Lock and Key (8 page)

“Hey, I’m Junk.” He shook my hand. “I’ll take you in.” He turned on his heel. I followed him through the double doors.

My eyes blinked at the familiar smells once we strode through the main hallway… metal, faded alcohol and stale tobacco that had once been the fragrance of happiness and contentment to me. Loud noises and cheers came from the distance. The black leather biker boots Dig had given me on our last Christmas together made a distinct clomping sound on the bare concrete. This was the same concrete they had once strode over in what felt like a past life.

I used to belong here.

Did I still?

My damp hands smoothed down my short slim denim skirt as I sucked in my tummy and adjusted my favorite black leather belt with the intricate silver embroidery. I gave a final tug to the form-fitting draping black blouse, and pushed back a lock of hair over my ears past my silver chandelier earrings. Dig’s silver skull ring sat on the index finger of my right hand. I traced over my short gold and silver necklaces, a tiny cross and a peace sign Ruby had given me a million years ago.

My hand tugged down on the one long silver chain I wore and settled on the medallion hanging from it. I fingered the skull engraved in the silver with a single diamond chip in one eye socket, like the One-Eyed Jacks logo. Dig had given it to me as a wedding present. My thumb traced over our names that were engraved on the back.

Whatever tonight turned out to be, Dig was here with me, and I would get done what needed to get done. For Ruby. I may have lost absolutely everything once upon a time, but I would do my damnedest to make sure that didn’t happen to my sister.

We made the next turn in the photograph-lined hall. Sucking sounds and heavy breathing filled the space. I turned my head down the shadowy hall to the right that led to the bedrooms. I could barely make out a red-headed woman spilling out of a tiny white bikini top on her knees. She was sucking off a tall man facing away from us wearing a knit cap. His hands were fisted in her hair, and he thrust his hips into her greedy mouth. Her hand rubbed the base of his shaft as her head bobbed over his dick. Junk turned to me and shrugged. I grinned and rolled my eyes back at him.

Junk stopped. “Yo, Lock!”

Mr. Blow Job jerked his head towards us in the shadows.

“Wrap it up, dude,” Junk said. “You’re gonna want to be inside for this one.”

Lock flicked his fingers at us and only pumped his hips faster into the girl’s mouth. How efficient. I had ceased to find these sorts of things embarrassing a very long time ago. It was part of the shameless freedom of club life. Maybe it was awkward and crude, but I didn’t find it shocking or as very dramatic as I had when I had first walked into this clubhouse over eighteen years ago. That was the day I had left the courthouse choking on tears, because my sister had just been sentenced to a year and a half in jail for a crime she was not responsible for.

The judge’s gavel cracked against wood. I began to shake.

As Mom used to say: you play, you pay. Ruby Hastings now had to pay.

I knew Ruby must have had a hand in the drug deal she was being accused of, but Jump certainly had engineered it and was the main player in the equation. Not to mention the two members of the Demon Seeds, the rival gang, whom she also hung out with.

Ruby had been sleeping with Jump, but she wasn’t his Old Lady. In truth, she was a club bitch who was going to take the fall. She didn’t really merit their full loyalty or support. However, as Dig had mentioned, Ruby had come through for them time and time again on odd jobs and little missions. I never knew what exactly. “Club business,” she would mutter and wave me off. “Don’t ask me that shit,” Dig had said over that breakfast he had treated me to. Was it drug deals? Did the club pimp her out undercover when she worked at Tingle to rival gangs or drug dealers? My imagination swam with the lurid possibilities.

All of Ruby’s bad-assness and diligence had earned her a certain measure of respect, though. If her going to jail was somehow going to “resolve major issues” for them, and she had been loyal to the club in the past, I was confident they wouldn’t let us “flap in the wind,” as Dig had pointed out. Somehow that didn’t comfort me much, though. That only meant I was in trouble too. Ruby most certainly was aware of this. She agreed to go down for all of us.

I was used to fending for myself, but Ruby had always been around, flitting about like a moth to a bright light in the darkness, sometimes out of sight, but always fluttering back. I never felt alone; she’d always returned eventually.

Ruby rose from her chair, and the officers immediately clicked handcuffs on her wrists. She turned slightly, and her hard eyes found mine. I knew what she was thinking. I could hear her voice burning through my heart.

“Love you no matter what, so just suck it up
.
”

But now those words took on a whole new meaning. My sister was taking on a heavy burden, a responsibility, for herself, for me, for the club. The force of it positively gleamed from her steely gaze. My lungs froze.

Her body stiffened, and she turned away from me. The officers pulled her out of the courtroom. The club lawyer tucked his papers and folders into his briefcase and clicked the lock. Acid rose in the back of my throat.

I drove home in my dad’s old Chevy Jimmy. I should be grateful he had left it behind, right? What was left? Just me and everyone’s castoffs. The sobs broke from my chest and wouldn’t stop. I could barely see the road ahead of me. I barreled through the front door, collapsed on my bed, and heaved for air and salvation.

But I knew there was none to be had.

I twisted on my back and listened to the sudden silence in the house. Silence all through my room, Ruby’s bedroom, the bathroom with dated fixtures and dull tile, the narrow hallway treaded with worn green carpeting and decorated with small framed squares of Grandma’s embroidery of strawberries and daisies, the small living room with its bulky couches in that tired blue and green striped pattern. Our parents’ bedroom had been empty for years, because on a jag Ruby had sold the furniture and donated their clothes just as she had emptied the basement of years of clutter except for the washer and dryer. There was sheer silence for once in the house, save for the ticking of that ugly oversized clock in the shape of a daisy with huge petals that had hung in the kitchen since day one.

My grandparents had first nailed that cheesy clock on the kitchen wall over the small wooden table. Yellowed with age, that clock had ticked away the years of spotty contentment and shrouded unhappiness in this house all through my childhood. Now that ticking seemed to presage all the emptiness that lay ahead for me and the horrid misery in store for Ruby.

Screw that.

I got up from my bed, wiped my wet face on my forearm, marched to the kitchen, flung upon a cupboard, and snatched one of Dad’s favorite beer glasses. Why the hell had my mother kept them anyway? Laughter stung in my throat.

What the hell kind of crazy ass house was this?

I hurled the glass at the clock.

The clock face smashed into a shower of bits and pieces that flew all over the kitchen. I shook myself, and pieces of glass fell like otherworldly snowflakes from my hair and clothes. I grabbed more of those beer glasses and threw them at each and every petal of the now ruined sunflower clock. Glass showered through the room.

I grabbed the last two and pitched them. Then I started on my mother’s wine glasses that came from a gas station on a special offer. She had been so proud of them. “They’re nice aren’t they?” she had mused aloud to herself over and over when she had first arranged them in the cabinet.

Everything was “nice” in here wasn’t it? “Nice,” if you didn’t ask too many questions. “Nice,” if you didn’t look too hard. “Nice,” if you didn’t expect anything much.

I hated anything “nice.”

I aimed each glass at a different deer on the faded brown hunting-themed wallpaper in the kitchen. My aim improved with each throw.

A half empty bottle of tequila flirted with me from the top of the fridge. I jumped over the sea of sharp remnants on the kitchen floor and sniggered at the harsh chomping noises my boots made. I reached up, grabbed the bottle, and took a long swig. The liquor burned down my throat, and I coughed. I wiped the side of my mouth with the back of my hand, nabbed the keys to the Jimmy, and left the house.

Who the hell did Jump and Dig think they were anyhow? Kings of the freaking county, no doubt. Where were they when the judge passed down her sentence on Ruby? Having a beer and getting their dicks sucked at their precious clubhouse most likely.

Hell no.

I jostled my way through the throng of people in the courtyard of the Clubhouse. A raucous party was in full swing. What a surprise. Members of the Demon Seeds, the rival club involved in Ruby and Jump’s drug deal gone south, were here partying with the One-Eyed Jacks. Of course, this must be a celebration-at-Ruby’s-expense party. Did my invitation get lost in the mail?

A fire blazed in the center of the yard, the enticing aroma of grilled meat filled the air in a haze of smoke. I tromped through the yard, the bottle of tequila still in my hand. I had a good buzz on. Enough to let go of any inhibitions, but enough to still retain my self-respect.

Boner bounded in front of me, his green eyes glassy. “Little Sister, whazzup?” A cigarette hung from his fingers, and his one arm hung around an overly made-up and very drunk blonde with an unsettling amount of teased hair.

“Where is he?”

“Who, Sister?”

“Dig. Where is he?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s partying… somewhere. Not sure,” he muttered. Blondie cackled. “Sure is nice to see you, babe, but I don’t think you wanna be here.” Boner took a long drag on his cigarette, and his eyes widened. “Why don’t you go on back home, huh?”

Home
. My insides blazed with fire.

“Where is he?”

The blonde giggled and leaned into Boner’s body. “He’s at the shed,” she said.

“Aw shit,” muttered Boner. He popped the cigarette out of his mouth and rubbed his forehead. “Don’t go back there, Little Sister. Don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I brushed him off and charged in the direction of the shed.

A big round circle of men and a few women stood in front of the large steel shed which housed the bike repair shop of the Club. An in-the-wild-jungle-like vibe hung in the air, a tangible, raw menace that made my mouth go dry.

Shit, maybe I should have listened to Boner and not come out here.

Everyone’s eyes were glued to some sort of extravaganza playing out before them. Several fires roared from rusted steel drums, which cast a golden-reddish glow over everyone’s faces. Undisguised carnal intensity was etched on their features and it hit me like a furnace blast. Was it a fight? Some sort of death match?

I squeezed through the gaps between several men who didn’t even register my presence because their attention was riveted by the show. My pulse skidded to a halt. Four naked women were on the ground getting banged, giving head, and getting it up the ass by a number of men in a number of combinations. The sound of slapping skin, shouting, and grunting filled the hot air. Plenty more men waited in line to have their turn while they smoked weed and drank from bottles. They spurred their buddies on with a colorful array of language and howls of laughter. Others were getting it on with their own women as they watched.

The vivid spectacle burned through my eyeballs and positively knocked the tequila buzz right out of me. A wave of nausea rushed up my throat. I pushed back through the men, but got stuck.

“Oh, yeah, look what I found!” a voice growled in my ear. “A sweet piece of cherry pie.”

Two massive hands ran up my rear over my skirt and around my waist, travelled north and settled on my breasts. My body was jerked back into a rock hard wall of muscle and stench.

“Isn’t it my lucky night?” he said. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

“Hey, that’s Ruby’s little sister,” said a passing female voice. I looked up. It was one of the biker chicks always at our house. My mouth fell open, but her name suddenly escaped me. She disappeared into the crowd.

The beast’s hand fisted in my hair, and he pulled my head back. “No shit,” he said.

“Let go of me!” I scratched at his arms, and shoved against him. Big mistake. One of his hands grabbed at my crotch and drove my ass right in between his legs. The air got sucked out of me, and pain flared through my chest.

“Aw, this is gonna be good. I won the fucking jackpot tonight!” he said.

I raised the tequila bottle over his head, but it was plucked from my hand.

“Let her go, Vig!”

Dig’s voice. Thank you, God.

I struggled in Vig’s grip, but it was useless. Laughter ripped from his chest.

“Don’t be an asshole man, just having fun. Now fuck off,” said Vig. I turned my face and a coarse patch on his leather jacket sleeve grated against my cheek. The smell of his sweat and the booze on his breath erupted a tide of nausea in my belly once more.

“She’s that cunt’s little sister, ain’t she?” Vig’s voice positively seethed with wrath. He squeezed my breasts and my crotch all at once. I gasped at the pain.