Diesel reached over and held my hand. “This thing between you and I? It’s going to work out, G.”

  “Does your uncle know about the voices?”

  Diesel shook his head. “I told him about it a few years ago. He didn’t say much, but I could tell he knew something by the look on his face. The whole family has been messed up for years. Way before me.”

  I didn’t want to jinx it, but I noticed Diesel had quit cursing so much. He also seemed happier. We were both more comfortable.

  “What do you want to happen between us, baby?” I asked. Sometimes, you throw the question out there and see what happens.

  “You sure you can handle this life, G?” He pulled back on the reins, and the horses slowed. “It’s never as easy as it is right now. Most of the time, it’s chaos.”

  “I’ve heard enough over the years from Skittles to know how hard the life is. But she says the good times far outweigh the bad times. I know there are things I won’t have. Comforts that I won’t get. But I’m okay with that.” I almost told him I was in love with him, which trumped everything I would have to do without.

  “To answer your question, I want someone stable. Someone who doesn’t mind the club life and, most of all, can handle me. I’m not asking you to fix me or break me like a wild horse. I mean, accept who and what I am. I want a woman who loves me for me.”

  “You don’t think I’ll hang around after Boston?” I asked.

  Diesel looked ahead down the path we were following. He still wasn’t convinced we could put Boston behind us and be happy. Whatever this voice was telling him trumped my encouragement. “Before leaving Pine Bluff, I spent hours reading family letters. Every man in the Usher lineage had the same problem I have—the voices. Every man but my uncle went batshit crazy and died doing something stupid. Several took their own lives. This is the part people don’t know about.”

  “You’re not going to be like them, Diesel. I won’t let you. That’s why I’m here with you.” I noticed a group of women turn away from the horses they were grooming to look at Diesel. They smiled, but he ignored them. I was pretty sure the old Diesel would have jumped off the horse and tried to fuck them all. I couldn’t let him down. “I didn’t think there was much of a family tree?”

  Diesel chuckled, his horse bumping mine. He reached over and patted my leg, his large hand squeezing my thigh, his touch melting my soul. He shifted backward and put his arm around me. Before I could say anything, he had me in front of him, his arms around me, hands on the reins. Damn, it felt good to be in his arms. He latched my horse’s reins to his saddle, and it followed us.

  “Like I said, the Ushers got around.”

  “Is it a creepy house?”

  “If you expect a haunted house, you won’t be disappointed.”

  We rode through the trees for another twenty minutes, silent. Locked in Diesel’s arms, I’d never felt so safe.

  “It’s quite out here, G.”

  I leaned against Diesel’s shoulder, and his right hand dropped from the reins to my thigh. Lips touched my ear. Eyes closed, a warm breeze brushed my neck. Fingers danced around my waistband, slipping between skin and cloth. A finger found my slit and gently rubbed, gently played. I refused to open my eyes, trusting the man holding me, trusting he would lead us into bliss. His finger worked downward, back and forth across the wetness, pressing gently, again going down and down. Two fingers entered the wetness, spreading, the pressure driving me insane. He worked a finger in and out, the horse beginning to bounce up and down as its pace quickened.

  “You gonna come on my finger, G?”

  “Yes, baby. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

  “You’re my girl, G. You’re always going to be my girl.”

  The horse moved to a trot, bouncing me up and down, Diesel sliding a second finger inside me, flicking, pressing, groping.

  “Fuck, Diesel.”

  “My girl, G. My girl. Get it, baby.”

  The explosion caused the horse to stop. Wetness ran down the saddle, and Diesel kept me upright.

  “Fuck, baby.”

  Diesel slid his wet fingers out and pressed them against my lips. I suckled his fingers, and then he turned my head, licking my lips.

  “You’re my girl, G.”

  When we returned to the stables, I saw the car sitting in the parking lot. I showed the picture to Diesel again and then pointed at the car. Tinted windows prevented us from seeing inside. “They’re following us.”

  Diesel started an all-out sprint to the parking lot, but the car managed to peel its way out. He looked at the bike and then at me, a decision working in his mind. Go after the car and leave me behind, or let the car go. Hands on hips, he watched the car leave.

  “It had Arkansas plates,” Diesel said. “Couldn’t see who was driving.”

  “They’ll be back,” I said. “For now, I need new pants.”

  We stopped at a mall on the south side of town, and I bought only what would fit inside one of the saddle bags.

  “There’s a boke bar on the north side,” Diesel said. “Let’s head over for dinner, and afterward, we’ll head to the hotel.”

  He pulled away from the mall. I said nothing but thought stopping at a biker bar in a completely different state was a bad idea. I knew enough about the life that clubs didn’t like each other, especially those who operated the way Brothers of Chaos did.

  At the first stoplight, I tapped Diesel on the shoulder. He looked back, but I said, “Never mind.”

  The bar parking lot looked like a Harley dealership. Diesel climbed off the bike and nodded. “Look at those babies. That’s what the life is all about.” He moved closer to a couple of bikes but didn’t touch them. Even at his size, he knew handling another man’s bike could get him killed.

  Two bikers sat on the railing at the front of the bar, neither pleased to see an out-of-towner. As we approached, the stairs leading to the front entrance creaked. Neon Budweiser signs faintly buzzed. Cigarette butts littered the ground.

  “The cunt can go in, but you can’t, big boy,” one of the bikers said. They jumped from the rail and blocked the door. Neither man ever visited a gym, and more than likely frequented a dohunt shop.

  Diesel shrugged. “G. I don’t know this time.”

  The entrance opened, and another biker came out. Bikers in this part of the country were eating something different than they were in Arkansas. If I said yes, Diesel’s work would end quickly.

  “Let’s just find somewhere else to eat,” I said. “Obviously, the food here isn’t good for you.”

  Diesel stepped back, once again listening to soft words of encouragement. Then everything went to hell.

  “Do what the little cunt says,” one of the men said. They all laughed. “Letting his old lady tell him what to do. Pussy.”

  Diesel changed his mind and took a step forward. The men stopped laughing. I stopped encouraging Diesel to back off. The three men made a mistake by berating him. All I could do was stand back and watch. Diesel turned. “G, I won’t kill them.”

  I nodded. “That’s good, Diesel. That’s real good.”

  The men laughed once last time. The next time they laughed, they wouldn’t have any teeth.

  Diesel hit the man in the middle. The man stumbled back and landed in a chair, out cold. The other two men grabbed Diesel by the arms, but Diesel simply rammed the men’s heads together. The one on the left fell down the steps. The man on the right had a much harder head and remained standing. To my shock, Diesel allowed the man to hit him one time. Diesel held his ground, and when the man swung a second time, Diesel caught the man’s hand, twisted, and broke his arm.

  The man dropped to his knees, screaming like a little bitch.

  Diesel raised the man’s chin and said, “Get on your bike and leave.”

  The man stopped screaming and did as he was told. We watched him ride off, and I thought we would leave. We didn’t. Diesel opened the door, met by loud, twangy country music and drunken laughter.

  I stepped inside first, and Diesel followed. The drunken laughter stopped. Diesel led us to an open booth. The man had zero fear of the other bikers.

  “What can I get you?” a waitress said. She laid two menus on the table and checked out Diesel as if he were alone, her smile and gaze lasting longer than needed. If white trash had a picture, it would be hers.

  “Two beers to start,” Diesel said. He noticed my scowl and chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” The waitress looked from Diesel to me.

  “Two burgers and fries,” Diesel said.

  The waitress wrote the order on her pad and walked away. She returned moments later with the beers, scowled at me, and left.

  “What a bitch.” I grabbed a beer. “You do know, eventually, I’ll have to defend myself.”

  Diesel leaned forward. “The voices talking to you, too?”

  “That’s not funny, but I won’t let another woman disrespect me like that. She practically had you naked.”

  Diesel drank his beer, eyes shifting around the bar, seeing most of the other eyes in the bar on us. He couldn’t possibly whip every man in the place.

  “Who do you think’s following us? That same car passed by when I told that biker to leave.”

  I’d seen the car as well. “My father’s paid someone to keep tabs on us. I was thinking maybe I’d seen the car along the curb outside the club instead of inside. Do the Messengers have their shit together enough to follow us?”

  Diesel shrugged. “It doesn’t matter who it is. They have an ass-kicking awaiting.”

  “Does it ever bother you? Beating up people?” It was one of those questions that shouldn’t be asked, like asking a soldier how many men they killed in battle. Most didn’t want to discuss it.

  “It doesn’t. I don’t randomly beat up people. When I do, it’s because they deserve it.”

  “I’m going to run to the ladies room. Don’t let me catch that bitch flirting with you.”

  Diesel laughed. “I’ll get two more beers.”

  Under watchful eyes, I slipped from the booth and crossed the room, finding the ladies room empty and quiet. I opened a stall door, peed, and went to the sink without looking in the mirror.

  I was probably the only woman in the country who brushed her hair and did her makeup without looking in the mirror. Minus the accidental glance now and again, I’d not stared at myself in the mirror in twenty years.

  It happened when I was ten. I’d gone with my uncle and two cousins to the state fair one Friday night during the summer. Uncle let us run around alone while he hung out at the beer tent, getting smashed. We hit the Gravity Machine first, the Ferris Wheel next, and stopped for cotton candy while we stood outside the funhouse scared to death.

  “I’m not going in,” my cousins said. Neither wanted to be as close as we were. Curious, I wanted in. “Go on in,” they told me. “We’ll be right here if you get back.”

  So, I did. I handed over my cotton candy, pulled three red tickets from my pocket, and walked to the entrance, where a nasty old bearded man let me through. I glanced back at the cousins, who were ignoring me and enjoying my cotton candy.

  Large plastic strips covered the entrance, and I had to use all my strength to push them aside when I entered. Loud carnival music made it hard to hear anything else, including those who had entered before me.

  My clothes glowed against the fluorescent lights. Pretend clowns popped out from the walls as I continued deeper into the attraction’s bowls. I took a left, flashing lights blinding me momentarily. Two large eyes illuminated the wall next to me, and I jumped. When I turned to leave, I realized the way behind me had been closed off.

  A door to the left opened, creaking louder than the music. I stepped through the door, which closed, throwing the room into momentary darkness. Blue flashing lights came on, and I found myself in a room of mirrors. “The door is hidden in the mirrors,” a voice cried from overhead, laughter following.

  I proceeded forward, feeling my way along the mirrors, looking at myself. The mirrors began moving, closing in. Spinning in a circle, I pounded my fists against the glass, screaming for someone to help.

  The image in the mirrors, my image, changed. I screamed louder, pleading for help, but the mirrors kept closing in. I screamed again. A hand landed on my shoulder and pulled. The lights in the room illuminated, and I turned, still screaming.

  “Diesel!” I screamed, realizing where I was.

  One of the men covered my mouth, stifling my screams. I knew the music in the bar was too loud for Diesel to hear. I kicked out at the man in front of me, but he caught my foot.

  The smell of the rag over my mouth and nose was the last thing I remembered before everything went dark.

  8

  Diesel

  No woman stays in the ladies' room for more than fifteen minutes unless she has a really bad case of the shits. The waitress placed two plates on the table and sat where Gigi should have been sitting.

  “I get off at midnight,” she said. “I can get you off shortly after that.”

  The bar returned to normal: people laughing, drunks arguing, the music drowning out everything. I glanced toward the restrooms.

  “Don’t worry about her,” the waitress said. “It’s just you and me now.”

  “Now?” I stood and started toward the restrooms. The music stopped, and those laughing and arguing stopped what they were doing.

  Three men blocked the way.

  “Where is she?”

  “Not here,” the man in the middle said. It’s always the man in the middle who starts shit. He feels secure with his wingmen, so he thinks he’s safe. Not true. Bikes rumbled outside, and then the sound disappeared in the distance. Every part of my empty soul told me Gigi was on one of those bikes.

  I turned and found three men waiting. Another two slid from their booth and joined the six around around me.

  Fucked.

  “Brothers of Chaos,” one of the men said. “Motherfuckers are the ones who killed the Messengers’ president.”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  I couldn’t see the fist coming from behind, so when it landed, I went face-first to the floor and gasped when a foot in the ribs knocked every bit of wind from my lungs. I coughed and spat blood on the floor. The next booted foot sent me rolling into the three guys behind me.

  Fucked without ever throwing a punch.

  “Get up, bitch,” someone said, and then a gunshot sent everyone sprawling for cover. Four more shots rang overhead, and the whole damn place fell quiet.

  “The next motherfucker that moves gets a bullet to the empty skull.”

  The female voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. A soft, gentle hand landed on my wrist.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I said. Standing, Trixie handed me the AK she’d fired at the ceiling. The bitch bikers were still in hiding. They weren’t one percenters. They were wannabes.

  “Fucking rib is broken,” I said.

  “Come on before one of these assholes decides to get brave.”

  Trixie and I backed our way and left the bar. Outside, I climbed on my bike, and Trixie climbed into the car Gigi had seen following us. I emptied the AK’s clip into the row of bikes and watched the explosions with great joy.

  “Are you done playing Call of Duty?” Trixie asked. “Follow me.”

  “You know where Gigi is?”

  “I think so, but you and I are not going in with guns blazing without help.”

  Trixie pulled away from the bar parking lot, and I followed, feeling like a rib was moving out of place. I didn’t need a voice to tell me people needed to die. Life punched, and I would happily return the favor.

  Trixie pulled into a cheap motel on the edge of town. The neon sign buzzed and flickered, the M in the motel sign dark. I’d stayed in plenty of OTELS in my life.

  Trixie opened a door, Room 116, tossed the keys on a battered table, crossed the dingy carpet, and started the shower in a bathroom no self-respecting woman wanted any part of. I liked her choice of motels.

  “You going to tell me what the fuck is going on? Why the fuck have you been following me, and where the actual fuck is Gigi?”

  “There’s a biker club two miles down the road, behind a bunch of trees. It’s hard to see but not so hard that I couldn’t see the twenty or so bikes parked outside. There are armed guards outside the club.”

  Trixie started to undress, and that’s when I saw the blood on her shirt. “Are you hit?”

  Trixie chuckled. “Not a chance. I had to fight my way to the front door. Seems the two men waiting at the front, the ones you didn’t kill, weren’t keen on me bringing the AK into the club.”

  “Well, that explains how you got in.” I walked into the bathroom, eyeballing the naked Trixie but finding myself uninterested. Maybe I’d had a breakthrough? “Now, why the fuck were you following?”

  “Watcher and Slash sent you to pick up a woman at the Holiday Inn a few years ago. You remember that?” She stepped into the shower, and a crimson swirl gathered around the drain.

  “Yeah. A hot piece of ass. She wouldn’t let me take her back to the club.” What the fuck was going on? “Why do you care?”

  “The woman’s name was Kristen—my sister.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. You were the last known person with her.”

  “Wait a second. You think I killed her?” I pushed back the shower curtain. “I fucked her. I didn’t kill her.”

  “What happened to her?” Trixie asked.

  “The fuck if I know.”

  Trixie turned the water off. “Did she leave with you?”

  “No. She was too tired. I didn’t kill your sister. When I left her room, she was sleeping.” I handed Trixie a towel. “I need to go find Gigi. I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

  “Thanks,” Trixie said. I started out of the bathroom but stopped. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m trying to find my sister’s killer. That’s who I am.”

  Trixie walked into the other room naked, her body tempting. She pushed the comforter to the floor and lay on the bed.