Cut Wide Open
Page 17
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
You're kissing me. It’s different than any kiss we’ve shared. Hungry, but angry. My lips feel bruised from the punishing way your lips connect with mine. I want to ask you where you went and why you’re here, but that would stop this moment. This moment feels good. Then, your lips pull away from mine.
I’m stunned.
What was happening?
Everything was a blur.
What was happening to me? Why didn’t I feel right?
My pulse sped up. I could feel the thump, thump, thump in my head. My vision was spotty. You’re talking to me, but I don’t hear you. Something catches my eyes behind you. On the dressing table in front of my mirror is a vase filled with dark purple roses. I know these are not from you. Flowers were never your speed. I know who these are from because behind it is the picture of Gun and me. Even in my haze of confusion, I knew.
I was panicking inside. I wanted to scream and ask you to save me, but my lips are barely working. So, I say the one word that I hope will convey my fear, “Enrico.”
Chapter Eight-Gunner
Christ! Who was this woman in front of me? I broke from our kiss even more confused. She was so high. I wasn't even sure she knew it was me, and then as I stared at her, and asked her what the hell she was on, she called me Enrico. Fucking Enrico.
If I was pissed before, I was even more so now. I wanted to hit something, and I wanted to kill Enrico. I needed to get away from Charlie before I did something seriously fucked up.
I started to move away from her when she slurred, “Gun, slys yours.”
What the fuck did that even mean?
My temper couldn't take it. “Jesus fucking Christ, Charlie! You’re fucking stoned,” I yelled. My blood boiled.
“‘Rico, dance,” she mumbled, not making any sense. She looked afraid, but I didn’t know what to make of any of it. All I heard was Enrico saying she was his and she kept repeating Enrico’s name. I’d loved her and held her on a pedestal for so long, and she was a fucking drug lord’s tweaked out pussy.
I ripped my gaze from her. I couldn't look at her. Everything I’d ever thought about and dreamed about pertaining to Charlie was being crushed. I’d thought of finding her one day, and making her mine like it was always meant to be. Hell, near every time I got my dick wet since we’d been apart, all I thought about was Charlie. On nights when I’d had to do unthinkable shit, it was the memories of Charlie that got me through, but now I could see that my Mouse was gone. I couldn't fucking handle it. So, I did the only thing I could do without losing my shit. I left, but not before delivering one final blow, “I can’t believe you’re his fucking whore.”
I returned to the table and Enrico’s eyes latched onto me. “You were gone a long time. Everything alright?”
“Bad tacos,” I rebutted and watched as both Shane, knowing I was lying, and Enrico, believing I was lying, narrowed their eyes at me. I sat down, not looking back at the stage. I needed to get the fuck out of there.
I threw back a shot of whiskey, still rattled from seeing Charlie, and listened to the plan with Enrico. It was a sound plan, and I had to admit, as much as I didn't like the guy, he didn’t get to be a king without being able to knock down some pawns.
“What the fuck was that?” Shane asked me as we were mounting our bikes, leaving the strip club behind.
“Not now, brother.” My nose flared, but I knew now wasn't the time for me to lose my shit. Donny and Knuckles spotted us, gave us a chin lift, and got into their truck. I started my Harley Street Glide, let it warm up for a minute since it had been sitting, and pulled out, but not before wondering if I’d ever see Charlie again, and how she could’ve gotten to the place she was in.
***
“Let’s celebrate!” Shane slammed his fist down as church ended. We had just finished going over the deal with Enrico and the guys were more than pleased.
Twenty of us filed out of church down a corridor and into a large area that had a makeshift bar on one side that was surrounded by tables, mismatched chairs and leather couches. There was a large flat screen behind the bar and the Browns were getting their asses handed to them A-fucking-gain. Lachlan and Anthony moved to one of the machines in the back of the building and powered it on. They had a piece they were machining for a custom bike they were working on. Our clubhouse was an old machine shop that was close to the highway and surrounded by other businesses. We machined several pieces for big corporations on a contractual basis. That was our main source of income.
I grabbed a beer from the glass cooler, took it to the head, and finished it in near one gulp.
“Jesus, man. What’s gotten into you?” Shane asked, “And what the fuck was that shit about bad tacos?”
I shook my head at him and grabbed another beer. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to get fucked up. It’d been years since I felt as out of control as I did right now.
I grabbed another beer and slammed that one back too. Shane’s eyes were boring into me. I finished that beer and said, “Need to fight. Any of you fuckers got balls enough to spar with me?” I took off my shirt. The Bleeding Scars MC tattoo, with the words written across my back and a Celtic cross with a motorcycle handlebar going through it to make the cross, covered my back. Every man in the room had the same tattoo, except the hang-arounds and the prospects that were always just here.
I grabbed a cigarette, lit it, and rolled my neck.
“I’ll fight you,” Shane pulled his shirt off too and headed to the ring. Yes, we had an actual boxing ring.
“Figures you’d be the only one with balls,” I mumbled.
“Nah, I’m just the only one who doesn't give a fuck what crawled up your ass. I’ll still lay you out.”
I laughed and shook my head, “Keep dreaming.”
We rounded each other in the ring. Our men flanked all sides of the ropes. Ace, the other original member who barely ever spoke, sat in the corner of the room silently observing. Ace was a Marine. His hair was dark and was always cut short. He was a big motherfucker. He always wore his vest, and the only time I’d ever seen him without a shirt, he was covered in scars. He kept his story close to him, not really ever letting anyone in. I knew, Shane knew, but no one else did. He pulled smoke into his lungs, and gave a subtle shake of his head. I know my brothers didn’t understand the turmoil going through my heart right now, but it was clear that I needed to expunge my rage.
I’m stunned.
What was happening?
Everything was a blur.
What was happening to me? Why didn’t I feel right?
My pulse sped up. I could feel the thump, thump, thump in my head. My vision was spotty. You’re talking to me, but I don’t hear you. Something catches my eyes behind you. On the dressing table in front of my mirror is a vase filled with dark purple roses. I know these are not from you. Flowers were never your speed. I know who these are from because behind it is the picture of Gun and me. Even in my haze of confusion, I knew.
I was panicking inside. I wanted to scream and ask you to save me, but my lips are barely working. So, I say the one word that I hope will convey my fear, “Enrico.”
Chapter Eight-Gunner
Christ! Who was this woman in front of me? I broke from our kiss even more confused. She was so high. I wasn't even sure she knew it was me, and then as I stared at her, and asked her what the hell she was on, she called me Enrico. Fucking Enrico.
If I was pissed before, I was even more so now. I wanted to hit something, and I wanted to kill Enrico. I needed to get away from Charlie before I did something seriously fucked up.
I started to move away from her when she slurred, “Gun, slys yours.”
What the fuck did that even mean?
My temper couldn't take it. “Jesus fucking Christ, Charlie! You’re fucking stoned,” I yelled. My blood boiled.
“‘Rico, dance,” she mumbled, not making any sense. She looked afraid, but I didn’t know what to make of any of it. All I heard was Enrico saying she was his and she kept repeating Enrico’s name. I’d loved her and held her on a pedestal for so long, and she was a fucking drug lord’s tweaked out pussy.
I ripped my gaze from her. I couldn't look at her. Everything I’d ever thought about and dreamed about pertaining to Charlie was being crushed. I’d thought of finding her one day, and making her mine like it was always meant to be. Hell, near every time I got my dick wet since we’d been apart, all I thought about was Charlie. On nights when I’d had to do unthinkable shit, it was the memories of Charlie that got me through, but now I could see that my Mouse was gone. I couldn't fucking handle it. So, I did the only thing I could do without losing my shit. I left, but not before delivering one final blow, “I can’t believe you’re his fucking whore.”
I returned to the table and Enrico’s eyes latched onto me. “You were gone a long time. Everything alright?”
“Bad tacos,” I rebutted and watched as both Shane, knowing I was lying, and Enrico, believing I was lying, narrowed their eyes at me. I sat down, not looking back at the stage. I needed to get the fuck out of there.
I threw back a shot of whiskey, still rattled from seeing Charlie, and listened to the plan with Enrico. It was a sound plan, and I had to admit, as much as I didn't like the guy, he didn’t get to be a king without being able to knock down some pawns.
“What the fuck was that?” Shane asked me as we were mounting our bikes, leaving the strip club behind.
“Not now, brother.” My nose flared, but I knew now wasn't the time for me to lose my shit. Donny and Knuckles spotted us, gave us a chin lift, and got into their truck. I started my Harley Street Glide, let it warm up for a minute since it had been sitting, and pulled out, but not before wondering if I’d ever see Charlie again, and how she could’ve gotten to the place she was in.
***
“Let’s celebrate!” Shane slammed his fist down as church ended. We had just finished going over the deal with Enrico and the guys were more than pleased.
Twenty of us filed out of church down a corridor and into a large area that had a makeshift bar on one side that was surrounded by tables, mismatched chairs and leather couches. There was a large flat screen behind the bar and the Browns were getting their asses handed to them A-fucking-gain. Lachlan and Anthony moved to one of the machines in the back of the building and powered it on. They had a piece they were machining for a custom bike they were working on. Our clubhouse was an old machine shop that was close to the highway and surrounded by other businesses. We machined several pieces for big corporations on a contractual basis. That was our main source of income.
I grabbed a beer from the glass cooler, took it to the head, and finished it in near one gulp.
“Jesus, man. What’s gotten into you?” Shane asked, “And what the fuck was that shit about bad tacos?”
I shook my head at him and grabbed another beer. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to get fucked up. It’d been years since I felt as out of control as I did right now.
I grabbed another beer and slammed that one back too. Shane’s eyes were boring into me. I finished that beer and said, “Need to fight. Any of you fuckers got balls enough to spar with me?” I took off my shirt. The Bleeding Scars MC tattoo, with the words written across my back and a Celtic cross with a motorcycle handlebar going through it to make the cross, covered my back. Every man in the room had the same tattoo, except the hang-arounds and the prospects that were always just here.
I grabbed a cigarette, lit it, and rolled my neck.
“I’ll fight you,” Shane pulled his shirt off too and headed to the ring. Yes, we had an actual boxing ring.
“Figures you’d be the only one with balls,” I mumbled.
“Nah, I’m just the only one who doesn't give a fuck what crawled up your ass. I’ll still lay you out.”
I laughed and shook my head, “Keep dreaming.”
We rounded each other in the ring. Our men flanked all sides of the ropes. Ace, the other original member who barely ever spoke, sat in the corner of the room silently observing. Ace was a Marine. His hair was dark and was always cut short. He was a big motherfucker. He always wore his vest, and the only time I’d ever seen him without a shirt, he was covered in scars. He kept his story close to him, not really ever letting anyone in. I knew, Shane knew, but no one else did. He pulled smoke into his lungs, and gave a subtle shake of his head. I know my brothers didn’t understand the turmoil going through my heart right now, but it was clear that I needed to expunge my rage.
