Iron (2 page)

The smell of the apartment is stale, with a hint of old beer. I push the blanket covering me to the floor and look at the crumpled bedding that’s bundled in a heap on the other side of the coffee table. Where’s Logan?

I can’t pretend that last night didn’t happen, and I don’t know how to even feel about it. I want to crawl into a ball and disappear, the images won’t leave the back of my eyelids. My stomach feels like a hollow cave filled with diseased bats. And it’s my birthday today.

The familiar revolver that I couldn’t get to work last night is sitting on the coffee table, almost as if it’s taunting me with how useless I was. What happened with Sara after we left? Can I call her? Will that put me in more danger?

Shit. If she saw me leave with Logan,calling her might be the worst thing I can do. If only I had told her from the beginning... I might have spared her last night’s nightmare.

I pick up the revolver and examine it again, suddenly finding a small latch that runs near the barrel. It clicks open and the chamber falls out, revealing the golden backs of six bullets. I shudder and clamp it shut again, before setting it on the table. I don’t even want to touch it, the cold steel feels sick in my hands.

My purse is missing. It must’ve got left behind at my apartment. A dead body and the purse of a missing woman. For all Sara knows, I was kidnapped by the other biker. She doesn’t know anything about Logan. Not that he was trying to protect us. Protect me.

There’s a landline connected to the wall, and I’m surprised to see it. I pick it up and strain to remember her cell phone number. I can’t call her from here... the phone number will give me away, right? I look away from the phone and go to the window, peering outside. The grungy neighborhood has a couple of kids playing outside. Shouldn’t they be in school?

I gather up my courage and head out the front door. The kids notice me and stare, one of them holds a soccer ball against his chest like a shield. I try to look sweet and unthreatening.

“Hey, do any of you have a cell phone?” I ask them. One of the kids, who looks like he’s the oldest, nods but doesn’t say anything. “Could I borrow it real quick? I won’t go anywhere.”

After the kid looks at the others and hesitates, he pulls out a small flip phone from his pocket. He hands it to me a bit reluctantly. I thank him and flip it open. I dial Sara’s cell number, and it rings a few times.

“Cassie... Is that you?” Her voice is loud and grating. She must’ve been expecting me to call all morning.on “What happened? Where the fuck are you? Everyone is looking for you. Are you okay?” Her questions spill out of her at a million miles an hour, but I pick them out despite her near incoherence.

“I’m okay,” I feel my chest tighten. “Are you okay?” I need her to be quick. Thinking back to my run-in at the police station and all those crime TV dramas, if the police are with her, they might be trying to locate me. That’ll only put Logan in trouble. He can’t help me if he’s behind bars.

“Shit, am I okay? I fucking woke up this morning on the floor and found a dead body in the living room! You tell me if I should be ‘okay?’ I don’t even know what happened last night, I don’t remember anything,” she says, not answering me. I feel ill for being suspicious of her. “The police are all over the place and they want to question you, they want to bring you in and talk to you about what happened.”

That’s enough. She isn’t dead or anything. I have to settle with that knowledge. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sorry you got involved in all this mess.” I quickly hang up the call before she can get another word in. That wasn’t a very long call, and it’s from a strange number she won’t recognize. I should be okay. I hand the phone back to the kid. “Thanks.”

He nods again, not saying a word, but looks at me like I’m a freak. He must be in his early teens, judging by his awkward facial hair and bright eyes. His friends and him stare at me long enough that I start to feel my skin crawl. I thank them again and turn to hurry back into the apartment.

Once I’m inside, I close the door and lock the deadbolt. What if the kids are spying on me? They’re part of it all. They’re involved with the motorcycle gangs and that’s why they’re not in school... what do they call it? Grooming? Yeah. They’re being groomed. My chest feels like a gorilla is standing on it. I can’t breathe.

I stumble to the coffee table and grab the revolver, not caring that I still can’t find the safety or make it work. Not caring that the cold steel only reminds me of how I messed up last night. I move into the dark bathroom and climb into the tub. The white basin is clean, and I draw the thin plastic curtain back. Darker now, I huddle into a ball and close my eyes, squeezing the gun between my knees, with the barrel pointed down at the floor of the tub. I just want this nightmare to be over.

After what feels like hours, I catch my breath and try to do something more sane than huddle down like I’m waiting for a tornado to finish me off. I climb out of the tub and strip down. Then, I turn the tap on and let it get warm before plugging the basin. It fills slowly, and the white noise of the water running is soothing. At least the sound keeps me from hearing the kids playing outside. From hearing Logan’s gunshot in my mind over and over again.

I settle down into the warm water and turn the tap off. It continues to drip occasionally, not quite sealing shut all the way. I scoot down and submerge my entire body in the water, leaving my nose and eyes above the water line. I breathe slowly, focusing on a distant point past the bathroom wall. I try to imagine it as a place where I could escape, maybe with Logan, and we could try again. Maybe the timing wouldn’t be so fucked up. He wouldn’t be in a motorcycle club. Does that really matter? Isn’t that why I was attracted to him in the first place...?

Do I even know him? I choke the thoughts down and just breathe. The water ripples gently away from my nose with each breath I take. Soon the dripping of the faucet stops, and I feel exhausted again. I rest my head against the basin and manage to get comfortable enough, and I fall asleep.

. . .

The front door’s knob is jiggled and shaken. The deadbolt clicks open and the door swings ajar. Footsteps stomp through the house, and I try to count them from my hiding place. Only one set of steps. Only one man.

I groan and look for something to use as a weapon. The revolver resting on the basin's edge is useless to me. The stranger paces through the apartment, hurrying back and forth between the kitchen and living room. It can’t be Logan. It’s too aggressive. Finally, the light turns on in the bathroom and I brace myself for the inevitable. A hand creeps along the wall and grasps the curtain, and I try to make out the figure on the other side of the opaque plastic. His shadow is large and looming, definitely bigger than Logan’s. With a scrape of the shower liner rings, the hand pulls open the curtain and the man stares down at me. Rattlesnake stares down at me with eyes filled with darkened fury. Naked and defenseless, I throw myself at him. But just as I collapse, a hand shakes my shoulder and I wake up from my dazed half-dream. I look up to find Logan sitting on the side of the tub, a pained look on his face.

I want to cry. He looks relieved to see me, and grabs my extended hand to help me up to my feet. I pick up the revolver off the side of the tub and shove it into his hands. His hands curl around it instinctively, and he looks a bit shocked. “What are you doing in here?” he finally asks as I drip water all over the bathroom floor.

“Hiding,” I admit without hesitation. “What else was I supposed to do? You left me here alone.” I grab a towel hanging on the rack and dry myself off, still numb from the dream to even care if he sees me naked. Not like he hasn’t before.

“Not by choice.”

I want to be angry at him, but I can’t. I’m too relieved that he’s here again. I get dressed in my jeans and the shirt I was wearing. Still looking haggard. I have a million questions, but I also have a dying appetite that just clawed to the surface as he came back home.

“I’m hungry.” I grumble. My stomach roars. My anxiety probably kept my appetite strangled until now. He looks to the kitchen and then back to me. “Where were you?” I ask.

“I had to see a friend about this whole thing.” He goes into the kitchen and cracks open the fridge, pulling out some deli meat and bread.

“Thing? You mean this fucking mess? Who was that fucking asshole last night? Rattlesnake?” I repeat the name he used. I follow him into the kitchen, my hunger only making me more irritable. I walk right up to him and press myself between the counter and his chest.

He doesn’t move an inch. He exhales and I feel his breath wrap around my throat and slip down into my shirt. My chest is still moist from the bath, and my shirt is sticking to my skin a little. It makes his breath only feel that much cooler on my skin, that much more intoxicating. His eyes are determined and after a few moments of tension, he scoots me aside and starts preparing the sandwiches.

“Rattlesnake. A member of another motorcycle club. They think we’re edging in on their turf. I know it’s a clusterfuck, I’m trying to keep everything calm,” he explains. “I went and saw the old president of my club.”

“That’s not you? You always seem to be in control of everything.” I hover over his shoulder, my mouth watering at the sandwiches. He spreads mayonnaise on a slice of bread and puts some meat on it before closing the sandwich. He turns and hands it to me.

“No. You hit the president of the club, remember? I was just temporary. Besides, he didn’t say anything helpful, just bullshit.”

I take a bite of the sandwich and remain standing. He’s still staring at me, his eyes curious and suggestive. The cold floor makes my toes ache, but I don’t want to move from this spot, away from him. Still keeping my eyes trained on his, I swallow a bite of my sandwich and finally ask. “Who are you, anyway?”

He pushes past me with a gentle nudge of my shoulder and sits on the couch that I slept on last night. I follow him over to the coffee table and stand across from him. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I want to know. I don’t even know if I can trust you.”

“You can trust me.”

I finish my sandwich, my hunger subsiding a little. I fold my arms across my chest and cock my head. “You’re a murdering motorcyclist. How can I trust someone like that?”

He looks back at me. “I saved your life, Cassie. Isn’t that enough?”

“You didn’t even let me try and protect myself.” He doesn’t see where I’m going with this. I pick up the revolver from the kitchen counter and shove the handle into his chest for what feels like the millionth time since I found it in the duffel bag. He stares at me.

“You need to teach me how to use this thing. I’m no fucking good to you if I can’t even shoot a gun.”

“You can’t shoot a gun?”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. He nods. “Right... Well, I can’t teach you right now, I have to leave again. I didn’t get a chance to tell the boys what was going on.”

“Don’t you have a fucking phone?” I scream, and stomp my feet. “Can’t you just call them? You can’t leave me here again!” I feel flustered and ridiculous, but what else can I do? He feels like he’s always going warm and then turning cold. Like the day he left the duffel bag with me, he just fucking left. “You can’t keep doing this shit, leaving me in the dark. You got me tied up in this.”

“I can’t. I have to face them.” He stands up and moves toward the door going cold again. I grab his wrist and pull him toward me, and without a word he embraces me. I dig my forehead against his chest, drinking in his scent and feeling his strong arms wrap around my shoulders. He squeezes me tightly and whispers my name, barely loud enough for me to hear. I shudder and grasp at his shirt, pulling him even tighter against me.

“Just tell me what’s happening,” I say softly. I pull away from him and drag my fingers across his shirt. He feels almost hot to the touch, but maybe I’m just shivering. His eyes meet mine and I feel them grow deep and sorrowful.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. The crew doesn’t know about you, and neither does the president. I’ve been lying to them this whole time.”

I’m silent and break eye contact. He continues, “Now another shitty club, the Skeletons, are on to my little white lie and are trying to threaten me by using you. I can’t let them do that.”

I flush, both out of anger and embarrassment. Am I that weak? I’ve been acting it, haven’t I? “I’m just a burden that you have to take care of, then.”

He shakes his head and tilts my chin up with a gentle finger. “No. You’re not a burden. You’re something much different... a jewel worth protecting.” As the words leave his lips, I hear them ring true. I’ve had men lie to me before, telling me that I’m their queen or I’m the most beautiful person in the world. But I could always tell with them. With Logan, his honesty reverberates in my very soul. My heart races and I sink against his chest, holding him.

“But you’re hiding me. From your crew. Your friends.”

“It isn’t like that... I’m not ashamed. It’s complicated, you realize that don’t you? That’s why I can’t just call them. I have to face them myself.”

I bury my face again and hide my shame. He’s right. I don’t understand completely. It’s all foreign to me. With my mouth muffled against his shirt, I answer. “Take me with you then.”

“What?”

“If you’re going to go admit all your lies, just take me with you.” I look up and meet his eyes. The movement breaks my tears free and they slide down my cheeks and drip onto his shirt. “I can’t be safe if I’m here alone.”

“What if they're angry? You...”

“I know what I did. You think I meant to hit that biker that day? I was trying to see if it was you. The man with the smoldering eyes,” I admit. “What else can you do? They’re your crew, don’t you trust them?” I feel like I should have trusted Sara. She was my friend and my roommate, after all. “I put my roommate in more danger because I never told her what was going on. I’m sure she would’ve liked to not watch you barge in and kill a man.”

He’s silent. He hugs me again and then releases me. I lose my balance and stumble back onto the couch. He goes to the front door and grabs the handle. “You’re right.”