Chapter 4
The Girl
I came to lying on a table or cot of some kind. I slowly blinked my eyes, trying to remember how I got here. I felt hazy like I did after I experienced my first flu. Once the worst was over and I was on the mend, my body felt like it was moving underwater, and every small movement cost more energy than it should. Weak, wobbly…hazy. I slowly began to sit up when I was startled by a hand on my shoulder.
Instinctively, I grabbed the offending hand and bent it backward toward the wrist. I turned my shoulder so I could throat-punch whoever thought it was a good idea to touch me. Before my fist made contact, a voice I recognized called out, “Chica loca, you’re okay! No one is going to hurt you. Let Ratched go . Estas segura aqui .” I let go of Ratched, whoever he was, and looked at Bones standing in the doorway.
“What happened?” I looked from Bones, who had entered the room and sat in a chair near the bed on which I was lying, to the new guy who was massaging his wrist. I realized that I had seen him before, in the church room. He was one of the men seated at the table. Ratched cleared his throat.
“You had a panic attack and hyperventilated until you passed out.” I eyed him up and down. He was about 6’2” and broad across the shoulders. He was a big dude, but not a particularly hard-looking one. He had soft hazel eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses and a long, wavy mop of auburn hair pulled back into a man bun. Unlike Bones, who was covered in ink, Ratched didn’t have any tattoos that I could see. Ratched wore a pair of hospital scrubs, which didn’t do anything to make him look less intimidating.
I huffed at him and used my finger to draw patterns in the scratchy blanket placed over me. “Unlikely. I don’t have panic attacks. I’m a pretty stalwart gal; I attack panic, it doesn’t attack me.” Ratched nodded, which was a comforting gesture even if he didn’t actually agree with me.
“I’m a nurse. Do you mind if I check your vital signs so I can make sure you’re recovered from… whatever happened?” I considered Ratched. A man that thick could do a lot of damage really quickly to someone as dainty as I was if he could catch me, which in this small room I had no doubt he could. He realized that I was in threat assessment mode, so he stood still with his hands casually visible at his sides while he waited for my permission to touch me. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to hurt me just yet, I nodded to him.
With gentle hands and an efficient air, Ratched listened to my heartbeat and checked my blood pressure, explaining what he was doing before he did it. Bones remained seated during the assessment, playing with something small in his hand. He rolled it along his knuckles, which was a pretty neat trick. It almost looked like dice, but it was…wrong somehow. I was concentrating on figuring out what he had, so I was startled when Ratched cleared his throat. “So…your heart and lungs sound good. Pulse is normal, so it’s safe to say the pan…whatever caused you to lose consciousness is over. Do you know your name?”
I scrunched my nose in confusion, “I told President Duke my name is Girl.”
“Right, I apologize. I just want to make sure you didn’t hit your head when you fell. Do you know what year it is?” I rolled my eyes.
“Yes, it’s 2024. Our president is that old dude, and you have four fingers and one thumb on each hand. Can I go?” Sheila must be missing me by now.
Ratched smiled gently. “I’m almost done. How old are you, Girl?” I shifted around uncomfortably.
“I don’t know.” Bones looked at me like he was confused, and then Ratched opened his big questioning mouth again.
“You can’t remember?” He seemed concerned that I had bonked my head so hard I’d scrambled my brain. “Can you tell us your birth date or social security number? Anything to help identify you?” I squirmed a bit, feeling my face heat with frustration and embarrassment. I huffed a breath and snapped, “I remember everything . I don’t KNOW how old I am. I don’t KNOW my birth date. I don’t KNOW if I even have a social security number. I don’t…” I choked back a frustrated sob. “I don’t even have a real name. Why the hell do you even want to know? I just want to leave, so if that’s all, Sheila and I will happily fuck off now.”
Holding his hands up in surrender, Ratched darted his eyes to Bones like he wasn’t sure what to do, but I wasn’t done. I was feeling defensive and embarrassed, which was not a good combo. “You can’t even print me!” I held up my hands, palm out, showing him where my fingerprints had been burned off. “No dental records, either. I’m no one. I’m nothing. I don’t exist.” While my outburst might have startled Ratched, Bones looked on quietly with a face like thunder. Well, if he didn’t like the drama, he could find a new llama.
Moving to stand, I was surprised to hear Bones innocently say, “What about Sheila, chica loca?”
I narrowed my eyes.“Sheila goes where I go. Unless it’s to the bathroom, then she waits outside.”
“I doubt Slyzec treated her as well as she deserved. Who knows when the last time she’s had routine maintenance done or what kind of state she’s in internally. I know how much she means to you, and since Duke officially stated that the club owes you…We have a garage where Sheila could go and get the works. You could stay here until she’s ready to leave. You’d have a room to yourself in the clubhouse, food, and no one to bother you.” I mulled over his words, sifting through the stream of information to see if I could find any lies.Lies were like tiny nuggets of gold. If you sifted through a man’s words, you could find them. It just took patience.
“You’d take care of Sheila, make sure she’s okay…and let me squat here…for free? I wouldn’t be expected to… do things or…earn my keep?” I’d had offers from slimeballs before, all swiftly and violently rejected. Even though I didn’t know my birth date, I did know that it wasn’t yesterday. Needless to say, I was suspicious.
“It’s not free, chica loca.” Before I could bristle and tell Bones I didn’t barter with my lady garden, he continued, “It’s not free if we owe you. You pre-paid in Slyzec’s blood. Once we’re done getting Sheila in tip-top shape and you’re satisfied, we’ll be one step closer to being even.” I narrowed my eyes again.
“Pinky promise?” Trust wasn’t something I handed out very often. I couldn’t trust myself sometimes. I was an impatient bitch; I couldn’t even trust myself not to scarf a molten hot microwave burrito even though I knew it would burn three layers of skin off the roof of my mouth the moment I bit into it. Now, I was supposed to trust Bones and Los Cuervos with Sheila? I used the Force to search my feelings, but I didn’t sense any bad vibes from Bones. He held his hand up, and we made the most sacred and binding oath in the history of humankind: the pinky swear.
“Okay, I stay here while you give Sheila the most deluxe spa treatment you offer. She deserves the works for all she’s been through. A complete glow-up. No one touches me, and I get my own room to sleep in. Oh, and food! When she’s done, we can go. Then we’re even. Do we need Priest and President Duke in here to notarize our agreement or write it on parchment or something?”
“No, chica loca. No notary necessary. If you give me the keys, I can take Sheila to the garage. Ratched will take you to your room and give you a tour. Someone will come get you in an hour or so for dinner.” He nodded to Ratched, who held the door open for me like a gentleman.
I rose from the bed and handed the keys to Bones as I passed him on the way to the door. “Be gentle with her, Bones. She’s a lady, even if she doesn’t look like one.”
Bones nodded his head gravely, taking my words as seriously as I meant them.
“Si, we don’t hurt females here.” I touched the bruises on my face, his eyes darkening as they tracked the movement.
“We’ll see, I guess,” I muttered. I followed Ratched down the hallway and into the club common area. I’d never been in a motorcycle club before, but it kind of looked like a reverse mullet; party in the front and business in the back. Ratched led me down the hallway from what I assumed was their infirmary. Instead of continuing down to where their church room was, he turned right.
I had to put a little pep in my step in order to keep up with Ratched since his long strides were equal to two of mine. Passing through a set of French doors, Ratched closed them behind us.
“Kitchen and dining area is just down to the right, and to the left is the laundry room.” I looked where he pointed, adding the landmark to my mind map. We passed through a second set of doors, old-timey saloon-style ones this time. Now, we were standing in a large room that was obviously the main clubhouse area. It looked like a dive bar. On the left side of the room were two pool tables and an area to throw darts. A jukebox played near a small open area, probably for dancing. Or ritualistic sacrifice, what did I know? Kids these days are into all kinds of stuff.
There were booths lining the southern wall, where the exit was. I marked this in my mind map, too. Always know where the exits were. Comfy chairs and a few sofas were strategically placed in the center of the room where a large flat-screen TV was perched on an entertainment center against a wall, and the right side of the room held a fully stocked bar lined with stools and an honest-to-Bob spittoon. I took a step forward to see if I could get a hole-in-one when Ratched ushered me to a staircase by the far end of the bar, which led to the second floor and presumably the bedrooms. Spoilsport. Come hell or high water, I was spitting in that spittoon.
Ratched pointed everything out like a good tour guide.
“All the guys are still in church, and the ole ladies are working on dinner. It may be quiet now, but pretty soon, it’ll sound like a frat house.” I’d have to take his word for it since I’d never been in a frat house. Hopefully hiding my ignorance, I nodded like this made complete sense to me .
“Around ten or so, the club girls will show up. They aren’t allowed up in the living quarters unless escorted by a brother, so don’t worry about that.”
“What’s a club girl?” I asked. “Oooh, do they carry clubs and wail on evildoers?” Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all. I’d join Priest’s cult if I could have a club and a gang of unruly ladies to hit stuff with.
Ratched blushed as he led me up the stairs, which I found absolutely adorable. He brushed a few strands of hair that had escaped his bun out of his eyes and blew out a breath, “Uh…no. They’re girls, uh, well, I mean, they’re women. They like to hang out at the clubhouse and, uhm, show the brothers a good time.”
I ponder that for a tick.“Like they entertain you with interpretive dance and jazzy musical numbers…or…”
Ratched cleared his throat. “More like spend time and provide companionship as well as… engage in sexual relationships if they want to.” Ohhhhh, that kind of entertainment. Ratched looked like a ’roided out tomato with how red he was.
“Relax, Ratched, I don’t judge. As long as everyone is a consenting adult, I like to mind my own beeswax. One time, I caught Creepy Steve making it with a shoe, but did I judge? Nope. I ignored him till he was done, and then offered his shoe a mostly clean tissue to tidy up with. I may be homeless, but I have manners.”
Ratched must have been moved by my keen ability to empathize with others, or maybe it was my impressive preparedness in emotionally charged situations, but he seemed to be at a loss for words. I had that effect on people sometimes. Don’t know my own strength, I guess. Shaking his head, Ratched opened a door and gestured for me to enter. He pointed at a small en suite bathroom to the right of the door and said, “Toiletries and towels are in there, as well as some other essential personal items. This is a guest room, but the other rooms up here are occupied. One of the ole ladies put some spare clothes in the bathroom for you if you’d like a shower. Someone will come up in about an hour to get you.” With that, he turned and left the room, softly closing the door behind him.
I took a moment to take in the room. A full-sized bed and a nightstand were against the left wall, and the bathroom was on the right-hand side, along with a dresser topped with a small television. An oscillating fan stood next to the window on the wall opposite the door. The walls were a cool gray color, and the window was framed by sheer forest-green curtains. Drifting from the door to the window, I looked out upon a large compound located somewhere in the desert near Reno. Motorcycles filled the lot outside of the clubhouse with a few pickup trucks and SUVs peppered in. A little way in the distance, I saw several single-family homes and some outbuildings. A long driveway led to a gate in the fence that surrounded the property. President Duke seemed to preside over an orderly organization. I didn’t feel completely one hundred percent safe here, but to be honest, I’ve never felt that anywhere. I felt safer here than I did sleeping in alleys, but not as safe as I did in my nest in Sheila’s cargo area. But, on the bright side, this room had a shower in it, and Sheila didn’t, so…silver linings or whatever.
After the longest, most luxurious shower of my life, where I frequently thanked Bob for indoor plumbing and the invention of shampoo, I toweled off and stood in front of the steamy bathroom mirror. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen my clean reflection staring back at me. Wet-nap baths or quick cold showers in shelters were a common occurrence for me. I wasn’t used to having the time to really see myself, much less a version of me that wasn’t bedraggled looking. My right cheekbone was bruised, and my left eye was sporting a shiner. I’m sure the hot shower hadn’t helped with the swelling…but all in all, I’d seen worse.
I found a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and a hairbrush in a drawer and got to work making myself as presentable as I could be. The clothes someone had left were on the counter. I found clean panties, a pair of black leggings, and a faded purple tank top with a built-in shelf for the girls. Whoever lent me the top had slightly smaller boobs than I did because mine were spilling out of the neckline a little bit. Checking myself out in the mirror, I whistled. I was straight, and even I wanted to motorboat me right now.
My long ash-blond hair had dried in a wavy mass just past my shoulders. It wasn’t really in any style; I had cut it myself when I could, and you could definitely tell as it grew in unevenly. My green eyes looked large on my face, and I appeared years younger in these clothes than I did in my hobo clothes. It was a proven scientific fact that hobo clothes made you look older than you were and usually lumpier too. I wasn’t sure how old I was, but I looked older than most teenagers I saw in the city but younger than a lot of the moms who pushed their strollers in shopping centers.
The new-to-me clothes someone left were comfortable, but they put my body on display in a way I wasn’t used to. I spent so much time covering as much of my scarred skin as I could while living rough that having so much on display made me feel exposed. And not the Creepy Steve kind of exposed, thank you very much. The psychological kind. I turned left and right, gazing at my reflection. I definitely didn’t look pretty right now, but I did look clean, which was better, in my opinion.
A knock on my door ended my one-woman staring contest. “Come in, I’m decent. Well, I’m not naked, anyway.” The door opened, and a curvy, petite girl with sun-kissed skin and long, curly black hair walked in, waving awkwardly.
“Hi, uhm, I’m Lennon. Damn, Girl, that tank is working for you! I was worried about sizing, but it looks better on you than it ever looked on me.” I preened a bit, unused to praise like that from a fellow female.Or anyone.
“Thanks for letting me borrow it. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can wash my old clothes.”
“No, keep it! Like I said, it looks better on you. I’ve been trying to clear my closet out for months, and you’d be doing me a favor if I could pawn some of it off on you.” She seemed so nice, and she was even trying to spare my feelings about needing free clothes. I wasn’t used to random acts of kindness, and I felt a little out of my depth .
Unsure of what to do with my hands, I gave her finger guns and said, “That’s what she said.” Lennon threw her head back and laughed.
“Come on, I’ll show you to the dining room. The ole ladies made spaghetti.”
I followed Lennon down the stairs and into the main part of the clubhouse. A few men at the bar wore leather biker cuts, and one youngish-looking guy stood behind the bar serving drinks. Everyone tracked my movements, which made me feel hyperaware of my surroundings. I felt like a rabbit being stalked by a hawk circling far above, a sensation I loathed. I wasn’t a rabbit; I was a hedgehog. Try to swoop down and pick me up, boys, I’ll prickle the shit out of you.
“Ignore them,” Lennon said. “They were out at one of the club’s businesses and weren’t at church today, but trust me, everyone here has heard of the badass who killed Slyzec. They’re just curious. If anyone gives you a hard time, let me know. I may have never cut a man’s hands off, but I can drop kick a scrotum with the best of ’em.”
I snorted back a laugh and turned before exiting through the saloon doors to give the guys a wink.
Dinner was laid out buffet style in the large dining room in chafing dishes on a table against the wall. Women came in and out of the kitchen, depositing food into the dishes while a couple of club members carried in stacks of plates, napkins, and silverware.
“Find yourself a seat. I’m gonna go help bring the bread out.” Lennon gestured, pointing me toward the table. Pitchers of beer, lemonade, and water were spaced out along a feast-sized rectangular dining table. Bikers, women, and a few kids came and sat down while I grabbed a seat near the door in case I needed to beat a hasty retreat. Lennon backed into the room carrying the bread and turned, smiling, placing baskets of bread on the table and then giving an older MC member a kiss on the forehead before she came to sit next to me. He was noticeably older than Lennon, a big burly-looking bald white guy with a long, grizzly beard.
Everyone at the table chatted, waiting for the go-ahead to start eating, I assumed. I leaned into Lennon and asked, “Who’s that you kissed? Your boyfriend?”
Lennon snorted into the glass of lemonade she had been drinking and spluttered ,
“Oh God no! That’s my dad.” She shuddered. “So my dad is Kincaid, but his road name is Sticks. You can call him either. He’s not particular about it, but some of the brothers are.”
“Road name?” I was confused and not gonna lie…a little jealous. I couldn’t even get one name, and these people got two? “So does everyone here have a road name? Do I know anyone’s real name? What’s your real name?” I didn’t know why this bothered me so much, but it did. Lennon sensed that I was agitated but didn’t get defensive like I thought she would. Like most people did when I reacted to things in ways people thought odd.
“It’s okay. It’s just part of MC culture. Members have their birth name, and then a name that they go by as a member. For example, my dad’s government name is Kincaid Campbell, but when he joined the MC, he earned a road name. It’s kind of like a nickname, but it’s usually personal and says something about who the member is. Dad’s is Sticks. He played the drums in a band when he was younger and still almost always has a pair of drumsticks on him. His tapping drives me nuts sometimes, but it’s just how he gets rid of excess energy. He plays at the bar in town occasionally for fun, but not as much as he did when my mom was alive.” Lennon looked down at her plate, and I could tell she remembered something that used to make her happy but now made her sad. She took a deep breath, settling herself before she continued. “Some brothers only go by their road name. I’m not even sure what their actual names are. I’m pretty sure everyone you’ve, uhm…encountered so far has given you their road name since you’re a stranger.”
“So is Lennon your road name? What does it mean?”
“No, there aren’t any female members of Los Cuervos MC. My real name is Lennon. It’s archaic bullshit, but most MCs are staunch supporters of the patriarchy. The women you’ll see here fall into three categories. There are the ole ladies: the wives or committed partners to members. Next, you’ve got the daughters, nieces, and other female family members. You generally will only see the kids here on family dinner nights. The third type of women you’ll see here are the club girls.” Lennon’s lip curled a bit like she smelled something gross or was impersonating Elvis. “The club girls fuck around with the members and hope one of them will be chosen to become an ole lady. They tend to be of the catty, vain, slutty variety but… to each her own. They don’t fuck with me; I don’t fuck with them.” Interesting. Lennon didn’t seem too fond of the club girls. I was curious as to why, but my questions had to wait because at that moment, Duke, Bones, Priest, and a woman walked into the dining room, and all the chatter immediately ceased.
Priest scanned the room like he was searching for someone. His eyes rested on me for a moment before he scowled and resumed their journey around the room. He stopped at Ratched, who gave his head a slight shake. Hmm, I wonder what that was about? Bones gave me a small nod in recognition before skipping over Lennon at my side and turning to Duke. Lennon stiffened at this, her hand tightening into a fist before it slowly unclenched. Interesting. Duke murmured something to the woman at his side, whose sad brown eyes flicked to me and away again. She looked down at her feet before Duke cleared his throat and spoke.
“We’re glad you could all join us for family dinner. Thank you to the hands that prepared this food and the hard work that provided it. Everyone, dig in.” The room was suddenly full of people lining up to grab a plate and fill it at the buffet. Men and women with kids helped them fill plates and sat at the table to eat. Some of the men filled plates and left the room to eat in the kitchen or at the bar. Conversations broke out all over, and the clubhouse was filled with voices, laughter, and the clinking of silverware on dishes.
“Come on,” Lennon said, grabbing my hand, “let’s eat. So who have you met so far?” She handed me a plate, and I watched her start to load up her own. She wasn’t shy with her portions, and that made me like her even more. There was enough food to feed an army, and I couldn’t remember the last time I ate, so I was making grabby hands for the spaghetti tongs.
“I’ve met Duke, Priest, Bones, Ratched, Cricket, and Pyro. He’s a twat, by the way. I’m going to junk-punch him at the earliest opportunity. Maybe once all these kids go home. I don’t want his screams to scare them.” I was thoughtful like that. “Oh, and I recognize that guy over there,” I said, nodding to a guy sitting across from Bones, who was busy shoveling food into his face. “I’m pretty sure that’s the guy I Xena kicked in the chest when they found me and Sheila.” Lennon followed my eyeline to the guy in question.
“Oh, that’s Bard. He’s not too bad. He grew up in Canada and met Cricket in Las Vegas. They became insta-bros or something, and when Cricket came home, he brought Bard with him. He patched in and has been here ever since.”
“You seem to know a lot about everyone,” I mumbled through a mouthful of spaghetti. I knew my table manners were probably not as good as they should have been, but it had been such a long time since I had eaten a sit-down meal, it felt kind of surreal.
I slurped a long piece of spaghetti into my mouth, making a little boy who sat across the table from me giggle. I crossed my eyes at him, and he used his spoon to catapult a cherry tomato from his salad right at my face. I popped up a bit out of my chair like a trained seal and caught the tomato in my mouth, much to the shock and delight of the little troublemaker across the table. I winked at him and then realized our antics had caught the attention of the other adults at the table, who had gone quiet. Priest scowled at me, which seemed to be how his face always looked when it was pointed in my direction. Duke looked mildly amused, and the lady next to him darted her eyes from Duke to me and back again. Duke cleared his throat and announced, “For those of you who don’t know, we have a guest. Girl here has done a service to the club and will be staying in the guest room until it’s repaid. She’s to be treated with respect.”
Priest stood, his chair scraping the floor loudly, and stormed out of the dining room. A door slammed not long after. The woman sitting next to Duke went to follow, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Let him go, baby. He just needs some time.” Duke looked like he was hoping someone would change the subject and take the focus off Priest’s pissy behavior, and I was just the gal for the job.
“Thank you, Mr. President Duke. This food is so much better than the dumpster dinner I would have had back in my alleyway. Dumpster spice gives the food a little…. je ne se quoi . I think that’s Portuguese for raging shits, but I’m not a linguist, so you’ll have to google it to check.” Bard choked on his mouthful of food, and Cricket had to pat him on the back to help him get it down. He was such a good guy, my conscience was.
“It’s just Duke, Girl.” He gestured to the woman by his side. “This is my ole lady, Lorna. She and some of the other ole ladies are the chefs.” I nodded to her and waved; she looked so sad. Maybe she thought I was missing my dumpster spice, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Lennon saw me watching Lorna. She leaned into me a bit and explained, “Lorna is Priest’s mom. Losing Ellis was devastating for everyone, but Lorna hasn’t ever been the same.” Conversations had resumed around the table, and everyone resumed eating, assuming the drama was over for the night. As people finished their food, they scraped their plates off into a trash can and placed their dirty dishes, cups, and utensils into busboy tubs near the door. Soon, the only people left at the table were Duke, Lorna, Bones, Cricket, Lennon, and me. Duke gestured to Lennon, who rose with Lorna and took the tubs into the kitchen.
“I can help clean up,” I offered. Duke sat back in his chair and sighed.
“Thanks for the offer. Next time, you can help out with clean up. Tonight, I wanted to get a few things straight with you.” I sat a little straighter in my chair, picking up on the tension coming off Duke in waves. I placed my hands flat on the table, readying myself to run if things went sideways. Duke sounded like he was trying to say “we need to talk” in a subtle way, and even I knew that “we need to talk” was never the opening salvo to a fun conversation.
“Oh yeah? And what things would those be?”
“Bones told me about the agreement he made with you. The club stands by what y’all agreed to. You’re welcome to stay here until Sheila is ready to hit the road. However, I feel like we need some ground rules. You won’t leave the compound without permission and an escort. I don’t want you wandering off.”
I quirked my eyebrow up.“Is that so? Am I your prisoner, Duke?” My voice dropped an octave or two; I referred to it as my murder purr. I’d lived as a prisoner most of my life. Been there, done that. I wasn’t keen to do it again, either. If Duke thought I’d trade the Callahan family’s captivity for his, he was bonkers. I don’t think he appreciated my murder purr or the fact that I was petting my fork. One of the old cartoon movies I’d had in the basement, The Little Mermaid , taught me that forks had many uses; you could use one to brush your hair or stab someone in the eye with it…and I had already brushed my hair today. Duke could catch a dinglehopper to the face if he wanted to test me.
“I’ll tell you what you are, Girl. You’re an unknown quantity. You managed to take down a serial killer—in a pretty brutal way, I might add. For such a young little thing, you took on a killer and four armed bikers without a second thought. We don’t know anything about you other than you’re homeless and are attached to your van. Tell us more about yourself, where you come from, and who your family is. Give us some answers, establish trust, and then you can come and go as you please.”
“Trust isn’t my forte, Duke. I don’t owe you shit. Sheila and I would have happily driven off into the sunset together, but you guys locked me up, smacked me around, and then bribed me to stay with promises of showering Sheila in champagne wishes and caviar dreams.”
“You tell us you don’t have a name or a home, but you came from somewhere. The fact that you don’t want to tell us who your family is and that you’d rather go back to living in an alley or in your van instead of asking us to get in contact with your relatives makes me wonder who the fuck they are. I can see scars all over your arms, chest, and back in that tank top so I know you’ve been through some shit. You want to roam around without an escort, tell us who you are.”
Panic rose from the pit of my stomach, simmering at the base of my esophagus along with the spaghetti I had eaten and threatening to rise up and out of my mouth. I tried my best not to think about my scars, but at Duke’s casual mention of my damage, I was forced to acknowledge their existence. My skin crawled, and I glared at Duke, resenting the shit out of his questions.
“My scars are my own. My past is also mine . I’ll tell someone about it when I’m damn good and ready, or maybe I’ll lock it up in a cage and bury it in the crawlspace of my memory. Either way, it’s up to me. You aren’t the boss of me, Duke. I’m a guest who will be treated with respect, remember?”
“Chica loca,” Bones chimed in, “you are our guest, and guests usually follow the house rules. So they aren’t rude, yes?”
I narrowed my eyes at him... hmm maybe he had a point. Granted, I had never been a guest before, so I wasn’t completely clear on the rules. Duke looked from Bones to me and decided to hand the conversational reins over to him for the time being.
I sniffed and turned my nose up in my best attempt to look self-assured, releasing my hold on my fork. “Let’s just say I don’t know how to be a guest. What are the rules? Other than needing a field trip buddy if I want to go somewhere.”
“The rules are simple. You stay here until Sheila is ready. You don’t leave without an escort; you stay in the living areas of the clubhouse and don’t snoop in church or the offices. No violence.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder and fluttered my eyelashes at Bones innocently. Yeah, he wasn’t buying it. “No violence, chica loca. You’re safe here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell that to Pyro. I’m a woman in a strange place filled with strange men. I’ll defend myself in any way that I deem necessary or entertaining at the time. Self-defense is nonnegotiable.” Bones and Duke shared a look.
“Alright,” Duke agreed, “you don’t start any fights, but if someone puts their hands on you of course you can defend yourself. Non-lethally, though,” he added.
“Pyro is an exception,” I stipulated. Bones was about to open his mouth to argue, I could tell, so I cut him off. “I won’t kill him, but I owe him ten. He fucked with me because he thought he could. Me and my stabby fork are gonna disabuse him of that notion. But I won’t kill him, I promise. You agree to this, and I’ll agree to your house rules. Deal?” Duke gave me an assessing look, his icy-blue eyes weighing and measuring me. I wasn’t asking for a lot, just a slight maiming in exchange for gracious guest behavior. Duke nodded his head like he had come to a conclusion, or maybe he was bopping along to some mind music like I do all the time. You never know.
“Alright, Girl, you got yourself a deal. I was going to punish Pyro for going against my edict to leave you alone in the cellar, but this time…this one time, mind you, I’ll let you have your justice. After that, though, it’s self-defense only. You feel me?”
A sinister smile spread across my face.“Yeah, Duke. I feel you.” But not as much as Pyro was about to feel me and my four-tined friend.