Page 47 of Existential
TWENTY-TWO
Dagne
Hooch has been gone for a little over a week without contact. Life with the Fallen Aces, Lincoln, is comfortable, but I still feel as though I’m the square peg in the round hole. I’m not a true biker chick, and the whores love to remind me of that daily. According to some I’ve attracted the attention of their favorite men, but what can I do about that? I have Scandinavian heritage from my father, and a gorgeous mother—it was bound to produce something pleasing on the eye.
Doesn’t mean I aim to use it to my advantage at every turn.
“I’m heading out to get the boss lunch. You wanna come for a ride?” Dog hesitates beside the sofa I’m curled up on.
We’ve become pretty good friends over the last week. He’s not as cocky as he’d like everyone to think under that brusque exterior. He’s just a lost soul, a lot like me. Difference is, he’s found his niche.
“Sure. Give me five?”
“I’ll meet you out front.”
He gets it; being here twenty-four-seven drives me insane. I need the change of scenery to feel as though I’m still wandering, still looking, still have hope.
King, the Lincoln chapter’s president, told me the second day I was here that they’d cleared any chance of me being on the police’s radar. Sure enough, an APB had been put out for Hooch—suspect wanted for two counts of murder—but nobody was looking for me.
And especially not for his “dead” sister.
Mel is an anomaly of the system. She was reported murdered a year ago, her body supposedly found in the woods outside Kansas City. She was wiped from the records and given a free pass through the rest of her life, provided she didn’t screw it up.
Kind of makes me wish I’d thought to do that myself. Maybe it would have been easier to live life as a ghost rather than unwanted? Maybe then Mom would have forgiven me in death, possibly believed the things I said.
I freshen up in the bathroom, tying my auburn hair back into a thick, bushy pony at the base of my head. Makeup was never my thing travelling, especially since I never had much money to pay for it. But Digits procured a few basics for me, and the last few days I’ve at least had mascara and a thin line of eyeliner on. I’ve got to say, my hazel eyes have never looked so sharp.
Dog is seated in the truck when I step out the clubhouse door, engine running and some mix of southern rock playing loud on the stereo. He pats his hand against the outside of the door, singing along as I climb in my side.
“You’ve got a good voice, you know.”
He smirks. “Doubt it.”
“You do.”
He eyes me skeptically. “How you likin’ it here?”
“It’s a roof over my head that I’m grateful for.” I stare out the side window, wondering what Hooch is doing right now. Is he warm, safe, and fed?
Is he alive?
“I’ve heard that there’s questions comin’ from down south about how you are.”
“Hooch has made contact?” I ask hopefully.
Dog shakes his head, turning us onto the road that leads toward town. “Nope. You make any other friends while you were there?”
I rack my brain. “Beth?” She was the only person I can think of that I really bonded with for any length of time.
“Try again.” I don’t miss the curl to his lips. He’s enjoying this.
Oh, God. “Digits,” I moan.
“Bingo, sweet lady.” He casts me a curious glance. “What’s the story there?”
“No story,” I state a little too loud. “He was the one who gave me the lift back to the clubhouse. He’s the reason I ended up tangled up with you bunch. He helped me out at the start when Hooch was doing everything he could to make me feel unwanted. Digits bought me toiletries, loaned me spare clothes to use when I was doing work around the place. He was just helpful.”
“Uh-huh.”