by Tillie Cole
“Well, I hope that I don’t fall in love with you,
‘cause falling in love just makes me blue.”
I sang with my eyes closed, shutting out the world for a while, my fingers dancing on the strings. I zoned the fuck out, only to see Jane Doe smile shyly at me in my mind. Feeling a burn in my chest at the image, I opened my eyes and, fuck… She was there on the sofa to my right, knees bent, arms wrapped ’round her long, perfect stems, head resting on top, wolf eyes staring… like I’d fuckin’ conjured her to life.
I instantly stopped playing, hands freezing on the strings, unable to look away from her. She just stared, a slight blush to her sallow cheeks.
Shifting forward and lifting up my Fender, I turned away to put it down. But when I was halfway to putting the guitar back on its stand to my right, the sound of her deep breathing made me look her way. She slowly opened those full, pink lips, the tip of her wet tongue peeking out, and whispered, “Again.”
I swear my heart missed a fuckin’ beat.
She was talking.
Edging forward, I tipped my chin, urging her to repeat herself.
A deep blush crept up the entire length of her face and she swallowed, shifting slightly, long black lashes fluttering like fuckin’ butterfly wings.
“Again… please, play it again. I very much enjoyed hearing your voice.”
What the hell was that accent?
That button nose of hers scrunched and I knew what was coming. Fuck! And there it was, the tiny twitch betraying her nerves. I couldn’t look away. Christ, I never took my eyes off hers, holding her gaze while I grabbed my guitar, sitting back, taking a deep breath, thinking over the words, picking up where I left off.
“…And I hope that I don’t fall in love with you.
I can see that you are lonesome just like me, and it being late, you’d like some company…”
Tears glistened in her eyes as I sang each line, a pleased smile ghosting her lips. Fuck. To see that look on her face or hear her talk again, I’d sing “Over the fuckin’ Rainbow” soprano, if she wanted.
Clearing my throat, I sang out the last of the song.
“…And I think that I just fell in love with you…”
I let the last note hang in the air, our breathing the only other sound, the string humming until the vibrations faded to silence.
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Tension built.
Shifting to the side, I placed my guitar beside me, picking up my smoke and finishing it off, stubbing the cherry on the table. She watched, button nose twitching and her tongue licking those fuckin’ fat lips.
Christ.
I moved slightly to try and hide my hard dick. You good, babe? I signed, but her forehead wrinkled with a frown and she shook her head.
Shit!
Sitting forward, my head fell in my hands and I rubbed along the temples. I could do this. I could talk to her again. Shutting my eyes, I tried to focus on working my throat, loosening it up. I reminded myself that I’d talked to her before. I could fuckin’ do this again.
At least I thought I could. But the python wouldn’t let go, and I was close to murdering mad. All these damn years waiting to see the bitch again, and fuck me, I couldn’t speak for shit.
Suddenly, a soft hand landed on mine, and lifting my head, she smiled and said, “You use your hands to talk?”
Fidgeting, I nodded and watched her every move.
“Because you struggle to get the words out?” She stroked her hands down her neck, as if trying to understand why.
I nodded once more.
Her blue eyes flickered between the floor and me until she said, “You spoke to me once before, did you not? Try to again, please. I would very much like to hear your voice.”
I fuckin’ wanted that too.
As I looked into her wolf eyes, I worked my throat loose again, my leg bouncing in agitation, eyes twitching as I played out the words on the tip of my tongue, and with a deep breath, I managed to push out, “Y-y-you h-heard music b-b-before?”
Giving me a huge, relieved smile, she dropped her eyes to the floor, her expression almost shameful. “Yes… only once.”
My fuckin’ palms began to sweat and I ran them down my jeans. Her voice was as tiny as she was, but it was the sweetest damn thing I’d ever heard… and too long in coming. Fifteen fuckin’ years to hear that damn voice again, and apparently, she’d been waiting for mine too.
“Y-y-you g-got a n-name?”
She stilled, eyes shooting up, her breathing all over the fuckin’ place, and intense fear took over her features.
“N-n-not gonna hurt you, r-r-remember? T-t-tell me your n-n-name, b-babe.” I sighed in relief as my words began to come clearer. It was her—fuckin’ number three.
My goddamn miracle.
“Salome,” she said almost inaudibly.
I edged forward, convinced I was fuckin’ hearing things. “Wh-what?”
“Salome,” she hushed out again, swallowing loudly, staring at the exit, then back at me and to the exit again.
She was gonna bolt.
“Y-y-you kn-kn-know where that n-name comes from, b-babe?” I couldn’t disguise the anger in my tone, a red haze fogging up my mind.
Blue eyes darted to anywhere but me, and her head lowered. “Yes. In many writings, it is said she was King Herod’s niece. She demanded John the Baptist’s head for her birthday and danced the dance of seven veils. She is a reminder that women sin and tempt men to do evil things. All women are born sinners—some more than others—and we must be reminded constantly that we are the reason mankind fell from Eden. Born with the original sin of Eve. My name assures that people are always aware of this fact and that I never forget my place in the great order of life.”
What. The. Fuck?
She regurgitated that shit like it had been pounded into her brain, a rote speech. Her eyes lost life, her voice dropped all feeling, and every part of her body tensed. My fists clenched over and over, and I stared unseeing at her face, biting on my tongue to stop me from screaming and hurtling abuse at the fucker responsible for her spewing brainwashed shit at me.
Rider had to be right. She had to be from some fucked-up cult, spouting shit robotically like that. Hell, that’s nothing new in Texas. Everyone still remembers Waco like it was yesterday, and there’s plenty of extreme religious fuckers ’round here, talking in tongue and exorcizing demons day in, day out. ’Course, as Hangmen, we know all of these cults, especially the Davidians. My gramps got the gun trading business the poor fuckers lost when they all fried, courtesy of a few friendly shots from the good ol’ ATF.
Gramps made a killin’, took over their turf, extended Hangmen control in Texas.
As my vision snapped back to focus, I heard Salome whimper, cowering slightly, her black robe drowning her tiny body on the seat as she wrapped the excess material round her shaking limbs. Her eyes were huge as she stared at me, pure fear on her face. I edged in her direction, noticing a flinch of her shoulders and a subtle wince around her eyes.
She thought I was gonna hurt her.
I pushed up my palms. “F-f-fuck, b-bitch, I-I-I ain’t g-g-gonna h-hurt you.”
Her head hung in submission. That just pissed me off more, and before I knew it, I yelled, “D-d-don’t b-bow to m-me. L-l-l…” I paused, refocused on my words, and inhaled. “Lift your f-f-fuckin’ head!” I rolled out in one long breath.
On command, her head snapped up, completely obedient, confusion radiating from her rigid body. “Wh-what do you want of me?” she whispered, her teeth chattering, face ashen, her palms now pressed flat to the floor.
I barely heard her question, the blood rushing in my ears almost drowning out her soft tone in her prostrate position. Her entire body was shaking in fear.
Crouching to her height, I assured, “N-n-not you f-f-fuckin’ fl-fl-flinchin’ when I m-move, th-that’d be a d-damn good st-start.” She tilted her head up, regarding me warily, the shaking s
topping, her pouting pink lips forming a small, confused O.
Rubbing my hand over my head, I dragged my fingers through my hair. If she was any other bitch, I’d grab her and kiss the fuckin’ life outta her, make her mine, fuck her ’til she knew I wasn’t gonna hurt a damn hair on her head. But she weren’t like other bitches. She was staring at me like I was gonna kick her black and blue, all ’cause I got pissed at her fuckin’ shitty name.
Reaching for the table, I grabbed my smokes, ignoring her flinching and protecting herself with her arms. If I acknowledged it, I’d probably go kill someone; that’s how fuckin’ incensed I was. I pulled a smoke out with my teeth and lit it with the lighter from my pocket. Taking a drag, I closed my eyes, leaning back on the couch, mentally talking myself down off the ledge.
I opened my eyes seconds later and Salome was fiddling with her fingers, nose twitching, white teeth worrying her lip.
Groaning, I moved before her—right before her—locking straight on her terrified gaze. “L-l-look, b-babe, I g-got p-pissed at your n-n-name.” I rubbed at my throat, forcing it to relax. I could feel my eyes twitching again. “I-I don’t kn-know wh-where you’ve c-c-come from or who d-d-dared fuckin’ call you S-S-Salome, but y-you should n-n-not be called it. N-never will be b-b-by m-me. It’s a f-f-fuckin’ shit name for a b-b-beautiful bitch like y-y-you, a f-f-fuckin’ insult. R-r-right?”
She nodded, a small smile hooking on the corner of her top lip.
Fuck.
I took another drag of my smoke when she said, “Mae.”
I cocked my head, staring at her, and she shifted nervously in her seat like she was gonna admit to committing a murder.
“My sisters, in secret, would call me Mae. We did not like the derogatory names either.” A small, coy smile spread over her pink lips. So she had some fuckin’ spark after all.
Slowly flipping my hand, I clasped her fingers around mine. She gasped but let it happen. I stared at the two limbs intertwined and huffed a quiet laugh to myself. I’d fucked a lot of bitches in my life, done every messed-up position imaginable, stuck my cock in every hole, tried every drug, drank every whiskey, but nothing had felt quite like her tiny pale hand wrapped in mine; nothing even came close.
And it killed me knowing she didn’t belong here. For the first time in my life, I wanted to do right by someone, and her being a part of this club, a part of me, wasn’t doing right by her.
“Styx?” My name out of her lips, Christ, it almost stopped my breathing. Looking up, I saw her deep frown; she knew something was up.
“B-b-babe…” I whispered.
“Are you well? You have paled.”
Sighing, I ran our fingers down my cheek. She sucked in a breath, and I confessed, “I… c-can’t k-k-keep you.”
Her hand flinched in mine. “You wish me gone?” she whispered, pulling her hand back to cradle in her lap.
Reaching forward, I gripped her wrists in my large hands and pulled her toward me. She had no choice but to drop down to my lap. I still didn’t look at her, but rested my forehead against her shoulder. She felt too fuckin’ right sitting on me.
“Y-y-you’re too p-pure for this life, M-Mae. Y-y-you’re not s-safe. D-don’t know how to b-be in all this… b-bad.”
Mae said nothing for a long time, then confessed in a small voice, “I feel safe with you. I do not know anyone else here on the outside and I cannot return from where I came.” Her small body jerked as if a thought slammed into her mind. “Please do not take me back, please! Not to them!”
I finally glanced up and her face was broken. It hurt more than the machete hit to the chest I’d taken in the Mexican war last year.
Fuck!
Gripping her shaking hand, I said, “I-I-I won’t, b-b-but where, b-babe? Where c-can’t you return?”
“Where I am from,” she said evasively.
“The f-fence? Wh-whatever’s b-behind that f-fence? That wh-what you t-talking ’bout?”
She nodded silently.
I reached up and palmed her face in my hands. “Y-you’re t-too innocent for this life. Y-you’ll grow to h-hate me if you st-stay.”
“I believe in forgiveness. I will never hate, especially not you,” she hushed out.
“I-I’ll lay it on the l-line for you, b-babe. I t-trade illegal weapons for c-cash and d-drink far too m-much. I f-fuck sluts regularly and d-don’t commit to no one f-for long, maybe n-n-never will.” I made sure I had her full attention for the last part. “I-I’ve killed p-p-people. I-I’ve even l-liked it, and”—I knew I was bringing the final death blow—“I’ll d-do it again. Y-you want someone g-g-good to take c-care of you. I-it ain’t me, babe. I g-gotta go away t-tomorrow on b-business. We’ll t-talk when I get b-back, f-figure shit o-out.”
Her breath grew faster and she gripped my wrist so damn tight. On shaky legs, Mae stood up and I dropped my hands from her face. I watched as she walked toward the door to the back stairway leading to my apartment. Then she stilled and looked back at me over her shoulder. “You have light within you, Styx, and I feel it shining through like the rays of the midday sun. It is beautiful. You are a good man.”
Fuck. What the hell was I meant to do with that shit?
“I am truly happy that I got to see you again. I thought about you often, the boy behind the fence, the boy on the outside… the boy who stole my first and only kiss, and I nightly prayed for your safety and happiness. It is a ritual I will forever keep.”
Mae sighed and drifted toward me, and I could see the torment she battled on her face, but at what, I didn’t fuckin’ know. After several seconds, she stood before me, slowly bent down, and pressed a soft as fuck kiss to my cheek, moving to my ear to say, “I will be forever grateful that you saved my life, Styx, and sang to me so perfectly on your guitar. You have shown me more compassion in a matter of days than I have had my whole life.”
She laughed out one single laugh, and it was the purest, most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. “You will never know, but in the two darkest moments of my life, you have shown up. You say it ain’t you who is good and who will keep me safe, but you already have. You have saved my life twice.”
I reached forward for her hand, no idea what the hell I was about to do, when a voice from the doorway caught my attention.
“Styx?”
Lois stood watching me with Mae, her eyes wide as she watched me gripping her hand. Jerking my chin in her direction, I lifted my hand and signed for her to wait in my club bedroom. She hesitated for a moment but walked away, and I heard the door to my room quietly open and close.
Looking back at Mae, I said, “I-I-I gotta g-go.” With a disappointed smile, she hobbled out of the room.
Grabbing my guitar, I made my way to the corridor holding all of the brother’s bedrooms and hammered on the very last door. After a few seconds, Rider opened the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes and half dressed, and said, “Prez?”
Move her into your room, outta mine. You stay at your home. Don’t let anyone near her while I’m gone. Right? I signed.
Rider’s eyes widened, but he just nodded in acceptance.
“Where’s she now?” Rider asked, sticking his head out the door to search the hallway.
“My room. Go get her. Brothers are leaving for the run first light.”
Blowing out a long breath, he headed back inside and threw on a shirt, his cut and jeans. As he turned back around, I realized I was still standing there watching him like a fuckin’ stalker. Turning, I headed back to my room where Lois was already naked, eying me weird. I dragged my hands through my hair and took a deep breath. Shit! I needed Lois to fuck Mae right outta my goddamn mind.
Chapter Nine
Salome
Mae
A soft knock sounded from the door, and I wondered if Styx had changed his mind. Walking to the door, I tightened my robe and unlatched the lock. As I opened it a fraction, the bearded man from before stood in front me. His big brown eyes fixed on mine and he flicked his chin.
“Can I come in?”
Backing away from the door, I tried to stand, but the pain from too much walking made my injury throb.
“Sit down,” he ordered, seeing my discomfort. I carefully lowered myself onto the end of the bed and, moving before me, he crouched down. He looked up through impossibly long lashes. “Can I check your leg?”
My eyes widened. I would have to lift my robe, to expose myself.
“I’m a doctor. I took care of you, fixed you up. Name’s Rider.”
He must have detected my shock. “In a previous life, I was a soldier and a medic. You’re in good hands. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
Ducking his head, almost in nerves, he set back to his work.
He seemed so concerned for me, so sincere. He was not as hard-faced as Styx, not as abrupt in the way he spoke. I felt strangely at ease in his presence but his short beard looked too much like the disciples’ to be of any great comfort. However, Rider’s personality was completely different, his actions toward me kind.
“My name is Mae,” I said quietly.
He lifted his head, a timid smile ghosting across his lips. “Nice to meet you, Mae,” he said so politely. Then, with a stiff hand, he raked back his brown, shoulder-length hair. He sat back and quietly asked, “Can I check your leg, now that I know your name?”
Silently nodding, I lifted the robe, dipping my chin in embarrassment. Revealing my bandage, I could see small traces of blood seeping through. Rider’s large hands were as soft as feathers on my calf and he unwrapped the bandage, allowing me to see my wound for the first time since I had woken up.
“It’s healing real good. I’ll apply some more cream; rebandage.” Rider stood and walked to the large medical bag he had left on the table. He applied the ointment, the strong smell burning my nose. Then he applied new bandages, the medicine already taking away some of my discomfort.