Gunner

I walk through the metal gate and see her. She is sitting on her heels in front of the cross we made for Shay. We couldn’t bury him, so we decided to stick that iron cross into the soil by the fence that encircles the back garden of Sol and Shay’s house.

The last sun’s rays touch Sol’s face, giving her an unearthly appearance. Tears glitter on her cheeks as she remains frozen, glowing like a marble sculpture, enveloped by the rosy aura of the receding day.

I lay my hand on her shoulder and she shudders under my touch. Her dead eyes glance at me.

“Sol,” I say gently.

“Fuck. Off. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“The baby will be upset,” I say.

She puts her palm on her round stomach and sobs. I hook her under the arms with my hands and lift her so she puts her feet on the ground and then I scoop her up. She’s so weak that she slumps into my arms like a ragdoll. Her quiet sobs stab me like a thousand knives.

I love her so much I would kill myself if it could bring Shay back for her.

Not that I didn’t think about killing myself anyway. I did. Many times within those three months after Shay’s accident.

Nobody’s blaming me for Shay’s death, but that doesn’t change the fact that I killed him. My recklessness killed him. My stupidity killed him.

My mom is sinking into depression. Dad is helping her, out the best he can, but she’s getting worse and worse every day. Sol is getting worse and worse too, but in a bit different way. She’s angrier and angrier, unavailable, lost in a place nobody can reach her.

A few greys shine in her long almond hair and delicate wrinkles mark the skin under her coffee brown eyes framed by dark thick eyebrows. I love those wrinkles as much as I love Sol. And I hate them as much as I hate myself. Sol has them because of me.

I carry Sol to her little house made of stone. Shay bought it for them both after they married. Their perfect little nest perched on the cliff that stretches along a marvellous Cornish beach.

Now, it’s a tomb. Soon the baby will move into this tomb. Sol is six months pregnant, but she isn’t eating properly and the baby is a bit small.

I will fucking save this baby no matter what it takes.

I lay Sol on her black metal-framed bed and pull the beige curtains together. Leaning over her, I stroke her hair and kiss her forehead. She doesn’t react as always. I’m not sure whether she’s even aware I’m here. I’m a shadow to her. A shadow living in a different realm to hers. A shadow she hates, but never says it out loud.

She was a lantern once, white and delicate on the outside, with a passionate flame burning on the inside. Now, she’s an old candle without its flicker, lost in the corridors of a ghost castle. I killed Shay, but I killed Sol even more. She’s dead, more dead than all the corpses in a cemetery.

“Supper will be ready in ten minutes,” I say, but only cold silence answers me.

Sol doesn’t allow anybody to be around her. Nobody, except me, and except Auntie Sive, her mother. Very fucking strange. I mean myself, of course. Sive and Sol are very close. Maybe Sol’s just plotting to put a bullet into the back of my skull when the time comes, so she prefers to keep me close. I don’t really care.

She can stab me with a knife. She can put a bullet into me. She can swear at me.

Except she never does.

She’s lost somewhere far from here—in the universe of her pain.

I go to the kitchen and reheat the vegetarian curry I prepared two hours earlier, Sol’s favourite dish, and then I take a plate out of the white cupboard and pile it with the food. Sol’s eyes are closed when I walk into her bedroom.

“Sol,” I say gently so as not to scare her.

She sits on the bed with effort. “What the hell do you want?”

“Your favourite curry.”

“Leave the plate on the desk and get lost, shithead.”

Right. Her favourite word to address me since forever. I clench my jaws and ignore her impertinence.

I move closer to her and stick the plate under her nose. She tears it from my hand and grabs the fork.

I’m three years younger than her. We grew up in one big family—in our MC. My dad and Sol’s dad, Axel, are club brothers. Axel and Zane, our president, are brothers by blood.

When I was a small child, Sol was like my sister.

When I was eleven I realised we were not related by blood and that discovery made me the happiest guy on the face of the earth. I could fall in love with her.

I asked her to go on a date when I was thirteen, but she went on a date with Shay instead.

I bought a bouquet of red roses for her when I was fourteen, but she liked the pink lilies from Shay more.

I asked her to marry me when I was sixteen, but she married Shay instead.

I leave the bedroom and tidy up the kitchen then I prepare a bath for Sol. I call her four times before she crawls off the bed. She passes me like a ghost, her black satin kimono robe rustling. She walks into the bathroom and slams the door shut.

I sit on the tiled floor, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door in case she collapsed, or something. The sound of the water murmuring and splashing fills my ears. A bang and the following squeal make me jump to my feet. Throwing myself at the door, I tumble into the bathroom. The door bounces off the wall and I jerk my hand to the side to stop it.

I see Sol sitting on the floor with one knee bent. There is a pond of water around her. Her right ankle is swollen and a delicate streak of redness encircles it.

Sol is naked.

I’ve never seen her naked, but I’ve imagined her naked body a thousand times. I’ve been jerking off thinking of her almost every evening since I turned fourteen.

The sight of her naked body almost knocks me off my feet. She is more beautiful than I imagined. Her tits are perfect—large, topped with pink areolas, my erotic fantasy personified. My eyes flick over her slim thighs and fix on her dark pubic hair. Heat rushes to my dick.

My hand jerks up and I put it on the back of my neck. I’m mesmerised.

Our glances meet, and Sol winces. She braces her ankle with her hands.

I wake up, grab a towel and lean over her, wrapping it around her, then I squat down to examine her ankle. My fingers palpate the site for any signs of fracture, but it’s only twisted.

“It’s only twisted,” Sol growls my diagnosis out loud, tears trickling down her cheeks.

I put a hand on her stomach. “Is the baby okay?”

“It’s fine.”

I massage her pregnant belly for a moment to soothe the baby then slide my arms under her knees and back, and lift her up. She feels weightless in my arms. She feels so fucking right in my arms.

I carry her to the bedroom as the water dripping from her hair marks my way, and I lay her gently on the bed, tearing the towel off her. I dry her hair and cover her with the comforter.

“Show is over,” Sol says with a delicate rasping. “You can go now.”

“I just want to make sure the baby is okay.” I perch on the bed and smooth the comforter with my hand. “And your ankle needs some bandaging.”

Sol rolls on her side and rests her cheek against the back of her hand. “You’d better fix the door in the bathroom.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

She’s so fucking beautiful. Perfect like an angel or a nymph.

I lean over her and kiss her cheek then freeze for a moment, inhaling her tantalizing musk.

“I can give you a hand job, that’s all,” Sol says.

“What?”

“You heard me, shithead.”

“Fuck off with your hand job, Sol.”

I rise to my feet in one motion and leave the bedroom, pushing the door on my way so it bangs against the wall.

Like I said, I’m not a decent man.

I bounce off Auntie Sive in the corridor.

“How is she?” Sive signs.

“Moody.” I kiss both her cheeks. “She’s just twisted her ankle in the bathroom.”

Sive sighs as her hands collapse. Her good eye twitches and the muscles of her neck waver.

“I’ll take care of her ankle,” I say and stroke her arm. “Don’t worry. I’m good with twisted ankles, remember?”

I’ve twisted both my ankles many times. I know what to do.

Sive rises on her tiptoes and pulls my arm to stroke my head. “I will make us some tea then.”

I learned sign language when I was a kid. Every member of our family speaks that language so Sive doesn’t have to struggle while talking to us.

Sol and Sive are very much alike—they share the same shade of hair and the same intriguing colour of the iris. They look like sisters. Sol is a bit taller than her mom is though.

“Sure, Auntie.” I go to the bathroom and collect two rolls of elastic bandage with clips.

Sol greets me with a glance of hatred as I pull at the comforter to uncover her legs and lean over her ankle.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Just do your job,” Sol snaps.

I wrap the bandage around her ankle in a spiral pattern, starting beneath the toes. My fingers tremble as I fasten it with the clips.

“Done,” I say.

“Get lost,” Sol says as her thank you.

I salute her and walk out of the bedroom.

Sive and I have our tea in the kitchen then I go to my house.

My house is a tomb too.

My mom is dead even though she’s still breathing. My dad is so sad I feel like there is a rock on my chest each time I glance at him. He always has a kind word for me though, like I’m a fucking saint, or a good kid. I’m a killer. A killer who killed his own brother. Why can’t my dad see that?

I walk into the kitchen and see him wiping the kitchen worktop with a dampened cloth.

“There’s food in the oven,” Dad says.

“Thanks.”

“She’s been difficult today, huh?”

“No, not really.” I shake off my cut then remove my t-shirt stained with curry sauce and put it into the washing machine. “I can do the ironing tonight.”

“Nikko has just done it.”

“I can clean the bathroom.”

“What about watching a movie and going to bed earlier?” Dad pours me a glass of apple juice.

“I’ll sit with Mom then.”

Dad nods, his green eyes glassy.

I grab the glass and empty it in three gulps then go to my parents’ bedroom and perch on the bed. Mom is numb, lifeless, like a fucking embalmed corpse. Her wide cobalt eyes stare at the ceiling.

I stroke her hand. “Sol’s baby is growing fast. It’s very healthy.”

“Good,” she hums.

“Are you tired?”

“Yes.”

I sit with her in silence for an hour then I go to have a shower. I can’t stop thinking about Sol’s tits. I can’t stop thinking about her little cunt.

I jerk off as fantasies of her naked body fill my mind.

The next morning, I go to the garage and Uncle Axel orders me to work with Hawk and learn about bike engines.

“My sister still mean to everyone?” Hawk asks.

He sweeps his shoulder length hair of almond shade away from his unshaven face as his grey eyes blaze with anger.

He’s angry with Sol and her attitude. I know deep down he’s very worried, but his worry turns into anger each time we talk about her.

“She’s tired, that’s all,” I say.

Hawk nods several times. “I’m going for a drink with a few boys from the garage tonight, if you want to join us—“

“I’m looking after Sol tonight.”

Hawk raises his hands in a warding gesture. “Say my hello to her then.”

“No problem, bro.” I rub my greasy hands against my jeans, leaving two black shiny smudges on the fabric.

We bend forward to look into an SUV engine and we work in silence. Axel joins us fifteen minutes later, with two bottles of spring water in his hand.

“How is Carrie?” Axel asks.

Even though there is no emotion on his scarred face, I know he cares. He cares a lot.

“Mom’s not eating, not sleeping, not talking,” I say.

“It will be alright,” Axel says. He huffs out. “Heard about Sol’s ankle.”

“I took care of her ankle,” I say.

Axel nods as his jaw muscles twitch. “Good.” He threads his greasy fingers through his hair. “Tell her...” His voice falters and he clears his throat.

“I will,” I say.

Axel pats my shoulder. “Get back to work.”

We work until 6 pm then I go home and have a shower. Dad gives me a basket filled with food for Sol and I go to her house.

Sol

Everything is grey.

The heaviness sitting on my chest is suffocating grey.

My surroundings are translucent grey.

My future is mortally grey.

Carrie would probably be shimmery grey for me, but she’s not visiting so I can’t tell for sure. I’d like her to visit, but she’s too weak, too broken. I killed her son, after all.

I killed my baby’s father.

I made an abrupt manoeuvre on my bike, a manoeuvre I shouldn’t have made, and that distracted Shay. My husband died because of my mistake.

He was someone’s son, brother, friend. My husband.

Gunner walks into the kitchen and puts a big basket on the table. The smell of homemade cake settles in my nostrils.

“Dad’s made you some snacks,” he says.

“Say my thank you to him.” I finish wiping the kitchen worktop and throw the dampened cloth into the sink.

“How is your ankle?”

“Fine.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

I can see him grit his teeth.

It’s been like a dance of destruction, this thing between us since Shay’s death—Gunner is nice and caring, and I’m pissing him off. Anger will seep out of him and I will retreat. He will cool, and I will simmer. It’s like we kill each other every day, but we never clash and never disconnect either.

I hate him because he reminds me of what I did. And I need him because he feels as guilty as me. We’re in this shit together. I need someone to carry this enormous bag of guilt with me. It’s selfish, unfair. It keeps me sane.

Our hell of pain and rage.

“How is the baby, Sol?”

“Naughty.”

His eyes fill with concern and that really pisses me off.

Gunner Junior is a tough guy who can slit a man’s throat if that was needed.

He is soft only with me. He’s always been soft with me. Aphrodite, my cousin, hates him. Cindy and Daisy, my two other cousins, have always kept their distance. Only I’ve had the privilege of being with the soft part of Gunner.

He steps forward and leans towards me, putting his palm on my pregnant belly.

I’ve always felt like a dwarf in his presence. He is tall like his dad, and nicely built, but not massive. His muscles have been shaped by regular workout, but Gunner has never been addicted to the gym or obsessed with dieting like most guys. A tattoo adorns his back—it’s a wolf’s head.

He has Carrie’s beautiful blue eyes, but his hair is auburn, like leaves in autumn. He has his dad’s sweet gentleness when he is with me and nobody can see us. Women would kill for his boyish allure and his kissable lips. I don’t blame them. He is a pretty boy.

Shay had this allure too and he had very kissable lips. He was a nice guy with me and with the whole world. He didn’t kill anybody. He never ended up behind bars. He wanted to be a doctor like my aunt, Athena.

Gunner Junior? He has a dark side no doubt. He likes living on the edge.

Gunner inhales deeply and his hot breath puffs on my cheek as his hand massages my belly. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I feel suffocated by his closeness.

“Get off me,” I say.

Jeez. His care for me is sometimes unnerving. He likes touching my pregnant belly at every opportunity for some mysterious reason.

“Just wanted to make the baby feel happy,” he rasps.

“They say happy mom—happy baby, right?”

“Something like that.” He pinches a wisp of my hair then sweeps it away from my face.

There is something dark in his eyes. It’s hinted with menace; it’s primal and it’s burning, like yesterday when he stared at my naked breasts and my pussy.

Our glances collide. He bends his neck and slams his lips on mine. I manage only a sigh as his tongue thrusts in and he grips the back of my neck. My knees bend and I feel dizzy. The kiss deepens as his mouth almost violates mine.

Heat surges through my veins. My heart races. My body shivers at Gunner’s wildness and dominance. My mind screams ‘no’.

I pull away, limping on my injured foot. Then I sweep my hand, slapping him across the cheek.

He glances at me as though he wants to kill me, so I step back and turn around, but his arms wrap around my chest from behind and we bend over the kitchen table. My elbows rest against the top.

“Are you mad?” I gasp.

“I’ve changed my mind about that hand job.”

“Fuck off.”

“Sol,” he rasps into my ear and growls.

He nibbles on my earlobe as his scorching breath tickles my skin.

Fucking hell. He’s never done anything like this before. He’s never touched me like this before. I know he had a crush on me, but that was a long time ago. We grew up in one MC, after all.

I feel his hips moving against my ass. I feel his hard dick through the fabric of his jeans and my dress. His erection is massive.

“Gunner, I’m warning you.”

Shay never did anything like this to me. He was so gentle, so patient. So sweet.

Gunner is dangerous.

Yet, I feel myself getting wet between my thighs.

Gunner is wild like the wind howling in the high mountains and that primal wildness of his is infecting me, breaking me, killing me. Making me crave more and more of him.