Devil's Heart, page 12
part #1 of Executioners MC Series
“Jasmin?” Tiffany smiles at me in that peculiar way she has when she knows I’m hiding something. The summer sun shafts in through the window, resting on her face. “Well?”
“Maybe a little,” I admit, looking at the TV instead of her. I can feel her eyes on me, though, burning holes into the side of my head.
On TV, two fifty-something glamorous-looking ladies are arguing about who gets to sit where at some high-class event. It’s The Real Housewives, but I’m not sure which one. The volume is turned down so quiet they sound like mice trapped in there, trying to claw their way out.
“You’re allowed to miss him,” she murmurs. “Even if he is the one who got us into that horrible mess.” Bitterness creeps into her voice. “Even if he is the one who’s given me nightmares every day since—”
“He’s the one who saved us as well.”
“How’s that?” She laughs meanly.
“When the shooting started, it was him and Danny who got us out of there. I know you’re going through a hard time and I understand that. I really do. Do you think it’s easy for me? But I don’t think it’s very fair to blame it all on him—”
“Isn’t that what you did though?” she snaps. I turn to her. Tears cling to her blue-tinged eyelashes. “Isn’t that why you left? Isn’t that why bikers follow me wherever I go?”
I sigh heavily. I wish life could just be simple. “I don’t know, Tiffany.”
She tilts her head at me. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You told me you ended things with him because it wasn’t your world. You said it scared you too much. You said—”
“I know what I said!” I hiss. “You don’t have to keep going on about it all the time, okay?”
She puts her wineglass down and holds her hands up. “Okay, okay. Jeez, Jasmin. There’s no reason to go all crazy on me.” She closes her raised hands into fists and waves them around like the drunkest boxer ever. She weaves her whole body from side to side. “Unless you want to make an issue out of it!” she squeals, weaving so far now she almost falls off the couch. “Huh? I’ve been practicing, you know!”
I can’t help but giggle. “Yeah, I can see that. You look like a real Rocky Balboa.”
“Who?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not falling for this again.”
“Falling for what?”
I giggle, this time louder. One of Tiffany’s favorite things to do to annoy me is to pretend she doesn’t know things which she obviously does. One time she refused to admit she knew who Kim Kardashian was. “I’ve just never heard of her,” she’d told me, smiling innocently. “Is she a singer or something?”
I shake my head at her and take another sip of wine. It swills around in my belly, not at all comfortable.
Tiffany must notice my wincing. “Have you been to the doctor yet? Two days now you’ve been like this.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “You’re not my mother.”
“I know I’m not your mother, Little Miss Prissy Pants. But I am your only friend.”
“Hey! I’ve got friends!”
She grins widely at me. For a second, it’s like Mason is grinning widely at me. It’s not that they look similar, or that the smile is the same or anything like that. It’s just that I’ve seen that smile every night since we parted ways. I grab onto my belly. It’s like my heart is sending signals to my gut, telling it to punish me for how I ended things.
“Sure you do,” Tiffany says. “And I’ve got the president’s phone number.”
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”
She nods somberly. “Yes, yes I do.”
I grab the remote and turn the TV up. For a while, we just watch the Housewives scream at each other on their way to some fancy ball, a new episode now. Tiffany stands up and wanders over to the window. “They’re still down there,” she says for the thousandth time.
“They’re going to be down there until this is over, remember?”
“And when is that going to be? Have you seen the news? More fighting.”
“Well …” My shoulders sag. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s that I have no idea if Mason is dead or alive and it’s driving me crazy. I suppose I could go and ask the bikers who trail us everywhere, but I haven’t even talked to them yet. I feel trapped inside my own head. “Well …” My shoulders sag even more.
Then my belly twists and my mouth starts to fill with way, way too much saliva. I grab onto my neck as though trying to squeeze the bile back down into my belly. Tiffany looks at me like I’ve gone insane, which maybe I have.
But then the vomit really does rise up.
It’s like a tidal wave rushing toward my mouth. I leap up from the chair and sprint across the room, just narrowly hopping over the little end table that sits next to the couch. The one I always say I’m going to find a new place for and never do.
I run into the bathroom and drop to my knees.
My body punishes me for five minutes. I grip the edge of the bowl as my dinner and wine mix together in a sick concoction. Eventually I manage to stand up and splash some cold water in my face, lapping some up from the faucet. It’s as I’m swilling mouthwash that my gaze comes to rest on the calendar pinned to the wall. It’s not the big fluffy cat that draws my attention, but the dates.
There’s something about the dates, the passage of …
I drop onto the toilet like a heavy stone weight. Thankfully Tiffany closed it before going back into the living room so I don’t end up with a wet ass. I grip my knees and just manage to lean across to the sink to spit mouthwash into it.
I have to get rid of Tiffany, I realize. I have to get rid of her so I can go to the store and buy a pregnancy test. With everything that happened, I didn’t even think about it. Periods are not exactly something I look forward to.
“Are you okay?” she calls.
“Yes, I’m fine!” I reply, somehow managing to keep my voice steady. But I don’t feel steady. The world must be spinning too fast. My mouth tastes like puke despite the mouthwash. It’s the sickness of knowing that my life could be about to change irrevocably. Irretrievably. And a bunch of other words that all mean the same thing, really. They mean that I will no longer be the Jasmin who skips through life without a care in the world.
Suddenly and instantly, my problems seem petty.
I need to get to the store.
I force myself to stand up, straightening myself out. I splash some more water on my face and wash my hands about ten times since I somehow got some vomit on them, too.
When I’m almost certain I don’t reek of puke, I go back into the living room. There’s a glass of water waiting for me where my wine used to be.
“You’re going to the doctor tomorrow if I have to drag you there,” Tiffany says, shooting blue-makeup daggers at me. “Okay?”
“Okay!” I snap, my mind spinning out of control, trying to map the quickest route to the closest store that will be open this time in the evening.
“Are you still seeing that guy, Marcus?” I ask as I pick up my glass, trying to make the question as casual as possible.
Tiffany looks closely at me. “Yeah, why? I mean, a little bit. He’s a nice guy. Why do you ask?”
“I was just asking. There’s no need to be so suspicious.”
“Come on …” She looks even closer. Sometimes I think Tiffany can see right past my skin to the bones and blood and everything else underneath. Whatever a person is made of, Tiffany sees it. But she doesn’t see everything.
At least, I hope not. Not this.
“Well, I don’t want to be rude, but I actually do feel really, really sick. The sort of sick where I need to curl up in bed and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a while. Do you think you could…” I arch my eyebrow.
“So what you’re saying is that because you’re not feeling good, I need to go to a handsome, hunky man’s house and have sex with him and eat pizza? Is that it?”
“That’s it, yes.”
She smiles at me, standing up as she takes out her cell phone. It’s all one fluid motion. “Oh, the horror!”
We say our goodbyes. I go to the window and watch as one of the two jeeps parked outside pulls into the road, slowly following Tiffany toward the bus stop. I know that they would give her a ride if she asked, but neither of us has done that. It would be like making it real, like admitting that we really are in some warped version of witness protection.
I drink down the rest of the water and then get dressed as quickly as I can. My hands don’t seem to want to work though. I fumble every button and mess up my laces as though I am a child. I pause, hold myself completely still, and take steadying breaths, trying to reassure myself it’s all going to be okay. I tell myself that I don’t even know if I am pregnant yet.
But it makes too much sense.
No, too little sense.
I can’t be pregnant by a man I pushed away.
I can’t be pregnant by a man who might have moved on already.
And that’s if he’s not dead. How many women has Mason been with since I left the clubhouse? As far as he’s concerned, he’s single. Hell, even when we were “together,” I’m not sure we were ever really together.
By the time I walk out the front door, I am outwardly calm. But inside, everything feels twisted up, my body crunching in upon itself like it’s trying to kill me.
I head down the street toward the convenience store, watching as a flock of birds darts this way and that across the sky.
The jeep follows like a hearse.
20
Mason
Danny and I head into our daily checkup with the doc. This shit really pisses me off, but that’s not saying much, given how I’ve felt this past week.
Ever since Jasmin left, everything is pissing me off.
There’s the bullshit with the Pagan’s Sons; those rat fucks are still somehow avoiding us. But then there’s the bullshit with the whiskey, too. I said I’d never touch another drop of it, but that was before Jasmin decided to just walk out on me.
“Any pain?” the doc asks, moving his hands over me, squeezing here and there.
“I’m getting real bored of this shit, Doc,” I tell him.
“Yates’ orders, Wolf.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sigh. “It don’t mean a man can’t have an opinion though, does it? Fuckin’ hell.”
Doc pauses, this giant man who used to run around battlefields saving soldiers’ lives. “You need to be careful with how you talk to me,” he says.
“Do I?” I look up into his face. I’m sitting on the bed with my legs hanging over the side. Danny’s on the other side of the room, sitting the same way. “What’ll happen if I don’t? What’ll happen if I decide I wanna talk to you any damn way I want?”
“Calm the fuck down, Mason,” Danny says. “He’s just doing his damn job. Are we really gonna have to watch you and the doc tear pieces out of each other now? Just apologize to the man. You disrespected him.”
If it came from anybody else, maybe I’d carry on. But it’s hard to keep being a dick with my best friend staring at me like that. I sigh, nodding shortly to Doc. “I didn’t mean any disrespect,” I mumble.
He nods shortly and goes on with the examination.
Afterwards, it’s time for me and Danny to head out on another scouting mission. All we’ve done this past week is go out on scouting missions. They usually lead nowhere, but that’s the job. Ten leads might go nowhere, but the eleventh might give us their whole operation.
Patience is the name of the game.
But I ain’t got much left.
“You’ve gotta chill the fuck out,” Danny tells me as we walk out to our bikes.
I open and close my fists, annoyed even by the sun baking down. Sweat drips down my face, into my mouth, stinging my cuts. They’ve healed some, but they still sting like a motherfucker.
Part of me knows that Danny is right, but there’s another part too. That part wants to smash his head into the concrete. I push it aside. He’s my brother, and that’s not how I really feel, no damn way. It’s just this heat, Jasmin, the Sons, the whole mess of it … why did she have to leave?
“I know,” I admit as I climb onto my bike. “But sometimes chilling out ain’t that easy.”
“Shit, I get that. But we’ve got work to do.”
“I’m as chilled as a fuckin’ block of ice when we’re working. You know that as well as me.”
He shrugs. “True.”
We ride out through the desert. It seems that our outlawing life is just riding out into the desert to walk around an empty warehouse and then coming back to get shitfaced. Most of the fellas are screwing a new girl every night, ’cause apparently that’s what men do when they feel lost and desperate. I don’t touch them though. I don’t even look at them. One night I walked into the house to find a tall, sexy-as-hell woman standing there, looking over her shoulder at me with a wicked smile. It was Jasmin.
But then I blinked and it was just a trick of the light. Too much whiskey and too little sleep will do that to a man.
The ride takes a long time, which is fine by me. Riding is the only thing that never lets me down. Well, riding and Danny and the rest of my brothers. But riding is the best because when a man’s riding he doesn’t have to think about a damn thing apart from the bike and the ground and the rumble of the engine.
We come to a stop on a small ridge which overlooks the warehouse. We stop at the bottom and walk the rest of the way, keeping low and keeping our rifles ready to fire. Even though every job has been a bust so far, we can’t afford to get sloppy. The boss has got a bunch of the fellas out on similar scouting missions.
“If we spot them, we call the boss,” Danny says.
“I know that already,” I mutter.
“Yeah.” He laughs gruffly. “I know you do, but I reckon with that look on your face I’ve gotta remind you.”
I bare my teeth at him. “Maybe I’ll do us all a favor and run in there and kill every bastard. Beat that bald motherfucker to death so you can’t tell he’s got any of those fuckin’ stupid tattoos ’cause he’ll just be skull and brains and blood.”
Danny pauses, looks at me for a second, and then keeps walking.
“So this is about the girl then,” he says once we’ve got ourselves settled into our surveillance point, lying flat on our stomachs covered with a desert-covered tarpaulin. We alternate looking through the binoculars. “Or are you gonna try and tell me I’m wrong?”
“What does it matter?” I grumble. I don’t want to grumble, but lately, the control I spent years working on seems weak. It just slips away. She’s always on my mind, but I can’t tell Danny that.
“She left,” I go on, painfully aware of how emotional I sound. I try to kill it. I fail. “She walked out. So who the fuck cares what this is about, eh?”
“Wolf, you asked her to leave. You told me.”
“Did I?” I growl. Then I remember. It was a few nights ago, and I was almost blackout drunk. “I know I fuckin’ did!” I snap, but that scares the shit outta me. Getting so wasted so often that I can’t even remember what I’ve said?
“Wolf,” Danny says, his voice going tight. He’s looking through the binoculars right now. I’m thankful for that so he can’t look me in the eye. I don’t know what my face is doing right now, but it don’t feel like a smile. I remember back to meeting Jasmin, to how easy my smile came to me then. A grin for everybody.
Not so much of that these days, though.
“Yeah?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything.
“I just … man, you need to stop this. You need to go and see her. Fair enough if she’s the one who brought up about leaving first, but what if she just wanted to know you cared?”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I growl. “If she wanted to know I cared, she could’ve just asked.”
Danny coughs out a laugh. “Goddamn, if it was that easy, I reckon half the fights me and Wendy have ever had never would’ve happened. Fuck that, all of the damn fights. Women ain’t like that, at least the ones I’ve met. They’ve got their own language, and if you wanna be with her, you’ve gotta learn it.”
“That sounds like a whole lot of bullshit work to me.”
He hands me the binoculars. I peer through them at what looks like an abandoned warehouse. It probably is. The way it’s looking, the Pagan’s Sons left all their businesses after the escape. Now they’re in the wind, appearing every now and then to attack and then running into the night like little bitches.
“Maybe it is,” Danny admits. “But what’s your other option? Keep drinking and acting like a prick until you’re kicked outta the club and nobody wants to see you around here anymore?”
“Yates would never kick me out of the club,” I snarl.
“True. Fine, not kicked outta the club. But you could easily become one of those sad bastards who hang around all day, every day until everybody gets an old lady and has some kids and then it’s just you sitting there in the bar on your own. Getting shitfaced, except you don’t even enjoy it anymore. It’s just what you do.”
“You’re one grim fucker today.”
I adjust the binoculars. The place is still abandoned, still pointless. I want to be able to ignore what Danny is telling me, but it’s hard to ignore something that sounds so true. He’s right. That is the road I’m heading down. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to admit though.
“I’ve been drinking for a week and you’re giving me this speech?”
“Wolf,” he snarls. That almost makes me look away from the binoculars. I don’t, though, since we’ve got work to do. But I almost do because Danny never sounds like that. He’s always calm. Hell, he might be the calmest man in the club.
He whistles out a breath between his teeth. “This is serious fuckin’ business. You know I wouldn’t be saying this if I wasn’t your friend. So listen, all right? You need to go and see that girl, and you need to get some fucking control of yourself. I don’t wanna see you turn into some sad lonely bastard. That’s it. I’m done talking about this shit. I’m starting to fucking lactate here.”
