Page 70 of Savage

Flick. Flick. Flick.

Crazy is killing me with that fucking shit. One day I’m gonna ram a Zippo up his arse and with any fucking luck, he’ll light up like a firecracker and piss the fuck off.

“Oh, the girl I kidnapped up and left me,” he says. “Wah, wah, wah. Tell him he’s a whinging fuckin’ little bitch, Raine.”

She shoots him a reproving glare. I lean over and punch him in the side of the head.

“Ow.” Crazy stands and shakes away the pain, his jacked-up hair falling in his face and swallowing up the red cheek I just gave him.Maybe this Christmas didn’t suck after all. “That hurt, you dumb fuck.” He stares at me as if he’s waiting for a goddamned apology, and then he flicks that fucking lighter again three times. Exactly the same amount of times I’m going to punch him in the head if he doesn’t quit that shit. With a recalcitrant look on his stupid-arsed face, he presses his thumb to the wheel.

I glare at him. “Do it again, and this time, it goes up your arse.”

He scowls and stalks off towards the door, pulling it back like the pissy little bitch he is. Jesus, he’s worse than a girl. Raine and I both follow his spack attack and then she shakes her head and turns to me.

“You could be nicer to him. I don’t think Crazy is firing on all cylinders.”

“I don’t think heownsall cylinders, babe.” I down the rest of my beer and stand up, towering over the top of her. “You gonna be alright out here on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“You know Prez is working in his office. I’m sure he’d appreciate a little wench in his stocking …” I grin. “Orinstockings.”

She slaps me on the chest, and I must be getting kind of soft, because it fucking hurts. “Never gonna happen, Kick. At least not while that ring is on his finger.”

“So it might happen if we off the wife? I’ll get the shovel.”

Raine gives me a sad smile. “You’re a good man, Daniel.”

“No, I’m really fucking not, but I appreciate you tryin’, babe.” I toy with the ring on my left hand. Indie’s tooth winks up at me from the hammered white gold casing. I had it made just after she left. Held a jeweller at gunpoint until he finished, because I didn’t want to let the fucking thing out of my sight.

“She’ll come around, you know,” she says with certainty, reaching up to kiss my cheek. She slaps it gently and then leans over to pick up our dirty glasses. Her dress rides up, exposing the backs of her thighs, and still I got nothing. Can’t even muster a fucking semi.

“No, she won’t. And I don’t blame her.” I shake my head. I can’t stand anymore of this sentimental bullshit. I head over to the bar and snag up the entire bottle of JD.

“Merry Christmas, Kick,” Raine says, as I head for the hall.

I lift the bottle in the air and salute her with it. “Merry fuckin’ Christmas, darlin’.”

Once inside my room, I shut the door and go in search of a glass. The place is a fucking mess. There’s shit from one side of it to the other: empty takeaway containers, wet towels, clothes that need washing, and dishes covering every damn surface of the kitchen and coffee tables. Fuck me. I’m gonna need a damn Hazmat team to clean this shit up. I can’t find a clean glass, and I can’t remember buying any washing-up detergent for months. It’s probably a good sign that I should throw all my shit in the bin and start again.

I stand by the couch for a beat and think about turning on the TV, but what’s the fucking point? It’d just be the same shit that’s on out in the club lounge. I carry my bottle to the bed and plan on getting well and truly shitfaced. I wanna drink until I forget. I wanna grab indie by the fucking hair and drag her back to my bed. I wanna shove inside her like I did that night at Prez’s house. I close my eyes, remembering exactly the way she tasted, the way she felt in my hands.

I don’t know how much later it is, but I’m woken by a quiet tapping on my door. I jump up thinking it must be Raine because no other fucker in this clubhouse ever knocked so timidly on my door in the middle of the night. I answer it, shirt off, jeans unbuttoned, hair a fucking mess probably, and sleep crusting the corners of my eyes.

Indie stands in my doorway. It’s a sight I never thought I’d see again, but I can’t get my hopes up that she’s here for me. She probably just needs help killing some other motherfucker that did wrong by her.

She pushes past me into the room and glances around. “Jesus, you’re a slob. You know there’s this new thing that all the cool kids are doing nowadays. It’s called cleaning.”

“Woman, don’t fuckin’ come in here tellin’ me what shit is what. You got no business getting all up in my face about the way I keep house,” I say, scrubbing my hand over my beard. I’ve let it get too long again, and I probably look like a fucking hobo. I don’t think that’s why she’s giving me that timid look she’s got plastered all over that sweet face. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Kick.”

“You need me to kill someone else for you? Is that it? You got some other bad guy stashed away needing a bullet to his brain that you can’t deliver?”

“I couldn’t stay with you, Daniel.”

“Get the fuck out. I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“Let me finish.” She gives me those fucking doe eyes that I can’t say no to, and like a douche canoe I just stand there, staring at her goddamned face which has all healed now, save for a tiny scar over her eyebrow. I like it, though; it makes her look bad-arse. “I couldn’t stay because it wouldn’t be fair. I wasn’t whole; I wasn’t who I was supposed to be. They took the life from me, biker. You put it back, but it was all off, you know? I wasn’t me, and I wasn’t strong enough on my own.”

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