Chapter 11 #2
“You can fuck off,” Mac snapped at him. “You have no fuckin’ idea what’s happening here.”
“So explain it to me.”
“You want to know what happened with Lana?”
Mac was on his feet, toe to toe with Lee, before I could blink. Mac was a good five inches taller, but Lee held his ground.
“Her brother disobeyed a direct order from me in a firefight and got himself shot. She blamed Em even though Em had nothin’ to do with his death besides just fuckin’ being there.
Against her will, I might add. I tried to help Lana work through it, but instead, she fuckin’ hired two men to attack and rape Em. ”
I squeezed my eyes shut, wrapping my arms around my legs as Mac continued.
“So I exiled her. Lana took an oath to do no harm when she joined my crew. She fuckin’ knew the consequences.”
The silence seemed to last a long time. I laid my forehead on my knees. My mouth tasted like mud.
“Can I tell Wolf what you just told me?” Lee finally asked in a low voice.
“ Somebody needs to,” Mac snapped.
I felt that jab like a kick to my ribs.
Mac took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We went and took Em by force and dragged her back here on Madame’s orders. She didn’t want any of it.”
A hush fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.
“Em, why didn’t you tell your brother what really happened?” Mac asked after a while.
“He doesn’t believe me about anything,” I muttered into my knees.
“Well, it’s not just you. We were all there.”
I didn’t reply, feeling stupid. Why hadn’t it occurred to me they would back me up? If he only knew what else I’d let my brother think about me.
Mac approached and sank to a crouch in front of me. “Em, you always have us as backup, ok? You don’t have to do this alone.”
I stared at his boots and hid behind my muddy hair.
“You don’t get to take all the blame for everythin’, you know. You gotta share with the rest of us,” he added in a lighter voice.
I finally lifted my eyes to his, and he gave me a slight smile.
“C’mon, tub’s probably full enough.” He offered his hands, and I let him pull me to my feet. He frowned. “Your hands are freezing. You better make this a quick bath.”
He released me and started leading the way to the bathing room.
I halted on the threshold, blinking rapidly in shock.
Mac leaned over and turned the water off in the large white tub in a small nook, surrounded by windows with frosted glass for privacy.
White curtains lined the windows. Thin strips of light-colored wood covered the walls, and a beautiful old mirror hung above the white pedestal sink.
The floor was concrete, but two giant fur rugs covered it.
The room was bright, calming, and peaceful—not at all what I expected from Madame.
I glanced around, noting the basket of towels and the small table with soap and bottles. This room hadn’t been stripped.
“Nemo’s lettin’ anyone who would like a bath use this room, kinda like a public bathhouse, I guess,” Mac said quietly. When I didn’t move or say anything, he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Do you, uh, need help?”
My cheeks heated again. “No.”
“Alright, well, I’ll wait out here.” He went around me and carefully shut the door behind him.
I abruptly turned away from the tub and tried to shut out the painful memories of Trey and I sitting in the bathtub together at the trading post. I tried not to remember his strong fingers rubbing the sore muscles in my back, his hand trailing lightly across my skin, and the soft kisses he pressed to my shoulder.
I rummaged through the few cupboards in a desperate attempt at a distraction.
Most of them had towels and soap, but in one, I found a clear glass bottle with a faded label that read “Madame.” I opened it, sniffed, then took a tentative sip.
Whatever it was, it went down a lot smoother than Mootzie’s shit.
I stripped off my muddy clothes, braced myself, and climbed into the tub of ice-cold water with the bottle.
The freezing temperature reminded me uncomfortably of the icy river, and my teeth immediately started chattering again, so I took a long drink.
I rinsed myself, grimacing as the water turned brown from all the mud.
I tried not to think about Madame relaxing in this room, tried not to think about her blood spurting from her neck, tried not to think about the bullet going through Trey’s skull, tried not to think about Juck pressing the red-hot metal against my skin, tried not to think about the horror on Wolf’s face.
The alcohol helped, so I kept drinking it.
When someone knocked on the door a while later, I couldn’t feel the cold anymore, and the bottle was empty.
“Em?” Mac called at the door. “You doin’ alright?”
“I’m fine,” I yelled back.
I heard him huff a laugh. “Are you actually, though?”
“I’m great.”
“Great, huh?” He sounded amused. “Well, that’s good.”
I examined the little tray of soaps and bottles.
Madame got the nice stuff. There was a bottle marked for hair, so I poured some into my hand.
It came out faster than I expected, or maybe I was more tipsy than I thought.
Either way, the soap filled my palm and overflowed before I realized what was happening.
I swore under my breath, then giggled at my clumsiness.
I quickly dumped my palmful of soap into my hair, marveling at how it lathered immediately—much nicer than regular soap.
Then, the scent hit me.
My entire body locked up as Madame’s sickly, sweet scent filled the room. I could hear the screams, the desperate pleas, and Madame’s cold voice snapping “again.” I could smell the vomit and urine. I could feel the blood coating my hands.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe.
It’s just soap. It’s just a fuckin’ smell.
It’s not her. I tried to lather my hair up faster, but every inhale made the screams in my head louder.
I gave up and dunked under the water, but the shallow breath of air I took before I went under did not sustain me long.
I broke the surface, gasping in a breath and then choking on the smell.
Fuck. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of here.
I scrambled out of the tub. My hair was still sudsy, but I didn’t care. I barely remembered to grab a towel to wrap around myself before I darted out of the bathroom.
Lee and Mac had found two wooden chairs somewhere and were sitting in front of the wood stove. They both glanced up and then jumped to their feet when I came flying out.
“The fuck—” Lee started.
“What’s wrong?” Mac demanded at the same time.
I stopped abruptly, but the sugary smell started building around me again, and I couldn’t breathe.
“What’s wrong?” Mac was suddenly at my side, gently taking my elbow.
Lee hovered behind him, scanning me carefully.
“The soap,” I managed to choke out, fighting my lungs for breath.
“The soap?” Lee repeated, confused.
Mac looked at my hair, the suds that were sliding down my neck, and then his nostrils flared. “Oh fuck.”
The room spun, and Mac’s hand tightened on my elbow. I couldn’t tell if I was shivering or shaking.
“Ok, you still have it in your hair,” he said. “If you rinse it out, I bet you won’t smell it anymore.”
My spine stiffened at the thought of returning to the bathroom, where the smell was so potent. I sucked in a desperate breath through my nose, trying to quell the nausea, but it just made me inhale more of the scent coming from my hair.
“I can’t—” I tried to gasp.
“You want me to fill up that bucket?” Lee asked.
“And do what?” Mac asked sharply.
“She could rinse her hair out here.”
I sucked in another desperate breath through my nose.
“Ok, yeah,” Mac finally said.
He led me to the woodstove, and Lee grabbed the bucket while I tried to get ahold of myself.
“It’s ok, Em,” Mac said in that gentle voice, and my fucking eyes overflowed.
He wrapped his arms around me, not seeming to mind I was getting soap suds all over his shirt.
I clung to my towel and leaned into him, hating that I was falling apart for what felt like the hundredth time.
Lee reappeared quickly, setting a bucket of water on the floor before the wood stove. He handed Mac a chipped mug.
“Here,” he said quietly, “I’ll wait outside.”
“You wanna sit in front of the woodstove and lean over this bucket, and I’ll rinse your hair?” Mac asked as Lee left.
I nodded, slowly lowering myself to the floor on my knees, still trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. He crouched next to me, scooped a mugful of water up, and carefully poured it over my hair.
She’s not here. She’s not here.
“She’s not here,” Mac murmured. “She’s gone.”
I meant to say something like, “I know” or “You’re right,” but the alcohol must have loosened my tongue because what came out was, “She’ll never be gone. ”
He poured another couple of mugfuls of water over my hair before he said, “She haunts me, too. I have to bury her again every day, and maybe one of these days, she’ll fuckin’ stay there.”
“What if she doesn’t?” I whispered miserably.
“Then I’ll try to live with it, knowin’ I’m one of the last people she’ll ever haunt.”
I watched the flames dancing in the wood stove. It didn’t seem fair that the monsters I’d killed continued to haunt me, but the one person I desperately wished would stay with me seemed to be gone.
“I think I got all the soap out. Is that better?”
I tentatively inhaled through my nose. I could still smell it, but it was fainter now. I nodded, twisting my hair tightly and wringing the water out. It struck me that I didn’t feel anxious being in this very vulnerable position with Mac.
“I wish I woulda protected you better,” Mac said roughly. “I wish she didn’t haunt you, too.”
“There was nothin’ you coulda done,” I mumbled.