Black Sheep

It’s Monday. The weekend feels like it was seven days long with all the ups and downs Bria and I have faced together. This morning, she received word that Samuel has awoken and is able to speak, albeit slowly. She insisted I go to campus, so I check my texts between classes and receive sporadic updates as the day rolls on. She says Samuel’s comprehension seems good, but he doesn’t remember the stroke. His left side is weak. Rehab will start immediately and he should be back at Cedar Ridge within a few days.

My classes end mid-afternoon and I’m at my desk catching up on emails when a call comes through. At first, my heart speeds with anticipation that it’s Bria, but it’s Agent Espinoza’s name on the screen when I swipe to accept the call.

“We’ve been looking into your question about other cults who have experienced similar patterns of dissolution,” she says after a brief greeting. “It’s been difficult to nail down. If they’re not engaging in illegal activity, they aren’t really on our radar. There have been a few that have come and gone, but so far I haven’t found anything to indicate a similar pattern. The one potential exception is Disciples of Xantheus. Are you familiar with them?”

“Yes, I know of DOX,” I reply. “Religious cult. They were based in Nevada for some time before they disappeared.”

“That’s right. They just up and left. They turned up in Mexico for a short time before continuing south. They wound up in Bolivia.”

I let out a long sigh as I lean back in my chair. “No extradition.”

“Exactly. But we do have a woman who recently left the cult and was repatriated. She’s in Washington at the moment. She’s been in the hospital, so we haven’t had the opportunity to fully interview her yet, but she stated the catalyst for the cult’s movement from Nevada was a murder and two disappearances.”

A chill flows down my arms. There had been rumors about something cataclysmic occurring within the reclusive DOX community, causing them to pull up from their little oasis and disappear. There wasn’t anything they were doing wrong on the surface of things. It was just a small community that kept to themselves, and no one left. They never got into trouble. It never made sense why they would suddenly leave.

“Is there any chance I could interview her?” I ask. “It’s a long shot, but if there have been disappearances, perhaps they chose to run from someone.”

“One step ahead of you, Dr. Kaplan. Sara should be up for release from the hospital tomorrow, and I’m hoping she’ll agree to head to Ogden while you’re there. I’ll keep you posted, but the details we have so far are in the folders for you.”

I log in while we finish our conversation and pull up the limited information on Sara Monroe, a forty-five-year-old woman who was found wandering on a deserted Bolivian road, badly injured and alone. Reading into the limited information, it seems like she’s a woman with a wild story that she’s reluctant to tell. And at this stage, I’ll take any scrap of information I can get.

It’s four thirty when another text comes in, this time a reminder from Simon about the last race of the season. The Autumn Adder is tonight, and the weather is perfect. I’m craving that rush of adrenaline. I want to lose every thought to the machine beneath me and the dips and curves of the road… And I bet there’s someone else I know who would benefit from some time away from the weight of the world.

I pack up my things and send Bria a cryptic text before I head home to change, and within the hour I’m parking at her house.

“I see you’re finally embracing your rebel professor alter ego,” she says as she stops beside me, eyeing my motorcycle leathers and my purring bike with a sly smile.

I reach out and take her wrist, pulling her toward me until I can wrap my padded arm around her back and kiss her. Every time I’m away from Bria, even for a few hours, it feels like a deepening chasm is gnawing at my chest, consuming me. The only relief is her touch. Even seeing her at a distance is not enough. I need to feel her warmth, to let her fill that emptiness, not with light, but with the substance of her shadows.

Bria presses her palm to my face, tracing her thumb across my stubble. “What are we up to?”

“I’m taking you to something fun. It’s a little bit naughty though. It’s not what you’d call a ‘sanctioned event.’”

Her smile brightens as I pass her the spare helmet. “The Autumn Adder?” she asks.

This woman. It started with a voice in a coffee shop, a busted glance, and a bombed meeting. And now here she is, grinning like there’s not a secret she can’t excavate from me, and all I want to do is carve out my heart and give it to her. “How the fuck did you know about that?”

Bria shrugs as she walks around to my left side and swings her leg over the bike, settling in behind me with her arms around my waist. “I already told you. I have skills you don’t even know about, Dr. Kaplan.”

With a gentle squeeze she lifts a hand and closes her visor, and then we’re off, speeding toward the foothills.

The location of the Autumn Adder changes every year. I’ve been coming since I moved here four years ago, and every season it’s grown. When we arrive at the location Simon provided as a dropped pin, there are bikes filling the cracked asphalt parking lot of the abandoned gas station and lining part of the road. Music plays from someone’s speakers. People are laughing and talking, the excitement palpable as they check out each other’s machines and chatter about the upcoming ride. Not everyone will race, but there are many contenders, some of whom I’ve faced before.

I park and Bria gets off first, bewitching me as she takes off her helmet and her loose hair tumbles over her shoulders. She can’t see my face through my mirrored visor but she smiles like she can, that same cocky “caught you” look lifting the corners of her mouth.

“Pancake,” I say, lifting my visor. “If you keep looking at me like that, you’re going to throw me off my game.”

Bria saunters closer, a leopard in a leather jacket. I pull my helmet off and she wraps her arms around my neck. “If you changed your mind and don’t want to race, I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

“Good luck convincing him out of it,” a familiar voice cuts in just as I’m about to kiss Bria. I draw back and watch as Simon approaches, running a hand through his sun-bleached hair. “Kap has a track beef. He came in second two years ago and swears Wilson cheated.”

“He did cheat,” I argue. “He kicked me and tried to touch my brake.”

“Wilson is the new Romano Fenati, apparently,” Simon whispers to Bria with a wink.

I roll my eyes and lean closer to Bria. “Romano Fenati pulled an opponent’s brake—”

“At the San Marino GP,” she interjects. “He was dropped from the Marinelli Snipers and had his racing license revoked.”

Simon grins, his clear blue eyes dancing between us as I try to wrangle my dumbfounded expression. I shake my head in disbelief and swallow. “Simon, this is my girlfriend, Bria. Bria, Simon.”

The two shake hands as Simon’s gaze rakes over Bria’s face in a way that makes me want to rip his skin off. “Racing fan?” he asks.

“No.”

God I love this woman. She doesn’t elaborate. She just lays it out there, no explanation or apology given.

Simon is enchanted, and I notice every obvious sign. The way he holds on to her hand for a heartbeat too long. His dilated pupils. The particular curve of his lips. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Maybe you’ve been to The Consulate Bar? I’m a bartender there.”

“I haven’t,” she says and shrugs. “I must have one of those faces.”

Simon turns on his most charming smile. “I doubt that.”

“Time to move along, asshole,” I say, my tone joking enough that Simon laughs despite my growing urge to tear out his throat. “She’ll flatten you faster than you can blink.”

Simon bellows another laugh and slaps me on the shoulder. “Okay, Kap. You’re up in ten. Bria, it was a pleasure.” Simon gives us a little salute before he shifts past us, Bria’s eyes following his movement. Her face is empty of emotion, an untouched canvas. Except for her eyes. They glitter with malice, like she’s planning a hundred different ways to flay Simon alive.

“Murdery vibes,” I say, pulling her closer.

Bria’s expression flashes as though my words are a lightning strike, burning through the darkness. “What?”

“You looked like you wanted to kill him.” I kiss Bria’s freckled nose and when I pull away, her eyes are locked somewhere near my heart.

“I did?”

Shit. Bria has not taken this as a joke. She looks confused, possibly even disturbed. Maybe I crossed some line without realizing. There are moments when I’m so focused on the present with her that I forget about the terrible past she keeps shuttered away. I don’t know what’s in that box, or what she’s suffered or been witness to.

I fold my arm around Bria’s back. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

Bria’s confusion only seems to deepen, a small crease appearing between her brows as she meets my eyes. “What for?”

“The joke about murdery vibes. If it’s any consolation, I had an urge to kill him too, if that’s what was going through your head. Nothing to be ashamed about. It’s not like you acted on it.”

Bria tries to smile but it looks pained, and a sting of guilt burns in my heart. I pull her closer until she climbs onto the bike in front of me, her legs dangling over mine. And I don’t care who’s here or what they think or who they know. I hold Bria’s waist with my gloved hands and kiss her like we’re the only two people in the world. Her subtle taste of mint covers my tongue as she explores my mouth. Her nails scrape through my hair and the back of my neck. Bria sinks into me and the sounds of music and voices fade away until she’s the only thing that’s real.

And she is. She’s the only thing that’s real. The only person who feels authentic. She fills the empty spaces with mystery and wit and humor and beauty. No one has ever fit like she does.

When the outside world crashes in, it’s with the sound of a horn and a responding whoop of whistles and cheers. We look to Simon, the source of the sound, standing in the center of the parking lot with a folded note in his hand.

“Welcome to the Autumn Adder!” he bellows, and another cheer rises from the group. “We’ve got a lot of contenders this year for the Snakehead Trophy.”

“It’s the ugliest trophy of all time. Not sure why I risk my neck for it,” I say in a low voice to Bria as Simon raises the hunk of brass in the air to the hollering crowd.

“We’ll do four heats of six. The top two riders from each heat will enter the finals,” Simon says, looking down at his note. “First up are Kaplan, Alvarez, Carter, Yu, Wilson, and Ness. Make your way to the starting line, my people.”

Clapping and voices surround us as engines roar to life. Bria presses her palms to my cheeks and I’m caught in the gravity of her deep brown eyes. Whatever she feels is buried so deep I can only see the most diaphanous evidence that worry swims beneath the surface. It’s in the heartbeat pulsing in her neck. It’s the way her gaze filters between my eyes, her lips pressing together. I kiss the bridge of her nose where her freckles concentrate.

“Be careful,” she says when I pull away. Those faint traces of worry disappear and a stern darkness settles in her skin. “I don’t want to inherit your wardrobe.”

I laugh as Bria grins and climbs off my bike. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve left it to Duke.” I pull on my helmet and nod to the hill behind the gas station. “If you head up the path, you’ll see us come around the second curve.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Pancake,” I say, then cover her mouth with my gloved hand. She glares at me and I give her a lopsided smile. “I love you.”

Bria’s glare softens as I pull down my visor with my free hand and start the engine. I don’t take my palm from her lips until I’m ready to take off, and I don’t look to see if she tries to answer. I just rev the engine and head to the starting line.

I roll into place next to Alvarez and we knock fists as the others fan out next to us. Simon’s brother gets into position with a flag. Adrenaline floods my veins with every hammering beat of my heart.

And after seconds that seem to stretch too long, the flag drops and we’re surging ahead. The initial stretch is straight and the pack stays together as we reach the first curve, leaning into the sweeping bend. Another short stretch and I’m pulling into second place. We round the curve behind the gas station and I pass Alvarez, hoping Wilson is at the back of the pack. And then I concentrate on keeping my balance, accelerating through the snakelike curves, speeding down the straights. The race ends where there’s a flat stretch just before a bridge over a gorge and I keep my position, with Wilson just behind me.

We turn back after the positions are confirmed and head to the abandoned gas station where I find Bria chatting with Alvarez’s wife Beth, who’s due to race in one of the later heats. I shut off my bike and pull off my helmet and gloves as Alvarez parks next to her, his expression a mix of rage and worry.

“Fucking Wilson,” he grits out, his eyes tracking Wilson’s bike behind me as he enters the parking lot. “He nearly knocked me off on the fifth turn.”

“I told you. That guy is a cheating prick.”

“I believe you, man. It’s Simon who needs convincing. They go too far back.” Alvarez sighs and shakes his head, turning his attention to his wife. “If you win your heat, I think you should consider calling it a day, babe. It’s not worth eating asphalt because of that asshole.”

Beth crosses her arms but says nothing. She just stares across the lot at Wilson as he turns off his Honda. Her glare turns into a deadly smirk as she catches Wilson’s eye and he saunters toward us. Instinct propels me off my bike and in front of Bria, who looks disquietingly at ease.NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

“Julio,” Wilson calls to Alvarez as he draws closer. “Better luck next year, I guess.”

“Fuck you, man.”

Wilson laughs and runs a hand across his buzzed blond hair. “Ouch. Sore loser, eh? What about you, Beth? Will you congratulate me when I win, or are you gonna be a little bitch about it too?”

Beth bursts forward to scrape his eyeballs clean out of his skull, but Alvarez manages to wrap an arm around her waist before she can reach him. “Don’t turn your back, asshole,” she snarls, spitting at Wilson. She misses his face but hits his jacket and he laughs.

“Uh oh, Bethie. You know threats aren’t allowed. Simon says and all that.”

“What about cheating?” Bria interjects, her voice calm and even. I turn toward her but she’s looking down at her phone. “What does Simon say about that? Perhaps we should ask him.”

Bria ignores Wilson’s proclamation of innocence and whistles before yelling Simon’s name, still not looking up from her phone. Simon registers the tension among our group and walks over, his gaze bouncing between us.

“What’s up, my people?” he asks in a cheery tone that fails to disguise his wariness.

“Simon, what’s your policy on cheating?” Bria asks, her eyes glued to her screen. Wilson shifts on his heels, irritation and fury rolling from his tense shoulders.

“Immediate disqualification, but there has to be proof.”

“Hmm,” Bria says, nodding thoughtfully. “I thought you might say that. What about this?”

Bria turns her phone to show us the screen.

A video of the race at the fifth corner plays in slow motion, as clear as if it were taken on a racetrack. I go by first and Alvarez is in second, Wilson in a close third. And then it happens. Indisputable proof. Wilson kicks out, Alvarez swerves, and Wilson surges into second place.

Alvarez and Beth whoop in astonished triumph. Simon glares at his friend and tells him to pack it up for risking lives. Wilson yells a string of obscenities and tries to argue with Simon. And Bria? Well, she just smirks. My little demon, always ten steps ahead.

“You fucking cunt,” Wilson growls. He pushes past Simon and swings to knock Bria’s phone from her hand.

My fist meets his face before he can ever make contact.

In a single breath I’ve got him trapped beneath me on the pavement. My vision narrows to a pin of rage. All I see is my knuckles slamming into Wilson’s face, over and over. His cheek tears open and blood spatters across the asphalt. The scent of hot leather and splitting skin lifts from the ground. My heartbeat dampens the sounds of pain from Wilson as I pummel him with blows. I get in two final hits before Simon and Alvarez manage to pull me off, but I struggle against them. I want to fucking kill him. I want to wrap my fingers around his throat and feel him choke beneath my hands.

“Don’t you fucking look at her,” I seethe as Wilson spits out a broken tooth. “I’ll fucking kill you, you sonofabitch.”

When they’ve dragged me back far enough, Simon and Alvarez let me go and I turn, my wild gaze colliding with Bria’s calm, unflustered expression. She lifts her hands to my cheeks and her gentle smile sweeps away the rage still burning in my veins. I push her back a few steps, wanting to get her further from Wilson before I shift stray strands of hair from her face. Something about the sight of my bloody knuckles next to her unblemished skin is deeply satisfying.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my heart still hammering through quick breaths.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

I nod, closing my eyes and pressing my sweat-slicked forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, beating the shit out of Wilson?”

“No,” I say with a heavy sigh. I’m not actually sorry for that at all, and I push aside what that could mean as my hand flows down Bria’s back. “I’m sorry if I brought up any memories that you wanted to keep in the past.”

“Eli, no,” she whispers as she wraps her arms around my neck and draws me into her embrace. I inhale her light scent, resting my head on her shoulder. “That’s not how it works for me.”

I pull back to kiss her, to tell her I love her, but the blare of a warning horn stops me.

“Police incoming!” Simon shouts. “Pack it up!”

Bria’s eyes go wide as I grab her hand. “Come on, Pancake. Time to go.”

We pull our helmets on as and Bria slits her phone into the mount with a route to Lake McDonald. We weave through rushing spectators and revving bikes as we take off up the road in the direction I just raced. We speed through curves and pass other bikes and Bria follows every leaning movement. We never hear the sirens, but we ride as though they’re right behind us. An hour and two near misses with deer later, we’re rolling down a secluded gravel driveway that opens to a massive log cabin on the shore.

The sun is setting when I park next to the stairs leading to the wraparound porch. It’s another impressive structure, with no decorations on the walls and sleek details mixed with the rustic warmth of the wood. Bria heads for the kitchen with its polished granite countertops and shining steel appliances, and pulls a first aid kit from a drawer next to the gas range.

“We’d better stay here tonight,” Bria says as I text Fletch to see if she can take Duke out. She replies almost immediately with a thumbs up.

“Yeah. When’s your first class tomorrow?”

“Not until one. You?”

“Eleven.”

Bria nods and gestures for me to sit on one of the stools at the island. She pours two glasses of bourbon before sitting next to me. I watch the precise work of her delicate fingers as she prepares bandages with antibiotic cream and unpackages a gauze pad, soaking it in rubbing alcohol.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have taken you there,” I say. She presses the saturated pad to my bloody knuckles and wipes away the dried blood, the biting sting seeping into the wounds.

“If I didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t have gone,” she replies with a nonplussed shrug.

“And I’m sorry for my reaction to Wilson. I wouldn’t blame you if you felt less of me.”

The motion of Bria’s hand slows and she blinks at me. “Why would I think less of you?”

“Violence? Breaking a man’s teeth, maybe?”

Bria huffs a laugh and resumes her work. “I don’t think less of you.” She’s silent for a long while, and she does something I’ve never seen her do. She starts chewing at her lip, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Would you think less of me? If I was…violent…with someone?”

“No, Bria.”

“I have been.”

“It still doesn’t change how I feel.”

Bria nods. She keeps nodding, an almost imperceptible, metronomic bobbing of her head. She goes back to gnawing at her bottom lip, the crease between her brows deepening. I feel like she’s on the edge of something, some question or feeling she can’t contain. But I don’t ask. I just wait, hoping she’ll get there on her own.

“What if I said I’d done worse?” she finally asks.

“Define ‘worse.’” I wait for her to elaborate but she doesn’t. Her face smooths of all expression as whatever this is sinks beneath the surface. “Are we talking kicking puppies here?”

“No,” Bria replies with a momentary look of disgust. The silence descends once more as she bandages my split knuckles. When she’s done, she repackages the unused contents of the first aid kit and gathers the garbage in a tight fist. She starts to stand as I fold my fingers around her wrist.

“Hey,” I say. Bria tenses as though she’s ready to pull away, but she doesn’t. “It wouldn’t change how I feel. I love you, Bria. I get you’ve been through some shit. I understand you aren’t ready to share. But when you are, I’ll still love you.”

The way Bria watches me, I know I just got so close and then fucked it up. I never should have asked her to qualify ‘worse.’ In truth, her answer wouldn’t have mattered. I love her. I envision a life with her, and that picture gets clearer with every second that passes.

Bria gives me a faint smile and pulls away. I promise myself that next time, I won’t make the same mistake.