Vulnerable (Barons of Sodom) (6 page)

Once Tuck had reluctantly peeled himself out of the dank
sheets, he ventured into the common area. Spivey, Yak and Bo Diddly were all
clustered around an upturned barrel, playing a silent game of Texas Hold 'Em.

“That deck's missing a Jack of Clubs, if I recall,” Tuck
yawned. He stretched his arms wide, and lumbered toward the curtains. He smiled
a little as the heat hit his face, recalling his dream. Somewhere below him, at
this very second, Baby was moving around. He got slightly stiff all over again
just thinking of her.

“Sucks for you, Bo!” crowed Yak. He bent over the barrel and
began sweeping a pot of spare change toward his bucket seat.

“What you fools playing for, anyway? We're all so bored it's
come to quarters?”

“Dumb piece of shit,” Spivey drawled. He gripped a toothpick
between his front teeth. “We've got stakes, alright.”

“Playing for little Miss Hot Pants,” Bo said as he failed to
pull off a convincing poker face.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tuck asked, unable
to keep the anger from his voice.

“Means whoever wins the next hand gets to tear up little
miss virgin. First come, first serve.”

Tucker swallowed slowly.

“I don't know what the fuck you heard,” Spivey continued,
cool as a cucumber, “but God didn't assign nobody to her. Think that means we
all get a slice.”

“What's the big deal, Spy? Plenty of other
willing
women on this godforsaken compound,” Tuck tried.

“And none of ‘em with hair like an Indian and tits worth two
handfuls.”

The men crowed at this. Their leather pants squeaked in
chorus as they rustled in their chairs.

Tuck approached slowly. Then, in one fell swoop, he nudged
his foot below the barrel and jerked upward. The makeshift table toppled onto
its side, causing the cards, the tiny pot and the men’s effects to go flying
across the floor.

“The FUCK!”

“Tucker, you done lost your mind?”

Bo Diddly didn't say anything, but kept his confused face
on. He wasn't known about the club for being much of a brainiac, that was for
sure.

“If I hear so much as a rumor that any of you shitheels have
sweated the girl,” Tuck murmured, bending low, “it won't just be my foot.
You'll talk to the business end of my
sawed-off.
As I'm your Lieutenant
at arms, and as I fucking live and breathe.”

Before he could gauge his comrades' response, Tuck launched
down the rickety stairs. He hadn't felt this riled up in...well, who knew how
long. Tuck didn't get riled up. The perpetual cool-headedness was what made him
such a great gun for hire.

He lit his first smoke of the day, and began a tromp toward
the garage. If anyone could temper his fury, it'd be his favorite mechanic. He
wheeled towards the gaping wall, shouting across the short distance: “ATHENA
FUCKING SARK, YOU WON'T BELIEVE THIS.”

When he reached the garage, he took in the surprising sight
of his best friend, her face covered by worker's goggles, bending low over a
dismantled bike engine. She was pointing to various cables and connective
tissues, talking aloud for the benefit of someone he couldn’t see. As his eyes
adjusted, Tuck realized his friend's young pupil was Baby, who looked freshly
scoured, fed, and well rested. Her eyes sparkled, but this time with something
other than fear—intelligence. She was listening reverently to Athena's
wandering monologue, which Tuck could now overhear pieces of: “The rocker arm
sits on top of the cylinder head. Puts the tiniest bit of pressure on it in
release, and that drives it toward the block. Now this is only a Honda, but you
get the idea.” Baby just nodded her head.

“As my assistant, you're just going to be in charge of
cleaning out some of these blocky pieces before I can get to work on them. For
now, that is. Can't fix shit if I can't see the problem. Are you paying
attention, B?” The young girl nodded again, with two sharp little strokes of
her chin. She'd piled her raven hair high on her head into a sloppy bun.

“You don't say much, do you?” Athena ventured, leaning back
against the wall.

“Not much to say.”

“I won't press you. Whatever's happened to you before now
isn't quite my business, is it?”

Tuck took another step into the shadowy garage, preparing to
make his presence known.

“It looks like Sisyphus,” Baby said then. Her voice was
plaintive and thoughtful, utterly bereft of tragedy.

“Say what now?”

“It's this piece? By the rocker arm pin and the block? It
looks like Sisyphus, pushing the rock up the hill. He always has to do it, even
though it always falls back down just the same way.”

“Huh. Guess I don't know that one.”

“But your name's Athena!”

“So?”

“It's all from Greek mythology!” And then, unexpectedly,
Baby laughed. Her laughter was joyful and loud; it came from a deep, untapped
well in her body. It occurred to Tuck then that this was a girl after his own
heart: a lonely, strange, curious person who saw patterns in the fabric of the
world that were hidden from other people.

Athena didn't seem so amused—which was no real surprise,
given how much she hated to be confronted with things she didn't know. She
directed her attention back to the engine, attempting to get the lecture back
on track. “Right. Well, of course. Anyways. Your gloves and grease will be in
this drawer, and you always use protective goggles. Hear that? Always, always,
always.”

“Listen to the lady. She knows what she's talking about,”
Tuck heard himself say. He found himself blushing as he sauntered into the
garage, and felt uncharacteristically sheepish of his bare, muscular chest. Suddenly
he wished he'd worn a shirt outside. But then again, fuck that noise. He was
Tucker LaRouche! He'd killed men with his bare hands. Some precocious teenager
with a great rack wasn't going to knock him down to earth.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Athena said, though her
voice betrayed welcome. Tucker tamped down his shyness and stared at Baby,
meeting her gaze with clear eyes. He drank in the contours of her face—somewhat
elfin, but strong. He felt her watching him as well. Her eyes went deep; they
seemed to scour his mind. She wasn't afraid of him, that was for damn sure.

“I remember you,” Baby said. “You're—”

“The
lieutenant,
” Athena pronounced sarcastically.
“He's our
nation under God
. Oh, but don't go trying any funny ideas,
mister. I have permission from the man himself that she's my ward. She's under
my watch, only.”

Tuck felt a wave of relief at these words. Yak and Bo and
Spivey wouldn't step to Athena if she brandished their leader's approval. Her
oversight was a mark of trust. Out of habit, the biker kicked a bucket upright
with the flat of his boot and took a seat. It was funny: the garage smelled and
seemed the same, but then here was this lovely creature, furrowing her brow at
a dismantled engine. This felt—Tuck struggled for a word that fell out of reach—
surreal.

“So what's the story, Morning Glory?” he ventured. “You want
to tell us how you came to be entangled in the Barons of Sodom MC? Pretty young
thing like you?”

“Baby, he's all talk. You don't have to pay any mind to this
piece of shit.”

“Oh, I won't,” the girl said. Her voice seemed to be getting
louder—more confident—all the time. “And between us three, it's really Bridie.
My name, I mean.”

“Bridie? Like,
Bride
?”

“Yes, captain. They got it wrong in the intros.” She
grinned.

“It's lieutenant.”

“I know.”

Whether it was intentional or not, Bridie pivoted her hips
on the motor block. She bent low from this vantage towards the waiting toolbox,
supplying Tuck with a full, lovely view of her ass. His heart skipped a beat.
He leaned forward, almost involuntarily.

“Where did you come from?”

“My mama, just like you.”

“Oh, so she's a little smart aleck.” Tuck stood again, all
but launching off the makeshift seat. He moved a few paces in Bridie's
direction, waiting for the inevitable moment when she'd recoil. He loped
towards her slowly, stopping only once he was hovering over her supple, smooth
body. Close enough to see the pores on her skin. The tiny, fine hairs raised on
her arms and legs.

The thing was, Tuck was used to his women behaving a certain
way. On one end of the spectrum lay the sisterly Athena, with whom he could
spar and joke easily, just as he could with the other bikers—and way away on
the opposite end were the concubines. The Lolas, the Izzys, the Chantals. These
women had dutifully feigned the sweet, virtuous Madonna act—at all of those
truck stops, in all of those bars, at all of those rowdy parties—but had also,
dutifully, spread their legs wide for him when the time came. They'd thrown
back their lovely heads of hair and moaned, ached for his kisses and the
rhythmic thrusts of his cock, and as a matter of course he'd left all these
women wanting more in rented rooms. Some of the other bikers spoke of old
ladies who'd “gotten away,” but Tuck had never known what it meant to crave a
particular woman, any more than as good fuck. For all the lieutenant's relative
morality in the group, the combination of his fearlessness and dashing good
looks had made him little more than a manwhore.

Yet, this girl was different. He stood close enough to her
now that he could smell her hair and skin—both fresh, he presumed from a recent
washing by the outside well. It would have been easy to place a rough hand
around her chin, snake eager fingers down her thin neck and into the hot plunge
of her cleavage. It would have been easy to cup Bridie's breast and press hard
into the flesh there, to make her tilt her raven head back and moan...well, he
told himself it would have been easy. Only now his conquest swiveled her head
up, meeting his gaze full on.

“Excuse me. You're blocking the box,” she said. There was
the faintest trace of annoyance in her tone.

“Little girl, do you know where you've landed?” Tuck heard
himself say. In his head, it was a joke—but the line arrived in space like a
threat.

In response, Bridie drew a breath. She set her lovely chin.
Then suddenly, improbably, Tuck doubled over—something had thwacked him hard in
the shin.

“I'm sorry,” Bridie chirped, in the least sorry voice he'd
ever heard. “Just my wrench, there. See I told you:
you're standing in the
way of the box
.”

Before Tuck could elect to let his fury or his shame produce
a response, he turned on his heels and left the shop. His leg flared with every
step. “Fucking bitch,” he murmured to the flat air, through gritted teeth.
Athena and whatever her name was just laughed and laughed at his retreat.

BRIDIE:
Hahaha—(
pronounced, long bout of laughter
).
Yep, that was the smooth operator's first attempt: “Little girl.
Do you know
where you are
?” Dumbshit said it all deep and sexy, like Batman
might've.
I remember thinking after that first encounter: okay, I can handle these slobs.
If this is the worst of ‘em, they've still got nothing on Aunt Caroline's
suitor-army of monsters. And I figured then and there that the Lieutenant
wasn't hard on the eyes, shall we say. It was actually kind of an awakening
moment—even Mr. Reginald, the most handsome man I thought I'd ever seen up
close, he was really attractive in a
Dad
way. I think I fell for him
because of how grown-up he seemed to be. But Tuck? Oh, I fell for Tuck because
he was even more lost and afraid than I was, and I didn't think it was possible
for a man to be that way. I shouldn't say that—he wasn't afraid. He was tough
as anything. But he did have this aspect of a little boy about him. From the
way he'd play with the long coils of his hair to the way he'd puff out his big
chest, like a peacock. I could just see right through the doofus, you know?

And I already felt better, having something to do. Praise
God for Athena Sark, wherever she is now. It was funny; fixing cars and bikes
came pretty easy to me, the way that certain games or activities come easy to
other people. I looked at an engine and thought I could understand it pretty
quick, which was this incredible feeling after those two nights in the clink—here
I was, able to understand something. I could do something useful with my hands!
Something other than chop up shitty meth or make shitty projects for my deadbeat
aunt! It's the little things you've got to celebrate.

DET. RAMIREZ:
But what about Tuck? Did you like him
already, that first day you met him?

BRIDIE:
Well, sure, I liked him. What do you mean,
detective? You investigating LaRouche or something?

DET. RAMIREZ:
Not at all, just curious. You would say
though, that you were attracted to Tucker LaRouche? From the get-go?

BRIDIE:
Well, a man walks into a movie starring Julia
Roberts, what's he supposed to say? Tuck was—is—a perfect man. He had the muscles
of a marble statue, the golden skin and thick hair of everybody's Adonis. So
yes, some shall-we-say thoughts of love crossed my mind. I knew I shouldn't
have been thinking about sex or boys or anything frivolous in the middle of my
very-precarious situation with the MC, but yes, Detective. I have a heart that
pumps blood. I wanted him bad.

Does that answer your question?

(
Laughter
)