Chapter 8
Summer
I’m extremely glad Jack was able to fix the air conditioning. After looking up how much it was going to cost to get it fixed, I quickly realized I did not have that kind of cash sitting around. One quick phone call back home would have sorted that out, but I wasn’t going to go back to my sister and grovel that fast. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of holding money over my head again. It’s not like any of this would have happened if Mom was still alive, but still – what can a girl do.
It’s a couple of days until I decide to let Jack take me out. Truth be told, I’ve been more than ready for it, but I was waiting for the bruising to go down a little, waiting until I felt a little less ugly.
The day after Jack saw the bruise, I thought he was going to make a big deal about hunting down the frat boys and come back with their heads mounted like a couple of prize bucks. To my relief he doesn’t mention it again, and I secretly hope that he’s let it slide. Much as I want those fucking idiots to pay for what they did, I don’t want him to go and do something stupid.
“So was it that hulking boyfriend of yours?” Krystal asks as we close up the diner for the night.
“What’s that?”
“The shiner? He smack you up?”
“Oh. No.” I shake my head, but Krystal’s question takes me off guard. We’ve worked together for a few months now and while we get on okay during our shifts, I wouldn’t really consider us anything more than acquaintances. It’s the first time Krystal has seen me since I was hit by that stupid frat guy, and I know she’s only asking for gossip, there’s not a trace of concern in her voice. She looks at me like she doesn’t believe me, and goes back to chewing her gum.
“Sure thing lovely. They’re all the same anyway. I’ve been knocked around and knocked up enough times to know men better than the back of my hand.”
Krystal was an ex–stripper, and to her merit I think the waitressing job was her attempt at ‘going legit’.
“Well you’re wrong.” To my surprise I find myself defending a man for the first time in my life. “Jack isn’t like that. And by the way. He isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Whatever Summer.” Krystal scoffs. “I was just being friendly. If it isn’t your boyfriend then who was it? Must have been some man.”
I say nothing in response, validating Krystal’s guess.
“He was in here the other day you know.”
“Who?” I ask, mopping down a table top.
“Your boyfriend. He was asking Greg about those dick head frat boys that come in from time to time. You know one of them put their hand up my dress last week?”
“Jack was in here? Asking about the frat boys?” My heart starts thumping hard. Maybe he had gone out hunting after all.
“Yeah. Didn’t seem angry or nothing. Just his usual cool and collected self. Anyway. I isn’t seen them round here since then. They’re usually here two or three times a week.” Krystal then stares up at the ceiling for a moment as if she’s putting two and two together. “Tell a lie, I did see one of them the other day actually. It was at the mall, he was in a fucking wheelchair! I kid you not!” Krystal’s eyes are lit up, connecting dots that I hope are imaginary. “You reckon your boyfriend did that?”
“I already told you.” I huff, and feel the anger building up inside of me. “He’s not my fucking boyfriend!”
I get home a short while later, after having walked back from the diner. As soon as I get on to our street I march up Jack’s drive and sure enough, he’s working out as always.
“What the fuck did you do to them?” I ask, my voice shaking with fury.
Jack sits up from his weight bench coolly, with a smile on his face. He pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and sparks it up.
“No idea what you’re on about darling.”
“The frat boys. You know. The ones who did this?” I point to the faded bruise on my eye and Jack clenches his jaw.
“Oh that. I took care of it, like I said I would. No big deal.”
“No big deal?! I spoke with Krystal today, she said one of them was in a fucking wheelchair!”
“What a pussy.” Jack laughs. “I would have gone for crutches myself.”
“Jack I can’t do this.” My ex was psycho enough for a lifetime, I’m not putting myself through all that again.” My mouth is running a million miles an hour, and I feel like I’m going into some sort of hysteria. Truth be told, I kind of like the idea that Jack would stick up for me like that, but it scares me too.
“Whoa darling, slow down.” Jack springs up from the bench and before I know it, he’s got his arms wrapped around me. “Whatever that cocksucker did, I will never do. Alright? I’d never lay a fucking finger on you. I’m only gonna hurt someone who tries to hurt you.”
“Tell me what you did to them.”
Jack steps away and shakes his head.
“Baby, you don’t want to know.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I’m an adult. Tell me.”
Jack looks up and down the street, as if someone would be watching us and then he sighs. “Fine.”
He pulls his hand into the shape of a gun, then points it at my knee, and slides his thumb down like a trigger going off. He holds both his hands palm up after as if to say, ‘Can you blame me?’. He shrugs, his expression is completely non–pulsed. Something about his icy demeanor chills me. It also really turns me on too.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You shot him in the knee?”
“Them.” Jack corrects me. “One eye. Two knees. I never was very good at math.” He chuckles and stubs his cigarette out on the ground.
I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry, but my whole body is shaking for some reason.
“You’re such a fucking prick.” My voice trembles. “You know that?”
“Odd way of saying thank you.” Jack rolls his eyes. “But you’re welcome I guess.”
“Is this why you’re on the run?” I ask him. “You used to pull shit like this back in the city?”
“I don’t really think that’s any of your business.” Jack raises an eyebrow. “And you’ve already got enough dirt on me. You’re not getting any more.”
“What is it you want from me? You want me to bare my demons too?”
“No.”
Somewhere in the distance behind me a loud bike roars past and Jack’s eyes lock to it instantly. He carries on talking like nothing is wrong. “No. I couldn’t give a shit to be honest. I’m just trying to be polite.”
“Polite? You just told me you shot two people. Doesn’t really seem to go hand in hand if you ask me.”
Jacks eyes are on something at the other end of the street, and he isn’t taking notice of me anymore.
“Listen Summer. You’ve said your bit and you’ve made it pretty clear you don’t approve. So why don’t you just fuck off?” Jack turns away from me, walks into the garage and reaches into a draw. He pulls something out, but I don’t see what it is at first, I’m too focused on being absolutely incensed with him. Fuck off? All I want to do is punch him in the face. And possibly, fuck him too.
“You’ve got some nerve talking to me like that.” I laugh in his face.
“Look honey. I can tell you’re chomping at the bit for a bit of my dick. But I really don’t have time for this right now. Seeing as you’re more of the fuck on the first date type anyway, why don’t we get out that way first before I split you in two.”
I open my mouth to fling another torrent of verbal abuse at the guy, but then I look down at his hand and see that he’s holding a gun.
“Wait a minute, is that a fucking gun? The gun?”
The loud engine from before is coming down the street again, but this time from the opposite direction. Jack’s eyes are off in the distance again, locked on something behind me. I push him in the chest to remind him I’m here and Jack looks down at me, frustrated.
“Too fucking late.” Jack grabs me by the top of the arm and pulls me towards the garage. “Get in there and keep your fucking head down.” Jack swings his arm around, launching me into the garage.
I try to cry out in protest but it’s no good, sheer momentum forces me to run into the back of the garage and I crash into a pile of his tools. I spin around to curse the motherfucker out for handling me like I’m some two bit whore, when I see three guys standing at the end of the driveway pointing guns at Jack.
“Where’s Deacon?” Jack asks, his hand tight on the gun.
“He’s coming.” One of the men at the end of the driveway says. All three are dressed in black and covered in biker patches. “Meeting with the Crows first. Wants to know where they stand in this.”
Jack laughs and shakes his head. “He always was terrible at making plans.”
“Shut your fucking mouth Jack.” One of the men at the end of the driveway says. He’s larger than the other two and slightly overweight. “He’s the head of Notorious now, not you. You’d do well to show some respect.”
“Respect?” Jack laughs. “You’re all traitors. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“Watch it.” One of the men responds. “Or I’ll kill you myself. I don’t want to rob Deacon of the satisfaction.”
“Like shit you do.” Jack steadies his hand. “You’re just too chicken shit to do it.”
“Oh yeah?” The overweight biker says. “Watch me.”
Before he can pull the trigger, the fat biker in the middle falls to the ground. Jack fires at the biker to his right and his body hits the floor too. There’s one biker left standing, the one who shot the fat one in the side of his head. He lowers his arm and Jack follows suit.
“Roman. Nice to see some people in Notorious still have my back.”
Jack and the biker called Roman holster their guns, walk towards each other and give each other a quick hug, which more closely resembles a pat on the back.
“You think I’d jump ship with that moron Deacon?” Roman scoffs. “Please. I thought you knew me better than that Jack.”
“Never know who you can trust these days it would seem. Right. We’ve got to get rid of these bodies and get out of here fast. How long until Deacon gets here?”
“Maybe ten, fifteen minutes.” Roman says.
Jack and Roman continue to talk but their voices fade out and my eyes are drawn to the two bodies on the floor at the end of Jack’s drive. Dark pools of blood are pouring out of the bodies, onto the concrete and down the drain.
“Summer. Summer. Summer!” I look up and realize Jack is shouting my name. He’s standing right in front me. My eyes drift back to the bodies, which are now being dragged by Roman towards the bushes at the edge of Jack’s house. “Hey!” Jack snaps his fingers and puts a hand on my face. “Look at me. Eyes on me. They’re dead now. They’re not going to hurt you. It’s going to be okay. Okay?” I nod blankly, my mouth wide open – no verbal or emotional response. “How fast can you get an overnight bag together?”
“A bag?” I asked, still slightly dazed.
“Yes a bag. Summer come on. I need you to get your head back in the game.”
“You just killed a man.”
“It was kill or be killed honey. Now come on. I need you to go into your house, pack some things up and meet us here in five minutes. We need to leave by then.”
“Leave?” I asked dazed. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere. Anywhere that’s not here. Go!” Jack practically roars the last word, the command ringing across the street. I sprint down the drive quickly, my eyes glued to the dark red pools of blood on the concrete. I step off the drive and onto the grass, avoiding the grizzly scene.
As I run across the street I see my next door neighbor, Ms Agnes, peering through the cracks in her blinds, she’s on the phone to someone. Probably the police. I run into my house, take a deep breath and then I start moving. I move through my house panicked, shoving things into a small bag without really thinking. I’m moving on complete autopilot, my mind is still completely focused on the fact that I just watched Jack execute somebody. Three minutes later I’m back on my front porch watching as Roman sprays a hose at the blood on Jack’s drive. That’s when it hits me. Why am I packing my things exactly?
None of these people know who I am. None of the bikers who are coming know that I’m here. I should just go back in the house and wait for the police to arrive. They can sort the rest out.
“Summer!” Jack shouts from across the street. “Hurry the fuck up!” He shoves some things into a bag, and climbs onto his bike. Roman appears from behind the house. I notice that the dead men’s bikes are gone, Roman must have pushed them into Jack’s back garden. A moment ago the street looked like a scene from Pulp Fiction. Now it looked as good as new. A shudder runs down my spine, realizing that Jack and Roman have done this before. They’re professional killers.
How many times have they done this exactly?
Jack fires up his bike, looks up to see where I am and rides across the street. His bike chews up my lawn and stops by the porch.
“Summer what the fuck are you doing?”
I clutch at the bag I’ve packed tightly and step back from Jack.
“Why do I need to go? They don’t know me.”
Jack looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I’m not taking any chances. Get on the bike. It’s not safe here.”
“No.” I try to sound defiant, but it’s obvious from my voice that I’m nervous.
Jack sighs, reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun.
“Get on the bike.”
“What?” I laugh nervously. “Am I a hostage now?”
“If that’s how you want to play it. Now get on.”
For the briefest moment I wonder if Jack is bluffing. He wouldn’t shoot me surely? Then I look over the road at the feet of the dead bikers hidden beneath the bushes and all of a sudden his threat seems so much more real.
“Fine, but fuck you.”
“Maybe later, darling. But let’s get out of here first.”
I climb on to the back of the bike reluctantly, and almost feel like screaming. He just pointed a fucking gun in my face and now he’s cracking jokes?
He revs up his bike and pulls on to the street. In the distance the faint sound of sirens appear.
“Let’s go!” He hits the throttle and the bike roars forward. I pull myself tight against his body. Hating that I have to be so close to him. I turn my face and see Roman riding alongside us, just behind Jack.
I don’t know whether I should kill Jack or kiss him.
I guess we’ll see.