I hear a car turning into the driveway before I see it. I’ve been pranking around on my bike. Turns out not getting roaring drunk every fucking night has its drawbacks. Those mainly being I have too much time on my hands. I’ve been trying to fill my time by tinkering on my bike. I’ve been kicking around the idea of getting a truck or something. I ride my bike and never really cared about finding a cage to drive around in. I had a vehicle through the club in Kentucky…once. I didn’t worry about bringing anything here besides my bike, but fuck, Kentucky winters aren’t this cold. Today is the first decent day we’ve had in a week and it’s still barely twenty. My eyes stay on the road, waiting to see whose vehicle shows up.

It’s been few days—maybe a week since I ran into Dog and his flunky at the diner. I’ve gone back a couple of times for breakfast. I’ve seen Hayden there, but that Charlie woman is the one who usually waits on my table. Which is fine. More than fine. Hayden has kept to herself. There’s been no more midnight chainsaw events, and she hasn’t even looked in my direction. That’s exactly what I wanted.

I won’t pretend I’m not curious to know how Pistol’s sister messed around and got herself involved with the Shadow Dwellers. The Dwellers are fucked up assholes. They are still merely existing because of the stronghold they have in a major city. There’s not a club around that’s not fed up with their shit. No decent club gives them the time of day. Their allies consist of men covered in shit and when I say that, it’s not just words. Scum stays with scum. If this Hayden chick messed with them, she should be counting her lucky stars she’s not tied to a bed spread eagle somewhere across the border used in ways that most women couldn’t imagine—or worse.

I watch as that run down little Ford Fiesta that Hayden drives pulls into her driveway, and disappears into her detached, run-down shack of a garage.

How that fucking car is even running is beyond me. It’s loud as fuck, and not in a good way; it sounds like it’s about to die at any moment. The stench of burned oil is so strong my nose curls as I hear her shut it off. I turn around facing my bike once again, making sure that when she comes out of the garage all she gets sight of is my back. The last thing I want to do is to encourage a conversation with her.

“Uh…Michael?” I hear from behind me a few minutes later, and I hold my head down. Apparently, I haven’t made it clear that I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t turn around. Maybe she’ll get tired and leave. “I didn’t see you at the diner today,” she continues, I can hear fear in her voice, and something else I can’t name. It’s there in the way her voice falters and trembles. Again, I continue being the bastard I am and don’t reply. I expect her to give up and leave.

It’s quiet for a couple of minutes, and I hear the sound of walking. I breathe a little easier, knowing she’s going to leave. Then she does something few people do—especially these days. She comes around to face me. I’m looking down at my bike but she’s standing in front of me so in my vision all I see is her protruding stomach, covered in a dark blue, extremely worn jacket that’s stretched to zip around her. She needs a thicker coat.

“Will you talk to me for a minute? Please?” she asks, surprising me further. Picking up a rag I had lying across the seat of my bike, wiping the oil from my hands, I raise my eyes to her and see the paleness of her face. She doesn’t look good. I don’t mean that in her appearance. She’s never going to be a raving beauty. But today, she’s pale and her nose is red, like she’s sick. Which she probably is considering the crazy bitch has no brain.

“What?” I ask her, my voice rumbling, my tone clipped. She jumps slightly, but does her best to hide it.

“I wanted to explain about the other day.”

“No.”

“I mean you know, about those men and…”

“No,” I tell her again, turning away from her, to go towards the tack room, carrying my tools with me. I’ve been finished for twenty minutes, and suddenly, I’d rather not be here. The peace from earlier is gone, and there’s only one person to blame for that. Her.

“What do you mean, no?”

“Exactly what I said,” I tell her, and to reemphasize that because apparently, she’s simple-minded, I repeat the word, “No.”

“But, I wanted you to understand…” she says, her voice going quiet, and with that I’ve pretty much had enough, which means I’m going to have to talk to this woman, which pretty much pisses me off because of one reason…I do not like to talk. I spin around right before I get to the tack room. She stops mid-step, almost colliding into me. I harden my face, which isn’t that difficult, because I’m the first to admit I’m not a happy person, and now I’m fucking pissed on top of that, because this bitch won’t leave me the hell alone.

“Understand what?” I bark.

“How they…I mean why they know me. I’m not…it’s not what you’re thinking,” she says. Her face is red with embarrassment, and her body is trembling. She’s like a scared mouse, which would be great if she would just fucking leave and run away.

“I’m thinking I don’t like you, and I don’t want to talk to you,” I confide, not hiding the strain in my voice.

“But—”

I cut her off, not letting her respond. “And it’s not because of who you are, which would be reason enough. It’s not because of who your family is, which trust me would positively be more than enough reason. It’s not because of what you look like, which ain’t that fucking great, and it’s definitely not because of who you’ve let between those legs of yours.”

She gasps. Her face drains of color and her hand comes up to her face like I hit her. Not yet, honey, but if you don’t get out of here…

“So, you have nothing to explain. I don’t like you. I don’t want to talk to you. If that’s not plain enough, and you need a fucking reason, how about the fact that you’re pregnant. You obviously got that way without either caring about the father or worse, pushing him out of your life. You can’t even care for yourself let alone a child. And from what I’ve seen, you don’t give a damn about that baby in your belly. Those are more than enough reasons as to why I don’t like you. So, get the fuck out of my space and leave me alone!” I growl, my voice cracking, and that just makes me feel worse. I need her gone. I need her to leave before I’m tempted to wrap my hands around her neck and choke the life out of her. She’s just like Jan. A selfish whore who should never have children.

“How dare you. You don’t know me,” she whispers, and it’s a whisper so soft I have to strain to hear it. “I love my child,” she says, bringing her hands up to hold her stomach. They’re trembling and there’s a brown paper bag in one of them. I watch as it bounces with each shuddering shake of her hand. There’s a thread of hurt in her voice that almost makes me want to believe her, but I don’t. Jan would try and be innocent when she wanted to be too. “I would never harm my child. I would protect her with—”

“Were you protecting her when you went out in a lightning storm and almost killed both of us with a fucking chainsaw?” My words hit her straight on. I see it in the way the gray color of her eyes widen and her pupils dilate. I should let it go with that, but I don’t. I continue, giving her part of the anger that I’ve been carrying around for what feels like a lifetime. “I’ve seen women who care for their children. I know women who gave up everything to keep their child safe, lady,” I bark at her, my mind going to Beth. Hell, I don’t like Beth. I blame her and Skull for the loss of Annabelle, but I can at least admit that she did her best to protect her own child. She has my respect for that, if nothing else. “I’ve seen women who do that, and you are not that woman. You’re not even close.”

Those words are the ones that deliver a killing blow inside of her. I see it and somewhere under the anger it registers. Tears gather in her eyes, but she doesn’t cry. A few tears spill out and run down her face, but she doesn’t cry. There’s no sound. No heaving, gushing of the tears, no begging for understanding like women so often do when they’re called on their shit. No. She looks at me without replying. The bag in her hand drops to her feet and without another word she turns to leave, giving me the silence that I crave. Leaving me alone.

Exactly like I want.