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Chapter 5
Ajax
As I pull away, I think to myself, What the hell are you doing? Some misplaced sense of propriety urged me to leave, lest I spoil the steady development of our relationship.
Fuck that.
At the corner I pause and turn back, considering last night fast-tracked the preliminary stages of dating. We covered more ground in those hours than I ever had with another human being. Nothing could be more perfect than if we consummated those feelings right now, at their peak.
Except, I see something that shatters everything. A man strides up to her front door wearing a leather vest. It takes a moment of squinting, but I manage to discern the design on the back. A pit bull with horns.
It’s a Satan’s Animals cut.
The door opens and Claire peeks her head out, glancing down the street, but she doesn’t seem to notice me. She lets the sasquatch of a Satan’s Animal into her house and shuts the door.
I clench my jaw against the rising flood of disappointment. It feels like fire behind my eyes, casting the world in shades of flame. In my reeling thoughts, I try to make sense of it.
Then the answer strikes me, the only logical conclusion.
She was sent.
I crank the throttle and take off for home where I spend the next three days in isolation, eliciting concern from my fellow Devil’s Right Hands. But I refuse to engage with the world, instead holing up until the rage curdles into manageable hate.
I should have known better.
On the fourth day, Wolf shows up to my door.
His heavy fist pounds against the wood, rousing me from a drunken afternoon nap. “Open up, Ajax.” His deep, stern voice carries through the door.
Clutching my head, I stumble from the couch to the door. As soon as I swing it open, Wolf steps inside. We convene in the living room where he surveys the empty liquor bottles and beer cans. “A party of one ain’t much of a party, is it?”
“I’m havin’ a ball, Wolf. Turns out all you need is one to make a party.”
He picks up one of the spent fifths. “This isn’t even quality stuff. If you’re going to indulge in self-pity, the least you could do is treat yourself to something decent.”
“Well,” I say, hunching over on the couch, “after you singe your tastebuds with so much booze, it doesn’t really matter the brand.”
Wolf leans back in the chair. “Claire came by the bar.”
I scoff. “I’ll bet she did.”
“Twice. I gave her your number. Did she call?”
“Dunno.” She did. Several times. I ignored all of them.
“Gonna tell me what happened?”
After a minute of futile head rubbing, I lift my gaze to meet Wolf’s. “She’s a spy.”
His brow furrows in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
With a sigh, I launch into the story. “I took her up to the spot.”
He grins. “Really? You’ve never taken a girl up there. Too sacred, I thought.”
“Yeah, well, it seemed different. We talked all night, I didn’t even touch her. What the romantics call a connection took place between us. Or so I thought. When I dropped her off home in the morning, I saw something.”
Wolf crosses his arms. “What did you see?”
