The Deviant

Twelve Thirty-Eight

The tip of the gun dug into Maria's throat, her breath hitching as the Governor's fingers laced over her own. She wanted to end her life with the same weapon that killed her husband, her shadow fading and turning to dust with the pull of a trigger.

We are but dust and shadow.

"Don't be afraid now." The Governor's ghost of a whisper scarcely touched her skin, but it snapped her back to reality and the dead body in the room.

Maria licked her dry lips imitating the Governor's tic, the smoky haze long gone and a taste of regret swishing around in her mouth. The thick black tar latched onto her lungs, each breath twisting and screaming inside her. "No." She shook her head and pushed the gun to the Governor. The crumpled packet of cigarettes taunting her as she tried to keep her eyes off Alfie and his father pacing the room.

The weight of Alfie's leather jacket pinned her shoulder blades to the wall, the cold lining creeping across her bare skin leaving a ripple of goosebumps. One lapel rested on her chest as if it was it guarding her heart, the metal of the swords badge attached to it piercing through her.

She flipped the lapel back to its natural fold, her gaze trailing up the Governor's torn jeans. Frayed hems, the grazed denim covered in oil stains.

Jack Madsen, the leader of the Iron Raiders.

"Get up." He grabbed a fistful of her leather jacket and hauled her up from the floor. His calloused hand shoved her away from him as he released the twisted fabric beneath his fingers.

His scuffed boots froze and he stared down at his bastard son. He wiped his nose with his cuff, a line settling on his forehead. The patchy grey stubble on his jaw twitching as he gritted his teeth.

Maria swallowed the lump at the back of her throat, her hand massaging the circular groove of the barrel of the gun. She followed the sunken ring absentmindedly as she dared to stare at Alfie. His curly hair tumbling over his forehead, she stopped tracing the mark on her throat, her fingers twitching, no aching to rake through his hair and push it out of his face. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, the smile fading at the thought of his curls springing back over his forehead. There was no life left in him.

"He did this," she whispered tugging the Governor's arm. "I warned you! I fucking warned you," she yelled slamming her clenched fists against his chest, tears spilling down her cheeks. She didn't fight the laughter escaping her lips, blood splattering from her mouth as she shook her head at the cruel events of the night.

The Governor pointed a ring stacked finger in Maria's face, "when you wear that patch on your back..." he yanked the loose fabric hanging from her shoulders and slapped his palm against the flaming skull and iron hammers. "You never point your finger at one of your own."

She jerked forward, "coward." her voice muffled as his fingers tangled in her bloody hair. His knuckles pressed into her back, his sweet, sick minty scented breath reminding her of the cough syrup medicine her father used to force down her throat when she was a child.

"What are we going to do with you, Maria?" The Governor murmured the same string of words as her husbands killer, the question alone scratching a line of a shiver up her spine.

Maria leant her forehead against the plasterboard closing her eyes briefly and calming her breaths. "He's your son," she struggled in his hold, but he pulled away as if she'd burnt him at the mention of his son. Turning around on her heels, Maria pushed herself off the wall and crept to his side, her hand shaking as she reached out and placed it on his shoulder.

The Governor tensed, his gaze locked on Alfie.

She squeezed his shoulder, "your loyalty is the one thing that got my husband killed." Her hand glided down his leather-clad back, fingers brushing against the motorcycle clubs patch. "You're living in the past old man, the east end is full other gangs," she jabbed her finger into the patch and plucked out a fraying thread, "and one of your own has sided with another."

He shrugged her off and spun around catching her wrist in his hand. "When are you going to learn your place, bitch." He pressed his thumb down on the inside of her wrist and pulled her forward. "If anything he's dead because of you," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom.

Maria's upper lip curled. "Fuck you!" She elbowed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Her blonde hair whipped around her, the red stained ends sticking the gash on her chin. She rushed out the bedroom she shared with Alfie, tripped over the broken furniture in the hallway the yellow colour they both chose for the walls now making her physically sick. Her hands glided over the blank spaces where the framed pictures used to grace the wall, the glass scattered over the wooden floor and the images torn.

She glanced over her shoulder as she finally exited the house, the home she couldn't call her own anymore. The Governor stood in the doorway, his fists clenched by his side as he watched her from the front porch, her own Raider's jacket scrunched up in his hold. The yellow light warming up his cold brown eyes, Jack Madsen a master of manipulation.

"Maria! Don't forget your oath."

The leather hanging from her shoulders felt like a dead weight anchoring her in her place. She stared down at the torn flesh on her knees, the emerald green silk dress snagged and stained. The tattoo on her ring finger mocked her as she promised her life to the Iron Raiders the moment she married her one love. The flames licked the back of her throat, the burn of his name lingering on her lips as she walked away.

Maria wrapped the jacket around her clinging to his woodsy scent, but she still shivered against the cold lining that grazed her bare skin. The silence of the Monday morning chipped away at her stone cold exterior the hem of her dress unravelling as she fiddled with the delicate fabric. Her heels clicked along the smooth tarmac of the bridge leading to the Docklands, the familiar chatter of rough voices filtering into the air as she stepped onto the Iron Raiders land.

A thunderous roar vibrated through her bones, the violent wind sobering her though, she straightened up and wiped away the stained mascara underneath her teary eyes. Maria's gaze followed the rattling motors down the long strip of private road lit with headlights. She entered the red gates, nodding to Pike behind the security booth. Pike removed the cigar from his pale lips and dropped the trashy magazine on the side, his glassy eyes widening at the bloody mess that was Maria.

She combed a hand through her bleached hair, wincing at the dry blood knotting the ends. "Ready for the Ring, Pike," she called over her shoulder, not waiting for his delayed response. Crossing the yard, she narrowed her eyes at the Iron Raiders emblem on the main door, fire spreading through her chest.

Pushing the door open, she scanned the room and each member in it. She waded through the crowd and collapsed onto a stool, her head in her hands. Maria's head snapped up as a shot glass slammed down on the tacky wood of the bar in front of her. She was mesmerised by the golden liquid sloshing into the glass, the strong smell of whisky haunting her.

"Better get your fighting gloves on Blondie, round one's waiting for you behind the oak doors."

Tapping her fingers on the glass, she slid it back to the bartender, her brows furrowing at the stranger's voice. She glanced up at his chest, the patch of a dark wolf decorating his lapel and the iron hammers behind the snarling beast.

"Shit!" Maria smacked her palm on the sticky bar, the clock on the wall reading twelve thirty-eight. She swivelled around on the stool and leant her elbows on the edge of the bars railing, her eyes roaming over the different Raider charters occupying the room.

The Governor had rallied all of his puppets for the death of his bastard son.

Maria snatched the whisky off the side and downed it, tossing the glass behind her as she wiped her tingling lips.  

Twelve thirty-eight, the first time in the Ring without Alfie by her side.