Page 21 of Existential

ELEVEN

Hooch

Days pass without any new leads on who our new underdog is. The calendar mounted to the kitchen wall mocks me every morning as I pour my coffee, reminding me how close I am to losing everything that makes me who I am.

When you live and breathe the life twenty-four seven, the little things easily get lost on you. The smell of two stroke as a couple of the younger guys race pit bikes around the back yard. The feel of leather as it warms to your body, softening and molding to your shape. The weight of your colors on your back, a burden you wear with pride because it tells the world who you are and what you stand for.

The simple things.

Murphy swearing at his bike as his thick hands struggle to manipulate the tools. Jo Jo starting yet another fight by looking at somebody the wrong way. Even Heather stirring shit amongst the men.

The basics of life at the Fallen Aces, Fort Worth.

Donovan Jessup doesn’t give a shit about brotherhood. His job requires him to do whatever the hell it takes to get the end result. Morals and emotions don’t come into play. A sense of family isn’t something the DEA hold high on their priority list. They operate on results, and results only. Whereas the Aces have always blended the two seamlessly: business and pleasure. When you live your job, it’s easy to keep balances and checks in place.

We do what we do because of our family. The club was founded on the theory that a man shouldn’t have to commit eighty percent of his life to another man’s dream simply to put food in the mouths of his children. A man should be able to provide for those he loves without having to sacrifice his role as a father.

Something my own forgot along the way.

But would I be any different if I had children? I guess I might never know. The realization that a stint on death row eliminates any chance at finding the one, at having children of my own, stabs painfully in my gut. Family may be a simple dream, but it’s something I took for granted until now.

I always had time. But time, like any other resource, is destined to run dry. Before you know it you’re staring at the dregs of what you have left, wondering what exactly you wasted the rest on.

Which is why it’s up to me to make the most of what I’ve got left, put that ten per cent to good use.

I pour a cup of black coffee and shake out a cigarette, having already snorted my first hit for the day. Drugs, be they legal or otherwise, are my salvation these days. I guess I’m no better than those bionic people you see in movies prolonging death with science and technology. Only I’m prolonging the inevitable by also speeding it up—how skewed is that?

I settle into one of the porch chairs and set my brew down on the deck between my feet. As I lift the flame of my lighter to the end of the cigarette, movement down the driveway catches my eye. Our transient walks in the opposite direction, wheeling the barrow with some tools stacked on top. Her hips sway seductively between the handles as she makes her way toward the gates, my hands stilled as I lose myself to the mesmerizing sight of her pert ass rolling one side to the other as she walks.

It dawns on me that I still don’t even know her name. I’ve avoided her mostly this past week, and when she has been around everybody refers to her as “that gypsy”, or “the stray.”

I snap myself out of the daze, and bring the flame to my smoke, setting it alight with a satisfying crackle and that first stale pull into my lungs. She’s done a good job over the last week; I’ve been too busy wrapped up in the club’s business to really stop and take a look. The garden beds are neat, the dirt between the plants freshly turned. She’s trimmed the edges of the lawns when she mowed them, and the array of fallen twigs and branches have been cleared from under the trees.

It looks … inviting. Like a home. How it should.

I blindly reach down and pick up my mug of Joe, lifting it to my lips as I look down the drive again to her shrinking form. The girl’s a ten out of ten, for sure. I thought it was a given that she’d get hit on by at least one of the young bloods around here after I coaxed her to stay, but strangely everyone’s kept a respective distance. Maybe it’s the unease over the drug supply, or perhaps Digits has put the shits up the lot of them.

I’m going with the latter, considering the asshole’s been a possessive little fuck since he brought her back here. Caught him gifting the girl her own set of toiletries and makeup the other day. He seems smitten, and for some reason it angers the fuck out of me. Jealous? Can’t be. Has to be something else.

I drag the ember down the cigarette and drink the rest of my coffee in record time before leaving the mug on the porch. Maybe she was only meant to be a temporary distraction, but with the threat Jessup has over my head I’ve had plenty to think about—mostly to do with tying up lose ends before I go inside. Without a doubt the stray’s going to cut and run as soon as she’s finished up here, yet now that I’m pretty damn well convinced she’s trustworthy I won’t let her go without getting something more than well manicured grounds out of her.

I’ve got a backup plan for if I get thrown inside, and it involves her.

I rise from my seat and jog down the steps, striding down our private road to catch up to the girl as she vanishes into the distance.

Maybe I was a bit harsh at the start? But, if I’m to trust her I needed more than just her word to assure me. I need to know she’s willing to do as I ask, even when she can’t stand me. And so far, our little fairy has definitely proved herself willing.

I adjust myself as I walk, ignoring the semi I’ve just given myself thinking about other ways to apply that submissiveness. Really need to get laid.

“What you up to?” I call out.

She scowls at me as I slow to walk beside her. “What do you think?” Her expression softens. “I was going to clear the driveway of debris. You’ve got a few big sticks that’ve fallen from the trees, and I overheard some of the guys complaining about them flicking up into their legs when they ride down here.”

“Figure you’d start at the gates?”

She walks in silence for a moment, the dull squeak of the barrow wheel and our feet crunching the dirt the only sounds between us. “Yeah. Kind of thought if I’m dog tired at the end of this I’d rather be closer to food and water than a quarter mile away.”

“Smart girl.”