Glass shatters everywhere and as the fire spreads rapidly my adrenaline spikes.
This is the shit that used to get me hard.
The shit I lived for.
The shit she died for.
Pulling the Glock from my holster, I watch as Blackie pulls a machine gun over his shoulder. The headlights of all our bikes illuminate the path our boots pound as we fearlessly race toward the burning clubhouse. Three Bastards emerge from the shattered glass, guns blazing, but Riggs skids to a stop and sprays them with bullets. He waves us forward and together we shoot our way through the front door.
There in the center of the room is a woman screaming at the top of her lungs as the flames of hell dance up her body. The sight of her hits me hard and for a moment I become immobile. Luckily, Deuce steps in front of me and pumps her full of lead. Her body barely drops to the floor before we’re suddenly surrounded by whores and Bastards.
That oath I took rings loud in my ears and I forget what brought us here. I forget I buried my wife. I forget the fucking shoes. All I know is Satan and as a scream rushes past my lips, I convert into his soldier one final time.
The bodies drop quickly and it isn’t long before a thick fog of gunpowder fills the room.
“Pipe,” Blackie calls, forcing my attention toward him.
Standing over Charlie Teardrops, the man responsible for the bomb that left us in ruins and killed my wife, Blackie extends his knife to me. Without question, I step forward, closing the distance between us and stare at the squealing pig.
“He’s going to die, make it be from your hand,” Blackie says.
Peeling my gaze away from the piece of shit bleeding out, I lock eyes with Blackie.
Respect.
Loyalty.
Honor.
He’s still got it.
Taking the knife from his hand, I kneel before Charlie. His cries are a beautiful hymn, it’s the glory be to a broken hallelujah, and as I push the sharpened blade against his cheek those cries heal parts of my broken heart.
My eyes zero in on the teardrops tattooed beneath his eye.
They call to me and I picture all the faceless victims who lost their lives so he could earn that ink.
Then I see Oksana’s face.
“Your tears belong to me now,” I sneer, as the blade digs into his flesh, tracing the drops of ink. At my mercy, his body jerks in defeat as I carve the skin from his cheek. It’s an agonizingly slow and painful process.
It’s torture.
It’s not enough.
Flicking the pieces of skin off my fingers, I lift the knife. In one swift move, I bring the sharpened blade down and drag it across Charlie’s neck, slicing it wide open. His blood pools around me as I drop the knife and stare at the carnage.
Feeling numb, I learn a very important lesson.
Retribution isn’t always enough.
Decision made.
With a bloody knife burning a hole in my pocket, I leave my brothers behind and ride through the night alone. As my tires cross the Brooklyn Bridge, I make my way to the cemetery but it’s closed. With nowhere left to go and my revelation weighing heavily on me, I make my way to Jack’s and don’t pay any mind to the hour when I knock on the door. His wife lets me in and as I wait for the commander and chief, I brace my hands on his kitchen counter. Staring down at my hands, it dawns on me that I never had a wedding band. I had bought one for her days after we got hitched but when she asked me to wear one, I told her I didn’t need one. To me rings meant shit. It was the promise, the commitment that mattered, not some precious metal. Yet now, here I am staring at my barren finger wishing I had one.
It’s funny how things come to us at the most peculiar times and you can’t do shit about it. Fisting my left hand, I reach into my pocket and pull the knife from it. I lay it on top of the counter.
“Brother,” Jack calls, jolting my attention away from the knife. Turning around, I pin him with a gaze. Judging by the cocky expression on his face, it’s safe to say he knows we did what we set out to do.
“Mission accomplished,” I rasp.
At the sound of my deflated voice, his face changes immediately. Worry washes over his face as he closes the distance between us. Quickly, I turn my head away.
I don’t want his sympathy.
I don’t want anything from him.
“The insurance adjusters will assess the compound this week, if there isn’t enough to cover the rebuild you have plenty of equity in my garage, pull it out and rise up,” I explain, reaching behind me to pull the folded envelope from my pocket.
“You talkin’ like you’re going somewhere,” he accuses, crossing his arms against his chest.
Laying the envelope on the counter, I draw in a deep breath before braving a glimpse into the darkness that is Jack.
“I’m done,” I declare, shrugging off my cut. “Riggs would be good in my position, the kid is a whiz.”
“Pipe, brother, I know—”
“You don’t know,” I sneer. “Like I don’t know what it’s like to watch my kid die you don’t know what it’s like to find your wife with her neck slit.”
It’s the truth.
I’ll never understand his pain and I pray to God he never knows mine. I may be done with him and I’ll always harbor resentment toward him for the alliance our club took with the mob, but I don’t wish him ill. He’s suffered enough and his mind will keep tormenting him until he dies.
Turning my back to him, I don’t give him a chance to argue as I turn my cut over and lift the knife. With a steady hand, the blade cuts through the stitching of my patch.
“You're right, I don’t know what you’re feeling but I know whatever it is has made you raw and you need to heal,” he says as I steady my hand and touch the blade to threads of my patch. Ignoring his attempt, I cut through every stitch until it’s free from the leather it stood bound to for twenty odd years.
Pocketing the knife, I shrug the vest back on and close my fist over the worn patch.
“That patch is who you are,” he adds.
It was.
It’s the thing that saved a disgruntled delinquent and taught me some of the most valuable lessons a man will ever learn.
It also bled me dry.
“That’s not who I want to be anymore,” I growl, shoving the patch at him. “Take the fucking patch, Parrish,” I sneer.
He doesn’t make a move and I lose my patience.
“TAKE IT!”
Snatching it from me, he grabs a hold of my cut and levels me with a glare.
“I’m taking the fucking patch, Pipe, but you’re coming back for it. Clear your head, get your shit figured out but you get back on that bike and you come home. Your patch and your chair will be waiting for you.”
I shake my head.
“I will be waiting for you,” he adds.
He can wait until Satan calls him home and even then he won’t find me at his side.
Pulling out of his grasp, I turn my back on my club, on Jack Parrish, and the name I’ve answered to for nearly half my life. We had a good run while it lasted but now it was time to lay Pipe, the Satan’s Knight, to rest and welcome Lee Jameson back to the land of the living.
Too bad I didn’t feel much like living.
Chapter Nine
Gravity is a bitch, something you don’t realize until you’re in your thirties and you’ve pushed out three kids. If you’re like me, you think it’s a worry only astronauts have, but I’m here to tell you it’s fucking real. Don’t believe me? Just ask my tits.
“Mom! You’ve been in there forever,” Jenna whines from the other side of the bathroom door. Pulling my hands out of the cups of my bra, I give myself one last glance in the mirror before pulling open the door and staring at my daughter.
She rolls her eyes to the sky and I can’t help but think of my mother. God rest her soul, she’s probably getting a kick out of this. She always told me karma would get my ass and give me a daughter just like me.
“Where is your brother?” I ask as she storms past me. Quickly, I wedge my foot in the doorway just as she’s about to slam it in my face. Before she can argue, I lean in and place a kiss on her cheek. “I’m going to work. Listen to your brother and don’t tease your sister.”
“Why does Tommy get to be in charge?”
“Because he’s the oldest.”
“Yeah, but no one said he’s the brightest.”
“Jenna.” I sigh, “Please.”
“Fine, but as long as you know I’m a better choice,” she says half-jokingly.
“Goodnight, baby,” I mutter before giving her another quick kiss.
Leaving her to her business, I turn and head for the living room. In the weeks since we’ve moved, I’ve managed to accomplish a lot, and to my surprise the house was starting to shape up. Not only did I unpack all our belongings but I also got the kids back to school. I still needed a plumber, but hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Besides, we were kind of getting used to taking cold showers.
Entering the living room, I find Tommy playing the latest version of Call of Duty.
“Tommy,” I call to deaf ears. “Hello? Are you there?”
“What is it?” he replies, keeping his eyes on the screen.
“I have to leave for work,” I explain, diverting my attention to the gun fight he’s virtually partaking in. “Can you pause that for a minute?”
Ignoring me, his fingers wildly work the controller leaving me with no other choice than to step in front of the television.
“Ma,” he yells and then I’m treated to another roll of the eyes.
“If I had a dollar for every time one of you kids rolled your eyes at me, I’d never have to work.”
“I was winning, damn it,” he grunts.
“Language!”
“You’re kidding me, right?” he questions, raising his eyebrow for extra emphasis.
“The game will still be there when I’m done speaking to you,” I say, crossing my arms as he tosses the controller onto the coffee table. “You’re in charge, which means you’re going to need to pay attention to your sisters. If you need anything you can call my cell, I will have it on me at all times.”
“Okay,” he mutters.
“And Tommy, no wandering off when they fall asleep,” I warn, placing both hands on my hips. “That means you stay the hell away from that house next door.”
“You couldn’t pay me to go next door. Besides, that creep hasn’t been around for a while.”
“Keeping tabs on his bike?” I tease.
Tommy’s right, I haven’t seen the mysterious man or his motorcycle since I lashed out at him. The following morning, I woke up feeling all sorts of embarrassed by my temper tantrum. He had no business yelling at my son, but I didn’t handle things in a ladylike fashion. In fact, I acted like a savage. I mean who threatens their neighbor that is part of a gang, and with a pair of brass knuckles! He could have shot me on his porch, buried me in the woods behind his house and no one would have ever known.
Do I think he would have?
No.
As strange as it seems, I wasn’t lying when I told him I wasn’t scared of him. I don’t care what that patch on his back says, his eyes say something completely different. They speak of sorrow and misfortune. More than that, those light eyes radiate with loneliness.
While I wouldn’t call myself an expert, I am definitely a woman who knows how it feels to be lonely. Even in my marriage there were times I felt it and now, God, now I feel it all the time.
“Hello? Earth to Mama Dukes,” Tommy calls, waving a hand in front of me. Shaking my head free of my thoughts, I focus my attention on my son.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, I’ve got this. Don’t worry I won’t go next door and I will make sure Jenna and Lexi don’t kill one another.”
Lifting a hand to his cheek, I smile. Standing on my tiptoes I press a noisy kiss to his cheek.
“Love you, kid,” I murmur as he wipes his cheek. “Lexi, come say goodbye to Mommy,” I call out as I grab my leather jacket off the back of the couch. My youngest comes running down the stairs as I start toward the front door and wraps her arms around my legs.
“Don’t go,” she whines.
I’m learning the most difficult part about being a single mother is the guilt that consumes me daily. I feel it most when I leave them and go to work. Logically, I know I’m not doing anything wrong, that I’m leaving them for a good reason, but still, I can’t help feel like I’m failing them in some way. Sometimes I get overwhelmed and for a split second I wish for a break, but in the same breath I can’t imagine not having them with me all the time. The weekends they’re with their father I sit around like a lost puppy counting the hours until they return. I keep thinking it will get better with time but it’s been months and I still haven’t gotten a grip on this divorce shit.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” I promise as I bend my knees and make us eye level. “Hey, can you keep a secret?”
Her hazel eyes light up at the instant the words leave my lips and she eagerly nods her head.
“You’re really the one in charge tonight, okay? Keep an eye on them and if you think they’re doing something wrong, take Tommy’s phone and call me.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” I say with a wink. “Now give me a kiss or I’ll be late.”
Puckering her little lips, she plants one on my lips and squeezes me as tight as her little arms allow. After a few more kisses, I let her go and rise to my full height. Taking another sweep around the house, I draw in a deep breath and reach for the door.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah, sweet girl?”
“You look really pretty tonight.”
God, this kid.
She makes everything right in the world.
“Thank you, baby.”
“You always look pretty but today you look extra special. Have a good time at work and don’t worry, I’ve got everything covered over here.”
Attempting to wink, she blinks both of her eyes and gives me the thumbs up. If I ever feel discouraged, I don’t have to play a song. All I have to do is look at her and know I must have done something right in this world otherwise I wouldn’t be the lucky woman she calls Mom.
Finally, I make my way out the door and subconsciously I glance over at the darkened house next to mine as I enter my car. There is still no sign of my nameless neighbor and for some reason I’m bothered by it. Maybe I want to fight with him some more or maybe I want to apologize—I’m not sure. I could possibly just want to know his name.
It’s likely none of those things.
I just want to know his story.
His pain.
And I don’t have a clue as to why, but I think there is comfort to be found in someone else’s demons. It’s learning your life isn’t as bad as you think it is and realizing there is always someone, somewhere a lot worse than you. It’s finding your faith in your own hopeless situations and selflessly praying others find a reprieve from the burdens weighing them down.
Not that I’m a churchgoer or anything.
Adding it to the list of things I need to work on, I push my thoughts of becoming Mother Teresa aside and hustle into town. I take complete advantage that my kids aren’t in the car and speed, whipping turns as I hope there aren’t any deer on the road. Killing Bambi is the last thing I need to add to my conscience.
I make it on time by the skin of my teeth and when I step behind the bar, my childhood friend Krystle, greets me.
“Oh, good you’re here,” she says, bracing her hands on the bar.
I’ve known Krystle since I was ten years old. Growing up, we lived next door to one another. After my father died when I was sixteen, we sold our house but Krystle and I remained the best of friends. And when my mom passed away before my wedding, Krystle’s parents helped arrange her funeral. She was the one friend who stuck by my si
de throughout all the ups and downs of my marriage, and when it was finally over she and her husband, Joey, convinced me to move up here.
They offered me a job at their bar. Between having three mouths to feed and being unemployed thanks to my ex, I jumped at the opportunity. Being a server isn’t a great job but the tips are decent and being close to Krystle and her husband is an added bonus.
“Of course I’m here,” I reply with a smile, setting my purse under the bar. “Looks busy,” I comment, glancing around the tavern.
Joey bought the tavern about a year ago. It was one of those failing establishments featured on that show Bar Rescue. In the last few months he and Krystle have put every cent they own into rebuilding this place and making it more suitable for patrons of all ages. Once a favorite for old-timers, The Rustic Inn is now a place where mixed crowds gather to unwind. The kitchen stays open until eleven and then we serve drinks until two in the morning. Tonight is a special night though, and the main reason I invested in the miracle bra—which isn’t really a miracle by the way—and actually put a full face of make up on.
Hoping to draw in more people and pack the place out, Joey hired a local cover band that’s set to play tonight. By the looks of the crowd, it seems to be working.
“You think you can handle my section for a few? I want to call my mom and make sure the kids went to bed without a problem,” she asks, glancing over her shoulder. “The guy in the corner can probably use another refill. He drinks them as quickly as I place them in front of him.”
“Sure, go on, I’ve got it,” I tell her as I search for the man in question.
“Thanks, babe,” she replies as my eyes land on him.
Him being my illusive neighbor.
Lifting his head, his eyes lock with mine and I become paralyzed. The permanent scowl he wears falters and he looks just as shocked as I am. Unlike me, he quickly recovers and sets his lips into a thin line as he nudges his empty glass toward me.
Forcing myself out of my stupor, I close the distance between us and remind myself of all the things I thought earlier when I glanced over at his house. He’s just another man with a story and one glance into his blue eyes tells me it’s not a pretty one.
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