by April Lust
“But I’ll be honest,” Becky continued, sipping at her coffee. “I really think you should just tell Max. He’ll kick Bills to the curb, or, at the very least, teach him the kind of lesson he won’t forget anytime soon. Guaranteed.”
I bit my lip. I hadn’t wanted to talk about Max about how worried I was about Bills because then I’d have to get into details. And details could be dangerous. But under normal circumstances I would agree with Becky. Telling Max was the easiest way to deal with all of that, right? Finally, I said, “I don’t want to tell him because I’m worried.” I wanted to say scared, but substituted it for worried at the last minute.
Becky frowned, pulling her legs up beneath her on the chair, holding her mug between her two small hands. “What do you mean?”
“I’m worried about Max. Things are…escalating. I know there’s something going on with the Slayers and I know Max’s caught in the middle of it. Worse, I think the Slayers are trying to double cross Max.” I said this last part quietly, worried someone might hear us and my scant few words would send into motion a terrible war between the two clubs. I couldn’t risk that; the Sin Reapers weren’t ready for war. But I had to get this off my chest now. I was so scared for Max and me and my family. What was left of it. I had to tell someone.
Becky let out a loud whoosh of air, then whistled. “Damn. I didn’t realize…” She shook her head. “I had no idea the danger and the excitement would start right away.”
I almost told her, “See? This is what happens. You still sure you want this?” But I didn’t. Instead, I nodded. “It does. And it doesn’t go away, either. This is just the most recent shitstorm.”
Becky sat back thoughtfully for a moment before she asked, “You think he’s in real danger?”
I shrugged. Yes, was the answer, but Max was always in danger and that was the real point. How could you believe someone was safe when they were constantly caught up in risky business? “I don’t know. They’re careful about this stuff, but…” I trailed off, then took a deep breath and said, “But stuff happens. People die. My dad—” I broke off when I thought I might start to cry. My mind flashed back to the garage and his body and the pool of blood. The words on the note rang in my ears, though I never saw them on paper.
Becky reached for me, her hand clasping mine tightly. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
I took a deep, steadying breath and nodded, because my throat was caught up by a deep welling of sorrow and I didn’t trust myself to speak. She held on to my hand for a long while as I composed myself before she said, “That’s not going to happen to Max.”
I nodded, though I couldn’t help but think it didn’t matter how my dad died, only that he did. And that meant Max could, too.
“Can I ask you a favor, Bec?”
She nodded without hesitation. “Of course. Anything. You name it and I’ll do it.”
I smiled at her weakly. “Go with me to the cemetery?”
Chapter 14
Max
What the hell?
Now that I knew it was Bills in that building and he was meeting two Slayers, I couldn’t come up with a single damn reason he should be there. Yes, we were making peace. Yes, we were going to have to work together on that. But that was in the works, not a solid commitment on either of our parts. I still didn’t trust Blade or the Slayers, and that meant, right now, I didn’t trust Bills, either.
Six months ago, when the Preacher died and I took over, there had been a lot of debating over who was who. There was little to no contest as far as me becoming leader. That had been implied for years now, and whether people thought I was too young or too lenient or too goody two shoes for it, they wouldn’t argue it. Not really.
The Preacher had made it clear that should he step down, he wanted me as his replacement. It was years ago that he said and I wasn’t sure if it had more to do with Lucy or me, but I never bothered to ask and neither did anyone else. When the Preacher gave an order, it was law and it had to be followed unquestioningly.
The only moment of uncertainty I’d had was all those years ago on the night the Preacher had made the decision to give me the spot, and it was because he’d had someone else in mind for the spot first.
Bills.
Bills had been the Preacher’s right hand for years and years. He wasn’t old enough to be the Preacher’s contemporary, not quite, but it was close. A lot closer than I was. And Bills knew the business. Not just the cars, but the logistics of running a biker club like ours as well as dealing with some of the unsavory aspects that went along with it. Aspects like killing those who needed killing. Pieces that often didn’t sit very well with me most of the time.
But four years ago, something had shifted. People talked and there were all kinds of rumors about what had happened, but no one really had a definitive answer. Some said Bills fucked up so bad that the Preacher never really forgave him. Some said Bills deliberately stepped down on his own and the Preacher didn’t have anything to do with it. And some said there had been a private battle between myself and Bills to determine who had the right to be at the Preacher’s side.
I could honestly say that last one was complete bullshit. Whatever happened between Bills and myself had never amounted to much more than a disagreement here and there. In fact, the only one that had been any kind of a large disagreement had been over Lucy. At that cookout at the Preacher’s place. Now that I thought about it, it wasn’t long after that day that the Preacher made the announcement.
Bills hadn’t seemed overly upset about it, but he hadn’t been pleased either. After that, I started learning the trade in earnest and Bills took a back seat. He became my de facto bodyguard, while I started to act in that capacity for the Preacher.
It didn’t take long for everyone to settle down about the whole thing, including Bills and myself, but when the Preacher died six months ago and his will was actually implemented, things got stirred up again.
Suddenly, people were scrambling to take up the job I’d held: lieutenant. It was a title of honor that meant you were the right hand of the club leader. It could be dangerous, though, because it also meant you acted as bodyguard for said leader. If they were in a dangerous situation, it was your job to get them out of it.
A lot of people told me they should be my lieutenant, people I even liked. That didn’t unsettle me really because it was my choice and it was natural for people to put in their bid for it. What did bother me was when people told me I shouldn’t make Bills my lieutenant. Not because they wanted it or felt like so and so would be better suited for it, but because they felt like there was something wrong with Bills.
You should never mistrust your lieutenant. When I made Bills mine, I did it working under the assumption that the Preacher had always trusted him. Even when he’d changed his successor to me, he always told me, “You can trust him, Max boy. Bills is a rough man on the outside, but he’s as loyal as any man I’ve ever met and then some. You can’t do better.”
So I did as told. I hadn’t regretted that decision, but as I watched the meeting come to a close, handshakes all around, I had the sinking suspicion I was about to.
When the men finished up, they went for the door.
“Shit,” I said, then ducked down lower, trying to cover myself as best I could amidst the tall grass and the brush.
The two Slayers went out first. They did a quick sweep of the place, looking to see if there was anyone around watching them. There was, but thankfully they didn’t spot me. Satisfied they were safe and no one had witnessed their illicit meeting, they hopped onto their motorcycles and rode off with a blast of sound. Bills came out next, but he lingered for a while by the door. He took something out of his pocket, checked it, then cursed and put it back. He waited several long minutes, not knowing I crouched there watching him.
Finally, he checked his watch and apparently decided it was okay to go. He scooped up his helmet, which was set beside the door, and headed around back. I realized he must have parked a littl
e out of the way so no one would spot him—more cautious than his associates, I noticed. If I wanted to follow him farther, I realized this would probably be my only shot. If I lingered here by the window any longer, there was a good chance I’d get stuck here as he drove off. Otherwise I’d be seen, and by the time I could get to my bike, he’d be long gone.
Making a quick decision, I ducked out from beneath the window. Staying low to the ground, I ran as fast as I could to that billboard towards my bike. I heard his start to rev just as I got to mine. I ducked behind the billboard when I heard the sound getting closer. Just barely peeking my head out to see, I watched as Bills drove up the road towards the freeway.
I gave him a little bit of a head start, then hopped onto mine, hoping he wouldn’t notice me as I attempted to trail him. I needed to know where he was going and what the hell was doing.
There was a good chance my life depended on it.
Chapter 15
Lucy
I didn’t know why it was so important to visit Dad just then, but as soon as I mentioned the idea to Becky, I knew it was the right thing to do. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to my father’s grave since we buried him. The plot was nice, as was the cemetery itself. I knew there were some where the graves were overgrown and the trees were dead and the flowers—if there even were some—were nothing but cheap fake-looking ones made from fabric or plastic. This place, thankfully, wasn’t like that.
We’d stopped at a flower shop to pick up some wildflowers. Dad had liked them, though I suspected it was more because they were my favorite rather than any personal preference on his part. When I was around six or seven, I told him they were the best kind of flowers because they grew all on their own and they didn’t care where they ought to grow or what they ought to look like. They were what they wanted to be and no one could tell them different. Of course, most all flowers were like that, but as a kid, I didn’t understand the difference and thought wildflowers were just these pretty little weeds that couldn’t be tamed.
I carried a bouquet of them now as we walked through the multitude of plots. Becky hung back a few steps, understanding she was there if I needed her, but otherwise this wasn’t really the kind of thing that concerned her. She knew my father, but not well. It was nice to know she was there, at the very least, a familiar and comforting presence that gave me something to ground myself to.
There were so many plots, some with flowers, some without, and it started to get me. There were so many dead people buried here. People who had had lives and families and hopes and dreams. People who’d maybe gone before their time or had been taken before given the chance to do the things they really needed to do.
I thought of Dad like that, though maybe that wasn’t a fair comparison. Most of these people, maybe even all of them, had gone by some force that was beyond their choosing. A car accident, a plane crash. Some sickness like cancer or pneumonia or a bad fever. These people were taken from their loved ones, but my dad had chosen to go.
Coward.
The thought slipped through my mind unbidden. It was so powerful I almost stumbled as I walked, overtaken by this sudden, singular concept: my father was a coward.
Never in my entire life had I thought that, but now I burned with the anger that came from the thought.
When I finally reached my father’s plot, I almost couldn’t bring myself to stop. I was so angry so suddenly that I wanted to keep on walking by and pretend like he never even existed. How could this man who I’d known all my life have lied to me? And it was a lie, because he had given off this aura of manliness and courage that I had used as the standard by which to measure all men. So many had failed to meet that standard, but, in the end, even my father hadn’t met his own bar.
I wasn’t sure what to do with that yet.
Almost reluctant about the whole thing, I stepped closer to his grave. My gaze lingered on his headstone, tracing the individual letters that made up the inscription.
MARCUS JAMES GILLES
“THE PREACHER”
LET NO MAN JUDGE YOU.
LET YOUR CHOICES BE YOUR OWN.
THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY TO DO THE RIGHT THING.
The words were poetic and strangely righteous for a man who ran a club full of burly bikers. If you hadn’t known him in life, you would never guess in death that he had been an outlaw of sorts. Granted, he’d been the sort of outlaw that never strayed too far from the line of the law, but he did stray.
I wondered briefly as I read the inscription if Dad had chosen it himself or if it had been a collective decision by the members. Maybe it was even Max who’d decided what belonged on the last memory of my father. He’d taken care of everything to do with the funeral, the wake, and anything else that might have been associated with his death. I was in no shape to do it; Mom had been even worse.
I stepped closer to the tombstone until I was right in front of it. I wasn’t sure what I was doing until my knees buckled and I slumped into the damp, soft earth. The grass was wet still and seeped into the fabric caught beneath my knees. My shoulders slumped a little and for a moment, I just felt empty.
What am I even doing here?
I wasn’t sure until I started speaking. “You were my hero, you know?” I told the cold stone, imagining my father sitting in front of me, a half smirk tilted on his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. The image was so vivid it could have been his ghost propped up on the headstone, watching me. “I never wanted to be you, I wasn’t that stupid, but that didn’t mean I didn’t look up to you. The biker lifestyle wasn’t meant for me, I don’t think. I wasn’t built for it. The strength you always had…I never got any of it. I know everyone thinks I can handle myself, that I don’t need the protection you and Max provided, but I do. I’ve always needed it and now half of that shield is gone.”
I sucked a harsh breath of air through my nose, holding it deep in my lungs for damn near a minute, before it slipped back out between my lips. The air was strangely sweet here, like flowers and fresh plants.
“Maybe I could have lived with that,” I continued, not sure where I was going with this or what I meant, but feeling the sudden need to get it all off my chest. I needed him to know what was going on inside of me, even if I weren’t quite sure myself. “Maybe I could have even moved past it if things had been different. I don’t know, maybe I’m completely off base when I say this, but I think a car accident would have made me feel better. Cancer. A gunshot. All of those are…are terrible things. They would have broken my heart. But they wouldn’t have left me feeling like I’d never even known you at all.”
My voice cracked as I got those last words out. Tears pricked at my eyes as the ache of my bruised heart began to throb in earnest. I’d been trying to avoid it, medicate it with whatever I could find—taking care of my mother, sex with Max, motorcycle rides, throwing myself into work—so it was little more than a dull numbness that was fine so long as I didn’t move the wrong way.
Sitting here, talking to my father, that was moving the wrong way.
I sucked in a shuddering breath. “I loved you so damn much, and you didn’t even care enough to stay.” My tone had turned accusatory and I was vaguely aware that Becky was standing not far from me and could probably hear everything. I didn’t care. “People here, buried next to you, they had families, too. Families and lives and friends. Things that mattered to them. And they were taken before their time without so much as a say in the matter. But you? You were a coward! How am I supposed to live with that now?”
As my words slipped through the air and slowly seesawed down towards the earth to be absorbed, I allowed the silence to fill me. That was something about this place I hadn’t noticed before: how quiet it was. So much quieter than the city and the shop, and even home. Here it was almost peaceful. But it was a lonely kind of peaceful. Not exactly the kind I’d want for the rest of my life.
There might have been more to say. There probably was, but I didn’t know what it was and I definitely did
n’t know how to get it out. It would just have to settle there again on my chest before I got the strength to stir it back up.
I sat there in silence for who knew how long, lost in my own thoughts. Finally, it was a rustling behind me that brought me back to the here and now.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Becky standing behind me just where she’d been when we first arrived. Behind her, though, was a large man with a blubbery middle and a balding head. Thunder. He was coming to pick up Becky since we’d taken my car here and I was only keeping her company—more like the other way around, really—until he got home.
Becky noticed my gaze and turned around to see him. I couldn’t see her expression, but heard her gasp and remembered she hadn’t seen him since initiation. “Oh, Thunder!” she exclaimed, her hand partially covering her mouth so the words came out muffled, but there was no mistaking them.
I saw, as Thunder moved closer, he was limping slightly and moving very slowly. When he got close enough that his features were visible, I could see his face scrunch up in brief bursts of pain.