TRIGGER: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel Page 13

  “That how you take a fall, Trig?”

  “Won’t be too hard to fool ‘em tomorrow!”

  “She got ya good, boy!”

  I spat on the ground, pushing through the crowd, limping slightly on my way to Reign, who stood with his head in his hands in the far corner of the bar. Once we made it through the thick of it, I could feel Puck’s presence behind me as he shuffled towards our shared punishment. All my anger had drained away, replaced with a good dose of shame and general irritation. Along with a growing concern for my injured leg. I could feel the blood trickling down, wetting the denim of my jeans.

  “The fuck is happening?” Reign asked, but didn’t wait for our response. “Pair of morons, fuckin’ fighting for no damn reason! You got enough fightin’ to do tomorrow, Trig, the fuck you wastin’ your punchin’ arm on your own damn brother? Get the fuck into the office!”

  I sneered at Reign, crossing my arms across my chest. This hadn’t been my fucking fight, and I didn’t appreciate being talked to like some kid. He held my stare, eyes narrowed. His lips pursed together so tight they turned white. Behind me, Puck sulked.

  “Get. In. The. Office,” Reign repeated, now pointing through the door.

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” I said, standing my ground. “I ain’t a fucking puppy. And you better ask this motherfucker what happened before you start talking like you know what happened.”

  “Alright, fucker, get in the office, please,” Reign said. This fight was going nowhere, and I knew it. With one look back at Puck, a good hard look, I made my way through the open door. When Puck made to follow, I saw Reign hold his hand out to stop him.

  “Close the door behind ya,” Reign said to me, and I did as he asked. Alone there in the office, I sat down and rolled up my jeans. The gash was bleeding freely, but now when I looked at it, I realized it wasn’t too bad. Nothing that would trouble me too much the next day. I got up and walked around the office a bit, testing my weight on it. No more limping. That, at least, was a good thing.

  After a bit, I heard the door open again, and Reign stormed in, taking his place across the desk.

  “Little motherfucker,” he said with a deep sigh. “If he had a damn inch of the soul his dad had, we’d all be better off.”

  “I told you,” I said. “Wasn’t my fault the kid’s all fucked in the head.”

  “I know, I know,” Reign said, making eye contact once more. “Still, I don’t like seeing that shit in my club. Got enough people want us dead without killing each other.”

  “Boys will be boys,” I said, shrugging. “You get this many rough types in one place, it’s bound to happen.”

  “Well, this ain’t a playground,” Reign snapped. “And I ain’t gonna make you two shake hands and say sorry. But don’t let me seeing any stupid ass rivalry start up between you two. ‘Specially not after a girl like that.”

  I scoffed.

  “Trust me, boss, he can have her. I don’t do crazy. On purpose, at least.”

  Reign’s eyes fall to my shin, where my jeans were stained dark with blood.

  “That gonna be a problem tomorrow?” he asked, tone now deadly serious. I shook my head.

  “It’s bloody but it ain’t deep. Besides, all the more convincing if I have a pre-existing condition, right?”

  Reign nodded.

  “Well, if you’re willing to take a suggestion, I strongly suggest you go home and get some sleep. Won’t do you any good listening to this bunch of hoodlums ragging you about getting beat up by a girl,” he said.

  “My thoughts precisely,” I said, more than happy to call it a night. I didn’t want to risk running into that fool Puck again, either. “Can I take the back door outta here?”

  “She’s all yours,” Reign said, gesturing to the door that led out back of the bar. “And get some damn sleep.”

  “Same goes for you,” I said, noting the dark circles under Reign’s own eyes. We were all feeling the pressure, it seemed. Except for the men outside the office – who were ready to party their asses off in Reno.

  Me, I just wanted to get this fight done and over with. I didn’t mind taking one for the team, but I sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to it.

  The next day, as our posse roared down the long highway to Nevada, twenty deep, I tried to lose my leftover tension from the night before in the sense of freedom, the wind whipping around me. We were headed to a trailer park right outside of Reno, where the fight organizers were putting our crew – and the opponent’s crew – up for the night. I expected very little in terms of accommodations, but it was just for a night, and you can put up with anything for a night.

  I felt damn bad about what happened between me and Puck – even though it wasn’t half my fault. But he was just a stupid kid, and lord knew I’d made my share of mistakes as a stupid kid.

  More than my share, I’d say.

  Little did I know, one of those mistakes was right then making her own way towards me.

  Cass

  “What the fuck is this, Cass?” Brock’s voice bellowed across the trailer. I dropped my hairbrush with a clatter into the sink, my eyes closing tight and my lip drawing up between my teeth in anticipation.

  What the fuck did I do now, I thought, weary already. It didn’t even scare me anymore; it was just annoying. Depending on the infraction (whether it was a genuine complaint or a baseless accusation), I might be treated to an hour, a day, or even a week of bullshit from “my man.”

  But nothing would make the situation worse than him seeing that I was more annoyed than scared or sorry, so I put on my best fearful face and slunk out of the bathroom, head lowered, arms clasped behind my back.

  “What. The. Fuck. Is. This,” he repeated, speaking slowly as though I were a toddler, or even a puppy who’d had an accident in the house.

  How the hell should I know, I haven’t even seen it yet, asshole, I thought as I slowly raised my eyes. Through my bangs, I saw he was holding up a bag of weed, nearly wagging it in the air. My spirit sunk a bit. How in the shit did you manage to find that, Brock?

  “Oh,” I said, making my voice small. “I…I…I just thought…”

  “You thought? Bitch, I don’t keep you around to think,” he snarled, throwing the weed down on the kitchen table that separated us. “You know I don’t fuckin’ smoke before my fights, so what the fuck is this doing here?”

  “Babe, I got it for after, I thought it would be a nice…a nice, you know, way to surprise you and…”

  “You expect me to believe that? Are you stoned right now? Let me see your fucking eyes, cunt. If I don’t get to smoke up before I fight to make money for you to spend, you don’t get to, either!” He moved towards me and I raised my head all the way, showing him my clear eyes.

  “I swear, Brock, it was for you. That’s why I hid it, I wanted it to be a surprise to help you relax! I’m not high, I swear, see? Look at my eyes! I swear….”

  “Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ big surprise, bitch. That’s why you ‘hid’ it? Well next time, find a better fucking hiding place,” he snarled, only placated by the sight of my eyes. He knew that I never smoked without getting terrible red eyes. In fact, he knew that I hated weed. It gave me anxiety. He was just being irrational because…well…that’s just how he was.

  “Now I gotta fuckin’ know it’s here and I can’t fuckin’ have it. Great fuckin’ way to help me relax, Cass. Got me all fuckin’ mad and shit…fuck!”

  “Why were you looking in my make-up bag, anyway?” I asked, hearing the slight attitude in my own voice and immediately wishing I could take it back. But really, what better hiding place could I have picked? Brock had no reason to be sniffing through my mascara…

  But I saw in the sudden jolt of his chin upwards that I’d gone too far. He was already upset, and he only liked apologies when he screamed, not logical arguments against his claims.

  “Don’t fuckin’ give me any lip,” he bellowed. “I can look through whatever the fuck I want to, whenever the fuck I
want to, since it’s my fuckin’ money that pays for all your useless shit in the first place. Now get the fuck out of here. I’m tired of looking at your lyin’ fuckin’ face.”

  I could only breathe a sigh of relief that he was dropping the topic so soon. I think, in the back of his mind, he wasn’t as mad as he seemed. He loved himself some weed, and knowing it was there probably actually made him kind of happy. But I was more than happy to take his advice and “get the fuck out of there.” Picking up a cigarette from the pack that sat next to the front door, I let myself out while Brock grumbled himself down into the easy chair and turned on the little TV.

  I’d only picked up smoking after living with him so long. He chain-smoked like it was going out of style. Which, I guess, it is.

  The trailer park we’d been set up in was dinky as they come. Our own trailer looked like the roof was about to cave in. Dust everywhere, not a green plant in sight.

  Blinking into the sunlight, I saw, blearily, a figure standing in front of our trailer. I put one hand up to my forehead to block out the sun, already irritated and not excited about dealing with whatever creepo was spending his time loitering around the trailers. And then I saw who it was.

  “Well, son of a fucking bitch,” I heard myself say, the cigarette dropping from my hand before I could even bring it to my lips. He was staring right back at me, mouth open wide enough to catch flies, face shocked into stillness. All man, now, his boyish looks faded to a gritty handsomeness – a long scar etched down his cheek, and his eyes were harder than I remembered. But he still wore his red hair in that little ponytail bun, and he still had that stubble he was always scratching at, and he still looked like some kind of Viking god.

  He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt under a leather vest. I suddenly felt ashamed of the shorts and halter top I was wearing; I hadn’t expected to have to impress anyone.

  You don’t have to impress him, I told myself. He fucked you over and…and…

  Those thoughts didn’t do anything to stop the fact that, of all the people in all the world, his opinion was the only one that mattered to me. Really mattered.

  I closed my eyes against the sight of him, unable to bear it. In a moment, I was 18 again and he was being chased away by the cops, and then he was refusing to see me, and I was alone and cold in an unheated apartment working three jobs to make rent, and carrying around this hole in my heart just his size.

  “Cass,” his voice came towards me, low and slow across the hot air. “Cass…”

  “Hello, Thomas,” I heard myself say, eyes still closed. When I opened them again, he was closer, too close. My hands trembled. My throat closed up. It had been so long…my heart was a rock, heavy and booming against my ribs. “What…what are you doing here?”

  He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I looked behind me, realized how close we were to the trailer door. Did he hear all that, I wondered, vaguely, mind struggling to keep up with my rolling emotions. I hated him one second, hated him with a viciousness I never knew myself capable of feeling. Then I wanted to run into his arms. Then slap him across the face. Then bawl at his feet. I wanted to ask him: why. Why did you leave me? How could you abandon me?

  When I turned back to him, I knew I had tears in my eyes. But I was unwilling, wholly unwilling, to show him just how deeply I felt. It had been ten years. I was over him. You don’t cry over people you’ve long put out of your own mind. You just…don’t. So I leaned down, picked up the fallen cigarette. But I felt his eyes on me the whole time.

  “Who was that? Who was yelling at you like that?” he asked, voice all tar and gravel. My hand shook as I held the lighter to the cigarette and tried to inhale; but it was like my throat was blocked, and I wound up coughing. I couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “I don’t think it’s any of your business. Anymore. What are you doing here, Trigger? Did you…did you come…”

  I realized what I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask if he’d come here to find me. If, somehow, impossibly, he’d found out I’d be at this trailer park on this weekend, and came to find me and tell me he still loved me and…

  And save me again, I thought, closing my eyes tight, willing away the tears.

  “Cass, I…” his voice trailed away again. See? He can’t even talk to you. He’s forgotten you. This is just a coincidence, you’re the girl that he let go of long ago, don’t kid yourself, Cass, you have a new life…

  But when I looked at his hands, they were shaking too. Smoke swirled up between us, as thick as the mess of emotion that couldn’t be seen.

  “This is my life now, Trigger. I’m here because my boyfriend is a fighter. And I don’t think he’d want to see us talking,” I said, words frail though I tried to force them out with gusto. “I don’t think…”

  “I’ve missed you,” he suddenly said, and the tone of his voice snapped my eyes to him fast. His cheeks were aflame. He gulped loudly. “You look…you look good.”

  “Thanks,” I said, unable to say anything else. But now, our eyes were locked together. And this time it was harder to pull mine away than to make them stay. Oh, God, I thought.

  “I think…I think I’m here to fight him,” Trigger said, sounding unsure of himself. “Cass…does he always talk to you like that?”

  He’s here to fight Brock? What does that…I glanced down, and saw the scars that painted across his knuckles. My heart fell another story down my ribcage.

  “I told you,” I said, meeting his gaze again. “It’s not any of your business. I don’t…you…you left me, Trigger. You…abandoned me. I did what you said. I got a new life.”

  Suddenly, his eyes clouded over with anger, and he leaned into me. Too fucking close for comfort. I could feel the heat baking off him, could smell him, he smelled the same, the same as all those long New Hampshire nights…

  “This is not the new life I meant,” he hissed, and the words hit like a slap. Suddenly, his hand came forward, ripping the cigarette from between my fingers. At the slight grazing of our flesh, I felt my throat open in a sob, my stomach turning over on itself in aching misery. “The fuck happened, Cass? You…you don’t…I told you to get a better life.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I stuttered back. “You…you…you don’t get to care anymore! You don’t! You don’t get to tell me what’s right for me! You…you fuck!”

  The rage I’d felt was coming up now, my voice increasing in volume. Just on the other side of that thin tin wall, Brock could probably hear me, hear us. But what did I care? The whole world was gone, just Trigger and I in that moment, that long and painful moment, years of things unsaid and undone between us, a rift we could never heal, a river we could never cross…never…

  I let loose one more sob, this one watery, and saw him flinch away from it.

  “I’m sorry, Cass,” he muttered, still standing too close, but…but not close enough, either. “I…I did it ‘cause I loved you…too much…”

  I croaked. There was nothing more to say. How long had I waited to hear those words? How long had I thought that if he just said those words, I would take him back, would forgive him with every inch of my heart? And then how long had I known those words were never coming…or if they did, it would just be too damn late?

  The screen door slammed behind me. Trigger straightened up, took a step back, his eyes traveling now upwards. I heard Brock’s breathing, heavy behind me, but couldn’t turn around. Now, standing between the two men, I knew which way my body wanted to go, knew that the next time Brock touched me my skin would crawl like a bad infestation. And, as I felt his hand fall on my shoulder, heavy and hard, that was just what happened. I wanted to unzip myself, let my body crumble to the ground and escape it all.

  “What all’s happenin’ here, Cass,” Brock said. “He botherin’ you?”

  “No,” I said, gulping back the lump in my throat. “This is your opponent. Trigger, was it?”

  Trigger’s eyes fell on me, grown hard again. He nodded. Brock growled behind me.
>
  “Get in the trailer, Cass,” he said, and the hand on my shoulder squeezed. I tried not to flinch, but I did, and Trigger saw it. His jaw set hard. Long ago, he’d made me a promise, and he’d kept it, and when he’d kept it…that had been the way his face looked. My heart skipped a beat, a flurry of panic starting in my stomach. How, after all those years, even though I’d been drugged beyond belief when it happened, I could remember the exact look in his eyes, the exact set of his jaw…

  “Get. In. The. Trailer,” Brock repeated, and I broke from his grip, glad to be free of it now.

  “You boys act nice,” I said in a stuttering voice. “Shake hands and play nice.”

  As I spoke I backed up until my heels hit the stoop of the trailer. I backed my way up, only turning when I hit the door and fled to the relative safety of the trailer.