Page 10

Willa

E ven though we brought two extra people with us, who rolled in on thunderous bikes and look like they’ve been cast up from the bowels of biker hell, Agatha had tea ready.

I don’t know Odin or Battle Axe very well. They’re both older, burly bikers, probably in their late forties or early fifties. Battle Axe looks like a Viking, with tattoos on his face and visible through his buzzed hair, and a beard that flowed out in both directions like twin streamers while he was riding his bike here. Odin is missing an eye and sports a black patch, a scraggly beard, and a salt and pepper mullet that I believe is an intentional choice of haircut.

I might not know much about either man, but I know they look laughably ridiculous sitting at Agatha’s table with the lace covered top, plates of homemade cookies and biscuits, sipping tea out of dainty cups sprigged with flowers.

Atlas is doing his best to explain the situation, and Agatha has gone from shock, to disbelief, and now she’s digging in. “I’m not going to be chased off my own property,” she vows, getting shakily to her feet. “I’ve always said that the only way I’ll leave this place is in a body bag, and they’re only allowed to take me away to burn me up. My ashes will be spread here, on my own land. Let the wind take me where it will at that point.”

“It’s only for a few days.” I set down the half-eaten jam jam cookie. “Atlas’ parents will be at the clubhouse, and his sister too. You could stay with me. I’m going to have my own room there.”

“You hope it’s only for a few days, but even so, that’s a few days too many.” She puts up a gnarled hand in the air, “Hold on. Wait here.”

She totters off down the hall.

Odin sips his tea loudly, then leans over to Battle Axe. “If she doesn’t come willingly, we’re going to have to chloroform her.”

“Oh my god!” I hiss. “We’re not kidnapping her! Just let me talk to her when she comes back. I’ll convince her. Can’t you see she’s just scared?”

Battle Axe’s frightening face splits into a grin that makes him look even more terrifying. “We’re just joking. Why would we need to drug her when we can just pick her up and stuff her in the truck?”

I cross my arms. “If she’s not going to come willingly, she’s not coming at all.”

“We have Tyrant’s orders.”

“Did he order you to give an old lady a heart attack?” I snap back.

“Do you think she’s climbing out a window right now?” Atlas’ eyes flick nervously to the hallway. “She’s been gone a while.”

“I can go check,” Battle Axe volunteers.

“No. Just… wait. She said she’d be right back. I believe her.”

Odin lowers his voice. “Have we considered that the money actually is hers? She could have criminal connections. She could be running the whole show.”

“Did you see her face when we told her about everything?” Atlas asks under his breath. “She wasn’t faking it. She had no idea.”

“She looked right murderous,” Odin says. He taps his good eye, indicating that nothing escapes him. His senses are heightened with just one eye. “I bet she was a spitfire back in the day.”

We all freeze as Agatha’s shuffling steps scrape down the hall. She teeters into view, a tiny little old lady with a sawed off shotgun and a tactical vest with very real looking grenades strapped to the front.

She pumps the shotgun, holding it up towards the ceiling. Her hair has come loose from her bun, the whips framing her face like a mad scientist. Her eyes glow with absolute unhinged glee.

“Let those bastards come! They can have a taste of this!”

Battle Axe and Odin get up so fast that the table shoots into the wall. The teacups turn over, spilling tea all over the bright white lace tablecloth. Cookies go flying onto the floor. Atlas grasps my hand and shoves me behind his back again.

“What the fuck?” Battle Axe wheezes. “Where did you get grenades from”

“My husband was in ‘Nam. He had a few hookups.”

“Oh my god, they’re old ones too,” Odin sighs. He edges closer, hands out where Agatha can see them. “Let’s get you out of that vest. Those things aren’t safe when they’re that old.”

“You don’t want the house to explode,” Battle Axe coaxes. “ I don’t want the house to explode. Let us help you.”

“Agatha,” I plead with her, stepping out from behind Atlas, though he tries to tuck me back in. “We don’t know how many of them there are. They could come in here and overpower you. Take your gun and your… um… grenades.” And whatever else she has stored in this place. My fucking god . What else does she have stashed away? A rocket launcher? Assault rifles? Landmines? “If they get to you and drag you off, you’re going to be forced out of here against your will. If you come with us, we’ll have eyes on the place. We have cameras that we brought with us to hook up so you can see the feed whenever you like. We really hope this will be over within a few days, but we don’t know and that’s the truth. This could be one person acting alone, or it could be a web of people. Either way, it’s dangerous.”

“You don’t happen to have a spare flamethrower lying around, do you?” Battle Axe asks hopefully. “I’ve always wanted to try one of those.”

“I want to learn how to shoot,” I add, hoping to appeal to Agatha’s need to defend her property. “You could show me while we’re at the clubhouse. Or- or somewhere on the outskirts of the city.”

Agatha shakes her head, waving the gun around. We all duck as one. I throw my hands over my face, my clothes soaked in sweat as those grenades bounce against her chest. “No can do. I’m not leaving here. If you want to keep me safe, you’ll have to bring the fight here. They can come and meet up here for the cash.”

I spread my fingers to peek at Atlas’ face through them. He doesn’t like this at all. Neither do Battle Axe or Odin. The three of them exchange loaded looks.

“We’re going to have to call this in,” Battle Axe sighs. “But maybe we can make that work.”

“Let me help you out of that vest,” Odin pleads, edging closer to Agatha. “You don’t have to leave, but for the love of Pete, don’t blow us all up.”

“These are perfectly safe,” Agatha scoffs. “You’d have to pull the pin for it to—”

“Okay!” Odin surges forward, grasps the shoulders of the huge vest, undoes a few buckles, and pops it clean over Agatha’s head. “No need for demonstrations. Let’s save the arsenal for when those assholes come back.”

“I don’t think we should give them their cash. They can go straight to hell,” Agatha bites out, but she allows Battle Axe to help Odin by taking the shotgun from her. He breaks it and slips the bullets into his hand.

At last, I can breathe again, but barely. Atlas’ breath pounds out of him and he sags like he just finished a marathon.

“I don’t have any flamethrowers, but I do have a bow and arrows, and a medieval mace, though that might be just for décor. I haven’t decided yet. I suppose in a pinch, it could work. Oh, and a set of throwing knives!”

“Hold that thought,” Battle Axe commands, while Odin sets the vest and the gun down, exceptionally gently, on a chair in the living room.

Every piece of furniture has frills and flowers, lace and embroidery. I can’t believe that this old lady house is also practically an arsenal .

While Battle Axe gets on the phone, Odin sneaks up behind Agatha. Before I can do anything to stop it, he has a length of black fabric that looks like an extra-long scarf, wrapped around her. He secures her arms at her sides, then picks her up. She thrashes wildly, bucking and wriggling against him, but she’s maybe ninety pounds and he’s a beast of a man.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, and at least he sounds sincere. “But we can’t risk a shootout. Even if we’re well defended, someone could get hurt or killed this way, and we’re not having that. If you won’t take a vacation, you’re going to have a forced one. Don’t make me drug you, because I swear that I will, even if it’s like disrespecting my own granny, god rest her soul.”

“You devil brute!” Agatha shrieks. “I’ll put a spell on your cock so that it shrivels and falls off!”

“Sweetheart, you don’t scare me,” he rejoins with a grin. “My granny was from New Orleans. Now, she really into voodoo and black magic. Kept us all line, she did. But, if you feel the need to utter some curses, you go right ahead. I can take all the abuse you have to hand out.”

“Ugh, I’m not sure I can,” I mutter, following them out of the house.

Atlas sets his hand on the small of my back, his palm hard and comforting, slowing my rapidly pounding heart just a little. He doesn’t let his hand fall away until we’re outside, but even then, he’s not hiding. He rubs it in a slow circle before slipping it up to my shoulders and guiding me to the truck.

Battle Axe takes longer to come out, probably because he’s checking and stashing those weapons.

“I’m so sorry about all this,” I whisper to Agatha as I slide into the driver’s seat of my truck. I start it and crank the A/C so we don’t suffocate in the stifling heat. She’s in the back, still trussed, and seat-belted in. Even so, I click the locks down and slip the child safety on so she can’t unlock them and turf herself out while I’m driving. “After this is over, we’ll bring you back and we’ll send people out to clean everything up, and I promise that if anything was broken—even a teacup—I’ll pay you or find you the exact match as a replacement.”

She stares daggers at me, but she doesn’t insult me. All she does is huff.

She can probably see that a single harsh word would cause me to break out in tears. My eyes are already dangerously watery.

“I didn’t know they were going to tie you up, I swear.”

“Well… it’s not like I gave them much choice, did I?”

All I can see right now is Lynette trussed up and tied to a concrete pillar in some warehouse in Seattle almost a year ago. All of us were so helpless, trapped over an hour away. That must be how Agatha feels. Terribly. Helpless.

“I’m going to come back there and take those stupid ties off!”

Her snort is more dismissive than angry. “Might as well just leave them on or I guarantee I’ll be hurtling out of this truck and god knows what will go down after that.” She laughs. Ominously.

I groan and sink down in the driver’s seat.

The tailgate bangs down, scaring the ever living fuck out of me as they start to unload the trunk. Odin take the trunk out to the barn, Atlas trailing after him. They emerge a few minutes later, and Battle Axe closes up the house tight, testing the door. He’s found Agatha’s keys, at least. Maybe that will help her feel better.

The men spend twenty minutes putting up hidden cameras in the barn, on the barn’s exterior, and on the exterior of the house, before they get on their bikes, kick them to life, and roll out in a thunderous cloud.

I give them enough of a head start so we won’t eat their road dust.

I wait a few minutes before I can think of what to say. What on earth is there that could possibly sound right to someone who’s been hogtied and wrangled away from her own home? “I don’t know why this is happening. It’s unthinkable and unbelievable. It’s like a bad nightmare.”

“I always wanted a chance to use one of those grenades,” Agatha mutters sorrowfully, like she’s mourning the missed opportunity more than anything else.

“I’m sure that if you really want to practice with one, the club could set something up for you out in your field that doesn’t involve getting life in prison or blowing that lovely cedar barn sky high. I’m still not done picking in there!”

“They’re just lucky I didn’t go straight for the throwing knives. I doubt that big beggar could have tied such good knots with both his eyes gone.”

We’re only a few minutes down the road and I’m already wishing that they’d done a more thorough job of searching Agatha for weapons before tumbling strapping her into the truck. I’m starting to think that she could have taken on a whole army by herself if she wanted to.

There’s a good portion of this that’s probably just angry bluster. The guys were right. We can’t chance anyone being there and winding up in the line of fire. No matter how tough they might be, they’re still ultimately flesh and bone and that’s no match for a bullet.

“You’ll be at this prison you’re taking me to?” Agatha asks stonily ten minutes later, but her words sound s watery at the end as my apology did. She’s losing some of her vinegar.

“Yes. Me and a whole bunch of other people. It might not be a luxury spa retreat, but the clubhouse isn’t bad, there’s a full kitchen and it’s in a nice location. It’s not a great situation, but we could make it fun if we tried.”

“Well…” She sniffs, turns her face to the window, and sighs. “As long as I get a ride on one of those bikes, I suppose it won’t be all that bad.”

I have no doubt that she’s serious. Agatha looks like a harmless sweet old peach of a lady, but underneath that exterior is a warrior with a rebel soul.

“Is that hottie your man? Not the old grizzly vultures. The hunk who overheated last time. Couldn’t handle his own sizzle?” She snickers to herself.

“He- I- it’s complicated.” I stutter. “He’s the best male friend that I’ve ever had. But, yeah… it’s complicated.”

“They seem like they’re the kind of men who don’t know a boring day, at least. There’s something to be said for a good burst of violence every now and then, some action, some danger, some adventuring into the darkness and walking on the wild side.”

Considering Agatha walked out of a room wearing grenades , I now see that her life wasn’t always that sleepy little farmyard. I don’t know what her past was, but I doubt she’s the kind of woman who was born in and will die in, and never leave, the same ten square miles.

“My husband, well. Goodness. I believed in love, but I didn’t know the meaning of the world until we were in it. It snuck up on us, and suddenly, it was there . Two people living one life. Two souls twisted and entwined together.”

There’s such passion in her voice, and such sadness too. She must miss him. Terribly. I know what it’s like to lose someone, to have a hole inside of you that scars over eventually, but the wound acts up, bothering you some days, the grief seemingly insurmountable just when you thought you’d tucked it safely away.

My hands tighten on the wheel.

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“Not in so many words.” I’m a thousand degrees, even with the air blowing right on me, and I have it cold enough to make ice cubes.

“Ahh. Sometimes there aren’t words. Just don’t wait too long to tell him. Death is a thief. It steals from us. I know you’re both young, but don’t take it for granted.”

“I’ve taken a lot of things in my life exactly that way.” The cloud of dust ahead of us reaches the end of the gravel road. It obscures the paved road, but I imagine that the three bikes are starting to turn off onto it. “My sister raised me. I was unkind to her so many times. Difficult. A brat more often than not. I purposely disobeyed her, disappointed her more times than I can count. She still loved me.”

“What happened?”

I think we’re at the point of knowing each other where the sharing of intimate, painful secrets is allowed. A trunk full of ill-gotten money, grenades, and a kidnapping kind of speed up the personalization process.

“I lost my mom young, and I know how fast life changes. You’re right. Death is a thief. It steals people. Opportunity. Lifetimes. Paths that you then can’t choose because they’re closed off.”

“I’m sorry.” For the first time, her voice softens completely. “What about your other family?”

“My mom’s relationship with her parents was… I don’t even really know. It must have been terrible. She left when she was young. She ran away with Lynette’s father. He stuck around for all of two seconds when he found out she was pregnant. She raised Lynette alone, and then ten years later, I arrived. I don’t really remember my dad, but he was pretty much what people would call a shithead. Lynette remembers. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but I think he was mean sometimes, especially when he drank. Our mom worked three jobs and so it was Lynette who was always at home with me, even when our mom was alive. After she- after she died, no one bothered to reach out to us. I don’t think either of us will ever forgive whatever family is out there for that. Lynette had just turned eighteen. She was old enough to be my legal guardian. I guess they didn’t feel like their help was needed. If people aren’t interested in being in your life, then fuck them, right?”

“Fuck ‘em,” Agatha agrees emphatically, lisping through her dentures.

I thought hearing Lynette start to swear was funny. She was pretty uptight before she met Bullet. Very prim, proper, businesslike, and icy. Often, even with me. She’s warmed up and chilled out a lot since Bullet.

Love is good for people.

“Family can be chosen too,” Agatha points out. “These people are your family?”

“Sort of. Kind of. My sister is dating one of the bikers.” Agatha calling them vultures rings through my brain. “Not one of the ones here today. Bullet. He’s back at the club with her. She’s their lawyer.”

“Double dipping.”

I nearly choke on my own saliva. “I’m glad. She didn’t exactly have a lot of happiness in her life before she met Bullet.”

“She’d approve of your choice then.”

“In time. Or maybe straight up. I just can’t say anything until I’m sure.”

I turn onto the paved road, the silence so nice after listening to the tires rumbling down that back road. Traction is also a huge bonus. I don’t know how to those guys get their bikes safely down all that gravel.

“Are you not sure?” Agatha asks, sloughing off the stillness like the dust whipping off the truck.

“I am- it’s just- maybe not the right time. That doesn’t change how I feel, but it’s a good thing to protect the beautiful, fragile things in life.”

“You don’t plant seeds in the dead of winter. At least not most seeds.”

I nod. “That’s it exactly. Atlas probably doesn’t even know that he loves deep and harder than most people, but he loved someone with his whole heart wide open, and she broke it and broke him. Whether it was real love or not isn’t the point. He thought it was.”

“And you’ve been waiting for him to heal.”

“I was, until I- couldn’t wait anymore.” I know how that sounds, and I wish I could frame it better. “All my life I’ve been in such a hurry for everything. I want to go slow with this. I don’t want him to offer me anything that I might damage, and I have a history of doing that.”

“That’s just life. Growing up. Maturing. Learning from mistakes. Your thoughts sound selfless and mature to me. You might not know if he’s ready, but he put himself between you and a vest full of grenades plus a loaded shotgun. That means something.”

“He was a sort of bodyguard before he was my friend. Old habits die hard.”

She makes a hissing sound, which is probably just wind passing through her dentures. It could also be disgust. “You couldn’t see his face from behind his back, but I did. It wasn’t just old habits.”

“All my life, men have wanted me because I look the way I do. Big ass, big boobs, blonde hair.”

“It’s not just the boobs and the butt,” Agatha insists. “That will only take you so far.”

“Usually just far enough to be in a bad place with all the wrong people.”

“It’s your face, dear. You have the face of an artist.”

“I don’t think so,” I say, laughing. “I can’t draw or paint, and I’m certainly never going to be a sculptor or get into pottery. Atlas is the talented one when it comes to his hands.” And his tongue.

I shiver, breathing hard at the memory of our night, and our morning together.

It was the first time in my life that I woke up next to someone and didn’t regret it.

I guess that’s part of growing up too. Looking hard at your life and figuring out where you keep going wrong and intentionally making changes.

“I meant that you have an interesting face. The kind of face that arrests an artist or would stop a photographer in their tracks. You have that unique shape, those huge blue eyes, that perfect nose and bow lips. It’s your cheeks, I think. They’re so prominent, like two apples. You don’t see that on many people.”

“Thanks,” I respond wryly. “I think.”

“And I think it’s all going to work out. You haven’t just been growing up. You’ve been growing a tender, compassionate, thoughtful heart. A true one of those is about as rare a commodity as your face.”

“Jesus,’ I breathe, my eyes stinging. “I’m starting to rather enjoy your backhanded compliments.”

“Get used to them, dearie. You’re in for more than a few if this drags on.”