Liona
“No, Dad,” Liona said into her phone, “I'm fine. I'm somewhere safe, okay?”
“I just don't understand why you can't tell me what's going on, honey. Your mom and I are worried sick about you.”
She was seated on the edge of Cutter's bed again, but this time in her old clothes. The soiled and ruined wedding dress was draped over the back of a chair that stood in the corner. It seemed to glare at her with insubstantial eyes, like the conglomeration of cloth and tulle resented her for not using it properly.
She twirled a strand of hair idly and averted her eyes from the dress, from the guilt. “Dad, I'm fine, alright. I'll tell you when I'm ready to come home.”
“But, why are you hiding, hon?” he asked, genuine bewilderment in his voice.
What she wanted to say was: “Because my ex-fiancée is a sick fuck who's been physically and emotionally been abusing me for years, and I know it'll just be a matter of time before he murders me.”
Instead, she merely shrugged it off. “I don't want to talk about it right now.”
“Liona, honey, you gotta tell us, though. Wyland's not saying anything to either of us, but I can tell his parents are really upset. Well, his father is. His mother's just a wino.”
Liona laughed knowingly. “Yeah, that sounds like her. Valium and Chardonnay. Don't worry, that doesn't have anything to do with me leaving her son at the altar.”
“It's just ...” her dad started to say, then trailed off. “I ... I don't know.”
“What dad?” Liona asked. Her dad had always been forthcoming with her, even if she hadn't been that way with him, especially over the last few years. “What's wrong?”
“What you did,” he said after a while, trying to pick his words. “I know you probably had good reason, or thought you did, at least. But ...”
“But what?”
“It was just rude,” he said, his voice rising out of the pleasant, mild-mannered decibel range he normally kept.
Liona was surprised he'd actually raised his voice like that. The word choice, though, was all too familiar. To her dad, politeness ruled over everything. He was the most polite, considerate man she'd ever met in her life. Everything he did, even in private, was seemingly dedicated to preserving civil order. He'd never yelled at her when she was growing up, never struck her in anger, or even as a punishment. He was simply ‘nice,’... but not in an artificial way, like two-faced Wyland. He was genuine, true to his word.
It killed her to have to hurt him this way, and her she felt herself choke up a little. “I'm ... I'm sorry, dad. This is something I had to do. And, I guess it hadn't seemed real until the day of. So, I'm sorry. Okay?”
Silence on the other end of the line.
Liona's heart sunk. “Dad?”
“I'm here.” He sighed into the phone. A long, sad sigh that carried with it the weight of years of parental responsibility. “Well, I love you, honey. And your mom does, too. Call us when you can, okay?”
She smiled at his words. She knew they loved her, but his words just seemed to alleviate some of the guilt she was feeling. “Okay, dad, I will,” she said. “You can count on it. And I love you guys, too.”
“Okay,” he said, and she could tell her probably had his lips tightly pressed together like he always did in this kind of situation. “We'll talk to you soon, honey. I love you.”
“Bye, dad. I love you.” She ended the call and dropped the phone down on the bed next to her.
Well, that had actually gone better than she hoped. She hated leaving her dad in the dark like this, but there wasn't anything else she could think to do. She couldn't exactly tell him she was crashed out with a bunch of bikers on the outskirts of town. That definitely wouldn't have flown. But, at least now he and her mom knew she was safe.
She rearranged herself on the bed, pulling her legs up and crossing them. She rested her face in her hands, with her elbows on her knees, and stayed like that for a moment. She needed to call Wyland next. She didn't know how she was going to do handle it, though. How could she call her tormentor, especially after this slap in the face she'd just given him? He'd be out for blood.
Just, then, though, the handle on Cutter's door turned. She looked up from her cradle to see her old friend return, two cups of coffee in one hand.
“Thought you might need some,” Cutter said, gesturing with the coffee.
Liona smiled up at him. “Got anything stronger?” she asked.
He smiled a little smile and set the cups down on top of his old, beaten down dresser. “Bourbon okay?” he asked as he pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a bottle of Buffalo Trace.
“Please,” she said, nodding. Her eyes tracked over him, over his MC vest, over his arms. They looked even better than when she'd first seen them on the side of the road.
He opened the bottle and began to pour a finger or so in each cup. “Gave you cream,” he said as he poured her dram, “and a little sugar.”
“Perfect,” she said as she took the warm cup from him. “So, what'd you guys decide?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “We put it to a vote,” he said over the lip of his mug, his steely eyes boring into hers, “and you can stay.”
If she hadn't been holding he hot cup of spiked coffee in her hands, she would have burst out in applause. That was the first good news she'd heard in ages. Literally.
“But,” he said.
Her heart sank. “But?” she murmured.
“You can stay, for now,” he said, emphasizing the last two words. “That was a preliminary vote, since the whole club wasn't here.”
“Geez,” she said, “how often do you guys vote?”
“Just on big things,” he said. “But, it was unanimous, which is good. Like I said, we'll still need another one.”
“When will that be?”
He shrugged. “When all the guys are in one place. Could be in a couple days, could be next week. We got a couple guys in lockup right now, so it might be a while.”
She hadn't known about that! She made a face. “In lockup?” she asked.
He nodded, solemnly. “Wyland.”
All she needed was that one word. So, her fiancée was coming after them, too. She didn't know why, though. Maybe, she figured, they were just easy pickings. He'd always been more interested in his career than anything else, and he already had his eye on the District Attorney's job. All he needed to get there was some good headlines. And a notorious MC like Cutter and his friends would fit that bill perfectly.
She took a sip of coffee. The hot liquor burned at the same time it soothed.
“Guess it's time,” Cutter said after a while, “we discussed the sleeping arrangement here. The two guys I mentioned, they don't have bunks here, so we're full at the moment.”
Here it came. A mixture of heady desire and trepidation filled Liona. She hadn't ever slept with another man besides Wyland. In one sense, she was attracted to Cutter, but she still couldn’t figure him out. Had the tension she’d felt earlier between them been sexual in nature. Her mind wandered again as she wondered what he would be like. Would he be too rough with her? Could she handle a man like him? And would she be woman enough to satisfy his needs?
It wasn't the expectation of sex that worried her, really. She'd been going through that with Wyland for years. Paying for her room and board with her body had become almost second nature.
“So, I hope my bed is comfortable enough for you,” Cutter said. “Don't worry, I'm taking the couch in the rec room.”
A bit of a shock hit her, then. “You ... you're not ...?”
“Not what?” Cutter asked, clearly confused.
He hadn't been planning on taking advantage of her at all, she realized. She was a person in need, to him, not some piece of meat he could use for his every whim.
Inside, she was ecstatic that he wasn't like that. At the same time, though, she was a little hurt he didn't seem to want her in that way. She blushed and shook her head and looked down at her bourbon-laced coffee. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Nothing, I guess.”
“Uh ...” he said. “Oh ... kay?”
She looked back up at him, a small, soft smile on her face now. “Anything else I should know about?”
“Yeah,” he said, setting his coffee cup back on the dresser. “Don't be worried about the guys. They know who you are, and they know you're my friend. They're all gruff, mostly, and may mess with you a bit, but if the MC says it'll protect you, that's what we'll all do.”
She nodded, a flush growing on her face, and her smile growing bigger.
“What?” Cutter asked, returning her smile.
She shook her head. “Nothing.” She looked back down at her coffee, thinking about her words. “It's just that, well, I'm wondering where you've been all this time. You and your guys. And, I'm just thinking about how lucky I was that you happened to be riding by.”
“Guess that's what it was,” he said. “Luck. I wasn't even planning on going to the wedding, you know. But, then Wyland had one of the guys arrested at the restaurant.”
She smiled, but then thought about what he'd just said. She cocked her head to the side. “How'd you know about the wedding? Hear about it on Facebook or something?”
“No,” he said and gave her a perplexed look. “You sent me an invitation at the restaurant. Didn't you?”
She shook her head. “I didn't even know you were still around, remember?”
“Oh ...” Cutter said, his brow furrowed. “That means Wyland must have.”
“Why, though?”
He shook his head. “This is just too weird.” He let the subject drop after that. It was probably for the best they didn't dwell too much on Wyland's obsessiveness.
“Well, tell you what,” she said after another sip of the spiked coffee, “how about I take a shower and get some of this makeup off?”
“Yeah,” Cutter said, grabbing his coffee mug off the dresser and heading to the door, “probably a good idea. Bathroom's through there. Faucet's a little finicky on the hot water, so be careful. It'll scald.”
She drank down the rest of her coffee and got up off the bed. “Don't worry, I'll be careful.”