Yeah, she’s pretty. Got backbone. I suspect today’s outing was one of the few occasions she’s ever done something simply for herself. It’s not just my cock that finds her attractive, my brain does too. But it’s obvious a relationship wouldn’t go anywhere. She’s got to keep squeaky clean if that plan with her brother is to come to fruition. Consorting with what the cops see as a criminal gang wouldn’t be in her best interest.
By the time I’m close to the compound, I’ve convinced myself. Despite the interest my cock has in her, I won’t try to see her again. I won’t interfere. Sure, I know ways of getting her fake papers, but what if I do, and something goes wrong? Nah, she’s doing it legal. She’s survived this long, hopefully she’ll stay out of trouble until Drew’s old enough to sponsor her.
I don’t like it, strangely feeling I’ve ridden away from something, someone, who could have enriched my life. I can’t see a way around it. The Satan’s Devils have a lingering reputation in Tucson, one we can’t seem to shake off, the echoes of a drug and gun running past still sticking to us. I’m the last person she should be consorting with.
I’ve given her my card. If she calls, needs me, I’ll do what I can to help. But the ball’s in her court now.
I turn up the track leading to home. Matt’s still minding the gate, and opens it when he recognises me.Guess Truck must still be on his shift.It’s a fucking shame we lost Fergus. I spare a quick thought for the promising prospect who had to leave to go help his terminally ill mom. Truck’s good, but with all the shifts he has, Matt is left bearing the brunt. The man’s only been prospecting a short while, and I wonder if he knew what he was taking on. Instead of ignoring him, I nod my thanks as I ride past.
After backing my bike into its normal space, I walk into the clubhouse. It’s late. The men with old ladies have obviously come and gone, the few remaining single men are making good use of the sweet butts. I dodge my way around the tables, returning chin lifts from those not otherwise engaged, and make my way to my office.
Having checked my systems, I reopen the program that was beating me earlier in the day. A good ride on both horse and bike seem to have cleared my head and the erroneous line of code jumps out at me. I change it and sit back with a satisfied smirk on my face.Got you.I roll a joint and light it, inhaling deeply. The smoke absorbed by my lungs mellows my mood as I again think back over the evening.
Pulling my tablet toward me, before I consciously know what I’m doing, I’m tapping in the little I know about Mariana. Then I stop myself, reaching over and lighting the joint again instead. I might not like her situation, but there’s fuck all I can do about it. What would knowing more about her situation help her or me? I need to stay away from her, put her right out of my mind. Last thing she needs is a man like me getting into her business, and possibly causing her problems. I live in Arizona after all, and it doesn’t take much for an illegal to be gleefully taken offthe street by the cops and handed over to Immigration and Customs Enforcement, ICE, who can be as cold as their name.
I’m restless. On edge. Off balance. Whether it’s just my lingering sensation from earlier today, a horse ride I hadn’t been able to lose myself in, or meeting the woman who I’d have loved to see again but my common sense tells me I can’t, I’m not sure. Logging out of the programs I don’t need running, I stub out the joint, and take myself off to my suite.
All the brothers who live on the compound have their own room and bathroom, together with a balcony from which can be seen the most stunning views, the benefits from the club having bought a burned-out vacation resort and restoring it. Going outside I watch a late summer storm flash lightning over the distant mountains, only returning inside when the first heavy raindrops start to fall. I need space, air. I’m starting to feel suffocated here.It’s time to get away.
Decision made, the next morning I go to find Prez. He’s in his office, his son, Eli, with him. I grin at the sight.
“Starting him early, Prez?” I take the seat he points to.
Putting Eli on the floor to play with some toys, Drummer looks down at his son fondly. “Never too soon to let him know he’s a Satan’s Devil.”
Little prez in the making there, I suspect. If he’s anything like his father.
“What can I do for you, Mouse?”
Leaning forward, I put my hands on my knees. “Need to take off, Prez.”
His eyes narrow, and his hand rubs at his beard. “Like that, is it?”
I’ve tried before to explain what I can’t put into words. The two sides of me warring constantly, the Anglo and Navajo not coming to terms. The need to find myself, restore balance once again. It’s hard to express, and harder still for Drummer tounderstand. I think, by now, he’s given up trying. For an answer, I raise my chin.
“You’ll keep in contact?”
As far as I can, yes. “I’ll have my laptop with me, and my phone. I’ll check in for messages and do whatever you need me to. There’s not much I can’t do remotely.” When I pick up his messages, of course, as where I’m going that can take some planning. But he’s giving me time off—oh, I’ve no doubt he’ll agree to it—and I’ll do my best to ensure I’m not leaving my brothers in the lurch.
“Stay in touch, Mouse. You’ll be missed.”
“I’ll let you know when I’ll be comin’ back.”
“Appreciate that.” He nods, just once.
I stand and take my leave. This time of the morning the clubroom is empty. Returning to my suite I pack what I can into my saddle bags, send a quick message to Jacob explaining I’ll be gone for a while and to look after Niyol for me—which he’d do without the reminder—then I’m on my bike and off on my journey.
As I ride north, I let my mind drift back to the first time I went to the Rez. I hadn’t wanted to go. Absolutely no fucking doubt about that. But then, in the first fifteen years of my life, I’d never even considered the possibility I’d be changing the streets of Tucson for the area bounded by the four sacred mountains.
I was brought up as an Anglo in Tucson. I went to school, had friends, was a quarterback on the football team. If it wasn’t for my mom, or my skin or the features that I’d inherited from her, no one would have known I wasn’t totally white. I spoke English, and a smattering of Spanish I’d picked up from the Hispanics in class—mostly swear words. I had my life planned out in front of me, and nothing could happen to make me deviate from that path. I had my eye on a football scholarship, maybe eventually joining one of the big teams.
My father was white with a ruddy complexion. He’d met my mother when she’d been selling some blankets she’d woven by the side of the road when he’d driven through the reservation. It had been, apparently, love at first sight. Though he had no need for more, he’d gone back for blankets time and time again. Until one day she’d agreed to get in the car with him, and leave everything she had ever known behind.
I’d come along pretty quickly, but due to complications with my birth, had been their only child. The mom I’d always known seemed happy, content to keep house, a quiet unassuming woman. It was only later I realised she’d burned her bridges, and how much she must have missed her previous life.
My father had given her one stipulation, that I was to be brought up as a white boy. They might not have been able to change the darker colour of my skin, but I’d never considered myself as anything other than Anglo. As I grew older, I realised English wasn’t my mother’s first language, and that she looked different from other boys’ moms. But with the number of Hispanics in Tucson, she didn’t look out of place. I was much older when I first heard the term Navajo, but soon learned not to mention it. Navajo wereIndiansto the kids I did tell, and for a while I was subjected to whoop-whooping noises whenever I passed. A move to middle school, where I put a zip on my mouth, thankfully left that behind me.
My father must have been disappointed, but never said a word as I grew to resemble the heritage on my mother’s side. My mentality, though, well that was all white.
