TRIGGER: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (14 page)

“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.