to dodge it. I'm looking to try to make it right here, Lil's.”

  “Oh really? And how exactly do you make something like that right?”

  “By making sure another innocent person isn't ruined because of Shade. The powers that be are gunning to pin this on someone fast, Lil's. You need to know that. Your prints were on the murder weapon. There were no witnesses. You had a motive.”

  I throw my hands down on the table top. “Damn right I had a motive... so did a helluva lot of other people! That doesn't mean I killed him!”

  Special agent Pretty Boy, or whatever his real name is, gently slides the manila folder my way.

  “I have reported from day one, that you could not have committed the murder. Lil's. You know it, and I know it. But I do think you know who did. Because I can only stall this for so long before I'm gonna get steamrolled on this one, and they're gonna settle for you, regardless of any doubts.”

  I eye the folder critically. “I can't help you. I don't know anything. When I got to the living room, Shade was already dead. I picked up the gun to protect myself.”

  Chris opened up the folder and set a blank piece of paper in front of me. “Write down what you just told me. We'll make an official statement. That should stall things for a little while.”

  He slipped a long, thin pen from his inside pocket and clicked the end loudly. I thought hard about my options. There weren’t too many of them
. I could refuse, and run the risk of being arrested right here on the spot for failing to cooperate. Or, I could fill out his statement. On one hand, I could help clear my name... but at what cost?

  “Don’t trust the cops.” I can’t tell you how long I’ve heard those words in some form or another. Almost as long as I’ve heard “Don’t be a rat.” I didn’t know what the fuck to do....

  Just as I’m about to reach for the silver pen that Chris is extending my way, a quick rapping at the closed wooden door causes us both to jolt. Bernie, the club’s attorney rushes in before the uniformed cop standing guard outside can open the door completely.

  “Bernard Ruben, Esquire. I am Miss Kaegan's counsel.” He presents his business card to Chris. “Do you have any plans to place my client into custody?”

  Pretty Boy tucks the small rectangular item into his shirt pocket and stands to face Bernie. I’ve always liked Bernie. He’s been my dad’s lawyer ever since I can remember. With the amount of trouble that Butch has managed to find himself in over the years, let’s just say I’ve had to rely on Bernie quite a bit.

  I have no doubt who sent him. I’m sure Jay is somewhere out in the lobby raising hell, or has probably already been arrested for disturbing the peace, assaulting a police officer... who knows what else he could have managed to do while I’ve been stuck in here being interrogated?

  Chris slides his chair backward as he stands, extending his free hand out to greet Bernie Ruben, Esquire.

  “Special agent Gibson,” Chris introduces himself as the two men awkwardly grip hands. “And, no. I do not plan on arresting Lil’s. I know she’s not guilty of anything besides trying to pretend she was somewhere else on the night in question. But, my superiors don’t share my opinion. I need your client to cooperate, counselor.”

  Bernie shoots his gaze over to me, and spots the form on the table directly in front of where I’m siting. “Did you sign anything?”

  I shake my head. “No.”