A Reconciliation of Sorts

J Dawson
2 min readJul 27, 2022
Photo by Mike Von on Unsplash

Liad eased out of her Camaro’s driver seat knowing Trent wasn’t going to shoot her. He still needed her. Their eyes met like swords. She kept her hands over her head, mouth set in a smirk. There was no fear in Liad’s eyes and Trent saw it.

He took a few steps closer, keeping his elbows locked and gun draw. The others stayed near their vehicles blocking the way out. Not that Liad was considering running. Playing the game was her best option.

“What are you doing out in these parts at this time of night all by yourself.” Trent tilted his head to the side like a tricky dog, eyeing up food to steal.

Liad shrugged. “A scenic drive to clear my head. Roads lead where they do.”

The bikers skulked out of their vehicles, on by one, like coyotes circling their prey, guns drawn. Liad raised her hands off the stirring wheel. A false surrender — a ticket to the next part of the act. Liad wasn’t afraid of dying, but she sure as shit on a shoe wouldn’t give them the power of knowing what she was if it could be avoided.

Trent let a throaty chuckle escape his lips. The squint of his eyes suggested hurt lingering below the surface like mold in an old house. “Do I look stupid?”

“A bit, yeah.” Liad let her hands drop and crossed her arms.

Trent’s shoulders tightened, he turned to Tok who waited like a beta wolf ready to take any scraps thrown his way. His scruff blurred the lines of where his purposeful goatee began and ended. The danger emitting from his cigarette smoke-scented haze was something from a nightmare. Liad wasn’t scared, but angry. The vested men, faces she’d seen more times she could count and fresh ones, surrounded her all around her. Guns in her face. Completely outnumbered. It was all too much like the day she was supposed to die. Images of grandmother and brothers. Of Trent’s unfeeling expression when he shot her. Anger lit her bones on fire.

Tok sauntered to the back of the van and returned with Tion. Lip bloody. Eye bruised. His hand her fastens behind his back. His lined expression only told Liad he was sorry. She did her best to look like she didn’t care.

J Dawson

Writes literary fiction with a speculative bent. A parent of teens. Accidental house flipper. Friend of cats and dogs. Kindness matters. ND Bi (she/they)