Page 27 of Watcher

Kat points at the name on Emily’s cut. “Reaper.” She looks down at her name. “Scratch.”

“We’re a motorcycle gang now?” Emily asks. Her smile says she's okay with the idea. Kat doesn’t look so sure.

“It’s a club,” I correct.

“I was thinking of going back to school,” Kat says. “I don’t know. I don’t have time to ride a bike.” She eyes the leather cut again.

“If you are going back to school,” I say, “that means you are leaving the team?”

Kat nods but continues looking at the leather cut. She runs a finger across her patches. “I feel like I’m missing something in life,” she says. “Something important.”

“You’re part of something important, Scratch,” Diablo says.

“Scratch?”

“We need to change roles,” Diablo says. She stands and grabs Scratch’s cut. “I think she needs to be VP, Jessica. I’m more suited for Sgt at Arms. I want to help the club learn the rules. I think I’m best for managing firearms and whatever else we get into on the weapons side of things.” Diablo lays her gun on the table, and the others eyeball the weapon. I can tell Emily wants to pick it up.

“Weapons?” Emily says. “We’re going to carry guns? I’m fucking in!”

“Think about it during practice, Scratch.” I start to erase the whiteboard, but Scratch stops me.

“Who are these men?”

I’d not told anyone but Diablo what happened that night. “Everyone have a seat for a few minutes.” I go back to my desk and sit before explaining what happened before Watcher saved my ass. I don’t stop there. “There’s something else you need to know about me. Something you won’t like.”

Diablo shakes her head. She’s all in on the club idea and what it will mean to be a Sister. “Whatever she says, stays here.” Diablo waits for Kat and Emily to agree and they do with a nod. “Go ahead.”

“A few years ago, I was out alone late one night. I stopped to get gas, and this nice-looking young guy was getting gas. He started talking to me at the pumps. Told me he was going to a party and asked if I was interested.” Talking about it doesn’t bother me, but I’ve never felt in a good position to do so. If these were truly my sisters in crime, they would understand.

“What happened?” Scratch says.

“I followed him to an abandoned house. There was nobody there. He said the party was in the basement, and people parked around the neighborhood and snuck in. I believed him. He said it was to not draw any suspicions.” I got up and walked around the room, arms crossed, holding myself.

“You don’t have to continue,” Emily says.

“I want to. I need someone to know.” I stop pacing and lean against the whiteboard. “He had a flashlight. I followed him into the house and down to the basement. There were a few dim lights and a mattress. I knew then I was fucked. Shit, I was young and just wanted to have some fun.”

“He raped you?” Diablo asked and stood. I held out my hands for her to stop. I needed to embrace what happened. I wasn’t looking for sympathy.

“He tried and almost succeeded. When I said no, he pulled a gun. He told me we could do it the hard way or the easy way. The same words one of the men used before Watcher saved me.” I shook my head and laughed. “What was I going to say? I got on the mattress and began removing my clothes. I was almost naked when he crawled onto the mattress with me.”

A knock at the door stops the story, and Emily takes care of whoever is knocking. “Finish,” she says.

“He was so fucking excited that he laid the gun on the mattress. He had his shoes and pants off, and as soon as he lifted his shirt over his head, I grabbed the gun and pulled the trigger.”

“Fuck,” Diablo says.

“You killed him?” Emily’s eyes were as big as ping-pong balls.

Kat sat silent, but something in her eyes had changed.

“A bullet right to the heart, except I didn’t stop shooting. I emptied the gun into his chest, covering me and the mattress in blood.” I look at my nails and decide I need a manicure. “Something changed in me that night. A rage formed inside me.”

“That explains your play on the rink,” Scratch says.

I nod. “It’s my outlet. Fighting at Stanford was an outlet.” I adjust my cut. “Now, this is my outlet.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Scratch says. She looks at each of us. “The same sort of thing happened to me.” Her face grows hard, and we all wait to hear her story. “A few years ago, I was at a bar, and this older couple approached me. They’d obviously had too much to drink. I’d just gotten out of a shitty relationship, and I guess that was written all over my face.”

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