by A. R. Case
But with him at my back, it wasn’t so bad.
Then it was ripped away.
Betty Jo and Fin joined us, and that beautiful man disappeared. The calm I’d felt, the warmth, the serenity, it faded.
“What’s that asshole doing around Edie?” Betty Jo doesn’t do quiet. Despite the loud music of the band, and the conversations, I heard her words to Fin. Her eyes followed my mystery man in a line away from me to the dance floor in front of the small stage.
Fin’s reply was too low to hear. I was distracted by what was at the end of Betty Jo’s glare. The man I’d fixated on was dancing with the bleached blonde he and Vega had been dancing with earlier. I figured she was trying for a job at Fantasies. She was pretty enough, but there was something off about her eyes. Too hungry or something. She focused all that hunger on the one man who’d made my heart skip. He gave it back. I turned to greet Fin and Betty Jo with a fake smile and hug.
“You being careful with that wrap?” Fin fussed with the corners of the tape to make certain it was secure. While he checked his work, Betty Jo commandeered the conversation. It was decided that the bar was too packed for eating inside, they’d order and move outside.
“Are you going to eat?” Fin asked.
I wasn’t hungry, at all. “I had dinner before I came over for the tattoo, and this,” I motioned to the shot glasses in front of me, “Put me over for the day. Next time.”
“Someday you’re going to just let that diet crap go and enjoy shit, Edie-babe. Woman’s got to have some vices.”
I laughed because it seemed like the thing to do.
“Speaking of vices …” Vega left us, and pulled TomTom onto the dance floor.
They were poetry together. It was a different type of dancing than I’d seen earlier. This time, Vega didn’t plan anything. TomTom led, she followed, they breathed together. I sighed at the beauty, and the way it made me feel empty. The order went in for Fin and Betty Jo’s food, and I nodded and smiled at the conversation around me.
I faked being happy to be around everyone. Even agreed to come out more often.
That was such a lie.
Indy
Betty Jo’s black eyes fixed on me within seconds of clearing the door. I swear that woman has radar for trouble. Maybe that’s why Fin was whipped. Or it could be that he’s an ugly mother fucker. That guy knows that he’d get none if it wasn’t for Betty Jo owning it.
Even I was scared of Betty Jo. The evil eye she gave me when she saw Edie leaning on me spoke of my death. Without a word, she eviscerated me, castrated me, then fed me to the dogs. Soft Edie Krupps was history. I stepped back and searched for Carla-Cathy, or whatever her name was. If I couldn’t have soft, I might as well have slut. That’s what everyone expected of me.
Cathy-ish was still on the dance floor. I cut in. No clue who I pissed off, just know that I got a shove in the back. I countered with a high elbow that probably clocked him in the throat. The wheezy gag I heard over the music was an indication I was right. Asshole, learn.
The girl thought it was hilarious. Score one for badass. I smiled, and she melted into me with a conniving smirk. I’d be smart to throw five condoms on if I touched that. Not that sex was going to happen. I tried, really tried, to teach her some better moves. It wasn’t working. She had jiggle down, a bit of twerk, and a lot of ooo-baby-I’m-gonna-lie-here-and-pretend.
There’s a direct correlation to ingenuity and flexibility in bed and dance. If you haven’t figured out that a girl who can turn it from slow to fast, change it up, drop it down, and kick it high isn’t a freak in bed, you’re missing out on an amazing experience. Especially when they can put their leg on your shoulder while standing up.
I was done. Carla drifted to another guy. Not one of the brothers, thank God. This guy did construction work for the local contractor. Good riddance. My focus instinctively turned back to Edie.
She hugged Fin, and then Betty Jo. I could see her agreeing to something. Probably another night out. Great. She’d be a fixture as soon as she warmed up to the crowd. I could tell she was the kind that loved everyone, but just couldn’t be a crowd person. There’s some who can fake it, others who are just happier with cats. That sucked, because pretty little Edie Krupp — yes, little. Four-inch heels and she reached barely up to my shoulder — pretty Edie was a love. Correction. That lean back into me she pulled? Not a love. Just love.
Dammit, I was going to do something foolish if I kept thinking like that.
It didn’t stop me from watching her. I clocked the two knot heads from the tire store also watching her walk to the door. Beers went down. I was in motion before I thought about it. My path was clearer than theirs, and they were shit at navigating the holes in a crowd.
Walt, president and badass of the Rebel Souls, couldn’t figure out how a guy who moves so slowly always managed to get to the center of a fight fastest. I told him to look up the Art of War. That wasn’t really an answer, but he thought it was.
Hell, maybe it was. Life is war. Learning to navigate through it and not get your ass killed is art. Art is passion, passion is fear turned on its side, and it’s all bullshit in the end. You play it safe and your life is little. All the while you think life is tough because there’s real shit out there you see the edges of. You play life big, and it will get you knocked down by someone bigger. The way I chose was to slide in the cracks, drift to the top, float others up around you so they are your flotsam when the storm kicks up. That’s living. That’s the secret. That’s where it all gets good, and things eat, or are eaten.
That same skill got me through the crowd and out the door. When Edie stopped at the edge of the parking lot to search the stars, I was there. And those two assholes were just clearing the door frame.
“You haven’t taken the wrapper off. It’s been over two hours.” I pointed at the tat.
“Oh!” She looked down. “Yeah, Fin told me to take it off and let it breathe, I didn't think it was a good idea in the bar.
“You’re right on that. Follow me.” I didn’t wait for her to make up her mind, just took her wrist and pulled her toward my bike.
A basic first aid kit was in my saddlebag. I let her arm go, and pulled out the spray bottle with mild cleanser, and handed her a couple of sterile pads. “Dab, don’t wipe.”
“It stings.”
“Sorry, there’s a bit of alcohol in this. Not the greatest for you, but put some Aquaphor on it and you’re good.”
“Um … I don’t think I have that at home.”
What an opening. I looked at her and tried to remember why I shouldn’t take it. “I have some at my house.” Shit. My stupid mouth moved. Dammit.
Her eyes went soft. Double dammit. Then the smile. “You trying to lure me back to your lair?”
Aw fuck. “Hell yeah!” Went my dick. It was a struggle to not answer the same. “Your call.”
There was hesitation as she made up her mind. Not good for me, but smart.
“I’d like that.”
But.
“But …”
“I’m Indy. Local slut, badass, fuck up. Full disclosure, babe, not a good guy.”
And she fucking smiled.
Edie
Oh! Indy was so cute. I could eat chocolate off him, and he’d be ticklish. I’m certain of that. He was also the man who made my customers rich enough to keep me happily immersed in all the sequins, spandex, and leather a costumer could ever dream. Completely out of my league. So, I opted for honesty, which is not out of character.
“Edie Krupps, recluse and goofball. Part fae, part mudhen. At your service.” I stuck out a hand instead of curtseying.
He laughed and took my hand, but not to shake it.
“Not mudhen, but yes, a magical fairy creature.” And there it was, the soft in his eyes, which I still didn’t know the color of, and that lean that is a prelude to a kiss. His lips changed shape. His eyes watched mine.
Don’t close your eyes, Edie. Take this one wide open, because th
is time, when you fall, watch the plunge. Suck it dry for the experience.
But, when his soft met my soft, I couldn’t help it. The world disappeared, and I was sucked into the mirrors. There was him, how good he kissed, and a million stars in a dark sky I couldn’t see because my eyes were shut.
“This guy bothering you?”
Two trolls from the iron world stood there. Yes, trolls. I knew their type. They’d ask for a girl’s permission, but even a maybe counted as a yes, and then you’d cry or worse. At the very least, you’d hate the stink of troll on you. I hated them even before I’d seen them.
“Edie? Am I bothering you?”
Indy was tense, but I’m certain troll one and troll two couldn’t tell. He held me. I was half-bent over from the force of his kiss, or me melting. Either way, I wasn’t in much of position to turn my head and glare at the trolls. I trusted he’d help me keep my balance until he had to drop me to kick their asses. His eyes are what I answered to. In a soft husky voice, I’d rarely ever used, “Absolutely not, dear prince.”
His face changed. Just slightly, but I could tell that the trolls had done something uncool. I put a foot back for balance. Luckily, I’d built these off the same design as most of my dance shoes, and was doubly lucky this parking lot was asphalt. Gravel would be bad. On the flat surface, my balance was secure. So, I took some of the weight, my weight … ugh, off of Indy’s arm, and waited for his move.
“Scram assholes.” He growled.
“Where’s your buddies, dickface?” Troll two thought he was smart. Trolls never are smart. Troll one laughed.
“Don’t need them, do I princess?” He smiled down at me. We’d straightened slightly, and were tense, waiting like an archer to get the aim just right.
I shook my head. My dark fae was going to kill them. Or maybe play with them, which probably be worse than death. Whatever choice he made, there’d be no contest.
Indy
Edie was a smart girl. She’d melted in my arms just seconds before, but was completely taunt now. Vega could hold this pose for a good three minutes before she complained about her back hurting. I was hoping sweet Edie could hold about twenty seconds. That’s how long I had before shit flew.
It would take them that long to figure out we were taking their bait.
And there it was, Bill/Bart, something with a B, stepped forward. I spoke up. “You do know Walt will buy his tires elsewhere if you start shit.”
It wasn’t a question. Simple statement of fact. The other one, probably more stupid than the first, said, “So the fuck what?”
Bill stopped. He turned back to his buddy. “Nothing to see here. They’re cool.”
And just like that, I could let Edie of the soft skin, curves, and amazing back muscles, stand up.
“I thought you were going to kick their ass?”
She’d whispered it, so the idiots couldn’t hear. Cute.
“Don’t always gotta kick ass, baby.” I spoke it into her ear, nuzzling her soft skin.
“Hum. Smart man. I like.”
She talks to herself. Too precious. What the fuck was I doing?
“May I ride on your bike to get to your lair?”
Oh. What the fuck was she doing, seriously?
I gave her a long look. Top to bottom it went. Top, ponytail cute, normal, pretty, etc. Downward, curves, curves, and damn … curves. The kind you’re wanting to toss around because they challenge you to try it.
And then those shoes. Baby had bad inside. It came out in the shoes.
Bad inside. Well.
Betty Jo was going to kill me. I was going to be a happy, dead man.
A dead man straddling his bike, holding it steady, and waiting for those shoes to find a foot peg.
She couldn’t swing her leg over the back, because of the custom queen seat. Despite the awkward angle, she managed the balance, and threaded her leg between me and the heavy seat. As many girls I had on the back of my bike, I needed comfort.
I made certain she was settled in. Seeing Edie there, I had clarity. The queen was on her throne. I had a premonition, knowing that things would go south, that I’d be taking that seat off in the future, if I survived Betty Jo.
Because there was no way sweet fae queen Edie was ever going to survive me.
Chapter 2: Midnight
Edie
I was on the back of an awesome bike. There was mechanical power under me, yet the seat was unlike anything I expected. You’d think a dark prince would have something thorny and scary to sit upon while he whisked you away, but this? It was deceptive. Much like something Lucifer would give you. Right before he dumped you in hell. That way, you’d remember one moment of sweet comfort, and it would torture you for eternity. You’d be wondering why it had been given so freely.
If you wonder why the Devil would do that, you’re the naive one.
I asked, “What time is it?”
Indy shrugged. “Guessing about midnight.” He didn't do anything mundane like look at a watch. I doubted he owned one, despite all the bangles and bobs on his fingers and wrists.
Midnight it was.
The bike roared, and I slipped through the mirrors with him. Happily on my way to ruin.
Indy
There was a time, not so long ago, when Walt described how you know if a girl is interested in you. He said, “When you’re riding a bike and they hold on through the turns, they don’t wanna fall off, but when they hold on, even on the straight-aways, they like you. They show they trust you by pointing out stuff along the way. And, when they really like you, they’ll find skin.”
Edie wasted no time finding skin. The queen seat, in all its beauty, was made so the rider didn’t have to hold on. Vega didn’t. She trusted me by pointing stuff out, but was fully into TomTom. You could see it, because she melded into his back on rides. Her eyes would close, and there was no question who she loved, because her hands disappeared. TomTom reciprocated the only way he could. On long straight-aways, when there was no danger, his hand would drop and cover hers, or hold her leg.
Most of the girls on my bike had their eye on someone else. Even Mary-Cherri, who slept my bed a lot, had her eye on Walt. I knew, Walt knew it, and until he lost his shot at our little pet killer, Cherri stayed on my bike. Since then, I’d had a new girl on my bike every weekend. None of them found skin.
For all of a slut I was, I didn’t do my girls. They knew they were safe so they’d push it. Pretend I was giving them the good stuff, and no one else compared. I’d come downstairs with panties in my pocket, lipstick on my stomach, or other places, and not be the wiser. It was a game they played. We’d go up to crash after crazy nights. They’d tell me secrets no man should know, and fall asleep on my shoulder.
It was all for show. And, because they were all my girls, a brother had to go through my protection to get to them. Only TomTom ever broke that rule. I guess he knew I would have never let Vega go.
Edie was playing with my hair with her right hand, brushing my neck every so often. The other hand slipped under my open jacket, and politely rested on my waist. Like it belonged there or something. And yes, that one was on skin, too. I had my vest and my jacket and that’s it. If Ol’ Dick ever enforced a no-colors rule, he’d lose eighty percent of his crowd.
I heard her sigh. My helmet was wired to the girl’s helmet. So, it was as if she’d just sighed in my ear. I shifted in the seat to not squash my growing dick.
Sweet Edie loved to ride. I obliged, and took the back way around to my small apartment on the west edge of town. It was shit for neighborhood, but the rent was about as cheap as it got for two bedrooms. The best part was no one complained about loud pipes at one a.m.
I patted my knife. Then jiggled my side holster feeling the weight of my—illegal as hell on me—gun. There was a party going on in 2D. Those were typical. There was also activity outside 1F, which was no good. The little shit hanging out there was spotting for the dealers inside. We’d have to walk right past him. I wasn’t worr
ied about me, I was worried for sweet Edie and those fucking kick-ass heels.
It would have to be the knife if I needed it. No way I’d get the draw on that squirrely little mother fucker. That’s probably why Danteesh chose him. Asshole.
I set the stand and let Edie climb off. She waited while I flipped up the pegs and shook everything into place. I tucked her on my left, and unsnapped the tie-down strap on my knife sheath. She didn’t miss the action, and squeezed in just a bit tighter to me. Good girl.
There was a chin lift and some staring—mostly mine—as I walked her past the punk. I could feel his eyes on my back. When I positioned Edie away from him, I turned my back to her to unlock my door. Not polite, but damn safer than turning my back on Squirrel-boy. It wasn’t a palace.
Inside the building wasn’t much better. I didn’t keep food in the house. That didn’t stop the occasional roach or mouse. Luckily no rats. LA had rats. Houston had cockroaches the size of rats. Seattle, the rats begged money off you. Chicago had all three. Home was where clothes went. Here, I had a bed away from the compound. It also held what little else I had that I couldn’t cram into my king saddlebags.
Edie settled on the couch I’d covered with a soft wool blanket from Sturgis. The blanket camouflaged the hideously stained, ripped, floral print fabric. She looked around. Needless to say, there wasn’t much to look at.
I didn’t own much. Learned that as fast as they can put you in, all the crap you keep in a rental is gone. Except what you can wear. They bag that shit, and store it. When you get out, your clothes no longer fit. That money in your wallet? It disappears. But, a stupid ring, or that Marlboro belt buckle, survives. So, my money went into rings, charms made of one-hundred percent silver, gold coins sewn into belt linings, that sort of thing. Fast, pawnable cash. Hard assets somehow disappeared between lock up and parole. Bank accounts in your name are seized for restitution.