Mickey comes up on the right and puts his own gun at the guy’s head. “Yeah, we are.”
Chunk glares at Mickey but isn’t stupid enough to move. “Too many witnesses.”
“Not if they want to keep their patch, they aren’t. Way I see it, this could be the first tell of allegiance. If someone squeals, we know they’re a problem. So maybe offing you is the right thing to do.” Rooster doesn’t smile, but it’s scarier in the way he said it. Like he was talking about the weather and not about gunning a man down. “What say you, boss? Want to test the club?”
I think about it as I look over at everyone. Most are watching Mickey, a few watching me. Bane is, as is Grim. The rest aren’t.
And that’s when I see him. In the back with dark red curly hair. The smirk. That’s all it is, but it’s enough.
I cast my eyes to Lucky and get his attention quickly before I look back at my target. Lucky moves toward him without a second signal from me.
“Yeah.” I can feel everyone’s eyes on me except the redhead’s as his smirk turns into a grin. “But not on him.” I point out the one I want. “With him.”
It takes a second for the redhead to feel the weight of everyone looking at him before he turns to me and sees me pointing him out. His smile drops to a sneer before he pulls out his piece and holds it high.
A shot rings out, followed by another as I duck. So does everyone else.
I clench my eyes tight for a second and check myself. No pain that I feel, so I stand and look everyone over. Most are still on the ground. Lucky is by the redhead. Mickey still has a gun to Chunk’s head, but Rooster has his to Grim’s now.
Grim, the one with the smoking gun pointed at the redhead.
“Lucky?” I call out.
“He’s dead.”
Grim puts his hands up, holding the gun by the trigger guard, letting it swing on his finger. “Sorry, wasn’t taught to only wound.”
“What were you taught?” I ask.
“If you’re going to shoot, don’t waste what can’t be done with one.”
I shouldn’t laugh, but Ilike that.
“And you also protect your president.” He stares me down, and I tilt my head. Either he did that to prove his allegiance or to cover something up.
Only time will tell. I just hope it happens sooner than later. My ass is still freezing, and I can barely feel my toes.
I hate the cold.
Chapter 4—Viv
This is my space. This is where I thrive every day. Just me and my tools. A nice hot chocolate sitting close by, the music rocking, and not a worry other than if I make a deadline I set for myself that only I can be mad about if I miss.
Self-employment rocks.
Sure, when taxes come and I have to do math, that sucks. But only because I was never good at math to begin with. I’m not the type who was held back, but I was never an A student. Hell, I was barely a B student. I’m what you call the average girl who you didn’t think would amount to much. And to be fair, I played that role well. Grew up in a middle-class family with working parents. Had friends I was close to. Never went out for any sports or extra things in high school. Just existed. I went to college, junior college, but still got a piece of paper that someone said meant I was good enough to enter the working class. Did it, hated it, left.
Don’t go gushing about me being your hero just yet. It took me a long time—and I mean alongtime—to figure out what to do. I’m not a complete idiot. I knew a plan without a job was zero plan. That’s why it took so long. I knew what I was doing wasn’t my ideal end goal. I would have died in that life, just gave up on everything. Any fight I would have had would have burned from my soul, and I would have just settled. But settling is zero lifeat all.
Coming up with a plan to get out wasn’t easy. It took hard work. Not that half the people I knew at the time saw that. They just thought I was messing around outside the office. They heard my complaints about being up at 5:00 a.m., or even earlier sometimes, as just dead air. They weren’t jerks. They asked about my “hobby,” but it was just that, a hobby. To most of them, it was something they couldn’t wrap their minds around how to sit down and do. Which is a good thing, really. Anyone can do what I do, but only a few people actually do it. Just enough to get others craving for it. And while I might not be the best in the world, I have a business. My own. And when I quit my job, I didn’t do it with a middle finger like I pretended to do in the shower every night before I left. I did it by saying all the right words so my file was marked “regrettable loss” in the off chance I majorly screwed up and had to come crawling back.
But I didn’t. The three years I spent working and building a clientele before I left were hard. Working two full-time jobs was all-consuming. And those first six months were stressful when I was only down to my one job, but I doubled down. I didn’t let myself sit on the couch for hours on end and only put in a few hours of work in a day. I treated it like an actual job. Still do. I clock in and clock out, metaphorically, at the same time each day. Even when I’m technically off the clock, I’m thinking, planning, and imagining. My job is my life, and I can finally say I’m happy with it.
I never saw welding sculptures as my calling, but hell, I’m good at it. Picked it up in high school when I took a class that I thought was going to be an easy one and got my first and only B+. Yeah, still not an A, but my parents treated me like I was a recently discovered princess for months after we saw that. Still do. I love my family. We aren’t close as in wecall each other every day, but we see each other a few times a year. We’ve all got things going on. They’re still working their nine-to-fives, and it works for them. Their goals were never more than just putting food on the table and not worrying about where the next paycheck was coming from. I’m happy for them. They’re happy for me. That’s all that matters.
“This piece is slamming,” I say out loud as I turn off theacetylene torch and take a step back to admire the eagle I’m making.
What started out as a way to let off steam after a bad day has turned into a lucrative career. Each time I made something, another thought would pop into my head. Or someone would request something so they could gift it. At first I worked mostly with nuts and bolts, making funny dumpster fire images people used for their papers at work. Then I started with spoons and forks and did a few animals with texture to them. Doing things with a military theme became a quick way to get money and followers. Seemed half the damn country wanted an eagle or some other animal in motion to represent them. Initially I would personalize it, but that took longer than I wanted to do, so now I weld a creation and put it up on the website. I don’t do shows or galleries. I’m in it for the money, not the prestige of an artist; I’ll leave all that fame and glory to another. I price reasonably, nothing over the top, as I know I’m a no-name, and I’m good with it. No-names get plenty of money, too, and don’t deal with half the crap a known artist does.
