sarcasm.
Wesley barks a bitter laugh and shakes his head, like he’s remembering just what a bastard the man who had sired him really is. “The military, it was something I was good at. I became a Marine, ended up leading a platoon…” He trails off and Isabel knows there’s so much he isn’t saying but she lets him tell his story as he wants, at least for now. “Anyway, when I left the Corps, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do anymore. I’d been following orders for so long, fighting the good fight, that civilian life just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” He looks at her as if to check that she’s still following, that she still wants to know what he’s about to tell her. She nods quickly, not wanting to give him any reason to back down from what he’s telling her. He rubs at the dark stubble along his cheeks, casting around for the right words. “Have you heard of the Devil Dogs?”
The name brings up some memory in the corner of her brain, but she can’t remember where she’s heard or seen it. Isabel shakes her head, frowning.
Wes looks a little surprised, but then nods in understanding. “Why should you know anything about them?” He shakes his head as he starts pacing again. “You’re not exactly moving in those kinds of circles and besides, we don’t operate in Dallas.”
The use of ‘we’ instead of ‘they’ isn’t lost on Isabel. “So who are the Devil Dogs?”
“It’s a motorcycle gang.” Wes says the words quickly, as if he’s afraid that if he doesn’t get them out, they’ll stick in his throat.
“Okay…” Isabel waits for the punch line; what he’s saying doesn’t seem so bad. “So you ride around on motorbikes, listen to ZZ Top and get into bar fights. What’s the big deal?” She frowns up at him, wondering why Wesley has found it so hard to tell her this.
He blinks at her, surprised at her reaction. “You really don’t know, do you?” There’s something close to wonder in his voice and he reaches out to her but then thinks better of it, pulling back his hand.
Isabel feels the change of heart like a slap in the face. “Know what, Wes?” She feels her frustration mounting. She’s never been a patient person and once she has her eyes set on something she has to know all about it. It’s what made her an excellent med student, but it doesn’t make it easy for her to just sit back and wait for Wesley to share his story.
He draws himself up, like he’s gathering himself together. “We don’t just ride on motorbikes and start bar fights. It’s a criminal gang.”
Isabel bites her lip, knowing she probably doesn’t want to hear the answer to the next question. “What do you do for them?”
“Whatever they need me to.” His voice is flat at the admission, as if there’s no emotion behind the words but Isabel knows differently.
“So what is it? Drugs? Guns? What do they deal in?” Isabel can’t bring herself to include Wesley; for her it’s still ‘they’ not ‘you.’
“All of it.” His voice is low and he avoids eye contact with her, looking down at the wooden floor.
“And what do you do for them?” She asks the question again because now she needs the answer, needs to know what she’s getting into with him. She needs to find out what kind of man she’s falling for. “Do you hurt people? Have you killed anyone?” Her voice is getting higher as his silence speaks volumes.
His eyes flash at that last question. “I haven’t taken a life since I left the Corps.” His voice is steady now, like he’s just giving her the facts. “But I know how to win a fight. I know how to cause pain and that’s how the Dogs found me.” He starts pacing again, a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s reliving his past as he talks. “In the Marines, they taught me how to fight, but they didn’t tell me how to stop. I was drifting, trying to figure out what my place was now that
Wesley barks a bitter laugh and shakes his head, like he’s remembering just what a bastard the man who had sired him really is. “The military, it was something I was good at. I became a Marine, ended up leading a platoon…” He trails off and Isabel knows there’s so much he isn’t saying but she lets him tell his story as he wants, at least for now. “Anyway, when I left the Corps, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do anymore. I’d been following orders for so long, fighting the good fight, that civilian life just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” He looks at her as if to check that she’s still following, that she still wants to know what he’s about to tell her. She nods quickly, not wanting to give him any reason to back down from what he’s telling her. He rubs at the dark stubble along his cheeks, casting around for the right words. “Have you heard of the Devil Dogs?”
The name brings up some memory in the corner of her brain, but she can’t remember where she’s heard or seen it. Isabel shakes her head, frowning.
Wes looks a little surprised, but then nods in understanding. “Why should you know anything about them?” He shakes his head as he starts pacing again. “You’re not exactly moving in those kinds of circles and besides, we don’t operate in Dallas.”
The use of ‘we’ instead of ‘they’ isn’t lost on Isabel. “So who are the Devil Dogs?”
“It’s a motorcycle gang.” Wes says the words quickly, as if he’s afraid that if he doesn’t get them out, they’ll stick in his throat.
“Okay…” Isabel waits for the punch line; what he’s saying doesn’t seem so bad. “So you ride around on motorbikes, listen to ZZ Top and get into bar fights. What’s the big deal?” She frowns up at him, wondering why Wesley has found it so hard to tell her this.
He blinks at her, surprised at her reaction. “You really don’t know, do you?” There’s something close to wonder in his voice and he reaches out to her but then thinks better of it, pulling back his hand.
Isabel feels the change of heart like a slap in the face. “Know what, Wes?” She feels her frustration mounting. She’s never been a patient person and once she has her eyes set on something she has to know all about it. It’s what made her an excellent med student, but it doesn’t make it easy for her to just sit back and wait for Wesley to share his story.
He draws himself up, like he’s gathering himself together. “We don’t just ride on motorbikes and start bar fights. It’s a criminal gang.”
Isabel bites her lip, knowing she probably doesn’t want to hear the answer to the next question. “What do you do for them?”
“Whatever they need me to.” His voice is flat at the admission, as if there’s no emotion behind the words but Isabel knows differently.
“So what is it? Drugs? Guns? What do they deal in?” Isabel can’t bring herself to include Wesley; for her it’s still ‘they’ not ‘you.’
“All of it.” His voice is low and he avoids eye contact with her, looking down at the wooden floor.
“And what do you do for them?” She asks the question again because now she needs the answer, needs to know what she’s getting into with him. She needs to find out what kind of man she’s falling for. “Do you hurt people? Have you killed anyone?” Her voice is getting higher as his silence speaks volumes.
His eyes flash at that last question. “I haven’t taken a life since I left the Corps.” His voice is steady now, like he’s just giving her the facts. “But I know how to win a fight. I know how to cause pain and that’s how the Dogs found me.” He starts pacing again, a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s reliving his past as he talks. “In the Marines, they taught me how to fight, but they didn’t tell me how to stop. I was drifting, trying to figure out what my place was now that
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