Breath on the Wind (14 page)

Chapter Twelve

He did need to go.  It was irrelevant whether she wanted him there or not, he needed to be elsewhere.  Despite the promises he’d made her, he needed to get gone.

Chiz had woken as the first light of dawn was just beginning to show around the heavy purple drapes that covered the massive window behind the bed.  For only the second morning that week, he had woken feeling completely at peace.  It was no great riddle that the reason for that was the female body tucked snugly against his.

He’d gotten up to take a piss, then found a glass in her stark kitchen, and had drunk a glass of tap water.  When he’d gone back to the bedroom, his initial intention had been to crawl under the covers, wrap himself around Elmo, and let sleep claim him for a few hours more.  They could deal with the night before in the calm light of day, and see where things should go from there.

It was that thought, the one heavy with future possibilities, that had made him see that climbing back into that bed would be the worst possible thing he could do.  He couldn’t start anything with Elmo.  Even as he thought that, he knew he was deluding himself, that something had already started, but he chose to ignore that truth.  She was in a different league, from a different world, not to mention that there were around two hundred miles between their respective lives.  She was savvy and successful, intelligent and discerning.  He was rough and vicious, and spent most of his time living under the threat of a bloody and brutal death.

She’d been right; she was a holiday romance, and that was where this, whatever it was, whatever it could have been, should remain.

He’d sat on the edge of the bed and watched Elmo’s shoulders rise and fall with her deep, even breathing.  He’d admired the graceful curve of her spine revealed by the bunched covers, and had even allowed himself to grow hard, and had decided that he would not be there when she woke up.

As Elmo lay in innocent sleep, Chiz admitted to himself that he cared about her.  Even so, his personal demon had sprung up with the suggestion to play a little game of asphyxia.  Why?  He had no idea.  Maybe it was part of his genetic makeup to tear down everything good in his life.  The only thing he’d ever stuck with was the club, and that was only because his brothers were fucking stubborn bastards, and for some reason he couldn’t conceive of, seemed to want to keep him around. 

The shadow that he carried around in his soul had risen up with evil whispers of invincibility, of power, of the supremacy of his being over the one beneath him.  He’d fought the bastard back, but it had been a close call.  Chiz wondered if Elmo had realized just how close and if that realization had been responsible for her momentary freak out.

No, the best thing was to go, before he hurt her, before she discovered that he was a monster wearing human skin.  It wasn’t just the urges that afflicted his personal life, it was the things he did for his club, for his brothers, it was the man he was.  That man had no business insinuating himself into the life of a woman like her.  If they carried on with whatever it was that he was about to run from, then she’d find out just what sort of man, what sort of monster, he was.  It was inevitable.

He had to leave before that happened.

He took his clothes into the living room to dress.  He had no intention of waking her to say goodbye.  Unless she still wanted him gone when she woke, he knew that he’d take one look at those deep brown eyes and be undone.  It was better if he simply slid away.  They’d known each other a week.  They were a blip in each other’s lives.  A week was nothing in the grand scheme of things.  She’d go back to work, pick up her life, and forget all about him.

By the time Chiz had pulled his boots on, he’d almost convinced himself that what he was doing was the noble course of action, almost.  He let himself out, and made sure that the door was locked securely behind him.

He’d remember her.  No doubt about that.  Elmo was etched into his subconscious.  He knew he’d see her face in the face of every woman he’d ever fuck.  He knew he’d never again touch such pale, smooth skin.  He knew he’d never find anyone who intrigued him, who challenged him, who accepted him the way that Elmo did.  It would be pointless to even try to look.

It was awkward, but he walked his bike yards from her house before he started the engine.  The dawn was grey, cold and bleak, and utterly silent.  The engine of his Harley was little less than explosion of sound.  It seemed impossible that it shouldn’t wake her.  He wrenched the throttle, intending to be well out of sight by the time she pulled the curtains back from her window to investigate the noise.  She’d go looking for him then, but it would be too late.

He’d paid up at the motel for a week when he’d booked the room.  He’d been intending to speak to the clerk in the morning about keeping his room for a few more days.  There was no need for that now.  It didn’t take long to stuff his belongings back into his tattered rucksack.  In less than half an hour from his arrival back at the motel, he was racing west on the interstate, heading for Absolution, heading for home.

His Harley ate up the miles of the lonely stretches of highway at a reckless pace.  Normally he would have been thrilled by this opportunity, he would have reveled in the freedom, in the pure unconstrained joy of having the open road to himself.  But not this morning.  He took little satisfaction in the ride at all.  It was a means to an end, a simple mode of transport from Point A to Point B.

As he sped through the miles and the developing morning, the world came slowly to life around him.  Every town that he passed through, or skirted, was a little bit more awake than the last, had a few more people moving around, was a little more noisy.  By the time he reached Absolution, all those not laid low by the excesses of their celebrations had started their day.

Chiz pulled into the clubhouse, which was so silent it was like winding the clock back by two hundred miles.  Of course the New Year’s Eve party would have been epic.  Chiz hadn’t even thought about the fact that he’d be missing it.  He’d checked in with Samuel as usual, and neither of them had spoken about it.  Normally it was the highlight of his year, after Mardi Gras.  This morning, his only thought was the hope that no one had picked the lock to his room and passed out in his bed.

The bikes lined up outside the building bore sentry to the carnage that lay within.  There were bodies passed out all over the main room.  It looked like someone had lobbed a grenade full of sleeping agent into the room.  People had passed out in their chairs, or on the sofas.  They were slumped over the tables, lying on the bar, or curled up on the filthy floor.  Some were dressed, some weren’t.  Some had succumbed to unconsciousness while in the middle of fucking.  One sweetbutt appeared to have passed out in the act of giving Kong a blowjob; his flaccid penis was still mostly in her gaping mouth.  Since Kong himself was slumped on the sofa with his head back, snoring loudly, Chiz figured he’d probably gone first, and been followed shortly by the girl.

The room stank.  Chiz had often heard Moira and Dolly comment on the smell, but he’d never been able to understand their problem. He got it now.  Sweat, smoke, alcohol and sex combined to form an almost tangible fog of stench that caught in the back of his throat, and made Chiz feel the urge to physically push his way through.

He picked his way carefully over the prone bodies, pausing only to rescue a mostly full bottle of Jack, that was in jeopardy of slipping from Fletch’s loose fist, as he made his way to his dorm room. The door was still secure, and his key still worked in the lock.  He wouldn’t have been surprised to find it changed, either through prank or warning. 

The first thing he did once he was inside, was to lock the door behind him.  His bike outside would announce his arrival, but he didn’t want anyone and everyone barging in.  The second thing he did was strip.  He could still smell Elmo on his clothes.  That did little to help; she was all over his skin.  He showered in the attached tiny bathroom, scrubbing his skin until it was pink and a little sore. 

His kutte was lying flat in the middle of his bed, exactly where he had left it.  He hung it on the hook on the back of the door.  Having dressed again in clean sweatpants and t-shirt, he set about pouring the contents of the bottle of Jack down his neck as fast as possible.  It burned, and he had to fight not to cough and sputter the alcohol back up, but drinking so much and so quickly on an empty stomach soon had the desired effect.  He had known it was the only way he’d be able to attain a state that even remotely resembled sleep.

Swaying slightly, unsure of his vision, and feeling sick in body, mind and spirit, Chiz collapsed face-first onto his bed, on top of the covers, and passed out.

~o0o~

At first he mistook the knocking on his door for the jackhammer pounding in his head.  He woke slowly, feeling acutely more miserable than he had when he’d closed his eyes.

“I’m comin’.  For fuck’s sake, give it a rest.”  He called to the locked door.

Groggily, he scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the rasp of days’ worth of stubble.  He knew he looked like hell and smelt like a distillery.  He didn’t care.  Whoever was on the other side of the door could take him as they found him.  He wouldn’t be the worst thing they’d encountered, if they’d fought their way through the bombsite that had been the main room.

Of course when he opened the door, he found Samuel on the other side.  It was obvious from the bags under his eyes and his own fuzz of stubble on his cheeks, on the skin either side of his goatee that he normally shaved, that his president had partied hard as well.  But Samuel, being Samuel, was not bowed by something as inconsequential as a fucking awful hangover. 

“Hey, boss.”  His voice sounded like he’d swallowed sandpaper for breakfast.

“Hey, brother.  Saw your bike outside.”  Samuel sounded a little raspy, too, probably from shouting over the music.  Samuel’s brows drew down at the empty liquor bottle on the dresser.  “You kill that this mornin’?”

“Don’t worry, boss. I rode straight.”

At Samuel’s pause, Chiz stepped back into the room and allowed his president to cross the threshold.  Samuel shut the door behind him.

“You take the time you need?  You back with us now?”

“Yeah.  I’m back.  Rarin’ to go.”  Chiz coughed, a hacking bark.  “Just as soon as I’ve got some coffee in me anyway.”

“There’s some on the go, and the girls have ordered breakfast in.  Most of the bodies outside are upright, or nearly so.  Your brothers are lookin’ forward to seein’ you.  We’ve missed you.”

“I’ll be right out.  Just wanna catch a shower first.”

Samuel nodded his understanding.  “And what about the lady-friend that kept you away from us for a week?”

Chiz didn’t mean to turn such a dark look on his president, Samuel didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t help the way his mind clouded over.  He’d have to get that shit straight before he saw the rest of the club.  Samuel’s eyes slid over to the empty bottle again.

“S’alright.  Guess that’s answer enough.  I’ll get a mug ready for you.  It’s good to have you back, brother.”

Chiz nodded.  He wasn’t sure whether it was good to be back. 

“Boss...?”

Chiz wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask the question that was on his mind, but Samuel was waiting patiently while he decided.

Chiz huffed, impatient with himself for being a pussy-whipped wimp.  “Boss, do the others know I’ve been keepin’ time with someone?”

Samuel’s expression didn’t change.  “I didn’t say anythin’, brother.  I figured if she was important to you it was your call, and if she wasn’t, then it didn’t matter.  You know what they’re like, though.  You’re gonna get some hassle ‘bout foreign gash.”

“Yeah.  I know.  Thanks, boss.”

“No problem, brother.”

Chiz let Samuel leave, and locked the door after him.  He appreciated that Samuel hadn’t asked any questions about Elmo.  His president had faith in him again.  He was trusting him not to have done anything stupid.  Technically, he had lived up to that trust, but it sure didn’t feel like it.

Chiz showered again, more quickly this time.  The soap stung his still raw skin a little.  He dressed in jeans and a shirt, not at all ready for the clubhouse in the full light of day.  Putting his kutte back on felt like donning body armor for his soul.  He hadn’t realized what a big piece of himself had been left in Louisiana.  He sucked in a deep breath, patted his pockets to make sure he had his lighter and cigarettes among other things, and went to face his brothers.