9. Alice
9
ALICE
“No fucking way.” Tammy’s jaw has been open for several minutes now.
A Starbucks isn’t the ideal location to be discussing the details of yesterday. Me spread open wide on Lifesaver’s exam table was, I don’t think, how any of us planned to end the night.
My life since breaking up with Levi has been nothing but unexpected.
“And what’s even better,” I say, slurping a sip of iced latte (although all of the ice has melted). “I couldn’t give a fuck about Levi. I haven’t checked his socials once. He crossed my mind for a moment yesterday, but it was when Brander was slamming into me. I was thinking about how small Levi’s dick was in comparison.” A dribble of iced late escapes my mouth as I snort. Wiping it away, I go in for another sip.
Has the caffeine gone straight to my head, or is it them ?
Rachel sits forward, wrists flat on the table.
“Hey, Tammy?” I glance at her. “Did you do Rachel’s hair?”
“Yesterday,” she says.
“It looks beautiful.” And I mean it. Copper really brings out the gold in her eyes.
“You’re definitely in high spirits,” Rachel says.
Tammy raises a brow, a smirk crawling onto her face. “I suspect that has something to do with last night.” She pins her elbows to the table and leans in. “Which one was best?”
Good question.
But also a question I cannot answer.
All three reached spots inside of me I never knew existed.
They’re all talented too. There’s Lifesaver. Let’s start with him. He was the most talented, circling his hips in motions that stimulated several different triggers inside of me, all with one thrust—I suspect that has something to do with his PhD in medicine and his therefore complex understanding of female anatomy.
Brander is the girthiest. And he put most of his soul into it. So much that at one point it felt like the length of his dick was wrapping around my spirit and holding it close.
Match was the one who found my G-spot the quickest. Today, I keep seeing visions of his silver hair flopped over his face. During the deed, all I wanted to do was run my hands through his curls, but the other two had me pinned down.
“They’re all good.”
“Come on.” Tammy rolls her eyes. “They’re not here to get offended.” She sips peach iced tea through a straw and returns her attention to me. “There has to be one.”
“There’s actually not. Gosh”—I recline in my seat—“I’ve never felt this…liberated before. How have I lived twenty-two years of my life without experiencing an orgasm?”
We earn ourselves a strange glare from the elderly couple sitting at the next table.
Rachel doesn’t break out in giddy squeals like Tammy. “But this is how rebounds are supposed to make you feel. They’re short-term. Honey,” she says, a look of pity drooping her bottom lip. “I hope I’m wrong, but come next week you’ll be over it and spooning the full-fat ice cream on the couch watching Friends .”
My eyes wander up to the ceiling. How do I tell them that this isn’t a rebound? That I’m promised to three crazy hot outlaw bikers from this day until my last?
“Yeah.” I push the iced latte away and look into Rachel’s eyes. She’s the one who’s gonna need the most convincing. “About that?”
“What do you mean?”
“I have to tell you something.”
“You’re pregnant?!” Tammy bursts out, eyes wider than a fucking owl’s.
“Jesus.” I wince at the thought. “No. Absolutely not. They kinda…left their mark on me.”
“Fucking hell.” Tammy sits back from the table and rolls her eyes. “I always knew bikers were into kinky shit. It’s the price paid for their good looks.”
“They didn’t piss on me.” Rachel flashes me a disgusted look. “They…”
My friends both stare at me. Suddenly it feels as though I’m speaking to a whole auditorium of people. My heart thumps in my chest. They’re not gonna approve of the nonconsensual tattoo, but an oath was sealed when we all graduated from college.
Never break the triangle.
“We’re sort of…promised to each other for the rest of our lives.”
Tammy blinks. Keeps blinking. Is she trying to comprehend what I’m saying, or is a loose eyelash irritating her eye?
Rachel bites down on her lip. “What do you mean?”
“They tattooed their names on me after we got married.”
“About that,” Tammy says. “Update, please? Did you engage in conversation last night about the annulment? Or was it just sex?”
“A mixture of both.”
“So you’re getting it annulled?”
“One thing at a time.” Rachel leans forward. “Let’s go back to the tattoo. Please tell me you’re not removing it yourself, with your own hard-earned cash?”
I bring the iced latte back into my hands to give my fingers something to fiddle with. They have my best interests at heart, I know, but the questions feel like verbal attacks. “Yeah…” I trace my finger around the green Starbucks logo. “I won’t be getting it removed.”
“Why?” Tammy folds her arms.
“It’ll get them in trouble.”
“Like they don’t cause it daily anyway,” interjects Rachel.
“Besides,” I continue, “I don’t really want to remove it.”
“Alice.” Tammy unfolds her arms and grabs hold of mine. “I’m saying this as your friend.” Her eyes focus on mine for a moment. We don’t often stare at each other dead in the eyes because mostly we spend our time laughing. But as hilarious as the girl is, she says it how it is. “Stop being a fucking people pleaser and put yourself first for a change.”
Ouch.
Kinda wish Rachel had spoken for her. She doesn’t deliver as harshly.
The words slice open a part of me that I thought I’d crushed ever since graduating college. Parties and social gatherings at college forced me to smile at every given opportunity to escape the “rude” and “shy” labels that were assigned to me in junior high. When I was in the company of Levi’s friends, the smiles extended perhaps a little too far—my jaw would ache at the end of the night and I’d struggle giving him head.
The point is, people-pleasing has taken up a big chunk of my life.
I hold up my hands—occasionally it follows me into the workplace.
But with Lifesaver, Match, and Brander, it’s different.
I’m not keeping the tattoo to maintain peace.
I’m keeping it because the thought of removing it sinks my body in a way I can’t explain. Not even to myself, because it doesn’t make sense. Yet.
“Having a one-night stand with criminal bikers,” Rachel says, “is totally different to actually being in a committed relationship with them. I mean…correct me if I’m wrong, but I never thought polygamy was your thing.”
“I dunno what to say to you guys.” I shrug. “It’s like there’s a tiny voice inside my head telling me to keep the tattoo. To keep seeing them.”
“Tell the tiny voice to shut the fuck up then,” Tammy huffs.
Rachel frowns. “What will your dad say, do you think?”
God knows how Daddy will react to all of this if my friends can’t even get behind what I’m saying.
“Are you gonna see Levi again?” Rachel asks.
Already, our relationship feels like it was decades ago—so much has happened since.
“No.”
“What about the engagement ring? Will you give it back to him?”
“ Pfft . No. I threw it out into the desert yesterday.”
“Atta girl.” Tammy’s excited grin makes a much-needed appearance. But not for long. She nets her fingers together and the serious face returns. “Distance yourself from them for a few days,” she says. “And if you need any money for the annulment and tattoo removal, me and Rachel are happy to help.” She beams a smile. “Interest free too. Think about it.”
“I will.”
I won’t.
Does this mean I’m breaking the triangle?
I check my watch for the time. “Listen, I need to love you and leave you. My shift starts in one hour. I need to shower and decide where to hide this diamond wedding ring before Daddy discovers it.”
Rachel hisses. “What will he do if he finds it?”
“Probably trace the buyer and kick the shit out of them all. That’s after he’s punched Levi a satisfying amount of times for his fuckup.”
“Massive fuckup,” Tammy comments.
I rise from my chair and slide the iced latte from the table to sip the lukewarm leftovers on my walk back to the parking lot. “Laters.”
Dry heat hits my body as soon as I exit the Starbucks. A blue, cloudless sky domes over the city, several planes arching overhead as they come to land. Vacationing somewhere like Bali would chill me out. What I need currently isn’t a ten-hour afternoon shift in the ICU, but a Thai native healer sitting me down and draining all the anxiety out of me.
Being in the company of Lifesaver, Brander, and Match relaxes me. To be honest, they could be my own personal healers. It’s not good enough, though. Rachel and Tammy are supposed to be thrilled for me. They were when they first met them, and me leaving the club with them put a kind of glow in Tammy’s eyes I’ve never seen before.
So what’s changed?
They’re only cautious because of their reputation.
But I think maybe their reputation proceeds them.
I take my eyes from the sky and focus on my walk back to the parking lot. Sidewalks are never a breeze to walk down any time of the day. The strip attracts people from all over the world. In five minutes, I can count more accents than I have fingers and toes. Entertainment for tourists might be casinos, clubs, and joyous helicopter rides that carry passengers out to the grand canyon, but for locals it’s eavesdropping into the tourists’ conversations—the English-speaking ones anyway. The British complaining it’s too hot. New Yorkers saying there’s zero culture and they’re counting down the days until their flight home, which is strange because they’re unironically the ones who take it too far in the evenings and wind up in the ICU on a drip.
Vegas has always been my home—I was born in the very same hospital where I now work—but the city doesn’t buzz me like it does everybody else. Even locals stand and marvel at Caesars Palace sometimes, and thread through the crowds of tourists to get front-row viewings of the Bellagio foundation. Vegas, to me, has always just been a city.
Until now.
Since meeting the bikers, I finally understand what it feels like to walk around the place with a stride in my step. To feel a rush of excitement. Adrenaline that makes caffeine an addition to your day, not a necessity.
I sip the last of the latte and throw it in the trash. As high as my spirits are today, I cut off the strip to shortcut through an alley so I can reach the parking lot quicker.
Unlocking the vehicle, I pop open the door and crash into the driver’s seat. Silence has never rung so loud. The past couple of days have been intense. More so than anything I’ve experienced in my entire twenty-two years of living. One would think I’m a college student experiencing thrill for the first time in her life.
But that’s what it feels like.
I exit the parking lot and turn onto the main road, rolling down the windows to give myself a cross breeze. As cliché as it sounds, I feel alive for the first time in my life. The sun shines brighter, its UV like a warm hug against my skin. The palm trees too. Their leaves sway in colors greener than I remember. Even the music, when I thumb on the radio, fizzles through my bones. The bass. I feel it in my soul. My heartbeat even syncs up with it.
Life is all about feeling, right? Senses and memories.
And the people you meet.
I don’t even cover my mouth when I yawn. I’m past the point of social etiquette.
Trashing the medical gloves, I stagger into the lockers and wash my hands to rinse away the awful sweaty smell of rubber.
Two very dark circles come into view when I hazard a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The only hairstyle I had time to do was an uncombed, static bun on top of my head. Now halfway down my face. Bits of redness ring around the supposed whites of my eyes. I look like I’ve accepted a class A drug from some drunk off the street.
Gathering the rest of my things, I exit the ICU, pleased my shift is over.
Is it bad that every time I saw an exam table, my mind reeled back to last night?
There was something so peaceful about being in Lifesaver’s doctor’s office, out on the open road. One thing I’ve learned about a biker’s lifestyle is that they like to tuck themselves into the desert as far away from civilization as possible, either to avoid the cops or to give themselves an excuse to ride. It’s endearing. Cute, almost.
Life so far has rarely led me out into the desert. Once or twice when I was younger when Daddy and I were learning to live without Mom, he drove me to Red Rock Canyon to switch up the scenery. It was beautiful, so vast, but he cautioned me. Said it’s better to be around built-up areas where help is always at hand.
The air still retains some warmth when I exit the building, and a breeze blows through the atmosphere, battering at the oversized scrubs.
I advance to my car, slip my keys from my pocket…
A force drags me back.
The keys land on the floor with a smash. I lunge forward, but realize I’m stationary. Two hands curl around my waist, locking me in place.
“Hey! Get off.”
At first I say it in a normal tone because it could just be a kid messing around.
But the grip tightens even more.
“HEY!”
Shivers prick the nape of my neck—I sense a breath there. A steady, unbothered one that doesn’t care.
I struggle against the force. Push my chest toward the floor. At this point, my body is almost bent in half, but still I struggle to create resistance.
So I go in with my feet, blindly aiming for the attacker’s knees.
I buckle one, but their strength returns. And mine is weakening.
One hand slips away from my waist to curl around my neck.
Don’t squeeze. Please don’t squeeze.
I gasp. Begin clawing at the attacker’s arm. Just an inch of space will get oxygen back into my lungs. But I’m too tired. And their strength continues to improve.
My own thumping pulse and staggered breathing are the only sounds my ears can pick up. This isn’t good. Not in the slightest. It’s late, dark, and I parked my car on the top floor of the garage for some stupid reason which is now likely to be my cause of death.
The attacker releases my neck to cross both arms around my chest.
How kind of them, letting me breathe again.
They force me backward, and I’m dragged further away from my vehicle.
Dead on the street or hidden in the trunk of a car? What will it be?
After fighting their grip for so long, I give up and relax back into their chest to enjoy the ride for a moment.
But not for long.
Contracting my stomach to keep balance, I lift a leg and blindly angle my foot to the rough area of their genitals.
It could be a disaster.
But there’s also potential for it to be the kick of life.
One, two, three…
STRIKE!
Both knees buckle this time, the crossed grip loosening just for a second.
And a second is all I need.
I wriggle out of their arms and let adrenaline carry me forward. Bending down, I swoop up my keys and unlock the vehicle with trembling fingers. Never in my life have I felt so happy about starting up an engine.
My attacker sprints toward the vehicle. But I manage to sharp-turn the car before his body rolls up the windshield.
CRASH!
I collide with the hood of the car in the neighboring space, and an alarm blares, echoing around the garage like a terrifying scream.
But the car still drives.
I turn the vehicle and drive down to the first level.
Fear rattles my body and comes out in tears. I blink them away and continue driving down the levels. He could easily bungee jump down. Surprise attack me and smash through the windshield to reach me that way.
Why, though?
I didn’t upset anyone…did I?
No.
But Mom didn’t either and look what happened to her.
“Did you know Las Vegas is one of the most dangerous US cities?”
Could I be one of this month’s three hundred missing people?
I check my rearview mirror each time I descend a level—all clear.
Exiting the garage, I slam on the gas and run a red light to get myself the fuck away from the hospital. I cruise at nearly sixty miles an hour, hands unable to get a firm hold of the steering wheel. He choked me. Almost dragged me somewhere.
I got away.
But what if he returns?
I didn’t even get a look at the person to report to the police.
He was in full black, a balaclava pulled tight over his head. I couldn’t even see his hair. The color of his eyes. The steady inhale and exhale of his breath was all I managed to take away from the experience, and a reminder that shit really does go down in Las Vegas. Terrible shit done by balaclava-wearing-boys. If a member of the Russian Bratva killed Mom years ago and came away unscathed, what other unspeakable things are people in this city getting away with?