by Zahra Girard
“Fuck, Stone, we’re only an hour from Vegas. How about we make a detour once this shit with Cooper is over?” Axel says. “Think about it — most of those casinos will give you free drinks as long as you’re at the tables, and I tell you what, I can play slots real fucking slow if I have to. We could practically drink for free.”
“Axel, when this is over, we’re going back to the clubhouse. I want to see my family. Hug my daughter. Fuck my wife and then take her out to dinner without having to look over my shoulder,” Stone says.
I look down, check my gun while Stone talks about his family. How’s he going to react when he finds his daughter’s gone and I was the one who told her to leave?
“Tell you what, big boy: if BD Cooper is really in there like you say he is, I’ll meet you in Vegas once all this shit is over. And the first round of slots will be on me,” Agent Perez says. There’s a hint in her voice when she says ‘big boy’ that makes me give her a sideways look.
Is she hitting on Axel?
A fucking FBI agent flirting with big ol’ Axel?
Axel must hear it, too, because he shoots me a grin behind Agent Perez’s back and then slips his arm around her shoulder.
“You’ve got yourself a deal. A week from now, it’ll be just you, me, and all the tequila you can handle.”
“We’ll see if you can keep up, big boy,” she says. There’s a little purr in her voice and she leans back into the big man. “But that’s provided he’s in there. And we actually get that son of a bitch.”
“Oh, he’s in there, all right,” I say. “I took the little GPS chip out of your partner’s phone and soldered it into the power supply for one of the USB ports.”
“How’d you get his phone?” She says, eyeing me suspiciously.
“BD sent me to break into his hotel room. The old bastard wanted to kill your partner himself — it was personal to him, your partner hunting him all these years — but he didn’t want to get his hands dirty, otherwise. So he leaned on our club, threatened some of our families, to get us to do his grunt work for him.”
“We held out on him for a while, agent,” Stone adds. “But I’m fucking tired of these people coming after my family. If you have a problem with how we handled this, charge me and leave my men alone. I’m the one who bears responsibility.”
I give Stone a questioning look. Until today, he had no idea of the shit that had gone down, and now he’s stepping up to take the fall if this goes sideways? Will he still feel that way when he finds out what Adella and I have been up to?
I doubt it.
If he throws me to the feds, I’ll deserve every damn year of whatever sentence they give me.
“If I come out of this with BD Cooper, then I don’t give a shit about whatever you and your club did to make that happen. I want this bastard, and I want to watch him squirm,” she says.
“Speaking of which, how do you want this to go down?” Stone says. “This is your raid, Agent Perez.”
She smiles. It’s slight, dark, sinister.
“The warrant says dead or alive. BD Cooper’s a menace and, in the words of inimitable Dolph Lundgren in Rocky IV, ‘If he dies, he dies.’”
Axel squeezes my arm and leans in to whisper. “Did you hear that shit? She likes Rocky, brother.”
Agent Perez turns and looks at Axel.
“I do. I like most action movies. Lethal Weapon, Rambo, The Terminator. And, if you play your cards right, I’ll even be in the mood to see a boxing match while we’re in Vegas.”
“Is that code for something, Agent Perez?” Axel says.
“Call me Megan. And what do you think? Is two people engaging in a strenuous, bare-chested, sweaty activity possibly code for something else? Because, if so, I can’t imagine what.”
“Oh sweet mercy,” Axel says. “You all need to hurry and figure this shit out, because I’m about to charge in there myself so we can get the real party started.”
“Keep it in your pants, Axel. For now, at least,” she says. “And get your guns ready, boys. We move in now — straightforward and dirty, that’s how we’re taking care of this.”
Four of us — Stone, Agent Perez, Axel and myself — walk through the parking lot, guns in our hands, murder in our hearts. Revenge waits for us inside the confines of this fleabag flophouse.
First, we head toward the front office. Agent Perez flashes her badge at the wide-eyed slovenly man behind the front desk and rips a room key out of his hands. Moments later, we’re charging through the hallway, heading toward the third-floor room where our quarry awaits.
Outside his door, Perez raises her closed fist, calling us to a stop.
She holds out three fingers, then two, then one. Go.
She inserts the keycard. Kicks the door open.
There’s a thunderous crack. Blood sprays from her leg. She screams, but still charges forward, gun up, undeterred. Inside, three sets of surprised eyes whip in our direction. Cooper and his two remaining men. A shotgun rigged to a tripwire dangles from just inside the doorframe.
Before they can move, we unleash on them. I pop a bullet off between the eyes of one slack-jawed piece of shit, Stone buries a bullet in the chest of another, and Agent Megan Perez storms forward — bloody leg and all — and hammers the butt of her gun right in BD Cooper’s face. The old man’s nose explodes in a misty cloud of red and he falls backward, taking the chair he’s sitting in with him.
Standing over him, she plants her good leg on her chest and aims her gun right at his face. The criminal giant brought low beneath the bloody leg of the vengeful FBI agent.
“If my partner was still alive, he’d insist I arrest you. But since he’s not here, I get the satisfaction of seeing you squirm before I blow your fucking head off,” she says. Then she cocks her head to the side and clicks her tongue. “Good enough. Bowen Dale Cooper, rot in hell.”
With the pull of a trigger, she spills his brains out of the back of his skull.
Then she turns to us.
“Small town like this, the local police aren’t going to have shit to do. They’ll probably be here in a couple minutes at most. You should get your asses out of here,” she says. “Oh, and Axel? I’ll be calling you.”
“You going to be good on that leg?” Stone says.
She shrugs. “It’s just buckshot. I’ve had worse. Get going, Stone. I can explain three dead criminals, and the leg wound helps me sell it, but I can’t explain having an out-of-town biker gang as backup.”
“Come on, brothers, let’s go home.”
The ride home passes in a blur and, no matter how fast I go, I can’t escape the sense of dread that creeps over me. How will Stone react when he finds Adella gone? Will I still have a place in the MC when he finds out I told his daughter to leave, to set out on her own and build a life for herself?
Or will I wind up like Silas? Or Bowen Dale Cooper? Dead in a bloody mess, all for the crime of coming between Stone and his family.
The entire ride, I fight with those dark thoughts.
And they come to life when we arrive back at the clubhouse. When Stone steps through the door and sees the tears in his wife’s eyes. When she runs to his side and throws her arms around him, whispering something in his ear. They come to life in the thundercloud of his face, the black storm in his eyes as he turns to me and says, “Snake, where the fuck is my daughter?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Adella
Alone, I spend a night in a dingy hotel room near the venue. I could probably afford something more than the cheap hotel where I’m staying but, as I start looking at locations, it sinks in how alone I am, how I don’t even have a job, and I find the cheapest acceptable place I can. Still, I end up switching rooms twice before I feel comfortable unpacking. The first room has a roach the size of a house cat chilling on my pillow when I enter. The second room smells like someone’s grandmother died in it while smoking a cigar made of mold.
But the third room? Well, it still sucks — the air condition
er only works at half strength and the person in the room next door watches their television with the volume cranked up to eleven — but it sucks at an acceptable level.
Besides, I feel like I deserve a sucky night. My parents will worry when they realize that I’ve left. I can picture the look of grief on my mom’s face, I can see the steely look my father will get, when he’s doing his best to keep the pain he’s feeling in check.
I’ve hardly unpacked my things when my phone starts blowing up. First with phone calls — all of which I ignore — and then text messages. All from my mom. It’s so unlike her to act like this — even when the Makris family was storming our clubhouse, or when those Cooper’s men were trying to abduct her, she kept her cool — but then, I’m not too surprised. It’s hitting her that, after all the danger she’s been through, now — for real — she’s losing her daughter.
Then my father tries to call. Just once. He leaves me a short message, a few gruff words telling me he loves me, he wants me to call, and that my mother misses me.
He follows it up with a single text: We miss you. We love you.
I answer: I love you, too. I miss you, too. But I am fine. And I need to do this for myself.
My phone buzzes once more. I’m proud of you, is all it says.
There’s a knife of guilt sitting in my stomach. This is something I have to do for myself, my future’s on the line, but that doesn’t ease the pain that comes with leaving my family behind like I’ve done.
My phone goes quiet after for a little while. And my attention drifts over to the minibar, and the only thing that keeps me from cracking open the pint-sized bottle of Bacardi is the ten-dollar price tag.
Determined to think about anything but the family and friends I’ve left behind, I turn on the TV. Through a snowstorm of static, I watch some HBO — The Hurt Locker — and my mind drifts to the one thing I can’t bear to think about: Snake. To the secrets he told me, about how I was the only one who could help him deal with the pain he carries inside.
Will he be OK without me there?
How will he manage that burden that he’s borne for so long?
Maybe I should call him.
I crack only five minutes in to that movie. Text him three simple words: How are you?
The answer doesn’t come for half an hour. I know, deep down to the core of my soul, that he saw my text right away. It’s this ineffable feeling that settles over me the moment I click ‘send’, that very moment he also lays eyes on my text, and he fights with the urge to answer.
And then his answer comes: I’m fine, Addie. Good luck in your show. Stay strong. I love you.
Stay strong.
Don’t crack.
Don’t even think of coming back.
Don’t dare invalidate the sacrifice I’m making. That you’re making.
Because, out of everything, the one thing I’m truly sacrificing is him; I can rebuild my relationship with my parents. I can regain their trust. But I can never again in my life know what it’s like to have Snake hold me in his arms while I drift off to sleep. I’ll never learn every one of his secret smiles. I’ll never see the time where he feels like he’s finally moved on from his wounds from war, where he faces the day free and happy.
I’ll never know what it’s like to call him my old man. Or him call me his old lady.
Never know how it feels to wear his property patch.
Before I know it, my teardrops blanket the screen of my phone and I shove it under my pillow to keep away the temptation.
I’m giving all that up.
And he’s giving so much, too. A sacrifice and a secret — his relationship with me — that he’ll carry quietly until the day he dies.
But I’m not as strong as I wish I was.
That night, before I fall asleep, I text him one last thing. Something that I know I shouldn’t. Something that could ruin us both. But something I can’t keep inside.
A hope. A wish. A dream.
* * * * *
The night of the show, I’m swamped by strangers. People I’ve never met, people I’ll probably never see again, people who are not even my type of people at all — they’re clean-cut, they’re wealthy, they’ve never known what it’s like to shoot a gun, to have their lives in danger and, hell, they’ve probably never ridden a motorcycle even once in their lives.
These people aren’t my people.
But these people love my work.
And these people, in the midst of fawning over the photographs I have set up all over the wall of the gallery for presentation, they buy my work.
They buy it, they compliment it, they compliment me and my ‘compositional eye’ and they make me smile in pride. Even if their words ring hollow because I know that we’ll never truly be the same people. Never share the same experiences or aspirations.
To them, in so many ways, I’m just a novelty. A look at a blue-collar, rugged, hidden side of this country that they’ll never set foot in.
I hear their words. I see them. And I see them for who they are.
Down to the very last fake smile.
“Well, isn’t that the handsomest man to ever be put to film? Do you have any more pictures of this stud? And any discounts for bulk purchases? Cause, honey, I am in the mood to decorate every one of my walls with this sexy hunk of man.”
Startled, I turn to face the source of the voice.
And the dumbest, most confused gasp and laugh burst from my mouth at the same time.
“Mom? What the fuck are you doing here?”
It’s her. It’s really her. Dressed up in her fanciest clothes; a dress displaying a scandalous amount of cleavage and an opulent necklace that was a wedding anniversary gift from Ruby. It glitters and sparkles in the light of the art gallery.
“What? I can’t take my wife out to a date every once in a while?”
My father comes around the corner. Except, he doesn’t look like my father. He’s wearing a collared shirt and slacks. He’s combed his hair, and there’s not a hint of grease under his fingernails.
And boy, is he smiling. Beaming. I’ve never seen him so proud.
“Dad? Mom? Seriously, what the hell? How did you get here?”
His face gets serious. “Snake and I had a talk. A long talk. It got a little heated. I made him crack. He told us everything that happened, everything that you were worried about, and that this was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up. It made me realize that, if my daughter is willing to run off to make this happen, I need to back off a bit and re-think a lot of the stuff I’m doing.”
Snake cracked? How? Visions of Snake, dead or tortured, fly through my head.
“Your father knew something was up. So did I. And Snake was acting a little strange. He kept checking his phone and then, about when you stopped answering our messages, Snake started drinking hard. I also may have also given him a lot of free drinks to get him talking.”
Suddenly I realize that I’m standing in a gallery with my parents — the people I love and respect most in the world — and I haven’t hugged them, yet. I correct that. I squeeze them as tight as I can, both together and individually.
“I never in a million years would have thought you would come here. Or that you’d even let me come here.”
“Never let you?” My father says. “What gives you that idea?”
My mom gives him a sideways look. But she lets me answer.
“There’s always a threat, dad. And any time there is, you do your thing, and it means I’m sort of kept locked up.”
“My thing?”
“That sexy, beastly, protective thing you do, love,” my mom says. “It’s one of the many things I love about you, it’s why I feel so safe. But I think maybe it’s time we do it a little less with Addie.”
“I’ll take it under consideration,” he says. Then he slips his hand around my mother’s waist. “We can talk about that after the show, all right? I didn’t drive my ass down here to LA not to see my daughter’s art. Let’s go loo
k around, babe.”
They move through the gallery, taking their time to stop and look at every one of my photographs. I stare after them, struck with pride.
Then footsteps sound behind me. And a familiar hand caresses my shoulder.
“Hey, Addie.”
“Snake?”
“Yeah. You didn’t think I’d miss out on this, did you?”
I’m sure he has more he wants to say, but I don’t give him a chance. Turning, I press my lips to his and kiss him until my head swims. I don’t care who sees, don’t care who knows, there’s something so special about having this man here at this moment. To see me take these first steps in making something of myself.
“I take it you’re not upset I caved to Stone?”
I laugh. “To be honest, I’m not surprised. The longest I kept a secret from him — well, excluding today — was ten minutes. And it was serious, too; I’d taken his bike out for a ride. I was sixteen, and his bike is a monster, and I crashed it half a block away from the driveway.”
“Did he do that thing he does with his eyes?”
I nod. “Where he stares into your soul and suddenly knows every guilty thought you’ve ever had in your life? Yes. And it doesn’t matter how many times you go through it — there is no immunity.”
“I told him about us, too.”
“And you’re still alive.”
“That remains to be seen,” my father says, coming up to stand next to us. “You’re my daughter. It’s my job to watch out for you. Your mother and I have been out-of-our-heads in love with you since the day we first saw you, Addie. It makes thinking about taking a step back and relinquishing some of my duties to another man almost impossible to wrap my head around.”
“I don’t need a man to take care of me, dad. But I wouldn’t mind having Snake around as a partner. I like him,” I say. I put my hand on Stone’s arm to ease the blow of acknowledging that now he’s no longer the single most important man in my life.