THIRTY-THREE

Dog

“You never said it’d get so damn cold when the sun went down.” Mel clutches the fleece we bought her today to her slight frame, high-stepping over a fallen branch as we head towards one of my favorite campsites.

“You’ve been livin’ in a goddamn forest for the last year,” I chuckle. “How the heck did you not know it would get cold?”

“My trailer was warm, okay?” She giggles. “And maybe I’m already used to home comforts again without realizing it.”

I shake my head as we break free of the tree line and emerge into the small clearing. I come here every year, and the location hasn’t let me down yet for getting a kill. The campsite is a random spot amongst the stand of cottonwood, made from where a few trees have either been cut or fallen, presumably in a storm. There’s barely enough room to set up the tent, but it’s all I need.

I’d hoped to get here in daylight still, but the unplanned stop off at the mall, and then the return visit to the clubhouse, killed any chance of that.

“Tuck yourself in there and pull my sweatshirt from the bag,” I say, pointing to where the stump and fallen trunk intersect to make a nook.

She does as I tell her, folding herself into a ball and tucking her legs inside my over-sized sweater. Her hair is pulled into a high pony, and she rests her pointed chin on her knees as she watches me set us up. It’s cute as hell, and an image I’ll relish even long after this trip is through.

A few wayward branches and leaves conceal the stone-ringed fire pit I resurrect every year. I clear the debris, digging out the base a little, and then stack the dry twigs on top of a pile of brown leaves.

“Can I be honest with you?” Mel asks.

“Sure.” I cup a lit match in my hands, lowering it toward the kindling.

“I honestly had no idea you were this resourceful.”

I throw her an inquisitive look, lifting one eyebrow as the flames take hold. “How so?”

“You don’t act like this at the club.”

Every part of me wants to protest, tell her she’s wrong. But she’s not. “I know.”

“Why? I mean, I know there’s the whole Dog vs. Koen thing, but why do you hide who you are?”

I motion for her to make me room and drop down beside her, pulling the pack between my legs. “It’s just easier.”

“How?”

“When you act like a fuckin’ idiot, everyone’s laughin’ at you. It makes you laugh too.”

I can feel her eyes bore into me as I search the bag for the food I brought along. Yet I won’t give her the satisfaction. She wants me to look at her, probably so she can see the truth written in my loveless eyes. But I won’t do that to her—I won’t make her another person who pities me for what happened, for who I am.

I do that enough myself.

“Beans, or stew?” I lift the two choices from the pack. “I’ll show you how to cook it while I set up the tent.”

She sighs, letting me know this conversation isn’t over in the tight curl of her lips as she smiles. “Stew.”

I get to work and cut the tins open, showing her where to put them at the edge of the fire so that they cook, but the contents don’t burn to the sides of the tin before the middle is warmed through. I steal glances at her as I set up the tent; crouched over the fire with my sweater wrapped around her like a blanket. She prods and stirs at the tins, lost in her thoughts as I flick out the bedrolls.

“Cooked yet?”

“I think so.”

I lean over her, loving the way the heat of the flames carries the soft scent of her shampoo as her hair warms. “Looks good to me.” Tins of stew, and the chef.

Using two thick sticks as tongs, I move our dinner from the heat of the fire to the edge of the cleared dirt so they can cool a little. Mel turns the pack sideways, giving us both a cushion to lean against as I join her at the edge of the circle. She resumes her position, tucked up with her arms banded around her legs, as I lay stretched out on my side facing her, propped up on one elbow.

“Why does he hate you being a part of the club so much?”

I tip my head her way and smile at the cheeky smirk she gives me. “You won’t let up, huh?”

“Nope. Hooch always did say I was a stubborn bitch.”

I focus on the flames, on the shades of orange as they flicker. “Shouldn’t we be talkin’ about you?”

“Nope.” She’s resolved in her answer, staring into the fire also. “I think we’ve done enough of sorting me out, don’t you?”

Fair enough. “He didn’t always hate me,” I admit.

She doesn’t say anything, and I stare down at my hands as I twist the skull ring on my right middle finger in circles. There’s no real reason why I feel comfortable opening up to her. Shit, I don’t. Giving her that one line has me tensed, on edge as though my whole lie is about to be unraveled and laid out for the whole club to dissect.

“Why now, then? Can you change it?”

“I don’t think so.”

The night breathes around us as we sit in silence, the odd creak of a branch stirred by the breeze, the rustle as something small scurries the undergrowth in search of food.

Mel leans forward and stirs one of the tins, bringing some out to test on the tip of her fork. I watch the way the light dances over her face as she—using the makeshift tongs same as I did—brings our dinner to us.

“I’d garnish it, make it seem real fancy, but you know.”

I chuckle, using the hem of my T-shirt to hold the tin. The stew is welcome, warming me in the places Mel hasn’t already. She eats carefully beside me, seeming to dig through the mix for the select parts, before finishing the rest off in greedy mouthfuls.

“Hungry?”

Her eyes light up, catching the flicker of the flames as they start to die. “I forgot how good simple meat and veggies can taste.”

“What did you eat while you were out there?”

“Fruit, sometimes processed meats like salami and ham, and dry goods.” She groans, tipping her head back. “Lots of rice and pasta. Like, way too much.” She giggles as she pats her thigh with a free hand. “Probably the only reason I didn’t waste away; all those carbs.”

“I can’t believe they left you out there all alone for so long.” I frown as I recognize the tension in my chest: sympathy. I feel sorry for this woman, for what she went through.

“Not much choice, really. Visiting was too risky. Hooch told me that they tried jacking up some other place for me to go a few months after I went away, but something went down—he won’t say what—and they decided the risk was too high to move me when I was already hidden.”

“Yeah, that shit with Carlos was real messy.”

“Were you there for it?”

“Part of it.” I lift the tin and drink the last of the gravy. “Not the worst of it though.”

That honor was reserved for the lifers, the guys who’ve been with the club the longest, dealt with the shit the most and knew what they were headed into. I never crossed paths with the drug lord, but from what I’d heard of Carlos from the other guys, that was a good thing.

“Were you worried?” I ask her. “Did you think he’d find you?”

She nods, scraping the sides of her tin with the fork. “I swear I lost twenty pounds the first month from stress alone.” She huffs, smirking. “The guy who dropped supplies for me at the end of the road would do it different times of the day to change it up, you know? So I’d have to walk down there at least twice a day to check if anything was there. He wouldn’t come all the way down to me in case he was being followed, so I figured I wouldn’t grab it right after he’d dropped it for the same reason.” She turns, shuffling her cute little butt until she faces me. “I’d get down there and see the box shoved in the bushes, and I’d wait. Sit there for ten minutes, or some days an hour, just making sure nobody else was watching.”

“I can’t even imagine what that’s like.” Second-guessing your every move, casting suspicion every second of the day. “When did you settle?”

She shrugs, setting the tin down and reaching for the pack. “I don’t know if I did or if being on alert the whole time just became normal.” Mel pulls two bottles of water out and points toward the tree line with the one in her right hand. “Even now, I’m watching the shadows, making a mental map of where the color change in the trees is so if anything were to change I’d notice it.”

The threat changed her life. Her impromptu getaway into the wilderness for a year wasn’t a holiday; it was a soul-shaping exercise. The woman before me, no matter how much she might resemble the one she was before, will never be the same. She’s forever altered because of one selfish tyrant.

“Fuck I wish I’d been there now.”

“Where?” Mel passes my bottle over.

“In the room when Sawyer finished him off. Would have thrown a few extra in for you.”

Even in the dim light of the fire, I can make out the blush of her cheeks as she looks away. “I bet the asshole had a line of enemies who would have wanted a shot, that could have stretched from coast to coast.”

“More than likely.” I push up and shuffle over to the fire on my knees, adding a couple of longer, thick branches to keep it going.

Nobody says much about what the deal is now that Carlos is gone. I guess most of the club thought that it would be the end of an era and we could return to doing what we’re supposed to: riding bikes and enjoying our freedom. Except that’s not the reality of removing a pivotal guy like he was. Fort Worth has been battling a few monkeys keen to take Carlos’ place from what I’ve heard, and our chapter had begun the transition to a new kingpin while Carlos was still breathing.

You don’t remove the main source of Class A drugs and expect the state to sober up overnight. It takes work, dedication, and a balance of the two evils while you still control the supply at the same time as trying to reduce it.

“Why are you afraid of telling the club who your father really is?” Mel asks, scratching at the dirt with a stick.

I resume my position beside her, stretched out on my side so I can feed the branch into the fire with my foot as it burns. “Assumptions. About me. About him.”

“Who is he?” She nestles her face further into her knees, covering her mouth and peering out at me with those big, beautiful eyes.

“He heads one of the biggest pharmaceuticals in the country.”

“Wow.” Her eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t ask any more of me.

Makes me want to freely give it. “Our history is a long story, but it can be summed up as follows: Mom was the nurturing one, Dad was the tough guy. He wanted us to follow in his footsteps, she wanted us to be happy. He lived, she died, nothing left for me to stick around for.”

“I’m sorry.” Mel reaches out, tapping her hand gently on my elbow before wrapping it around her legs once more. “What happened?”

My throat tightens, the night air suddenly thick and unsatisfying. “Another night, huh? I think we’ve done enough of the hard stuff for one day, don’t you?”

“Of course.” She tosses the stick aside. “I assume you’ll want to be up at the crack of dawn in the morning, so I’m going to turn in.”

“Yeah, okay. I won’t be far behind.”

She rises, pack in hand, her legs seeming to go on for miles from my vantage point on the ground. I roll onto my back as she walks around behind me so that I can watch her the whole way to the tent. My sweatshirt rides up the back of her bare legs as she bends to unzip the door.

I’ve appreciated the women I’ve slept with over the years. Maybe haven’t treated them all that well, but shown them in my own way that they’re more than just a warm place to lose myself for a while. But when it comes down to it, that was still all I sought them out for—physical comfort.

Yet as Mel steps inside the tent, doubled over so she can fit, I realize I only ever wanted one thing from her.

Her heart.