cocaine. She looked at the powder inside and wondered briefly if it was from Orlin Ruiz. Then she laid out a line and sent it into her brain. The focusing rush pushed all the worries and confusion aside, and she sat at her laptop, put her hair up in a ponytail, and started working like hellhounds were on her trail.
Eight hours flew by, and she was past the point in the novel that she had planned to be at by Thursday. Forcing herself to close the laptop, she set it on her little desk, then opened it again and set the backup system to run, copying all her work to her cloud drive. Then she walked away quickly and into the shower.
It felt like a battle night was brewing, so she chose jeans and a heavy t-shirt with her leather vest, which remained blank on the back. Her knife went on her left hip for a cross-body draw.
Her father taught her the draw, back when she was twelve, and set her to practicing it every day, over and over. Then she practiced it kneeling, and then on one knee, and then sitting cross legged, and then lying down. Over and over, every day, a hundred a day. Draw-slice-defend. Draw-slice-defend. As she drew the knife, she stepped forward, slashing her attacker with the same movement, and then going into her knife fighting stance, which was loose and easy to move from. Ready for anything, from any direction.
Draw-slice-defend.
She performed the movement now, in her room, with satisfying grace and speed. She sincerely hoped that she would not have to use it tonight, or any other night at the club.
She slipped into her thick riding boots just as a knock came at her door.
“Hank?”
“Yeah!”
“Come in, I’ll be right out,” she called, and then looked at herself in the mirror. She wouldn’t ask. No. If Daphne was wrong, it would be a terrible insult, and they just weren’t ready for a hit like that with them just starting out together. She wasn’t sure when asking such a question wouldn’t be terribly insulting, but she was sure she had never had a relationship that long so far.
“I talked to Daphne,” she started as she came out of her room. “She’s a bit upset, but I think it was more of a shock than an emotional thing.”
“Did she tell you to run as fast as you could?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Or that was the meaning, anyway.”
“Are you?”
“I invited you in, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and I withdraw the question as being stupid and perhaps a little childish,” Hank told her.
“She also told me a story about a couple who were in the club? Howey and Margaret?” she said, and she headed for the kitchen with her used coffee cup to wash it out, and to escape if escaping was necessary.
While she was running the water, he said, “It just popped up? The anniversary is not for several months.”
“She just said it was important club lore, and that it would help me understand the club and its actions more clearly,” Cyn lied, and then turned around to leave the kitchen.
“Well, she’s right. It is very important to the club, and Knight has not forgotten, nor forgiven. He won’t, either, until he can figure out a method of reprisal, but even then, it won’t be forgive and forget,” Hank mused, his voice thoughtful but with the hint of a storm.
“I think it was me mentioning the cocaine you left for me that sparked the story,” Cyn told him, and without knowing why, she was certain that this man, the one in her living room right now, would never, ever, work for Orlin Ruiz. “Let’s ride, lover,” she said with a smile, and she took his arm.
He kissed her outside, and it felt smooth and strong and honest. He wasn’t hiding anything from her that he might be ashamed of — nothing.
She decided that Derrick and Daphne simply didn’t see what they thought they saw. She wouldn’t go so far as to say Daphne was making it up, but what they saw simply wasn’t
Eight hours flew by, and she was past the point in the novel that she had planned to be at by Thursday. Forcing herself to close the laptop, she set it on her little desk, then opened it again and set the backup system to run, copying all her work to her cloud drive. Then she walked away quickly and into the shower.
It felt like a battle night was brewing, so she chose jeans and a heavy t-shirt with her leather vest, which remained blank on the back. Her knife went on her left hip for a cross-body draw.
Her father taught her the draw, back when she was twelve, and set her to practicing it every day, over and over. Then she practiced it kneeling, and then on one knee, and then sitting cross legged, and then lying down. Over and over, every day, a hundred a day. Draw-slice-defend. Draw-slice-defend. As she drew the knife, she stepped forward, slashing her attacker with the same movement, and then going into her knife fighting stance, which was loose and easy to move from. Ready for anything, from any direction.
Draw-slice-defend.
She performed the movement now, in her room, with satisfying grace and speed. She sincerely hoped that she would not have to use it tonight, or any other night at the club.
She slipped into her thick riding boots just as a knock came at her door.
“Hank?”
“Yeah!”
“Come in, I’ll be right out,” she called, and then looked at herself in the mirror. She wouldn’t ask. No. If Daphne was wrong, it would be a terrible insult, and they just weren’t ready for a hit like that with them just starting out together. She wasn’t sure when asking such a question wouldn’t be terribly insulting, but she was sure she had never had a relationship that long so far.
“I talked to Daphne,” she started as she came out of her room. “She’s a bit upset, but I think it was more of a shock than an emotional thing.”
“Did she tell you to run as fast as you could?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Or that was the meaning, anyway.”
“Are you?”
“I invited you in, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and I withdraw the question as being stupid and perhaps a little childish,” Hank told her.
“She also told me a story about a couple who were in the club? Howey and Margaret?” she said, and she headed for the kitchen with her used coffee cup to wash it out, and to escape if escaping was necessary.
While she was running the water, he said, “It just popped up? The anniversary is not for several months.”
“She just said it was important club lore, and that it would help me understand the club and its actions more clearly,” Cyn lied, and then turned around to leave the kitchen.
“Well, she’s right. It is very important to the club, and Knight has not forgotten, nor forgiven. He won’t, either, until he can figure out a method of reprisal, but even then, it won’t be forgive and forget,” Hank mused, his voice thoughtful but with the hint of a storm.
“I think it was me mentioning the cocaine you left for me that sparked the story,” Cyn told him, and without knowing why, she was certain that this man, the one in her living room right now, would never, ever, work for Orlin Ruiz. “Let’s ride, lover,” she said with a smile, and she took his arm.
He kissed her outside, and it felt smooth and strong and honest. He wasn’t hiding anything from her that he might be ashamed of — nothing.
She decided that Derrick and Daphne simply didn’t see what they thought they saw. She wouldn’t go so far as to say Daphne was making it up, but what they saw simply wasn’t
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