A Leap in the Dark (Assassins of Youth MC Book 2) (9 page)

“And that’s where you’ll miss out. You have to
feel
direct confrontations with people. There’s no sense in having pity for people if you’re being ruled by performance and profit. There’s no point in being charitable if you’re really not experiencing the compassion directly like a stab to your heart. I have a shitty boyfriend, I’ll be the first to admit that. But at least we have
passion
. We fight with passionate anger in our hearts.”

“That’s useless to me,” I said. It sounded heartless even as I said it. When had I become such a callous, insensitive jerk? “I’ve had no close relationships with anyone in my life—ever. Not since Zelpha Pratt.”

“You mean romantic. But you love your men.”

I stood tall and proud. “I love my men like a protective mother hen. But passion with a woman? Nothing. At least you have that with your idiotic boyfriend.” It irritated me that she had even an idiotic boyfriend. I’d grown close to her the past week, strange to say. We sort of fit together like hand in glove, though I knew she loathed me for my business practices. I was used to that. I’d been denounced for my field of work for a long time now. It was only because we serviced such a large denomination of pious men and women in the community that no one had harassed us to move.

She said, “Decisions such as whom to fall in love with, how to discipline a teenager, which beloved things to sacrifice, which dreams to follow or abandon—all of these choices should be made with emotion ruling, not wiped out and deadened by your logical thinking. If I let myself be ruled by logic, I’d never have hooked up with my worthless Italian boyfriend.”

“And that’s a
good
thing?” I scoffed.

She shrugged. “I’m actually trying to get rid of him. Emotion keeps drawing me back to him. But you see what I mean? You’re missing out on such a broad array of human experiences if you don’t go through any of those things.”

I was getting riled, maybe with the more Jim Beam I drank. “You don’t understand. I was kicked out of the bosom of my family. I was told that I was a
thing
, a bother, an inconvenience. I was a miniscule number in a perpetual multitude of numbers—an ‘it,’ not even an ‘I.’”

She folded her hands in front of her soberly, though she had drank as much as I had. “I understand. You won’t let yourself feel because that would dredge up all those angry, bitter feelings.”

“But I
am
angry and bitter! ‘Angry and Bitter’ is my middle name! It washes over me time and time again, trapping me in my bitterness, my rage, my inability to even remotely forgive anyone connected to that incident.”

“You have to learn to forgive, Levon, or else you can’t move on. Don’t you want to marry and have a regular wife? One that wasn’t chosen for you by some moldy old elders? Don’t you want to feel regular, normal
passion
and
love
for a woman—a woman you chose yourself?”

I don’t know what the fuck came over me. All at once, I knew I had something to prove to Oaklyn. Suddenly her waist under the furry jacket looked so small, so fragile, like she needed my big hands around it. When I grabbed her, she jumped, as though I was going to hurt her. She held onto my forearms as I lifted her onto the deck railing. She was so fucking light, with bones like a little bird! I parted her thighs with my massive ones, feeling like an ancient tree next to a swaying birch. I touched the tip of my nose to hers, and she didn’t try to pull away.

“I might not know romantic feelings,” I murmured, “but I know that sex can masquerade for emotions of that type.”

And I kissed her.

I gave it my all, letting my usual rage and indignation stand in for passion. I bit her pouty, full lips over and over again until I felt the breath of her sighs against my mouth. Her entire body did a full melt, and she even wrapped her ankles around the back of my knees.

Something happened during that wild kiss. My asshole self, who had never even really felt a passionate sexual urge—it was strictly business with all of us—began to cave in. Just like Oaklyn was folding up, dissolving like a sinkhole beneath my onslaught. Some of the walls I’d built up carefully over fifteen years began to dissolve. I could almost
feel
it, at the edges of my awareness, like a curtain someone was lifting on the two of us.

Like a spotlight shining on us coupling there on the deck railing, I began to feel like the star of our show. Only there were
two
of us, because it wasn’t just me performing like a trained seal. This was a woman who wasn’t my client. I was voluntarily licking her lips of my own free will. My cock was burgeoning, swelling against the wood railing, just an inch from her pussy. It made a giant tent in the loose lounging pants I wore, but I wasn’t embarrassed. Real feelings rushed through my lungs. Every breath I snorted against her cheek, every intake of air was like breathing true, real emotion.

I didn’t hate Oaklyn. I sort of even liked her.

My hands moved up her ribcage, felt her bony shoulders, cradled her strong jaw. Of course I never kissed clients, so I hadn’t kissed a woman in a year, maybe even two. It just wasn’t in my wheelhouse—I didn’t have the time. So feeling the true, hot, aroused sensuality of a woman beneath my very palms, well, it was a fucking turn-on.

But I knew I had to break away. I was good at doing that.

“There,” I panted triumphantly, as if I’d just solved some equation on a whiteboard. Oaklyn looked at me wide-eyed with wonder, her lower lip shining as though stung by a bee. She clearly didn’t know what to say or maybe even how to feel, so I helped her out. “How’s
that
for emotional turmoil?”

I was going to stalk off jubilantly, but Oaklyn beat me to it.

She leaped from the railing, shoving me out of the way. She stormed off for a few steps, but then thought better of it, and twirled back to face me. “
You!
Levon Rockwell. You’re the most infuriating, contrary man on the face of the planet!”

Then
she stormed off. I saw her go into the kitchen and grab the bottle of Jim Beam off the counter without missing a beat, then continue to her room.

Infuriating
. I liked that. It meant I was getting to her.

Then I wondered
why
I wanted to get to her.

LEVON

A few days later

“H
ey!” I shouted
at the painter. “I want the ceiling
white
. That’s why it’s taped off. Just go with that beige color up to the top of the wall.”

The painter looked cluelessly at my studio’s ceiling. His arm holding the roller dangled as he poised at the top of the ladder.

“Do you get it?” I yelled. All of the painters—all of the workers, really—were Cornucopia men. The Church of Good Fortune ran a lot of outside companies around there and you never knew when you’d literally run into a guy you used to go to school with. I’d perfected a frozen stare, as though I looked utterly through them, when this happened. Because if they were still there, and I remembered them from school, that meant they’d been elevated when I’d been expelled. Not one of them had said to me, “Hey, Levon! How’s it shaking?”

Another painter told the clueless guy what to do. I went to the back office, followed by my brown Newfoundland dog, Lazarus. Deloy had taken my Sporty up to Bountiful so he could attach the sidecar and bring Lazarus back, complete with doggie goggles and scarf. I know. It was sappy, but his eyes needed protection when he rode. Lazarus loved riding in the sidecar, his long tongue flapping in the breeze. He was my mascot, my best friend—my life. I’d admitted a long time ago that I loved him with a passion. That surge through my chest when I wrapped my arms around the giant stuffed bear? That was love, pure and simple. And Lazarus didn’t judge me. He loved me unconditionally for who I was.

I fed him in the office, thinking about Nana. She was in Dixie Regional in St. George waiting for a coronary bypass procedure. There was no doubt she needed more care than we were able to give her. When she recovered, there was a room at the assisted living place ready for her. It was an enormous change, going from a house full of dozens of women, to her own room. But in some ways, it was similar. She had only to walk down the hall to find a bunch of other women who weren’t all that unlike her. These end of life changes were new to me. But Oaklyn had convinced me it was best for her. Even a nurse like her couldn’t give Nana what she needed.

“It looks
fantastic
!” raved Deloy, standing in the doorway. “I can’t wait to pick back up on my training.” Deloy was actually a competent Krav Maga practitioner. He was thin and weedy, but his years of training with me in our home gym had honed his efficient defense and offense skills. “The tan color is soothing yet sort of energizing. I saw the mirror delivery guy out in the alley.”

“Yeah, he’s bringing the mirrors into the back. Listen, Deloy.” The kid had taken my only other chair and was happily scratching Lazarus’ butt as the dog inhaled his kibble. “Are you seriously joining the Assassins of Youth? I just don’t really see you as the MC type.”

“I’m not. I was forced to admit defeat. Dingo and Sledgehammer took me to the outdoor gun range, and I just got bugsmashed. I totally went sideways.”

I liked Deloy’s new “hip” language. He was desperately trying to fit in with the motorcycle club. “You failed to crush it. Did you just miss the target a lot? That’s understandable when you’re new to it.”

“I managed to hit it a few times. It was just too overwhelming for me, Levon. The loud reports scared the bejesus out of me, and that’s something I’ll never get used to. You know we used to hear gunshots around the compound. The next day some guy would always go missing. These were older guys. Guys who Chiles felt were in competition with him in some way, a threat to his power. So yeah, the short answer is no. I won’t be prospecting for the Assassins. I’m doomed to be a hang-around forever.”

It was time to come clean. I felt close to Deloy, so I said, “Yeah, Gideon found several bodies out at his open mine pit. Some have been identified and the first wives have come forward to claim them. We still have two decrepit rotting guys with no ID.”

Deloy’s face went utterly still, like a statue. “Oh, God. Could be anyone, really. So many have vanished.”

“One is a teenager, we think, who has been in the ground for about five years.” Deloy left Cornucopia five years ago. I knew he might give us a clue as to the kid’s identity, but I would never make him look at something that frightening. It was bad enough Gideon, Dust Bunny and I had to. The guy was decomposed beyond IDing, anyway. We’d have to DNA him.

“Oh, God. I didn’t know they sent kids to spirit prison. Just older guys.” Spirit prison was an in-between place between heaven and hell where dead people went who had been ignorant of the gospel.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not joining. It’s not for you, but I know you want a sense of belonging to something bigger than yourself.”

“I do,” Deloy said despondently. “But going to dental school will just have to do. And hanging around The High Dive with the guys.” He loved petting Lazarus. The enormous fluffy dog sat right smack in front of Deloy, ready for pets. That dog was spoiled, and I didn’t care.

“That’s good. You’re on the right side of this community, anyway. Remember how great it is to not be with the fundies. To have freedom of choice and will. Excuse me?”

Some guy with a clipboard had appeared in the doorway. He must’ve been chewing on breath mints because a minty cloud seemed to emanate from his head. “Yeah, I’m looking for Levon Rockwell.”

I stood. “That’s me.”

He shook my hand. “I’m Hyrum Shumway, building inspector for the Town of Avalanche.”

Dread and doom started eating at my stomach. No one ever wanted the building inspector, but it was inevitable that he would come, like death and taxes.

Shumway cut right to the chase. “Listen, I haven’t even begun to go down my checklist for this building. When it was an antique store there were a lot of structural issues I’m not sure were ever addressed.”

“Well, you’re free to look around. I had an independent contractor, a structural engineer, come in and assess the place. He found nothing big other than some dry rot which I addressed by ripping it out and replacing it.”

“I saw that,” said Shumway. “The big issue is, we’ve already issued too many business licenses for this year. A lot of your buddies took up most of them with their butcher shop, coffee shop, barber. Not to mention, you’ll need an additional special license because you’re an occult art practitioner.”

My mind was blank. “What?” was all I could think of to say.

“Occult art?” echoed Deloy.

“Yeah. Whatever this Krav Maga business is, it’s going to need to go before the Town Council before being approved. And in the history of Avalanche we’ve never once approved a license for an occult art. It’s just not the sort of thing we want to promote in the wholesome atmosphere of Avalanche.”

I found my tongue. “So you’re saying that even if my studio passes inspection, I might not get a business license because I’m an
occult art practitioner
?”