Badd Ass by Jasinda Wilder

  "And the virtue of all the single women is at risk, huh?" I teased.

  He shrugged, conceding the point. "Pretty much. Although Bast is married now, so that takes one of the biggest threats to Ketchikan's female virtue out of the equation."

  "And you're mine," I heard myself say, and then stumbled to cover the gaffe. "For this week, at least."

  He didn't miss anything. "Amarantha." He halted as he said my name, pivoting to face me, hands on my arms.

  I stared up at him. "Yeah?"

  "We both know something happened back there, so there's no point denying it."

  "Okay?"

  "So, yeah, I'm yours." He paused, as I had. "For this week, at least."

  "And after this week?" I couldn't help asking.

  He let silence build between us, not letting go of my arms. "Are we really gonna have this conversation right here, right now?"

  I shook my head, realizing how right he was. "No." I pulled out of his grip and re-threaded my fingers through his. "No, we're not."

  We walked another half mile or so, reaching downtown and the movie theater. There were only two movies playing, as Zane had said there would be--an action movie, and a rom-com; Zane told me to pick, so I went with the rom-com. He paid for the tickets and led us into the movie theater...all the way up in the very back against the rear wall, in the corner farthest from the door.

  As we waited for the movie to start, he glanced at me. "You know, I've told you a bit about myself, and I'm realizing I don't know dick about you." He rubbed a thumb over my knuckles. "You don't have to get into anything gnarly or super deep, but...I'd like to know a little about what makes Amarantha Quinn tick."

  I sighed, long and slow. "Okay. Well, what do you want to know?"

  He shook his head. "Nope, that's not how this works. You tell me what you want to share, and if I have questions, I'll ask, but you're not obligated to answer if you don't want to."

  I tapped a finger against the armrest. "I'm an only child, so there's that. Which means I truly do not understand your family." I hesitated, because that was about as much as I usually shared. "I grew up in a little podunk town in Indiana. My mother is a dental hygienist. I played varsity volleyball in high school. I had a horse, a Rocky Mountain mare named Ethel."

  "The horse's name was Ethel?"

  I laughed. "Yeah. We bought her from a breeder, and he named her that, not sure why though."

  There was silence then, with Zane eyeing me expectantly. When I didn't burst forth with any more intel, he frowned at me. "That's it?"

  I shrugged. "What else is there?"

  He tugged on a lock of my hair. "Quite a bit. You didn't mention your dad, for one thing."

  "That's a touchy subject."

  Zane sighed. "Look, I'm really not trying to push. But I just feel like like maybe you don't really trust me. Which I get, I guess. But I thought this was supposed to be us practicing opening up to each other. But so far, I'm the only one doing any trusting. I told you about Marco. Not even my brothers know Campy had a kid."

  I groaned. "It's not about trust, Zane. It's just...I don't talk about Dad. You want to know about my boyfriends in high school? I'll tell you. I dated Brad Riley my freshman year. He was my first boyfriend, my first kiss, and the guy I went to second base with for the first time. He broke up with me after three months to date the captain of the cheerleader squad--who also happened to be the school slut. I guess I wasn't moving fast enough for Brad? I don't know. He just gave me a generic break up excuse and was tongue-fucking Cherry the cheerleader in the hallways the next day." I lowered my voice as the lights dimmed and the previews started, although we were the only ones in the theater, so far. "I dated Dane Howell in tenth grade, to whom I gave my virginity on prom night, in the back of his shitty Ford Taurus. We dated most of tenth grade. Eleventh grade was Tom Wyland, Jeremy Ring, and Morris Morrison."

  "Morris Morrison?"

  I snickered. "Yeah. He went by Morrie. Hated his name, hated his parents, and drove a brand new Mustang he'd bought himself dealing pot at the elementary school playground after school." A teenaged couple entered the theater and sat a few rows down from us, giggling together. "Senior year was Joey Fustinelli, but I only dated him a few weeks as a 'fuck you' to my mom. He was a major douchebag, and I never even slept with him. Kyle Pruitt, who was nice, but a little slow. Greg Michaels, a Harvard-bound soccer star, and a stuck up prick who I only dated because he had a BMW and a credit card and used me as a fuck you to his parents, which worked out for me because I got cool points in school and a couple really nice Coach purses. And last, but not least, Isaac Horowitz. Sweet, poor as dirt and nearly illiterate, but good-looking in an unassuming way, and would legitimately give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it. He was the epitome of wrong side of the tracks. His mom was black, and his dad was a non-practicing Orthodox Jew. Isaac was...amazing, actually. Really, really amazing. Probably the most genuinely kind person I've ever met."

  Zane was quiet for a minute, and then he twisted that same lock of hair around his index finger. "Can I ask what happened?"

  I had to breathe slowly for a moment or two before answering. "He was bullied his whole life. All through elementary school, junior high, high school. Beat up, made fun of, treated like shit. He never let it get to him, just kept on being himself despite it. We were assigned to be partners for an AP physics project. He was nearly illiterate because he was dyslexic, but he was a wizard with numbers and things, and physics wasn't really my thing, but I was smart enough to make the AP class. I joined late, and Isaac had been left without a partner because nobody wanted to work with him. So I was stuck with him. That's how I saw it at first, too. Like everyone else, I just sort of either pitied or looked down on him, because I didn't understand him. Then we were partners on the project, and I got to know him. Discovered what kind of person he really was, you know? Saw past the crappy, dirty, third-hand clothes and the way he stuttered through English class, and how painfully shy and withdrawn he was."

  "Not liking where this is going."

  I shook my head. "Whatever you might be thinking, it's worse." I swallowed hard. "I stuck up for him. Became his friend, and then eventually we were spending all our time together. I lost all social standing at school, but Isaac had made me realize how stupid all that was. I...I don't know. We never talked about being in love or anything, but Isaac was...special. Super, super important to me. The bullying got worse. They started targeting me. This is rural Indiana, remember. Lots of the kids were...um, let's just say they were closed minded. Learned it from their parents. Not that everyone was like that; I'm not saying that. There were some really nice, sweet people. But there were others who were just...cruel. They spray-painted swastikas on his locker and then went to his house and burned crosses in his yard. Evil shit like that. I'm not talking just pushing him around and punching him a few times, this was hard core antagonization." I had to swallow again. "Um. Like I said, when Isaac and I went open with our relationship, it got...ugly. Really, really ugly. The whole town got sort of...dragged into it. His dad got beat up so bad he was hospitalized and lost his job at the factory, his mom was fired by her racist boss, and they started egging my house, slashing my tires, all sorts of nasty stuff."

  "Jesus."

  I nodded, blinking hard. "One day, um, I was driving Isaac home. He lived a long way outside town, so you had to drive through a whole bunch of nothing, just endless cornfields. No traffic, no neighbors, no gas stations, just the highway and the corn. Well, I got rear-ended. Lost control, ended up in the corn. Hit my head and passed out. When I came to, Isaac...uh--shit. Isaac had been--they'd dragged him out of my car and beat him...beat him so badly he..."

  I couldn't keep going, and Zane sat holding my hand, waiting.

  I cleared my throat. "A semi saw the headlights in the field and stopped. Radioed for help. But by the time the cops came, Isaac was gone."

  "Jesus fuck. What happened to the kids who did it?"

  I l
aughed bitterly. "Not a damn thing. I never saw them...nobody saw anything. I mean, never mind the paint on the back of my car where they'd hit me, or the fact that everyone knew exactly who it was that hated Isaac so much. But yeah, there wasn't even a real investigation. A sort of cursory, 'Oh no, this kid nobody liked died, how sad, guess it was an accident. Someone from out of town, probably.' And that was it. His parents moved, and I wanted to quit school. Mom wouldn't let me, and so--I finished, got my diploma, and joined the Army."

  "Goddamn, Mara."

  I shrugged. "Yeah. It was...it was bad. What really gets me is that the bullying only got that much worse when we started dating. I know--I know it's not directly my fault, but I'm still partially responsible. I mean, they did it, they killed him. But they hated him even worse for daring to date me...I'd been pretty popular, you know? In the inner circle of the cool kids. So when I started dating Isaac, they looked at it as Isaac stealing me from them, tainting me, somehow."

  The movie was starting, but neither of us was paying attention, and neither was the teenage couple, so our conversation wasn't disturbing anyone.

  I hesitated, and then let out another sigh. "So, that's Isaac. What else is relevant and important? Um...I was date raped while I was in the Army. He drugged me and I woke up naked and sore in an alleyway. That was fun. Of course, in that case the guy that did it failed to realize how close we were in the medical unit. My entire unit found the guy, and...uh, curb-stomped him, I guess you could call it. Shitty part of that was it wasn't the first date I'd gone on with that guy either. I'd been seeing him sort of casually for like a month. We'd even slept together once. And then he put GHB in my drink and raped me. Sort of soured me on guys, you might say. Sort of hard to trust anyone, you know? After Isaac, and then Chad, yeah...dating seemed stupid and dangerous and pointless, so I stopped doing it."

  Zane was quiet for a while, staring at the screen but obviously not watching. "I don't know what to say."

  I took his hand. "You wanted to know, and I told you. That's all part of what makes me tick." I squeezed his hand. "Nothing you need to say. You're listening, and that's what's important."

  "I'm sorry you went through all that, Mara."

  "Me too. I mean, I can't change it, and it made me stronger, but it's why I'm having a hard time getting myself to open up to you." I sat in silence half-watching the movie for a few minutes, sitting beside Zane, and yet there was only one thing on my mind. Or...one person. "You want to hear about my dad?"

  Zane twisted in his seat to look at me. "Of course, but only if you want to talk about him."

  I lifted a shoulder. "I mean, I've told you about Isaac, and I told you about Chad, so I might as well tell you about Dad." I nodded my head at the red-lit exit sign. "Want to get out of here? I'm not really feeling the movie."

  Zane stood up and led me out of the theater without hesitation. We found a nearby bar, slid into a corner booth, and ordered some drinks. When we were settled in, Zane sitting beside me, I began peeling the label off my light beer.

  "Uh oh," Zane said. "You're peeling the label. That's not good."

  I shook my head. "Nothing like what happened with Isaac or Chad. It's just...complicated." I spent a moment or two thinking. "My dad was a normal guy, a normal dad. He worked a nine-to-five job selling insurance, went to all my piano recitals and theater productions, played with me in the backyard. Drank Budweiser sitting on the front porch after work, watched wrestling and NASCAR, kissed my mother when he left in the morning. He was just...Dad. But then, when I was twelve, he bought a Harley, sold his insurance agency, and left."

  "Midlife crisis?"

  I shook my head. "No, not really. He was only thirty-five. It wasn't a crisis, and it wasn't as random as it may have seemed. Then, to me, at twelve, it was the most unexpected and shocking thing in the world. I just came home from school one day and Dad's F-150 was gone and there was a motorcycle in the driveway. He had a backpack packed, and he was wearing leather chaps and a leather jacket. Mom was screaming at him, and he was just taking it. Which wasn't Dad, you know? They bickered as much as any married couple, but nothing crazy. Mom never screamed, and Dad never yelled, but he also wasn't passive. I didn't understand. He gave me a kiss on the cheek, told me he'd send me letters, and that he'd see me soon, and then he got on his bike and rode away."

  "Just like that?"

  I nodded. "Just like that."

  "How is that not random?"

  "Well, do that math. He was thirty-five when I was twelve: he was twenty-two when Mom had me. Mom was born in town, but not Dad. He was a drifter, I guess. Blew into town one day on a motorcycle, met Mom at a diner...and then ended up falling in love and staying. Mom had me, and he sold his bike, got a job selling insurance, and ended up owning the agency. Mom thought he was content, he had her, he had me, and he had a good job that paid well. We weren't the richest people in town, but we were pretty well off. Then, out of the blue, he decided he'd had enough domesticity, and left."

  "You ever hear from him again?" Zane asked.

  I nodded. "Yep. But not for a solid year. He didn't send a letter, didn't send a birthday card, nothing. He sent Mom cash in an unmarked envelope every month, but that was it. She wrote him off, and so did I. Then, about a month after my fourteenth birthday, right at the beginning of summer break, I was reading a book on the front porch and I heard motorcycles. I knew it was him. He rolled up on his Harley, wearing a vest with a bunch of patches on it, new tattoos on his arms, a big beard--he was different, but it was Dad. And there were about twenty other bikers with him, all in the same club. I didn't understand it then, of course, I just knew that there was a whole shit load of big scary tough looking guys on motorcycles, with a bunch of hard-looking women behind them, or on their own bikes."

  "He took you?"

  I bobbed my head side to side. "Yes, and no. He didn't kidnap me. He came up and asked if I wanted to spend the summer with him. I was a fourteen-year-old girl and I was still mad at him for leaving, but I also just missed my Dad. And I was curious. Like, what was it that was so much better out there than here at home with me and Mom? So I was like, sure. He told me to pack everything I could fit into a backpack and leave a note for Mom."

  Zane made a face. "You didn't."

  I nodded. "I did. Stuffed a bunch of jeans, underwear, socks, and T-shirts into my backpack, threw on a hoodie, and left. I wrote Mom a note, that I was spending the summer with Dad and that I loved her, all that kind of thing."

  "I bet that went over well."

  I laughed. "Oh yeah. We made it maybe ten miles outside of town before about six state troopers showed up with lights and sirens going. The whole gang pulled over and the troopers went in guns drawn like I'd been snatched. Not an outlandish assumption to make, especially since that's what Mom had told them."

  "What happened? Cops versus bikers never goes well, from what I understand."

  "Dad had me talk to them. I told them I was with Dad voluntarily, so there wasn't anything anyone could say. Mom and Dad had never divorced, so it wasn't like he was violating a court visitation order."

  "So you spent a summer with your Dad's biker gang."

  "Yep. It was amazing, honestly. Total freedom. Ride all day, hang out with the guys at night. Dad let me drink, kept an eye on me, and kept the younger guys from sniffing around after me. If it was a nice night, they'd just stop wherever they wanted, pitch some tents, light a fire, and camp on the side of the highway. Or there'd be a motel, somewhere not too ratty but not flashy."

  "That doesn't sound so bad."

  I shook my head. "It was incredible. He brought me back a week before school started. Just dropped me off, gave me a kiss, and rode away without looking back. And then I didn't hear from him again until the first week of summer the next year. And guess what?"

  "You spent your summers on the back of your Dad's Harley?"

  I let out a breath and nodded. "I sure did. Every year until I joined the Army."

  "How'd your m
om take it?"

  I shot him a wry grin. "Not well at all. That first time, I was grounded the whole first month of school, and she refused to talk to me. I mean not a damn word. Stopped getting me up for school, stopped making my breakfast, stopped doing my laundry, stopped packing my lunches, stopped driving me to school, stopped giving me allowances."

  "Damn, that's harsh," Zane said, chuckling.

  "When you're fourteen, yeah, it's harsh," I shot back.

  He raised his hands. "Hey now, I was being serious. He's your dad, and she was making you choose, essentially. I mean, yeah, he probably should have, like, called you or sent postcards now again, but he showed up. He was involved, just...his way. She shouldn't have guilted you into choosing her over him."

  I felt oddly relieved that he understood. "Exactly. My mom is a world champion at holding grudges, I've learned. She doesn't let go of things. You know how guys will joke about their girlfriends, like 'she has flowcharts and graphs and flashcards for every single thing I've ever done or said'? That's Mom. She never forgave Dad, and she never got over him, either. Never divorced him, never dated, never took him to court. I mean, why would she? He was gone nine months of the year and he sent her an envelope full of cash once a month, every month, without fail--and looking back, I think he had to have sent her a couple grand every month, easily. And then, for the three months of summer, she got to be completely alone, do whatever she wanted, no kid, no one to look after or clean up after. She got to spend an entire summer single, basically. I said she never dated, but I suspect she spent those summers I was gone dating while I wasn't around to see. And me, well, she never forgave me, either. She saw it, like you said, as a betrayal. According to her, I should have refused to ever talk to him again, because he'd abandoned us both.