Page 59 of Petty's Crime

“Ass,” Crash says loudly, but the turn up of his mouth shows there’s not much weight behind it.

But he’s right. Maybe I should have paid a little more attention to her state of mind, but all I’d been thinking of at the time is how fast I could get away from her.

I raise and lower my shoulders again. “Far as I see it, our job is done.” I jiggle on the spot a little as though to show my impatience. “Or will be when that fucker you picked up is dealt with. We going to have a chat with him? Or have you finished already?”

Red grins now. “We’ve left him to think on his crimes. We’ve got plenty of time to play with him. Don’t think he deserves quick, Brother.”

“Yeah, we’re in no hurry,” Crash supports Prez. “Now why don’t you go home to that pretty little wife you’ve got waiting? Appreciate you thinking club first, but you probably can’t wait to see her. We’ll leave something of Saul so you can get your turn at him.”

Red raises his brows, but doesn’t comment, though I think he suspects I’m not quite so eager to get back to her as his VP might think.

My brain works a mile a minute, thinking of excuses and rejecting them just as fast, not wanting to show my reluctance to carry out Crash’s suggestion. I’m only trying to delay because I’m scared. Scared of going back to the apartment. And I’m fucking furious at myself for having to acknowledge that—I’m a man for fuck’s sake.

And a man would give a lewd wink, adjust his pants, and show the world I’m more than ready to take advantage of the situation offered.

So I mock salute the VP, wave and call out a general, “Later,” to my brothers, and leave the clubhouse with rowdy comments of just how I might be going to celebrate the reunion with my wife.

Much as I welcome the feel of my bike under me, the journey’s far too short for it to have any impact on my mood. I turn into the parking lot behind the hairdressers, reluctant to turn the engine off. It’s only knowing that Britney will have heard my bike that overcomes my desire to turn around and keep riding.

Britney. The last twenty-four hours have been like a pleasant interlude, an oasis of calm when I could be myself, a chance to be the man I was before she came into my life. With each step up the stairs, my spirits drop and my heart becomes heavy. With every rise and fall of my feet, it becomes harder to maintain my resolve.

I don’t know who I am anymore. Am I the man I relaxed into yesterday evening, the man before Britney? Or the nervous, jumpy, vulnerable man I was during our marriage? Or the strong persona I’ve built up around me like a protective shell when she wasn’t around anymore.

Who am I now? What’s Britney going to turn me into this time?

Although away from her I’d determined enough was enough, and that she and I had no future together, as each step I get closer to her, my determination fades. She must have me brainwashed as I feel like I’m being stripped of my masculinity, hunching in on myself, mentally preparing for what lies ahead.

If my brothers saw me now…They wouldn’t understand how I, a man, can be fearful of a woman who’s not much more than half my size, or why my hands sweat at just the thought of seeing her. Why does my heart start to beat faster in dread? How can she so easily strip me back to the man she damaged so badly?

Pausing at the top step, I take a deep breath.

I’m not afraid of pain. I’m as likely as any of my brothers to run into rather than away from danger. I can face up to the barrage of abuse from any of the people who buy security from us but don’t want to pay up when the bill is presented. I’ve been bullied by sergeant-majors without turning a hair, and by all of my now brothers when I was a prospect. So why is it I tremble when faced with the ire of a woman I could break in two if it wasn’t for her sex?

What is the power she has over me, and how can I escape from under it?

I wait so long, lost in my thoughts, that the door is pulled open before I have the chance to do it myself.

“You’re back,” Britney sneers, her body blocking the doorway.

“I’m back,” I confirm unnecessarily, trying to assess the mood that she’s in. After hearing RoseLyn’s soft voice for the last day, Brit’s nasal tone sounds harsh and grates. “You going to let me in?”

Part of me wants her to say no, then I can go back to the clubhouse with a clear conscience. I’ve done my duty by coming here and won’t even have to feel guilty.

But she steps aside. As I pass, she even offers, “Would you like a coffee?”

“Thanks, but I’ll have a beer.” I go straight to the kitchenette and head for the fridge.

She leans on the countertop. “Did you have a good trip?”

I can do conversation. My brow creases as I think of the answer. It was enjoyable but I doubt that’s what she wants to hear. “So, so,” I eventually reply, seesawing my hand, “It achieved its objective.” If, that is, the objective was for me to admit I’d become resolute about getting a divorce, and that I do harbour thoughts I shouldn’t have about RoseLyn. Fuck knows what Britney would do if she could read my mind.

I raise the beer bottle to my mouth, my mind more on the conundrum I’m dealing with rather than the woman who’s facing me.

I don’t even notice her leaning in until she suddenly spits, “I’d say you had a very good time.” Her mouth is twisted, and her eyes blaze.

Stunned by her sudden change in demeanour I take a step back and put my beer down, holding up my hands defensively. My heart rate rises. “What the fuck you talking about?”

She rounds the counter and comes toward me, her accusing finger pointing my way. “You dare come home stinking of the bitch you’ve been with?”

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