I couldn’t look at him for that last part but I had to be clear about that. I was a lot of things, but I was not a hooker. “But I want to be done with the stripping part. I’m so tired. I just want to dance. I don’t want to party with bikers or be passed around. I’ve done so many ugly things, Ford.” My voice wobbled. “I don’t want you to hate me but you need to know the truth going into this place. There could be trouble. You need to stay in the car. I’ll get my dad and get out. But if anybody starts something, in their mind, they have good reason too.”
He released my hand to grip the steering wheel. I knew it wasn’t going to be good. His initial impression of me had been proven true. I was crazy, a biker whore, and good for nothing. I suddenly felt so tired I couldn’t hold up my head. I rested it against the window even though it was cold and hard and each bump shook my skull. Maybe it would shake some sense into me. I closed my eyes.
“We aren’t our pasts,” Ford said a few minutes later. “We all have to do things to survive given the circumstances we’re in.” He seemed so sure of his words, like it was a mantra he’d said time and time again. But he held an undercurrent of silent fury.
I closed my eyes. He was distant and cold, like the Ford I first met. I wondered if he would say anything else. Maybe tell me a different course of action I could have taken. The silence grew up like a wall between us.
As we pulled up, Daddy sat swaying on a curb out front. One arm gripped the ground as though to keep from spinning, the other tucked around his hunched middle. He was once such a large man, a force to be reckoned with; now, he was just a sad hunched figure on the curb. It was pathetic and heartbreaking, but also infuriating. I hated this town. I hated that this was my life. I hated that there was no way out of it.
“Let’s get this over with. Stay here.” I unbuckled my seatbelt before Ford had even put the car in park.
Chapter 21
Clifford
Iwas too furious to be hesitant about walking into a bar full of pissed off bikers. Suzie had given up any freedom she may have had to save a man who treated her like an object. Less than that. He treated her like trash to be discarded when it got too cumbersome.
I was close to the precipice of rage. I should have made a plan. I didn’t. I secretly hoped somebody would cross me. It would provide an excuse to punch their lights out. The thought of violence gripped me so suddenly I couldn't fight it back down, quickly followed by a shame I couldn't rationalize away.
“UT Professor Loses Funding After Bar Fight.”
I was no longer this person. I was a good man—a man in control.
I followed Suzie out of the car where she crouched down to her father.
“Daddy? You okay? Let's get you out of here.” She kept shooting glances to the entrance. “Get back in the car, Ford.”
A loud, twangy country song rumbled behind the heavy wooden entrance. A line of bikes surrounded the bar, but nobody was outside.
“Let me help you with him.” I wasn’t going to argue with her, but I wasn’t getting back in the car either.
I grabbed the old man's arms and helped Suzie pull him to his feet. He was so far gone he wasn't responding, just mumbling gibberish. There was a little dribble of vomit on his chin and the front of his shirt. I leveraged his weight to help him stumble forward. Thankfully, I had a lot of experience.
Suzie was uncharacteristically silent but her stressed glances from me to the door had me wanting to soothe her. We moved as fast as we could, but the man walked with a bit of a limp. It took us a minute to get him situated. I fought the urge to see if I could track down a towel to clean him with. It must have taken a long series of events to bring this person to a point in life where he was comfortable covered in his own vomit.
He sprawled out in the backseat and I positioned his legs inside so the door wouldn’t close on them. He was a big man. I was surprised. He must have been formidable in his prime. Now, he had the signs of an alcoholic too far gone; broken blood vessels covering a puffy face, a heavy, almost distended middle, and a permeating odor. Suzie took off her coat and made a pillow for his head. Her mouth was twisted to the side as though she fought back angry tears.
I wanted to punch something. I wanted to scoop her up and cradle her from everything bad. Mostly, I wanted to throw back my head and scream. This situation, this bar, this part of town, all these things reminded me of a place and time I fought so hard to block out.
After we shut the doors on either side, we made eye contact above the car. Her shoulders heaved up and down with a great sigh. She opened her mouth to say something but was stopped short by a gravelly male voice.
“Short Fuse? That you?”
Whelp. Maybe I’d get to punch someone out after all.
She widened her eyes and gave me a “be cool” look before turning toward the voice. A large bearded man, clad in leather, stood with arms crossed on the threshold of the bar. A cigarette hung from his mouth and the beard surrounding it was stained yellow. I didn’t recognize him, but his leather vest had the same insignia as the men who kept harassing Suzie, that I now understood to be the Iron Wraiths. I balled my fists and went to her.
“Hey, Ka-Bar.” She sighed and made her way over to him. She didn’t seem scared of him or hesitant.
I remained glued to her side and ready to maim, as needed.
“This is Ford. Ford, this is Ka-Bar. He bounces here and at the G-Spot sometimes.”
I recognized him now from that first night I met Suzie.
He crossed his arms and his leather creaked at the action. “I miss seeing your sweet face.”
Suzie mumbled something indistinct and looked at the ground. I put my arms around her shoulders.
