Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel)

by Marata Eros

  Riker's death set us free of so much.

  But not each other.

  23

  Sara

  “I like it!” Lola jumps up and down with a squeal.

  Snare and I part like warm taffy, but he keeps his big hands around mine. He gives Lola a speculative look.

  “Oooh,” she says, circling him like a prize heifer at the county fair. “I don't think he's a Dick,” she says, nodding almost to herself. “I definitely think he's a Penis.”

  Snare glares, and I cover my mouth. Laughter escapes anyway.

  “Babe?” he says, hiking a thumb at Lola. “Marilyn Monroe here—she's calling me names. And they're anatomically correct, but I feel I should be offended.”

  “No, no, stud. Cool your jets.” Her sculpted golden-blond eyebrow hikes. “It's a compliment. Being a Penis is better than being a Dick.”

  The frown on Snare's face smooths. “Well, put like that, I guess,” he mutters cautiously.

  “I'm Lola,” she says, sticking out her hand.

  Snare gingerly shakes it, and she pulls him toward her. “Hurt her and I'll see you ball-less.” She says it all with a smile on her face, but heat warms her words with promise.

  Snare grins. “You're a strange girl, but I think I like you. I'm Snare.” He gives her hand a slow pump then releases it.

  “I know I like you. Because you looked after my girl here.”

  Snare casts his gaze away from her intense eyes. “Not well enough.”

  “Hey,” Lola says, “you two guilt-mongers—hell in a hand basket, forget it. You took it in the face to save Sara”—her eyes roll down his old scar—“and Riker got munched.” Lola guffaws, slapping her legs with her open palms, the silky short dress she's wearing absorbing most of the sound. “Perfect ending for King Dick.” She grimaces. “Sorry, I know he was technically your dad...”

  Snare holds up his palm with a smirk, and I slide my arm underneath his leather cut as he folds me into his body like I've always been there.

  “He was King Dick.”

  Lola nods. “Was is the greatest word when it comes to that nightmare of a man.”

  Silence engulfs us for a full minute, then Lola says briskly, “Sara tells me you guys are moving.”

  Snare nods, giving me a squeeze. “No more stripping for her. And I want”—he gazes down at me for a space of heartbeats—“need to meet our daughter. It's been hell trying to wade through all the red tape with the police and the feds... neither side was cooperating with the other. So the logistics has been a minefield of shit bombs.”

  Lola smiles at his words, but her eyes search his face. “But you and Sara were exonerated.”

  He nods, and I smile. There'd been those who would have seen the misdeeds of Chaos pinned on Snare, Wring, and the big guy that was married to Rose. What was his name? Knot? No, that's not right. They're part of a biker club so they must be guilty of something, right?

  I shake my head slightly, letting the dark memories fade. The good news is, Mover and another guy, a cop that went by the undercover road name Puck, were able to corroborate the story, though the two had been unaware of each other’s involvement. Both having the same goal: take down the bad guys.

  I won't be in trouble for killing Tad. Guilt will always eat at me, but not regret. Regret would mean that I did what I was told, and he handed me over to Riker. I didn't want that. If it meant I'd had to kill someone to survive, I'd live with the remorse.

  “Yeah,” Snare answers, kissing the top of my forehead. “Me and Sara are in the clear.”

  “So now Sara's going to ride off into the sunset with you?” Lola restrains her skepticism, barely.

  He snorts. “Pretty much.”

  “And your mom, Sara?” Lola asks softly.

  I lower my chin, looking at my ballet flats. “She's still in a coma.” I meet her eyes. “They say she's showing signs of higher cognitive function...” I give a helpless little shrug.

  “But there's not much hope.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Your mom didn't do you any favors, Sara.”

  That's true, but my mom being all messed up because of Riker hurts. Still, like Snare had said, her choices put her where she is.

  “And your guy’s sibs—those twins?” I watch Lola struggle to remember their names.

  Snare nods. “They're out of the system. Micah's going to community college, and Denny's working on his bartending career.” He gets a lopsided smile.

  “So one’s a psychologist—” Lola winks.

  Snare laughs. “Might as well be. Hairdressers and bartenders, the most underpaid shrinks on the planet.”

  We laugh.

  “How's that, though? They're eighteen? Denny's too young to be a bartender.”

  Snare nods. “Almost nineteen, and he's going to a school where he can travel to Europe, tend bar in exotic places and also the states.” Snare waggles his brows.

  Lola's face brightens. “Those guys have a niece.”

  “Yes.” Snare's smile pulls at the little bump of scar tissue at the corner of his mouth. “Their records have been made public. Sara and I have already made contact. The false papers Riker fed Sara and fouled the system with have been figured out now.”

  “I guess you don't need any buffering anymore,” Lola says with a thread of uncertainty in her normally vibrant voice.

  I step forward. “I'll always need you, my friend.”

  She hugs me once, hard and fierce. “Ouch,” I say softly.

  Lola releases me instantly. “Oh shit, I forgot!”

  “No abusing Sara, Marilyn,” Snare says with a smile in his voice.

  Lola kicks out a hip. “It's Lola.”

  Actually, Lola's name is Candy, but I could never warm up to that. It'll be Lola forever.

  Snare points at her and says, “If you get to call me a penis...”

  Lola swings her palm up. “Fine.”

  She turns to me. “Can I go get monkey now or are you guys going to go to town against the wall again?”

  Snare's neck turns a ruddy red, and he gives me a full look.

  I laugh.

  “Hmmm,” he says and draws me in for a kiss.

  His lips are soft. My heart beats hard.

  *

  Jaylin literally hides behind my skirt as a bunch of bikers haul boxes behind us. She squeezes her rabbit against her chest and buries her face against his fur.

  “Baby girl.”

  Snare puts his finger to his lips and sinks to his haunches.

  Jaylin opens her eyes to slits, taking in the big biker guys moving in and out of our house of the last six months.

  “Mommy, those men take our stuff.” There's a warble in her voice as she studiously ignores Snare right in front of her.

  “Hey, Jaylin,” Snare says softly, “those are my friends. They're helping move you somewhere nice.”

  I look at the big biker guys. They look tough as hell. I can kinda see Jaylin's hesitation.

  She screws up her face in an expression that is so like Snare’s it takes my breath away. She drops the bunny just enough to peek at Snare over the top of the stuffed toy. “This is nice.”

  Snare nods. “Yes, this is nice.” He pulls something out of the pocket of his cut and flattens it against the leather, covering the small patch that reads 1 percent. “I want to show you something.”

  Jaylin looks at me as though she needs permission. “Go ahead, monkey—see what Snare has to show you.”

  I'm curious too. As I move around to stand behind his shoulder, he puts a photo on his thigh. Jaylin moves between his bent knees, forgetting her shyness and pointing to the thing he knew she'd love.

  “Just got it put in.” Snare's voice is proud, happy.

  The Big Toy is a huge wooden play yard closed in at all sides with railroad ties and filled with pea gravel for cushioning from bottoms that fall off swings or tumble off the end of the bright yellow slide.

  Jaylin touches the photo of the multicol
ored play yard and looks at Snare. She hikes her rear onto his empty leg and winds a small arm around his neck. “I think I like you, Mr. Snare.” She flutters her black eyelashes at him and holds up Peter Rabbit. “Peter likes you too.”

  Snare grins, smoothly rising with Jaylin in his arms. She clutches the picture in one hand and the bunny in the other.

  “Should I keep him?” I ask Jaylin with a soft lilt in my voice.

  Snare frowns at me.

  Jaylin's lower lip rolls out. To someone who doesn't know her, it appears like a pout. But I know it's her thinking face.

  She turns to Snare, her small finger tracing the horrible scar bisecting his handsome face.

  He doesn't flinch at the contact, though I know it's an effort.

  “I think we keep him, Mommy.” She smiles, her bunny tucked between his neck and her head.

  Snare doesn't react at first, but his eyes shine when he looks at me.

  They shine with all the tears he won't shed.

  24

  Snare

  Two months later

  Rose moves through the house at a steady pace, but Charlie rips through at a sprint ahead of her.

  “Hey!” I yell, but the kid keeps racing through. I shake my head.

  “Sorry,” Rose begins apologetically, “this is the first time he's been six.” She laughs.

  Her baby sits on her hip, cooing appreciatively at nothing, as little poop-makers often do. At least, that's been my observation.

  “Sara's in the kitchen,” I say.

  Rose nods, her dark honey-blond hair in a topknot exactly like Sara's, but my girl's is a dark chestnut. I like seeing all Sara’s hair spread out like a fan over the bed as I pump into her.

  Noose comes by, clapping me on my shoulder, and I jump. “Fucker,” I growl.

  “Look on your face says wet dream.” He spreads his arms wide.

  “Go jerk off, asshole.”

  Noose grins. “Yeah, you'd like that, right?”

  I flip him off. “Rose let you talk with that mouth?” I ask with a grin.

  “I try not to let her talk at all.” He waggles his eyebrows.

  I grunt. “Nice—class act, Noose.”

  His grin widens. Only a shadow of the beating he took hovers around his face. “That's me.”

  Lariat and Wring walk in the front door, carrying a full cooler of brew on ice. “Where?” Wring asks in a breathy voice.

  “Patio.” I tilt my head in the direction of the back porch. “Hey, man,” I ask Lariat, hiking my chin toward his shoulder sling, “should you be lifting that?”

  He pulls an offended face. “Fuck off,” he bites out. “I'm fine. Using the good arm.”

  Noose laughs. “Jesus, I think you left some gristle. You on the rag?”

  Lariat scowls.

  “Thank God it was your left. Can't wipe your ass or yank your junk left-handed.” Noose's smirk is slow and knowing.

  “The wise one speaks,” Wrings says, free hand to his chest. “Be still my heart.”

  “Quit with the poetry,” Viper says, peering around the corner. “I'm goddamned thirsty, and you guys are out here talking about circle jerks?” He raises his graying eyebrows.

  I sigh. Nice to have the boys in the house.

  Wring and Lariat grumble but hike the huge cooler through my place and to the back porch.

  Noose and I follow.

  The chicks are in the kitchen, doing kitchen shit. Cooking and fixing and making the house smell fucking great.

  I told Sara I didn't have anything fancy like Noose's place. He's all city boy, and that works for him. But I want to hear the music of nature. Got a place out in Orting. Still rural enough to have a small creek running through a couple of wooded acres. Schools are good.

  The place was an old piece of shit farmhouse before I got after it. Now it's a tight little slice of heaven. Sits on a knoll that overlooks pasture and the evergreens beyond. Smells like home. And it feels like it now that Sara and Jaylin are in it.

  But the jewel of the place didn't go in until I found out about Jaylin. Fucking girls. They make me want to weep like a pussy every time I come home from church. A run.

  Anything.

  Especially this girl.

  As if she knows I'm thinking about her, Sara lifts her head from chopping some stuff in the kitchen. I'd repainted the kitchen a butter yellow, per her request. Sara said she wanted the sun inside.

  I don't need new paint—she's my sun.

  Sara glances at my face, sees whatever's there, and smiles. A real, unafraid grin. Warms me to my toes.

  “Snare!” Trainer yells from the patio. “Stop mooning over your girl and get out here and play some poker.”

  Trainer just patched in, the dumb fuck. But he's growing on me. “Can't make you do the cleanup detail anymore?” I ask.

  He raises his beer. “Not my fucking job!” he sings from the large picnic table out back.

  “Language,” Rose says in a low voice that carries. “Charlie will be repeating all of that.” She covers her baby daughter's ears. “Aria doesn't need to hear talk like that either.”

  Trainer rolls his eyes, and Noose punches him in the arm.

  “Ah!” Trainer whines. “That effing hurts! You gave me dead arm.”

  “Rose said to watch your mouth.” Noose takes a pull of beer, giving me the eye.

  I laugh.

  Noose tamed. Or semi-tamed. Thought I'd never see the day.

  Sara and I exchange a look. My half sister stands next to her, and though she's quiet, Micah's begun to open up. She moved in after we asked her if she would. She and I shared a sperm donor, but blood is thicker than water, and both of us have moved beyond the misery of our past and onto better things.

  Dreams that come true.

  Denny's already in England, bartending where he's not underage. Not before he met my little monkey, though.

  Speak of the devil, Jaylin runs up, throwing out her arms, and I sweep her off the patio floor.

  I bring her underneath the shade of the deep back porch overhang. I glance at the brothers playing poker and know Viper's losing from his scowl.

  “Snare?”

  I nod, aching for Jaylin to call me Dad. We've explained the relationship, but that shit's abstract when you're not even five. Sara says she'll get it.

  She'll get it better when we get hitched.

  I didn't wait until I moved Sara in with me to pop the question. Asked her after I moved her out of that dive in Seattle. After we picked up her final paycheck from The Crawl and the cops stopped their questions.

  She cried so long and hard I wasn't sure I'd ever get a yes out of her.

  Maybe it was the packaging. I had Noose tie up the engagement ring in a special series of knots using the end of a tiny string with a balloon.

  The balloon floated in the sunlight when I took her into my house for the first time. The balloon was pink.

  Rose watched Jaylin that day.

  I had unlocked the door, and there's nothing like seeing my girl's face when she sees something that makes her happy.

  And knowing it was my hands that made it happen. She'd looked around, opening and shutting every door, every cupboard.

  When she got to the kitchen and saw the yellow paint, she'd cried.

  When Sara noticed the pale pink balloon floating in the middle of the family room with windows that framed the outside, she'd looked at me curiously.

  I'd swept my palm toward the balloon.

  “What's this?” she'd asked.

  “Go check it out,” I'd replied.

  The knots were woven so perfectly and tightly, she couldn't get the ring loose.

  The balloon had bobbed as she sank to the couch, staring at the ring.

  I was fucking worried as hell she hated it.

  Then I saw her face. “Snare?” She'd breathed out the question between her kissable lips.

  I nodded. “Yeah, that's me asking.”

  Her beautiful deep blue eyes met mine,
and I opened my arms. The balloon sailed behind her as she flew at me.

  I picked her up.

  And her answer was a whisper between sobs.

  But it was still yes.

  *

  Crickets are loud when the only other sound is the low rumble of men bullshitting around a fire pit and taking down beers. Lucky the old house has a basement and an attic for all the drunks.

  I smile, feeling sort of buzzed and fine myself.

  Sara collects beer bottles, being quiet when she puts them in the trash.

  I grab her around the waist. The kids are down for the night. Charlie, Aria, and Jaylin are snoozing in one room.

  She laughs softly and lands on my lap. “Babe,” I chastise, “let the prospect clean up.”

  Not having my old lady pick up after the guys. “You cook great, but let them figure it out.”

  “You treat those guys awful,” Sara says, frowning.

  “Everyone has to learn the ropes.”

  She shrugs and leans back against my chest, and we gaze at the stars. “I can't believe I'm here.”

  I tighten my hold around her. “Me either. It's like a dream.”

  “But we're awake, Snare.”

  Noose holds Rose in a similar way, and we all gaze up at the night sky like thick velvet, riddled with ice chips like diamonds. This far out, there's no lights to distract from the view.

  “Jaylin asked about your scar,” Sara says hesitantly.

  Out of the mouths of babes. “What'd you say?” I ask, taking a last pull of semi-cold beer.

  “I told her you'd protected me from a monster.”

  I nod. “Close enough.”

  Sara shivers, and I run my hands down her bare arms.

  It's June, but it can still get cold with the mountains right up our ass. Orting doesn't heat up as fast as other parts of the state.

  “She's just curious, Snare.”

  “I know.” All kids are. Doesn't offend me. Not like the rude dicks that stare or just outright ask. Like I'm going to tell people my own dad stabbed me. Right.

  “I love her already.”

  Sara nods. “It's funny, isn't it?”

  I turn Sara in my lap, adjusting her a little so maybe my boner I just got isn't as noticeable.