Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
One month Ago
I’m scrubbing sticky eggs off a crusted spatula at the crack of dawn when Hot Mama hollers for me from the front porch. “Girl! Get your ass out here. There’s someone to see you.”
I’m hungover from the taste of some holistic tonic and whatever pill they had me on last night. My brain is sluggish and my tongue is thick. I’m still in pajama pants, and my hair’s a rat’s nest of tangles in a messy bun.
I shove on my flip-flops and peer out the living room window, expecting Pancake to be waiting to force me into doing naked yoga again. Last time she made me go on a hike to point our assholes at the sunrise.
Every last one of them is as crazy as the day is long.
What I’m not expecting is to see Gwynee all posh looking out of place with Sissy, Big Daddy’s daughter at her side. What the fuck are they doing here? I don’t want to see them, but I feel like I owe them.
They are part of the reason I’m still alive, but more than that, they remind me of Lunatic, and it hurts to think of him. He must hate me and think I’m more trouble than I’m worth.
I sniff my armpits and rub on stick deodorant before I walk outside.
Gwynee’s face lights up as she takes me in. “Hope you don’t mind us coming so early.”
Hot Mama yells at Sissy to come help her feed her chickens. I wait for the two of them to go off before I offer Gwynee some coffee.
“It’s thick as tar,” I warn her as I hand her a mug with a crooked handle that someone made in one of our craft classes, and we sit on the top step of the cabin I’m staying in.
I bunk with six other women right now. They are all off doing their chores or still sleeping.
I mainly keep to myself and stay out of their troubles.
We’ve all got plenty of them to go around.
“It’s good to see you,” she tells me.
I don’t know if I believe her, but I smile at the expression all the same. “Not to sound ungrateful, but why are you here?”
She tucks her dark hair behind her ear and gives me a sheepish look. “I promised Lunatic I’d see how you are.” His name slices through me like his knife cutting through my wrists. Hot and painful. She studies me, her face guarded but a hopeful.
“I’m sure he’s forgotten all about me.”
Wishful thinking.
Gwynee places her perfectly manicured hand over mine, giving me a squeeze. “We all care about you.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “Thanks for checking up on me, but I’m okay.” I’m not used to anyone giving a shit about me. It makes me feel awkward. “How is he? Lunatic, I mean.” I ask even though I promised myself I wouldn’t.
She looks me over, then glances away. “He’s a mess. Keeps busy with his business and the club, but he’s not himself. Doesn’t have the same fire. You made an impression, lovely. He still talks about you. I think he misses you,” she says it so gently it hurts worse than a slap.
Heat creeps into my face at the idea of Lunatic talking about me to anyone, let alone Gwynee. “We only knew each other for about three days.”
“It doesn’t matter. Sometimes we meet someone and everything just clicks. You know?” Her gaze is steady. “Are you happy here?”
I take a breath. It’s the question I’ve been circling since I woke up here. “It’s not awful,” I say, which is true. “Better than Mexico. Hot Mama lets me work in the kitchen and at the bar. She’s tough but fair.”
Gwynee gives a small smile, as if she gets it.
“What about Sissy?” I nod toward the shed where Sissy’s trailing after Hot Mama, probably regretting her choice to tag along for this visit. Hot Mama doesn’t like idle hands, and Sissy gives me the impression she doesn’t like to get hers dirty.
“Calming down. But teenage girls think they have life all figured out.”
“Until it bites you in the ass.”
“Exactly.”
Gwynee doesn’t visit much more than an hour or two. She leaves with a promise to come back soon. I don’t know if I want her to. It’s not that I don’t like her. I do. She’s sweet, but she reminds me of Lunatic, and that makes me sad all over again for many different reasons.
Sometime Later
The crown tattoo behind my ear itches. It’s healing.
I’ve been here for nearly three months. I know I can’t hide here forever.
Eventually, I’ll have to answer to Hector.
Face him. He’s going to want information.
I have it. I know who he’s hunting. Where she is.
How he can find her. At first, I didn’t understand why Hot Mama told me everything, but then I understood it perfectly.
She wants me to tell him. Wants him to come.
The woman is itching for a fight and backs down from no one.
I envy that about her. About all the women of QOAMC.
Even the ones I’ve never met. We are all sisters.
At first, I wasn’t sure I wanted to join, but the longer I stayed and the more I learned about who they are and what they do, I knew I wanted to be a part of something.
To belong. To fight for those who can’t do it on their own.
To give others what I never had. A family. A fighting chance.
Being here has healed something inside me. Parts of me that I didn’t realize were broken.
I can’t sleep tonight. There’s a breakfast shift at the main house so I should be resting, but my body is coiled up tight.
Every muscle is tense, waiting for the next punch.
The nightmares are manageable now, smaller background noise in my head, but the dark is always a bit too quiet and long for me.
I slip out onto the porch where Pancake is chain-smoking, legs up on the railing like she owns the moonlight.
She gives me a once-over and scoots a pack of Reds my way.
I don’t smoke much, but tonight, I take one.
We sit in silence, just the crickets and a far-off coyote making themselves known. When my lungs settle, Pancake glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Do you ever feel you traded one kind of cage for another?” she asks. Her voice is low, careful not to wake the rest of the house.
“Sometimes, but then I remember how far I’ve come and where I want to go.” The hardest part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself. That’s what’s hard. Sitting with your thoughts and facing each and every one of them.
“And where is that?”
The first answer that comes to my mind is Anarchy, California. To Lunatic. A man I shouldn’t still be thinking about, but he’s rooted himself in me like he’s a part of me. “Everywhere.”
“So you’ve decided?”
“I think so.” I crack my neck and take another slow draw from my cigarette.
“Good. Means you’re ready.” She gets up and whips her tank top off, followed by her shorts. “Full moon tonight,” she hollers as she runs around the yard naked.
I should have known, judging by the amount of mason jars full of water sitting all over. Pancake says moon water holds power. I’m not sure if I believe that, but I don’t question it.
I smile as she does some silly dance and chants to the stars up above, and I allow my mind to wander. To drift to that day at the lake with Lunatic.
My cheeks flush remembering how he looked at me in his shower. How husky his voice was. I slip my hand inside my shorts and touch myself out here in the dark where there’s no one to judge me. Except maybe Pancake, but she’s not paying attention to me.
I started to say no when Hot Mama first invited me to join her at the bar tonight.
I worked a full shift in the kitchen today and my hands are raw from scrubbing burned pans, but she said, “Sulk in your cabin if you want to, but you might as well do it somewhere with music and decent whiskey.” That’s her brand of therapy.
Spit on it or rub some dirt on it, then drown it in liquor.
I respect her roughness. Her grit and honesty. She doesn’t sugarcoat shit.
You can let life choke you, or you can punch it in the face.
I follow Hot Mama’s silhouette as she marches down the gravel path, calling over her shoulder at me, “Hurry your slow ass up or else.” She’s always threatening me with or else. I think she’d miss me if I ever called her bluff.
She acts all tough, but deep down she’s got a teeny-tiny soft spot in the center of her heart for her Queens.
Tonight the town feels different. Almost electric. Like something exciting is about to happen.
My skin prickles as we walk up to the bar.
There're motorcycles parked out front, but there usually aren’t as many.
Though I’m not usually here as a patron.
I only ever come out if I’m picking up a shift or having a rare meal at the local diner to see Gwynee.
She’s only been back a few times. Not that I’ve expected her to come calling at all.
Hot Mama disappears out of sight by the time I step over the threshold at the bar.
The jukebox plays some classic rock songs I’ve heard a million times since I started working here.
I walk up to the bar to order a beer, and that’s when I notice the men sitting at the bar wearing KOAMC cuts but not the local Oregon guys. These say California.
My heart leaps to my throat as I stare at them from the corner of my eye. I don’t recognize any of them. My heart stutters in relief and grief at the same time. Happy none of them are Tyrant yet depressed none of them are Lunatic.
I ignore them and grab my beer and go off looking for wherever Hot Mama ran off to.
She invited me for a drink, and now she’s nowhere to be found.
Typical. I stopped trying to figure her out.
There’s a method to her madness that only she understands.
I make it to the pool tables and my heart leaps to my throat at the sight of him.
Lunatic. He’s bent over the table, lining up a shot.
A smile etched on his face, cigarette dangling between his lips.
He’s tanner than I remember. His arms are thicker, covered in more dark ink.
What’s he doing here?
That crackling of electricity I felt on the way here returns tenfold as he looks up, his gaze meeting mine. He takes his shot and misses on purpose. He slaps a twenty into his partner’s hand and stalks toward me.