That lack of emotion wounded me deep inside. The things this little woman had seen and dealt with, no woman should, shiet even most men wouldn’t cope with that side of life. No wonder this life and what she had seen here didn’t scare her; she had seen much and lived much worse. How the heck did she live through it and come out the other side sane and not afraid to laugh and smile? I think many would be jaded if they had to go through what she had.
This took my mind off my worry about the Jones gang and what was coming to town.
I listened to Maxine find sleep, which surprised me a little, although it shouldn’t have, not after what she just told me. Giving Pixie a black eye was nothing compared to what she must have seen and gone through.
Wish I had known, had taken the time to get to know those feet I often saw under a car, or her back working on a bike. Still, I was too busy living in my own misery, which only riding my bike gave me freedom from, and the company of my bro’s had given me relief from to consider others were worse off than me.
Maxine POV
I got no joy in punching Pixie; it wasn’t a fight, it was duty, what would be expected of me, and I felt?
Nothing.
No emotion at all, not pride in seeing her face red and blotchy from her tears, or the start of the swelling of her eye, which was going to hurt like hell tomorrow.
Nothing.
Like Grandma always said, when it comes to doing something because you have to, the emotions disappear. That was how she was trying to explain that one of the guys who came back from service, having to kill for duty, was different from street fights, still both life and death situations, but in service, you do it for a different reason. Once you have killed a few times, it becomes like nothing; you no longer see a person, but a target that has to be removed. Or so she said.
Later, you might think about it, and emotions might find their way in, but most block it out, like doing any other job.
Don’t get me wrong, the person still has feelings, and not for the target. It’s a job, and it’s not something they care to talk about or analyse, because doing so puts emotions into play, and those feelings they don’t want to feel when it comes to the job.
I get it now, hitting Pixie was that, part of the job.
I blanked out the person and did what was expected of me, just like I was taught to do.
When the job was done, I climbed back onto the back of Tank’s bike and leaned in, holding his waist, and resting my head on his back, breathing in his scent, his leather jacket, and bike fumes, all of which helped to bring me back to now and out of the blank zone.
The nothing zone.
Climbed off the bike, making it back to the clubhouse, as the sky started to welcome the new dawn.
Tank placed his hand around my waist and walked me back to his room, our room.
I sat, took off my boots and jeans, and fell into bed, completely drained. I felt Tank fall heavily into bed too, and I snuggled into his side, needing to touch him, to smell him, to gain his warmth. He pulled me closer, making me feel…
Sleep found me, faster than I thought it would, taking me away from tonight’s events and allowing me to rest before my brain examined what I did today.
It was broad daylight when I woke to Tank placing a tray of food on the table. The smell of bacon had my mouth watering. Before I could think much of it, I rushed to the bathroom and relieved myself, coming out to find Tank had opened the curtains, showing it was late afternoon. I had managed to get some decent sleep, better than I expected, a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Hey, thought you might be hungry.” I noticed it was set for two, which made me smile.
“Been up long?” I asked, yawning and stretching out the kinks before I sat in the chair he had pulled out for me.
“Nope, long enough to get some food, before it disappeared, they had lunch going, but got the cook to fry up some bacon.”
“Thanks.” I made a bacon sandwich, and Tank did the same.
“Want to talk?” He asked after we both had finished the sandwich and were making a second one. I was hungrier than I thought possible.
“I missed my training today, and I need to get out to the workshop and do some more of the artwork, or it will never get done. When are we going on to leave, on this weekend’s ride?” I asked as I took a long sip of coffee, the first for the day. It is always the best, in my opinion.
Tank chuckled, his deep baritone laugh warming me inside, as no coat could on a cold day.
“Let’s see now. Training was not on today, as you gave a good workout yesterday and need those bruises a little longer to heal. We can go to the workshop; still plenty of days left to get some work done. We start gearing up to leave tomorrow, giving us two days for the girls to get their act together and sort out our bedrolls, etc. Considering we’re only going overnight, maybe two, these girls tend to pack for a week.”
“My bedroll’s ready, and my saddlebags will hold what I need, so if someone needs to put something on the back of my bike, I am sure I can fit something.” I offer, unsure what sort of gear they all take.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.