Devil's Kiss (16 page)

In my dream, I’m lying in the middle of the living room. I try to move, but my limbs feel like they’re tacked to the ground. West, Stick, and Stacy are sitting in the kitchen, laughing around the breakfast table. My toes start to feel hot, and I look downward to see a spark leap off my foot and onto the carpet. I can just see the beige threads light up, a single flame turning into many as they lick around the room, racing toward the rest of the house.

I feel warm, but I’m not being burned. I try to yell out to warn the others, but there’s something over my mouth. I frantically try to scream, but the flames just grow higher and higher around me. Chunks of ceiling begin falling around me, but still the others are unaware of the danger.

Finally, as the house begins to fall, I hear screams from the kitchen. They grow louder and louder as the house burns down to its frame. Tears stream down my cheeks but I cannot move to help the ones I love. Finally, the house crumbles completely, and the screams stop. I’m lying in the wreckage, alone, staring up at the cold blue sky.

I try to cry out again, but I can’t. I try to move my arms again, and find that they’re free. I start to move my right arm up to my face, but I feel pressure on my wrist and flinch. That hurts. And I realize the pain is real, but I have been dreaming.

Fuck. Lees. I claw desperately at him as I open my eyes.

But it’s not Lees looking down at me. It’s West. And he’s holding my arms down. I frown up him and try to tell him to let go, but I can’t open my mouth.

“You’re in the hospital, and your mouth is bandaged shut,” he says, a look of relief flooding across his face. “I’ll let you go if you promise to stop trying to pull off the tape, OK?”

I nod stiffly, amazed. My head feels like it’s full of cotton. He eyes me suspiciously, and I narrow my eyes at him, or try to. One eye feels a little blurry. He grins, and lets my arms go. I look around. I’m in a small hospital room, with a window overlooking a dreary courtyard. The curtain dividing the room is pulled back, and I can see the bed next to me is empty. I flash back to my dream, and I remember the fire. The fire was real. I glance frantically around the room, trying to find Stick.

“Hey, hey, everyone is OK,” West says, smoothing a piece of hair out of my face. “Would you stop moving your head so much? It’s bad for your jaw. Stick and Stacy got out of the house. Some burns, smoke inhalation, but they’re going to be alright. They’re on another floor here, actually. We’ve got quite a presence going.”

I relax, leaning back onto the pillow. I look up at West, finally taking him in, relief flooding through me. If he is here, I know I’m safe. But he does look exhausted. How did I get here? The last thing I remember is being tied up on a mattress with Lees curled around me. I shudder. West leans over me again, reading my mind.

“Lees is gone,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows at him as if to ask “Gone how?” I thought he was gone before, and look what happened.

“Gone, gone,” he says, shaking his head. “We took care of him. You never have to worry about him again. Looks like you got him pretty good, though. Definitely broke his nose. ”

I stare at him as his meaning begins to become clear. Oh my god. I shut my eyes, trying to push the realization away. I pushed West into this. I pushed him into a position in which he was forced him to kill someone.

“I wish you could talk,” he whispers. “Don’t feel guilty. Lees was a psychopath. He fooled a ton of people into thinking he was normal, including an entire city’s worth of cops. And he’s not going to weigh on my conscience at all. After what he did, he deserved to die.”

To die. He finally says the words. I look him over, worrying about what this experience has been like for him. Not just killing Lees, but Stick and Stacy, the house…

“What else should I tell you...” he wonders out loud. “Let’s see...you’ve been here since very early yesterday morning. You had a dislocated jaw, that’s why you can’t open it. They have the bandaging in place to stabilize it but you can take it off probably tomorrow, they think. Also a concussion from a nasty cut on the back of your head, broken wrist, a couple ribs...he really did a number on you.”

I look up into his eyes, where I see fear and concern, tenderness, even. I study his gold-flecked irises, the crows feet just beginning to form on the sides of his eyes, the slight curve of his strong nose...Tears suddenly fill my eyes and drop down the sides of my face and into my hair.

“Sorry, what...do you need the nurse?” he asks, alarmed by my sudden emotion. I shake my head no.

I try to smile up at him to reassure him, but my mouth feels so stiff that I’m not sure what expression I’m making. It would be crazy of me to be mad about how things have gone between us. He doesn’t feel the same way about me that I do about him, and I have to figure out how to live with that. I reach my left hand up, then realize it has a cast on it. I try the right one. Hurts a little, but not too bad. I wipe my tears away.

“Hey, your mom’s flying in. Should be getting here any minute,” West says, trying to make me feel better. “And I’ll let Stick and Stacy know you’re awake. They really want to see you.”

I move my hand down from my eyes, gingerly touching the lower half of my face. Shit. It feels really swollen. My eyes widen in alarm.

“You might not want to look in a mirror for a while,” West says with a little smile. “But don’t worry, I’ve had plenty of injuries to my face, and look how good-looking I am.”

I roll my eyes at him.

“You two want me to give you some privacy?” I hear Stick ask sarcastically from the doorway. I look over to him and smile, which causes a little pain to shoot up through my ear. Maybe whatever pain meds I’m on are starting to wear off. I beckon him in with my right hand.

“I’m not going to ask you anything because I know you can’t answer,” Stick says as he walks to the side of my bed. “Stacy’s OK. She had it worse from the smoke than I did, so they had her on a respirator for a while. Would’ve been a lot worse if he hadn’t showed up.” He nods toward West.

I glance between them frowning.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you,” Stick says, surprised. “West pulled Stacy and I out of the house and called 911. Probably would have been dead if it weren’t for him.”

I look at West. He’s looking down at his hands.

“I shouldn’t’ve been at the house anyway,” Stick continues. “I should have been picking you up. I got your messages afterward...” he drifts off as he becomes choked up. “It won’t happen again, I’ll never let it—”

I frown at him. What’s he saying?

“Oh my god!” I hear from the doorway. We all turn to see my mom in the doorway. She’s got her suitcase in one hand, and is looking at me in horror. I grimace at the image of myself reflected in her expression.

She rushes in, dumping her suitcase. She hugs Stick quickly and then leans over my bed, gently touching me as if to make sure I’m still alive. She buries her face in my neck and I hear her begin to cry. And the comfort of having my mom with me and the trauma I’ve just been through rushes over me, and I dissolve in tears with her. I hear Stick and West quietly leave the room to us.

Eventually, my mom calms down enough to call in the nurse for an update, and to give me more morphine. Then she sits in the chair next to my bed, softly stroking my hand as she tells me about how she’s rearranged the furniture in her boyfriend’s house, and now it looks much more homey, and how...the combination of her voice and the morphine relaxes me, and soon I drift off to sleep.

These last two days in the hospital have felt like forever. I wish I could say I were going home, but I’m not.

“Home insurance will cover most of it,” Stick tells me as I sit on the edge of my bed. “And then we can split the money.” I flick my eyes toward him. “No arguments,” he adds sternly.

“Sheesh,” I say jokingly. Though the nest egg will be nice. And he is being incredibly generous. “Thanks. Really.”

“And in the meantime, you can stay with us at Stacy’s. She’s got the extra room in her apartment all set up for you.”

“Where’s West staying?” I ask before thinking. He shoots me a look. “I didn’t mean...I was just curious! I swear!” He looks out into the courtyard, and I can’t read his expression. “I should have told you, I’m sorry. It was wrong of us to go sneaking around behind your back like that. But I’m a grown-up. You can’t keep trying to protect me from everything.”

“But that’s the problem! I’m not doing good enough!” he bursts out, surprising me. “I mean, just look at what happened to you.”

I sigh, and gently touch the tips of my fingers to my jaw. It’s still swollen, and talking too much hurts it.

“Stick, the issue wasn’t you not being protective enough. The issue was a psycho named Richard Lees. I mean, what are you going to do? Start following me around everywhere? That’s what he did—and look how that turned out!”

He reels back at the implied comparison. I steady myself for his angry response when I see his eyes dart over my shoulder to the doorway.

“Franchise,” he says, surprised. I turn around and grin at the grumpy bastard.

“Stick, Olive,” he says nodding. “Ratchet asked me to come by and see if you all would be up for a little fundraiser at the clubhouse tomorrow. Nothing big, just the brothers and their families. I know all of this must have been expensive,” he adds, waving his hand around to indicate the hospital stay.

“You don’t have to do that,” I protest.

“You think you’ll be up for it?” he interrupts me. I can see he’s not taking no for an answer.

“Sure,” I say with a smile.

“And take your time coming back to work, alright?” he goes on.

Shit. the Black Rock. I almost forgot that he was about to fire me before all this happened. Great.

“Yeah, sure...” I say slowly.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, actually...” he says, looking at the floor.

Oh, no. Please not now.

“I’m opening up a new place, more high-end, cocktail type place, thought you might be the right person to manage it,” he says.

“What? I thought you were going to fire me!” I blurt out.

“Why would you think that?” he asks, frowning.

“Because you took me off the schedule, so I thought—”

“Oh, I was planning on transitioning you over to the new spot. Still needs a name, by the way. Think about it.” And with another nod and a wave toward Stick, he leaves just as abruptly as he arrived.

I turn in shock to Stick, who looks equally as surprised.

“Holy shit,” I finally say. “Manager of a cocktail bar? Maybe I’ll get to shape the menu, help with hiring—”

“Wow,” Stick replies, running his hand through his hair, but he’s frowning.

“What?”

“Um, no, it’s just...maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t give you enough credit.”

I smile at him, and he shakes his head, frustrated.

“Come on,” he says finally, “Let’s get you checked out. You have to come with me to drop Mom off at the airport because she keeps asking me about the wedding.”

“Deal,” I smile.

Later that night, after we’ve seen Mom off, I’m eating dinner with Stick and Stacy at her apartment. It’s not quite home, but it does feel good to have a home-cooked meal with them. Stick actually does most of the cooking, since he’s feeling better than both Stacy and me.

I watch Stacy carefully. She’s a little quiet, but she seems resilient. And she and Stick are tenderer than ever with each other. Maybe the thought of being without each other has brought them closer together. Stick waves us away when we try to help with the dishes, so we head into her bedroom. She has an extra nightgown she’s letting me borrow.

At first I didn’t think of all the little things we lost in the fire, but they have added up. My mom has some family photos and things, but there were still a lot in the house. My brother offered to drive me by to see where it stood, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. I sit on the bed as Stacy opens her bureau. The smoke inhalation has been making her short of breath, so she’s moving slowly.

“Have you talked to West?” she asks, her voice still a little raspy from the breathing tube she had to have in at the hospital.

“Just a little at the hospital. My mom was there most of the time...Why?”

“Did you know that he was the one who found you?” she asks softly.

“When the police interviewed me at the hospital, they said he was the one who brought me in, but I don’t remember it,” I tell her.

“He organized the search for Lees, stayed out until he found him, and then chased him down and got the information somehow,” Stacy says.

“Well, that’s how the
Widowmaker
s work, right?” I shrug, “I mean, if you mess with one of the brothers...”

“Maybe,” says Stacy with a smile, handing me her nightgown. “He’ll be at the party tomorrow, you know. He’s staying at the clubhouse for a while.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, noncommittally.

“What, you’re suddenly over him or something?” she asks.

“No,” I admit. “It’s just...it seems like he wants some distance. Maybe doesn’t see me the same way anymore...”

“Olive!” Stacy says, exasperated. “Look, maybe you should talk to him.”

“I just don’t want to be one of those girls that doesn’t get the picture, you know?” I say, “I mean, sometimes when I overhear women talking about men who aren’t texting them back or calling or whatever, I want to scream, ‘he’s just not into you!’” I explain.

Stacy stifles a giggle, which quickly turns into a cough. I ease her into a sitting position on the bed and rub her back until it ceases.

“You, OK?” I ask worriedly. She nods, her eyes watering a little.

“Just make sure you’re not going too far in the opposite direction, is all I’m saying,” she’s finally able to say.

“I’m so sorry you got caught up in this whole mess,” I whisper to her.

“You and Stick can’t stop apologizing to me. Just quit it, OK?” she says with a smile. “Now, why don’t you look through my closet and find something to wear to the party tomorrow.”

The next day, I’m wearing a light sundress of Stacy’s. She’s more petite than me, but this dress is a little big for her, and it was easy to pull on with a cast on my left wrist. Shirts and pants are much more of a struggle.

Stick drives us over to the clubhouse in the Tahoe. The afternoon sun feels good on my face as I lean out of the open window in the back seat. As we approach the clubhouse, I can hear music playing. I see people spilling out of the front and around the sides of the entrance. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, but the “little fundraiser” appears to be every brother and their families all packed into the clubhouse.

“Shit,” Stick says, parking on the street. “Looks like some of the other charters decided to stick around for the party.”

I adjust the straps of the dress as we get out of the car and walk through the gate. We’re greeted with cheers and I blush self-consciously. We’re quickly shepherded around the back and into the yard. It looks like they’ve got a sort of yard sale going, with items spread out on tables, and they’re raffling off some services, too. I can’t believe the
Widowmaker
s put all this together.

I’m surrounded by brothers I’ve met at the Black Rock and their old ladies. They all express outrage at what happened and offer me food and drinks. I’m still not allowed to have the beer and alcohol because of the painkillers, but I munch a little on a hot dog. My full appetite definitely still hasn’t returned.

I look around, the music and sunlight drifting over me. The persistent coldness clinging to my bones for the last few days feels like it’s finally leaving me, thawed by the warmth of the people surrounding me. I feel a hand on the small of my back and know even before I turn that it’s West. I smile up at him and feel heat rush through me as we lock eyes. He’s looking casually hot in his grey t-shirt and cut.

“Hey, I have something for you. It’s in my room,” he murmurs, with a nod at the clubhouse behind us.

“Oh, OK,” I reply, and follow him as he weaves his way through the crowd and into the back hallway. I have no clue what his surprise could be.

We pass by a couple people who smile at me, and West opens a door on the right. He gestures me inside and shuts the door behind us. I look around at the small, sparse room, and then turn to him. It’s the first time we’ve been alone together since I woke up in the hospital, and I couldn’t talk then. And now I don’t know what to say.

“Here,” he says, opening up the closet and picking something up off the floor. As he turns toward me, I realize it’s my purse.

“Oh my god,” I murmur. “How’d you find it?” It’s both shocking and comforting to see it. A reminder of what happened, but also a relief to have my license and cards back again, and simply a possession that didn’t burn up.

“I just got it from the brothers who took care of the car. They weren’t sure what to do with it,” he explains.

“When the police interviewed me at the hospital, there wasn’t much I could tell them. They said you heard me call for help from the house and came in to find me, and Lees wasn’t there. They’re still looking for him.”

“There’s nothing to tie the
Widowmaker
s to it, I promise you. It’ll be easier for you if I don’t tell you more about it,” he says, running his hand through his hair.

“I have nightmares...” I whisper.

“Oh, Olive,” he says and walks toward me slowly. He wraps his arms around me, and I relax against his chest.

“Do you ever?” I murmur.

“Have nightmares? Not about him. Sometimes about things I saw when I was stationed in Kandahar, but war is messy, complicated. What needed to happen to Lees was not,” he says, leaning back so he can look me in the eyes. “I’ll at least tell you...
I only did to him what I had to, and nothing more, OK?”

I nod up at him. “Thank you.”

“I was worried about you, you know,” he says, stepping back from me and crossing his arms with a little smile.

“Were you?” I ask.

“Of course,” he replies, with a little frown.

“I just...I know you had to find him for what he did to Stick and Stacy, too. And, also...I know things have been off between us,” I blurt out. “I don’t want, I mean, I’m not looking for an apology, or explanation, if that’s what you think. Obviously, if anyone here owes the other—you rescued me, you actually saved my life!”

Yikes. I am making a mess of this conversation. West is just staring at me. Shit.

“Olive,” he finally begins, “I was confused, frustrated...”

“And now?” I ask nervously.

“I felt crazy when you were missing. I mean, that’s what I’ve been avoiding. That feeling...or, I don’t know, giving someone else the ability to make me feel like that, that loss, and powerlessness.”