Death Lords Motorcycle Club: Annie, Michigan, and Easy (The Motorcycle Clubs Series) (14 page)

“Why, Abel, are you crushing on our girl?” I say.

“No, but saying Annie Bloom is okay is like saying a three-week aged steak is ‘good’.”

“I don’t know,” Wrecker complains. “She’s always wearing shit clothes. How can you even tell what kind of body she has under those big skirts and sweaters?”

“You keep thinking that, Wrecker,” Michigan scowls. “And just because you’re about to be patched in, Abel, doesn’t mean I can’t and won’t kick the shit out of you if I catch you thinking about Annie without any clothes on.”

Abel gives a nod of acknowledgment while Wrecker rolls his eyes.

“You ever heard of Pastor Bloom being weird to her?”

“Like what?”

“Hurting her or anything?”

“No, why?” He swivels around. Abel grabs the wheel as the truck lurches toward the ditch.

“Glad that a girl getting beat by her old man riles you up but don’t kill us in the process,” Michigan warns.

“Fuck, sorry.” He straightens out. “I’ve never heard a word about Annie being beaten or something. She lives with her old man so he must not be all bad.”

Something about him just doesn’t sit right with me, but I’ve got nothing but my gut. There isn’t warning smoke or innuendo or rumor so I’ve just got to settle down.

“I can’t see a pastor’s kid at one of our mashes,” Wrecker admits.

“This is where your youth and inexperience shows,” I say wryly. “It is
always
the quiet ones.”

Abel and Michigan start laughing which is good because by the time we get to the clubhouse, we’re enjoying ourselves and so when we pass the unmarked cop car four houses down, we look like ordinary guys out for a drive instead of four bikers checking out the scene.

The house is shut down and there is no activity inside. I call Junior. “We’re here. Let’s meet up.”

“Thank fuck,” he breathes. He gives me the name of a strip club in Inver Grove Heights, south of the Cities.

Wrecker turns the cage around. We’re tired and ornery by the time we reach the Diamond Lounge. Wrecker wants to be home with his girl and we want to be back for Annie. Don’t know who Abel’s fucking; don’t really care.

Everything about the Diamond Lounge but its name is cheap and worn out, from the rotted wooden floors to the old woman dancing on the stage to the sad asses in the chairs in front of the sagging stage.

“Shit, I got to take a picture of this,” Wrecker exclaims. “Chelsea isn’t going to believe that a place this bad even exists.”

I spot Junior in the corner and the four of us join him and his friend and get down to business.

“
T
hanks for driving me home
,” I tell Pippa as she pulls up to the parish house.

“It’s no problem,” she says cheerfully. “I’m happy to do it.”

“Really?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s nearly midnight. Wouldn’t you rather be in bed with Judge?”

“Really, Annie.” She smiles. “I’m happy that you’re getting out. Do you need help tomorrow?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t have much, but thank you.”

“Will you have a problem with your dad?”

I look at the parish house. Every room seems dark but the front room where a lamp beside Father’s reading chair is lit. He’s likely sitting in it, waiting for me. “Yes, but maybe we can work something out. I love him and he loves me, in his own way.”

“Call me if you need anything.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand.

I step out of the car and wipe my palms against my skirt. When the entry light turns on and Father appears in the doorway, Pippa waves at me and backs out.

I run up the stairs of the front porch and turn the knob but the door doesn’t open. Father stares at me through the sidelight.

“The door is stuck,” I say and jiggle the knob. He doesn’t break his stare not even when he turns the lights off. I still see the shape of him behind the light.

“Father!” I’m bewildered. He’s standing there. I can see him. He must know the door is locked or jammed. “The door’s stuck. I can’t open it.”

I dig in my purse and pull out my keys but the key doesn’t fit anymore. I jam the key in but it skids across the shiny metal surface. The very shiny, very new metal surface. I’m frantic and disbelieving so I try key after key until I stick the last one in and it sticks but I can’t turn it. I raise my eyes to the shadowed figure. “Did you change the locks?” I cry. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. I knew he’d be mad, but lock me out of the house?

The figure is silent, condemning. Long minutes pass as we stare at each other in the dark, through the glass sidelight.

He finally speaks and despite the barrier I can hear him clearly. He’s always been good at projecting his voice. “You’re behavior suggests you no longer wish to be part of my household; therefore you are no longer allowed access.”

“But…where will I go tonight?”

“Why don’t you pray about that and perhaps we can discuss this in the morning.”

“I need my stuff.” Hurt is giving way to anger. I can’t believe he’d do this—lock me out of my only home.

“Nothing in this house belongs to you.”

“That’s not true. I have clothes in there. And other stuff.” I have a few pieces of jewelry that my mother wore, some pictures, books. I want that. I jiggle the doorknob and bang on the wooden door. He allows the curtain for the sidelight to fall and then his figure moves away, ignoring my pleas.

My eyes fall to the key stuck in the lock.
Crap.
That is Easy’s key. The key to his house. I tug on it, but it won’t budge. Tears of frustration, hurt, unhappiness start flowing. I brush the back of my hand against my eyes and pull out the phone. I’ll call someone—Easy, Michigan, Pippa. Someone.

But the phone doesn’t work. I don’t even get a dial tone. In the dark I see that the service is disconnected. Did he cancel my cell phone plan too?

Taking a deep breath, I dry my eyes and think about my options. I can’t call anyone—not Michigan and Easy, not Pippa. The granary that serves as the motorcycle clubhouse is five miles west of town. Fortune is a safe town but it’s not Mayberry. It’d be dangerous to walk the five miles in the pitch dark. On those country roads there aren’t any streetlights and a car could easily hit me. Maybe Michigan and Easy haven’t left yet. It takes me twenty minutes to walk to the other side of town where they live.

My feet are sore because the flats I’d worn to the house aren’t meant for walking. Their house is completely silent and dark. I tap on a few windows but no one shows up. They are gone. A peek inside the garage shows only the truck and no bikes.

There are a couple of lawn chairs on the back porch. I pull those together and lie down. At least it’s summer. I can survive out here for one night in the summer. If it were winter though I wouldn’t make it.

I barely sleep a minute.

Between the mosquitoes and the late summer night air, there was no rest for me so I’m up at dawn and at the bank’s ATM. I insert my card and punch in my key code. The machine beeps at me and then swallows my card!

I make my way to the gas station, buy a coffee and a donut and sit on a bench at the park for the next three hours waiting for the bank to open. At nine o’clock sharp I’m outside the bank waiting for the doors to open.

Sara Ellerby, a high school classmate of mine, waves to me as she unlocks the door.

“Morning, Annie.” She holds open the door and I march in.

“Morning, Sara. I need to make a withdrawal and check my balance.”

“Sure thing. You have your debit card?” She hustles around to the back of the counter and holds out her hand for my card.

“No, the bank ATM ate it this morning.”

“God, I’m sorry. I’ll just need your driver’s license and bank account then. I can order you a new card too.”

“Thanks,” I sigh. So I had a few bad hours. I’ll withdraw some money, enough that I can stay in a motel tonight if I have to and a prepaid phone. As I make plans, Sara taps away at her keyboard. It seems like it’s taking her a long time. A little divot appears on her pretty face as she stares at the screen.

“Something wrong?”

“Um, no. I don’t think so.” She taps out a few more keys. “Do you have another account, Annie?”

“No. Just this one.”

She turns back to me, hands clasped and her lips pressed tight together. “Honey, that account is closed. It was closed this morning by your father. He was a cosignatory on the account.”

“He can do that?” I ask in shock. “Close it without me?”

She nods and misery is all over her face. “He transferred all the money over to a different account and I can’t tell you which one.”

“But, but—” My mouth is flapping like underwear on a clothing line. “The bank just opened,” I sputtered.

“I know.” She grimaces. “It was done right as the bank was opening. I’m so sorry. Do you need a loan? I’ve got a little money set aside.”

“No,” I say dazed but furious. I can’t believe Father would do that to me.

“I heard you were seeing a couple of the Death Lords. They take care of their own. If you needed something, I’m sure they would help you out.”

“Is that already being talked about?” I said with dismay.

“Unfortunately. It’s Fortune. What else have we got to do?”

“Thanks,” I say faintly. “For everything.”

I march over to the church. I’m hungry and I haven’t slept well which means I’m really irritated. The church is open all hours. There are no locks on the sanctuary door.
Give me your tired and needy and poor
is the unofficial motto.

Well, I’m all three.

The doors bang open and echo inside the empty worship hall. For once I don’t feel that sense of reverence. I’m too angry. I stomp down the center aisle and through the side door to the back where the parish office is.

I don’t even knock. My, I’m rebellious today.

“What is it?” Father asks impatiently.

“You took my money,” I accuse.

He steeples his fingers. “No, that money came from the church. You were just merely the custodian of the funds which could be taken from you at any time should you not be in alignment with the principles of the church.”

I gasp. “I earned that money. I worked here for years for that money.”

“Is money all that you can think about?” he says with disapproval.

“No, but I don’t understand why you’ve taken it from me. I earned it.” Tears start falling but they’re tears of anger and frustration. I’m upset about so many things. His betrayal being number one. “You locked me out last. I had to sleep outside on lawn chairs. This morning I went to draw some money out of my account and it was gone. All of it. What is this all about?”

“Anne Bloom, do not play dumb with me. You know what this is about.”

“Is it because I want to see Easy?”

He erupts. He jumps from his chair and strides around his desk. “Easy?” he spits out. “You call him by that ridiculous gang name. You’ve spread your legs not only for him but for his friend. You’re nothing but a whore.”

I gasp at the insult. He looms over me. It shocks me that I’ve forgotten how big he is. I got my height from him but he stands at least six inches taller than me. And he’s big. Big boned. I never gave his size much thought. Other than that one time, the one time we don’t speak about, he’s never given me cause to worry about it.

“Yes, that’s right,” he continues. “I had an edifying conversation with Chief Schmidt last night. He shared with me the perversions that go on in that club. It is a den of iniquity and now that you are part of it, you do not belong here in this sanctuary, contaminating the good people of the community.”

“There’s nothing in the Bible that says I can’t love more than one man,” I say defiantly.

He grabs my wrists in his one big paw and leans over and spits in my face! I draw back in utter shock. My mouth drops open but I can’t even wipe the spittle away because his big hand is holding me captive. “You are an abomination.”

He raises my wrists higher with one hand and reaches behind him with another. He shoves two brown pieces of leather in my face, mashing my face against the metal clasps so hard I feel my lips bite into my teeth.

“And these? What are these?” he thunders, shaking my wrists.

“Bracelets.” I tremble. The urge to vomit burns the back of my throat. His hate for me in this moment is so strong I can almost taste it. The bitterness makes me cold.

He tosses them aside. I yelp and lunge for them but he’s too strong. His grip is merciless. With his free hand, he rips my shirt down the middle. My naked breasts hang out for him to see and I cringe in shame. He slaps me hard, not across my face but across my breasts!

“Why even wear a shirt if you mean to flaunt your nudity? Go without,” he shouts.

I try to cover myself, closing my elbows together so my abused and naked breasts have some covering. My face drips with his spit and my tears. Between panting sobs, I cry, “Stop it, stop it.”

But he doesn’t. He stares in disgust at the purple and red bruises around my breasts and torso. The secret marks of possession that I was so proud of before now seem terrible, like the mark of the devil. Father looks at me as if I’ve lain with Satan himself.

He throws my wrists aside and I reel in shock and surprise, trying to cover myself with the tattered pieces of cloth. With a sigh of utter disgust, he moves away from me.

“You need to go to your room and pray.”

I run there. Inside my room I see a mat of rocks. He wants me to kneel there, but I’m not going to do it. I’m leaving. I rip the suitcase off the upper hall closet shelf and race into my bedroom but I’m not fast enough. He’s already at the doorway with a paddle from my childhood in his hands.

He advances quickly and pushes me facedown on the bed, his heavy knee planted in the middle of my back. I’m like a pinned butterfly on a corkboard. He whacks me on the back, just above my bottom.

“Did I spoil you too much?” he bellows.

“What? No! I—”

There’s no room to finish my thoughts for he pushes himself off me and I scramble back. He stalks me to the corner. He raises his paddle again and I raise my hands to ward off a blow to the face, but he hits me right in the pelvis and I fold over from the pain.

“Did they touch you there?”

“Father. Stop this! This isn’t right. I’m not a child!” This time the paddle strikes me right in the face and I reel against the wall. He strikes me again from the other side. I collapse into a heap, dazed and in real pain.

“Did you fornicate with both of them at the same time like a whore of Babylon?”

He begins hitting me with the paddle everywhere. I curl up into a ball to protect my head. My arms feel like they are on fire. My back hurts. I hear the clink of his belt buckle and then feel the bite of metal on my shoulders.

He yells, punctuating each blow with a barrage of words. "The body is not for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body."

I become turtle-like, until all I feel is the lash biting into my bare skin, onto my jeans and my arms. Until there isn’t anything.