Abandoned Angel (4 page)

Justin
, she reminded herself, hating the way the cold air grazed her bare arms.
Think of saving Justin
, she repeated in her mind. That would be how she would make it through this journey, and yes, she decided, she would do whatever she had to do in order to make it to Justin, even if that meant trusting the man who offered her a ride.

“What the hell are you doing Blaze?” questioned Doc. His stern expression worried Angelina.

She could barely hear their conversation over the rumble of the bikes, but Angelina did not miss the tightening of Blazes jaw as Doc asked his question.

“You know this won’t sit well with the others,” he continued. “Spike is not going to just let this go.” Doc waved his left arm as he spoke, riding with the right. Blaze did not respond. He stubbornly stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes on the bumpy road. Angela continued to watch Blaze’s reflection in the bike’s side mirror.

“You should have stayed out of it Blaze, it was none of your business,” Doc continued. “The bitch should be riding with Spike and you know it. He had her first,” affirmed Doc with obvious concern over the situation. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing?”

Blaze said nothing.

Angelina tried to follow the conversation. She struggled with doing so since she was still fighting her headache and the nagging desire to sleep. She gathered that the intense, baldheaded biker they called Spike had planned to keep Angelina for himself. Blaze had inappropriately stepped in, and taken her from him. Doc was worried because Blaze had intervened, pissing Spike off. The thought of either one of them taking claim of her turned her stomach, but the vomiting was over. She would fight the urge to be sick no matter how disgusted she was. Having no one else to depend on, she had no choice but to be strong, no matter what happened. Riding with Blaze was a means to an end. He would get her closer to finding her son, so she intended to do whatever he said.

Angelina tried not to be obvious about listening to the conversation that Doc and Blaze were having, but she needed to understand what she had gotten herself into and apparently, they did not care if she heard.

“She isn’t yours Blaze, and you know that,” the old man bellowed.

Blaze did not flinch.

“Damn it Blaze, listen to me!” Doc continued, obviously irritated.

With despondent agitation, Doc finally mouthed “FUCK!” to himself, and then sped up, pulling into his place in line. They were at the end of the sleepy town, and the group of bikers had started speeding up. Angelina glanced in the mirror, trying to read Blaze’s expression, but the dark sunglasses hid his eyes and his firm jaw stayed the same. She could not tell that Blaze had been watching her in the same way, wondering who had taken their fists to her pretty face. Although Angelina was a bit cold and wished she had on more than her thin tee shirt, the chill in the air slowly helped her head to stop pounding and made her forget about the way her battered body ached. She had not had the chance to check for injury, but she did not think anything was broken, and had no choice but to cope with the pain. Beatings were not new to her. She had dealt with them many times before and had always recovered.

Blaze kept his spot in the back of the group, riding to the rhythm of the others. Angelina eventually closed her tired eyes and listened to the constant sound of the bikes vibrating on the hard paved road. She felt the pulsation under her seat. For a while, she was able to block out reality and pretend she was riding with friends instead of complete strangers that scared the hell out of her. The truth was, though, that she had not had any close friends in a very long time - longer than she would like to admit. Rusty had made sure of that by slowly isolating her from the people she knew. Eventually, other than a few acquaintances, there was just Rusty and Justin in her life. Rusty did his best to keep it that way. It was easier to control a woman who had no one else to turn to, than to control one with a lot of friends and family around.

Angelina did everything she could to block out the cold, and keep from worrying about where her son was. With her eyes closed, she eventually began to daydream about her mother. She had loved her endlessly.

As a youngster Angelina was full of adventure, but her mom had managed to protect her as well as to keep her in line. Whenever the child got hurt or was upset, her mother would place Angelina’s small, delicate hand in her own. She would hold it gently, and softly massage it with her own thumb as she reassured her daughter. The gesture had calmed Angelina tremendously, and now, nervous and unsure of herself, she absently rubbed her own hand in the same way. She developed the habit after her mother passed away. She pictured her mother’s warm smile gleaming in the sunlight with her long, dirty blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her mother used to take her to the small park down the street from their tattered home. It was there that they laughed the most, when they were away from their house and away from her father. Sometimes Angelina would push her mom on the swing instead of her mother pushing her. Her mother’s long hair swayed in the wind as she kicked her feet up in the air. She would laugh, “Higher Angel, higher.” Her mom was the only person who had ever called Angelina Angel, until now.
Having Blaze call her by that name brought memories back that she had not recalled for a while.
When Angelina was young, and her mom was around, she was happy and always felt safe. When it was her turn on the swing, she would go as high as she could. It made her feel free, like she was flying. She felt like nothing and nobody could hurt her. Even as a teenager, when she needed some peace, she would go to the park to swing, so that she could once again feel safe and free.

It had been a long time since she felt that way, but somehow having the wind push against her defeated body as they rode surrounded by the dry landscape reminded her of those times. Angelina sat a long time with her eyes closed remembering what her life had been like before her mother’s death; before her father started drinking and before the punishments began. She tried to remember what it was like to live in a world without feeling scared, timid, and helpless. She wondered how different things would have been if her mother had lived.

Exhausted, wounded and unhappy, Angelina rode in silence, allowing her memories to flow freely for as long as she could. It kept her from accepting the reality of the tangled mess that she found herself living. She had taken a ride with a gang of bikers, who scared the crap out of her, in order to find her son. The fact that she had convinced herself that she had chosen to ride with Blaze seemed ridiculous now, even to her. She had no choice but to go with one of them, and Blaze won. She did not choose him, he chose her, and then powdered it by telling her that he would get her closer to Iowa. At the time, she was not thinking straight and believed she had made the decision herself. Now, although she accepted that she had no choice in the matter, she still wanted to believe that Blaze would do as he said, and get her closer to her baby.

By early afternoon, Angelina was no longer able to ignore the aching of her back and the vicious stinging in her ribs. The rough ride was taking its toll on her sore body. She tried to hide her discomfort, but was obviously relieved when they pulled into a small gas station to fill up the motorcycles. The faded billboard stated
Next Gas Stop 100 Miles
. She could not image sitting on the back of the bike for another hundred miles. On top of everything else, her ass felt numb.

Each biker fell into place at the station. Blaze pulled up to one of the old pumps, as did Spike, Doc, and a couple of bikers that Angelina had not noticed. The rest of the group pulled off to the side to wait their turn. It seemed that everyone had a place in the club, and knew where they belonged. She figured Blaze must be important since he was part of the first group to pump gas. Angelina watched as an overweight man pulled himself off his low riding, fat wheeled bike. With an arm full of tattoos, and a vest full of markings, she wondered where his place was within the club. She also wondered how he managed to balance himself on his motorcycle when it took such effort to pull his leg over the seat.

Blaze lowered the kickstand and instructed Angelina to get off the motorcycle. Balancing against his shoulder, she did as told. She hated that she had to hold on to him as she swung her leg over the backseat. The agitated woman did not want to touch the broad-shouldered man, but the alternative to lose her balance was less inviting.

Blaze removed himself from the bike after she got off. Before pumping the gas, he took off his leather jacket and tossed it to Angelina. Slow to react, the jacket hit her already bruised face. When she jerked in reaction to the weight of the jacket, the motion, which put pressure on her side, caused her to gasp for air. She did her best to hide her pain from Blaze. She did not want him to see her weakness.

“Put that in the saddlebag,” he ordered, referring to the leather.

Blaze proceeded to take the cap off his glistening gas tank.

Although it took Angelina a minute to figure out how to work the latch on the saddlebag, she eventually did as told. She was anxious, but Blaze did not seem to notice that her hands shook. She felt as if she was walking on eggshells around the man, and was afraid to make a wrong move. This was a sensation she had become very accustomed to with her husband. She was often nervous and afraid of making a mistake when she was around Rusty; afraid that if she said or did something wrong, she would set the man off. She despised the fact that she allowed Blaze to make her feel the same way her husband had.

Crunch, crunch,
she thought, as her nerves put her on edge, recognizing her reaction to Blaze. She had gotten into the habit of saying those words to herself whenever Rusty was in a mood. It was her way of warning herself to stay on guard when her anxiety increased.
I’m walking on eggshells again
.

Angelina watched Blaze as he patiently pumped the gas, making sure that he did not get a single drop on the outside of the dark tank. She wondered if all bikers took as much care with their motorcycle as Blaze seemed to, but answered her own question when she glanced around at the others. They did not. Many of the bikes were aged, sprinkled with scratches and dirt, and appeared used and abused, as if they had been ridden long and hard. Blaze’s bike seemed to be the exception to the rule. This was the first time that she actually looked at the Harley they rode. Although it did not mean anything to her, she could tell by the markings that Blaze drove a Road King. The black tank seemed to sparkle in the sun, and the chrome gleamed as if it had just been shinned. Although the leather bags attached on each side of the back tire were old and worn, they added a character to the otherwise crisp look. She was grateful for the sturdy sissy bar attached to the back of her seat. Having something to lean up against made the ride easier on her back. Angelina also noticed the black blanket, or sleeping bag, that Blaze had rolled up and strapped behind the sissy bar, and wondered where they stayed at night. The thought sent a nauseating feeling thru her gut. She was not ready to think about what happened to an outsider when the lights went out.

 Angelina waited to address Blaze until he finished pumping gas. “I need to go use the bathroom,” she stated, turning to walk towards the gas station. Blaze grabbed her by the arm, stopping her in mid-step.

“Wait,” he commanded harshly.

Startled, she stopped and did as told, although she was not sure what she had to wait for. Did he think she was going to run? Where would she go? They were down south, surrounded by desert, in the middle of a beat up town that only housed one gas station. She would be no better off there, than she had been at the clubhouse. Angelina understood that if she did not want Blaze to leave her in the isolated town, she had to do what he said. She was willing to take orders from the man, and be obedient if that is what it took to find her son. Angelina stood patiently as Blaze finished wiping the bug splatter off his windshield. Her bladder felt as if it would explode. When Blaze was ready, all he said to her was “come,” as if she were a dog to be commanded.

“Not a man of many words,” Angelina whispered under her breath, feeling feisty and tired of the whole situation. She tagged behind him like a lost puppy. The other riders stared as they passed, some smirking at her obedience. As she followed Blaze, she noticed the black leather chaps he wore over his jeans. A lifetime ago, she had dated a man who had a motorcycle. The relationship only lasted a couple of months, but she recalled that he also wore chaps when he rode. The belted leather had embarrassed her back then. She did not understand why he wore leather pants, with the butt cut out. She thought they seemed out of place on the man, and hated that he wore them. The leather chaps that Blaze wore, on the other hand, fit his demeanor, and his body, perfectly. They were not for show, as her boyfriends had been, but for protection. They hung loosely over his faded Levis and looked good on the man. Angelina also remembered how cruel that particular boyfriend had been to her. A bit of fear threatened to resurface as she wondered if all bikers where that way. She had never had much luck with men, starting with her father. He too, when drinking, had been cruel. Perhaps, she wondered, it was all men that fit that description, rather than all bikers. She hoped not.

When they reached the women’s bathroom Blaze pushed the grimy door open allowing Angelina to step inside the small space. The restroom contained a toilet, a water stained sink, a small trashcan - nothing more. When she turned to close the door, Blaze shoved Angelina aside and stepped into the bathroom with her. He reached behind his back and locked the door. Caught off guard, Angelina fell against the back wall, though she managed to remain on her feet. A sharp pain shot through her already sore body, as she thought
here we go again
.