Axle Page 8

  A morning like this was making me hope even more than LeCharles would reach out to me. I just needed something good to happen. I was so sure that he was going to reach out to me... so sure...

  And now, like a fool who was forced to confront the disillusionment of her reality, I was left to face the fact I had put myself in a hell far worse than anything the Bible or any priest could ever describe. I didn’t need to die to go to hell. I was already experiencing it right here, right now.

  I got up from my bed and reached for my phone. Shiloh perked up, perhaps expecting a walk, but I told him in a tearful voice to stay. Somehow, he decided it was a good idea to listen to me. I couldn’t imagine very many people would have thought that.

  I pulled up LeCharles’ phone number and texted him. I knew I shouldn’t have, but in this state, I didn’t have a whole lot of self-control.

  “Hope you’ve been well. Wanna meet up soon?”

  It was just barely after seven in the morning when I sent that text. I knew I had no good reason to expect him to reply so soon, but when I didn’t see one immediately, I just tossed the phone back to the ground. There was no point.

  “I gotta do something,” I said.

  Staying in bed all day, though more appealing than I wanted to admit, sounded like the kind of thing that would ensure the day would only get worse. The last place I wanted to be wasn’t anywhere physical—it was in my head. At least a walk could somewhat get me out of there.

  “Let’s go, Shiloh,” I said. “We’re going to go for a walk.”

  As soon as I said the word “walk,” it was like I had just injected cocaine into his veins. He moved with hyperactivity, practically doing laps around the apartment, waiting until I got to him with a leash. I cracked a couple of genuine laughs at seeing how happy he was—I almost wondered if he sensed my sorrow and was acting in such a way that would get me to feel better about myself. I was probably reading too much into it, but then again, no one knew me better than Shiloh, even if he couldn’t verbalize it.

  I opened the door to a cooler-than-expected California morning. I decided to jog the first bit, and with Shiloh trotting with me, we just kept moving west.

  And west.

  And west some more.

  I didn’t bring my phone with me, so I couldn’t say for sure how far we had gone, but I did know that it started to warm up enough that I began to sweat pretty hard. I also knew that I had lost track of time to such an extent that at one point, I was pretty sure that the sun had gotten to its highest point, indicating that we had been walking since noon.

  But. I. Just. Didn’t. Care.

  I was walking like a zombie because that’s what it felt like. It felt like I was a person walking without a purpose, without something to move toward. Everything I had built toward no longer existed or flaunted its impossibility in my face. I was destined to be a desolate, destitute person, unmarried, childless, and useless. Shiloh, if all went well, would last me about another five years, maybe eight or so if I got lucky for once, and at that point...

  It was only when he started to whimper under the heat that I realized it might have been worth turning back around. I was also starving to such a degree that I would have taken whatever restaurant popped up.

  That ended up being McDonald’s, which may not have been healthy for my gut but was... well, not really healthy for anything. But when you’re in the midst of a downswing like that, you don’t think in terms of healthy or unhealthy. You just think in terms of the bare minimum.

  After McDonald’s, I just couldn’t muster the energy to walk home. Even with the nourishment, I knew Shiloh would have a difficult time walking home. By no means was he a senior dog, but he was certainly in the latter half of his life. And even if he wasn’t, even if he was a dog that had energy and could go, what kind of an owner was I if I was going to make my dog walk six, seven, eight hours in a day under a clear sky?

  Instead, I hailed an Uber, making sure to note I needed one that could transport a dog. The first driver who responded was none too pleased, but with the promise of a twenty-dollar tip—cash I didn’t really have the luxury of spending, but cash I needed to spend—he accepted my offer and had me home within about twenty minutes.

  As soon as I got inside, Shiloh made a beeline for his water bowl. I immediately felt guilty for dragging him along on my little pity trip, but at least he’d gotten home safe.

  “I’m sorry, buddy,” I said as he continued to slurp up the water. “I’ve just had a bad day, but... ”

  I let the words trail off. Nothing I said would justify what I’d done. I’d just have to get my shit together. Hopefully, something good will have come to my phone since I came back.

  I checked.

  Nothing.

  No word from LeCharles.

  As far as I was concerned, he was now really, truly gone from my life. I was left to my own defenses.

  And, well, fuck it, if I was left to my own defenses and had hit rock bottom, then why not relish being down here?

  As the sun set, I had determined my destination for the night.

  Brewskis.

  I didn’t know anything about the place’s current reputation. When I had first left Springsville, it had an image of being a bit of a dive bar’s dive bar, the place where the seedy and the underbelly of society came to conglomerate. It wasn’t the place you went to get shot, but it wasn’t the place you typically took first dates to, either. Of course, that didn’t stop some, but invariably, those relationships weren’t always the most stable. But, hey, who am I to speak about stability?

  I had already gotten the party started at my place by getting a bottle of vodka at a nearby store. I only took two shots, just enough that I would be social with whomever I encountered there but not so much that I would put myself in a compromised position. I knew I shouldn’t have spent the money on the bottle, but not like I needed to save it for anything special or the future. Right?

  With the alcohol in my system, I ended up texting LeCharles again, although I really didn’t put any thought into the idea that he would actually show up. I just figured that if he wanted to make an evening of it, he’d know where I was. And if he didn’t, well, someday maybe he’d change his number and I’d get a notice that someone else had that number now.

  I should have hailed an Uber, but with money tight enough as it is, I made the probably stupid decision to just drive there. I’d only had two drinks, and it wasn’t like Brewskis was down the 101 or some other major Los Angeles freeway. It was less than a ten-minute drive. I grabbed my keys, my wallet, and my phone, and then bent down to kiss Shiloh, who made no bones about his displeasure with me leaving.

  “I know, Shiloh, I know,” I said. “But Rose has got to make some bad decisions and have fun tonight. After the day she’s had, she’s gotta have a little something, right?”

  Shiloh just kept whimpering. It wasn’t wrong to wonder who had more sense, the dog or me. It definitely wasn’t wrong to lean toward the dog.

  When I stood up, I felt myself swaying a bit. I knew right then I really shouldn’t get behind the wheel. I needed to stay home or take a cab.

  Alas, what I needed to do and what I wanted to do were two very different things, and right now, what I wanted was winning out over what I needed to do.

  I walked out of the house, got behind the steering wheel, and took a deep breath. I was buzzed, but I wasn’t hammered. If I focused with all of my willpower on the road, I would be fine. I think.

  Fortunately, on the road to Brewskis, I had a two-lane road, making it that much less probable I would hit an oncoming car. It was kind of fucked up that I was thinking about the probabilities of that, but what could I say? Sorry? Not a chance.

  When I arrived at Brewskis—feeling mighty confident that I had driven just fine and was without risk—I parked my car in the dirt lot next to it. I looked around and noticed that much of the construction that was happening around the bar had seemed to fall into disarray, almost like projects ha
d started and then just been abandoned halfway through. In some twisted way, I just figured that that fed into the idea of it being a dive bar. If it was going to be a little sketchy, might as well make it as sketchy a place as possible.

  I stepped into the bar, and I noticed one thing immediately.

  Besides the bartender, a woman with spiked pink hair, there were no other women here.

  There were two dudes at the bar, wearing sleeveless jackets—though I did not recognize their logo—laughing loudly to each other and patting each other on the shoulder. In the rear, two more dudes were playing a game of pool. One dude was sitting in the way back, smoking a cigar, watching the scene unfold with what looked like bemused detachment.

  It was of absolutely no surprise to me, then, that the instant I, a woman, walked into this room, literally every pair of eyes fell on me. This is what you wanted, right? You wanted to make a bad choice? What more could you ask for?

  A whole lot more that wouldn’t leave me wondering what this is going to turn into.

  Just looking at these men unsettled me. Even though LeCharles and Brian had worn the same type of clothing, they had a presence to them that said they could be monsters but weren’t. The presence here suggested the men here would be monsters.

  I walked up to the bar as casually as I could, even though such a thing was damn near impossible in these given circumstances. The bartender came up to me, and her first question to me should have told me everything I needed to know about the environment here.

  “Are you lost?” she asked. “I can help you wherever you need to go.”

  “No, I’m not,” I said, although I was beginning to think it probably would have been better if I had been. “I... this is Brewskis, right?”

  “Yeah,” the woman said, sounding almost apologetic. “You’re sure you’re in the right spot? Are you waiting on anyone?”

  I shook my head. The bartender looked around at the room, and I followed her gaze. The two other guys at the bar were eying me and talking about me in rather unapologetic terms.

  “Just be careful,” she said. “I’ll make all the drinks here, but the minute you feel uncomfortable, you let me know.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, but I hated myself for saying that. The bartender wasn’t trying to cockblock the other dudes, she genuinely cared about me. And here I was, pushing her away, all in the name of supposedly enjoying myself.

  It reminded me of how the whole damn spiral had started for me in the first place. LeCharles would try and offer me help, would offer his presence, but I refused. Instead of responding to his offer with dignity and grace, I reacted aggressively. I put myself in a progressively worse and worse spot, and now history was repeating itself.

  Maybe I did need to get the fuck out of here.

  Or...

  Maybe I just needed to have some fun and see what happened. After all, LeCharles was having his fun. Why the hell could I not do the same?

  “Okay,” the bartender said with a long sigh. “My name is Jess, if you need anything.”

  “She doesn’t need to know your name!” one of the first men said, coming over. He was bald, had a long black beard, multiple neck tattoos, and so much hair on his arm that he could have passed for a gorilla. “But she does need to know mine. Call me Parker.”

  “Parker,” I said.

  I could literally not describe the smile on his face in any way other than profoundly disturbing. It was the kind of face that someone who relished being a menace got when he saw an opportunity to strike, and I didn’t mean the kind of menace who pulled harmless, cartoonish pranks.

  “Yeah, and I’m Rick,” said the other one, seating himself on the other side of me.

  It was not lost on me that I was trapped.

  Or, I told myself, I could just play the two off of each other and see what happened. That was part of having fun, right? Just letting guys compete for me?

  You’re out of your fucking mind, girl. You let one poor paycheck and one rejection turn you into this kind of a whore?

  “Rick,” I repeated. “Parker and Rick. It is nice to meet you two.”

  “Oh, you haven’t even gotten to the nice part yet,” Rick said. “Where are you from, pretty lady? We don’t get a lot of new faces in this part of town.”

  “And we love new faces,” Parker said, literally licking his lips.

  Maybe I did step a little too far out of my comfort zone.

  “I grew up here. I just moved back a few days ago.”

  “Holy shit!” Parker said, slapping the table. “Lucius! Would you believe this shit! There’s a girl here who moved back here! It’s like she has no fucking idea!”

  No fucking idea what?

  I turned my head to see the man who was smoking a cigar in the back let out a short laugh before resuming his cigar puffing.

  “Well, you’ve come into quite the bar,” Rick said. “I don’t know what Springsville was like growing up, but it’s a lot more adventurous and dangerous now.”

  “Oh, horrible,” Parker said.

  It was like I wasn’t even able to say anything. The two of these guys were just going to bounce words off of each other, not allowing me to get a word in at all.

  “You need protection in a place like this,” Rick said. “It would be a damn shame. You want to come back to our clubhouse?”

  “Your clubhouse?” I said, just barely getting the words in before Parker would have said something.

  “You really don’t have any idea, do you?” Parker said. “That’s astounding. Usually, people have some idea. I’m genuinely shocked.”

  “Speak for yourself, ya dummy,” Rick said. “Not like we’re the Blood Knights.”

  The name seemed to make Parker fume because, for once, he wasn’t saying a word in response. I watched the whole thing with fascination. Was the Blood Knights another group? Like the Black Reapers?

  I thought of asking these two about that, but such a question seemed more likely to provoke an angry response than anything else.

  “Fuck ‘em,” Parker finally said. “In any case, we’re not here to bore you with club details. We’re here to thrill you with what happens at the clubhouse.”

  “You’ll have fun unlike any type of fun you’ve ever had,” Rick said, his eyes narrowing to an uncomfortable degree. “It’ll give you experiences you only dreamed of before.”

  And then Rick put his hand on my thigh, and I didn’t mean by my knee. I may have been meaning to have fun, but that didn’t mean I was just willing to jump into bed with the first guy that touched me.

  “And the best part,” Parker said as he came up on the other side of me, leaning dangerously close. “Is that you can have fun with more than one of us.”

  That was where I drew the line.

  I may have come into the bar with some questionable intentions. I may have made some terrible decisions already, and I knew I’d have to face myself in the mirror tomorrow for them. I may have been in a really bad place.

  But I was not in such a bad place that I was going to be a whore to run a train on for the rest of the night with some dudes that I had never met before. I wanted to have fun with someone, not be something for some anonymous men.

  “That sounds lovely,” I said, standing out of my seat. “But I think you’ll have better luck with someone else.”

  But as I tried to leave, Rick put his hand on my stomach, holding me in place. It was too firm a grip for it to be an accident, and its intent was very clear. I was not going anywhere.

  “On the contrary,” he said, smiling. “You are the first woman to walk in here that we didn’t know in ages. We’re tired of the other girls. And I’m sure you’re tired of whatever boys you’re seeing.”

  I tried to ignore the fact I wasn’t seeing anyone, and the boy I did want to see wanted nothing to do with me.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said.

  But then I felt someone grab my arm forcefully. Parker had stood up and was now towering over me.
In the corner of the room, I could see the two guys who had played pool were watching. The man smoking the cigar, Lucius, however, had seemed to have departed, or maybe he’d just gone to the restroom.

  “You want a good time, right?” Parker said. “A little girl like you, come in here all by yourself, stumbling to her seat? Admit it. You came here to get fucked by one of us, didn’t you?”

  His hand tightened on my arm. I didn’t dare try to pull back, only because I knew it would ensure more violence.

  “This is what’s going to happen,” Parker said. “You’re coming home with us. And we’re going to have our fun with you. And you’re going to keep your mouth shut about it. Isn’t that right?”

  I looked to the bartender for the help she promised me, but by now, she was leaning back against the rear of the bar, her head down. I wasn’t sure she could have helped me even if she wanted to. She had offered me a life raft before, but she wasn’t going to drown herself to rescue me.

  Who could blame her?

  “Are we clear?” Parker said.

  I gulped. I saw no avenue of escape. I was not getting out of this with my dignity intact. I was, to put it bluntly, about to be gang-raped. I had brought this on myself. Turns out, things can get worse. Disturbingly worse.

  And then the door swung open behind me.

  Axle

  A club party was going down, and I could not have been more bored.

  It was relatively early in the evening, maybe shortly after ten p.m., and the girls had just started to stream in. I had had one beer up to that point, but I really didn’t intend to have more. Even now, at my peak man-whore phase, I didn’t enjoy drinking a lot of alcohol. Frankly, I didn’t really need it to get the ball rolling. I had enough confidence in my game to make happen whatever I wanted to, and getting drunk was just a really fantastic way to ensure that I woke up feeling like shit the next day.

  I typically hung out by the pool table by myself in the early going of these parties, waiting for a woman that interested me to come forward and make herself known. If none did, at some point, I would just bring one of the club members or prospects over for a game. None of the prospects dared lose to me, although that was actually something that pissed me off. I much preferred for people to play a real game against me.