by Hazel Parker
He had gone home. He wanted to control the narrative of what happened in that home. He wanted the last thing in that house to be him killing both of us.
It was the most Kyle thing possible.
“Am I sure in that I have concrete proof? No. Am I sure in that I know my brother better than anyone in this room and what he wants to do? Yes. Without question.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Richard said. “I ain’t ever been the law, and though I got a good relationship with my sheriff, I’m not about to test the waters in a place I’ve never been to. In any case, then let’s lay out the logistics here. Marcel?”
“With pleasure,” he said, stepping to the front.
I was just happy to have finished my bit. I had contributed to avenging Uncle’s death; whatever happened here on out was up to a team effort.
“The neighborhood that my parents used to live in, the one that we all grew up in, has turned into a run-down, drug-infested hellhole that is home to many criminals and thugs,” he said. “I have little doubt that whatever Bloodhounds are leftover, Kyle has gathered them around and has put them in front to protect him. We should anticipate that when we arrive in the neighborhood, we will face a full assault. The police might show up eventually, but needless to say, given the neighborhood’s reputation, it’s not the kind of place that is going to get immediate help.
“We will need to use our bikes as protection, take out the Bloodhounds, and converge on the house. Knowing Kyle—and this is something I have discussed with Biggie—he is likely to be hiding in his room. Once we secure the main floor, Biggie and I will take him out ourselves. If one of us has to kill Kyle in self-defense, so be it. But if the option is available, this is something we need to do for ourselves.”
“Understood,” both Trace and Richard said at the same time.
I had to imagine they had gone through something similar. Needless to say, though, it wasn’t exactly an ideal topic to revisit.
“We will leave it up to each president to organize his men however he wishes,” Marcel said. “However, on a high-level plan, we will leave here at eight p.m. Neither of us is willing to wait until later in the night. We will fire upon the enemy until it is clear, and then we will converge on the house. BK, you and your men will clear the building first, since you have the most experience.”
An extraordinarily tall and muscular man, wearing sunglasses over a mustache, simply nodded. I was a VP of an MC, and that man intimidated me a little bit.
“Otherwise, we will leave the rest up to each respective chapter,” Marcel said. “Gentlemen. I appreciate you flying out here. I can never thank you enough for the help you’ve provided. Let’s make sure we do this right. For Uncle.”
“For the Savage Saints,” Richard said.
“For what it means to be one,” Trace said.
We dispersed at that point. I waited until the room had cleared and turned to Marcel.
“Still no mercy, remember?” he said.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I said. “He killed Uncle. He tormented Lilly, if not more. Lilly’s not responding to my calls anymore. At this point, if there is mercy, it’ll be in the form of a quick kill. Nothing more.”
Marcel patted my shoulder, squeezed, and gave a faint smile.
“There’s no one I’d rather go into battle with than you, brother,” he said. “Thanks for being you.”
“I could say the same right back,” I said. “But let’s get ready. Eight o’clock will be here before we realize it.”
* * *
The sight was unlike anything I had ever seen in my life, and that included the powerful image of all of the West Coast Savage Saints standing before our garage as it opened.
From various warehouses, connections, and unknown sources, we had procured enough motorcycles that everyone—over thirty of us, probably over forty of us—had bikes that we would take to the neighborhood. A few of the West Coast Saints bitched about how they weren’t as good as their own bikes, but it was mostly jesting sarcasm than anything serious. And besides, it wasn’t about the bikes—it was about the brotherhood.
Marcel, Richard, and Trace were at the front, with Marcel taking the point of everyone. Dom, Splitter—the Green Hills’ VP—and I flanked them on the right. The sergeant-at-arms—BK, Barber, and Niner—flanked them on the left.
And behind us, a whole horde of pissed off, vengeful Savage Saints officers, members, and prospects revved their engines, hyped and ready to roar into battle.
Marcel turned to his left, shaking hands with Richard. He did the same with Trace. He turned back to me and nodded, a gesture that expressed trust and faith in me more than words ever could.
And with that, his engine came to life, and the Savage Saints roared into our final battle with my brother.
The ride over came under a cloudy night, the moon bright but not fully visible. It felt like a storm would strike at any moment, but for now, the rain was at bay. There was no sound of thunder, but the tut-tut-tut of our engines produced its own kind. We were a storm of a different kind.
We moved past other traffic with ease, and every car was more than willing to acquiesce to let us go by. Perhaps some would have had the stupid idea of fighting back against a few bikers, but the sight of over three dozen bikers driving by, all in rigid, militaristic formation, was enough to subdue any man of rational means. It was just as well—we didn’t need to expend our energy on something that ultimately didn’t matter.
I started to recognize the old landmarks as we pulled forward. The barbershop that my parents would take us to. The kabob place that Marcel and I took dates to as teenagers. The winding road that essentially served as a demarcation line between the normal part of Astoria and the more run-down areas of it.
And then, finally, the fifth stop sign along a series of intersections before we turned left. Left into our old neighborhood. Here goes nothing.
Marcel, Richard, and Trace all turned left first, and immediately, they reached for their guns and fired toward my old house. Whatever brief moment of nostalgia I would have felt vanished quickly under the cascade of gunfire that filled the streets. We quickly formed a sort of half-circle, using our motorcycles for cover as we laid down suppressing fire on the targets ahead.
It became readily apparent that while Kyle might have brought the full force of the Bloodhounds, he had not anticipated the entire Savage Saints army coming in to do the job. The Bloodhounds screamed about how there were “so many of them” and how “that’s not what the boss said would happen!” Although one of the members of the Green Hills suffered a wound that looked like it might kill him, the result was starting to be pretty lopsided.
“Jack!” Marcel yelled from the front. “I see a lot more in the old home. Clearing out that place is going to be a real bitch compared to this!”
“Then we better start moving in now!” I shouted. “No reason to play whack-a-mole out here!”
That game of mole whacking ended a little later, and as soon as silence had filled the air for more than five seconds, I ran with Marcel up to the entrance. But just before we got to the entrance, we heard laughter above us. I looked up and trained my gun at the sound, but I pulled back when I saw…
When I saw Lilly being held in a headlock by Kyle.
“Oh, is this your lady, brother?” Kyle said.
His hair was frazzled, his eyes glossed over. Kyle might have always been an asshole, but he had always held on to some measure of sanity. The Kyle I was looking at was not that Kyle; frankly, I’d already seen the last of the Kyle that could have been saved. This was what madness had driven him to be.
“You better not fucking do anything to her!”
“Oh?” he said, laughing as Lilly tried to pull away. She tried to shout, but she had something taped over her mouth. “Don’t you worry, brother, I haven’t done anything yet. Yet! Yet! Hahahahaha!”
With that, he pulled Lilly back into the room. A second later, a Bloodhound appeared in the
window and prepared to shoot at us. Someone behind us, though, laid him out, and the Bloodhound slumped to the ground, his blood splattering on the window.
“Saw him coming a mile away,” Niner said. “Let’s go!”
We didn’t waste another moment. Marcel and I took both sides of the front door. BK led about a half-dozen men to the front. He chambered his leg up, kicked the door down, and roared as he and the other men walked in. More gunfire erupted, and I couldn’t help but think that we were sending a lot of men to their deaths while we just stood at the entrance.
“Clear!” BK yelled a short while later.
“Everyone alright?” I said.
“Fine,” he said. “No fatalities. For us.”
The building had more than enough men strewn out on the ground, though. Over a half-a-dozen Bloodhounds lay dead on the ground, the bullets to their skulls and chests ensuring that they wouldn’t get back up.
“Jesus,” Marcel said. “You really did a number on them, BK.”
BK didn’t say a word in response.
“I’m going upstairs,” I said. “This is my battle, Marcel. He’s got my girl.”
“Jack—”
“Let me get Lilly and I’ll call you,” I said. “We need to end this together, but I need to get my girl first.”
Marcel bit his lip and nodded.
“I’ll help secure the area and get us organized. Make sure that no more Savage Saints get wounded and that those hit get treated.”
I nodded and ran for the stairs, ignoring the fact that there were bound to be more Bloodhounds in the area. Just before I reached the top, I turned the corner and looked down the left hallway, toward my parents’ old bedroom and my bedroom. Nothing.
I looked to the right. There were two doors, one straight ahead and one tucked into the right side. The one straight ahead was Marcel’s bedroom. The one to the right was Kyle’s bedroom—and where he had Lilly.
Her name came to my throat, and I almost shouted it to make sure that Kyle hadn’t done anything to her yet. But so long as he was alive, I needed to keep the element of surprise. I went to the door—
I heard something behind me.
I swiveled my gun just in time to see a Bloodhound raising his rifle. I fired and ducked. I could feel his bullet whizzing by, and my heart raced so fast that I thought it was going to just shut down.
But the Bloodhound fell.
“We’re coming up, Biggie!” Marcel yelled. “We’ll clear the area for you. Get the girl!”
I didn’t need anything else said. I turned to the door, raised my foot, and kicked the door down.
Immediately, I had Lilly thrown at me. I grabbed her and deftly moved to the side as Kyle, raising a gun, had tried to use her as a distraction to get a shot off at me. But being as inexperienced and useless with a gun as he was, I easily made sure that both Lilly and I avoided getting hurt. I, in turn, shot him in the thigh.
Lilly screamed in horror. I almost shot Kyle in the face, but only Marcel’s shouting prevented my finger from pulling the trigger. I left Lilly behind, grabbed the gun from Kyle’s hand, discarded it, and propped him up against the wall. Blood was gushing from his leg; I didn’t know if I had hit an artery, but I did know that there was little chance that Kyle was going to survive the next ten minutes.
“Go in here,” I said to Lilly, guiding her to Marcel’s room. “Stay in there. Don’t leave until we get you. You’ll be safe.”
Lilly, though, just numbly looked at me, tears starting to form in her eyes. Keeping my gun trained on Kyle, I grabbed her, waited until Marcel and the others went into the room with Kyle, and then took her to Marcel’s room. I hugged her tight and let her sob against my chest.
“I have to finish this, Lilly,” I said.
“You don’t,” she said. “He’s a creeper, but don’t—”
“Lilly,” I said. “It’s club business. I never wanted to drag you into this, but this is part of what I do. Please.”
Lilly didn’t like it. She sobbed harder. But eventually, she just said, “Make it humane, if you have to.” I promised her I would and kissed her on the top of the head. She collapsed against the wall, buried her head between her knees, and covered her ears.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine the trauma that she had been through in the last day or so. It was one thing to write about traumatic events; it was an entirely different thing to live through them. I was no writer, and I was never going to be able to describe the violence as she would, but God knew I never would have wanted her to go through something like this.
Once I knew she was safe, I walked back into the room and saw Marcel with his gun trained on Kyle, who was moaning as he lay dying in the room.
“Everyone out,” I said. “Marcel and I will take care of this. Now. Secure the house while we handle this.”
The Savage Saints complied immediately, the last one shutting the door behind him. Marcel lowered his gun, realizing that Kyle was no longer a threat.
“This is the end of the line for you, brother,” I said.
I intended to start speaking harshly and tell him that the Kyle that I had known had died long before this moment. I intended my final words to him to be tough.
But now, standing here before him, even as I knew I had to kill him, even as I knew I would do nothing to save him, all I could feel was hurt and regret. Hurt that our feud had come to this, regret that I could not have done enough to prevent him from coming this far.
“I know,” he said. “And it’s deserved.”
Marcel looked at me in surprise. I wasn’t that surprised, to be honest.
“This life…this life has not been good to me,” Kyle said. “But I didn’t do many favors for myself.”
He chuckled, but he was becoming wearier by the second. His eyes glossed over, and it wasn’t because of the madness that had overtaken him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry…for making us this.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw Marcel pursing his lips as if trying to prevent himself from becoming too emotional. I was in the same boat as him.
“I just wanted to be equal,” Kyle said. “To just…be the same. But I hurt others. I killed. I deserve…this.”
Marcel still had the gun in his hand. I motioned for him to put it away. Kyle wasn’t getting out of this alive, regardless of what we did; we didn’t need to dance on the grave of our brother any further.
I went over to Kyle, crouched before him, and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Do us a favor,” I said. “If you see Uncle on the other side, tell him you’re sorry. And then we’ll be good.”
No, I didn’t believe in the afterlife. But if it got Kyle to—
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Sorry for that.”
It was all I wanted to hear.
An apology for killing his uncle. An apology for his greatest sin.
I squeezed his shoulder as my eyes started to water. I stood up as Kyle drew his last few breaths. I didn’t turn back to watch him pass away; the lasting image of him apologizing for what he had done was enough.
I went over to Marcel, sighed, and shook my head.
“It’s done,” I said. “It’s over. Our greatest battle is over.”
But the greatest battle wasn’t us versus Kyle. It was Kyle versus his own demons—and his demons had won.
Perhaps I was giving him too much credit. Perhaps Kyle was desperately trying to hold on to life and was hoping an apology to us would somehow make it better. Perhaps his words were not the words of a man repenting at the minute of his death, but the words of a narcissist who acted only in self-interest.
But as I had noted before, I was not someone who could bury the dead with the “objective truth” or even the probable truth. I was a man who buried the dead with honor, grace, and respect for the good in their life, no matter how lopsided things were toward darkness. Perhaps it was more accurate to say Kyle was a bad man who had good moments instead of a good man who dealt with some se
rious demons, and perhaps I was being selfish for preferring to see him that way.
Practically, though? He was dead. I was alive. Lilly was alive. I had to live with how I remembered Kyle for the rest of my life. I preferred to live with the idea of him finding that peace and equality he had looked for in those last few moments.
I went over to Marcel’s room, ignoring the looks from the other Savage Saints as I opened the door. Lilly was staring straight ahead, her eyes distant.
But when she turned to me, her eyes focused suddenly. They found their center ground. They found their peace.
“It’s over,” I said. “Let me take you home.”
Chapter 20: Lilly
So much had happened, and so little of it made sense.
How my life had gone from that of a typical author, writing in coffee shops and doing spurts at home, to someone who had become romantically entangled with a biker club and then nearly died as a result, was beyond me. The fires of the city in my book paled in comparison to the fires that my spirit had gone through the past couple of weeks.
But as I rode on the back of Jack’s bike, numb to what had happened and the sensations of the bike, I started to slowly feel those fires start to diminish a little. The smoke was still everywhere, and there was still plenty of coughing and foul stenches to deal with. The ashes from said fire would remain in my mind for quite some time.
And yet, there was light emerging from the hazy smoke that had clouded my mind. There was an awareness that, without Kyle around any longer, Jack and I could finally be something and do so in peace. I was in no mood and in no shape to do anything other than crawl into bed, cuddle up on Jack, and try to sleep in his presence tonight, but maybe when I woke up, things would be better.
When we got to my place, I hopped off the bike. I looked at Jack with a sweet, tired smile.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” I said.
“Absolutely,” he said. “I would have gone to Boston or Las Vegas if I had to in order to save you. You’re someone very special, Lilly. I’m sorry for everything that you went through, but, well, I’m glad you’re alive.”