Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(26)
I said, “We’ve found galena, sphalerite, stibnite, and hematite. The zinc sulfides are common in that berm by the haul road.”
Sax lowered the binoculars he’d been looking through. “Looks hugely profitable, from what I’ve seen. And you’ve got secondary oxidized cuprite and azurite.”
“Yeah. Beaverite was found in 1911 too.”
“Hey. You’ve got Tim Breakiron living with you.”
“Yeah.” I became wary. No one ever said “Tim Breakiron” in the same sentence as “outstanding,” “swell guy,” or “top of his class.” This was bound to be something bad. “I didn’t have much choice. Papa Ewey sent him out here with me to punish him for something. He’s pretty f*cking useless. I can’t even send him into the pit. He wouldn’t go. It’s beneath him.”
“Hmph.” Sax squinted down at the open pit. “You do know he’s a f*cking rapist, don’t you?”
“Papa Ewey said something about it.” I’d suspected something from the second Breakiron was found by those people on their way to Burning Man wandering around in the desert like some kind of castaway. But what did being a rapist have to do with that? “Is that why he was wandering in the desert? Was someone after him for raping their old lady?”
Sax snorted. “Old man. Let’s just say he was in on the Hellfire Nuts rape of one of the Bent Zealots.”
The Bent Zealots were a fairly new club started by a former Bare Boner who had come out of the closet. Most, but not all, of them were gay, something I’d never once suspected Breakiron of being. “Sexual assault is more of a violent crime, not a sexual one,” I said, remembering some shit from my Marine days.
“In Breakiron’s case I think it was both. The other guys responsible for the rape are gone now, but Breakiron got away, and Papa Ewey wasn’t thrilled, to say the f*cking least. When I heard he sent Breakiron out here with you, I felt f*cking sorry for you.”
Next, he was going to ask me what I did wrong to deserve such a fate. “So Breakiron gang-raped a Zealot? That’s bad news. The Zealots took over our old turf fair and square. Papa Ewey had to give it up, and we lost the whole Colorado River connection. I’ve always wondered if that’s why he’s pushing up here, trying to expand his power base up north, since we can’t go south. We’re not going to run into any other MC until we hit Provo.”
“Oh, definitely. There’s room to grow here, and it sure is gorgeous land. Sounds like he’s going to be keeping you here for awhile. Heard any news about starting a new chapter?”
That idea had crossed my mind. “Yeah. I’ve already got a Prospect. It’d mean keeping Breakiron though.”
“You never know. Maybe he’s served his time. Maybe you can send him back.”
The whole conversation with Sax was on my mind when I returned home. I just had a few loose ends to sew up before heading out to the Nevada border at Mesquite. That was where I’d meet the box truck hauling tools like wrenches and hammers allegedly bound for a hardware store in Cedar City. At least, that’s what the trucker’s bill of lading stated he was hauling. It was going to be avocados until we realized those might spoil and smell up the joint. Plus, I’d actually found a buyer for the tools, and he actually was in Cedar City. Chiles wanted some of them, too.
Mahalia flitted in and out of my brain while I mulled over all these business details. Kissing her had been one of the highlights of my admittedly selfish life. Sure, I knew I was giving her the thrill of a lifetime so it was good for my ego, too. But the fact that it was so spontaneous on my part told me a f*ck of a lot. My feelings for her were so powerful my brain couldn’t override my body. My reflexes had a mind of their own, and I’d leaped on her like a panther.
She was soft and smelled of clean powder. So fragile and yet so sturdy underneath my hands. She was probably more shocked than I was, but she melted into it and kissed me back. I probably could have pushed her further, but did I really want to? Allred Lee Chiles was basically my boss out here, in this place I used to call a wasteland. Like when I had hooked up with Chelsea. Was it really the smartest thing in the world to be doing?
Could I help myself? Mahalia was a serene goddess with haunted eyes. Her face glowed with the sincerity of her beliefs. And she wasn’t one wave short of a shipwreck, like most of those Morbots I’d seen in and out of Cornucopia. She stood head and shoulders above them for her intelligence, beauty, and depth of her convictions. She would succeed without me, but…should she?
So I was sort of sidetracked when I went into the kitchen to get a bottle of water. Breakiron was there, leaning his stupid dirty ass up against the clean granite counter, eating directly out of my carton of Cherry Garcia. I sort of bumped into him as I went by, and he immediately slammed the carton down on the counter, the spoon twirling on the tiled floor.
I spun around. “What the f*ck—”
He was on top of me.
He got me in a f*cking headlock with his stupid brawny arms. He tried to do that movie thing where you put the heel of your hand against the guy’s forehead and press, allegedly breaking the guy’s neck.
What that moron didn’t count on was my self-defense skills. I hadn’t done two tours in Afghanistan for nothing, and I gave him a backward thrust kick to the kneecap. Yowling like the Cro-Magnon man he was, he staggered back with his arms pinwheeling in the air. This gave me an opening to form my hand into a rock-hard U shape and jam it up against his windpipe, slamming his tailbone sharply against the counter. I dug my fingers in while pinning his right wrist to the granite slab, but his palm slipped and slid in the ice cream, forcing us to lunge back over the counter like two f*cking lovers.