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“Fuck!” Pissed off at the world, I chuck my phone at the couch. It bounces off the back, and lands face down on the floor. On an ugly, lip-curling growl, I flip the piece of shit off.
A heavy knock resounds at the door. Marching over, I don’t bother looking through the peephole as I throw the thing open, hoping it’s her but knowing damn well it’s not.
On the opposite side of our screen door stands Big, a deep-set wrinkle between his brows, frowning at me, his tattooed arms tucked across his chest over a plain white t-shirt.
“Where is she?” I demand, nostrils flaring.
He cocks his head to the side and drawls, “She’s… safe.”
“Where?”
“Safe,” he repeats, refusing to relinquish any information.
This stubborn goddamn dick bag.
“I asked you a fuckin’ question, brother,” I snarl.
“And I gave you a fuckin’ reply, brother,” he growls in return.
“You won’t keep her from me,” I warn. Over my dead body.
Ejecting a loud, irritated sigh the entire compound can hear, Big explains, “I’m doin’ what she requested. That’s the least I could do.”
She requested? I don’t believe that. Then again, I didn’t think she’d leave. Even if our homelife hasn’t been the greatest, I’ve been… nice. Never once have I been a jerk. I’ve cooked dinners. Even paid close attention to the food she likes, so we have more of it in the cupboards. After dinner, before I head out, I make her a cup of tea and turn the television on to something I think she’ll like. I even load the dishwasher most nights.
“I—” I begin, only to be cut off by the asshole.
“I’m not tellin’ you jack.” Big’s no-bullshit gaze bores into mine. “You fuckin’ know that. The brothers aren’t gonna tell you shit, either. Including your boy.”
“Adam knows?” I seek confirmation.
“Yeah.”
Sagging against the door, I sigh. “Thank fuck… Okay. She’s safe.”
“Yeah, dumbass.” Big snickers.
I scrub a hand over my bald head. “I fucked up.” Big time.
Pursing his lips, Prez nods in agreement, his tone far softer than I expect. “Yeah. Ya did. I told you this would happen if you kept it up.”
He did. He also made me switch from hard liquor to beer a few weeks back. Said I needed to take it easy. If I wanted to kill myself, there were better, far cheaper options. Ha. Ha.
“I don’t have a choice,” I explain, not wanting to go into the specifics.
Not buyin’ my shit for a second, Big unfolds his arms and scratches his forehead in agitation. “We all have choices, brother. I kept my distance from Bink for-fucking-ever… my choice.” He points to himself.
This isn’t the same situation. Not even close.
“Really? We’re goin’there. Big, that wasn’t your choice. Don’t pretend like it was. The shit Lindy Sue found out coulda put you down for a long time.” I can’t think of a single instance Bink’s mom wasn’t a piece of work. A bitch to her rotten core. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she and my mom were cut from the same cloth.
Knowin’ I’m right about this, Big relents, “True. But I could’ve said fuck her, took what I wanted, and hoped she didn’t throw me under the bus.”
Right. Like that woulda happened.
“Then you would’ve gone to prison and where would Bink be?” Oh. We know where. She’d have grown up and married some small-dicked, prissy-bitch, non-biker. Together, they’d live in suburbia with their 2.5 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. He’d sell insurance or something equally boring, while Bink catered to his every whim. On Tuesdays, after he watched the news, they’dmake lovemissionary style with the lights off.
“Exactly,” Big grumbles, pulling me from my messed-up musings—the same ones he’s probably considered over the years. “That’s why I made the choice I did. To wait it out. Did what I had to do to get what I wanted. Worth the wait, even if it killed me. The choice you’re makin’ by pushin’ away the woman you love… solves what?”
