Chapter Five – Red
I looked around the empty hotel parking lot, checking my surrounding before climbing into my car, willing it to start without problems. It wasn’t safe to stay, and I knew I wasn’t staying in town much longer. I gripped the steering wheel, trying to calm down, but the blinking light on my dashboard made calm a hard mood to achieve. The engine sputtered loudly, making it clear I couldn’t ignore the obnoxious check-engine light any longer. I recalled the auto shop located down the street from the bar where Daniella and I had crashed and found my car drifting towards it as if it had a mind of its own. Sure, it was a risk driving that close to the scene of the crime. Well, not the scene of the crime, but the place where seeing him would be a definite risk. But the odds were slim considering he was drunk and passed out from our activities last night. I could feel my cheeks heating up as thoughts of Warren’s body thrusting into mine crept in.
I checked my rear mirror, making sure no one was following me, before I lost myself in my memories. Flashes of last night, his hands on my body, my moans, me screaming his name, and the way he made me come were almost too much, and my hands trembled on the wheel as I turned into the open lot. I wondered what Warren would think when he woke up. I imagined he was just now rolling over to find me gone. A lot had gone through my mind when I snuck out. I debated staying for a morning romp, but I knew saving face was more important. A one-night stand was already way past my comfort zone. I couldn’t have taken him looking me in the face and telling me to get out, as if I was nothing. I knew he didn’t care, and I didn’t blame him because I knew the score when I left the bar with him. Still, leaving on my own terms allowed me to leave with my head high instead of accidently bursting into tears. When I walked out of there, it wasn’t a walk of shame. I owned that moment and changed the view so it wasn’t a one-night stand. It had been a glorious adventure instead.
I swerved into the other lane as my phone rang. I clutched my chest, willing my heart to calm as I answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, boo!” Daniella was cheerful for someone who should have been extremely hung over. “What the hell happened to you last night?”
I relaxed a little, trying to be discreet in answering her questions. Even though I valued Daniella as a friend, we weren’t best friends. In fact, I’d only just met her a few months before. I made my way to the first coffee shop I saw, knowing that I didn’t have much time. I imagined the auto shop had appointments and a walk-in would guarantee me sitting there for hours. With coffee and a charged phone, it wouldn’t be too bad. I didn’t stay on the phone with Daniella long. She really only wanted to know how much of what she remembered what a dream. It was true that we had gone to a biker bar and I had left with one. The rest I wasn’t giving her the satisfaction of knowing as fact or not. She giggled.
“You naughty girl. I bet you did let him take you for a ride.”
“It was just a ride on the bike, Daniella. He did win the bet, after all.”
“Mhm,” she said unbelieving. “I bet it was just a ride on the back of his bike.”
I tried several times to change the subject before Daniella relented. “You were crazy drunk. How come you don’t sound like you’re struggling with light and loud things?”
“Because I visited Tapped before I started my day.”
Tapped was this weird place near the university that gave hungover kids an IV full of vitamins and stuff that claimed to help you get over hangovers. I guessed it worked.
“Well, it sure sounds like it did the trick.”
“Yup. That plus a green smoothie this morning cleared me right up.”
“Good.”
“Alyssa,” the barista called out loudly, indicating that my coffee was ready.
“You at the coffee shop?”
I laughed. “Yeah. I needed a caffeine shot before running errands.”
“I get that. I’m about to do the same thing, actually, so we’ll have to chat tomorrow. Love ya, Ally.”
“You too.”
“Bye.”
Talking to Daniella always cheered me up. She was like a constant ball of sunshine and fresh air. Sinking into the comfortable cushions of the chair inside the coffee shop, I made sure my location settings were off before logging into Facebook. There were several messages from people claiming to be worried and wondering where I was. There were several from him, but I knew what they really were. They could be read as sweet and caring, a truly worried husband. But I knew better. They were threats and warnings that I was treading water the longer I stayed away.
Facebook disappeared as the warning symbol I picked as his contact photo showed on my screen. I reminded myself to breathe when I saw he wasn’t calling: it was only a text message.
Come home, now.
What if he knew where I was? I threw my coffee away before running to my car. I needed to fix my car immediately. My brain disobeyed, thinking of all the things he’d done to me. The mental torment, when he made me think I was too fat, too skinny, and never enough. The psychological abuse causing me to turn on all my friends, and even my family, thinking they were out to get me and didn’t have my best interests at heart. The way he acted like he owned me. It wasn’t a possessiveness that stemmed from love, either. He wouldn’t let me do anything – not hang out with friends, wear what I wanted to wear, go out and do anything that wasn’t with him. But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst was the physical abuse I made sure to hide. He made people think I was crazy when I tried to report him. I had to beg for a restraining order to be issued, and even then it was nothing but a piece of paper. Even then, the beatings hadn’t stopped, and no one would let me move on. Even after I got my own apartment and a dog, he killed Killer. Killer was the sweetest and most protective dog in the world, and Bryant killed him. For no other reason than the satisfaction of knowing it would hurt me and to send the message that nothing could stop him. His friends in high places were sure to mark the killing as a casualty of a robbery. Which is why his text was so chilling. With friends like that, he could find me. His text sent me into a spiral of anxiety and worry, a warning to get moving.
I tried to reason with the logical part of my mind that said he probably didn’t know where I was. I was thousands of miles from where I used to be and nowhere near where he would guess I’d be. But I could feel the panic attack spreading through my body. All I needed to do was to get my car fixed and then get the hell out of here. There was nothing for me here. There was nothing for me anywhere, since I was running.
Rows of motorcycles gleamed out front, all resting on kicks stands in uniform lines like toy soldiers just waiting for command. I didn’t know shit about brands or engine type, but I could tell by the variety of color, height, and design that these men put time and money into the bikes. Each bike had personality, and climbing out of the car, I could tell each bike had a different make as well.
I don’t know what I was expecting as I walked towards the open garage where various men sat in states ranging from smoking to working on bikes, but I wasn’t there five minutes before Warren stepped out the front door.
“Red.”
I smiled. Clearly, I had some explaining to do, but he was glad to see my face.
“I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Well, it’s your lucky day. I need to get my car fixed.”
He chuckled darkly. “Okay. Let’s get you inside. I think we can do something about that.”
“Dead Shot! Drag that thing into the carport.”
“Hey!” I knew Betsy was old, but I was sensitive about others picking on her. She was my baby. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Sorry, Red. I didn’t realize the car meant so much to you.”
That car was the only thing that got me far from the worst situation of my life. Without Betsy, I would be dead, and I knew that was a fact, but I couldn’t tell him that. I tried to appear casual as I said, “She means a lot to me.”
He nodded and moved ahead to hold the door open for me. My face must have shown just how shocked I was and he laughed. “What, you think because I’m a biker, I don’t have no damn manners?”
“Well,” I said half shrugging.
“I’m a biker, Red. Not an ingrate with no manners. My momma may not like how I turned out, but she taught me something.”
He nodded at a biker with gray streaks in his hair as we passed. The tattoos on his arm had long since been faded by the sun. For an older guy, it was clear he was very fit. The patch on the front of his vest said, “President.”
“Sit here,” he said, pointing to three very uncomfortable-looking chairs. “Jer can take a look at Betsy and let you know the extent of the repairs.”