Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC (23 page)

Gunner never strayed further than just out the front door. As day turned to night, she could tell he was getting restless - snapping at patrons, chain smoking cigarettes, making fists and clenching his jaw. It was like he was itching for a fight.
Is it because he doesn't like being told to stay put? Or is this just him?
He didn't seem drunk. Just agitated.

"You okay?" she asked, finally taking a break and approaching him at the pool table, dishtowel in hand.

"Meeting's set for tomorrow," he said. He wrapped an arm around her waist and glanced around the room. Like he was claiming her and waiting for a challenge. "Got the call from Bill."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"He doesn't want me there."

She tensed. "Why?"

"Says I'll fuck it up somehow. I'm already banned from the bar where you'll be meeting, but I'm sure you can guess how much that matters."

"Not a damn bit," she mumbled, though her mind raced. If she walked in there without him, she'd be completely alone. She had no friends here. "What will you do?" Images flashed through her head. The club taking the entire payment from her. The club handing her over to Colin and his boss to go back to New York after all. Shooting. Wasn't there always shooting when there was a big pile of money on the table? Wouldn't the club prefer it if she were dead?
Not all of them
, she assured herself.
Otherwise I wouldn't be here at all
.

"I'm going." He stamped out his cigarette on the floor of the bar. "They'll just have to deal with it." He tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You're scared."

"Yes."

"Well stop. I said I'll be there. You'll be fine."

"I just want it all to be over," she whispered.

He pulled away. "Yeah. We'll get you on that bus soon. Don't you worry."

Huh?
That wasn’t what she was trying to say at all. "I didn't mean-" he shook her away as she tried to grab him.
Not again. Don't push him away again. Not now
. Panic welled in her chest as she chased him out the front door.

The man from before - Jester - barred her exit. “He’ll be right back.”

“But-”

“You ain’t allowed to leave, honey.” She didn’t want to show fear but she didn’t want to challenge this man either, with his glassy eyes and thin, smirking mouth. Alarms in her head rang,
danger,
so she backed away.

I can fix this,
she assured herself, heading back to the kitchen.
He’s overreacting because he’s scared. But he’s still stuck here with me for another day. I can fix it.

“Let’s get fucked up.”

Jester smirked. “Your old lady doesn’t look too happy.”

Gunner ducked out of her sight, leaning back against the wall next to the door. He listened to Jester turn her away.

“Trouble in paradise?” the scrawny biker asked after she’d left.

“Making trouble is what I do.” The night was clear and relatively quiet. The well-lit parking lot was lined with cars and bikes but none were coming or going at the moment. A rarity - usually someone was revving an engine and showing off somewhere. “What’ve you got?”

Jester licked his lips and grinned.
God, he’s like a fucking serpent.
“Got some K with your name on it.”

“That’s - fuck, really? - that’s perfect.”

They discussed the price but Gunner put it out of his mind immediately. Jester would just have to remember their agreement on his own - he didn’t give half a shit about money, anyway.

The inhaled it off the seats of their bikes. He felt a moment of regret before the effects hit - a sadness, imagining what Senna would think of this, of finding him like this. There was no way she’d just be okay with it.
She’s better than this. I’m fucking things up worse.
But half the reason he sought Jester out was that he wanted to push her out of his mind. She was in too deep. Losing her was going to be too painful to think about.

So he slipped away. He watched himself from somewhere far above and somewhere off to the left, numb, thoughtless. He was through with Jester - he didn’t actually enjoy the man’s company, only the things he carried. He ignored the man’s protests while he pulled a pair of pliers from the toolkit he carried on his bike.

When he pushed Senna from his mind, all he could see was his dying friend.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Jester had to shout in order for Gunner to be able to hear him. “You’re gonna wreck your bike if you try anything.”

“It doesn’t work,” he muttered, though he knew it wouldn’t make sense to Jester. It didn’t need to. Jester didn’t matter.

He knelt and positioned the pliers behind the back wheel of his bike - around the little bell. A gift from his father when he’d bought his very first motorcycle, back before he was even old enough to hold a license. “It doesn’t work anymore.”

It was supposed to be luck for the road, for the ride. But wasn’t all of life just one long-ass dark and foggy road that never seemed to end?
That’s the drug talking.
Alvarez was gone and when Senna inevitably left he’d be alone on that road once again.
No luck. This thing’s a sham.

With a flick of his wrist, the bell was free. One job done.

He made his way slowly back to the bar where he could sit and watch and listen and not use his brain. He didn’t like the Eagle bartender, but at least the stranger was quiet. He remembered when Irish used to tend the bar - that guy never shut his trap.

Where was he now? Where was Dawn? Wasn’t Senna supposed to make good with her sister?

Wait, he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Senna.

But he wanted to see her. He smiled within the haze of the drug but he frowned internally, remembering that he’d hurt her feelings just minutes before.

Was it minutes? It might have been an hour. It might have been two.

He floated through the back door and down the hall.

When he finally managed to grip the doorknob to the room they shared and turn it, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting, frowning. He shut the door behind him.

She was looking at him strangely. Did he look that bad? Dirty, glassy-eyed, he was sure.
I shouldn’t have come in.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said, though he walked to her anyway. He meant to sit next to her, but he sank to his knees at her feet instead.
Did I miss the bed or was this on purpose?

It didn’t matter. He wanted to give her something; he wanted to give her
everything
. But what did he have? Nothing of worth, nothing worthy of her.

“Put these on.” He fished his dogtags from his pocket and slid the chain over her head. They hung between her breasts, clinking slightly as she breathed.

“This feels sacrilegious,” she said, staring down at them.

“I can’t remember if they’re good luck or a curse.”

“They’re neither. They’re metal.” She shook her head. “It’s like dropping the flag in the dirt. Or ripping pages out of a Bible. I can’t wear them. Take them back.”

This was supposed to be a good trip but this isn’t fun.
He felt like he was smiling but it wasn’t right. He was cracking apart.

He placed the bell in her hand. “This I don’t understand at all,” she said, holding it out as if afraid it would bite her. It was old, and filthy with years of grease and oil and dirt.

He let his head rest on her thigh, too tired to hold it up any longer. “It’s for luck on the road,” he said, “It keeps you from crashing.” He sounded like a madman and he knew it but he said the words anyway.

“Yeah?” she asked. “Are you afraid of black cats, too? Don’t walk under ladders? Do you throw salt over your shoulder?”

Is she making fun of me?
He did do the salt thing. “Don’t steal black umbrellas,” he said. “No hats in bed. The rule of threes.”

“I don’t know those,” she said, “Those are some advanced level superstitions.”

“I’m in love with you.” She tensed.
Shit.
He’d hoped she’d keep on humoring him, keep talking and saying soothing things and running her hand through his hair. He’d hoped she’d lie and say it back just to make him feel better, just so he could pretend she meant it for a little while.

“It’s bad luck to say that when you’re fucked up,” she said.

“You’re making that up.”

“Well, it’s bad form.” She sounded strange but he couldn’t lift his head. “Bad fucking form, Gunner.” She kept stroking his hair, though, how mad could she be? “Some things you should only say completely sober, when you can look the person in the eye, and that’s one of those things.”

“Say it anyway,” he whispered. “Lie to me.”

“I love you,” she said, her voice small, weary. “Will you even remember this tomorrow? I love you and I want to stay with you and I’m not a liar. But I don’t like you like this.”

He mumbled something about liars. He mumbled something about remembering. The words didn’t matter and he wasn’t listening to himself anyway. But he wasn’t cracking apart anymore; he was mending. As long as she held him together he would be all right.

◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙

Neither spoke of it the next day. She was quiet, and he let her be. He knew she was afraid though she didn't show it.

Bill sent for her just before sundown.

"It's time," Mort said. He'd come to pick her up.

Gunner would be damned if he'd let her ride with anyone else. "I'm coming."

"Bill said no."

"Let him tell me to my face."

Mort grimaced through his red beard. "It's too public, brother. The cops haven't forgotten what you did." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Senna hadn't overheard that. She was keeping busy in the kitchen again, needing an outlet for her nervous energy.

"I'll keep my head low. I'm coming, Mort, and that's it."

Short of disabling his bike, Mort couldn't stop him. He followed behind him with Senna wrapped around his back.
Where she belongs
. He looked down at the hands clasped around his middle and his chest constricted.
I meant what I said. God help me
.

They drove through the bustling commercial part of town. Restaurants, bars, and little shops lined the street and people made their unhurried way from one to another, enjoying the cooler evening air. He hadn't been to this part of town since he'd been banished so many months ago, but nothing had changed. He suspected he could return in a decade and find it still exactly the same.

The bar they'd chosen was called Digger's - it was a smoky old place they’d only picked because it had a pair of private party rooms in the back.

Bars ushered Senna inside but Bill stopped him at the door.

"Did you seriously think I'd just stay back?" Gunner asked, squaring his shoulders, ready for a fight already.

"Part of the bargain. No thugs."

He flexed his fingers; his vision narrowed, centered in on Bill’s impatient face. His fists were going to fly. He was going to hit the president of his club. It wasn’t going to end well.

“Gunner,” she called to him. And that was all it took for the worst of his tension to dissipate. “It won’t take long. Just a few signatures. Order me a drink? Please?”

He nodded.

Bill smirked and followed her and Bars into the back room. Jester shouldered past him, imitating the sound of a whip and then cackling like a bastard. Normally such disrespect would send him into a frothing rage, but he only shook his head. He’d punched Jester many times before. It changed nothing. The man couldn’t feel his own face half the time, anyway.

He was surprised to find his father at the bar. “You didn’t want to join the party?” Gunner asked.

Nomad hitched a shoulder. “Couldn’t give a shit about her negotiations. Bill wanted the room watched, so here I am.”

“Watching a beer.”

Nomad gestured to the bartender and said, “Well, watch one with me. They won’t keep your old lady too long.”