Alice
“No. No more surprises.”
I say it firm and I keep eye contact with him as I say it. I need to press him for honest; it’s one of the most frustrating things about Thrash.
“It’s too much of a risk. We have one shot at this, if the Reaper’s Sons find out, it’ll ruin everything.”
“Thrash, stop making excuses. Tell me, treat me with the respect you’ve promised me.”
He blinks, considering.
“Are you sure you can handle this?”
I nod.
“If they start to question me or wonder why I’m stressed, I’ll tell them the very real fact that I’m taking care of my mom, who has breast cancer. And as I tell them, the fact that all it is weighing on my shoulders and has my life teetering on the edge of ruin will hit me, and I will probably start to cry because it’s all true, and then I’ll tell them about how I spend so much of my time scared for my mom and scared for myself. How do you think they’ll react?”
“They’ll probably want to shut you up as quick as possible, so they’ll leave you alone,” he says.
Which is true. It’s one of those things about most of the men in the Reaper’s Sons — Hammer, Lucky, the regulars I see every single day — none of them are the ‘sit down and tell me about your feelings’ type. One tear, and they’ll head for the door.
“So show me some respect and tell me what’s really going to happen,” I say, pointedly.
“The night of the Mayor’s event, most of the Reaper’s Sons will be at the bar. They’ve also hired a band for the evening, a band that used to play there when they were starting out and whose lead singer happens to be my distant cousin — Crescent Falls’ most famous son, Scott Davis, lead singer of The Steel Hearts — recently got in touch with them and told them he’d be in town and willing to play gigs for old times sake. Everything is set for this to be one large, drunken bash.”
“And then?”
“Let them drink. Now, it is important, more than anything else, that you do not drink a damn thing while you’re at work.”
“You want me to not drink… while working at a bar?”
“The Smiling Skull is getting a delivery of kegs the morning of the party in order to make sure they’re stocked for the mayor’s event. Don’t touch the stuff other than serving it to anyone who asks. That evening, when my cousin Scott and his band have the whole tavern shitfaced and rocking, is when my brothers in the Rebel Riders and I will make our move.”
This plan is way more intricate than I expected. Especially from someone with as many tattoos as Thrash has.
“You have the whole club?”
“I’ve got a few. Enough. People willing to get shit from our president, Hawk, for the chance at a big payday.”
“How big?”
“I have no idea. But big enough, I’m sure. The Reaper’s Sons have been running this operation for a few months now, and I don’t know of them having made any moves to launder it. But, listen, Alice, for this to work, you need to play your part to perfection. You need to make sure people drink, and you need to make sure that you and Lexie do not. Got it?”
“I understand,” I say. “I appreciate the trust, Thrash. And the honesty, too.”
He’s opened up, revealed more of himself and his plan, and I feel more comfortable in his arms, now. I rest my head against the crook of his shoulder and sigh. It’s frightening stuff he’s talking about, risky as all hell and dependent on so many things falling into place at just the right time, but I trust him to put all the pieces together. There’s a fire in his eyes as he talks about his plans, and I know that he won’t allow anything to stand in his way.
“Alice, when this is all over, I still want us to stay together. I don’t want this just to be a business relationship.”
“Thrash, we just fucked and earlier I told you I might love you. That’s more than business.”
He shifts a bit like he’s uncomfortable with the subject. “I have to be honest: when it comes to you, Alice, I don’t know how to react. You’re different, you unnerve me, you make me question everything, and I’m not used to that.”
“You do just fine when you treat me like I matter. Let’s just stick to that,” I say. “Agreed?”
“Agreed. You’re important to me. I never expected to fall for you, I expected to steal your cargo and never see you again. But now, I can’t imagine a future without you.”
I sit up and kiss him and then settle back into his arms.
We doze for a while on his couch, not saying much, just enjoying the peace of each other’s company. I feel like I’ve crossed another barrier in getting to know who Thrash really is as a person. I wish it were easier, I wish I didn’t have to battle for every step of intimacy, but it seems worth it so far. Every layer of him that I peel back reveals a good man that, though rough around the edges, is one that I feel safe, secure, and valued around.
I stay in his arms, enjoying the moment for as long as I can put off thinking about my other responsibilities. Slowly, I disentangle myself from him.
“I need to get going.”
“So soon?”
“I’ve got to get back to my mom. I really need to be there for her. The chemo brain gets worse in the middle of the night, sometimes, and if she wakes up and I’m not there, it could be bad.”
“She’s lucky to have you, you know.”
“Thanks.”
“Before you go, I’ve got something for you,” he says. He rummages in a small box of things on his living room table. He takes out a small glass bottle labeled ‘Mother Earth Medicines’ and a small, tightly sealed packet. He hands both to me. “For your mom’s nausea. Some people prefer just the oil, and she probably will, but I thought I’d throw in some of the regular stuff. I hope it helps.”
“Thank you, Thrash. You’re a good man,” I say. When you try to be.
“Just tell Daisy to get well, ok?”
“I will.”
I kiss him goodnight and take his gifts and put them in the glove box of my car, making a note to ask Eleanor about the best way to use them — and if we should use them — at a later time, preferably when she seems in a good mood. I don’t know how she’ll react to me getting pot from an outlaw motorcycle club for my mom’s chemo treatments, but, when I do ask her about it, I want her to be in a good frame of mind.
I get home and sneak into my mom’s house like a thief in the night, careful not to wake her. My bed seems so cold and empty without him. I fall asleep to thoughts of Thrash. To the ‘maybe’ in my future — the hopeful time where I’m not broke and on the edge of losing it all, the time where I might be able to put a normal life together where I feel pride in who I am, what I do, and what kind of life I’ve rebuilt for myself. And the time I share with him.
It still seems like a dream, something too fragile to even speak out loud for fear that it’ll crumble to dust. But that dream is getting stronger. And with every passing moment I spend with Thrash, the more confident I become that it will be a reality someday soon. It’s a strange feeling, almost scary in how unusual it is for me, that after months of feeling like nothing will ever work out, now I feel like I have hope.
I will make it.
Someday, that dream of being back on my feet will come true.
And Thrash will be there with me. By my side.
He does it for me. His strength elevates me, his confidence makes me stronger, and I know that with him, there’s the chance that my dreams of making it out of this ordeal without breaking have a chance of being real.
I turn in bed, staring at the ceiling.
We’re taking so many risks together.
I’ve put my heart in his hands.
He’ll either help make my dreams real.
Or he might just shatter me to pieces.