by Tijan
I swallowed a whole fucking knot, because damn, that stung.
“You get all that because I stabbed you?”
He snorted a laugh. “I got all that because you walked in here with your boys, without a trace of fear on your face.” He scowled. “I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all. This world, I do not want you in it.”
“So you said.”
“I’ll say it again,” he bit those words out, roughly. He pounded a fist down on the table. “Not my girl. Not my daughter. No. Your brother did a horrible job raising you—”
I hopped down, shoving back the stool. It crashed into something behind me. I didn’t care.
This wasn’t a quick reaction.
This had been building from years of listening to him and Channing fight, years of watching him walk out that door after Mom died, years of hearing him coming back drunk and stumbling. Years.
And I snapped, again, because apparently I needed to.
I let loose and this time, it felt damn good. This time, I knew exactly what I was saying. “Fuck you.”
He went still, his eyes narrowing. “What’d you say?”
I raised my voice. “Fuck. You.”
His eyes got big, showing off the whites, and his cheeks filled out, showing off more redness. I noticed then that he had a slight mustache growing, and he wasn’t keeping it combed. It was all mangled, the strands pointing in every which way.
“Excuse yourself. Right now.”
I was experiencing whiplash. The room was spinning around me.
Who did he think he was?
No.
This, this was what I came to tell him. He was laying it out for me, all nice and to the point, so here goes my turn.
A sad laugh came from me. He heard it, growing even more still.
I shook my head, just barely. “You got out of prison for killing someone, and you came right to my door. You want to know what Channing did, right? He shooed you away. He got between us, and he kept you away because of this.” I skimmed him up and down, my lip curling up in disdain. “You don’t have a right to tell me to ‘excuse myself.’ You don’t have a right to judge Channing on taking care of me. He was there. You weren’t. You want to know what you left behind? A goddamn mess. That was me. I went to jail, Pops.”
He winced, jerking backwards.
“I got dark.”
“…I thought we were going to lose you one day.”
I winced, swallowing that memory. “I got seriously dark, Dad.”
The firefly.
I felt her rising.
“I wanted to die.”
He was paling. I kept on.
“I stabbed my principal. He didn’t take to it. I got jail, counseling, parole, community service. All of it. And it could’ve been worse. Wanna know why it wasn’t? Because of Channing. Want to know the type of parenting you would’ve done? Wait. That’s right, you can’t. You weren’t there.”
I was getting worked up now, on a roll.
My voice rose.
“Always fucking fighting with Channing. I lost my brother for years because of you. He left because of you. You did that. You. Your fucking drinking. And she died! Mom died, and where were you?! Gone! Drunk! I had no parent. None. My only one died, and I still go and look for her. Same fucking house, Dad. But she ain’t there. She’s not even a ghost. She’s just gone, and you get out because of something I helped set in motion. That crooked cop, people found him out because of me, because of my crew. We were a part of that, so where’s your gratitude? You ungrateful dick.” I backed up.
The entire bar was silent behind me.
I so didn’t care.
I was still going, and I raised my hand in the air. “The fact is that I didn’t kill that guy. You did. I thought it was my fault. I thought you did what I couldn’t do, and you did it for me. That wasn’t the truth. All this guilt, all this debt that I didn’t even know was in me, buried deep—that’s yours. Not mine. Don’t you fucking dare tell me to ‘excuse myself’. You don’t want me in this life?” I threw both my arms out. “When the fuck did I ASK TO BE?!”
Panting.
Breathless.
My lungs were shrinking.
But I had more, so much more. It didn’t register that my dad started looking behind me, or that he straightened away from his table, or that he had a whole different sort of look on his face. Nope. None of that registered until it was too late.
All I was registering was that I needed to end this. “Stay the fuck away from me. Stay the fuck away from my friends. You don’t know who your daughter is anymore, and you clearly don’t give a fuck about getting to know her, so do her and yourself a favor. Stay. The fuck. Away!” I was thrusting my finger in the air, punching it with each word. “And I’ll do whatever fucking job I want to do. Holy shit! I want to throw my knife at you.” I tore myself away, my chest rising rapidly, and I blinked away a couple tears.
They weren’t from sadness. They were from frustration because I really wanted to hurt him again, so bad.
Then I saw the guys who had come inside.
Then I saw how everyone else was watching the guys who had come inside.
Then I recognized one of them.
Maxwell Raith.
The president of the Red Demons MC was staring smack-dab at me.
BREN
“Boss.” A guy moved toward them from the bar. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He was tall, looked around in his fifties, but the years in the sun gave his skin an almost leathery tanned look. The whites in his eyes were almost startling, and those eyes were hard. There was an edge of irritation to him, too.
“I’m fine.” Maxwell was staring at me as he responded, then he switched and took in my dad. “Derrick.”
“Max.” My dad moved around me, suddenly a lot more tense than he’d been before. He swung an arm toward me. “She, uh…she’s angry.”
“I know what she is.” He stepped more fully into the bar, and the other two moved with him. The last one stepped clear of the door, letting it shut, and the bar was back in darkness for a brief moment. Maxwell came over toward us, still watching me, but he moved to greet my dad. “Derrick. It’s damned good to see you.” They thumped each other on the back.
I was transfixed.
My dad was grinning. He was happy.
I’d only witnessed that look on his face a handful of other times, a couple memories with Mom, and the other times were when he was drunk.
One of the others moved farther inside the bar, disappearing. The other came over, greeting my dad the same. I heard my dad say, “Heckler,” and sucked in my breath. Jesus. This was their president and their enforcer, or one of them, as Channing had put it. That other guy…I hadn’t gotten a good look at him. Was that their VP?
Cross and Jordan moved closer to us, taking up my back.
Maxwell noticed that and skimmed me up and down. “Gotta say, I’m not a fan of riding for three days and walking in to hearing a daughter bitching out her old man. That’s not how things work in our world. Being grateful goes a long fucking way.”
Yeah. Fuck him, too.
I responded, “All due respect, Mr. Raith, that’s family business, and if you think my father’s been a great father to me, then it’s really just family business.”
The other biker who’d come with him was staring at me. He had white hair almost all over him, even his beard. And his eyes, they were ice blue, almost a gray/white color as well. He was a bit more solid than Maxwell, built like a square versus the broad shoulders and lean waist build of his president, but there was no mistake, that guy was all muscle. He took his sunglasses from where they’d been shoved on top of his head and smirked. “Derrick, you got a feisty daughter there.”
My dad grunted, moving closer to me. “Don’t I know it. Are you guys passing through town?”
Maxwell pulled his gaze from me to my dad. “We all need to sit down. We’ll talk about it then.” He turned back to me. “Knowi
ng what your brother does now. Now where you ended up taking a job…is this going to be a problem?”
I opened my mouth.
My dad said, “My daughter ain’t a snitch.”
“Even so.” Maxwell nodded to his man. “Take her phone while she’s here.” He looked at Cross and Jordan. “Them too.”
Heckler moved in, an eerie gleam in his grin, showcasing some blinding white teeth. “With pleasure.” He stepped in front of me, eyebrows arched. “Hand ’em over.” His glance went to Cross. “If you don’t, I got no problem searching for ’em. You too, boys.”
“We’ll just keep them while you’re here. Once you leave, Heckler will give them back.” Max’s shoulders suddenly drooped, and he yawned, raking his hand through his hair and beard. “I’m fucking exhausted, Bettina.”
The waitress moved in, her voice caring. “You want a place to rest your head or freshly brewed coffee?”
He took her in, his eyes lingering as he looked at her from top to bottom, then his mouth twitched. “How about a private room, you and me? And then coffee afterwards?”
Her smile turned a whole lot more warm. “You got it, Boss.”
She took his hand, and as she began to lead him away, he looked over his shoulder. “Sort your shit, Derrick, then get your kid out of here. We got church tonight.”
Heckler stuffed all our phones in his pocket, but then he moved away too. A couple girls came over to greet him, and he put his arms around both. They moved to the other side of the bar, and soon, one of the girls was straddling him while the other began rubbing his shoulders. Shrieks of laughter and moaning soon came from his corner.
Everyone else went back to what they’d been doing before, but the mood seemed lighter for some reason. Lighter, but also more serious at the same time.
I was distracted when my dad asked gruffly, “You got more to yell at me about?” A pained expression in his gaze held my tongue, and he added into the pocket of silence, “I am sorry for being a crap father. I know all you said was right, and that I’m in the wrong. I get heated, speaking too fast, but you’re right about all of it. And Channing’s done a great job.” He drew in a breath, those eyes flashing wetness for a second. He raised a hand, touching my shoulder and he had to take a moment. Swallow. Then his head dipped down as he lightly squeezed my shoulder. “He did good. You do what you gotta do, and I mean that in every way.”
I’d been holding in oxygen, and it seemed like I’d been holding it in since he got out of prison.
Hearing his words now, that huge boulder in my stomach dissolved. I was blinking back tears, and I didn’t know how to handle that.
This was not my old dad. He had changed.
“Thanks, Dad.”
His eyes were so sad, but he gave me the smallest smile, his hand squeezing again. “Anytime, honey. But you should go. These guys won’t be here long, so make sure not to call them in. They’ll know it was you, and then, well, there’ll be problems.”
I nodded. “What are you going to do?”
“I didn’t go to your job to use you. Yes, I went to do surveillance, but it was also my excuse to see you. I ain’t perfect. Lord knows how much I ain’t perfect, but I love you and I’ll continue to work on doing right by you. I’m sorry if you thought I was using you. That thought never entered my head, to be honest.”
Cross and Jordan moved in, closing in our small circle.
My dad inclined his head toward them, his hand moving around and pulling me to his side. “I got a long road ahead to make things right, but I’m going to try. That’s a promise I can make, but for now, you all need to get going. Do your thing. College. Studying, whatever it is. Take care of my girl.”
“And her job?” Cross had his head tilted forward and to the side. “Her brother?”
Derrick stiffened, his head raising up. His hand was gentle on me, but his arm was rock solid. “Don’t narc. Let Channing do his job. Let my girl do her job, but no snitching. That ain’t a problem for you guys to take on. You hear me on that? You guys are clear of this, so stay clear.”
Cross’ head dipped again, his gaze meeting mine.
I was at a crossroads, it seemed.
Then the decision was made for me, in that moment.
A guy rushed inside. “Cops coming!”
Another guy yelled out, “Let Prez know. Get the civvies out of here.”
Girls were running around. Guys were dashing. Windows were locked up.
Heckler came over, at a more leisurely stroll and dug inside his pocket. He pulled out the phones, putting them on the table. He said to Derrick, “Get out of here. Your kid, her friends, you. You’re clear of this, Pops. That’s how Max wants it.”
My dad’s fingers now curled tighter into me, but his head jerked up and down. “I’ll be at the house.” His words were for the biker.
Heckler moved his head up and down, staring us down for a beat. “Get a job, Pops. That’s what Max wants for you. Keep clean.” He said to me, “You don’t need to worry about your dad. We got no plans to dirty him, hear that? And we’re taking off. Your boss asks you questions, you don’t say shit. Got it?”
My lips parted. My throat went dry.
I said, “Got it.”
Yeah. Seems like I chose. I was on the side of no-snitching. Then again, when had it ever been an actual question for me? I was crew through and through.
Cross grabbed up the phones and took my arm. “Let’s go. We gotta jet now.” He pulled me toward the door. Jordan was already heading out. When I lingered, he said, “Now!”
So, we went.
I looked back, seeing my dad one last time, and then we were gone.
From: Tazsters
To: Cain Group
Subject: why why why
Why has everyone stopped calling, texting, and emailing. I need my emails. I live for my emails.
Where have all the emails gone?
—The Best Twin
BREN
I was experiencing déjà vu, but not at the same time.
This time was different.
Another year, another time, and we’d been driving Alex Ryerson back.
Another month, another time and I’d be walking out of jail.
Another moment, another place and we’d be at the hospital getting someone patched up.
This time, it wasn’t us. It wasn’t our fight. We were heading home, except for a quick stop at the drive-thru for Jordan. He wanted food since we never got the burgers or chicken baskets from The Twister Sister.
Walking into our house, one after the other, we moved around the kitchen.
I grabbed the plates.
Cross grabbed the drinks and glasses.
Jordan went back outside, taking the food with him.
No words were spoken. None were needed. We all just knew.
I dipped in the bedroom, changing clothes and grabbing a blanket.
Cross was waiting for me at the door. He’d taken everything out, and I saw as we stepped outside that Jordan had the fire going. The patio table had been moved over, the stools moved aside to make room so we could eat next to the fire pit.
We all sat down.
Plates were passed out.
Food was portioned.
Drinks were poured.
We sat. We ate. We just were.
After the food was done, the wrappers put away in a garbage bag, and another round of drinks had been poured, Jordan was leaning forward. Elbows resting on his knees, he was staring into the fire.
He said, “I’m going to go to Roussou tomorrow.” The fire’s reflection was playing over his face, casting him in orange and red dark shadows. It lit up his eyes. They were somber. “I’m going to bring Zellman back.”
And even that made perfect sense.
We needed all of our crew together.
BREN
My phone woke me the next morning.
Cross was curled behind me, one of his hands on my hip and he stiffened, groaning. “Who keeps fucking calli
ng you at—” He looked, and then growled. The phone kept ringing, but I didn’t move. This was a small luxury I indulged. Cross would field it for me, and he did, reaching over me to my nightstand.
“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath, sitting up and hitting accept.
“This is a call from the Potomahmen Correctional Facility. Do you accept the charges from inmate—”
“Yes.”
A second later, I heard my ex’s voice coming from the phone, and Cross was glaring hard at the room. “What do you want?”
A laugh from Drake. “Can I talk to her?”
“Why?”
Even though Cross hadn’t put my phone on speaker, I could hear Drake loud and clear.
“Just let me talk to her. Please.”
He turned to me. “You don’t have to take the call. You can tell him to go to hell.”
I sighed, sitting up. A yawn left me, but we both knew Drake was calling for a reason. I had no doubt that what he wanted to tell me wasn’t what he was going to say at all. But knowing Drake, knowing the games he always played, I still knew I needed to take the call.
Simply put, it was what it was.
I shrugged but held my hand out.
Cross handed it over and slid out of bed. He went to the bathroom, and I watched him the whole walk, enjoying it immensely.
Taking the phone, I hit the speaker button and sat back. “What do you want?”
Another laugh, this one louder and more genuine. “There she is, my old Bren.”
I rolled my eyes. “I ain’t your old anything, except if you’re referencing an old regret, but I do. I truly do. I regret ever dating you, and also, why are you not dead? You snitched. By prison law, you should’ve been gone in the first week.”
Another laugh, but it was lessening. I was getting to him, or the threat had. “That’s cold, even for you.”