Chapter 15
KINGSTON “FROST”
Stevie’s still asleep while her limbs continue to fly all over the place, tangling in the sheets.
I had plenty of nightmares as a kid, waking alone and frightened from the terrors.
I’m about to snap her out of it, but she bangs her hand against the side table screeching in pain.
When she sees me, she presses against the headboard, sobbing as she blinks up at me standing at the side of her bed.
Neither of us say anything. I don’t have anything to say, because I’m fucking clueless about this situation.
What the hell was I thinking bringing her to my house?
I’ve never concerned myself with anyone, let alone a woman I’ve terrorized from the start.
Her sobs die down, and she clutches the sheets while inspecting her splint and brace. No doubt a tornado of thoughts are spinning around in her head. Lines crease between her eyebrows, frowning at the sight of her state.
Finally, she asks, “Where am I?”
“My house.”
Her lower lip quivers, and then I can actually see her switch from fear to anger. She raises her head, eyes narrow at me, and she shouts, “This!” She shoves her splint toward me, tossing off the sheets. “This happened because of you!”
“I didn’t fucking do that to you.”
The volume of Stevie’s voice grows. “You might as well have! Why? Why did you pursue me?” She’s screaming at me.
“I did nothing to you!” She stops to take a breath, letting out a humorless laugh.
“The irony of my fresh start. All I wanted was freedom. To work, and have my own home.” Her hand clenches and she screams. “But a fucking asshole convict took it all away from me! I hate you!”
I have a short fuse. Her comments trigger me, and I gotta get out of here before I lose my shit, so I go to the door and yell back, “Fuck you,” slamming it behind me.
Rebel’s in my house, talking to me like that?
Calling me names? She’s lucky I don’t throw her fucking ass out of here.
Instead, I discard my ragged shirt on the floor, toss on another, and grab a beer, falling onto the couch and guzzling every drop.
Even with the television on, I can hear her screaming and crying.
Another beer, and I fall asleep, waking through the night because of her nightmares.
My phone rings, waking me from a deep sleep. I crack open an eye to see it’s Skull.
“Yeah.”
“How did things go at Cristo’s?”
Rubbing my forehead, I say, “Fine.”
“Where’s Stevie?”
“My place.”
“How’s she doing?”
I sit up and make my way to the kitchen for water. “What’s with the fucking questions early in the morning?”
“It’s ten.” There’s a pause and he adds, “I want to thank you again for saving the ladies.”
“Sure.” I sigh. “I gotta go. Talk to you later.”
“Wait! The cops want to talk to everyone regarding the prospects. Duchess and the others gave their statements and a couple of the Grave Disciples’ members were arrested. They haven’t found the others, so expect a visit.” He ends the call.
My shop is supposed to be open now, and I have an appointment at eleven. I quickly shower, and open the door of the guestroom. Stevie’s back is to me. From here, I assume she’s sleeping, so I head out.
Jess already opened the shop, so I grab a coffee and look over my appointments.
He’s a good guy from the streets, running the place while I was in lockup.
He’s a quick learner for the art of tattooing.
A quiet kid, which I appreciate. While he’s straightening up the shop, I check the inventory, and prepare for my client.
Eleven nears, so I verify on my phone that Stevie’s still at the house.
The door chimes, letting me know my client, Crew, is here.
No lie, this dude is fierce in size and expression.
Military haircut, jaw set like concrete, and muscles that could crack granite.
This town ain’t small, but it’s not big enough for me not to know him, which I don’t.
Either he’s just passing through town or plans on staying.
Our tatted hands shake, and I say, “Kingston. What kind of tat you looking for?”
He hands over military dog tags. “I want the chain and the tags…” pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show his bicep, “...tattooed right here.”
Semper ‘Semper Fidelis’ 2019 –2024
I have him sit in one of the chairs, placing the dog tags on a tray while I create a stencil from the picture. When I’m about to place the stencil on his bicep, he removes his t-shirt, exposing lots of tats, which many appear to be military style.
After the stencil is placed where he wants it, I transfer it onto his bicep. Jess brings the armrest upward, and adjusts the handle, so his arm is bent toward the ceiling.
Jess watches, and talks to the guy. “I served four years active duty in the Army. Which branch are you in?”
“Were. Marine Corps.” There’s a pause before he asks for a name.
“Jess. Two tours in Iraq.” He pulls up his left pants leg to show his calf scars. “Took shrapnel to the leg, but luckily I kept it. Only scarring and pain. Kingston takes care of the scar.”
He glances at me and then back to Jess. “Sucks to hear. Nice tat, by the way.” He sighs before adding, “I’m one of few who came back unscathed aside from a couple of minor scars.”
“Kingston’s the man to see if you want those scars covered. Does veterans for free.”
Crew turns to me. “Seriously? You tattoo veterans for free?”
I nod. “It’s the least I can do.”
I don’t even have to ask my clients anything when Jess is around, because even though he’s quiet, his social skills are a hell of a lot better than mine.
Jess asks Crew, “Semper Fidelis is a great motto.”
“A marine’s motto. Semper was my military dog who died in combat.”
“Shit! Sorry to hear it.”
The room grows quiet, and a half hour later, Jess takes a walk-in while I finish up Crew’s tattoo.
He’s about to pay me, but I hold my hand up. “It’s on me.”
“I thought you tattoo scars for free.”
“My place. My rules.”
Crew gives me a chin nod as a thank you gesture. “Any good bars around here?”
“Rebel Room. If you don’t mind bikers.” He shakes his head. “Are you coming through town or going?”
“Coming. Bought a house on the northside of Moose Grove.”
“If you’re ever in the area, stop by the Rebel Room. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Nah. We’re good.”
Jess is tattooing a small butterfly on his client’s shoulder. I tell him I’ll be back, and head home to check on Stevie. The house is still. Taking two stairs at a time, I open the bedroom to find her in the same position as this morning. She’s probably exhausted after blaming me for her shit life.
I make a sandwich, and as I’m about to leave for the shop, the cops show up.
Aside from the disappearance of the shot-up bodies they know nothing about, I ain’t got anything to hide.
Besides, I wasn’t there when the Grave Disciples showed, so I’m not much help.
They ask me questions I have no answers to, because I didn’t witness anything.
After a couple of shots at me for being a convict, and not giving them what they’re looking for, they leave pissed.
Back at the shop, I do two more tattoos, work on the books, then head to the bar. Booze and bitches will take my mind off Stevie. The things she said remain in my head.
Why?
So she hates me. Get in line.
Two shots and a beer in, and one of the Sweet Butts comes over, rubbing her breasts all over my arm. She slides between my legs, back to the bar, caressing my dick. For some reason, my cock ain’t cooperating.
She leans in, kissing my neck. “I’ve missed you, Frost.”
And like that, the connection is broken when Duchess comes over, shooing the Sweet Butt away.
Duchess sits down and asks, “How’s Stevie?” I shrug. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
I gesture for another beer, looking straight ahead, instead of at her. “I’m here to relax, get a blowjob, and hang with my brothers. I don’t need you yapping in my ear.”
“Do you have any idea what she went through? What she risked for me and the girls?” Again, I shrug. “You’re an idiot, Frost.”
My stool flies back when I hop off, shoving my finger in Duchess’s face. “Go ahead, call me an idiot again.”
Skull is at my side, backing me up, and standing between us. “Threaten her again, Frost, and it will be me pounding the fuck out of you before I kick your ass out of the club.”
I bite down, and hiss through my teeth. “Turning on a brother? I suggest you train her.”
He’s about to punch me, but Duchess grabs his arm.
“No, please.” Skull and I are glaring at one another, and she walks to his side and says, “I’m sorry, Frost. I shouldn’t have said that, especially after you found and saved us.
” My eyes finally shift to her, and I give a slight nod.
“But could we please talk. Just hear me out and then do whatever you want.”
I agree, so we walk to a table in the corner. Skull trails behind, yet she asks him to stay at the bar. It’s darker and less crowded back here. We sit just as the bartender brings us drinks we hadn’t ordered.
“Frost, Stevie needs you.”
I scoff. “The fuck she does. She even told me she hates me.”
She releases a long breath before continuing. “It’s the pain talking. What Ace did to her…” Duchess swallows and shakes her head, “…it could have been me. He wanted the name of Skull’s old lady.”
“Huh? Surprised she didn’t rat after what you did to her.”
“Exactly. She could have caved to swap places, but she didn’t. He stripped her of dignity. Tortured and raped her in front of everyone.” She places a hand on mine to get my attention. “That shit doesn’t go away.”
“What do you want from me, Lynette?”
“Compassion?” I laugh. “A little tenderness.”
“Where the hell have you been? Never had that in my life.”
Lynette takes a sip of her drink before speaking. “I know. But maybe you can find it in you to comfort her?”
“And how the hell do I do that, especially with someone who hates me?”
She scoots closer as if telling me a secret.
“Frost, most think you’re bad to the bone, but I know there’s good in you.
I understand emotions aren’t your thing, so I’ve seen your good through actions.
If any brother needs help, you’re there for them.
Look at what you do for people at your shop.
” Lynette taps my chest. “Go with what’s in here and gut instincts. ”
“If I went with gut instincts, I would throw her ass out.”
As she says, “No you wouldn’t,” she shakes her head. “Stevie’s different, and you’re aware of that, too.” I slug down another beer, staring at the table. “Just because you care for her doesn’t make you weak.”
“Who says I care for her?”
Lynette’s eyebrow rises, and I look away. I hate when she’s right. Even so, I’d have no idea where to start or how to care for Stevie. I’ve never cared for anyone, nor has anyone done the same for me. My brothers and I have our backs, yet it stops with the mushy shit.
“Do it for me, Frost. Last year, you asked us to do you a favor, forcing Stevie to meet you for the conjugal visits. Now, I’m asking you to tend to her.”
“How?”
“Think about how you’d like to be treated. Strip away all of the cynicism, disregard her name calling, and go with your gut. Even if you do something wrong, the effort isn’t lost on anyone, especially her. In time, she’ll come around. Instead of fucking her, put that energy toward healing her.”
“I didn’t fuck her.”
She holds her hands out. “See? That’s progress.”
Her comment makes me laugh.
The place is crowded, so I slip out to go home.
Stevie’s exactly the way I left her in the morning and afternoon.
Now, I’m wondering if she’s dead. I place my hand by her mouth, feeling her breath.
Her hair is soaked from sweat, and her body jerks a little before settling again.
In the kitchen, I prepare a soup for her.
Ever since I was a kid, I loved soups, because they made things better for the short time I ate them.
Her screams and sobs start up, so I shut off the burner to check on her.
This time, I wake her from the nightmare and she slaps at me, pushing into the headboard again.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “It’s me.”
Through sobs, she answers, “I know.”
Stevie’s trembling and looks like shit. She has red, swollen eyes, hair smashed against her head, and she’s frail.
“Do you want a shower?”
She covers her face. “No. Leave!”
My teeth sink into my lip to stop myself from exploding. I’ve got a short fuse when it comes to confrontation. I throw the covers off, scoop her up, and bring her into the washroom. She’s begging me to let her go.
I sit her on the toilet seat. “This is my house, and you smell like a rotten dead cow.” A small laugh comes out of her and then she stops. “I can help you shower, or you do it yourself, but you will get in there. It’s stocked.”
Stevie raises her arm to remind me of the splint. “Just let me rot away. Then you can dispose of me like the carcass of a cow.”
My arms box her in and I put my face an inch from hers. “Listen here, Rebel. You’re not rotting on my watch. Have a pity party after your pits, tits, ass, and pussy are clean.”
Her eyes shift between each of mine. “I can’t. I have a splint and a brace on.”
Pointing to the shower, I say, “Those can be removed. I’ll bring a chair, and you can sit and shower.”
First, I get a t-shirt of mine for her to wear and then a chair from the kitchen, placing it in the shower. It’s not meant to get soaked, but for now it will do.
She watches me set it in the shower and asks, “Where are my clothes?”
“I’ll have them tomorrow. For now, wear the t-shirt.”
Without another word, I leave her to clean up, and return to the soup.
A half hour later, I find her in bed, sleeping with wet hair.
I sit on the chair, looking over her face.
The distended bruises are changing colors, and her splint and brace are on.
Lynette’s words come to mind. Think about how you’d like to be treated.
Strip away all of the cynicism, disregard her name calling, and go with your gut.
Man, I haven’t thought about my shit childhood in years, yet Lynette’s words and Stevie’s condition brings all the hell I went through to the surface.