Through a Glass, Darkly (Assassins of Youth MC #1), page 18
When I came back to earth, I still gripped her hip so deeply my fingers left impressions. “Oh, God.” I released her, removing my hand from between us, too. She was inhaling deep ragged breaths, her eyelids fluttering as though she was praying. I flexed my cock inside her a few times, making her gasp and jump again.
“Oh, you!” She mock-slapped my chest. Then, with her Kegels, she gave my dick a few squeezes too.
I was impressed. “You’re not as innocent as you seem.”
She waved a limp hand. “Oh, that’s nothing.” She fell off me, slithering to one side like an empty suit of clothes. She lay on her back with one arm flung above her head, completely limp. “I learned those exercises to get back into shape after giving birth to Vonda.”
Lifting myself on one elbow, I touched her hair. “Sit up.”
I helped her do so. Even her smile was lazy, crookedly adorable.
When I reached for her hair, though, her reaction was instant. Her hand shot up, her face became alarmed. “What’re you doing?”
“I want to see you with your hair down.”
“No!”
“Why not? I’m seeing you right now with no clothes. Why can’t I take down your hair?”
“It’s wrong!” Maybe she realized that was an automatic reaction. She seemed to be thinking about it, looking at my foot. I was still wearing socks and my jeans, my dick lying against my hip like an enormous pulsating slug.
“Maybe that’s just what they told you. Maybe Jesus won’t be angry if you’re not there to wash his feet with your hair.”
“Yes…” she said vaguely, now looking at my knee. “Maybe you can see me…”
Experimentally, I removed one smooth, forked stick from her hair. A big lock rolled to her shoulders. Another forked stick, and another big lock unrolled. I felt it, smoothed it out. Because of her heritage the texture was frizzy, but her Latina blood helped make it lustrous and almost slippery. I found I could plunge my hands into it and never gather it all into a ponytail. I spent long minutes sliding her combs out and unbraiding her hair, my fingers lost in a lush, dense garden of her beauty.
She fluttered her long eyelashes. “I’ve always been afraid to let a man really see me, you know?”
“Yes. I know.”
“I certainly never wanted to let a man see me depressed. I’m much better now, thank you. What’s there to be depressed about?”
I scratched her behind the ears, like a favorite dog. “You had plenty to be depressed about, sweetness. I’m the one who’s wondering why you’re attracted to me.” I chuckled, thinking how different we were. “Talk about opposites attract.”
Instead of answering, she quoted a poem.
“You are aware of only one unrest;
oh, never learn to know the other!
Two souls, alas, are dwelling in my breast,
and one is striving to forsake its brother.”
“Okay. Here’s the part where I ask who wrote that.”
“Goethe. But I thought of looking it up after hearing it on Hannibal.”
I kissed her. “I thought you weren’t supposed to watch TV. Especially not horror shows.”
“Oh, we have our ways,” she said, devilishly.
I kissed her again, rubbing the crown of her skull under my fingertips. Then I realized something, and pulled back. “So you’re striving to forsake me?”
“Of course not! It means—I think—that love can be a giant cross to bear. It means you feel so deeply you are human and capable of sin. We need to learn, I think, to perceive love when it slaps us upside the head and surrender to its cleansing strength. It’s a slap to our enormous, pride, too, to admit we need love.”
“I’m not ashamed. I’m a sucker for love. I just haven’t been very good at it.” I rushed to add, “Up until now.”
She poked me in the chest. “You’re damned lucky you said that, mister.” Her expression became thoughtful again. “I often feel unworthy of you. I don’t feel that I deserve you, Gideon. How many old, used-up women have a knight in shining armor like you? Most of them are doomed to stagnate in places like Cornucopia.”
I gripped her upper arm and rattled her a bit. “Don’t say that, Mahalia. You’re more than worthy of me. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. Look at me. A thirty-year-old biker who has accomplished exactly nothing in his life. I keep choosing the wrong women. I can’t even have a mature, honest relationship. Up until now,” I added again. “Hey. I brought something for you.”
“You’re two years younger than me. Oo,” she said, like a little girl. She watched me rustle around in my duffel bag until I found the white box with the lid. It wasn’t wrapped or anything, but I hadn’t really had time for that. I handed it to her. “Can I open it?”
“Of course. This is for your daily use.”
She took off the lid. She looked from the box to me, then back to the box. “Um…”
“You want to know what it is.” I expected that. “Ben wa balls.”
“Ben…what?”
I was surprised she’d never heard of them. I took the large silver ball from the box. It was weighted with chains attached to two smaller balls. “Ben wa balls. You insert them and walk around with them all day, exercising your muscles. Not that you seem to need any more exercising. But it’ll remind you of me.”
“Really?” She still seemed unsure, so I slipped my fingers between her thighs. Of course she was soaking wet, so there was no problem inserting the larger ball. Pinching her outer pussy lips together, I rubbed them, ensuring the larger ball stayed put. She grabbed my shoulders and hissed like a teapot coming to a boil. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Okay, that’s enough!”
I drew back a bit. “How long until you can come again?”
“Oh! You!” She slapped my shoulder with the back of her hand, then grabbed her bikini top. “I’ve got to go pee and check on Vonda. These bikini bottoms are ruined. They say not to ride the bikes naked.”
“I can see why. Here. I’ve got you covered.” I handed her a fresh pair of my boxer briefs. “Sounds like Vonda’s talking to someone out there.” A couple of guys and maybe another woman were outside with Vonda by the light of the lantern.
I loved the thrill in her voice. Everything was so new to her and Vonda. “She’s seen so much, Gideon. I can’t thank you enough for bringing us out here. Of course at first I thought it was a little…unorthodox. I was panic-stricken something would happen to Vonda, or she’d see something that would scar her. But now I think everything she’s seen has only enhanced who she is. This experience is really going to stand her in good stead.”
“But we’d better find out who she’s talking to,” I added.
“Why, yes, of course!”
I finished making myself presentable first, so I went out. A girl wearing a Mad Hatter hat and about a hundred necklaces and buttons on her vest was sitting in my camping chair. Another guy had a suit made entirely of buttons, and the third dude wore a sort of Flash skullcap with lightning bolts attached to it. Two of them had bikes decorated like yaks, and I assumed the Flash guy rode the Segway. In other words, ordinary citizens of Black Rock City.
I went to my chair to take a smoke from the holder attached to the arm, and also to assert my ownership of the space. I was still trying to quit, and had gotten down to about four a day. The girl and the button guy looked at me with awe. The cut had that effect on people.
“These guys do acrobatic yoga, Gideon!” declared Vonda, her eyes alight with excitement. I knew she’d never forget her Burning Man experience. Even if Allred Chiles was waiting for us at home with chains and a tractor to pull my girls back to Cornucopia, the whole thing would have been worth it. Vonda was fifteen, and instead of wearing a drab, depressing excuse for a wedding gown while standing on a mesa, she was here. Her face was painted, her hair was dyed, and she was discussing acrobatic yoga with three stoners.
“Really? And what do you do here?” I asked Flash.
I couldn’t tell if he was stoned behind the goggles shaped like bulging cartoon eyes, but his voice was fucking unmistakable. And his giggle. He giggled nervously. “Well, I’m an insurance salesman at home, so I really didn’t—”
Just like his namesake, in a flash I had the front of his stupid psychedelic shirt in my hand. There wasn’t much to slam him into, so I wound up half-walking and half-carrying him over to my neighbor’s RV, where I slammed him into the metal siding. “All right, enough of this fucking charade.”
“Gideon!” cried Vonda.
“What—what—what did I do?” cried Flash.
“What are you fucking following us for, you fucking lowdown scumbag? What sort of assmunching super-sleuth business are you up to?” I slammed him again against the RV again. His goggles were wrenched aside, hanging from a string around his neck. People were peering curiously at us, because fighting was uncool in Black Rock City. But it did happen. Take tens of thousands of hungry, filthy people crammed wall-to-wall like sardines, and something’s bound to happen. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to track us all the way up here, you fucking twatwaffle?”
Bronson Carradine’s fingers scratched ineffectively at my fist. “I…I…”
I slammed him even harder against the recreational vehicle, then let him go. He fell to the ground like a skull-shot zombie, all boneless limbs in a pile. “What’s your fucking excuse, Carradine? Like spying on teenage girls getting dressed? There’s no fucking reason for you to be out here. It has nothing to do with Cornucopia. This is now officially my fucking personal business you’re getting into, and I do not appreciate being tracked.”
Mahalia was at my side, hands on hips. “Bronson Carradine?” Even she swore. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”
Bronson was picking himself up, shielding himself from me with his forearm. “Listen! I…I…”
I folded my arms. “I’m listening.”
“This better be good,” Mahalia said sternly. I glanced at her. I’d never seen her stern before. I liked it. It suited her.
Carradine held out his hands. “Listen. Listen. I heard through the grapevine that you left Cornucopia. I figured you’d be a lot more amenable toward helping me out, you know?”
I scowled. “So you followed us here?”
“I figured I could use this against you! I could threaten to tell Chiles that I know where you are to get you to spill to me where the weapons are stored!”
Throwing up my hands, I walked in a circle. “Unbe-fucking-lievable! Carradine, you truly are unbelievable.”
He was brushing himself off now, gaining more confidence. Pulling the hem of his paisley shirt down with dignity. “I still can tell Chiles you’re up here. He can still send his goons up here and drag you all back to his fucked-up compound. Nothing to stop him from doing that.”
I finally got to light my cigarette. I saw that Carradine’s two friends, the yoga acrobats, had taken off. Probably afraid a fed would take away their weed. “You’d do that just because we won’t help you?”
Vonda chimed in. “And force a fifteen-year-old girl to marry a dirty old man?”
Carradine ignored her. “Listen, Fortunati. I know you’re up to no good. My boss knows you’re up to no good. It’s only a matter of time before we track down your suppliers, nail them, and find out where Chiles’ armory is.”
I made a motion to grab his stupid shirtfront again. “Listen, you lowdown anusbrain—”
But Mahalia stepped between us. Her hands were up, blocking me from accessing the slimy fed. She faced Carradine. “I’ve got something for you. But in return I want you to not only promise not to give away our location, but I want you to give us warning when you’re planning a raid.” Everyone went silent. “You are planning a raid, aren’t you?”
“Well, of course! That’s the whole goal here. The raid’s gonna make my entire career, like I’ve been telling you. Man, I’m going to get that promotion. I’m going to spend a whole month drinking drinks with little umbrellas down in Antigua.”
Mahalia steered the starry-eyed fed back on track. “I’ve got some very good intel for you. But it’s a trade-off, see? Just give us this one week. After this week we’re going back to Avalanche and try to lead normal lives, if Allred will let us. But once I give you this intel, I want you to ride your little Segway back to your yurt and never darken our doors again.”
I added, “Until you let us know when the raid’s going to take place. So we can get some of her sister-wives out of there beforehand.”
Carradine wiped off the lenses of his goofy glasses. He nodded. “I’m listening.”
“Do you agree?” asked Mahalia.
“Well, it depends on the accuracy of your intel. There are lots of factors to consider here. Giving you advance warning of the raid puts me in a weak position. Who knows what your sister-wives are going to squeal? I can guarantee not to give away your Burning Man position, but—”
“There’s a gambling operation in the back of the coffee shop!”
Everyone turned to look at Vonda. The teen had suddenly stepped forward between Mahalia and me. From the look on Mahalia’s face, she didn’t know about the gambling op either.
“Really?” said Carradine, stepping forward to. “That’s intriguing. Tell me more.”
We listened while Vonda detailed the bookmaking scene for Carradine. We even sat in our camp chairs while she told how Wrangler Mowat, a mild-mannered bishop in their ward, sat in the back of the coffee shop with his algebraic formulas and took bets. Vonda seemed fairly well-versed in stake units and odds multipliers, and her mother glared at her.
“It helped me with my math,” Vonda explained, hanging her head. But she perked up again when she told Carradine, “It’s a high-stakes sports betting place. Guys come in with concealed weapons. Ordinary Mormons on the outside, gambling fiends on the inside. Some teenagers I know take their dad’s credit cards back there, and rack up the debt.”
Eventually, Carradine agreed not to nark on our location, and to give us a heads up about his raid, but only about two hours ahead of time. I understood he couldn’t risk having a loyal or freaked sister-wife go running to Chiles with that information.
“I don’t suppose,” he said, “you could give me the names of any recently departed brethren. You know, someone whose name is likely to be a password. That way we can get through the gate a lot more quietly.”
“Shiz,” snorted Mahalia. “For all I know, my name is a password now. Would you like a root beer?”
So we sat there another hour, this unlikely group, just as though we were chatting around a campfire. We stayed in Black Rock City to the end, Bronson Carradine included, watching the giant cornucopia burn, after Mahalia placed a photo of her dead husband inside the temple. I left a photo of my brother Chad. I admit it was a copy of a photo. The original was too dear for me to leave to burn, and I wasn’t too sure how much I believed in the “woo woo” concept of trashing a temple to your loved one’s memories. But after the temple burned, I actually did feel much better. I did feel that Chad had somehow been released or freed. He was still with me all the time, but he’d been allowed to move on, if that makes any sense.
I took a lot of things away from Black Rock City. But the most important seemed to be a new concept of love. I remember hearing that true love is finding a person who loves the things about you that you love about yourself. I realized I’d always had a low self-image, a worthless combat veteran, a biker who ran a quarry. But Mahalia seemed to love everything about me. She was fascinated with my MC, my geology, my Afghanistan tales.
I realized I did have something to offer besides a killer body and a talent for getting chicks off. At first I felt shy when she’d praise me. It didn’t take long for it to grow on me, and I started seeing myself through her eyes, more clearly.
I was seeing everything more clearly.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MAHALIA
There followed a week of serenity for us. For awhile it looked as though we’d be left in peace. More and more I was seeing that my journey was a book I could edit. I had the power and the control to change the script in a way that would shape my own needs and cravings. I wanted to take responsibility for my leaning toward the dark, because I knew Gideon contained dark elements. I knew he was a “bad” man in the eyes of many. I myself had overheard his dealings with Allred. I’d even seen him shoot a man to death, although he was entirely justified.
Now I was watching him blackmail Allred into leaving us alone—and perhaps even giving him the entire mine—and I was saying the end justified the means. This was a new way of thinking, letting me know that we form our own reality. I may have been mapped to be the fortieth wife of a charlatan “prophet,” but I alone had the power to alter that map by rubbing out the blueprint.
Gideon went back to work at the mine with Dust Bunny and was unmolested by any goons. But he really worried about his Papa Ewey, the “Prez” of his club. He worried that the guy hadn’t called him yet, and then he did call.
“He wants me to start a new chapter here in Avalanche,” Gideon explained.
We were sitting on the back deck having coffee before he went to work. The sun hadn’t peeked over the red bluffs, but the reflection from the orange bowl cast a holy look to his face. Not that he needed it. He was above all reproach in my book.
“You figured as much. But who will you have? You’ll be the only patched member with a dozen Prospects.”
“That’s the catch. I want to ask that Maximus, the older guy from the riding club.”
“The Lazzat Un Nisa club? You know that means ‘the pleasure of woman’ in Arabic. It’s an old erotic manuscript from the fifteenth century.”
