Floating

by Natasha Thomas

  Again, he’s right. Any way this plays out, Kellen is going to miss out on knowing his mother. My heart bleeds for my boy, but I know what I have to do. It won’t be easy turning my back on this and her, but it is what has to be done.

  “I’m not going to do anything, Prez. You’re right. She made her bed, no matter whether she was forced to lay in it or not. I get there’s no point in causing a fucking war over getting her out of there when my boy’s better off with who’s raising him, now.” The words taste as sour coming out of my mouth as they did going into my brain. However, this is the only rational choice in a world filled with very few choices for MC members.

  I refuse to allow anyone else to get hurt or be put at risk, all for the sake of a woman that I don’t definitively know is in danger, or not. For all I know, this was a conscious choice she made. She might be happy with the sadistic fucker she married.

  “Good. That’s good, Brother. In saying that though, Cage is gonna keep his ear to the ground, so is Vengeance’s CO, just in case we hear chatter that changes our position.”

  Clearing his throat Reaper adds his two cents, which proves that today couldn’t be any more abnormal if it tried.

  “Probably a good idea to give your woman the heads up on this shit, Arrow. Shit has a way of getting around, whether it’s supposed to be a secret or not. I’d be keeping Kellen in the lurch for now, if he were my boy, though. No need for him to have to sort all this shit out in his little head.” I couldn’t agree more. There’s no need for Kellen to be made aware of Verity’s situation. It won’t add or detract anything to or from his life, right now. Maybe when he’s old enough to understand, I’ll sit him down and lay it all out. Until then, I opt for the status quo.

  At the end of the day, everything we learnt in Church that morning closed off one nasty fucking chapter of Devil’s Spawn history. The simple fact is, the threat, us chasing our tails, expending resources that could’ve been better used elsewhere, and the constant vigilance, is finally over. We can breathe a sigh of relief. You know what they say though…

  Finish one chapter only to begin another.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Priscilla

  Priss’s Rules to live by 101:

  ‘Life is short and so is your penis.

  And no, I won’t just shut up and suck it.’

  So called “enlightened” people, well, that’s what I call them, and I make sure to inject the appropriate amount of sarcasm when I do, believe you can’t live without love. Well, I say fuck that, wine and oxygen are more important.

  The fact remains; love is a nasty business. Seriously, cage fighting is far safer. Why you ask? Simple. You’ve got 206 bones available to break, but only one heart. Why in all that’s holy, would someone want to take that risk? The truth is harder to accept than you’d think for someone like me.

  The answer is, we as humans are colossally stupid creatures who are blessed, or cursed, depending on how you look at it. Born with the desire to find a mate, procreate, and nest. We are basic creatures that need little to theoretically survive. In reality, very few of us actually function like that.

  I also think it’s important that I point out a few home truths. Well, they’re true in my mind, so that’s all that matters. Why am I doing this now? Because honestly, if you believe that love is the cure-all for everything, and life has a specific ultimate meaning, you need to hear them.

  First off, there are no knights in shining armour, only assholes wrapped in tin foil. They do not carry swords, and if they tell you they have one for God’s sake don’t be fooled. Truthfully, it’s only their dick in their hand.

  Secondly, bikers do not go grey; they go chrome. Based on a technicality, it’s the same damn thing. Don’t tell them that, though. To them going grey is seen as a weakness. Going chrome is like a badge of honour. Bunch of fucking weirdos.

  Third on the list is men do NOT know where the clitoris is. They guess every single time. I can most definitely assure the women of the world, after my extensive testing, okay the list is only three guys long but whatever, that men HONESTLY have no fucking clue what’s going on down there.

  Moving on from that. Asking a biker how his day went is like asking how a drive-by shooting went. He’s just lucky he got out alive. And that’s no joke.

  I learned this next one the hard way. Don’t get jealous, when you see your ex or current man, crush with someone else. Because seriously, your parents and mine taught us to give our toys to the less fortunate. Sharing is caring after all.

  And lastly… Nobody dies a virgin because in the end life fucks us all!

  I want to make it clear that I’m not cynical or jaded. Well, at least I don’t think I am. I don’t NOT believe in love. I just don’t happen to prescribe to the phenomenon myself. I have to say I’m secure in the way my life has turned out, so far. It’s not perfect, but it is mine. What I just said does come with the usual pre-requisite and wholly clichéd, “one exception” to the rule, however. Aside from that, my life’s fucking awesome. Thanks for asking.

  In my lifetime I’ve seen the good and bad, the normal and the epically insane. Take my friend Lou, for example. That bitch is straight up crazy, and I love her regardless. Loss and gain has been a common occurrence for me. I’ve seen and possibly even felt, fear and elation, too. Okay, so not elation, but as close as I can get to it, anyway. If anyone tells you they’ve gone through pain, loss, heartache, fear, and sadness, and then in the same breath tells you they came out the other side unscathed; they are dirty rotten liars.

  And that’s exactly what I am… A liar. Not in the traditional sense where the word carries a wholly negative connotation. No, I would never lie for my own gain, or in order to hurt someone on purpose to improve my own situation. That’s just not the kind of person I am. Honestly, I couldn’t lie straight in bed if I tried, and I have. Tried to lie straight in bed, that is. It just doesn’t work for me.

  I suppose I should explain myself, so you don’t judge me too harshly, right off the bat. I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong impression or anything. Honestly, I am sweet as pie until you piss me off. Then I can, occasionally, turn into a raging she-bitch. Not often, but it is a real spectacle for all who witness it when I do.

  My deception or lies, which ever you prefer, began the day the police showed up at my family home. They told my sister, Tilly, and I that our parents’ car had been hit head on by a truck, whose driver was under the influence of an excessive amount of alcohol. They had been killed instantly. That was the day my life, as I knew it, ended.

  Something inside me broke that day. My dad was my hero. He was my saviour. He was also the only man I trusted completely. When I spent some time in my head, trying to sort my shit out, I realised I’ve changed, when I snap out of it. It isn’t a subtle change, either. I became a whole new Priss. I’m scared shitless what that will mean for the nineteen-year-old woman I’ve scornfully cast into the abyss that makes up my smouldering vortex of pain. I will never unlock that part of me, for fear it’ll take over. I’ll have no control over the destruction it causes if I do.

  I’m harder now, too. Not when it comes to my reactions to people, and how I speak to them, or how I love my sister. I am emotionally harder, though. I can’t afford to break, so I do everything in my power to ensure that won’t happen. It isn’t that I don’t grieve; go through the stages of mourning like other people do because I do. Albeit in reality and practice, I do it silently. For Tilly’s sake, I limit my grieving to when she’s in bed at night fast asleep. Silently shut in my room feeling alone, hurt, and fucking terrified about what I’m going to do next. Where my life will take me, and in turn my younger sister. Like anyone faced with adversity, I suck it up, put my big girl panties on, and drink a cup of cement. The result is this princess hardened the fuck up.

  I have an eleven-year-old to take care of. A house to keep up with. I’m enrolled in college to get my degree in accounting, for fuck’s sake. The campus is in Boulder, which is an hour
away. I don’t have a job because I am, or I was one of those lucky kids whose parents don’t only pay for their courses, they pay their living expenses too. Well, that isn’t going to happen now, is it? There is no money for that kind of stuff. I need to focus on Tilly, and get us through this the best way possible. So what did I do to protect Tilly? I lied.

  That shit spreads like herpes, though. One lie leads to another. Which leads to lying some more; all culminating in one massive outbreak. When it gets found out, it infects every aspect of your life, and if you’re not lucky, it alters who you are as a person, too.

  I lie to myself and Tilly and to the members of Devil’s Spawn MC. The motorcycle club my dad was a member of, before he died. I lie to my friends, too. I fucking lie my ass off, until I believed every word that comes out of my mouth. I tell Tilly it will all be okay. I’ll take care of everything. That she has nothing to worry about. I lie, and she believes me. I feel like the scum of the Earth for doing it.

  When Devil’s Spawn President Priest, and his Vice President Pipe visit to make sure we have everything we need, I lie saying we do. For a time, they believe me too, making me feel even worse. My friends are so consumed by their own lives, and I couldn’t blame them. I had been too, up until the horrible day the police arrived on our doorstep. They don’t flinch at the lies I feed them about me coping and having everything under control. They still haven’t caught on to the fact that I’m still lying to them, to this very day.

  As I mentioned before there is always one exception. Whether it be to the rule in general, or your self-imposed restrictions, there’s always one. My one exception WAS, Hunter ‘Tank’ Adams. I use past tense because Tank WAS my exception; until he fucked it all up. Now he’s nothing more than an example for why I refuse to EVER make another exception for anyone, ever again.

  How did he fuck up you ask? In order to answer that I have to take you back to the beginning of our story. Bear with me it’s not all sunshine, rainbows, and lollipops. Our story is gritty and messy. Along the way you will probably want to punch me in the boobs and kick him in the junk. I won’t blame you for wanting too, either.

  In the end…Well, I’ll let you decide for yourself. Just keep in mind this story is ours, and I didn’t like the journey very much, either.

  EPILOGUE

  Hunter

  Halestorm – I Miss The Misery

  Do you ever wonder where life your life went wrong? I do, every single fuckin miserable day, lately.

  Like everyone, I’ve got a shit ton of regrets. Things I should’ve handled better, or done differently. Things I should have spent time fixing while I still had the chance. Up until now, they haven’t bothered me. I figured it was the way of the world to be buried under a steaming pile of regrets. Did I learn from my mistakes, though? Fuck No.

  In the end, I’m a man. We refuse to admit we ever made a mistake to begin with. It’s probably, for the most part, due to our stubborn fuckin pride. The truth is, we know when we’ve fucked up. We just don’t want to tell the women in our lives and never hear the end of it.

  I’m now under the belief that there’s more to it than pride or ego. That most probably, I’m either too old or stupid to learn from my mistakes. At thirty-four, I might not be chronologically old by most people’s standards. Mentally, I’m fuckin spent. I feel like I’m edging closer to my nineties, as we speak. I swear life isn’t supposed to be this hard. If it is; what kind of motivation will that give us to want it to continue to old age?

  Whoever said, “God only gives you as much as you can handle,” is an asshole. My reply to that is, God must think I’m some kind of fuckin ninja then, and he can suck my cock for cursing me with all this shit. How did I get to thinking about this shit? Easy. I fucked up. Epically.

  The degree of this fuck up makes every one that came before it pale in comparison. It’s that bad. I have no idea how to fix it, or even if it can be fixed, in the first place. The only thing I know, for certain, is I’m going to do everything in my power to make it right. Regardless of who I have to maim, kill, or step on to make that happen. Right now, that includes assembling my arsenal and going to war with a specific mission in mind. By that, I don’t mean an arsenal of guns, knives, grenades, and fuckin rocket launchers loaded in an armoured Humvee driven into battle.

  I mean the only other weapons I have at my disposal. Ones I can legally acquire and don’t need six months’ worth of requests and follow ups to have them delivered: my brothers, and not my club brothers this time, either. They are the only thing standing between me and failure. I made a call to each one of my five, genetically obligated to bail me out of the shit, brothers within the last week. Then, do something I’ve never done before, not even once. I ask for help. The ONLY reason I enlisted their help is because of the woman in question. The one I fucked up huge with loves the shit out of these five assholes. Why I’ll never know. According to her they’re charming, funny, pretty to look at, and they make her happy.

  Hopefully, they can use some of their Adams’ charm, that she finds so endearing, to convince her to hear me out, finally. That’s all I want. A chance: a chance to explain what I couldn’t before, a chance to watch her temper flare, a chance for her to yell at me or argue. Fuck. I don’t care what she does, as long as she gives me the chance I need.

  ,

  Yeah, this is all over a woman. By now, you’ve figured out who, too. Isn’t it always over a woman, though? I should never have gotten myself into this situation to begin with. Although in my defence, I didn’t go out looking for her. She was placed securely in my lap, in more ways than one.

  The day I met her, I knew I didn’t stand a chance, and I was right. She had me hook, line, and sinker within five minutes of meeting her. There is nothing I won’t do for her. There’s a really easy way to explain what happened up to a particular point in time. Minus a few fuckin important details that will have to come later.

  You remember the story I told Ronnie about my buddy, Hector? Yeah well, that was all bullshit. There is no Hector. If you replace the name Hector with Hunter, and wife with Charlee, you’ll be staring down the barrel of the first deception I’ve been caught out on. That isn’t the only one or even the biggest.

  You think it’s bad enough that I married at nineteen, and as far as the courts are concerned still am? You’d think so wouldn’t you? In most instances, I’d agree with you. Not this time. Worse than that, I’ve fallen in love with a woman I can’t have. One that deserves more than a washed up ex-Navy SEAL, MC Enforcer, wife deserting piece of shit.

  I’d fell in love with her knowing; I can’t do a damn thing about it. All the while, I give her false hope that we’ll be something more, one day. I never used the specific words, but with every action I make her believe there is a chance for us. I don’t do it for my ego, or because I need her to feel my pain. Or, so I have someone to share it with. I don’t want her to feel the intense longing I do, for something you’ll never have. I definitely don’t want her to fight the daily battle with the desire. To get to the point where she says fuck the consequences taking what she wants, regardless of the cost.

  Why did I give her false hope? Because in essence, I’m a selfish fuck, that’s why. I can’t bear the thought of having to live without her in my life. The fact that it won’t be in the way I want her, doesn’t matter. I’ll take her anyway I can get her. I know as soon as I come clean, when I show her the skeletons in my closet; she’ll be lost to me. It is the only reason I hold off on being completely honest. Transparent even. That is not an option. I can’t lose her permanently. My absolute belief, that she’ll cut me out of her life, causes me to make even more stupid decisions on how to carry that out, as well. So what do I do? I make it worse, of course.

  I give her non-answers. Lie my ass off. Most of the time, I hide huge parts of my past and even bigger pieces of my present. When I can’t do any of these things, I avoid her like the fuckin plague. Priss was patient and understanding in the beginning. She accepts the li
ttle of myself that I can give her. As time goes on she becomes more distant. With every unanswered question and evasion technique I employ, I can feel her slipping away from me more. It isn’t her way to demand anything of anyone. Priss goes with the flow. Moving on from shit she knows she can’t conquer; until she can’t do that anymore. She can’t ignore what is right in front of her.

  My last trip away, nine months ago, is the final straw for Priss. I should have seen it coming. Fuck. Who am I kidding? There are so many things I should’ve done. You’d think after all the training I’ve been through, all the drills, that I’d be able to sense danger by now. Obviously not. We don’t fight when I get back. There is no screaming or throwing shit. No accusations, threats or ultimatums. She’s eerily calm. That should be my first clue that something isn’t right.

  I tell Priss I’m going away, for a while. I don’t know when I’ll be back, or if I can keep in contact with her when I’m gone. I know damn well I can’t before I tell her I’m not sure. It won’t be feasible where I’m going. Instead of demanding answers, or asking questions she knows I can’t answer, she looks at me with tears in her big blue eyes nods her understanding, and replies with a barely audible, “Okay.” Shutting the door in my face I know four things in that moment. They are like lightning bolts in an otherwise cloudy sky.