by Bijou Hunter
Knowing the asshole, I bet Fuse knew dangling those possibilities in front of Velma kept her from moving on. As long as she was waiting, she wasn’t looking for anyone else. Fuse knew she wasn’t enough for him, but he refused to let her be with anyone else.
Decades of regret wash over Mom, wracking her body with sobs. My first instinct is to leave and avoid her pain. She was never strong enough to put me first, and I shouldn’t risk my mood for her.
Bailing on her makes sense, but I can’t be that person. Instead, I comfort my mother in the way no one ever does. They never forgave her mistakes or put her feelings before their own. No one ever sacrificed one tiny thing to make her happy.
I’m not going to be them. I refuse to turn into my grandparents or Fuse. I’ll risk my own heart to help Mom heal hers. If she hurts me again, I have people who will help me. Mom’s all alone in the world while I’m not. The man she loved completely never loved her enough. The man I love dreamed of our future before I even knew he existed. Thanks to Shane and the Band, I’m strong enough to comfort a woman who rarely had the strength to comfort me.
OH, BY THE WAY, FROM THE ROMANTIC
Joey Limbaugh dies like a bitch. Crying, begging, whining, and making pathetic threats, he pulls out all the stops. Joey even claims it was Coterie’s idea to send Ramona to the Executioners. He says he’ll tell us whatever we want. She’s the enemy, not him. Whether he’s telling the truth about Coterie and Ramona, the guy can’t live another day.
When his time comes, Mixer skips all the drama. River and I drag him in the woods, and he knows there are no words to save himself. Instead, he says, “You won’t run Shasta for long, assholes.”
River doesn’t waste a bullet on either of them. He lets me beat on Joey in the way I’ll never be able to do to Fuse. With Mixer, River uses the same stranglehold move as when he killed Candyman.
The men die without fanfare. No one except their families asks about their disappearances. The disloyal Skullz hiding in the Reapers don’t say a fucking thing. They know better. For now, anyway. Sooner or later, there’ll be a reckoning between the past and future in Shasta.
With the inner-club issues dealt with for now, we focus on our enemies to the north. Elko is directly off a main highway cutting through Ohio. The location is perfect for distribution, and the Executioners enjoy a steady income stream. Yet for decades, they’ve wanted to expand to Shasta.
River, Maverick, Utah, and I pass through the arches welcoming us to Elko. Riding our Harleys down the main road right off the highway, we pick up two Executioners who escort us to a diner not far from the highway exit. The parking lot is empty except for hogs. I spot a few more across the road and a handful parked between here and the highway. The Executioners aren’t looking to play lowkey today. They likely have their entire crew nearby in case shit gets bloody. No way are we starting trouble and getting out of this town alive.
Not that we didn’t send in our reinforcements earlier. Before River and I reached the Ohio border, Shelby and Taylor set up their rifles. We even called up a few of his siblings to play sniper from various spots around this town.
Maverick remains on his Harley, fucking around on his phone and sending info to our people hidden nearby. Utah walks to the front door of the diner but doesn’t enter. Neither man reacts to the dozen Executioners watching them in the parking lot.
I follow River inside the diner where we spot four men in the back, wearing Executioners vests. Three of them stand with their arms crossed, behind their president. Bronco is younger than my dad, but not by much. His brown hair is slicked back, and he wears a simple, white T-shirt under his vest. His dark eyes reveal nothing when he studies us.
River plops down across from Bronco and does a quick introduction. He takes the menu and looks it over as if we’re making a social call. I scan the men around us and those in the parking lot. Which one of them is Pinball? Then I realize most of these men used my woman, and I have to swallow my rage to keep from losing control.
Bronco reveals no irritation at River’s choice to drag shit out, but he does finally ask, “What’s this about?”
“Is it safe to talk here?”
“Of course,” he says as if River’s stupid.
“Because it looks rather open to surveillance devices. At the very least, a sniper could be ready to fire if something goes wrong. But you know your town.”
“That I do,” Bronco says.
This guy heard River’s threat. His men did too. The one that I suspect is the Executioners’ VP signals for someone to look around outside. I don’t think they have any idea how far those fancy rifles can fire from, or how talented the Majors family is with a scope.
Bronco doesn’t react to the threat, though. I even catch a hint of a smile, but he never looks around. His gaze remains on River. I suspect Vaughn Majors’ reputation is well known by the man sitting across from us. And River’s the one who rolled into Shasta and kicked Fuse’s ass. The Executioners fought to take the town for decades while this fucking hippie snatched it up in an hour.
“What did you want by coming here?” Bronco asks when River orders a root beer float rather than get to the point.
“Back in the day, Fuse shot up one of your haunts. Maybe this place. Your kid ate lead over his fuckup.”
Bronco’s cool demeanor cracks at the mention of his daughter’s suffering. “What about it?”
“Fuse’s truce offering is my VP’s soon-to-be old lady.”
Bronco exhales loudly and looks up as if asking the universe for guidance. “I knew that would come back to haunt me one day.”
“Yeah, life is just one clusterfuck after another.”
“So, what do you want? I’m sure you know I won’t give you any of my women.”
“No, that’s not how the Reapers roll.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Well, I can tell you what he wants,” River says, jutting his thumb back at me. “If he could, he’d kill your entire club and burn this town to the ground.”
Bronco glances at me and then back at River. He knows if this was our plan that we wouldn’t broadcast it. The Reapers would slip into town in the night and kill whoever needed killing. Then we’d disappear before the bodies got cold.
“But I don’t want to take over your little hub here, and I can’t allow anyone else to take it over. So, clearly, we can’t just kill your club and burn the town to the ground.”
“No, I guess you can’t.”
“But we can’t just let this stand. I know you wouldn’t. It’s why you wanted revenge for your kid. There’s no way Fuse could just apologize and have that shit slide. We’re not those kinds of men.”
“No, I guess, we aren’t,” Bronco says and leans back in his chair. I don’t know if he’s signaling his men or getting comfortable before hearing the cost that he’ll need to pay to retain the truce between our clubs. “Tell me what you want.”
“Pinball,” I say before River can. “The asshole’s name is on my woman’s back. He doesn’t get to walk away from that.”
Based on Bronco’s immediate glare, he didn’t know about the tattoo. Ramona said he wasn’t around that last day when Pinball got his “revenge.” She also told me Bronco never fucked her. I still want him and everyone else in this club dead. But I’m already prepared for disappointment.
“And you want to do what with him?” Bronco asks, straightening in his chair. “Let’s say I wasn’t happy with what went down that weekend, and I was willing to make things right. That doesn’t mean I’m going to hand over one of my men to be slaughtered.”
“No, that’s bad for morale,” River says, taking over now that my temper’s made him look like the rational one. This good cop, bad cop shit is so obvious, but it works. Mostly because I really do want to kill all these people and burn down their town. My rage isn’t a con, and River’s calm isn’t either.
I suspect Bronco just wants this problem to go away, and he’s willing to sacrifice Pinball to do
so. He can’t admit that upfront, but one scumbag isn’t worth war. And I have no doubt Bronco knows Pinball has a thing for his daughter. This might actually be a gift for him.
“Shane is a carpenter, and he likes his drill,” River says, and Bronco gives me a quick glance. He knows my president isn’t just shooting the shit. “Getting drilled through the head won’t necessarily kill a man. He might come back to you alive and mostly well.”
Bronco’s dark eyes study the passing traffic outside. River waits patiently, tapping his fingers casually on the table while enjoying his just-delivered float.
I eye the men scattered around the room. Despite us being outnumbered, I’m not worried. If they make a move, we’ll kill some of them. Then when we’re dead, the Reapers will quietly destroy every single Executioner. Bronco knows that, which is why he hasn’t started shit in six months. We’re not the Skullz. The cold war, hot war routine won’t fly when Ellsberg can bury them.
“Pinball might come back alive,” Bronco says, standing up. “But I’d prefer if he didn’t.”
The men around him don’t react to his decision to sacrifice one of their people to make peace. He might have made clear the rules for that weekend, and maybe Pinball broke them. I don’t know how this club works, but I know how none of the men in this room are worried about their SGT at Arms’ impending death. The very fact that he’s not here, backing up his president, makes me think that the man was already on borrowed time.
We just did the Executioners a favor, and I finally get to fuck up someone for the shit that went down with Ramona. I’d still rather kill Fuse a million times, but Pinball and a drill will have to be my consolation prize. And the asshole proves to be a very loud, very bloody, very fucking satisfying second choice.
A FINAL WORD FROM THE LEGACY
Unaccustomed to making a big deal out of the holidays, I feel too old to celebrate a lot of the stuff that Shane and his family enjoy. I guess I just trained myself not to want all the bruhaha. Yet, to fit into the Campbell family, I’ll drink eggnog, sing Christmas carols, and make out with Shane under the mistletoe.
Even if I don’t have much interest in the holidays, Christmas will always be special to me now. It’s when Shane and I get married. Dylan does the honor while Shelby acts as my maid-of-honor, and Winnie walks me down the aisle, aka the stairs.
The ceremony is an impromptu event, brought on by my surprise pregnancy. Shane promises we’ll have a real wedding if I ever want one. But I’m happy getting hitched while wearing a flannel nightgown with Christmas music playing in the background.
A week before I learn my birth control is faulty, Shelby finds out about Violet Navarro’s disappearance from the Boulders. She reacts in the way Shane predicted. Crying and shaking, Shelby announces she can’t live in Slasher Shasta anymore and needs to go home. Gone by the next day, she leaves the Fearsome Foursome to feel the same way the Band has since Max moved away.
I’d already missed my period the week before Shelby left, but I don’t take a test until she’s gone. I’m in denial, I guess. But after four pregnancy tests, there’s no getting around the fact that I’m pregnant. Shane surprises me by not being surprised at all.
“Everything about us happens fast,” he says and then smiles. “I also like to believe my sperm can overcome any obstacle.”
Of course, we immediately share the news with the Fearsome Foursome and the Band. As soon as Shelby gets the text, she jumps in her car and returns to Shasta.
“I have to be here for my baby bruv and his lady love,” she says, walking through the door and hugging Shane. “You made a small human, and I will be here to oversee its upbringing just as I did yours.”
“You did a fine job with this one,” I tell her and smile at Shane.
Shelby grins proudly at her brother. Just like that, she forces herself to overcome her slasher fear, stink hatred, and overall homesickness for Ellsberg. For Shane, she has no choice.
Despite reading online and hearing warnings from my doctor, I rarely feel low during my pregnancy. Not even after giving up smoking, pot, booze, and the other vices I use to remain calm. But I stay on top of my moods and rarely spend a moment alone. Shane doesn’t screw around with my health. He even gives up booze, pot, and foods I can’t have.
“I’ll be as big a health nut as necessary to ensure this feels like a team sport despite you doing the actual work,” he says one night while kissing my belly.
We set up a crib in an adjacent bedroom, paint the walls the same pale blue as we chose for Shane’s bedroom, and continue with our part-time living schedule. There are no big changes for those nine months.
To his relief, Shane’s parents visit often. They even meet my mom in what proves to be a horribly awkward first dinner. Our parents take many meals to get relaxed around each other. Winnie is scared of my mom. My mom is intimidated by Dylan, who clearly thinks she’s a loser based on the stuff Shane told him. However, Dylan seems relieved when Velma starts dating a guy who comes along to these in-law dinners.
Bob is, well, he’s a Bob—dull yet safe. If he says he’ll pick up Velma, he shows up. He remembers her birthday, compliments her easily, and isn’t ashamed to be seen in public with her. Bob isn’t sexy, but he’s stable. Best of all, he thinks she’s gorgeous and a real catch. I don’t know if they’ll last, but his steady hand is a confidence boost.
Mom and I aren’t on great terms yet. Maybe we’ll never be really close. She lacks the skills to build a healthy relationship, and I struggle with being the strong one. Velma sometimes pulls away and gets sullen. I don’t take it personally. It’s not me, it’s her. Just like with Fuse. He didn’t love me because he was a bad father, not because I failed as a daughter.
Over time, Velma does apologize for some things. Not straight-out, but she makes little comments that show she sees things differently now. Like one day, she remarks on how Shane bought me a good car, unlike Fuse. It’s a baby step. Yet every time she sees my man do something sweet for me, my mom lets Fuse go a little more. I realize she never knew men could be like Shane. Now that she’s waking up to that possibility, Velma accepts the man she loved wasn’t any good.
I realize I made a lot of assumptions about men too. Like the cheating thing, and how I thought Dylan must fuck sweet butts. It didn’t make any sense to me that he wouldn’t. But after getting to know Shane’s parents, I’ve come to accept that I had only seen a small part of the world. Men like Dylan are faithful, and Shane is a lot like his dad. Though I sometimes feel like a sap for trusting him, I’m learning that if Shane says he won’t stray that I can believe him.
For our unborn son, I force myself to think more positive thoughts every day. Even if the things I say in my head feel hokey, I still schedule time to mentally list all the good things in my life to help me avoid thinking of all the bad ones. While I can’t fix the chemical imbalance in my brain, I can choose to use my better moments to be a better person. Yeah, again, hokey shit, but I want to be the best mom I can for my little boy.
I even try therapy for a few weeks, but the sessions make me feel worse. Talking about things doesn’t help. That might just be me falling back on old habits, but I don’t like dragging the bad stuff from the back of my mind and putting it out for display. Maybe one day, when I’m more mature, I’ll be strong enough to view therapy differently. I’m just not there yet, and pushing myself is hard enough on a regular day. Taking a chance with my moods during pregnancy feels like trouble I don’t need.
Childbirth isn’t horrible. Shane is super sweet, and I choose drugs when the pain gets to be too much. When I can’t remember any happy thoughts, Shane says them out loud for me. He’s amazing through the long labor, even dancing the jig at one point to entertain me.
Ignatius “Iggy” Campbell is born thirty-six hours after my contractions start. When I look at my baby, I understand why Shane couldn’t wrap his head around my mother’s behavior. How could she not fall in love with me like his mother did with him? Like how I do with
Iggy? I just have to assume there’s something fundamentally missing inside my mother. She suffers from the same flaw her parents did, but that problem skipped me. I swear I can’t take my eyes off my sweet baby.
“He looks just like Shane!” Winnie cries before remembering her volume control. “It’s like you had another Shane.”
She isn’t wrong, either. Iggy looks exactly like the baby pictures I saw of Shane. Within days, I notice the only thing he inherited from me was the shape of his eyes. I know I’m right when Shane announces unprompted, “I love my boy’s eyes.” The man is irresistible without even trying.
I feel pretty good when I come home from the hospital, and Iggy is a wonderful baby. He doesn’t sleep a ton, but he’s very chill.
Then three weeks after giving birth, the world drops out from under me. I go from mildly low to suddenly drowning in the abyss. I can’t think about how my hormones are changing, or that it’s temporary. What good would logic do anyway?
I don’t want to eat. I barely speak. For days, I can’t function beyond breathing in and out. Even lifting my head feels like too much.
When I hear my son crying, I can’t make myself go to him. I feel Shane’s arms around me, but not the warmth that should go with his embrace. Music is just noise. Nothing touches me in the darkness.
One day, though, I stir enough to notice the mayhem occurring near me in the living room.
“Change his diapers before the smell kills me!” Shelby cries.
“Oh, crap, he’s not done,” Shane mutters, sounding terrified. “It’s just exploding out of his tiny ass.”
“It’s spilling on the floor,” Taylor announces. “I’m getting a bucket.”
River demands, “Fix your kid’s defective butt, Shane.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“How do we make this stop?” Shelby begs, nearly crying. “Is my baby nephew broken?”