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 Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges, the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following marks mentioned in this work
of fiction.
Copyright © 2023 Quinn Ryder

Clash- Lewd Outlaws MC Book One by Quinn Ryder

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copy-right reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by
any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without written permission of above copyright owner of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and
reviews.

Editor: Ryder Editing and Formatting

Proofreaders: Courtnay Gray

Cover Design: Quinn Ryder

Printed in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data has been applied for by Ryder, Q

Clash- Lewd Outlaws MC Book One—1st Edition

 Table of Contents
Copyright
Blurb
Warning
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
Epilogue
National Domestic Violence Helpline
What’s Next for the Lewd Outlaws MC?
Wasp: Lewd Outlaws MC Book Two
Synopsis
Angela…
Wanna know more about the Lewd Outlaws MC?
Lewd Outlaws MC - RH Books
Lewd Outlaws MC Spinoff
Other Books by Quinn Ryder
The Devil’s Armada MC Series and (O.L.) Series
Harriers of Vengeance MC
Hands of Justice LEMC
 The Celestial Sons MC Series
The Santoyo Brothers Trilogy
Standalones and Collaborations
Author Links:
About the Author
 Blurb
Clash
Bitter and pissed off…
Those are the best words to describe me after everything in my club fell apart, and the rest of my brothers put their faith in
someone else stepping in as club Prez after Sabbath’s demise. That spot was rightfully mine, but nobody else saw it that way.
Now I’m forced to play nice, while the one man who took all our fun away, runs the club with the woman who was supposed to
be “our” Ol’ Lady by his side.
But they say everything happens for a reason, and my reason just happened to crawl out from behind a dumpster, along with her
adorable son that stole my heart. I never expected to fall for a young mom on the run, but that’s exactly what I do, and now that
I’ve met Gina and Alex, I vow to protect them at all costs, even if it means keeping them a secret from my own club, and
eradicating whatever skeletons have them running for their lives just so I can call them mine.
 Warning
Although this book can be read as a standalone, it is the start of a spinoff series from the Lewd Outlaws MC non-conventional Reverse Harem Novella Series I wrote. It is
encouraged to read those stories first if you want to further understand the complexity of the club’s situation. However, knowing that reverse harems aren’t for everyone,
and mine was a non-conventional type of RH book, reading this book without reading the RH series won’t affect the overall story too much.

Triggers:
This book contains situations and scenes that may be hard for people that have triggers involving domestic abuse and violence and homelessness. It also contains graphic
action scenes. Please read with caution if you are easily triggered by these types of situations or stories.
 Dedication
This book is dedicated to any victim suffering from domestic abuse and/or violence.
To the women, children, and men who say enough is enough, and finally decide to leave.
To the ones who stay to protect themselves that are still gaining the strength to take the first step toward the door, and to those who tried but never made it past the
threshold.
You are stronger than you think, and will always have someone out there ready to help you.
And finally, to “R”, the strongest woman I know. You are beautiful and brave. Your story, though it’s kept silent, is an inspiration to those who are still struggling to find the
strength to leave. I’m so thankful to call you my friend and know that you are destined for so many great things in this world. You’re a wonderful mother, an amazing
woman, and an incredible friend. I know you’re on your path to success, and can’t wait to stand on the sidelines cheering you on. I love you!
Club Members
Officers
Snyder (Prez)
Clash (VP)
Zeppelin (SGT at Arms)
Sandman (Enforcer)
Ranger (Treasurer)
Wasp (Road Captain)
Priest (Secretary)
Skid (Tail Gunner)

Members
Riot (Member)
Motley (Member)
Prospects
Slaughtermen (Prospect)
Poison (Prospect)
Danger (Prospect)
Pussycat (Prospect)
Cooper (Prospect
Other Members
Axl (Nomad)
 c

1
My stomach grumbled as I stared at the candy bar sitting in my hand. It was the only food we had, and was bought using the
change I scraped up over the past two days from gutters and wads of chewing gum stuck to the heated streets. I could’ve sat on
a corner begging for money, using my child as a beacon for the bleeding hearts who actually gave a damn about the street rats
who lived on scraps like us, but it would also bring on too much attention—attention that could bring him back into our lives.
My arms still ached from the scattered bruises he left on me. They were long gone, but the internal scarring remained.
Alex’s stomach grumbled beside me, and my own inner hunger waned as I studied his pleading expression. I can live another
day without eating... at least that’s what I was going to keep telling myself.
We left everything back home, leaving with only the shirts on our backs. We hitchhiked across five counties before finally
finding ourselves in Austin, living on the streets as far away from him as we could. The women’s shelter was full, and all the
homeless shelters had a waiting list, so for two weeks now, we’ve stayed out here alone, doing our best to survive even though
the nights were suddenly turning colder.
“Mommy, you can have the candy bar. You look hungry.” His stomach protested, and before I could think twice, I handed
him the candy bar, watching him gobble up every morsel like it was a five-star meal. “Next time, can we buy Skittles? I love
Skittles because I can share them with you, and you won’t be so hungry,” he stated, chocolate staining his adorably dimpled
face.
“Sure, honey. Next time, I’ll make sure we get Skittles so we can share.” My stomach grumbled again in anticipation.
His face warmed, snuggling against me as the streetlights came on behind the gas station. “Mommy, I’m cold.”
I handed him the blanket we found behind a thrift store, and he snuggled immediately under it, using what was left of my
body warmth to keep him cozy. The night’s chill air ran underneath my thin jacket, and I did my best to keep the tears at bay.
This was not where I pictured my life going. I had no home, no family, or anywhere safe to go. My friends all abandoned me,
and my family was long gone or lived incredibly far away. All I had was Alex, and I would do anything to protect my son...
even eat from the trash again.
Carefully, I pried his warm body away from me, then rose to my feet, peering over the dumpster that smelled like rancid
old food and piss. There was a half-moldy muffin that had been thrown out earlier today, and all day I’d debated on whether to
fish it out and eat it. In shame, I picked up the muffin, unwrapped it from its package, and picked away the mold, forcing myself
to eat the only food in the dumpster that looked partially edible. Tears streamed down my face as I thought about the lavish life
I used to live... four walls safe from the elements, warm clothes on my back, and food that would always fill my belly. I never
had to want for anything when I was with him... but loving him came with a price... a price I wouldn’t pay anymore.
No... I had to do this for Alex, I had to get him away before the abuse turned deadly—before he became the next target. The
muffin soured my stomach as I snuggled back into the box, curling against my son, who whimpered in his sleep. Shivers and
goosebumps peppered my skin as I desperately tried to shut my eyes, but every sound had me on edge. One day, someone
would find us back here, and then what?
Would I lose Alex forever?
Would they give him back to him?
Would I be arrested for child endangerment?
The fear of the unknown consumed my every thought, deafening my ears as the consequences of my actions raced to catch
up with me. I couldn’t do this much longer. I was either going to die out here protecting my son, or die at his hand. Either way,
death seemed to be breathing down my neck, just waiting for me to slip up and make the wrong move. But that day wouldn’t be
today. Today, my son got to eat something, and even though the muffin made my stomach feel queasy, it was enough food to
suffice for another day—at least for now.
 2
The chair stood no chance against my Hulk-like temper. Picking the fragile thing up, I hurled it across the room, watching in
sick satisfaction as it fractured and splintered from the blow.
“Clash, calm the fuck down!” Skid yelled.
Rage consumed me as I grabbed a table by its edges, flipping it violently until it was on its back. One of the sweet butts
screamed, and quickly fled the room, but I was seeing too much red to notice which girl it was. “Calm down! You’re asking me
to calm down? Three of our men just up and drove off in the middle of the night, one of them was our fucking so-called Prez,
all to chase after the two bitches responsible for tearing this club apart, and you’re asking me to calm down? Why aren’t you
angrier?” I turned to face all my brothers who were standing there staring at me like I completely lost my mind.
“All of you should be in an uproar over this shit! And you!” I growled, turning on Priest. “This is your fucking fault! You
should’ve kept your stupid mouth shut. The club was just starting to piece itself back together, and now we’re all fractured
again.”
Priest shrugged his shoulders. “We were still fractured, Clash. We just got good at hiding it.”
“Yeah, well, I was ready to move on from all this shit. Now he’s God only knows where, attempting to bring back the
temptress that destroyed our club. What if she comes back, huh? Are we all just going to welcome her back with open arms,
singing Kumbaya by the campfire as we become one big, fucked up polyamorous family? Because frankly, I’m not interested in
re-kindling anything with her. I got enough bitches around here to satisfy any craving for pussy I may have.”
“You sound like Sabbath,” Ranger exclaimed.
“Shut the fuck up, Ranger. You know as well as I do that the second that girl returns; all hell is going to suddenly break
loose again.”
“May—maybe not,” Sandman stuttered from his chair. “Sabb—Sabbath was the r—root of all the tr—trouble, not her.”
Turning to Skid, I smirked. “Tell that to Warrant.”
Skid glared at me. “Watch your mouth, Clash.”
Rolling my eyes, I returned to my soapbox with my chest puffed out and a true purpose. “If Shasta Hall returns to this club,
it’s going to be a big mistake. Wherever that girl goes, trouble follows.”
Ranger cleared his throat. “There wouldn’t have been any trouble if you had just let her and Snyder sneak around and not
try to throw your dick into the mix as well. You’re just as much to blame for the trouble in the club as she is. If not more. Hell,
if you had left them alone, maybe none of this would’ve happened at all. Warrant would still be alive, and we could’ve
overthrown Sabbath the proper way, stripping him of his rank and patch, instead of dismembering his miserable corpse and
scattering it all over Austin.”
Waving him off, I continued my rant. “I’m just saying that bringing her back will be a huge mistake. We had our fun. She left
the club. Why kick a dead horse?”
“Because Snyder actually loves her,” Priest answered. “And in order for him to lead this club, he needed closure. That’s
why I gave him her location. They all needed to figure this shit out for the sake of the club.”
In a fit of frustration, I threw up my hands. “Forsaking the club in the process. This is bullshit and you all know it. Our Prez
abandoned us when we needed him the most, taking two of our men with him. What happens if the Crows decide to attack us
now, huh? Do you think we even have a fighting chance with three of our members missing?”
Skid took a step forward and cleared his throat. “Maybe I can help with that a little?”
All eyes turned to him as he pulled out his phone and fired off a text.
“Who the hell are you texting, Skid?”
My eyes narrowed as an amused smile quirked the corners of his mouth.
“Some reinforcements,” he said cryptically, just as his phone dinged with a reply.
“Well, while you fuckers figure all this shit out, I’m going for a goddamn drive.”
“Yeah, you need to cool off,” Ranger agreed. “Go take a ride; clear your head.”
In an angry huff, I stomped from the room, pissed off that my club was so eager to follow a man that was quick to abandon
us all.
He left us for a girl?
Who the fuck does that to their own brothers?
He didn’t deserve that patch on his chest, and the way everyone kept backing him was maddening.
For twenty minutes, I found myself lost on the open road, doing my best to keep my head even though I was on the verge of
losing it all.
My tank needed a splash, so I pulled into a gas station parking lot to fill up, and maybe grab something to eat.
The man behind the counter greeted me when I entered, but his eyes were trained on the head of a small boy, who was
awkwardly staring at the candy bars in the candy section.
I grabbed a drink and a bag of chips, then rounded the corner to get a Snickers bar, when I saw the kid grab a bag of Skittles
and shove it into his pants. He then grabbed a granola bar and did the same, stuffing at least seven things of food in his shirt and
pants before eyeing the door.
The guy behind the counter and I shared a look, both of us knowing he was about to run.
He couldn’t have been more than five or six, and was seriously about to rob the store of all its sweets.
Where were his parents?
Why was he alone?
“Hey, kid, you gonna pay for all that?” I asked.
He jumped at the sound of my voice, cowering just a tad when his small eyes rounded and his gaze traveled up my long legs
and up to my face.
A bag of chips plopped out of his shirt, and tears instantly formed in his eyes. You could tell that this was probably the first
and only time he’d ever tried to steal something.
“Hey, don’t cry. Where’s your mom?”
The kid sniffed. “Around the corner behind the big dumpster.”
I fell to a knee, meeting the kid at eye level. “Does she know you’re here?”
He shook his head. “My mommy doesn’t sleep much anymore, so I didn’t want to wake her up because I was hungry.” He
frowned. “I’m sorry, Mister. I wanted to pay, but I’m so hungry and have no money.”
“Tell you what, Kid. How about I pay for all this food, and maybe even some for your mom? Does that sound okay? That
way, the man behind the counter stays happy, and you don’t get into trouble.”
“Okay.” He rubbed at his nose. It was red and dripping snot. He looked malnourished and a bit sickly, like he hadn't eaten
in weeks.
After paying for the kid’s pocketed food, I followed him out of the store, holding a cup of coffee for his mom and a banana
muffin, which he said was her favorite.
We came to a stop by a big dumpster that was propped up behind an old building. There was a large cardboard box back
there and a set of feet hanging out of it, covered by a tattered and ripped blanket.
“Mommy, I got us food!” the little boy shouted.
The feet began to stir, then the box started to move as a woman backed out, her mouth dropping when she saw me standing
there with her son.
“Alex, what did you do?”
“Nothing, Mommy. I was hungry and this nice man bought us food. He got you coffee and your favorite muffin, and I got
Skittles!”
The woman stared up at me with curious eyes, but it was hard to see her underneath the dirt and grime that was all over her
face. Her hair was matted and dirty, and she seemed frightened, cold, and standoffish.
“Hi,” I said, handing her the coffee.
She eyed my cut and grimaced, but she took the coffee from me without hesitation.
“Thank you, but you really didn’t have to do that.”
“Actually, I did. Your son was about to shoplift if I didn’t step in.”
 Her eyes widened. “Alex, what were you thinking? You know better than that!”
His smile faded into a frown. “I was hungry, Mommy. I’m sorry. I was going to pay the man back after I found enough
pennies on the street.”
She frowned, looking up at me with nothing but guilt and shame in her eyes. Then she just broke down, clutching her son so
tight, he could barely breathe.
“Don’t cry again, Mommy. It’ll be okay. Look at all this yummy food! We won’t have to eat from dumpsters today.”
The woman’s eyes were filled with despair and loss. She silently begged me not to judge her for their situation, but who
was I to pass judgment on a single mom just trying to survive in this world?
“Thank you for the food,” she whispered. “That was a nice thing for you to do.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? I have a soft spot for kids with toothy grins and SpongeBob T-shirts.”
“It’s his favorite shirt.”
Alex laughed. “Mommy, it’s my only shirt.”
She went stark still as she warily looked back up at me, the shame returning, her shoulders slouching in defeat.
Everything from earlier quickly faded away, and something came over me that I couldn’t quite explain. It was a carnal need
to protect and shelter them, to give them everything they needed to survive.
“Pack your things,” I demanded, giving the woman a stern look.
The woman’s tear-filled eyes met mine, and she suddenly looked very afraid.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s supposed to drop below freezing tonight, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let the two of you stay out here in the
cold. So, pack your things.”
The woman looked like a deer in headlights. “I don’t understand. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Look, lady, your son is cold and hungry, and you both look like you haven’t showered in weeks. I got a big loft with plenty
of room, food, and a nice hot shower calling your name. So, take advantage of my hospitality, before I suddenly have a change
of heart.”
“I don’t understand...” she said weakly. “Why are you helping us? You don’t even know who we are.”
I shrugged again. “Like I said before, I guess I have a soft spot for kids with toothy grins and SpongeBob T-shirts.”
She gave her son a look, then nodded. “Okay, but just for one night.”
Nodding, I pulled my phone out and ordered a Lyft. There was no way both of them could fit on my bike.
“What’s your name?” she asked, falling into step behind me.
“The name’s Chuck, but most people just call me Clash.”
She eyed my cut curiously, then softly said, “I’m Gina, and this is my son Alex.”
Alex smiled. It was one that was nothing but teeth and happiness—one that broke down every hard wall I erected around
my heart. “Mister, do you have a TV?”
“I do,” I said with a smile. “A big one.”
The boy’s face lit up. “Mommy, did you hear that? The man says he has a TV! I can watch SpongeBob again.”
Gina laughed, but you could still see the shame in her eyes. “Well, maybe if you’re a real good boy, he’ll let you watch
some SpongeBob.”
Alex shot me the hugest smile, one that tugged on every heart string I had. Something told me I’d let this kid watch all the
SpongeBob in the world if he asked for it.
The sudden realization made me wonder how one kid and his mother could make a cold heart like mine suddenly feel so
soft after years of sitting in my chest like a brick of hardened coal. It was an odd feeling, one that I didn’t particularly like, but I
ignored it, knowing that right now these two souls probably needed me more than I would ever need them.
 3
I must be fucking crazy, or desperate, or maybe I’m both.
What the fuck has come over me?
Why the hell am I getting in a car, following some hunky biker to God only knows where?
Hunky?
Well, that came out of nowhere.
Damn it, Gina, pull yourself together, woman.
If I thought Alex’s father was bad, Clash had to be ten times worse. I’ve heard the stories about bikers and the destruction
that comes with them. This guy was definitely six feet of pure trouble. It didn’t matter that his hazel eyes were driving every
engine inside me crazy. Like a vehicle spiraling out of control, all dash lights on, and everything malfunctioning. His hazel eyes
dismantled me, creating havoc inside of me.
Muscles flexed, he held the car door open for us, frowning the entire time. He looked grumpy as hell, but for some reason,
there was a softness to his eyes, one that had me making the craziest move I’d ever made.
“Follow me,” he informed the Lyft driver. He then shoved a wad of cash in the guy’s hand. “This should cover it.”
The man in the front seat nodded, his pitiful eyes meeting mine in the rear-view mirror as Clash closed the door. The
second he mounted that bike, my ovaries started panting like wild dogs. Jesus, why was a man getting on a bike so fucking
sexy? Knock it off, Gina.
The man in the front seat cleared his throat. “Are you okay, Ma’am? Should I call the police? Are you in danger?”
Danger? Yes… but not by him. At least I don’t think so.
“No, sir, but thank you for asking.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but he continued to follow Clash down the winding streets.
Alex was a jumping ball of excitement as we rode down the road, staring at all the houses with eager eyes. “Mommy, can I
take a shower first?”
“Of course you can, baby.” I kissed the top of his head, my nose scrunching up at the garbage smell wafting off my small
child. I didn’t dare take a sniff of myself; I was quite certain I was even worse.
We pulled up in a fancy neighborhood in front of a condo that seemed massive. He lived here?
The Lyft driver gave me a weary smile and handed me a card. “This is the number for a human trafficking officer. If you
feel like you two are in danger, call this number as soon as possible.”
Trafficking?
Holy shit! I didn’t even think about that.
Before I could change my mind, the man sped off, leaving me standing there with my small son next to a big burly biker.
“Come on,” Clash grumped, stomping up the steps to his condo.
 We entered what was probably the cleanest house I had ever seen. Did a man actually live here? A gross thought bubbled
in my stomach, and I had to keep myself from throwing up. Was he married? Was I invading another woman’s home and
admiring her husband with lustful eyes?
“This is where you live?”
Clash shook his head. “I own the place, but I don’t actually live here. I live down at the clubhouse with my brothers. This is
just where I crash when I need mental health days.”
“Oh.” I could feel the frown taking over my face. “So, your wife lives here then?”
He laughed. “Do I look like the type of man who is married?”
He definitely didn’t.
“I guess not.”
The way his face lit up proudly made me question him even more. Alex’s dad had a similar conceit to him as well, one that
I didn’t particularly enjoy.
“Anyway, this is the house. You and Alex make yourselves at home. The shower is upstairs in the loft, the remote is on the
table. I’m not sure what food I have, but help yourself to anything you like. That couch pulls out into a bed. Or you can sleep
upstairs in mine. Either way, I don’t care.”
“You’re leaving?” I asked curiously. “You’re just going to leave two strangers in your home like this?”
He eyed me peculiarly, mouth ticking up into the slightest smile. “I think I can trust you not to rob me blind. You look
desperate, not stupid. I’m pretty sure you can see I’m not the type of guy you should be messing with.”
Gulping, I nodded my head in agreement.
“Good, now that we got that settled, I’m going out. If you guys need a change of clothing, I think I have some shirts in the
dresser upstairs. My boxers would be way too big for Alex, but you look like you’d fit in them just fine.” His left eyebrow
raised, along with his smile. His innuendo did not go unnoticed. His confidence was rather infuriating.
He shot Alex a look. “How old is he?”
“Four, almost five. His birthday is in two months.”
“He’s rather small for a five-year-old.”
“I know.”
His jaw ticked ever so slightly before his eyes perused my body.
“You’re pretty small, too. When was the last time you two had a decent meal?”
Shrugging, I picked at my skin. “I can’t remember, to be honest.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he moved toward the door. “Don’t sleep in my bed without taking a
shower first. You smell disgusting.”
“Excuse me…” The door slammed in my face before I could even get out my comeback. Who the fuck does he think he is?
Then the smell hit my nose. Putrid garbage and unclean clothing wafted through my nostrils, making me almost gag.
“Come on, Alex, we both need to take a shower.”

Alex giggled as he came out of the shower covered in a large towel that seemed to engulf his whole body. “This towel is
bigger than me!”
I fished out an old white T-shirt from the dresser and pulled it over his head.
“Once Mommy takes a shower, I’ll wash your clothes so you can have clean underwear on. This should cover you up for
now.”
He nodded, laughing even harder when the T-shirt draped over his body and fell way past his knees. “It’s like a dress!” he
squealed in excitement. He stuck his head out of one of the arm holes and grinned. “Look, Mommy, I can see you.”
His smile was contagious, and before I could stop myself, I was giggling too. Fixing his shirt again, I ushered him over to
the couch, covered him with a blanket, and turned on the TV. After surfing through the channels, I actually found SpongeBob
playing. It was like a TV miracle or something.
“SpongeBob!” he shrieked. “I can’t believe it, Mommy. It’s actually on the TV, just like the man said.”
“It is, honey. Now, you sit here and watch SpongeBob while Mommy takes a shower, okay? Don’t open the door for
anyone. I’m sure when Mr. Clash comes back, he’ll have a key. And try not to touch anything. We can’t afford to fix something
if you happen to break it.” Alex was a notorious mischief maker. I had to Alex-proof my house just so my expensive
decorations didn’t get ruined. The only thing of value I had was my wedding ring, but I was saving it for an emergency. Not that
living on the street for the past few weeks didn’t constitute as an emergency. But I was finding it hard to part with. It was the
only thing I had that even remotely showed I was once part of a happy family. An expensive façade symbolizing the happiness I
faked every day. I wanted to pawn it, gathering the money I needed to head to Vegas, but I was afraid of calling my sister, and
was waiting for a better time. She was all I had left.
Alex yawned. “Okay, Mommy.”
The warm spray hit me as the most glorious water I ever felt cascaded down my body. Dirt and grime shucked off me like
layers of an onion, swirling around the drain at my feet, as weeks of living on the streets disappeared down the drain. A
shower never felt this good before. Reaching for the soap on the ledge, I took in the manly scent, overwhelming my senses with
the smell of sandalwood and leather.
Did he really smell like this?
Why did this smell so fucking good?
Using a washrag, I lathered it in the body wash, dragging it across every inch of my exposed skin, embracing the scent and
the cleanliness it brought with it. Every part of my body was scrubbed clean, even the weak parts of me, like my legs that were
slightly buckling and losing strength. The cloth dropped to the floor as the spray beat down on me, my whole body giving out
beneath me as I slunk to the porcelain floor, curling my knees up against my chest until I was sitting in a fetal position. For the
first time in weeks, I felt safe, clean, and free… but then the tears came on without warning, as did the flashbacks of the night I
left my husband for good.
“You stupid bitch!” he shouted, slamming me against the wall. “Do you call this dinner? It fucking tastes like shit, just
like your pussy.”
“Please, Eric. Stop! Alex will hear you.”
He looked feral as his hands curled around my throat, squeezing until I barely could breathe. “Do you think I care? You
need to be taught a lesson, Gina. I expect a four-course meal when I get home, not this boxed garbage.”
Tears pricked my eyes. We were low on food, and I didn’t have the chance to get to the grocery store today. Now I
wished I would have. At least then he wouldn’t be so angry.
“And what is this?” he growled, gripping my hair, that was freshly done in the salon. “I told you I like your hair long.
Do you think I want to be married to a man?” He yanked on my hair, forcing my head to the side.
The stylist only cut two inches off it, leaving it well past my shoulders and down my back. Look like a man. I surely did
not.
“God, look at you, Gina. You’ve let yourself go. You’re getting fatter and uglier every single day. And you wonder why I
have to satisfy my dick by fucking other women? It’s because of this. You look fucking hideous. It’s because I married a
woman not even fit to lick my shoes. I would’ve been better off marrying my dog than this disgrace of a woman.” The whole
time, his punishing grip got even tighter, and I was starting to see spots. “Get off your fat ass and go to the store. I want a
decent fucking meal tonight. Mac and cheese? Hotdogs? Who do you think I am?”
The worst mistake of my life.
“Eric, please, you’re hurting me.”
He smiled evilly. “If you think this is bad. Just wait for your punishment later.”
Tiny footsteps raced up the hall, and Eric finally let go of me.
“Mommy, are you okay?”
Gasping for breath, I forced out a smile, clutching at my throat. That was my point of weakness. “Y—Yes,” I stuttered
out, barely able to form words. “I’m f—fine.”
“Okay, Mommy.” Alex came up and wrapped me in a hug, his fragile arms curling around my mid-section.
“Go to your room, Alex. Now!” Eric barked.
Alex hesitated for a split second too long, and I saw the hand of wrath raise.
Stepping between them, I took the blow, his fist hitting my face and sending me straight to the floor.
 “Mommy!” Alex screamed, cowering away from his father.
“Go to your room, Alex. Please,” I begged.
This time, there was no hesitation, only fear. He scampered off, leaving me a crying mess begging for mercy at the
monster’s feet.
“Serves you right,” he said with a laugh. “Might want to pick up some make-up while you’re at it. Your eye is looking
kind of purple.”
Fuck him.
Fuck him.
FUCK HIM!
I kept chanting it in my head, reminding myself to stay strong.
He tugged at his tie, loosening it along with his cuffs as he made his way to our bedroom. “I expect filet mignon and
asparagus when I get out of the shower. Here’s a hundred bucks. Go make yourself useful and head to the store.”
My fists clenched as I reluctantly rose to my feet, staring at the floor the entire time. I wanted him gone; I wanted him
to die. But I knew I was too weak right now to fight back. I just had to appease him a little longer.
When I heard the water start, I rushed to Alex’s room. He was sobbing on the floor, looking absolutely terrified. “I
didn’t mean to make him mad again, Mommy. I was just worried about you. I heard him yelling again, and I wanted to
protect you.”
“It’s okay, Alex. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” SpongeBob played on the TV behind him. It was the
episode where SpongeBob was trying to make himself stronger by working out. I don’t know why that stupid cartoon got to
me the way it did, but it made me want to be stronger as well. Strong enough to leave Eric forever. Strong enough to save
me and my son before it was too late.
“Come on, Alex. Mommy needs to go to the store.”
Alex followed me out of the house and to my car. I buckled him in the back seat, then quickly got behind the wheel,
clutching it for dear life. I had to go… this had to end now.
The grocery store was long gone.
The town’s lights were well behind me.
Once I crossed the state line, I abandoned the car at a truck stop, managing to find a nice woman truck driver who was
willing to give us a ride.
“You okay, ma’am?”
“No,” I cried out weakly. “But I hope eventually I will be.”
She nodded her head, noticing the bruises around my throat and my eye. “Want me to take you to a police station?”
I shook my head. “No, I just need to get out of town.” The police didn’t care. Not when his brother was the chief of
police. He was untouchable… and I was just the woman they mocked when they thought I couldn’t hear. But I heard them. I
heard every damning word.
“Well, I’m driving to Austin. Is that far enough?”
I nodded, my entire body slouching in defeat as Alex settled against me. We both were exhausted, the mental strife I felt
seemed to weigh a zillion pounds.
“No, but it will do for now. Thank you.” And before she had even made it two miles down the road, my eyes closed,
succumbing to the weariness that was already plaguing my body.

A soft knock on the door stirred me out of the mental prison I was held captive in. I don’t know how long I’d been sitting in
the shower like this, but it was definitely long enough to prune my skin.
“You okay in there?” a gruff voice asked behind the door.
“Yeah, sorry. I fell asleep.”
“Food’s here,” he said in annoyance. “Hurry up before it gets cold.”
 Was that an order or a request? I suddenly felt like Belle hiding from the Beast.
My body shivered as I stepped out of the shower that had turned frigid and unwelcoming. The warmth of the towel was a
welcomed feeling as I wrapped it around my quivering body and crawled into the clothing I had scrounged up from one of his
drawers.
He lied… his boxers didn’t fit me either. My curves barely held them in place, so I restrained them with a hair tie, tying the
side up like a ponytail.
The room was empty when I stepped outside, and I heard voices coming from downstairs.
“So, Alex, who’s your favorite character?”
“Sandy Cheeks.”
“Why her?”
“Because she reminds me of my mommy. She’s strong, and protective, just like her.”
“Who is your mommy protecting you from?”
Before Alex could answer, I fled down the stairs, interrupting their conversation. A fresh bucket of chicken sat on the table,
along with a few side dishes that looked and smelled absolutely delicious.
“Wow, this smells great.”
Clash’s fork clattered to his plate, and I realized he was staring at me with hungry eyes.
“What?” I asked, horrified there was something wrong with me.
Clash shook his head, picking up his fork to eat again. His silence made me nervous, but I climbed into the chair beside
him, watching Alex as he consumed his food like a ravenous wolf.
“Thank you for dinner, Chuck.”
“It’s Clash. Nobody calls me Chuck.”
The tiny sliver of anger that took over his tone had me recoiling and flinching away from him.
Instant regret passed through his eyes, and his gruff stance waned a bit. “Sorry, I’m just a little touchy about my name.”
“Then why did you tell me it in the first place?”
He looked perplexed, like he didn’t understand it himself. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
Alex grinned as he dug into his mashed potatoes. “Mashed potatoes are my favorite,” he said, stuffing his face.
“Mine too,” Clash agreed, taking a bite of the starchy morsel as well. “But I don’t like the gravy,” he added.
“Mommy says that you should always try new things. Your tastebuds will thank you for it.”
Clash shook his head. “I’ve had it before, bud. I just don’t like it.”
“More for me then,” Alex mumbled through a mouth full of food. “Mommy, eat. You haven’t eaten in three days.”
I could feel Clash’s heated gaze, but I ignored it, refusing to let him know how much he affected me. I took a few bites of
food, but it did the opposite of make me feel good, it made my stomach coil and riot against me.
His heated breath hit my neck as he leaned in. “Take small bites, it will help offset the nausea you must be feeling.”
Surprised that he could read my expression like that, I took another bite of food, my stomach still queasy, but I wasn’t sure
if that was because of my lack of sustenance, or the butterflies that were currently running amok inside of me.
“By the way,” he whispered again. “You clean up well. My clothes look good on you.”
Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds, but I shook the attraction out of my brain. I couldn’t allow myself to fall for him,
not when there was so much he’d never understand about my life.
Goosebumps peppered my skin as his heated breath caressed the nape of my neck. “But they’d look even better on my
floor,” he whispered, sending erotic waves of lustful shock through my body.
Shit! I need to get out of here before it’s too late.
 4
The cutest little blush invaded her cheeks as I slowly pulled away. When I said she cleaned up nice, I wasn’t joking. The
woman was drop dead fucking gorgeous! Long brunette hair, no longer matted and tattered from lack of care, hung wet down
her back, stretching to at least the small of her waist. She had these damn pretty eyes that were like a slate grey, reminding me
of a newly paved street, with the tiniest specks of ice blue mixed within them. Her figure wasn’t exactly skinny, but damn, the
curves on her were to die for. I found myself wondering what it would be like to run my hands over them. She should come
with a warning sign:
Warning: Dangerous Curves Ahead.
Shaking the lustful thoughts from my brain, I turned my focus back on the kid who was gobbling up my food like it was the
only thing he’d ever eaten. He doesn’t look like his mother much. There are a few of her features, like her button nose and
impish smile that seem to be from her DNA, but I’m guessing the kid looks a lot like his father. His skin has an olive tint to it,
somewhat Mediterranean, and unkempt dark, jet-black hair that has a slight curl and sits on his head like a mop. He’s way too
skinny for his age, and definitely needed to get some meat on his bones. But then again, he does have her eyes. The same eyes
that I couldn’t seem to break away from.
“So, what are you running from?” I asked, knowing damn well she probably won’t tell me.
“My daddy,” Alex piped in, not at all fazed by his words. “He’s mean. He hits mommy.”
Instantly, my need to protect her overwhelmed me. I may be an asshole, but hitting women is something I don’t stand for. I
never liked how Sabbath manhandled Shasta the way he did. If I could’ve taken him on myself, I would have, but Snyder
stepped in to save the day like always.
Fuck him.
Fuck her too.
She was supposed to belong to all of us, and now he was off claiming her as his own. I really hope Wasp gives him a run
for his money, and the bitch picks him instead. Wouldn’t that be the best kind of karma to come around? Poor little Snydie
wouldn’t even know what to do with himself if she turned him down and went for Waspman instead.
The fear and despair in Gina’s eyes brought me out of my thoughts, making me feel bad for her all over again.
“Alex, you shouldn’t be telling people that!” she scolded, the embarrassment evident in her defeated posture and broken
eyes.
“Why, Mommy? It’s the truth. You always say to tell the truth no matter what.”
Her face softened just a tad. “I do say that, don’t I?”
I wanted to ask more about this ex of hers, mainly his location so I can eradicate him from the planet. But I kept my mouth
fucking shut, knowing damn well if I got involved anymore than I already have, it would be detrimental to my dick’s health.
Getting attached to anyone was not something I was game for. This was temporary. I’d only let them stay until she had the
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eyes suddenly fell on a motionless human figure. I gazed at it fixedly;
it was a young peasant girl. She was sitting some twenty feet away
from me, her head bowed pensively and her hands dropped on her
knees; in one hand, which was half open, lay a heavy bunch of field
flowers, and every time she breathed the flowers were softly gliding
over her checkered skirt. A clear white shirt, buttoned at the neck
and the wrists, fell in short, soft folds about her waist; large yellow
beads were hanging down from her neck on her bosom in two rows.
She was not at all bad-looking. Her heavy fair hair, of a beautiful ash
color, parted in two neatly combed half-circles from under a narrow,
dark-red head-band, which was pulled down almost to her ivory-
white forehead; the rest of her face was slightly tanned with the
golden sunburn peculiar to a tender skin. I could not see her eyes—
she did not lift them; but I saw her thin, high eyebrows, her long
lashes; these were moist, and on her cheek gleamed a dried-up
teardrop, which had stopped near her somewhat pale lips. Her entire
small head was very charming; even her somewhat thick and round
nose did not spoil it. I liked especially the expression of her face; it
was so simple and gentle, so sad and so full of childish perplexity
before her own sadness. She was apparently waiting for some one.
Something cracked faintly in the forest. Immediately she raised her
head and looked around; her eyes flashed quickly before me in the
transparent shade—they were large, bright, and shy like a deer’s.
She listened for a few seconds, not moving her wide-open eyes from
the spot whence the faint sound had come; she heaved a sigh,
turned her head slowly, bent down still lower and began to examine
the flowers. Her eyelids turned red, her lips quivered bitterly and a
new teardrop rolled down from under her heavy eyelashes, stopping
and sparkling on her cheek. Thus quite a long while passed; the poor
girl did not stir—only occasionally she moved her hands and listened
—listened all the time. Something cracked once more in the forest—
she startled. This time the noise did not stop, it was becoming more
distinct, it was nearing—at last firm footsteps were heard. She
straightened herself, and it seemed as if she lost her courage, for her
eyes began to quiver. The figure of a man appeared through the
jungle. She looked fixedly, suddenly flushed, and, smiling joyously
and happily, seemed about to rise, but she immediately cast down
her head again, turned pale, confused—only then she lifted her
quivering, almost prayerful, eyes to the man as he paused beside
her.
I looked at him from my hiding-place with curiosity. I confess he did
not produce a pleasant impression upon me. He was, by all
appearances, a spoiled valet of some rich young man. His clothes
betokened a claim to taste and smart carelessness. He wore a short
top-coat of bronze color, which evidently belonged to his master, and
which was buttoned up to the very top; he had on a pink necktie with
lilac-colored edges; and his black velvet cap, trimmed with gold
stripes, was pulled over his very eyebrows. The round collar of his
white shirt propped his ears up and cut his cheeks mercilessly, and
the starched cuffs covered his hands up to his red, crooked fingers,
which were ornamented with silver and gold rings, set with forget-
me-nots of turquoise. His red, fresh, impudent face belonged to
those countenances which, as far as I have observed, are almost
always repulsive to men, but, unfortunately, are often admired by
women. Apparently trying to give an expression of contempt and of
weariness to his rough features, he was forever closing his small,
milky-gray eyes, knitting his brows, lowering the corners of his lips,
yawning forcedly, and, with careless, although not too clever, ease,
now adjusting his reddish, smartly twisted temple-curls, now
fingering the yellow hair which bristled upon his thick upper lip—in a
word, he was making an insufferable display of himself. He started to
do this as soon as he noticed the young peasant girl who was
awaiting him. He advanced to her slowly, with large strides, then
stood for a while, twitched his shoulders, thrust both hands into the
pockets of his coat, and, casting a quick and indifferent glance at the
poor girl, sank down on the ground.
“Well?” he began, continuing to look aside, shaking his foot and
yawning. “Have you waited long?”
The girl could not answer him at once.
“Long, Victor Alexandrovich,” she said at last, in a scarcely audible
voice.
“Ah!” He removed his cap, majestically passed his hand over his
thick, curly hair whose roots started almost at his eyebrows, and,
looking around with dignity, covered his precious head again
cautiously. “And I almost forgot all about it. Besides, you see, it’s
raining.” He yawned again. “I have a lot of work to do; you can’t look
after everything, and he is yet scolding. We are leaving to-morrow—”
“To-morrow?” uttered the girl, and fixed a frightened look upon him.
“To-morrow.—Come, come, come, please,” he replied quickly, vexed,
noticing that she quivered, and bowed her head in silence. “Please,
Akulina, don’t cry. You know I can’t bear it” (and he twitched his flat
nose). “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you right away. What nonsense—
to whimper!”
“Well, I shan’t, I shan’t,” said Akulina hastily, swallowing the tears
with an effort. “So you’re going away to-morrow?” she added, after a
brief silence. “When will it please God to have me meet you again,
Victor Alexandrovich?”
“We’ll meet, we’ll meet again. If it isn’t next year, it’ll be later. My
master, it seems, wants to enter the service in St. Petersburg,” he
went on, pronouncing the words carelessly and somewhat
indistinctly. “And it may be that we’ll go abroad.”
“You will forget me, Victor Alexandrovich,” said Akulina sadly.
“No—why should I? I’ll not forget you, only you had rather be
sensible; don’t make a fool of yourself; obey your father.—And I’ll not
forget you.—Oh, no; oh, no.” And he stretched himself calmly and
yawned again.
“Do not forget me, Victor Alexandrovich,” she resumed in a
beseeching voice. “I have loved you so much, it seems—all, it
seems, for you.—You tell me to obey father, Victor Alexandrovich.—
How am I to obey my father—?”
“How’s that?” He pronounced these words as if from the stomach,
lying on his back and holding his hands under his head.
“Why, Victor Alexandrovich—you know it yourself—”
She fell silent. Victor fingered his steel watch-chain.
“Akulina, you are not a foolish girl,” he said at last, “therefore don’t
talk nonsense. It’s for your own good, do you understand me? Of
course, you are not foolish, you’re not altogether a peasant, so to
say, and your mother wasn’t always a peasant either. Still, you are
without education—therefore you must obey when you are told to.”
“But it’s terrible, Victor Alexandrovich.”
“Oh, what nonsense, my dear—what is she afraid of! What is that
you have there,” he added, moving closer to her, “flowers?”
“Flowers,” replied Akulina sadly. “I have picked some field tansies,”
she went on, with some animation. “They’re good for the calves. And
here I have some marigolds—for scrofula. Here, look, what a pretty
flower! I haven’t seen such a pretty flower in all my life. Here are
forget-me-nots, and—and these I have picked for you,” she added,
taking from under the tansies a small bunch of cornflowers, tied
around with a thin blade of grass; “do you want them?”
Victor stretched out his hand lazily, took the flowers, smelt them
carelessly, and began to turn them around in his fingers, looking up
with thoughtful importance. Akulina gazed at him. There was so
much tender devotion, reverent obedience, and love in her pensive
eyes. She at once feared him, and yet she dared not cry, and
inwardly she bade him farewell, and admired him for the last time;
and he lay there, stretched out like a sultan, and endured her
admiration with magnanimous patience and condescension. I
confess I was filled with indignation as I looked at his red face, which
betrayed satisfied selfishness through his feigned contempt and
indifference. Akulina was so beautiful at this moment. All her soul
opened before him trustingly and passionately—it reached out to
him, caressed him, and he.... He dropped the cornflowers on the
grass, took out from the side-pocket of his coat a round glass in a
bronze frame and began to force it into his eye; but no matter how
hard he tried to hold it with his knitted brow, his raised cheek, and
even with his nose, the glass dropped out and fell into his hands.
“What’s this?” asked Akulina at last, with surprise.
“A lorgnette,” he replied importantly.
“What is it for?”
“To see better.”
“Let me see it.”
Victor frowned, but gave her the glass.
“Look out; don’t break it.”
“Don’t be afraid, I’ll not break it.” She lifted it timidly to her eye.
“I can’t see anything,” she said naively.
“Shut your eye,” he retorted in the tone of a dissatisfied teacher. She
closed the eye before which she held the glass.
“Not that eye, not that one, you fool! The other one!” exclaimed
Victor, and, not allowing her to correct her mistake, he took the
lorgnette away from her.
Akulina blushed, laughed slightly, and turned away.
“It seems it’s not for us.”
“Of course not!”
The poor girl maintained silence, and heaved a deep sigh.
“Oh, Victor Alexandrovich, how will I get along without you?” she
said suddenly.
Victor wiped the lorgnette and put it back into his pocket.
“Yes, yes,” he said at last. “At first it will really be hard for you.” He
tapped her on the shoulder condescendingly; she quietly took his
hand from her shoulder and kissed it. “Well, yes, yes, you are indeed
a good girl,” he went on, with a self-satisfied smile; “but it can’t be
helped! Consider it yourself! My master and I can’t stay here, can
we? Winter is near, and to pass the winter in the country is simply
nasty—you know it yourself. It’s a different thing in St. Petersburg!
There are such wonders over there that you could not imagine even
in your dreams, you silly.—What houses, what streets, and society,
education—it’s something wonderful!—” Akulina listened to him with
close attention, slightly opening her lips like a child. “However,” he
added, wriggling on the ground, “why do I say all this to you? You
can’t understand it anyway!”
“Why not, Victor Alexandrovich? I understood, I understood
everything.”
“Just think of her!”
Akulina cast down her eyes.
“You did not speak to me like this before, Victor Alexandrovich,” she
said, without lifting her eyes.
“Before?—Before! Just think of her!—Before!” he remarked,
indignantly.
Both grew silent.
“However, it’s time for me to go,” said Victor, and leaned on his
elbow, about to rise.
“Wait a little,” said Akulina in an imploring voice.
“What for? I have already said to you, Good-by!”
“Wait,” repeated Akulina.
Victor again stretched himself on the ground and began to whistle.
Akulina kept looking at him steadfastly. I could see that she was
growing agitated by degrees—her lips twitched, her pale cheeks
were reddening.
“Victor Alexandrovich,” she said at last in a broken voice, “it’s a sin
for you, it’s a sin, Victor Alexandrovich, by God!”
“What’s a sin?” he asked, knitting his brows. He raised his head and
turned to her.
“It’s a sin, Victor Alexandrovich. If you would only say a good word to
me before leaving—if you would only say one word to me, miserable
little orphan that I am—”
“But what shall I say to you?”
“I don’t know. You know that better than I do, Victor Alexandrovich.
Here you are going away—if you would only say one word.—What
have I done to deserve this?”
“How strange you are! What can I say?”
“If only one word—”
“There she’s firing away one and the same thing,” he muttered with
vexation, and got up.
“Don’t be angry, Victor Alexandrovich,” she added hastily, unable to
repress her tears.
“I’m not angry—only you are foolish.—What do you want? I can’t
marry you! I can’t, can I? Well, then, what do you want? What?” He
stared at her, as if awaiting an answer, and opened his fingers wide.
“I want nothing—nothing,” she replied, stammering, not daring to
outstretch her trembling hands to him, “but simply so, at least one
word, at parting—”
And the tears began to stream from her eyes.
“Well, there you are, she’s started crying,” said Victor indifferently,
pulling the cap over his eyes.
“I don’t want anything,” she went on, sobbing and covering her face
with her hands; “but how will I feel now at home, how will I feel? And
what will become of me, what will become of me, wretched one that I
am? They’ll marry the poor little orphan off to a man she does not
like. My poor little head!”
“Keep on singing, keep on singing,” muttered Victor in a low voice,
stirring restlessly.
“If you only said one word, just one: ‘Akulina—I—’”
Sudden heart-rending sobs interrupted her. She fell with her face
upon the grass and cried bitterly, bitterly—All her body shook
convulsively, the back of her neck seemed to rise.—The long-
suppressed sorrow at last burst forth in a stream of tears. Victor
stood a while near her, then he shrugged his shoulders, turned
around and walked off with large steps.
A few moments went by. She grew silent, lifted her head, looked
around and clasped her hands; she was about to run after him, but
her feet failed her—she fell down on her knees. I could not endure it
any longer and rushed over to her; but before she had time to look at
me, she suddenly seemed to have regained her strength—and with
a faint cry she rose and disappeared behind the trees, leaving the
scattered flowers on the ground.
I stood a while, picked up the bunch of cornflowers, and walked out
of the grove to the field. The sun was low in the pale, clear sky; its
rays seemed to have faded and turned cold; they did not shine now,
they spread in an even, almost watery, light. There was only a half-
hour left until evening, and twilight was setting in. A violent wind was
blowing fast toward me across the yellow, dried-up stubble-field; the
small withered leaves were carried quickly past me across the road;
the side of the grove which stood like a wall by the field trembled and
flashed clearly, but not brightly; everywhere on the reddish grass, on
the blades, and the straw, innumerable autumn cobwebs flashed and
trembled. I stopped. I began to feel sad; it seemed a dismal fear of
approaching winter was stealing through the gay, though fresh, smile
of fading nature. High above me, a cautious raven flew by, heavily
and sharply cutting the air with his wings; then he turned his head,
looked at me sidewise, and, croaking abruptly, disappeared beyond
the forest; a large flock of pigeons rushed past me from a barn, and,
suddenly whirling about in a column, they came down and stationed
themselves bustlingly upon the field—a sign of spring autumn!
Somebody rode by beyond the bare hillock, making much noise with
an empty wagon.
I returned home, but the image of poor Akulina did not leave my
mind for a long time, and the cornflowers, long withered, are in my
possession to this day.
 THE COUNTING-HOUSE
BY IVAN TURGENEV
Translated by Constance Garnett.

It was autumn. For some hours I had been strolling across country
with my gun, and should probably not have returned till evening to
the tavern on the Kursk high-road, where my three-horse trap was
awaiting me, had not an exceedingly fine and persistent rain, which
had worried me all day with the obstinacy and ruthlessness of some
old maiden lady, driven me at last to seek at least a temporary
shelter somewhere in the neighborhood. While I was still deliberating
in which direction to go, my eye suddenly fell on a low shanty near a
field sown with peas. I went up to the shanty, glanced under the
thatched roof, and saw an old man so infirm that he reminded me at
once of the dying goat Robinson Crusoe found in some cave on his
island. The old man was squatting on his heels, his little dim eyes
half closed, while hurriedly, but carefully, like a hare (the poor fellow
had not a single tooth), he munched a dry, hard pea, incessantly
rolling it from side to side. He was so absorbed in this occupation
that he did not notice my entrance.
“Grandfather! hey, grandfather!” said I. He ceased munching, lifted
his eyebrows high, and with an effort opened his eyes.
“What?” he mumbled in a broken voice.
“Where is there a village near?” I asked.
The old man fell to munching again. He had not heard me. I
repeated my question louder than before.
“A village?—But what do you want?”
“Why, shelter from the rain?”
“What?”
“Shelter from the rain.”
“Ah!” He scratched his sunburnt neck. “Well, now, you go,” he said
suddenly, waving his hands indefinitely, “so—as you go by the copse
—see, as you go—there’ll be a road; you pass it by, and keep right
on to the right; keep right on, keep right on, keep right on.—Well,
there will be Ananyevo. Or else you’d go to Sitovka.”
I followed the old man with difficulty. His mustaches muffled his
voice, and his tongue too did not obey him readily.
“Where are you from?” I asked him.
“What?”
“Where are you from?”
“Ananyevo.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m watchman.”
“Why, what are you watching?”
“The peas.”
I could not help smiling.
“Really!—how old are you?”
“God knows.”
“Your sight’s failing, I expect.”
“What?”
“Your sight’s failing, I daresay?”
“Yes, it’s failing. At times I can hear nothing.”
“Then how can you be a watchman, eh?”
“Oh, my elders know about that.”
“Elders!” I thought, and I gazed not without compassion at the poor
old man. He fumbled about, pulled out of his bosom a bit of coarse
bread, and began sucking it like a child, with difficulty moving his
sunken cheeks.
I walked in the direction of the copse, turned to the right, kept on,
kept right on as the old man had advised me, and at last got to a
large village with a stone church in the new style, i. e., with columns,
and a spacious manor-house, also with columns. While still some
way off I noticed through the fine network of falling rain a cottage
with a deal roof, and two chimneys, higher than the others, in all
probability the dwelling of the village elder; and toward it I bent my
steps in the hope of finding, in this cottage, a samovár, tea, sugar,
and some not absolutely sour cream. Escorted by my half-frozen
dog, I went up the steps into the outer room, opened the door, and
instead of the usual appurtenances of a cottage, I saw several
tables, heaped up with papers, two red cupboards, bespattered
inkstands, pewter boxes of blotting sand weighing half a hundred-
weight, long penholders, and so on. At one of the tables was sitting a
young man of twenty with a swollen, sickly face, diminutive eyes, a
greasy-looking forehead, and long, straggling locks of hair. He was
dressed, as one would expect, in a gray nankeen coat, shiny with
wear at the waist and the collar.
“What do you want?” he asked me, flinging his head up like a horse
taken unexpectedly by the nose.
“Does the bailiff live here—or—”
“This is the principal office of the manor,” he interrupted. “I’m the
clerk on duty.—Didn’t you see the sign-board? That’s what it was put
up for.”
“Where could I dry my clothes here? Is there a samovár anywhere in
the village?”
“Samovars, of course,” replied the young man in the gray coat with
dignity; “go to Father Timofey’s, or to the servants’ cottage, or else to
Nazar Tarasitch, or to Agrafena, the poultry woman.”
“Who are you taking to, you blockhead? Can’t you let me sleep,
dummy!” shouted a voice from the next room.
“Here’s a gentleman’s come in to ask where he can dry himself.”
“What sort of a gentleman?”
“I don’t know. With a dog and a gun.”
A bedstead creaked in the next room. The door opened, and there
came in a stout, short man of fifty, with a bull neck, goggle eyes,
extraordinarily round cheeks, and his whole face positively shining
with sleekness.
“What is it you wish?” he asked me.
“To dry my things.”
“There’s no place here.”
“I didn’t know this was the counting-house; I am willing, though, to
pay—”
“Well, perhaps it could be managed here,” rejoined the fat man;
“won’t you come inside here?” He led me into another room, but not
the one he had come from. “Would this do for you?”
“Very well.—And could I have tea and milk?”
“Certainly, at once. If you’ll meantime take off your things and rest,
the tea shall be got ready this minute.”
“Whose property is this?”
“Madame Losnyakova’s, Elena Nikolaevna.”
He went out. I looked round: against the partition separating my
room from the office stood a huge leather sofa; two high-backed
chairs, also covered in leather, were placed on both sides of the
solitary window which looked out on the village street. On the walls,
covered with a green paper with pink patterns on it, hung three
immense oil paintings. One depicted a setter dog with a blue collar,
bearing the inscription: “This is my consolation”; at the dog’s feet
flowed a river; on the opposite bank of the river a hare of quite
disproportionate size, with ears cocked up, was sitting under a pine
tree. In another picture two old men were eating a melon; behind the
melon was visible in the distance a Greek temple with the inscription:
“The Temple of Satisfaction.” The third picture represented the half-
nude figure of a woman in a recumbent position, much
foreshortened, with red knees and very big heels. My dog had, with
superhuman efforts, crouched under the sofa, and apparently found
a great deal of dust there, as he kept sneezing violently. I went to the
window. Boards had been laid across the street in a slanting
direction from the manor-house to the counting-house—a very useful
precaution, as, thanks to our rich black soil and the persistent rain,
the mud was terrible. In the grounds of the manor-house, which
stood with its back to the street, there was the constant going and
coming there always is about manor-houses: maids in faded chintz
gowns flitted to and fro; house-serfs sauntered through the mud,
stood still, and scratched their spines meditatively; the constable’s
horse, tied up to a post, lashed his tail lazily, and, with his nose high
up, gnawed at the hedge; hens were clucking; sickly turkeys kept up
an incessant gobble-gobble. On the steps of a dark, crumbling out-
house, probably the bath-house, sat a stalwart lad with a guitar,
singing with some spirit the well-known ballad:
“I’m leaving this enchanting spot
To go into the desert.”

The fat man came into the room.

“They’re bringing you in your tea,” he told me, with an affable smile.
The young man in the gray coat, the clerk on duty, laid on the old
card-table a samovár, a teapot, a tumbler on a broken saucer, a jug
of cream, and a bunch of Bolhovo biscuit rings. The fat man went
out.
“What is he?” I asked the clerk; “the steward?”
“No, sir; he was the chief cashier, but now he has been promoted to
be head clerk.”
“Haven’t you got a steward, then?”
“No, sir. There’s an agent, Mihal Vikulov, but no steward.”
“Is there a manager, then?”
“Yes; a German, Lindamandol, Karlo Karlitch; only he does not
manage the estate.”
“Who does manage it, then?”
“Our mistress herself.”
“You don’t say so. And are there many of you in the office?”
The young man reflected.
“There are six of us.”
“Who are they?” I inquired.
“Well, first there’s Vassily Nikolaevitch, the head cashier; then Piotr,
one clerk; Piotr’s brother, Iván, another clerk; the other Iván, a clerk;
Konstantin Narkizer, another clerk; and me here—there’s a lot of us,
you can’t count all of them.”
“I suppose your mistress has a great many serfs in her house?”
“No, not to say a great many.”
“How many, then?”
“I dare say it runs up to about a hundred and fifty.”
We were both silent for a little.
“I suppose you write a good hand, eh?” I began again.
The young man grinned from ear to ear, went into the office and
brought in a sheet covered with writing.
“This is my writing,” he announced, still with the same smile on his
face.
I looked at it; on the square sheet of grayish paper there was written,
in a good bold hand, the following document:
“Order: From the Chief Office of the Manor of Ananyevo to the
Agent, Mihal Vikulov. No. 209.
“Whereas, Some person unknown entered the garden at Ananyevo
last night in an intoxicated condition, and with unseemly songs
waked the French governess, Madame Engêne, and disturbed her;
and whether the watchman saw anything, and who were on watch in
the garden and permitted such disorderliness: as regards all the
above-written matters, your orders are to investigate in detail, and
report immediately to the Office.”
“Head Clerk, Nikolai Hvostov.”
A huge heraldic seal was attached to the order, with the inscription:
“Seal of the chief office of the manor of Ananyevo;” and below stood
the signature: “To be executed exactly, Elena Losnyakova.”
“Your lady signed it herself, eh?” I queried.
“To be sure; she always signs herself. Without that the order would
be of no effect.”
“Well, and now shall you send this order to the agent?”
“No, sir. He’ll come himself and read it. That’s to say, it’ll be read to
him; you see, he’s no scholar.” The clerk on duty was silent again for
a while. “But what do you say?” he added, simpering; “is it well
written?”
“Very well written.”
“It wasn’t composed, I must confess, by me. Konstantin is the great
one for that.”
“What?—Do you mean the orders have first to be composed among
you?”
“Why, how else could we do? Couldn’t write them off straight without
making a fair copy.”
“And what salary do you get?” I inquired.
“Thirty-five rubles, and five rubles for boots.”
“And are you satisfied?”
“Of course I am satisfied. It’s not every one can get into an office like
ours. It was God’s will, in my case, to be sure; I’d an uncle who was
in service as a butler.”
“And you’re well off?”
“Yes, sir. Though, to tell the truth,” he went on, with a sigh, “a place
at a merchant’s, for instance, is better for the likes of us. At a
merchant’s they’re very well off. Yesterday evening a merchant came
to us from Venev, and his man got talking to me.—Yes, that’s a good
place, no doubt about it; a very good place.”
“Why? Do the merchants pay more wages?”
“Lord preserve us! Why, a merchant would soon give you the sack if
you asked him for wages. No, at a merchant’s you must live on trust
and on fear. He’ll give you food, and drink, and clothes, and all. If
you give him satisfaction, he’ll do more.—Talk of wages, indeed! You
don’t need them.—And a merchant, too, lives in plain Russian style,
like ourselves; you go with him on a journey—he has tea, and you
have it; what he eats, you eat. A merchant—one can put up with; a
merchant’s a very different thing from what a gentleman is; a
merchant’s not whimsical; if he’s out of temper, he’ll give you a blow,
and there it ends. He doesn’t nag nor sneer.—But with a gentleman
it’s a woeful business! Nothing’s as he likes it—this is not right, and
that he can’t fancy. You hand him a glass of water or something to
eat: ‘Ugh, the water stinks! positively stinks!’ You take it out, stay a
minute outside the door, and bring it back: ‘Come, now, that’s good;
this doesn’t stink now.’ And as for the ladies, I tell you, the ladies are
something beyond everything!—and the young ladies above all!—”
“Fedyushka!” came the fat man’s voice from the office. The clerk
went out quickly. I drank a glass of tea, lay down on the sofa, and fell
asleep. I slept for two hours.
When I woke I meant to get up, but I was overcome by laziness; I
closed my eyes, but did not fall asleep again. On the other side of
the partition, in the office, they were talking in subdued voices.
Unconsciously I began to listen.
“Quite so, quite so, Nikolai Eremyitch,” one voice was saying; “quite
so. One can’t but take that into account; yes, certainly! Hm!” The
speaker coughed.
“You may believe me, Gavrila Antonitch,” replied the fat man’s voice;
“don’t I know how things are done here? Judge for yourself.”
“Who does, if you don’t, Nikolai Eremyitch? You’re, one may say, the
first person here. Well, then, how’s it to be?” pursued the voice I did
not recognize; “what decision are we to come to, Nikolai Eremyitch?
Allow me to put the question.”
“What decision, Gavrila Antonitch? The thing depends, so to say, on
you; you don’t seem overanxious.”
“Upon my word, Nikolai Eremyitch, what do you mean? Our business
is trading, buying; it’s our business to buy. That’s what we live by,
Nikolai Eremyitch, one may say.”
“Eight rubles a measure,” said the fat man emphatically.
A sigh was audible.
“Nikolai Eremyitch, sir, you ask a heavy price.”
“Impossible, Gavrila Antonitch, to do otherwise; I speak as before
God Almighty; impossible.”
Silence followed.
I got up softly and looked through a crack in the partition. The fat
man was sitting with his back to me. Facing him sat a merchant, a
man about forty, lean and pale, who looked as if he had been rubbed
with oil. He was incessantly fingering his beard, and very rapidly
blinking and twitching his lips.
“Wonderful the young green crops this year, one may say,” he began
again; “I’ve been going about everywhere admiring them. All the way
from Voronezh they’ve come up wonderfully, first-class, one may
say.”
“The crops are pretty fair, certainly,” answered the head clerk; “but
you know the saying, Gavrila Antonitch, autumn bids fair, but spring
may be foul.”
“That’s so, indeed, Nikolai Eremyitch; all is in God’s hands; it’s the
absolute truth what you’ve just remarked, sir.—But perhaps your
visitor’s awake now?”
The fat man turned round—listened—
“No, he’s asleep. He may, though—”
He went to the door.
“No, he’s asleep,” he repeated, and went back to his place.
“Well, so what are we to say, Nikolai Eremyitch?” the merchant
began again; “we must bring our little business to a conclusion.—Let
it be so, Nikolai Eremyitch, let it be so,” he went on, blinking
incessantly; “two gray notes and a white for your favor, and there”
(he nodded in the direction of the house), “six and a half. Done, eh?”
“Four gray notes,” answered the clerk.
“Come, three, then.”
“Four grays and no white.”
“Three, Nikolai Eremyitch.”
“Three and a half, and not a farthing less.”
“Three, Nikolai Eremyitch.”
“You’re not talking sense, Gavrila Antonitch.”
“My, what a pig-headed fellow!” muttered the merchant. “Then I’d
better arrange it with the lady herself.”
“That’s as you like,” answered the fat man; “far better, I should say.
Why should you worry yourself, after all? Much better, indeed!”
“Well, well! Nikolai Eremyitch. I lost my temper for a minute! That
was nothing but talk.”
“No, really, why—”
“Nonsense, I tell you—I tell you I was joking. Well, take your three
and a half; there’s no doing anything with you.”
“I ought to have got four, but I was in too great a hurry—like an ass!”
muttered the fat man.
“Then up there at the house, six and a half, Nikolai Eremyitch; the
corn will be sold for six and a half?”
“Six and a half, as we said already.”
“Well, your hand on that then, Nikolai Eremyitch.” The merchant
clapped his outstretched fingers into the clerk’s palm. “And good-by,
in God’s name!” The merchant got up. “So then, Nikolai Eremyitch,
sir, I’ll go now to your lady, and bid them send up my name, and so
I’ll say to her, ‘Nikolai Eremyitch,’ I’ll say, ‘has made a bargain with
me for six and a half.’”
“That’s what you must say, Gavrila Antonitch.”
“And now, allow me.”
The merchant handed the manager a small roll of notes, bowed,
shook his head, picked up his hat with two fingers, shrugged his
shoulders, and, with a sort of undulating motion, went out, his boots
creaking after the approved fashion. Nikolai Eremyitch went to the
wall, and, as far as I could make out, began sorting the notes
handed him by the merchant. A red head, adorned with thick
whiskers, was thrust in at the door.
“Well?” asked the head; “all as it should be?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
The fat man made an angry gesture with his hand, and pointed to my
room.
“Ah, all right!” responded the head, and vanished.
The fat man went up to the table, sat down, opened a book, took out
a reckoning frame, and began shifting the beads to and fro as he
counted, using not the forefinger, but the third finger of his right
hand, which has a much more showy effect.
The clerk on duty came in.
“What is it?”
“Sidor is here from Goloplek.”
“Oh! ask him in. Wait a bit, wait a bit.—First go and look whether the
strange gentleman’s still asleep, or whether he has waked up.”
The clerk on duty came cautiously into my room. I laid my head on
my game-bag, which served me as a pillow, and closed my eyes.
“He’s asleep,” whispered the clerk on duty, returning to the counting-
house.
The fat man muttered something.
“Well, send Sidor in,” he said at last.
I got up again.
A peasant of about thirty, of huge stature, came in—a red-cheeked,
vigorous-looking fellow, with brown hair, and a short curly beard. He
crossed himself, praying to the holy image, bowed to the head clerk,
held his hat before him in both hands, and stood erect.
“Good day, Sidor,” said the fat man, tapping with the reckoning
beads.
“Good day to you, Nikolai Eremyitch.”
“Well, what are the roads like?”
“Pretty fair, Nikolai Eremyitch. A bit muddy.” The peasant spoke
slowly and not loud.
“Wife quite well?”
“She’s all right!”
The peasant gave a sigh and shifted one leg forward. Nikolai
Eremyitch put his pen behind his ear, and blew his nose.
“Well, what have you come about?” he proceeded to inquire, putting
his check handkerchief into his pocket.
“Why, they do say, Nikolai Eremyitch, they’re asking for carpenters
from us.”