by Goode, Ella
“You can talk to me about anything. Particularly Easy and Michigan. They treating you okay?”
I can feel myself blanching. “Does everyone know?”
“Everyone in the club, probably. They have a reputation. Outside the club? Maybe? Maybe not? There are some women who’ve been at the club long enough that they might guess.”
Or women who they’ve shared is what Pippa probably means. My stomach clenches at the thought of another woman being in between the two of them. I don’t like that. I want what happens between the two of us to be special.
Pippa reads me easily. “Don’t think about their pasts. It will make you crazy. Focus on the future you want with them.”
She pegs it exactly but it’s easier to dispense advice rather than act on it, no matter how on-point or thoughtful it is.
“I’m out of my depth. I’ve gone from driving my safe Toyota to operating exotic machinery that could crash at the slightest wrong touch.”
“Those men don’t look breakable to me.”
“Really? How about me? Don’t I look breakable?”
She reaches over to cup my shoulders and gives me a long look. Pippa and I are opposites in nearly every way. She’s curvy with an hourglass figure and striking red hair. When she walks down the street, people stop and stare. It’s no wonder Judge, a long-time bachelor, took one look at her and fell hard.
I’m tall, thin, gangly. My boobs are nothing to speak of and my hair is a limp, thin mass of brown. I don’t understand how these two gorgeous men could be interested in me.
“You’re beautiful and strong, Annie. Don’t forget it.”
“How do I hold on to them?” I whisper.
“You don’t. You love them. Love is the glue that binds you all together. You can’t make them stay by being something you’re not. Be yourself. It’s what attracted them in the first place. And let it go from there.”
Wise words.
“Is it wrong to want them both?”
“No,” she says. “Not wrong at all. Michigan and Easy are a unit. They fought together, survived terrible conditions together. They are important to each other and while lots of women might have wanted to take a ride with them, it was only temporary. It takes a special person to be willing to accept both of them.” She shudders. “Two men to pick up after? You’re really asking for it.”
Their house is immaculate and the hotel room was clean when I stepped out of the bathroom. “Picking up after them doesn’t seem to be number one on their priority list of things to do.”
“It sounds like you have an ideal situation then. Don’t overthink it, Annie.”
Chapter Five
Annie
“Tell me more about this Van Beasley,” Father asks as he watches me flit around the kitchen. The roast has been simmering all day in the crock-pot and when I go to check on it, the meat breaks apart at the first touch of the fork. The roasted brussels sprouts are warming in the oven and I just have to mash the potatoes and make the roux for the gravy. A quick look at the clock says I have fifteen minutes. I hope I made enough food. Easy could probably eat one roast himself.
“Um, he’s twenty-nine and Mrs. Wilkins’ oldest grandson.”
“Hmm…and how did you meet again?”
I’ve told him many times but I repeat the story once more. “At the library. He came in to check out the latest Lee Child book.”
“Did he invite you out then?”
“No, not until the coffee shop.” I’m beginning to feel like a suspect in a cop show where they grill you a thousand times until you make a mistake and then they point and say “Gotcha!” I’ve not lied to Father about how Easy and I met. I didn’t have to. I’m only keeping out that I’ve had sex with him…and Michigan.
“Is that the knitting class you took?” He frowns over his spectacles. And again it’s as if he wants to catch me in a lie.
“Yes, with Mrs. Wilkins and a few of her friends. You recommended it, remember, Father? And afterward Mrs. Wilkins called you to come and pray with her.”
That was the night I went to Easy and Michigan’s house. Where they undressed me, kissed every inch of my skin, and then took my virginity. Or I gave it to them. The memory of that night makes me hot and I turn to hide my reaction. I lift the crock-pot lid on the pretense of smelling the food but really I’m seeking cover for my flush.
The doorbell rings. I rush to the door and open it. Easy’s there, grinning at me. I want to throw myself into his arms but I settle for giving him a return smile. He places a hand around my waist and drags me toward him and we’re almost kissing before I remember my father standing behind me. I draw back and Easy looks at me with regret.
“Sorry,” I mouth.
He shakes his head and gives me a wry smile. “Forgot myself.”
“Come on in.” I gesture and he steps in front of me. He left his colors at home and instead is wearing a white button-down shirt and jeans. I glance beyond him to the truck he has parked on the curb.
Everything about this seems wrong. He’s missing his cut. He isn’t riding his motorcycle. The shirt he’s wearing is a bit small. It’s unbuttoned around the neck and cuffs and I don’t think it’s an intentional style note. I think the shirt is just too small and I wonder if he’s borrowed it from someone. My heart squeezes with the effort he’s putting forth and I want to throw myself into his arms and kiss him so hard that his lips are bruised.
“Father, this is Easy.” I use his road name. If we’re going to have a relationship, then Father needs to accept him, colors, road name, club and all.
“Mr. Beasley, nice of you to come and have dinner with us.”
“Thanks, Pastor Bloom, but as your daughter says, I go by ‘Easy.’”
Father’s lip curls up. “Nicknames are for children.”
Oh, this is a very bad idea. “Easy, can you come and help me in the kitchen?”
“Sure, baby,” he says without thinking. I wince. He winces. Father glares.
“Sorry,” Easy mutters when we’re inside the kitchen. Only a thin wall separates the dining room for the kitchen so I bang a couple of lids into the sink to cover my response.
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I should’ve known better. Let’s just get through this. Pippa helped me put my resume together and as soon as I get a job, I’m out of here.”
“You know you can come live with us anytime.”
“Thanks, but I think it’s best if I have my own place.”
“If that’s what you want.”
The needy, greedy girl in me wants to throw the pot roast into the trash, climb onto Easy’s hog and ride to their home. But I can’t rely on the two of them for everything. I need to show them how valuable I am. Just like I did with Father. I’m going to pay my own way and pamper the two of them so that they’ll never get tired of me and leave. Not like my mom did. Not like my father would like to do.
I thrust the pot roast in Easy’s arms and grab the salad and the brussels sprouts.
“Hope you like brussels sprouts.”
He eyes the little cabbages skeptically. “Will you throw me out if I don’t?”
“No, but vegetables are good for you. You do eat them, right?”
“I eat corn on the cob.”
“Fair enough.” I lodge that into my memory bank. I’ll make the best corn on the cob every night for him if we make it through this without bloodshed.
Father is seated at the table, his Bible open in front of him. He appears to be reading or meditating or praying. It’s an obvious ploy to make Easy feel uncomfortable. Fortunately Easy doesn’t care.
We deposit the food on the table. I direct Easy to sit across from me instead of beside me even though having him away from my side isn’t what I want.
He doesn’t like it either and moves reluctantly away. I stand and dish the food up for everyone. Father finally shuts his Bible and reels off a long prayer. Shortly after I say ‘Amen’ he starts in on me.
“Your gravy looks watery, Annie.
Did you put enough flour in it?”
“I made it the way I usually do.”
He forks apart some of the beef. “It’s pink inside. You know I like my meat well done.”
I get up. “I’ll stick it in the microwave.”
He waves me aside. “No, I’ll eat it.” He gives a long suffering sigh. “You’re not dating my Annie because of her cooking skills, I hope.”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to eat anything she’s made.” Easy replies. He takes a big bite. “Tastes delicious to me.”
“Annie doesn’t cook that often. We have plenty of parishioners who watch out for us as it’s well known she’s hapless in the kitchen.”
I give Easy an embarrassed smile. Father has never complained before. Had the food always been bad and he’s never said anything? “I didn’t realize you didn’t like my cooking, Father.”
He shakes his head in rueful dismay. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but it’s best to get out your flaws now so they aren’t a surprise to this young man later.”
“Of course,” I agree because what else can I do? The urge to flee is strong but I can’t leave Easy at the table alone with Father.
“What is it that you do for a living, Mr. Beasley?” Apparently he’s done cutting me down and now is going to work on Easy. The pot roast is thick and hard in my throat which is good because my stomach is too unsettled to eat more.
“I work for Mallory’s.”
Mallory Manufacturing is an ammunitions plant. It’s a good-paying job with benefits and a pension. Surely Father can’t have any complaint about that.
“I think you applied there, didn’t you, Annie?” Father asks and the sinking sensation transforms into dread.
“Yes, as a line worker.”
“Annie doesn’t have many skills.” Father leans forward with a conspiratorial air. “She applied for many jobs after high school but couldn’t even get hired on at the Quik Stop to pump gas. I’ve allowed her to stay on as the church secretary. A bit of nepotism, I suppose, but charity begins at home.”
“Seems like you need a few skills to be the church secretary.” Easy’s normal smile is gone, replaced by something between a frown and a grimace.
“You don’t,” Father says bluntly. “And are you a gun enthusiast, given you work for Mallory’s?”
“I’ve shot a few in my time,” Easy says. “Honey, this is delicious. Michigan’s going to be sorry that he missed this.”
“I hope you take some home to him,” I answer. I’m aching for Michigan. Is he at home? Is he lonely? What’s he having for dinner? I have to know. “What’s he eating tonight?”
“Probably pizza. Definitely nothing as good as this shit—stuff.”
Father nearly growls. “This club that you belong to, Mr. Beasley, it has been linked to many criminal activities. Do you believe that someone like Annie should be exposed to this?”
“Nope. Annie wouldn’t be exposed to anything like that.”
His foot nudges mine. We both know what I’m exposed to. And how good they make me feel is probably some kind of crime.
“I haven’t seen you in church. Do you attend service?”
“I go to church regularly.” Easy’s eyes are full of mischief. Chapel or church is what the MC members call their group meetings.
“Where at?”
“With my brothers. That’s my congregation.”
“Where two or more of you are gathered, there I am in the midst of you,” I quote Matthew 18:20 in a hurry.
Father narrows his eyes at me but changes the subject. “What’s the most meaningful Bible verse to you?”
“Judge not lest ye be judged,” Easy replies.
I nearly giggle at the expression of outrage Father has at being outwitted.
He continues to grill Easy about everything from how much he makes to how long we’ve been dating without Father’s knowledge. I’m mortified and glad that Michigan isn’t here because only one of them is going to leave offended.
The dinner finally is over and I practically shove Easy out the door. I don’t want him to be exposed for another second to my father, to his offensive behavior.
Easy looks like he wants to protest, say something. Maybe stab my dad with the table knife. But he leaves at my silent plea. I watch as he climbs into his truck and it roars off. I tell myself that this is not the sound of goodbye. At all. But oh, I am worried that he’ll go home and tell Michigan I’m not worth the effort. I take a deep breath to stem the tears that I feel building.
“You won’t see him again,” Father says as I close the door.
“Why not?”
“He’s a man of sin. These types can’t be saved. They only drag others into the pit with them. As your father and your pastor, I’m telling you that this person has a devil seated deep inside.”
“I thought the charge was to love your neighbor as yourself.”
“He is not my neighbor,” Father’s voice is chilled. “Now go upstairs and pray for forgiveness while I cleanse the house of the presence of this foulness he has brought to our home.”
I can’t stand to hear him speak of Easy like this and everything in me revolts. I turn and glare at Father. “I’m twenty-three and I love you, but I don’t think you can tell me what to do.”
His grabs my arm and shakes me. “What have I taught you? The pleasures of earth will only result in the fires of hell. I’m not going to have all my work be tossed aside because you feel some whorish desire.”
“Please, stop.” I’m trembling and not just because he’s pulling my arm rapidly. But I’m afraid. The hard glint in his eye, the straight mouth, are reminiscent of that one time…One time when I was twelve or thirteen I remember asking to go to bowling with a group of girls. He said no. I accused him of ruining my life. He raised his fist and struck me across the face. I reeled from the blow and hit the bookcase. He’d taken off his belt and whipped me hard until I bled through my shirt. I learned not to ask again. He apologized, tended my wounds and we both agreed to never speak of it again.
“Please,” I whisper.
I shrink inside myself.
He shakes his head like a dog shedding water from his fur. “Go upstairs and pray.” His voice has calmed and his grip weakens. I take the opportunity to break from his grasp and run upstairs.
I kneel down in front of my bed. His footsteps follow me up. They pause outside my door. The knob turns slightly. I hold my breath.
“Pray for both of us,” he whispers through the door. “Pray that the devil stays away or we’ll both be sorry.”
After what feels like a century of time passing, his footsteps move away and I hear the garage door open. Hurriedly I pack my backpack again and leave. If I’m going to be punished for something, it might as well be something worthwhile.
Chapter Six
Michigan
Easy stomps into the house. Anger and frustration reek from every pore. He throws a plastic tub onto the kitchen table.
“Roast beef, if you want it,” he grunts.
Curious, I open the container and the rich smell of roasted meat rises. It’s still warm and despite the fact I ate a pizza, my mouth waters. Besides, this is food Annie cooked and eating it will make me feel close to her. I pull a fork out of the drawer and dig in. It tastes as good as it smells and I gobble down half the container before addressing whatever it is that is pissing Easy off. “From the look on your face, I would’ve thought that dinner was a bust but this is great shit.”
“It was a bust.” He throws himself onto the sofa and flips on the television. After about a minute of scrolling through a dozen channels, he hits the power button and throws the remote on the floor. Agitated, he starts pacing and I can’t stop staring because Easy rarely gets anxious. During deployment, the crazier it got outside the wire, the calmer he was. Dude just never gets riled. Now he’s wearing a path across the living room carpet.
“Her father’s a fucking asshole. I don’t know why she is even with him.�
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“What’d he do? Spout Bible shit the whole time?”
“I expected that.” He throws up his hands. “He’s a preacher for fuck’s sake, so yeah, I was prepared for the hellfire and brimstone talk and even the questioning of whether I was good enough for her but I wasn’t prepared for him to cut her down the whole time.”
“What?” That gets me to drop the food on the table.
“Yup. He spent half the time criticizing her food, calling her stupid, and suggesting she’s too plain to snag a man and the other half telling me I’m a sinful demon going to hell.”
“Well, you already knew the last half was true,” I joke grimly.
He barks out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t know why she doesn’t want to move in with us.”
Easy doesn’t get how fear and loneliness can drive you to make bad decisions. Despite belonging to a motorcycle club, everyone still thinks he’s the shit. He still goes to family dinners, still kisses his grandma and generally he’s liked and admired around town.
He doesn’t have a frame of reference for someone like Annie but I get it. Having knocked around foster homes and not really finding a place to belong to until I came here and patched into the Death Lords, Annie’s reasons for staying with an asshole of a father make perfect sense. He’s the one person that makes the world less frightening for her. As long as she believes her old man loves her, no matter how crappy he treats her, she’s not alone in this world.
I’ve felt the same way. It’s how I ended up with my back full of scars. I try to explain it to Easy.
“Remember when I told you that I got those whip marks on my back from a preacher who was mad I’d fucked his daughter?”
“Yeah?” His voice is wary, confused about my abrupt change in subject.
“I knew she was bad news when I started seeing her. When we were in school, she pretended she didn’t know me. Even on the street, if we’d run into each other she’d walk by without a word. But in secret? She couldn’t get my pants off fast enough. I couldn’t fuck her hard enough. There wasn’t a goddamn thing she couldn’t wait to do. It didn’t matter that I made her come screaming three times the night before because the next day I was dead to her. But I still kept going back, not because I was sticking it to the man or I liked the stupid secret shit but because she kept telling me she loved me and sick sap that I was, it was enough.”