by Bijou Hunter
That afternoon, though, Cami crawled in my lap. With her purring echoed through the otherwise quiet house, I pet her long after my tears ended. Assuming the cat’s visit was a sign from my mother sounded nuts in my head, but I believed it anyway.
“Motherfuckers!” Chipper hollers, startling me from my thoughts. “Hold on, Tatum,” he warns and guns the SUV at three men on a sidewalk corner.
Gripping the door, I flinch as he nearly sideswipes a Harley before coming to a screeching halt a few inches from the men.
“There’s a gun in the glove compartment if shit gets dicey,” he says and reaches into the backseat for a bat. “Call Mom and tell her we have rogue bikers in our territory.”
There’s no time for me to respond before Chipper is out the door and rushing at the nearest biker.
“What the fuck are you doing in White Horse?” he yells, shoving the longhaired guy.
Dialing the office, I watch Chipper hit the two bikers while the third man shrinks away from the fight and toward the SUV.
“Candy,” I say as soon as she picks up, “Chipper is fighting two bikers. I don’t know what to do.”
“Where are you?” she asks in a calm voice and I swear she’s popping her gum.
“I don’t know.”
“Look around and tell me if there are any stores or street signs.”
“We’re next to a place called Pop N Lock.”
“I know where you’re at. Someone will there in a minute. Don’t freak if you see White Horse cops. They’re our guys.”
“Okay. What do I do?”
“Just stay in the car.”
Staring at the third man mouthing something at me, I whisper to Candy, “The guy the bikers were fighting with is talking to me through the window.
“Gray hair, army jacket?”
“Yes.”
“It’s probably Pickles.”
I remember how Cricket acts as a benefactor for a homeless man named Pickles. My gaze flashes from him to Chipper swinging his bat at the men.
“Should I try to help Chipper?” I ask Candy.
“No, he wouldn’t like that. Just stay in the car. I have someone two blocks from you. Give them a minute to get there.”
“Okay. I need to go.”
I hang up on Candy and lean toward the front window to better see the brawl taking place. Chipper moves with the ease of a man with endless confidence and more than a little martial arts training. I watch him pound on the two rougher-looking men.
Everything goes Chipper’s way until the longhaired biker reaches for something in his jacket. Suspecting he has a weapon, I reach in the glove compartment for Chipper’s gun. Without thinking, I open the SUV door and step out.
“Stop!” I yell at the men while pointing the gun through the space between the SUV’s body and the open door. “Chipper, he has a knife.”
The men are yelling at each other. No one is listening to me, and I don’t know how to protect Chipper.
“I have a gun and don’t know how to use it!” I scream at the top of my lungs. The bikers and Chipper look in my direction while the man next to my door steps away from me. “Back off before I accidentally kill you with my warning shot!”
Despite frowning at me, Chipper swings his bat hard enough to knock the knife from the biker’s hand. I keep the gun pointed at them until Chipper has both men on the ground and their IDs in his hands.
“Police are here,” says the third man.
“Are you Pickles?” I ask.
“Yeah. You’re Tatum. Cricket told me you were very blonde.”
Despite smiling, I’m on the verge of tears until Chipper returns to my side and takes the gun.
“Bad ass little bitch,” he mutters to me before opening the back door for Pickles.
Blinking away my tears, I whisper, “I didn’t know what to do.”
“Threatening people is usually the right answer, so good job, Breezy.”
Again, I smile despite wanting to cry. Chipper kisses the tip of my nose and gives me a tight hug that immediately cools the heat behind my eyes. I climb back into the SUV while Chipper talks to the cops who now have the bikers cuffed.
“Are you cold?” I ask Pickles. “Let me turn up the heat back there.”
“Much appreciated. Man, I thought I was a goner, for sure. Didn’t expect Chipper to come in like Superman to save my ass.”
Wishing I could join Chipper, I sit quietly for a few minutes before the strong cologne scent reminds me of the man in the backseat. “Why do people call you Pickles?”
“Always loved eating them. As a kid, I could eat nothing else and be perfectly happy. Something about those green fuckers that make me happy. People started calling me that to make fun of my habit, but I didn’t care. Pickles are the best fucking food around.”
“I like the sweet ones.”
“The ladies usually do,” he says, giving me a wink.
Pickles no longer shivers by the time Chipper joins us in the SUV. He takes my hands and holds them. His gaze sees no one except me.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You’re safe. I’m safe. The world is a happy place. Yes?”
Nodding, I ask, “Who were those men?”
“Fucking bikers.”
“From Howler’s club?”
“Their IDs say they’re from Georgia. Of course, we’ll make sure they’re not fake, the assholes don’t look familiar, and I didn’t recognize their patches. They better not run with the Brotherhood or else the Rutgers twins’ asses will need beating. I can’t imagine a turf war is what anyone wants for the holidays.”
“Today doesn’t seem worth fighting over,” Pickles says.
“They fucked with someone in our territory,” Chipper mutters, glancing back at the man. “Doesn’t matter if it’s you or me or someone I don’t know. Bikers don’t play in White Horse. Whatever crew they belong to is asking for trouble.” Chipper shakes out his shoulders, and I wonder if he’s hurt. “So, Pickles, why were those fuckers messing with you?”
“On special occasions, Cricket gives me a bottle Old Monk.”
“What?”
“Rum,” he says, pulling the bottle from his jacket. “Your sister doesn’t like me drinking, but she gets me a bottle for my birthday and holidays. It was my birthday last week, and I was enjoying the bottle when those fuckers told me to hand it over. I wasn’t going to give them my special gift from Cricket. They tried to grab it, so I ran. I thought I got away, but then they came riding up on those loud damn bikes. If you hadn’t shown up, they’d have taken my rum and given me a beating,” Pickles says and then shakes his head. “I don’t usually have that kind of trouble in White Horse. People know Cricket watches out for me, and so no one bothers me. I didn’t expect trouble, but those foul shits didn’t know the rules.”
Chipper starts the SUV and exhales softly. “They know them now. Once we find out who they run with, we’ll make sure that club knows the rules too.”
I study Chipper as he drives Pickles to a bridge where the old man thanks for the help and walks off.
“He lives here?” I ask, watching Pickles disappear down the underpass.
“For now. Cricket wanted to get him an apartment, but he can’t have hard walls around him. He prefers living wild.”
“What about the cold?”
“Cricket bought him a fancy fucking tent and camping shit. I swear he’s the fanciest homeless man in the world.”
“Are we going home or to the office?”
“Home. Mom will find out everything worth learning about the bikers. Then Hayes, Cricket, and I will decide how to handle the incident. Until then, I want to wash off the biker stink and relax with my lady.”
I want to tell Chipper about how scared and helpless I felt. How he should teach me to fight and shoot guns and be tough. That’s what I need to say, but that’s not what he needs to hear right now.
“I can make grilled cheese sandwiches while you’re show
ering,” I offer, hoping he knows I trust him to handle whatever happens.
“Like little kids eat or like Bianca Bella makes?”
“Something in between.”
Grinning, Chipper reaches over and takes my hand. His confidence rarely cracks, but I’m his weakness, and he isn’t accustomed to feeling vulnerable. We’re a team now, married spiritually even if not legally. I need to help him feel as strong as he does me, and I can only do that by sometimes putting on a brave face and lying. Right now is one of those times, and I play the relaxed chick role like a pro.
CHIPPER
The first time Hayes brought me to the Jackknife Casino in Nashville, I was seventeen. Though too young to legally drink and smoke, he expected me to finish a glass of bourbon and smoke a cigar. I handled the former better than the later. At least, I didn’t puke like Cricket.
“Cigars are for twat flakes,” she told him after upchucking her body weight.
Hayes just shook his giant head and said, “Lightweight.”
Years later, Cricket still doesn’t smoke cigars, but she can put down a bottle of bourbon like a drunken pro. I’ve gotten the hang with both vices. These days, Cap is the one learning to drink and smoke cigars.
“Chug it,” I tell Cap while we sit with our father at a back booth in the casino’s private club. “Don’t let the booze win.”
Rather than take my advice, my brother instead sips the liquor.
“Pussy,” I taunt.
Shuddering from the cigar’s flavor, he frowns at me. “My foot’s bigger than your head.”
“Smells like it.”
“No,” Hayes interrupts, knowing how these insult-contests turn out. “Just shut the fuck up now before you give me a headache.”
“That’d be a big fucking ache for a big fucking head,” I say, and Cap smiles until he again tries the bourbon.
“We currently have the club to ourselves, so let’s talk a little business before people show up and I have to pretend to give a shit.”
I open my mouth to mock the idea of Hayes ever pretending for anyone, but he gives me a look that shuts me up. For now anyway.
“What’s the background on the bikers I pounded?” I ask rather than mock him.
“Their club is located in the shithole known as Georgia. Seems the fuckers were driving back from one of their grandmother’s funeral in Missouri, and they just happened to pull into a gas station in White Horse. They claimed Pickles started talking shit to them, and they were standing up for themselves. They were released pending charges, but I have no interest in dragging them back here and putting them up in a Tennessee prison.”
“Can’t let them think about revenge.”
“No, I worry they’ll want to pull a redneck move and think about hitting us back. Bikers aren’t the brightest bunch.”
“Too bad Poet’s not here, so he could give us a dirty look,” I mutter and wonder what Cricket is doing this very minute. I hope she steps on a LEGO. Returning the conversation at hand, I add, “I miss the fucker. He’d probably volunteer to go with me down to Georgia to kill a few bikers.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Hayes growls.
“Well, it’s not like you can. What about your knees?”
Hayes exhales roughly. “If you mention I’m getting old one more time, I will bust my bat over your ass.”
“I’d be more frightened if you hadn’t been making that threat for like a decade.”
“Sooner or later, I’ll get sick of saying the fucking words, and I’ll decide to do the fucking deed,” Hayes threatens in a rough voice any rabid bear would appreciate.
“That was pretty hot, man. No wonder Mom finds you so sexy.”
“Idiot.”
“Can we—?” Cap suggests before Hayes waves him off.
“You’re here to listen, not contribute.”
“I’m almost an adult.”
Hayes and I chuckle at the adorable angel from above. A frowning Cap gives us individual middle fingers.
“I want you both to listen. Eventually, I won’t be around to run shit.”
“Oh, Papa,” I whisper. “You’re not that old.”
“I’m talking about fucking retiring and leaving shit to you fuckwits.”
“Oh, good. I mean, you’re only like seventy, right?”
Hayes narrows his terrifyingly dark eyes, and I nearly take off running from the casino. Yeah, I might be skating a fine line between playful teasing and having my ass beat by a grumpy old man.
“Are you done?” Hayes growls, waiting to see if I can control my witty mouth.
“Yes, sir.”
Grinning, he leans back in the booth. “When I started my business, I had to bust asses myself. I eventually met Moot, and I expanded the number of asses I busted. As years went on, I made enough money to hire more men to bust more asses. That meant less ass busting for me, and that’s the dream, dipshits. No man should want to be middle-aged and still busting asses day in and day out. You are taking over an already built business, meaning you have no need to bust asses except in non-avoidable situations like with Pickles. Instead, you hire someone to bust the asses for you. That’s why you’re not driving down to Georgia and busting biker asses. You’re hiring someone to do it for you. As your mother likes to say, ‘Fucking duh.’”
“Which of our guys should I send?”
“Once again, shut the fuck up, boy,” Hayes says, puffing on his cigar. “You don’t want to send someone that could be linked back to you. We send one of our guys, and he fucks up, and they look at his address, and it’ll be really fucking obvious who sent him. No, you need someone from outside our circle. Wouldn’t hurt to get a professional too. That’s why I suggest you call some people I know in Houston to handle this club problem.”
“What people?”
“I met them before your mom worked for me. These people still do jobs for me from time to time. They’re pros too. If something gets fucked up, they won’t tie back to us either. I’ll give you the number when we’re back at the office, and you can make the call. I’ll sit in to make sure you don’t embarrass me.”
“Why do I suddenly feel like a little kid?” I ask, wondering why I’ve never heard of these Houston professionals.
Cap stops sipping his booze and mumbles, “Because you're fucking stupid.”
“Watch it, angel-bro, or I’ll have to snap one of your wings.”
“As if you could even reach it, Bugs.”
Hayes pounds on the table, scaring the shit out of us and the entire room. “As much as I enjoy you fighting like bitches, I want to make a point very clear. You are my heirs, and I don’t want you getting your hands dirty. That’s not why I worked so hard all my life. I want you to delegate the dirty shit to people with shittier parents. When your ego tells you to show up and do shit yourself, remember how you want to have wives and kids. If Candy showed up in my life when I was still cracking heads and busting asses on a daily basis, I don’t know if I could have let her close. You need to keep your women safe, and going on these dirty jobs doesn’t protect them.”
“What about Poet?” I ask as my mind wanders to Tatum who texted earlier to tell me Bianca Bella was teaching her to cook.
“Poet’s club is small, and his dad runs it. The boy can’t retire or sit on his ass in an office. He doesn’t have the luxuries you do.”
“Because his parents are shittier?” I ask, fighting laughter.
“Exactly,” Hayes says and then adds, “Don’t go telling the Earlham women I said that next time we’re in Tumbling Rock. The last thing I need is for Justice and her sisters to give me the riot act. Their mouths are more obnoxious than your sister’s.”
“No,” I say, and Cap shakes his head. “Cricket’s worse.”
“You wish.”
“No, she’s awful. We hate her,” I continue. “I think she might be the devil.”
“Your sister apologized for making a peach pie for Thanksgiving. Grow up already.”
“Sh
e knew no one wanted peach. We always want cherry and apple, but she made peach and pumpkin. I wish she hadn’t brought anything at all.”
“Spoiled cunt.”
“You’re not wrong. I blame my parents, though,” I sigh. “They really dropped the ball.”
Cap laughs until Hayes shoots him a look. My little brother isn’t ready to run shit yet. He’s got the size, but his balls remain too soft. Plus, he turns his back on bad women too easily. He’s lucky none of those bitches have shivved his trusting ass.
Until Cap’s ready to complete the heir triangle, Hayes won’t “retire.” He worries about Cricket’s big mouth getting her into trouble. I also suspect he doesn’t trust my big mouth all that much either. Despite his graying hair, Hayes isn’t ready to turn his back on the business. He might show up at the office less and travel more with Mom, but he’s sticking around until all three of his kids can maintain what he busted so many asses to create.
15—TATUM
I’ve never known a man as tall as Angus Hayes before. Each time, I think I’ve adjusted to his six foot and a half height; I’m again startled to find how he looms over me. Even if he was shorter, he’d still intimidate me. When he smiles, his dark eyes refuse to reveal a hint of emotion. I’m fairly convinced he hates me.
Candy decides to send me with him for an afternoon trip to the local mall. We’re picking up my refitted wedding ring. Plus, Chipper gave me a list of Christmas and mini-twins’ birthday gifts to locate and test, though I’m not to buy any of them.
“They’re cheaper online,” Chipper explained the night before
“Then why does he shop at the—?”
“To test them,” he said before I could finish. “Hayes doesn’t believe in buying anything he hasn’t touched. Since he’ll try to buy everything on the list, your job will be to convince him to save the money by buying online. Don’t fall for his bullshit about helping local businesses. He’s old school, and old school is dead.”
Despite Chipper’s instructions, I now carry several small bags from shops Hayes and I stopped inside. He holds the heavier ones, claiming I’m probably pregnant.