by Trent Jordan
But what about a train? How far could a train go? I looked up one-way tickets out of Los Angeles for a buck fifty, figuring I’d need the remaining thirty-five or so for food or transportation to get there. I could get as far as…
Albuquerque, from the looks of it. And that would only be a little over eighty if I took coach.
It was nowhere near New York City. It wasn’t even on the East Coast. It certainly wasn’t going to help my theatrical dreams. But it’s freedom. It’s a chance to explore, a chance to be free. A chance…
A chance to live my life.
But just as I considered finding a way to the Amtrak station in downtown Los Angeles, my phone notified me I had a voicemail from my father. I could already predict how this would go. He’d start out perhaps nice, maybe even with some kind, flattering words, but then he’d gradually get angrier and angrier as the voicemail went on. By the end of it, I would feel completely justified in choosing not to answer his call.
But I couldn’t just ignore it. As much as I sometimes hated my father... it wasn’t as black and white as I hated him and he loved me.
I listened.
“Hey, Lilly,” he said before... sobbing?
Crying?
“It’s your father. I know... I know I can be mean to you and harsh, and I’m so sorry.”
My hand felt weak. My father never showed emotion. He was too tough a man to show emotion. Now he was crying into a voicemail?
“You are all that I have left in this world, baby,” he said. “I don’t give a fuck about my club. I just want you. Please, please come home…”
More sobbing came. I felt like I was about to cry. This was a side of my father I’d not only never seen, I never figured it existed.
I looked over to the bar. Phoenix and the bartender were engaged in deep conversation. It was for the best, as I did not want anyone to look at me.
“We can talk about whatever, I just... I lost your mother. Baby, I can’t lose you too. Please call me back. Please, come home.”
And that was the end of the voicemail.
I put my head in my hands, doing my best not to cry, but also knowing I could not keep myself from doing so if I didn’t hide my face. It was easy to hate my father when he was on some sort of a power trip or when he was being controlling of me. But now? He was…
He was my daddy. He was Pops. He was the man I most admired in the world when he acted like this.
He needed to let me grow up, but maybe he recognized that was necessary now. Maybe he’d finally get it. Maybe…
I stared down at the phone. I needed to only press a single button to call him. I could ask him what he was doing. It was all I needed—not to hike all the way back to Springsville and to our house, but to just press one button.
I bit my lip. Emotions were not just getting the best of me; they were controlling me with such ease that I didn’t know how I’d be able to stop myself.
So, I didn’t.
I called my father.
I held up the phone to my ear, my stomach dropping deeper and deeper into a pit with every passing second. What would I say? What would I confess? I probably didn’t need to say anything here. I probably needed him to pick me up outside of the bar. Maybe in a public place. Maybe—
“Where the hell are you?”
What? It was my father who had answered, but…
“Lilly, I asked you a question; where the fuck are you?”
I was so confused. That was my father, right? My father had been the one to leave a voicemail and now suddenly answer like a prison guard asking where the inmate had gone?
I should have known. My father…
Generously stated, he had mental problems that caused mood swings.
More accurately stated, he was a manipulative asshole who put his foot on people’s throats after he’d extended a hand to make it look like he was helping them up.
Fuck me. I was so fucking stupid.
“Lilly, damnit, I am your fucking father, and if you do not—”
I hung up.
I felt such disgust with myself.
I felt so ashamed that I’d fallen for my father’s old tricks. That I’d let myself believe he could change. That I still believe he might be able to, under the right circumstances…
I put my head in my hands again, but I wasn’t on the verge of crying this time. I was seconds away from smashing my phone against the wall, from destroying anything on me that reminded me of my father. I wished he was dead, and if there was any question about me returning home now, that was gone.
I was so fucking, savagely angry.
And sad. But mostly just fucking angry enough to slap the shit out of him until he apologizes.
The front door to the bar opened. I let my hands drop beneath my eyes so I could see who it was.
And as if the day couldn’t get any worse, it was fucking Cole.
Cole locked eyes with me. Neither of us said a word, but the gaze was definitely more than just glancing. He probably wondered what the hell I was doing there. I was wondering if Phoenix had invited him here so the two of them could intimidate me into some shitty sexual act.
But Cole did not come any closer to me. He walked over to Phoenix, and the two started chatting like old friends. I was left alone.
I, however, wasn’t particularly interested in doing anything right now. My father’s chat had shaken me, so much so that I didn’t want to move, I didn’t want to go anywhere. I couldn’t really, even if I wanted to.
It was kind of funny how this morning, I had hated Cole for the way he’d spoke to me and I’d given him such sass, and yet compared to my father, he was an absolute gentleman. The two could not have been less alike, even if there were shades of one in the other, what with Cole’s compassion somewhat buried in my father and my father’s brutality far beneath the surface in Cole. I didn’t know how such a thing was possible, but if the two of them could just sit down and resolve their differences amicably…
Well, I was probably a tad more optimistic—delusional, more like it—than most were.
Cole and Phoenix only spoke for a few minutes before Cole suddenly stood up and moved to... an opposite corner from me. Suddenly, this bar was laid out in a very odd manner, like we were forming a triangle to try and take up as much space as possible. Cole hadn’t left his conversation with Phoenix looking angry or annoyed, so trying to venture a guess as to why he had moved was impossible.
Curiosity got the better of me. I stood up, ostentatiously to go to the bathroom, and stopped at Cole’s table.
“You come in here to say hello to your friend and then go to drink by yourself?” I said.
Cole shrugged.
“Yeah, well, you know, sometimes I just like to be alone,” he said. “I’m pretty good at it.”
The hell does that mean?
“Are you now?”
Cole nodded.
“Been that way most of my life,” he said.
“I would think someone who had been alone most of their life would want to be in the company of others.”
“And I would think someone who has been oppressed since childhood and has only now gotten freedom would want to avoid others.”
Touché. I turned around, grabbed my drink and bag, and sat across from Cole.
“Big difference between having freedom and spending it with who I want versus spending it with no one,” I said.
Cole had no reaction.
“You really just wanted to be alone? You two seemed to be yakking it up—”
“They’re a couple and need their own space.”
So. He got tired of them sweet talking to each other.
“I let them have it. It’s something I’m good at. Let them do their thing and let me do my thing.”
“The eternal bachelor, huh?”
I’d meant it as a sort of pithy, off-the-cuff remark, but the sadness that filled Cole’s eyes was unexpected, to say the least.
On the one hand, after this morning, I woul
d have liked to feel justified in making such a statement. But on the other, I was not an asshole like my father.
“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t even know that you could call me the eternal bachelorette. It’s hard to call yourself that when you don’t have the space or opportunity to choose to be single or taken.”
Cole folded his arms and eyed me very closely. He wasn’t looking me up and down so much as he was looking into me, as if trying to break through my eyes to peer into my soul.
“You really grew up with no childhood and no adulthood, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“And you?”
“I grew up with a childhood and an adulthood, but I’ve been yearning to establish myself all the same,” he said. He strummed the table. “What are you going to do about it?”
Boy, that was why I was here, wasn’t it?
“I... I don’t—”
And then I paused. I heard something nearing.
Motorcycles.
Cole
Two choppers were approaching, and I didn’t need to look out the window to know which club they belonged to.
The Fallen Saints.
No one else in the Gray Reapers populated this bar this much. No one in the Black Reapers would have come all the way to Ashton for an afternoon drink when they had Bottle Revolution in Springsville. They must have tracked her on her phone.
“Did you sell us out?” I growled, even though I strongly suspected that was not the case.
“Absolutely not, I just got here!”
“Did you speak to your father at all since you left my place? Called him? Anything.”
“No... no, well, I mean, I called him, but I hung up right after, I—”
Damnit, that was more than enough!
Lucius had tracked her phone and had only needed her to call him for him to know that she hadn’t discarded the phone. And now, whomever he had sent down would be here in a matter of seconds, willing to use force and violence to take her back.
Just when it seemed like I had found a town untouched by club violence, Tom’s Billiards was about to become the second Brewskis.
I was pissed. I went from thinking to acting on instinct. Even though I would have nothing to do with Lilly—even though we were just having a conversation that reminded me of why I felt drawn to her—I grabbed her phone, threw it on the ground, and smashed it with my boot.
“What the fuck?!?”
“You’re welcome in advance,” I said. “If you’re trying to hide from someone, you don’t ever give them a fucking morsel of information about your whereabouts. Phoenix, we gotta get out—”
“They’re here,” Jess said.
I hurried over to the window. It was too late. Two Fallen Saints were parking their bikes and dropping their kickstands. Neither were Lucius—the red cut would have given him away—but that only meant that when we killed these two assholes, we’d still have the head honcho to deal with.
“I’m not leaving this bar,” Phoenix said. “Not while Jess is here. I don’t trust these fuckers to not riot and harm her.”
I cursed under my breath. I turned back to Lilly. She was planted in the booth, and though she was doing everything in her power to look like she could handle the situation, she truly looked like she was about to crack.
Damnit, if Phoenix wasn’t leaving Jess…
“God fucking damnit,” I muttered under my breath, walking back to Lilly. “Hide.”
“You’re sure—”
“You have no time to argue,” I said. “If they see you, they will do whatever it takes to take you to Daddy. And that includes shooting us and you.”
Lilly got the hint. She grabbed her bag and ducked into the women’s bathroom. I grabbed what I could of her cell phone, stuffed it into my pocket, and slid the debris underneath the booth. Phoenix, not leaving his back exposed to the window and giving himself a clear line of fire, came over to the booth and nodded to Jess to stay put.
“Guess we’re all staying here, huh?” he said.
I bit my lip.
“Let’s fucking pray this isn’t the new Brewskis,” I said.
And the door swung open.
Both of the Fallen Saints had brass knuckles on. They also very obviously had guns on their hips, though neither had their weapon drawn. Both wore sunglasses, black bandanas, and cuts that had the Fallen Saints logo on the front and, presumably, the rear. They looked at us in surprise, but given that we both were sipping on drinks—albeit with our eyes very much locked on them, ready to respond at an instant’s notice—neither of them went for their guns.
But for a good half-dozen seconds, though, neither of us trusted the other to remain still. The tension meant that even placing my glass down on the table, even someone leaning on their right foot instead of on their left, could have been the spark that burned down this whole place. There were never any guarantees when the Fallen Saints and the Reapers met in the same room, and the only thing keeping them from firing, I figured, was their suspicion that Lucius’ daughter was somewhere inside.
“Gentlemen!”
Jess spoke up. I could feel Phoenix tensing with fear.
“Welcome to Tom’s Billiards. What sort of a drink can I make you all?”
The two Saints looked at her like she was springing a trap. I couldn’t even imagine how on edge Phoenix must have felt. I was just worried about violence. He was worried about his loved one.
“Give me a fucking vodka soda,” the Saint closest to her said. “On the rocks, and hurry it the fuck up.”
“Yeah, don’t make us fucking wait,” the other Saint said. “Although you are kind of cute. Maybe you can take your time if you take your time with us later.”
I extended my foot to block Phoenix from moving forward. As much as I wanted him to stand up for Jess, he had to have known how long she’d kept Brewskis under control. She would know how to handle a couple of asshole bikers like this—and if she couldn’t, we’d just shoot these guys in the back.
“While such a notion is sweet, I’d rather just take the money,” she said.
However, true to her job, she produced two vodka sodas in a matter of seconds. I couldn’t imagine the Saints were going to pay for that, but I figured that outcome was far better than them not getting their drinks.
“Why not both, sexy?” the first man said. “I could make it well worth your while.”
Jess smiled her professional-but-distanced smile.
“I’ll take it under consideration.”
A few seconds of silence passed. The tension seemed to deescalate, if only momentarily. Shit would pick back up soon enough, but if we were able to just turn down the dial from a hundred to even eighty, we might just be able to avoid death.
“By the way,” the second Saint said. “You’re a cutie, but surely, there must be more women in this bar, right?”
Lilly, don’t you dare come out. Jess…
“Nope,” she said. “This is just a local dive bar. It’s the four of you in here and me.”
“Oh, really?” the first Saint said sarcastically. “Because I heard that there were some good-looking gals here, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to lie to us about that.”
“Why would I lie?” Jess said. “I want your tip money as bad as you want a good drink. Yeah, sometimes, cute girls come through this bar. But right now? It’s just you four gentlemen.”
The Saints went quiet. With their backs turned to us, I couldn’t see their faces, but Jess was handling this situation with an aplomb most bartenders would not have.
“How long ago was there a woman in here?” the first Saint said.
“I dunno, time doesn’t really mean much when you’re—”
“Quit fucking playing stupid.”
Jess smiled, but for a glimmer of a second, I could see the façade cracking. At Brewskis, I think I’d seen her kick someone out twice, and both times, she had done so with poise. Whether because she was protecting Lilly in particular or because Brewskis
had already burned down, that poise was not as steady as it had been before.
And if the poise could not stand up, Phoenix and I would have to.
“Well, if you must know, by my best guess, probably earlier today, couple hours,” Jess said. “Of course, I’m not sure why it matters at this point, seeing as how they’re probably home and—”
“There’s someone here,” the first Saint said. “Where is she?”
Jess shrugged.
“She is right here,” Jess said, pointing to herself. “But—”
“OK, you know what?” the second Saint said. “If there are no women here, then you won’t mind if I use the women’s bathroom, would you?”
“Actually, I do mind—”
“Too bad, it’s a free country!” he said as he started laughing.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said, parking myself right at the entrance of the restroom hallway.
“You fucking... wait a second.”
The Saint stared me up and down. I honestly didn’t feel much fear in this spot. Phoenix would have my back if needed.
But just because I didn’t feel much fear didn’t mean I thought the probability of violence was low.
“You’re a fucking Carter!” he growled. “You little midget fuck. We ought to kill you right here.”
“You say that, and yet that’s all you’ve done. You bark with no teeth.”
The Saint literally gritted his teeth in front of me, a gesture I almost laughed at.
“You want to attack me, you go right on ahead,” I said. “You might get one hit in if you’re lucky. But even if you do, you’ll be dead before you so much as raise a second fist. And your friend over there? Best-case scenario, he runs out of here alive and goes crying back to Lucius.”
“Shut your fucking trap, you little midget.”
I smirked.
“You have two choices,” I said. “Use the men’s restroom like you should and respect where you belong. Or die. No one has to get hurt. But we will kill you if you start a fight.”
The only part of this I was bluffing on was the certainty of it. If a fight started, it was a fight to kill, not a fight to keep the peace. The Saints had forfeited the right to a fight that ended in blood but not death with everything they had done since my father’s death.