by A. R. Breck
“No! Fuck, Cara. Quit talking, for once in your God damned life. Can you just shut the fuck up and think about someone other than yourself? I don’t want to be around anyone. I don’t want to talk.” He runs his hands down his face. “I’ll talk to you later.” This time, when he turns and walks off, I don’t stop him.
I stand there for so long I watch him walk to the corner and hop on the city bus. A few minutes later, Easton’s truck pulls up beside me.
“Ready to go home?” Rose asks sympathetically.
I nod my head, tears streaming down my face.
“Okay, let’s go home.”
22
Jackson
I get a text the next morning to meet at the office. I’ve been holed up at The Pit all night, watching some random fight between amateurs then hiding out in one up the back rooms all day.
Watching that fight was like watching two birds squawk at each other. It was awkward and boring as hell. I remembered why I never come to The Pit unless Easton is fighting.
The last thing I want to do is go to the office or talk to anyone right now, but Rich is the last person I should ignore. I didn’t want to be a dick to Cara or blow Easton off when he was just trying to be a good friend, but I can’t fake it. I can’t pretend to sit around and play games around chatty Rose or concerned Cara. I don’t want the pity stares or Cara’s caring touch.
I just want to be alone, not having to say a word to anyone or have to act like I’m okay when I’m not.
Because I’m not—okay that is. Not as much sadness that my mom is gone. As far as I’m concerned, she’s been dead since my sister died. She took the cowards way out and killed herself because of her own guilt and grief for being a shitty mom her entire life. My rage—my fucking rage—is towards my dad. He’s a piece of shit who abuses his wife and kids because of some kind of power trip. He puts bruises over my entire face and I’m the one that’s supposed to stand by his side as his son who doesn’t want to gut him where he stands? Fuck that. I’m not okay with him because if he would have done anything different in his life, he may have been able to change the course of ours.
But, he is who he is, and that’s the worst motherfucker I’ve ever met in my life.
I stall and pass the time before heading over to the warehouse. I’m not in the mood to be grilled and showing up right away will blow my cover on where I stayed. He’ll know I’ve been hiding, and as much of a little bitch that makes me, I’d rather hide and be content then to do shit I don’t want to do and be miserable.
I’m done being miserable.
It’s time to do what I think is right, and that includes taking what’s rightfully mine.
When I’ve shot the shit for long enough, I slip my shoes on and head next door. I go through the back door and wince when memories of Rose come to mind. It’s like a lightning bolt of bad memories hit me in the back of the head.
Another one of the worst nights of my life.
I speed walk past the hell that this pavement has endured and make my way to the other side of the building.
“Yo, Jackson!” Easton calls out. I stop, looking over my shoulder and see him jogging from his car over to me.
I slide a cigarette out of my pocket, lighting it up as I wait for him.
“What the fuck was that last night?” He asks when he reaches me. We go in for a shake and I know instantly he’s not salty with me.
“Bro…” I shake my head, and he nods his in understanding.
“Trust me, I get it. You do, too. I’m sure Logan’s death hit you harder than your mom’s did.”
I nod.
“Shit sucks, but we just got to keep moving. That’s what you told me, right?”
I nod again. “It’s not even about my mom. I mean, it sucks, but that’s not why I left like I did last night.”
He looks at my yellow-green face. The black and purple color has faded the last few days and turned into this rotting yellow color.
“Your dad do that?” He asks with a tone that suggests he already knows.
I hesitate before answering. He’s seen me shirtless throughout the years, and the bruises and cigarette burns have been impossible to hide, but he’s never questioned it. It’s weird to think about confessing that I’ve been getting abused my entire life.
“Yeah.” I avert my eyes to the ground as I stub my cigarette out with the toe of my shoe.
He bobs his head, zoning off as he thinks. I’m assuming he’s thinking back of all the shit he’s seen throughout the years and connecting the pieces. Randall Shaw is not a good person.
“Well, what now? We going to do somethin’ about it?” I can see a bit of unease fill in his eyes. It’s a tough spot we’re in, which is precisely why I haven’t done anything yet. My dad’s a part of the business. He’s a partner. Not only that, but he kept the roof I have over my head. If that stuff wasn’t important, I would’ve killed him years ago. Father or not.
“His time is coming.” I say, and we both nod. We don’t need to discuss what’s going to happen. My dad will get what’s coming when the time is right.
Walking in, we knock on Rich’s door and Hugo opens it a moment later. Rich is on the phone when we walk in, which only piques my interest.
Rich looks up at us. “They’re here, give me a minute.” He mutes the phone and says, “Good, you’re here. I’ve got Lynx and Aziel on the phone. We have some things to discuss.”
Shit. The Mexicans.
“What’s going on?” Easton says with a strain in his tone. I’m feeling the same. On edge and discombobulated. I knew this was coming, it’s just the worst fucking time. As always.
Rich presses the mute button again. “Lynx? Aziel?”
“We’re here.”
“I’ve got Easton and Jackson here.”
“Hey guys.” Aziel says.
“What’s going on?” Easton says.
“We’ve gotten word from down south.” Lynx rasps, making my shackles rise. I knew it.
“What’d they say?” Rich orders over the phone.
“They want to expand into our territory. They’re starting with San Diego area and going to work their way up. They made specific reference to you guys, Rich. He wants your clients; he wants your supply. They’re creeping up, and I think they’re planning it soon.”
Rich looks up at us with a furious, purple tinged face and bulging red eyes. “We’ll figure out a game plan and get back to you.” He clicks off the phone and sighs, straightening the cuffs of his shirt before looking up at us. “So, tell me, boys, what are you going to do about this?”
“Us?” Easton stands up straight, pointing to himself. “What do you mean, what’re we going to do about it?
Rich suddenly stands, leaning over the desk. “Exactly what I mean. You boys met with the Mexicans. It’s time you learn how to deal with the problems, too. You better think well and good about how you want to proceed, boys. One fuck up could mean the end. Taking over the business doesn’t just mean fighting people like Sanders or meeting with our allies like The Seven. You also have to learn how to negotiate with our enemies—the Mexicans.”
My palms start sweating, and I almost wish I would’ve kept myself hidden at The Pit so I don’t have to deal with this shit. I don’t feel in the right frame of mind to be making such huge decisions.
“I’ll give you to the end of the day to figure out what you want to do. Let’s regroup tonight and go over things before I return Lynx’s call.”
He picks up his phone, giving us a look and effectively dismissing us.
Hugo opens the door, and we give him a nod as we head out.
“Wanna go smoke some shit and figure out what to do?”
I think about it. Go hide out at The Pit, go talk to Cara, or go smoke with my boy?
Easy.
“Yeah. Let’s do it.”
23
Cara
Eight Months Pregnant
A few weeks later, Rose and I are sitting at my house with the boys.
Pizza just arrived and it’s a win-lose for me. Pizza has become a craving for me, but I get the worst acid reflux from it.
“Oh my God, this is so good.” I groan as I stuff my face.
“You are inhaling that shit.” Rose laughs, wiping her face. Stupid Rose and her eating only two pieces, then here is me with practically my own pizza to myself.
“I can’t help it, it’s just so good.” Moaning, I lick the greasy goodness off my fingers.
“Shit.” Easton says as he reads his phone. “Jackson, we’ve got to go.” He passes his phone to Jackson, and he swears under his breath when he reads whatever is on the screen.
“We’ll be back.” Easton leans down and kisses Rose on the lips. “Meet me at my house later?”
Rose nods, and I look over at Jackson.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Jackson leans down to whisper in my ear. I nod and heft myself up, walking back into my room.
“What’s going on? What was that text?”
Jackson shakes his head. “It’s a work thing. But I wanted to come back here later tonight. I wanted to talk.”
Dread sinks into me. “About what?” Visions of Jackson breaking it off with me come to mind, and I feel my stomach turn.
“We need to talk about the baby.” He says, laying his hand on my stomach.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What about it?” We’ve been good in terms of the adoption since we met with Colton and Amanda. We haven’t really talked about it since, and I figured we were finally on the same page.
Maybe I was wrong.
“I don’t have time to get into it right now. Can I come over when I’m done?”
“I don’t know, Jackson. We haven’t really talked at all since your mom’s funeral. You kind of just came back and we’re acting like everything is okay. But now you’re working all the time, and now you want to come and talk about the baby? What’s going on? There’s something you’re not telling me.” My brow furrows as panic fills me. This is how my life is. When everything seems right, something goes wrong. Is it me? Is it work? Hormones overtake me and I feel like my life is spiraling.
His eyes, which have been strained since he saw Easton’s text, now soften. Walking up to me, he grabs onto my chin and tilts my head up. “I’ve been dealing with work shit since right after the funeral, so we haven’t had time to talk. I’m sorry about that. I was a fucking dick to you, and you didn’t deserve that. I just… didn’t want to deal with people. Couldn’t talk to people. You feel me?”
I look in his eyes and see the truth in them. There’s no lies or hesitations or any doubts in his gaze. I think about how he was after Logan died and how it was like pulling teeth trying to get him to talk.
How far he’s come since then? Phenomenal. He might not want to talk in front of other people, but he talks to me. That’s all that matters.
“I feel you.” I whisper.
“You make my world worth living, Cara. I’m not good with words and I’m not an emotional person, but I don’t want you to doubt your place in my life.”
How he can read me like an open book is beyond me. But it’s times like this that makes me think… maybe we were meant to be all along.
“We haven’t really talked about the baby since the night my mom died.”
“I know.” I looks down at my feet, brushing my toes against the worn rug. I don’t know what to tell him, because I feel like I’ve made a decision, but I’m still not one hundred percent certain on it. I don’t want to say anything until I know for sure.
“This baby… this baby is ours. A part of me and a part of you. Colton and Amanda are great people, but can you really look your baby in the eyes and say goodbye to him? Give him to total strangers that you don’t know? Have any kind of connection to? Take it from someone who lost their baby sister. There is no getting your baby back once he’s gone. He’ll be gone, Cara.”
Tears spring to my eyes and I can’t stop the sniffles that take over. “This is so hard.” I rub my eyes. “How do I choose something this big all by myself?”
“You’re not by yourself! I’m here.” He pounds his fist into his chest. The words that he doesn’t want to say speak loud and clear.
See me. Listen to me.
I hear you, Jackson.
“I know you’re here! You’ve been here for months, but that’s the whole thing, Jackson! What happens when you don’t want to be here anymore? Leave me here alone, with the baby I can’t take care of? It doesn’t matter if you promise you’ll stay. I don’t care if you say you’re going to be here forever, so has everyone else in my life. This house I’m living in, do you see anyone living in it with me? My mom, dad, stepdad, Logan? Anyone? No. Everyone leaves me. What makes you so different? Do you see where I’m coming from? Do you see my hesitations in keeping this baby with the life I live, when he could go and live with a perfect family?”
“But they’re not his family! We are!” He roars in my face.
I drop to the bed, my face falling in my hands as tears fall down my face. I know. I know. But I can’t stop the niggling in my gut that’s telling I can’t do this. That these people can do what I can’t
Provide.
“I just don’t know if I can do this.” I cry.
He kneels in front of me, taking my hands off my face and looking me in the eyes. “You have to do this, because I’m not letting you give my baby up.” The assuredness in his voice takes me back.
He’s not going down without a fight.
24
Jackson
I stand in the shadows.
Staring at the drug deal happening in front of me, I take particular attention to the dealer who’s scamming the customer, overpricing, and undersupplying. It’s a vicious cycle and we’ve been watching the guy for a while, but today will be his final warning.
I’ve been given strict instruction not to kill the guy. Fuck him up, sure. But leave him with his life still intact.
We’re getting word that people are getting angry with our dealers and not wanting to work with us anymore, all because this stupid fuck wants the extra cash, or maybe the power knowing he’s screwing people over.
I watch the dealer take the money and hand over a small baggie—too small—of cocaine. The man doesn’t give it a second look, pocketing it and giving him a wave. He’ll go home and take it out, realizing that it’s much smaller than it should be. But by the time he notices this, it’ll be too late. At that point he’ll have been ghosted and won’t be able to get ahold of the dealer.
When the customer turns the corner onto the main street, the dealer takes out the money and counts it, cocky smile pasted on his face like the Joker. I sneer, disgusted, and then smile when he starts walking this way.
Perfect.
He’s making this way too easy.
I’m hiding behind a nearby dumpster, but when he gets within reach, I reach out and grab onto his arm, pulling him back and slamming him against the dumpster wall.
“W-what the fuck!” The guy screams, his eyes going wide as saucers as his head bangs across the metal. “Who are you?”
I don’t speak. Instead, I stare into his bloodshot eyes and I immediately know where the extra dope is going.
I slam my head forward, crashing my forehead into his. I’m almost positive I can hear his brain ricochet around in his skull.
“Dude.” He grabs onto the side of his head and winces. “What do you want?”
When I smell the strong scent of urine, my lips crank up into a smile. I wish Easton were here. We always have a good time when we have a pisser. He’s been training all day for his fight tonight. It’s been a while since we’ve been at The Pit. Since Cara told me she was pregnant, really. Easton has fought a few times since then, but I’ve been so wrapped up in Cara, I haven’t gone.
It’s going to feel good. Like going home.
Rose was able to convince Cara to go to The Pit tonight. She didn’t want to go, because she’s weeks away from delivery and doesn’t even
like to leave the house at this point unless she’s going to the doctor.
When I walked out of her house yesterday and told her I’m not going to let her give the baby up, I was dead serious. I just hope I can convince her to do the right thing.
“Please.” The dude slurs this time and when I look into his eyes, I see the dilated pupils, signaling concussion.
Woops. Must have hit him too hard.
I cock my fist back and punch him in the spleen. He sputters, curling into himself like a turtle into his shell. He tries to protect himself, folding his arms over his head.
Grabbing him by the shirt, I pull him and shove him onto the ground. He lets out a pathetic cry as he slides on the concrete, his skin eating the pavement.
I lift up one of his feet, pulling him back towards me. One hand on his heel and one covering his toes, I turn my hand as quick and far as possible, hearing the break echo in the loud alleyway. He howls in pain, pleading for mercy where he deserves none. I have nothing to offer him, no forgiveness, and no mercy.
I only deliver the punishment. Nothing more.
“Why are you doing this? I’ll give you anything, I promise! You want money? My dope?” He pleads into the pavement, sobbing through the fear and what I’m sure is the throbbing in his ankle. I run my fingers along his foot, and I nearly cringe myself when I feel the protruding bone popping out of his ankle.
He howls when I touch it.
Yikes. I think the guy is going to pass out from the pain soon.
I grab onto his shoulder and flip him over, his face wet and filled with sweat and tears. His eyes are unfocused, delirious from the pain. I slap him lightly in the cheek, trying to get his focus back to me.
When he squints and looks up at me, fear floods back to his eyes. “P-please.” He whispers. “Please.”
I grab onto his hand and lay it flat on the pavement. My body trembles with exhilaration and excitement. I haven’t been on a job by myself for a long time. It feels good, to do things at my pace, my way, on my time.