Waking to a hot breakfast and Emery ready to leave, I noticed she’d dressed in Kym’s hooker garb instead of the mistress’ clothes. I couldn’t blame her, so I gave her the diamond hoops I’d stolen off Kym’s corpse to complete the look. A gift from Amun, they were probably worth a fortune and since stealing from the dead was bad luck, they looked much better on Emery than they felt in my pockets. After all, she’d made me a wonderful breakfast. If Emery hadn’t stolen my heart last night, I was a goner now. With my belly full, I gave her a sweet kiss, enjoying the brief bliss of normalcy, knowing it couldn’t last.
No longer Johnny Steven’s, I disappeared to the bathroom to become Scar again. I passed on my holey jeans, in favor of my black leather pants and pulled on my oldest t-shirt, gray, thin and comfortable. Remembering how much Emery enjoyed my stubble, I forgot shaving. I wondered if she would like the real me as I practically re-pierced my body putting in all my rings, my earrings, my lip ring and others, all over. I stuck my tongue out upset. I knew it’d grown up again. Wetting my hands, I slicked my hair back, out of my eyes and tied a black bandanna on. Lastly, I donned my cut over my leather jacket.
Emery face lit up, surprised for a moment, but she didn’t utter a word when I emerged from the bathroom.
“You ready to go, got everything?”
“Got me, that’s everything.”
I nodded since I’d forbidden her from taking the wedding rings, or anything that would connect her to this life.
We drove to the bone yard first. Big Mike was good enough to have given me a key. My ride was right where I’d left it, under a tarp. Big Mike would strip Johnny’s truck for parts, disposing of the evidence.
Emery was surprised when I took off the tarp. “That’s a nice motorcycle.”
“Well, with as much traveling as I do.” I started to explain my need for hard saddlebags and an audio system but shut my mouth. We hadn’t talked about last night, and I was running out of time. I sat on my bike and tugged her to me.
She climbed on me, eagerly straddling my lap, resting her elbows on my shoulders.
“This is me, the motorcycle, the tats and piercings, the killing.”
“I know,” Emery interrupted, kissing me, biting and sucking my lip ring into her mouth.
My heart swelled as she accepted the real me. I stuck my tongue down her throat as my pants tightened beneath her warm naked center. Yes, Emery wouldn’t wear the mistress’s underwear either. I wanted to take advantage of the easy access, but we didn’t have time. My hands clutched her thighs as I thrust upward, rubbing against her, but I broke our kiss. “I’ve got to go. We’ve gotta go. Pick up something. From someone.” I wasn’t being too clear, intoxicated by her. Plus, I wasn’t used to explaining myself to anyone. I wasn’t even sure how much I should tell her. Emery knew too much already.
“Okay,” she surmised slowly, “Your payment for killing Amun, I guess?”
“Yeah,” I paused. “But then I’m heading somewhere else.”
Emery’s mood darkened. “What about our deal?”
“What about it?” I challenged. I wanted her to say she’d been a fool. She didn’t want to die. But then, would she want her money back? I couldn’t let her walk away, no matter what I felt.
“Last night,” she started, but I stopped her, placing a finger to her lips.
“Tomorrow, we’ll talk about this. Right now, we’re off to visit an old friend of mine.”
“And what about me?”
We were going to be late and things could get dangerous. “You hold on tight and do as you’re told.” I started my engine, not giving her time to ask any more questions. Disappointed, she climbed on the back. I’d apologize later, if there were a later.
A Friend of the Devil
Emery clung to my back, making me anonymous as I rode into The Banshee’s backyard. Two hundred shiny Harleys lined the dealership sponsoring the charity ride. Hell on Heelz were known for their female centric good deeds. Riders paid fifty dollars a head to ride in honor of Legs, Shirley’s mom who’d been diagnosed with breast cancer last year. At age sixty-six, a fully patched member, she rode too. Legs, a big woman with her gray hair in a long braid, never showed off her legs anymore but I’d seen the legendary photos. She spotted me, waving her arms in the air as we pulled into the lot. I gave her a wink and blew her a kiss as we passed by. Legs could be an officer now for all I knew. Other than The Banshee, which was Shirley’s road name, known president of the mother chapter of Hell on Heelz, no one knew who was in the ranks. Unlike men, these women felt no need to parade around their statuses and conversely, they demanded all members be treated just as well as The Banshee herself.