Equilibrium (Marauders #4.5) (3 page)

Oh, yeah, she had that theater group thing. They called themselves something with cats, like pussycats, or… kittens, maybe. The shooting was a bit of surprise, though.

“Does Brick know about the shooting, or is it another thing he pretends isn’t happening?”

She smiled, widely. “You have no idea what you gave me for my birthday, do you?”

Busted. Obviously it had been something to do with shooting, but before he could figure out what to say, a hand landed on his shoulder, and Brick was standing next to him.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Eliza said, and she was still smiling. “Just… Roach here accidentally let something slip. It’s fine.”

“What are you doing here?” Brick asked him.

“I was leaving when I saw something. I just went to check, and it was her,” he answered with a wave towards Eliza. Hoping that would be enough, he gave Brick a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Ready to go home?” Brick asked Eliza, without letting go of Roach’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” she answered, and she wasn’t smiling anymore. “I’ll see you, Roach.”

“Um, yeah, sure,” he said with a nervous glare in Brick’s direction. It was probably very hazardous to his health to
plan
to see Eliza. “See you around.”

He was waiting for Brick to let go of his shoulder, but that didn’t happen, and as soon as Eliza was gone, he cleared his throat.

“I saw something, that’s all. I didn’t know it was her.”

“Okay,” Brick said with a nod and let go of him.

“I’m not an idiot.”

“I know. It’s just…” He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Take care, kid.”

Yeah, he was going to stay the fuck away from Princess Eliza. That kid smelled like trouble, and not for the reasons her parents thought.

~oOo~

Mel

“Where’s your dad?” she asked Eliza.

“I think he might be beating up Roach.”

“What? Why?”

“He talked to me.”

Mel laughed and put her arm around Eliza. “I think it takes more than that.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“What were you talking about?”

Mel didn’t know much about Roach. Along with Ahab, he’d been loaned to Greenville just six months earlier, around the same time as Eliza was taken, so she hadn’t been focused on the guest members. A third guy had been with them, but he’d left a few months earlier. What little she did know about Roach didn’t exactly comfort her. Brick had thought he was too young, and the president in the charter he’d been loaned from had simply said that Roach was a street kid—he could take care of himself.

“Just… stuff. I don’t know. He saw I was back there and came to check what it was, I guess.”

Mel knew Eliza had been smoking, she could smell it, but that was really low on the list of what needed to be dealt with when it came to Eliza. Considering that almost everyone around her smoked, it was probably impressive that it had taken as long as it had until she’d started. Besides, it was her eighteenth birthday. If she wanted to smoke, there wasn’t much Mel could do about it—in theory.

“Ready to go home?” she asked instead.

“Yeah. Thank you for all the gifts.”

“We didn’t get you that much.”

With the faintest of smiles, which was still enough to make Mel’s heart skip a beat, Eliza rolled her eyes. “Come on.”

“Well, we didn’t pay for that many of them.”

“They were great. Thank you, Mom.”

“What tipped you off?”

“Roach said something, and I think you mislabeled some of them. I doubt Bull would buy me a Susan Faludi book.”

“Actually,” Mel chuckled. “I didn’t buy Bull’s gift.”

“Oh… I think I need to say thank you an extra time, then,” Eliza said and took off towards the clubhouse.

Bull was one of few men Eliza could stand. Mel had a good idea why that was, but no matter what the reason was, she was glad there were some people Eliza trusted and wanted to be around. Mel was even more grateful for Billie. The first few months, Billie had been the only one who could get Eliza to leave the house. Mel didn’t even have a problem with them going to the shooting range. She liked the idea of Eliza being able to use a gun, and she knew Billie could teach her in a safe way.

Later that night in bed, Brick turned towards her and took the book from her hands.

“She was smiling.”

“Who?”

“Eliza. In the alley. She was with Roach, and she was smiling. A
real
smile.”

Eliza didn’t smile much anymore, it was just one of many ways she was different, and it was sad that something as small as a smile from her was now a big deal. Because it was.

“He’d said something confirming her suspicions that we’d bought some of the gifts the other guys gave her,” Mel explained.

Brick ran his thumb and index finger over his moustache the way he always did when he was thinking. She loved that gesture, and she leaned over and gave him a kiss.

“It’s killing me,” he mumbled. “I fucked up, my baby girl got hurt, and I don’t know…”

“You can,” she whispered. They’d had this conversations so many times. “You can keep us safe.”

“But I couldn’t, and she’s gone. I mean, she’s here, but it’s not her. And what’s really killing me is that she doesn’t hate me.” He took a deep, controlled breath. “I’d fucking do anything…”

Mel knew the end of that sentence. He’d do anything if it made her feel better for just one second.

“It’s slow, but it’s going in the right direction, honey. She loves you, with all her heart, just like I do, and that’s why she doesn’t blame you. You’re her hero.”

“Some fucking hero,” he muttered.

“You want to know the real reason?” she asked and hugged him closer. “You blame yourself enough for all of us.”

Brick didn’t answer and after a deep sigh, he actually smiled a little.

“I’d almost forgotten.”

“What?”

“How beautiful she is when she smiles.” He finally turned his head and gave her a kiss. “Like you.”

CHAPTER TWO

Suits You

~oOo~

ELIZA REALLY LIKED MAC and Mitch’s comics, and they always let her borrow them if she was careful. Then she realized they had others that they wouldn’t let her read.

“Who’s this?” she asked and held up a book. Some of the comics were in books, and she liked those better than the thin ones with different comics mixed.

“Spider Jerusalem,” Mitch answered before taking it from her. “You’re not old enough for that one yet.”

He said that often. He had loads of comics, or ‘graphic novels,’ as he called them, that he wouldn’t let her read.

“When can I read that one, then?”

“I’ll let you know.”

She sighed and picked up a Spider-Man. “Is it good then?”

“Really good. I think you’ll like it.”

“What if you forget about it before I’m old enough?” she tried, and pointed at the book in his hand. “Maybe it’s better if I read it now?”

“You’re eleven. It’s maybe, like, four years before you can read it. And no one forgets about Spider Jerusalem and Transmetropolitan, Buttercup.”

~oOo~

Eliza

I didn’t have all that many reasons to remember what day it was, but I knew it was Tuesday, since I had rehearsals that day. Thursdays were my sessions with Doctor Flores, but those were the only two weekdays I needed to keep in mind. It had been decided that I would take a year off before my senior year. I hadn’t exactly been present for that discussion, but around October I’d realized I’d forgotten about school. I didn’t mind. It would suck to have to start in a new class, but at the same time it might be better than going back to school with my old classmates. I kept in contact with those I cared about, like the ones in the theater group I was in, The Green Kittens. In November they’d contacted me and asked me if I wanted to come back to rehearsals. If I didn’t want to stand on stage, I could help with other things—they just missed me. Which was really sweet of them, and I’d agreed. They’d been so awesome. Not much weirdness going on at all, and hardly any weird looks after the first rehearsal. In a room with just girls my own age, and one of my brothers or Dad guarding by the door, I felt safe and myself. Partly because I got to pretend to be someone else. Like I got to be myself, but inside another person. I liked it.

It was Mitch who was going to take me to rehearsals that day, and we’d agreed that Dad would take me to the clubhouse, and then Mitch would pick me up there. I think it really was some elaborate plan from Mom and Dad to get me to socialize, but as long as those experiments were limited to the clubhouse and The Green Kittens, I wasn’t going to argue.

I left my bag with Dad and went to the bar to get a cup of coffee. Roach was behind the bar with a dishcloth in one hand and a bottle of 409 in the other, which wasn’t the normal sight when it came to members. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever having seen one of them cleaning anything but their bikes. When he looked at me, I realized I was staring and turned my attention to the coffeemaker to pour myself a cup.

He didn’t say anything, and from the corner of my eye I could see that he just kept rubbing the counter, which seemed a bit rude—that he didn’t even say hi. Then I realized I hadn’t actually said anything either. So I did.

“Hi,” I said, with my eyes firmly on the spoon in my cup as I stirred. He didn’t answer, and I cleared my throat and said it a little louder. “Hi.”

“Who are you talking to?” he asked.

Well, duh! No one else was even close. “You.”

“Then aim those baby blues at me, so I know that.”

Slightly confused, I looked at him, and he was smiling while still rubbing at some stain no one but him would, like, even notice.

“Hi,” he said with a courteous nod, almost a bow. “Want some cream with that coffee?”

“No,” I answered and started stirring again before throwing the spoon in the suspiciously clean sink. He had probably scrubbed that, too, because it had never been shinier. “Why are you doing that?”

He didn’t answer, and I knew why. I wasn’t looking at him, but I didn’t want that kind of contact with people anymore. Looking into their eyes created a connection that made me uneasy. It became personal, and it was easier to stay detached from people, conversations, and feelings while looking at inanimate objects. No one but the annoying…
housemaid biker
had ever called me out on it. Most pretended to not even notice. Like he’d said: there was a lot of pretending going on around me.

I turned my eyes up, though, and he was still smiling with a cocked eyebrow. He wasn’t even pretending like he hadn’t heard me.

“Why are you doing that?” I asked again. “I mean, you’re a member and all.”

“I am. I’m also a member who likes to have coffee without the cup getting stuck to the bar. I don’t want to have to use a straw to be able to finish my morning coffee,” he said, and the mental image of a row of bikers drinking their coffee with a straw made me laugh. “The last straw, no pun intended, was when my graphic novel got stuck on it.”

His eyes had been on mine until then, when he reached for something and held it up. I was relieved for the broken connection and looked at what he was holding in his hand.

“Oh, I like that one.”

“You’ve read Transmetropolitan?” he asked.

“Yes, my brothers like stuff like that. Is that the look you’re going for?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He didn’t look exactly like Spider Jerusalem, the main character in Transmetropolitan, but it was pretty close. As opposed to Spider’s completely bald head, Roach had a short stubble of both hair and beard, but he usually wore black jeans and t-shirt with a coat reaching his mid thighs. I’d wondered about the coat because I hadn’t seen a biker with one before, other than the biker on the Marauder patch. It seemed a bit impractical.

“Haven’t been able to get the right glasses, though,” he answered.

“Got any of his ink?”

Instead of answering, he tipped his head forward, and even though his hair was dark, I could see the shadow of a small spider on the right side of his head. I laughed again.

“That’s the one you picked?”

“I was seventeen and stupid,” he chuckled. “Just glad I was too poor to get the rest of them.”

“Some of them are nice.”

After a quick side-glance, he put the comic down. “You better get going, Princess, before your dad comes over here and rips my face off.”

Oh, yeah, I hadn’t thought of that, and I nodded. I tried to think of something to say, but with a shrug, I said, “Okay. I’ll see you.”

“Yeah, see you,” he smiled. “Hopefully with my face intact.”

He’d actually been smiling the entire time, and I wasn’t sure if it was, like, an ‘it’s nice talking to you’ smile, or more of a ‘let’s amuse the princess to get on her dad’s good side’ smile.

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

I noticed Dad staring alternately at me and at Roach, so I said, “Don’t rip his face off,” when I sat down next to him. He’d been nice, and pretty normal with me, so I didn’t want him hurt just because of that.

“What?” Dad asked with a laugh and put an arm around my shoulders.

“Guess you made him nervous last time.”

“I was just wondering why the fuck you were hiding in an alley with him.”

“I wasn’t hiding
with
him, Dad.”

“I know that now,” he said and gave my forehead a kiss. “I’m not gonna beat him up for talking to you. I’m not
that
bad. Unless you’re asking—are you asking?”

“No!” I decided to try to change the subject. “Did you know he has a spider tattooed on his head?”

“No, I thought it was a mole. I’ve been thinking he should get that checked out.”

“Nope. Spider Jerusalem thing.” I smiled and held up the cup in front of him. “Want a sip?”

We had our coffee the same way, so sometimes we shared a cup. It had been a thing when I was younger. I always sat next to him at the table, and in the mornings I’d tried to take a sip from his cup without him noticing. He hadn’t thought it was a great idea, since he didn’t think I needed more energy than I already had, which obviously had meant I
really
wanted coffee. In the long run it had meant I liked my coffee the way he had it—black with two sugars—just like I smoked the same brand of cigarettes as he did.

“Yeah,” he answered and looked really happy when he took the cup from me. At first I wondered why, and then I realized it could’ve been the smile. So I kept smiling.

“A smoke?”

“If you’re a nice girl and don’t tell your mom, you can have a smoke.”

“I’m a nice girl.”

“Yes you are.”

I found that very interesting. A smile and he just
gave
me a cigarette, and watched me light it and smoke it. Maybe that was the easiest way to get people to back off? Just become what they wanted to me to be.

~oOo~

Brick

Eliza had given him a hug before taking off with Mitch. There had been a while after she’d been taken when she couldn’t stand being touched even by him. It had broken his fucking heart, but he’d tried not to push. It had taken a few months, and then she’d carefully taken his hand while they were walking down the street, just like she’d done when she was a little girl. These days, she was back to normal with him, Mel, her brothers, and Bull, but that was it. Maybe Billie, he wasn’t sure about that, but Billie wasn’t a very cuddly person. Eliza, on the other hand, had been a cuddly girl who’d hugged and touched anyone who gave her a chance, but she wasn’t anymore. She kept her distance.

He was glad she was getting out more, though, even if it was just to the clubhouse or to her rehearsals. He’d used to barely see her before, since she was always out with friends, and even if it had annoyed him, it had been nice to see she had a life. The Eliza that had been brought back to them wasn’t the same girl as had been taken—not even close. He understood, and he was more than willing to give her time, but he missed her. He knew Eliza missed that girl, too,

Today he’d seen the first real glimpse of her. She’d been laughing. He knew for a fucking fact that it was the first time he’d heard her laugh like that in over six months, and it had been with Roach. Not that he gave a fuck who made her laugh, it was more that she was laughing, but he realized that he didn’t know much about Roach. Or, he knew
about
him, but he didn’t know him.

He decided to do something about that.

Roach visibly tensed when Brick approached him, and after he’d put his cup down on the bar he braced himself, as if Brick was, in fact, going to rip his face off.

“Give me a cup of that?” Brick asked when he sat down on one of the stools.

“How do you want it?”

“Black with two sugars.”

Roach was on loan from New York, and as much as Brick knew they needed the manpower, he didn’t like loans or transfers. When a guy went from hang-around, to prospect, and finally a member—if he got that far—he grew into the club while he grew into a member. It gave him another connection and a place in the club in a different way. In short: he gained his role and earned his respect.

When someone was transferred or on loan, they’d earned their respect once, and they had found their role as a member. Fitting that role into a new club was like forcing a square peg into a round hole. Sometimes it worked after the worst edges had been worn off, but most often it didn’t, and they went back to their original club. The charters in the Marauders were quite different, simply since the brotherhood in a club depended on the members, each one unique and creating an even more unique mesh of people.

Family was important in the Greenville Marauders, and not only because a lot of them had families, but mostly because they were all close as hell. Brick even had both his sons as members. He’d known Bear, his VP, since before they’d joined, and the members who’d joined after that had to some extent joined
because
of what the club was like. As opposed to a lot of the other clubs, they didn’t have many ex-military men. That had proven to be a flaw when they’d ended up in the middle of a cartel war. Roach, Ahab, and Slug had been in Greenville when it happened, and along with Ahab, Roach had said he could stay behind until it was sorted. Dawg, another member and Brick’s brother-in-law, had known Ahab, who’d been in the army. Brick had initially had no fucking idea why New York had sent Roach when he asked for experienced members. At first Brick had called up to New York and asked them if they were so fucking stoned they’d sent the wrong guy. Roach was just a few weeks short of twenty-two, and Brick had a hard time seeing how the hell that made him experienced in anything but jerking off.

‘He’s a street kid,’ had been the answer. Roach was short for cockroach, because he tended to always survive. He’d grown up on the streets of New York, so even if he hadn’t actually been in a war, he had an uncanny survival instinct, and he knew how to fight.

Brick had decided he wanted to see that first hand, so he’d asked Tommy, a former Marine, to take him up in the ring. Even if Roach hadn’t won, he’d made it a helluva lot longer against Tommy than most before him. Brick had asked Tommy about it later, and apparently the kid had anticipated most moves, had a more than basic knowledge about defense, great reflexes, and was ‘fast as fuck.’ More importantly, Roach had taken a beating without whining about it. He’d shaken Tommy’s hand afterwards, and they’d had a beer together.