“One’s for me, stud. I wouldn’t want you to unwind alone,” she says, and then turns around to serve the rest of the customers.
Damn, she’s smooth.
This life taught me to observe details without using my eyes, and in this particular scenario, I have no other choice. If I so much as turn around to watch my surroundings, I’d raise a few eyebrows; and I’m not talking about the ladies. If the guys in here knew who I was, probably half of them would want to fucking kill me right on the spot because of... I— uhm…, fucked their ladies. While the other half would love to fuck me first and then kill me. Bunch of psychos. I’ve got the street rep, but they don’t have a face just yet. That’s the importance of remaining unseen when playing this game. If you’re clever enough, you can live the life and still get away with it. I’ve had my fair share of jobs with gangs that used to hang out around here, and I also had to silence a few prezs and VPs to keep my head on my shoulders, clean and easy. Thanks to power struggles, I’ve never been out of a job.
Back to the details. The mirror on the back of the bar has a few glass shelves crowded with bottles; some of them are dirty and almost empty, others haven’t been opened yet and they sport a layer of dust. The mirror allows me to observe without moving an inch, from the guys playing pool to the ones sitting at a table, drinking, while half-naked women sit on their laps patiently waiting for the men to decide what they want next. That’s what they must do if they want to become someone’s ‘old lady’ and stop being shared among all of them. Sometimes that never happens, and they are stuck with being ‘house mice’ and confined to clean the bar after everyone else leaves. I never understood why this kind of people is allowed around here. But then again, I guess I never really thought it through. I mean, free pussy and clean shit for zero dollars— that’s actually pretty good. Something that’s not clear to me though, is: why would people wanna become a gang member? Some may say it’s because they’re outcasts, villains or just broken people who happened to find some kind of shelter where they can relate to someone else who’s in the same situation. Perhaps broken and lost souls fit together, somehow. But if you ask me, I’d say they are all a bunch of morons. I’m the most fucked up, broken, traumatized piece of shit of a human being that you might ever meet, and yet I don’t have my head up my ass, I stay away from other people’s lives and that’s advice for you as well. Stay the fuck out of other people’s lives… Unless of course, someone’s paying you good money to get involved.
What? Don’t judge me. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. You know, to survive.
I take the shot of vodka that was poured for me and slam the glass against the wooden counter. Another guy working the bar fills it right back. The minutes go by and I’m still here, waiting for what I’ve come here for.
I sigh and check my watch. It’s almost four. I’ve been here for more than an hour and my strategy isn’t paying off. I guess trying to collect intel is harder than what Bruno makes it sound. I take the last shot of the night, drop a few bills to cover the drinks plus a nice tip —it may be a shithole, but the service isn’t bad. I stand up and stretch my back. At that moment, the front door opens and the guys who were at the door help another ‘patch’ walk in. At first, I think that he might be just drunk; then I see his mug, his mouth is bloody, and he’s limping on his right side, meaning his left leg is not good. So far, nothing out of the ordinary for a biker bar, but then I notice Bad Blood turns his head and sees this guy. The second he makes eye contact, his facial expression starts to change. He stands up and walks into a back room with a ‘Private’ sign hung at the door; the rest follows him.
Bingo…
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ring.
Bruno
I dare not look at her. It’s too soon. I’m still agitated, quietly gasping for air. I want this moment to last as much as it can. I don’t want to go back to reality, where Leon is out there posing a threat like never before, waiting for another opportunity to have a go at us, just like they did at the funeral service— that’s fucked up. Then again, what’s more fucked up than this? I went from torturer to lover in less than a year. Now, that’s fucked up. But nothing really matters to me when I’m with her. I want to be with her, to feel and protect her.
Being inside of her was the best feeling ever. Period.
I always knew it; Sarah’s going to be the death of me.
Her arms around my neck help me stay in this fantasy, where the only thing that matters is that our bodies are naked together.Oh, God, I wanted her so badly— I still do. Once I woke and felt her skin against mine, I couldn’t handle it; and for that, I’m an idiot.
I move away from my sweaty forehead from her neck and look for her eyes. I find some things I’ve never seen before on that face of hers.
Peace.
Happiness.
Love.
“Are you okay over there?” I ask with the softest tone I can summon, and I kiss her shoulder.
“More than okay,” she replies.
“This was incredible,” I say while pulling out of her, despite all my senses telling me not to. I roll to her side and run my arm behind her neck. She turns towards me and starts caressing my chest. This is perfect. I’d love to be able to stop time and freeze it in this very moment.
“How much longer until dawn? I don’t think I can move.” A yawn follows that question, making her look cute as fuck and stealing a smile from me. I wish my life would be filled with little moments like this one, every day— of course, with her by my side.
“Let’s try to get some rest.” I take her hand.
“We tried that, look where it got us,” she jokes. I chuckle.
“Let’s try really hard this time.” We interlock fingers, which I’ve started to love recently, because of her. I like to think that it’s a sign of peace and unity between us.
She falls asleep rather quickly, I can hear her breathing. I’m still gathering my thoughts and hoping I can also dream about her, a dream where she’s mine and we meet in a different situation, without any kind of prejudice or a tormented past. No drastic accident or event in both our lives that needs revenge. A perfect dream, where we can be together and live happily ever after. Thinking about that dream actually starts to take a toll on my mind, and with my already tired body, I start to doze off. It feels like a high —a good high. Everything with her is just better. My eyes start to feel heavy and I close them.
The room is dark and quiet.
I’m falling asleep.
RIIIIIIIINGGGG!
