Bones and I followed Cricket away from the girls, far enough that we wouldn’t be overheard but not so far that we couldn’t keep an eye on our new wildcard. She was talking animatedly to Lennon, who threw her head back and laughed. It had been a long time since I’d seen her laugh like that, and it made me hatehera little more and a little less all at the same time. It was confusing, and I wasn’t in the mood to think about mydamn feelings anymore tonight. I gave my head a little shake to clear my thoughts and noticed Bones studying me.
“Quit fucking looking at me, man. What happened after I left?”
“Oh, you mean after your tantrum, diaper baby?” Bones smirked at me, the prick. I ground my teeth and clenched my jaw, trying to rein in my frustration.
“Duke told chica loca she had to stay on the property unless escorted by a brother. She wasn’t happy but agreed for the time being. She also agreed to no violence unless it’s for self-defense and no snooping in restricted club areas. She can have more freedom if she gives us more information about herself and where she comes from. He dangled that carrot, but she wouldn’t bite. Whatever abusive ex or controlling dad she’s running from is scarier than we are in her mind.”
Cricket took a swig of his beer before he chimed in, “On that note, you said her prints weren’t an option for identifying her, but what about her DNA?” He held his hand up, a few of her blond locks dangling from his fingers. “When Pyro grabbed her hair, a few strands must have been pulled out. I swiped them when I pulled her off him. Think that’ll help?” I took the hair from Cricket and looked it over. A few had the follicle attached, and I hoped that this was enough for my contact in the local police department to run through their system. If she had a record, we’d find it. I didn’t like not knowing who or what we harbored under our own roof. She took my vengeance from me; I’d be damned if she took anything else.
Chapter 6
The Girl
I awoke from the deepest sleep I could remember having. When you sleep in shelters or on the street, you learn to sleep lightly with one eye open, or else you’ll wake up dead with all your stuff stolen. I wasn’t completely relaxed, though; I don’t think I knew how to be. Some of my earliest memories were of Uncle Roark ripping me from my little bed in the basement and throwing me into one of the cells he keeps deep underground. He’d deprive me of sleep—sometimes blasting music at odd intervals, sometimes flashing blinding lights, and sometimes spraying me with ice-cold water from a hose. It taught me to sleep anywhere, in any conditions, but to never really sleep deeply.
I guess in his own way, he primed me for success in sleeping on the streets. Silver linings and all that jazz. Before falling into bed, I made sure the door and window were locked and slid the heavy nightstand in front of the door. It wouldn’t stop anyone who wanted to enter the room,but hopefully, it would give me a few seconds’ warning. In life-and-death situations, every second counts.
Peeking my eye at the dresser's digital clock, I saw it was 5:30 am. Disgusting. Unfriendly. Rude. The audacity of the sun and its wicked rays knew no bounds. Sheer curtains on the window did absolutely nothing to block out the morning sun. What’s the point of sheer curtains, anyway? The stupid sun had ruined my beauty sleep, so I figured I’d go for a jog before I met up with Lennon. She wanted scrotum-stomping lessons, and I was excited to pass on my knowledge. I didn’t know much since I had never been formally educated, learning what I could about the world from watching TV and movies and the books I had access to in the basement. However, I knew a lot about pain and violence and what it can do to a person. My body was littered with scars, and I had experienced more broken bones, burns, contusions, and cuts than I could count. Memories tried to play peek-a-boo, but I wasn’t in the mood, so I mentally snarled at them until they went back into their box in the deep recesses of my mind.
After going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I pulled on my boots and piled my hair into a messy bun with a band I found on the nightstand. I had slept in my borrowed clothes, but they were comfortable and better to work out in than my hobo clothes. My boots weren’t ideal for running, but they were the only shoes I had. I tippy-toed down the stairs, trying to avoid waking anyone. The clubhouse common room was quiet and still, save for the twirl of the ceiling fan above the bar.
Duke told me to stay on the compound, but he didn’t say I had to stay indoors. After a few light stretches, I hopped off the front porch and jogged down the long gravel driveway to the gate. Using the gate as a marker, I jogged along the fence line. The compound was fairly large, with buildings spaced apart and uncrowded with the clubhouse at the center. As I slowly jogged, I saw five single-family homes set back and away from the clubhouse, with a sixth under construction. Jogging on, I saw a few outbuildings, a small shop or garage of some kind, what might be the gym Lennon mentioned, and as I went around, I saw doors in the ground which must lead to the creepy cellar the MC had kept me in when they were verifying my story. I smiled as I jogged past, rememberingBones and me in what I had dubbed the “Flight of Urgent Urination” to get me to a bathroom yesterday. Good times.
By the time I circled back to the gate, a sheen of sweat covered me. I picked up the pace for my second lap and had to brace my boobs with my arm as I ran. Running sans sports bra was a hazardous business, but I liked to live on the edge. Plus, I highly doubted I’d ever live long enough to see my tits get saggy. I enjoyed running, though. It helped me clear my mind and quiet the thoughts that buzzed around my head like buzzy bees. Growing up, I ran because if I was running I was usually left alone until I was finished. Uncle Roark demanded I keep my body fit so I wasn’t punished for running like I was for other activities.
“You’re no use to this family if your body isn’t fit enough to work. Useless girls are dead girls.”His voice was in my head all the time, and I hated it. I smacked my head a few times to jar his words loose, but the little shits just wouldn’t leave.
Ideally, I’d have music to listen to when I ran so I could let the music and the rhythmic pounding of my feet help me daydream. I often ran on autopilot, my legs propelling me forward while my mind wandered to far-off and fantastical places. Reality sucked donkey balls most of the time, but my mind could be a very interesting place to get lost in. Dave, one of the nicer guards at Uncle Roark’s house, let me use his old iPod when I ran, and that was the best. Music took me away like nothing else could, except books. Reading while you ran was really hard, though, so music was best for mobile mental vacations. Dave and his old iPod were far, far away from here, though, so I contented myself with putting my mind music on shuffle and singing in my head as I started lap three and hit my stride. “Pretty Girls Don’t Cry” by Anna Akana flowed into “Kiss or Kill” by Stela Cole.
On lap five, I noticed I had an audience. Figuring I was suitably warmed up for Lennon’s training session, I walked a final lap to get my heart rate back down before heading back up the driveway to the clubhouse. Cricket sat on the porch steps, drinking coffee with a man I hadn’t seen yet. I huffed and puffed a bit as I walked to the steps. Note to self: work on cardio. Cricket took a sip of the coffee in his steaming mug and handed me a bottle of water. He was the BEST.
“Thank you!” I greedily gulped the water while Cricket’s coffee pal assessed me. His eyes roamed over my body, but I didn’t mind at all. There was nothing sexual in his gaze, no heat at all. He scanned my body like an opponent would, and the warrior in me appreciated that he took me seriously and didn’t leer like a lot of men would.
His eyes stilled and widened when they got to mine and saw that I was assessing him in the same way. He was probably about 6’0”, maybe a little less from what I could tell, with silky-looking russet skin. His long dark hair had a few braids here and there, and I idly wondered if he braided it or if someone else had done it for him. As my scan returned to his face, I saw his lips curve into a smile that reached all the way to his thickly lashed bronze-colored eyes.
Cricket cleared his throat, ending our appraisal of each other. “Girl, this is Bear.” Bear extended his hand for me to shake, which completely enveloped my own. “Bear, this is Girl. She’s the one who executed that piece of shit Slyzec.” Bear held my hand for a moment before releasing it. I canted my head to the side.
“I didn’t see you here yesterday. I’d have remembered you if you were here.”
“I believe you,” he rumbled in what was quite possibly the deepest bass voice I’ve ever heard.
“He got back late last night from our chapter in Arizona,” Cricket explained. “If you couldn’t tell, he’s not very chatty.”
“Better that than someone with diarrhea of the mouth like you, Cricket,” Lennon snarked as she walked onto the porch, smacking Cricket on the back of his head as she passed. She yawned and stretched next to me, looking ready to kick ass in skintight athletic bike shorts and a neon-green sports bra. Her long, dark hair was braided into pigtails, and she tossed them over her shoulder as Cricket mock gasped.
“Me? I’m like a vault!”
“You’re a blabbermouth is what you are. Be careful what you tell this one, Girl. He gossips like an old woman,” Lennon said snidely.
“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “We have conscience-consciencee confidentiality.” I smiled at Cricket reassuringly while hooking my elbow with Lennon’s. “Come on, new bestie, you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
Lennon led me to the building I had suspected was the gym. It looked like a workshop: corrugated steel walls stood in a square shape on a concrete slab. Three of the four windows in the building had AC units, a welcome sight in the rising heat of the Nevada summer. Lennon walked through the only entrance to the gym, leaving it propped open with a cinderblock, and switched on the AC units. Cricket and, curiously enough, Bear followed me into the gym. Once the AC pumped frosty air, Lennon shut the door and flicked on the overhead fluorescent lights. I peered around the gym, excited to be in a formal training environment again after two years of being homeless and on the run. Funnily enough, there was no homeless girl gym membership plan.
Compared to Uncle Roark’s basement—a.k.a. the torture-scape of my nightmares—this place was a shack. I liked it. It wasn’t tainted by years of abuse and bad memories. Rubber mats covered the floor, and a treadmill, a few weight-lifting machines, a bench, and a nice set of free weights sat along the far wall, which happened to have several full-length mirrors hung across it.
Lennon clapped her hands, calling my attention away from inspecting the free weights. “Where do we start? I can’t wait to be a badass!”
“Well,” I hedged, “let’s start with what you already know. You ever been in a fight before?” Cricket snickered, and Lennon shot him a venom-filled glare.
