Own the Wind

by Kristen Ashley

  The man took in a wet, sloppy, pained breath but didn’t answer.

  Shy kept at him.

  “Or did you pop them quick? Did they even have the opportunity to say, ‘please’?”

  The man shut his swollen eyes and whispered, “I was messed up back then.”

  “Yeah, talk to me about that,” Shy said, his words an invitation but his tone was cutting.

  The man opened his eyes, kept his head to the dirt but his eyeballs slid up to Shy. “Smack, man. I would do anything.”

  “I know,” Shy agreed. “I know, ’cause to get your fix, you fuckin’ killed my family. That, man, that’s any-fuckin’-thing.”

  “I’m clean now,” the man told him again, hurriedly. “I made my way out of that and, bro, I’ll tell you, not a day has gone by where I haven’t remembered how far I stooped and it haunted me.”

  “You lose sleep?” Shy asked.

  “Every night, man, every single night. I see them every night.”

  “So, you remember. You see them, tell me. Did they beg?”

  The man closed his eyes.

  “He got her earrings, every Christmas,” Shy told him. “Not shit, they were diamonds, emeralds, rubies. After you plugged her, when you rifled through my home, you didn’t get that shit, did you…” he hesitated before he finished with a disgusted “… bro?”

  The man opened his eyes and whispered, “No.”

  “No,” Shy whispered back. “I know. My bitch aunt got them. The aunt my brother and I went to after you murdered my family. The aunt who made us her slaves. Who treated us like shit. Who hated us and let us know every fuckin’ day for six fuckin’ years. She got my mom’s earrings.”

  “I’m sorry,” the man replied brokenly.

  “So am I,” Shy agreed. “I’ve been sorry for sixteen fuckin’ years.”

  “If I could take it back, I would,” the man told him.

  “You can’t,” Shy replied shortly.

  The man shifted, his eyes locked to Shy’s. “I’ll do anything you want. Anything. I get you. I deserve this. I knew this was coming. My penance. It was gonna come, I always knew it. You can’t do what I did and breathe easy. You need to know I’ll do anything you want but please, please man, don’t kill me.”

  “If you’ll do anything I want then fuckin’ answer me, did they beg?”

  He sucked in another wet, gurgling breath and answered, “No.”

  “Tell me,” Shy ordered.

  The man again shifted uncomfortably. “I… they, both of ’em… he surprised me. Didn’t see him. I was dealin’ with the clerk, he showed and I just, I just freaked and I…” He trailed off, but Shy knew what he did. He knew exactly what he did. He killed Shy’s father. Then the man told him, “She was in the kitchen. I surprised her.”

  “Quick, right? It went quick?” Shy pushed.

  “Yeah,” he said swiftly. “It went quick.”

  “They didn’t suffer?”

  “No,” the man shook his head against the dirt with difficulty. “No, man, they didn’t suffer. She didn’t…” his voice dropped near to nothing “… she didn’t even know I was there.”

  Shy closed his eyes.

  In his low voice, the man said, “I shot her in the back of the head.”

  Shy’s head dropped forward.

  “She didn’t know anything,” the man finished.

  Shy lifted his head and looked at him. “One minute alive, two boys she loves, a husband who pulls her into his lap for a kiss, she’s just walkin’ through the room, a husband who gives her earrings, the next she’s nothing.”

  The man nodded, his voiced hitching when he said, “I did that. I did it.”

  Shy tipped his head to the side. “You got family?”

  The man’s body jolted and his eyes, even swollen, went wide, filling with fear. “No, man, no. No family.”

  “You have family,” Shy said.

  The man shook his head. “No. Not before I got clean. After I got clean. Not before, man, they don’t know that me. They don’t even know I was that me.”

  “They should know,” Shy told him.

  The man shook his head in the dirt, his body shifting with agitation. “They don’t know. They only know the me after I got clean.”

  “You took three lives, destroyed two more I know of, don’t know what you laid to waste for that clerk. You think they shouldn’t know?” Shy asked.

  “I did that. I admitted it. I admitted it to that Native American dude who found me. I admitted it to those guys he set to guard me. I did it and it haunted me, man, it haunted me,” he said quickly. “It haunted me so much, what I was capable of, what that shit drove me to, I got clean.”

  “So my parents died so you could learn your lesson and have a good life. You think I’m happy with that trade-off? My brother? You think that will mean shit to him? You think that means shit to me?”

  “No, I don’t. I just… I don’t know, man, I just, since then, I got my act together. I got family. I got a reason to stay clean. They need me and I’m just sayin’, I get you, do what you have to do but I don’t wanna die.”

  “Right now, you want that gift from me. You wanna keep breathin’.”

  “Yes,” the man whispered.

  “And you think,” Shy leaned forward, “you think, you shot my mother in the back of her fuckin’ head, you took that gift from her, you think you should get that gift from me?”

  “No,” the man was still whispering. “I don’t deserve that. I know it. I just hope you have it in you to show mercy.”

  Shy changed the subject. “Too young, cops didn’t tell that shit to kids and my aunt and uncle didn’t share fuckin’ anything. So you tell me. Where’d you shoot my dad?”

  “Man, don’t do this to yourself.”

  “Tell me,” Shy pushed, leaning further in, moving the hilt of the knife into his palm, his fingers curling around the shaft, movements the man didn’t miss. “Where… did… you… shoot my Dad?” he ended his question on a roar.

  “Tell him,” Tack rumbled and Shy’s head jerked around.

  Jesus, he didn’t hear him.

  The brothers moved in behind Tack.

  Fuck, he didn’t hear any of them.

  “Oh God, oh fuck, oh God,” the man chanted, scooting fearfully away but he stopped when Boz, Hound, and High rounded him at the back and the rest of the brothers circled around him.

  Shy pushed up to his feet to stand by Tack.

  “I said,” Shy stated, his eyes on Tack, “private party.”

  “See you don’t get this, brother, but we’re crashing,” Tack replied.

  “Answer his question, motherfucker,” Hop growled, nudging the man on the ground hard with his boot. “He wants to know where you shot his dad.”

  “In the aisle,” the man said hurriedly.

  “That the info you were lookin’ for, Shy?” Tack asked, his eyes pointed down at the man.

  “No,” Shy answered.

  The man shook his head.

  “Uh… you’re not gettin’ this, dude, but you were in a world of hurt,” Boz spoke up then leaned down toward the man and clipped, “Now you’re in a world of pain. Tell my brother where you shot his fuckin’ dad.”

  “Face,” he whispered.

  “Jesus, fuck, once we kill him, can I keep stabbing him?” Hound asked.

  The man let out a terrified squeak.

  Shy stared at Hound then he looked at Tack.

  “You been out there awhile,” he guessed.

  “Brothers don’t go it alone,” Tack replied, and Shy held his eyes.

  Then Shy drew in a deep breath.

  Finally, he told Tack, “He’s got family.”

  “I heard. Do you care?” Tack returned.

  “I been the survivin’ part of a family,” Shy reminded him.

  “Vengeance,” Tack shook his head. “Brother, that shit is messy. This fuck we got here doesn’t mean shit but his family, you’re lookin’ at two things. They learn who he wa
s, what he did and know he paid, or they live to have you where he is right now. Difference is, you got your brothers. That kind of shit”—he swung a hand toward the man in the dirt—“unlikely to happen to you. Way it’s goin’, my guess, you’ll have a new family soon. You carry through, suddenly, they’re vulnerable. Vengeance is a circle. There’s no corners to turn, there’s no end of the line. You feel lucky, we’ll deal accordingly. You want this to end here, we get creative in taking his penance and the circle is broken. Your choice. Whatever you choose, your brothers stand with you.”

  Shy looked down at the man but felt a presence get close.

  “This is not a case for mercy,” Big Petey rumbled.

  Shy turned his head and looked into the man’s eyes.

  Big Petey kept talking. “But, boy, you make this decision, you get on your bike, you go home, you lie down by your woman. So, right now, ask yourself, next time you touch her, how you gonna feel doin’ it with blood on your hands?”

  Shy’s mind filled with all things Tabby. This meant it filled really fucking full.

  He drew in another deep breath and looked down at the man in the dirt.

  Then he declared, “I’m feelin’ creative.”

  The vibe in the room shifted, Shy’s head lifted, he looked to Tack and he found him smiling.

  * * *

  Shy rode hard, his mind blank except for one thing.

  Or pairs of them but they were all the same.

  All the same.

  He hadn’t thought of them for years. They’d been lost a long time. So long, he almost forgot about them.

  Tonight, he was getting them back.

  He drove his bike up into a driveway he hadn’t seen in years. He didn’t even drive down this street. He got nowhere near this fucking place.

  He walked to the door, pressed the doorbell and didn’t let go.

  It was late, dark, it had to be well past midnight so he knocked. Loud. Hard. And he didn’t stop.

  He saw a light go on in the window high in the door, the locks turned and the door was thrown open.

  “Park, son, jeez. What on earth? Are you okay?” his uncle asked and Shy stared at him as saliva filled his mouth.

  Then he pushed through him and prowled into the house.

  “Park! What the heck?” his uncle yelled after him. “Where are you going?”

  Shy took the steps two at a time.

  He rounded the flight at the top and stalked down the hall, his uncle still yelling after him.

  There she was, in her shapeless nightie, hair ratty from sleep, standing in the door to her bedroom staring at him, pale-faced, eyes wide with surprise.

  “Parker, what on earth?” she asked.

  “Where are they?” Shy asked back.

  “Who?” she queried.

  “Not who, what,” Shy clipped and didn’t stop. He pushed right through her, ignoring her startled, strangled screech. “Where are they?”

  “What?” she asked, her voice now pitched high.

  “Park,” his uncle called, his voice sharp. “Son, what in the hell are you doin’?”

  Shy saw the jewelry box on her dresser and went right to it.

  “Oh my God!” his aunt cried. “Timmy, he’s going for my jewelry.”

  Shy stopped and turned.

  “I knew it,” she hissed, her eyes on him as his uncle moved toward him. “You’re on drugs, aren’t you?”

  “Where are they?” Shy asked.

  “Where are what?” she snapped, her tone ugly.

  The same shit as always.

  Exactly.

  “My mother’s earrings.”

  Her hand flew to her throat and her face again got pale. His uncle stopped dead two feet away.

  “Son?” his uncle called Shy’s attention to him so Shy gave him his attention.

  “I am not your son.”

  He watched his uncle wince.

  His eyes went to his aunt. “Where are they?”

  “I… they—” she began to babble but Shy’s uncle cut her off.

  “Park, please. Come back at a decent hour. Obviously you have something on your mind. We’ll talk.”

  Shy looked back to the man who failed to raise him after his father died. “We are not talking. I’m never fuckin’ seein’ you or that bitch again after I leave. But I’m leavin’ with my mother’s earrings.”

  “Although I can see you’re in a mood,” his aunt bit out, and Shy looked to her, “and I hate to fly in the face of that mood considering who you are and who you spend your time with, but I have to say that not only is this highly inappropriate, you barging in on your uncle and me in the middle of the night, but also you asking for those earrings.”

  “My mother’s earrings,” Shy corrected, and she leaned in.

  “My earrings,” she sneered, and Shy’s chest started burning.

  The bitch wasn’t done.

  “Didn’t get much for taking you in, at least I got that.”

  Shy stared at her. He then turned to his uncle. “I am not leaving without those earrings.”

  “Parker—” his uncle started.

  “I’m calling the cops!” his aunt announced loudly.

  Shy ignored her and repeated, “I am not… leaving… without those earrings.”

  He watched his uncle swallow.

  Shy kept his eyes pinned to the man. “You give me those earrings, or I swear to fuckin’ Christ you will not see the end of this.. I will make every fuckin’ day of your life a misery either by makin’ it a misery or makin’ you wonder how I am next gonna make it a misery. You will know every one of my brothers, and you’ll know them well because they will make it a mission to make you, that bitch, and your good-for-nothin’ children miserable. Now you control that fuckin’ woman, get that goddamned phone out of her hand, and give me my mother’s earrings.”

  “Ellen, put the phone down,” his uncle said instantly.

  “I will not,” she snapped.

  “Woman, put the goddamned phone down,” he clipped, shocking the shit out of Shy, who never, not once, heard his uncle speak that way to anybody. Especially not his aunt.

  Shy didn’t look at the bitch but he felt the air in the room, already wired, go heavy.

  He heard the phone hit the charger then his uncle ordered, “Get Parker his mother’s earrings.”

  “Tim, that’s—”

  “Don’t,” his uncle whispered. He drew in a deep breath, his eyes glued to his woman, then he went on, “For years, you rode me about this. Give me some goddamned peace. Give Parker some peace. Just give him his mother’s earrings.”

  There was silence then movement and a hissed “This is just unbelievable.”

  Shy shifted out of her way, not wanting to be anywhere near her.

  Moments went by then he felt her standing close.

  “Well? Take them,” she snapped.

  His eyes moved to her, she looked into them and quailed.

  He looked back at his uncle. “I’ll need a bag.”

  “Do you want us to wrap up the silver so you can take that too?” she asked snidely.

  Shy looked at her again. “I want you, for once, to put away those goddamned fangs, and by that I mean, shut the fuck up.”

  “I knew you were a bad seed,” she shot back.

  “Like usual, not payin’ a lick of attention,” Shy returned.

  “Really?” she asked sarcastically. “Oh. Right. In the circles you run, threatening middle-of-the-night visits are probably mandatory.”

  “No, but when they happen, they’re fun,” Shy replied casually.

  She snorted.

  “Ellen just, please, go get him a bag,” his uncle cut in.

  She threw his uncle a look and stomped out.

  Shy dropped his eyes to his boots.

  “Is there something that prompted this evening’s visit, Parker?” his uncle asked, and Shy looked to him.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  His uncle waited. Shy was quiet.

&n
bsp; The man tried something else, “Landon home safe?”

  “Yes,” Shy stated but said no more.

  “Well, thank God for that.”

  Shy didn’t reply.

  His uncle lifted a hand his way. “Son, I—”

  “Save it,” Shy bit out and he shut his mouth.

  Seconds slid by.

  Then his uncle tried again. “Maybe, with your aunt not there, we should find a time to sit down and talk.”

  “And maybe that’s never gonna happen,” Shy returned. “Maybe I like it better knowin’ that my brother’s a soldier, a brave man, puttin’ his ass on the line for this country. Maybe I like knowin’ that I got a woman, gettin’ a house, and soon we’re gonna make a family. Maybe I like knowin’ that you know that you had not one thing to do with the good that’s in us, the good that came to us, the good we deserve, the good we’re gonna make. Maybe I like knowin’ that you know that we had to escape this prison in order to carve out that goodness. Maybe I like knowin’ that your kids don’t give one shit about you because they think you’re as weak as I do, and they only have time for their mother because they know she’ll give them shit they ask for.”

  His uncle’s eyes flashed and Shy knew his aim was true.

  “Bet those assholes don’t even send birthday cards,” Shy continued.

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought on things, you boys gone, and—”

  “Don’t care what you thought when we were gone,” Shy interrupted him. “The time for you to think and fuckin’ act was when we were fuckin’ here.”

  He watched his uncle close his eyes in defeat as he heard his aunt coming back down the hall. Shy moved to the door, stopping and turning to his uncle.

  “Last, and best and it isn’t a maybe, it’s a definite. I like knowin’ you’ll finish your life at her side. You deserve that shit. And that’s what it is that anyone gets from her. That’s all she’s got to give. Shit.”

  He heard his aunt gasp in affront, turned back to the door as she slid in, careful with her body like being too close to him would rub off criminal vibes and she’d be arrested on the spot.

  He reached out a hand, yanked the bag out of hers, opened it, looked inside, and counted boxes.

  When he needed to move some to keep count, he reached in, and she snapped, “They’re all there.”