Madeline Sheehan: Undeniable

Crying, the kid shook his head.

"You respect women you little fuckin' shit. It was a fuckin' woman who carried you around in her fuckin' body, fuckin' birthed you and fuckin' loved you, and it's gonna be a woman who keeps you warm at night, who lets you inside her body and it's gonna be a woman who carries around your fuckin' children. You fuckin' respect that, you feel me? You fuckin' respect women, all of ‘em, or I will end you."

He released him and the kid fell to his knees retching.

"Fuckin' little shits," He muttered. Tucking his gun back in his jeans he walked away.

I was sixteen.

It was summer in Manhattan.

And it was the first Sunday of the month.

Smack dab between Morissey's Bar and a Middle Eastern grocery store, up on the roof of the Demon's five story Portland Brownstone, the MC’s monthly family barbeque was in full swing. Old ladies and wives, children, cousins, friends of families and business associates were talking and laughing, dancing and drinking while dogs and burgers were being flipped on the grills as fast as the kegs were emptying.

On top of a picnic table, Frankie and I were sitting side by side sharing a pair of earbuds. My discman was wedged between us, our heads were pressed together, while we rocked out to Led Zepplin's Dazed and Confused. I had my arm slung over Frankie's broad shoulders and his hand was sliding up and down my thigh, his fingers tapping out the beat of the song.

"Heads up brothers the Horsemen are here!"

My head swiveled right.

Another yell. "Hide your women!"

This was followed by loud guffaws and a lot of feminine giggling.

I watched as a large group of leather clad men joined the crowd on the roof. On the backs of their cuts were the Hell's Horsemen insignia.

Just like the insignia on my medallion.

My heart started pounding. Was Deuce here? I scanned the crowd but the Horsemen had already dispersed within the sea of people.

Frankie squeezed my thigh to get my attention. I pulled out my ear bud and slanted my eyes at him.

"Want me to hide some booze for later? Some smoke?"

Demon barbeques were infamous for becoming wild and reckless and more often then not every last biker would be passed out drunk before midnight. This was when their offspring partied with their leftover booze and green.

"Yeah," I said and smiled at him.

Frankie stood, ran his fingers through my long dark hair and pulled my head flush against his hard abdomen. "Be right back," He whispered.

"And Eva?"

I looked up.

"Don't fuckin' go anywhere until I get back."

Rolling my eyes, I put my earbuds in and resumed my head bobbing, foot tapping and overly loud singing, happily ignoring the openmouthed stares my singing always caused.

Middle school had been rough for me but I'd since grown into my awkwardness. I'd embraced my weirdness, I was cool with my oddities. I was who I was and I didn't care anymore what anyone else thought. High school so far had been good to me. I was pretty, I was popular and I had a ton of friends. I suspected most of my girlfriends used to me get near Frankie, trying to bag him. Frankie was a good-looking guy, big and broad with finely chiseled features. He was a pureblood Italian with brown eyes the color of dark chocolate and thick blown hair he'd grown long.

The girls flocked and bag them he did. In droves. Never did the same girl twice. So other than having to listen to all the girls at school whine and pine over Frankie, life was good. It was fun and uncomplicated and I was happy.

My eyes trained on the blacktop beneath me, a shadow fell over me and a pair of leather boots walked into my line of sight. I stared down at them. Full grain black leather with a rubber sole. Detailed at the ankles with metal buckles, they looked edgy, sexy.

I looked up.

"Still wearin' chucks and singin' out of tune I see."

Yep. Edgy and sexy. Just like the man wearing them.

Deuce was all dimples and smiles and icy blue eyes that matched perfectly with his long blonde hair that he'd pulled back in a stubby ponytail. He was just as large as I remembered, broad and well built; he towered over me and was at least half a body wider. He looked hot as hell in a tight white tee, his leather cut and ratty, low-slung jeans. This time when I grinned at him, it wasn't with little girl awe it was with sixteen year old sexual fascination.

"Eva fucking Fox," He drawled. "You've grown."

"Deuce," I said, smiling impishly. "You've aged."

He threw his head back and laughed a deep, rumbling laugh that had my belly clenching and my nipples tightening. I wasn't the only female affected; several women on the roof were openly fawning over him.

Reaching inside his cut, Deuce pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He kept his eyes on me as he lit it. "How old are ya now, darlin'? Eighteen, nineteen?"

"Sixteen," Frankie hissed appearing beside me. "Six fuckin' teen."

Deuce's eyes cut to Frankie and I watched as recognition dawned. It wasn’t happy recognition.

"Crazy fuckin' Frankie," Deuce said smirking. "Got a pretty impressive rep for a brother so fuckin' young."

Frankie had been coined “Crazy Frankie” a few years ago because…he was crazy.

Hands clenched into fists, Frankie glared at Deuce. "You're gonna wanna back the fuck off Eva, Horseman."

I tugged on his cut. “Calm down. He’s friends with daddy.”

Frankie turned his glare on me. “No baby, he’s not. He’s in business with him. It’s fuckin’ different. You shouldn't be around him, he's fuckin’ dangerous. If Preacher could he’d take him to ground.”

I gaped at Frankie.

He shrugged. “Way it is babe.”

Unaffected by Frankie’s casual talk of his death, Deuce took a deep drag of his cigarette and blew a long stream of smoke right into Frankie's face. Frankie turned red with anger.

"Killed two of Bannon’s boys last week in Pittsburg, yeah Frankie? Whole circuit knows. Word is he’s gunnin’ for ya. You got Eva cuffed to your side all the time, think that might be kinda fuckin' dangerous for her?”

My mouth fell open. “You killed someone?” I whispered, floored that Frankie was capable of killing. I knew it happened when MC business went bad but no one ever talked to me directly about it and I certainly hadn't thought my nineteen year old brother had been doing his fair share.

Frankie’s nostrils were flaring, his dark eyes trained on Deuce. “You fuck,” He hissed.

Deuce shrugged. “Way it is brother,” He said, throwing Frankie’s words back at him.

“Frankie,” I whispered. “Bannon’s gonna kill you.”

Mickey Bannon was a bad guy. Irish mafia kind of bad. He ran most of his business out of Pittsburg but he had ties all over the place, even overseas. I knew my father was having problems with him reneging on deals but I hadn't thought it had gone so far as to result in murder.

With his eyes still on Deuce, Frankie gripped my shoulder. “No babe. I already took care of it. Me and Trey. Nobody’s fuckin’ comin’.”

Trey was my cousin, Uncle Joe's oldest son and not a nice guy. Well…he was nice to me and his mother but that was about it. Trey committing murder did not come as a surprise to me.

Deuce snorted. “Gonna need a new bedpost to keep countin’ your notches. You’re rackin’ up bodies faster than the Germans took out the Jews.”

Reflexively, I jerked away from Frankie. "What!"

His head whipped in my direction. “Ev-

“No!” I snapped. “I need you to go away right now!”

“Be fuckin’ pissed Eva, I don’t give a shit! But no way I’m leavin’ you alone with this fuck!”

“How long you been followin' her around now Frankie? Protectin’ her from fuckin’ nothin’?"