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  “Are you all right, child?” I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.

  I looked up at the soft features of a handsome, elderly priest. “No, Father. I am not.”

  “What ails you, my dear?” He then sat beside me.

  I let my gaze lift to the statue of Jesus. “I have a—” What did I even call Remy? What was he to me? Was he my boyfriend? My lover? “—a friend who desperately needs my help, and try as I might, I don’t think I can help him.”

  “Matters of the heart are always the heaviest. Has this friend of yours lost their way?” the priest asked in hushed tones so as not to disturb the people praying.

  “I guess so? He’s just... He’s just really hurt and I need to—” The name Remy gave me. Maybe I was supposed to find that woman and speak with her. “Father?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are there any women that work here or come here often by the name of Grace?”

  The priest briefly pondered on the name, but quickly shook his head. “None to my knowledge, but I’ve only recently joined this church. I’m covering for Father Jameson while he recovers from illness.”

  “Oh.” So much for that. Depending on how recent, Remy would have no idea about the change in management. A blanket of sorrow threatened to smother me.

  “I’m sorry, child. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The priest’s thick eyebrows arched up in empathy.

  “Not unless you’re good with miracles, Father.” I changed the subject and gave the impossible a shot, “You don’t happen to have to ten grand lying around here, do you? Maybe on loan from an outlaw biker gang?”

  The priest chuckled at what could only be a joke. He realized he was being too loud, quietly apologized to those praying, then turned back to me and pantomimed turning out his empty pockets.

  I offered him an empty, defeated half-smile – not on purpose, but it was just all that I had left. I didn’t know if I would be able to push through the failure I felt in my heart. I ached for Remy so badly. “You have a beautiful church.” Meekly, I changed the subject, in fear of more condolences.

  “Thank you. The renovations were just completed. Father Jameson hasn’t even seen the fruit of his labor yet. Praise be to God for sending us the generous donations of a kind-hearted soul.”

  “Do you know who the donated the money?” I perked up.

  “Whoever it was, they wanted to be kept anonymous, I’m afraid. A truly, selfless act. The Lord shines on whoever he is.” The priest leaned in a little with smiling eyes and added hopefully, “Maybe it was one of those motorcyclists you mentioned.”

  He obviously didn’t believe me, but he was a kindly old spirit so his comment came off as good-natured not patronizing.

  The renovations are complete? That’s odd. It was extremely out-of-place that the confessional booth would remain same when everything else in the interior of the church had gotten overhauled. There must be a reason why.

  “Father, would you allow me into the booth there? I’d like to pray for my friend, and I get really anxious when I do it in front of people.”

  “Of course, my dear. Whatever you need.” The priest gently touched my shoulder again and left me.

  I pulled back the threadbare red curtain, stepped inside the tiny booth and closed it behind me. Why wouldn’t this place be renovated like everything else? I searched each square-inch of the dull, chipped wooden walls, screen, and bench. And then there it was. A name.

  Grace.

  It was carved on the front side of the bench. The text was very small. It was something you’d really have to be looking for it to find it. This was it. This was what Remy wanted me to find!

  The seat of the bench was a rectangular piece of plywood held together with only a few nails. They were loose enough that, with a little work, I was able to pop them out, remove the board and look inside.

  Empty.

  NO! I almost screamed in frustration! How could it be empty? Whatever it was, it needed to be here! This was it! It had to be! Grace should’ve been Remy’s salvation.

  Utterly dejected, I left the church immediately. I couldn’t even get back to Remy before Doc overdosed him or whatever that psychopath was going to do before immolating him.

  I made it as far as the middle of the intersection before I let gravity pull me down to the cracked pavement. I couldn’t bear it. I wanted a truck to come barreling down the road and crush me like I had done to that biker.

  “Miss!” I faintly heard the elderly priest’s voice behind me, but I couldn’t face him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He repeated once again, “Miss?”

  I heard something heavy hit the ground behind me.

  “Your friend,” the man asked, huffing with exertion. “What is his name?”

  “Remy.” I nearly choked hearing the name out loud.

  “Was his last name Daniels?” the priest asked.

  “How did you know that?” I turned, surprised but skeptical. There in front of me was a loaded duffel bag at the feet of the winded priest.

  “After we spoke, I called Father Jameson to inquire about the woman you’d asked for – Grace. He asked if the person doing the asking had gone into the confessional. When I told him that you had and how you seemed distraught, he told me there was a bag in the closet of his office. Father Jameson thinks that whatever’s in that bag might be meant for you.”

  I peered at the sack. “Grace” was stitched into the handle. I unzipped a corner, opened a sliver to what was inside, and my eyes went wide. The bag was full of banded stacks of green paper.

  This was Remy’s salvation!

  “Why wasn’t this in the bench? It had the name carved in it and everything. Did you know what was inside?” I blurted out at length, quickly zipping it back up and looking around.

  “No, no. I trust Father Jameson’s judgment. The contents of the bag are none of our concern.” He waved away the notion emphatically. “Apparently, I was mistaken about the renovations being finished. Father Jameson had planned to have a new confessional booth built and installed but fell ill just soon after the project was started. Knowing he wouldn’t be present during its completion, he moved the bag so that no one would accidentally stumble across it in his absence.”

  “I understand.” Even if it did give me a fucking heart attack.

  “He also told me to offer any assistance you might need. Is there anything you need?”

  “Uh, yeah, I need to get back to Santa Fe by six.”

  To my utter surprise, the priest pressed a set of car keys into the palm of my hand. No way, seriously?

  The priest pointed to the parking lot. “It’s the station wagon. Come,” he said gently and helped me up. “Let’s get you out of the street. Most truckers around here drive far too quickly to be able stop in time. Even for women as handsome as yourself.” The priest winked, then smiled gently and beckoned me to join him as he walked toward the car.

  It reminded me of when my grandfather would wink at me after he’d sneak me an extra piece of candy right before dinner when my parents weren’t looking.

  The corners of my mouth creased into a distant smile with warm remembrance.

  “Thank you for this, Father.” I tossed the bag onto the passenger’s seat and kissed the priest’s cheek. He blushed. It was sweet. His goodness reminded me of Gloria back at Muse’s Place.

  I really hoped she was doing all right.

  “Hey. I thought you said the donation was anonymous? How’d you know it was Remy that paid for the work to be done?” I raised an eyebrow at the priest. It felt odd that a man of the cloth might’ve been caught in a lie.

  “I asked Father Jameson that very question.” He nodded, satisfied that we thought alike. “His response was… elusive. However, my guess would be that Our Lady of Resurrection church doesn’t get many motorcyclists. Mr. Daniels probably wasn’t one to be easily forgotten.”

  There was no one else like Remy, that’s for sure.

  “Amen.” I grinned.

/>   “Oh, Father Jameson would like you to thank our mysterious benefactor for breathing new life into the old bones of Our Lady of Resurrection. He also said to mention that should he ever like to rejoin the choir, the doors are always open for him. Father Jameson tells me Mr. Daniels had a lovely singing voice as a child.”

  “I’ll let him know.” Now I couldn’t contain my beaming smile. It was hard to imagine Remy belting out the Catholic hymnal hits with the other boys, but I did love the thought of it.

  “There is a map in the glove compartment. Go with God, my child.”

  I waved to the retreating priest and quickly plotted the course on the map. There was no time to spare, but I needed a peek. Just before I took off, I checked to make sure no one was in the area and unzipped the bag all the way. It was full to the brim with money and also had a couple guns, a knife, a change of clothes, a half a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and a frayed copy of The Catcher in the Rye. I zipped it back up, smiled again, and took off for Santa Fe.

  I found your bag of tricks, Remy. Hold on! I’m on my way!

  Five-thirty. With a half hour to spare, I turned down the side road that led to the taxidermy shop. A bike and a sedan whipped by me, heading in the opposite direction. I could tell by the rider’s vest that they were Lobos. Were the Lobos Doc’s six p.m. appointment? If so, then what happened to Remy?

  Now I was getting nervous. This Doc guy was obviously unhinged. Who knows if he’s the type of person to honor a verbal agreement? The grisly thought of Doc chopping Remy up and mounting his head to the wall was completely ridiculous, but it scared the shit out of me nonetheless. I drove a little faster.

  The sooner I could pay this psychopath and get Remy out of there, the better.

  I wasn’t taking any chances. I tucked the pistol that I found in Remy’s bag into the back of my jeans and slung the bag over my shoulder. The pressure of the gun was tight against my back, and it dawned on me that I really didn’t know how the hell to use this thing. I’d only ever fired a gun once when I shot Rio, and that was almost completely luck. I had no idea where the safety was or even how to activate it. If we ever got a damn moment to breathe, Remy was going to teach me how to handle a gun. It seemed to be a necessary skill in the MC lifestyle.

  The buzzer noise sounded when I pushed open the door. The store was empty, but I could feel Doc’s beady eyes on me through the camera. Dusk had begun stretching across the horizon, and Hall’s Taxidermy had entered that lighting limbo where it was still slightly too bright to merit turning the house lights on but slightly too dark to feel like you were in a retail store and not a haunted house, waiting to be torn apart.

  Every wall in the showroom was covered in dead animals, even more so than the basement. The shadows thrown by the dying light filtering into the room was just enough to rob the animals of that cheap, still-just-a-statue quality. Everything was cast in an eerie state of terrifying realism. Reflected light made dozens of hate-filled, glassy eyes flash from the recesses of dark sockets. Monstrous predators of all types were poised, muscles taut, just waiting for the right moment to pounce on an unsuspecting victim.

  I gingerly picked up my pace as I made my way to the basement door.

  The unmistakable sound of a hacksaw cutting through bone greeted me as I opened the bulkhead door. The sense of growing dread that, despite it all, I still hadn’t made it to Remy in time made my ribcage feel like it had halved in size and was strangling me from inside out.

  The gun found its way into my clammy hands.

  Doc was hunched over the metal table with his back to me, and he was vigorously cutting through the head off a body. Oh my God, I was too late!

  He had killed Remy!

  I felt myself raising the pistol. I wasn’t in control any longer. I was now just a horrified passenger in my own body. I watched as grief, fear, and rage took over my limbs. This man had to die.

  A familiar, roughly-calloused hand slowly grabbed and lowered my arm. I was wound so tightly that I wouldn’t have been surprised if my scream had shattered glass.

  “It’s okay, Star. I’m okay.”

  It was Remy! He was awake and, more importantly, he was alive!

  “Keep the woman silent while I work,” Doc irritably barked, never breaking concentration from his sawing

  “But—but I thought…” I said quietly as I dragged both of our gazes back to the body being sawed in half.

  “Just an unlucky bastard that the Lobos brought in.” Remy’s voice was a labored husk of what it was before. “They’ll send the head as a message and have Doc cremate the rest.”

  “Why the hell did you scare me?” My adrenaline was finally fading, but still being mad at him for startling me, I reflexively punched him in the shoulder.

  His eyes narrowed and his jaw set as he grimaced through the pain. I felt terrible, but Remy didn’t recoil as much as a man who was shot five times should’ve.

  “Ohmygod! I’m so sorry!” Immediately realizing how shitty that was, my hands sprang out in front of me to console him. I stopped them from touching him again because I was afraid I might hurt him more, so they just hung in the air awkwardly.

  Remy breathed for a moment and worked through it. He touched his shoulder to make sure nothing had reopened, then his face slowly unscrewed into a genuine smile. A smile that, despite my stupidity, meant he was glad to see me. He then pulled me in for a hug, and it was the best feeling in the world.

  “I couldn’t let them see me when they brought the body in, so I hid behind some boxes.” Remy favored his left arm and ribs while struggling just to stand. Still, he was a lot less fucked-up than when I left him. I honestly didn’t expect to find him standing at all, let alone moving about. He had to be on some really good drugs.

  “Do you have my money?” Doc finally turned toward us, blood splattered his biohazard coverall as his head cocked down to look at us over his thick-lensed glasses. “Well?”

  “Yes! Christ! Give me a damn sec.” I’d almost just shot this man in the back of the head because I thought he killed my—whatever Remy was to me. I needed a moment to switch gears. I fished out ten-thousand from the bag and slapped it down on the table.

  He peeled off his gloves, expertly tossing them in the incinerator. He strode over, snatched up the bundles of money, and began counting to make sure it was the right amount and not counterfeit. “Yes, yes. You may leave,” Doc abruptly stated when he’d finished verifying the money was legitimate.

  Fine by me. I was eager to put this freak show behind us.

  “Wait.” He put it all in a safe embedded into the floor and handed me a mason jar with bullets he’d taken out of Remy.

  “Gross.” I held up the jar. The bits of metal were all deformed from punching into Remy and were covered in dried blood.

  “You’re just jealous you didn’t get a souvenir.” Remy’s tone would’ve followed with a smirk, but he was grimacing too much from the exertion of going up the stairs which was a very slow process. He was still in really rough shape, but feeling his weight on me as I helped him along was exactly what I needed.

  “Yeah.” I smiled for the both of us instead. “Now I need to find you a shirt that says ‘I got gunned down by a Mexican biker gang and all I got were these lousy bullets.’ ”

  “Ow, fuck!” Remy growled through a pained chuckle as we made our way out to the station wagon. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  Remy would have a long road to recovery ahead him, but I’d be there every step of the way.

  Chapter Two

  …

  Remy

  Two Months Later…

  It was a weird thing being dead.

  I’d thought about it a lot, especially these last few years. It wasn’t so much of an “if” but more of a “when.” I just never thought I’d live through my own death.

  After a few weeks of being bedridden, it felt damn good to be outside again. The asphalt was damp with midnight dew. I sat on the ground under the overhang against
the wall of our motel room. I watched occasional taillights speed by the sleepy main road that blinked out as they turned the corner.

  I don’t know if I actually died or not.

  The last thing I remembered was pushing Star out of the way then hearing Bones’ gun fire. Everything after, that was extremely fuzzy. The things I did or said during that time were automatic or completely on a subconscious level. She had to fill me in on what happened at the taxidermy shop and getting my bug-out bag from Our Lady of Resurrections.

  It was one thing to be saved from being killed, but to be brought back when the odds were hopeless was incredible. I guess at one point, she even stole an ambulance to keep me alive. It was hard to wrap my head around the thought of someone caring that much for me.

  Every breath I drew now was because of her.

  It was quiet, aside from the ambient hum of the city. I put my fingers on the concrete slab walkway and felt the vibrations of big things moving in the distance. I felt connected again.

  We had holed up at the Cottonwood Castle, a shitty, one-level, white and teal, U-shaped motel complete with small room with a lumpy bed, stained carpet, and barred windows. Low-man’s Paradise. It was the cheapest place with weekly rates that Star could find, but I didn’t fault her for it. She had done the best she could do given the crazy situation.

  It was two-thirty in the morning, and I couldn’t sleep. I needed to be outside for a while to get my bearings and clear my head. The chill in the air necessitated more than just the T-shirt I was wearing, but I just couldn’t force myself into that scratchy, yellow-green Christmas sweater that Star got me. It made me look like a late-February pine tree lying by the curb.

  I almost wasn’t able to get out of bed to come outside. Not just because of the constant pain that radiated throughout my fixed-up, ventilated holes, but because Star was lying next to me. I’d forgotten how warm and comfortable it was to sleep next to the same person in an actual bed for more than one night.