by Jc Emery
Michael stands, with Leo by his side, in front of his father's men. In front of Michael is his father. He's got his knees to the ground with his legs tucked beneath him. His head is bowed. Execution style, only he's made to face his own men. If it weren't for the tremble of Mike's hand, I might think he was sedated somehow. Not that anybody here would give him that courtesy. He needs to feel every single piece of the pain he's about to endure.
"There's a new boss at the helm," Michael says. His shiny gold Desert Eagle looks heavy in his hand as the barrel points at the back of his father's head. Maybe it's not the gun itself but the act instead. I don't care either way. Mike took my babies. Jim helped me save them twenty years later. And now here we are. So many are dead, and those who are left are hurting. My attention shifts for half a moment to the curvy woman in the corner of the warehouse. She's got her hand over her mouth and her eyes clamped closed.
Gloria.
I want to comfort her, if only to focus on something other than my own pain, but my body won't let me. Instead, I stand, glued in place, as I watch my baby boy deliver a speech to a crowd of frightened men. They don't show it much, but it's there in the ticks of their jaws and the flickering of their eyes. Dead men always know what's coming.
"I will not stand for loyalty to anyone but me, is that understood?"
One lone man steps forward, despite the multitude of guns pointed in his direction. He spits on the cement and snarls in Michael's direction as he says, "I answer only to your father."
In response, Michael winks at the man and then pulls the trigger. His .38 lands center in the back of Mike's skull. His body slumps forward, death immediately taking him. I feel nothing. Where I should feel relief and vengeance, I just feel even more sorrow. Michael's face is impassive, as though he didn't just put a bullet in the back of his father's skull. The man who challenged him takes off running, but he doesn't get far. Without pause, Michael takes him out with three bullets to the guy's back.
"Does anybody else want to challenge me?"
Nobody does. They all stand in silence at my son's feet. Leo takes to one knee in a show of fealty that I've never before seen in the Italians. It doesn't take long for the wary and fearful men to do the same. As I scan the room, watching each of Mike's, now Michael's, men pledge their loyalty to him, a sinking horror overtakes me.
This might be the end of the war for Forsaken, but it's just the beginning for Michael. He won't ever give up his position of power, and he won't leave New York even if I ask, so I won't. Instead, I stand by his side, terrified to look him in the eye and discover that he's more his father than I ever realized--a merciless killer with no remorse for any of his sins.
The End
Exactly three years after our journey began we now end it with Cease.
Thank you for joining me on this epic ride.
NOW PRESENTING MR. & MRS. STONE
Ryan
Fort Bragg, California
A few years later
The icy wind cuts through my thin black button-up and practically leaves icicles on my arms in its wake. It's not so bad on my chest and back, where my cut provides a little extra protection, but the rest of me is covered in goosebumps. Even my rather sizable nut sack has shrunk to something less than impressive. Still, I don't move. I'd have been warmer if I'd worn flannel, but I promised my dad I wouldn't.
Give her what she wants. You won't ever regret it making her happy.
Cub asked for the button-up. The cut, the jeans, the boots were all fine. But the plain black button-up was a must. After years of being turned inside out by this woman, of begging her to wear my ring, she finally accepted. If all she wants is one fucking thing, I'll do it. Hell, I'd have worn a full monkey suit if she'd ask me to. But she didn't, because that's my girl. She doesn't ask for more than she needs.
And in just a few minutes, my girl becomes my wife.
My nerves get the best of me, and I have to suck in a shaky breath to calm myself down. It doesn't work, but at least when I scrub my face I can get rid of the water in my eyes without feeling like such a pussy. I wish my dad were here. I wish so fucking bad that I'd have taken that bullet instead.
I love my girl. She's pesky and pushy and wormed her way into my heart. I didn't even know I could feel this way, and I'm still not entirely sure it's healthy. It's got to be a sickness, right? This constant need to touch her, to hear her voice, and to see her must be the result of some kind of fever that melted my brain. Best fucking thing that ever happened to me. Meeting my mom and brother are a close second, but my girl fucking takes it.
"If you're having second thoughts, don't bother jumping. I'll just push you off myself." Ma carefully navigates the rocks and climbs her way up to where I'm sitting. I turn toward her, my heart in my throat as she makes her way to me in those fucking heeled boots she has on. We're close to the cliff, and it's a steep drop. I'm not ready to bury another parent. If she goes overboard, I'm just gonna go ahead and throw myself over after her.
"Last thing on my mind," I say once she's settled beside me.
"So then what are you doing all the way out here when you're getting married in five minutes?"
"Thinking." She doesn't push my answer. That's the thing about my mom. She never pushes me to be somebody I'm not. Ever since the first day I met her, she's always just accepted who I am. If I'm a dick, she's cool with it. If I'm an unforgivable monster, she finds a way to justify it. She does the same with Ian, and she did the same with Dad. "I miss him."
Ma nods. She sniffles, but I don't look at her. My throat is closed up, and my hands are shaking again, but this time not from the cold. If I see my mother crying, I'm going to lose my shit.
"So do I, baby. Jim would've liked to see this. You in a button-up. Alex in a dress. He was so happy at Ian and Mindy's wedding. I know he's sad that he's not here."
"You talk about him like he's not dead," I say in a much harsher tone than I intend.
"Because for me, he's not dead. I know where his body is buried. I picked out the headstone, remember? But Jim's body was only part of him. Your dad's spirit? That hasn't gone anywhere."
"You're crazy, Ma. He's still dead."
Reaching over, she pats my knee and rests her head on my arm. She does this shit all the time--always hugging me and finding small ways to touch me as a means of giving me comfort without being too overt. I take it for granted, she does it so much. But right now it means the world to me. Dad patted my shoulder a lot. He'd squeeze the back of my neck in greeting, just so I'd know he was there. My head drops, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My throat constricts around what feels like a fucking golf ball. And of course, because it's my mother next to me, she has to cuddle closer and hum the same fucking tune she used to make us feel better when we were kids. Dad used to mimic her for fun, and he was terrible at it. He never could make it sound even half as good, but fuck, he tried. On the nights when Ian couldn't sleep and the terrors got to be too much, he'd scream. Those were the nights when I'd go and lie next to him in his bed until he calmed down. If he couldn't stop screaming, eventually Dad would make his way in there. And if all else failed, Mom would come in clutch.
Tears well in my eyes. Not a single one falls before Ma notices and decides to make it worse by telling me her favorite memory of us together. I was nine and called her "Mom" for the first time. It was intentional, she remembers that much, but doesn't remember everything else. Unlike her, I vividly remember every detail of that day. That was the day I finally got a mom.
Fuck.
I don't even try to hide the tears now. I've cried four times in my life that I can remember. Once was when my grandma died, the second when Mancuso cut up Cub's face, the third when my dad died, and then now. I didn't even cry a few weeks ago when we found out we're going to have a baby. I was just happy then. It's about fucking time I knocked her up--I've been playing fast and loose with the condoms for almost a year now.
"I think you're trying to kill me," I say when Ma finishes.<
br />
She laughs softly. "A mother's greatest joy is finding new ways to emotionally devastate her children."
"Then you must be the happiest fuck alive."
"Sometimes I am," she says. "Like now. You're officially late to your own wedding, punk."
We wipe away our tears once we're safely away from the edge of the cliff. I'm still freezing. I think my man nipples could cut glass right now, but my heart hurts too much to pay it any mind. I give the cliff one last look and head toward the fence that separates Forsaken's property from city land. The ocean side of the fence is covered in hundreds of white Christmas tree lights that are collectively bright enough so that we can be married by the ocean without any ugly barriers in the way. We didn't exactly get a permit for it--and by that I mean Alex asked me to, and I said I did even though I didn't because fuck the city and fuck that shit. Forsaken doesn't ask permission.
"You're late, fucker," Ian says as I rush past him and the rows of folding chairs that are filled with our family and friends. I give him the bird on my way to the altar but stop short. Off to the side, in a big, poofy white dress is my girl. She's huddled with her twin, Michael, and laughing about something. When he notices me watching, he gives her a nudge. My girl stands there in her wedding dress like it's no big deal. But it's a very big deal. She's gorgeous. I close the distance between us and cup her face in my hand. The rough skin of her scars reminds me of all she's endured and all that we've lost. With my other hand, I rub her still-flat belly to remind myself of all that we still have.
"Have you been crying?" she asks in a hushed tone.
"I miss my dad," I admit. I've been working on being more honest with her. It's not easy, and most days I don't even try, but it's our wedding day. I won't be pissing her off before this thing is legal.
"I miss him, too," she says with a sad smile. And then she kisses me. We're not married yet, but I'm happy to wait a few more minutes if it means I get to spend that time kissing my girl.
AND IT NEVER ENDS...
Ruby
And several years after that...
"Ma!" Ryan shouts through the open kitchen window. I huff and meet his eyes. He's no more than twenty feet from me, but he insists on yelling. Some things never change. My boy stands at the large stainless steel grill, flipping burgers and hot dogs. He's got the same loaded expression on his face that he did the day I met him. That was something like thirty years ago now. It's only in moments like these that I remember I didn't give birth to him. Growing frustrated, he shouts again. "Ma! Come on, I need the fucking patties."
Smiling smugly, I raise my glass of whiskey to him and mutter, "You can wait, you impatient little punk," and take a swig of the brown liquor.
Life is calmer now. Ryan's not. It's easy, or easier at least. But Ryan is less difficult. Having twins that act just like him has pretty much limited the energy he has to expel bitching at people for the most random of shit. That and the fact that now that bud's legal in California, he can pretty much just stay high. At least it mellows his ass out some. The club's had to find other ways to supplement the loss we've taken on our profits due to taxes. Still, we've fared better than other businesses, so we make due. The Fort Bragg charter is bigger now. With less violence and risk, our members have hung around longer than they used to. Slowly, we're becoming a retirement destination for aging Forsaken.
I think I knew I was officially old the day Wyatt and Amber's son, Zander, patched in. It doesn't matter that Zander is as big as his dad now--I'll still always see him as the smart-mouthed teenager he was when he first came into my life. Nowadays, he's more likely to be found eyeing Izzy Phillips than he is acting like a punk kid. Like he is now, I think with a smile out the window at Zander. The boy is almost thirty, so he's more man than anything. At twenty-four, Izzy is old enough to know what she's getting into with Zander. And judging by the looks she's giving him when she thinks he isn't looking, they're going to be getting into something soon. A few feet behind Izzy stands Elle, her older sister, and Amber, Zander's mom. Both women are staring the couple down, practically shooting daggers at the kids. I let out a soft sigh and snort.
"I know this is you," I say to an empty room. My eyes fall closed for a moment, and I let the silence surrounding me sink in. Jim's been gone for over ten years now, but I hear his voice just as clearly as I did the day he died. He laughs--at least in my head he does. And it's fucking beautiful. My life is busier than my kids think it should be, so I don't get to hear Jim's voice as much as I used to, so I relish these times of quiet. "You're getting those women back for being a pain in your ass when they were younger."
"Hey, Pop! You want to quit distracting Mom from making the hamburger patties so your son can chill out, please?" I turn in place to find Alex standing on the other side of the breakfast bar. Her brown eyes dance as she shakes her head at me. It's no secret that I talk to Jim. It's kind of a joke at this point. I just don't tell them that I know he can hear me. I don't know about God or church or any of that shit, but I know my man hasn't left me alone.
"He can wait," I say and take another sip, emptying my glass. The front door opens and then slams closed. Little feet stomp inside in a dramatic huff. My sweet Esme practically throws herself into the room. With the way she acts, you'd think she's eighteen and not eight. Her near-black hair is piled high atop her head, and her wide gray eyes are shooting daggers at her mother.
"What's up, Chicken Butt?" Alex says, turning her attention to her daughter. Alex isn't even remotely fazed by her daughter's attitude. She gets it enough at home from both the girl and her father that she can't afford to get riled up every single time somebody pitches a fit.
"Your husband won't stop complaining about how long Grandma's taking," Esme says to her mother before turning away. Sitting herself down in the chair across from me, she stares at me blankly.
"Hey, you blame your grandpa for that one," I say, picking up the speed of my patty-making.
"Thanks, Grandpa," Esme shouts with her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Would you crazies stop talking to Grandpa and get the damn patties made already?" My grandson sticks his head in the window and gives us a warning look, like his eight-year-old ass can do something about it if we don't. He's the spitting image of his twin sister. All dark hair and gray eyes with a complexion that seems to shift between olive and a pale pink.
Alex's and Esme's heads whip around so quickly that if I didn't know better, I'd think they might be possessed. Alex's scar catches the light, and it looks just as angry and painful as it did the day she was released from the hospital all those years ago. My daughter takes too long with her response. It's Esme who responds with, "Shut up, Michael." Even knowing they named him after his uncle, hearing my grandson's given name sometimes throws me off. We normally call him Track because he can outrun just about anybody he comes across. While Esme, in honor of her mother, gets called Queenie.
Looking out the window again, I watch Track rush off to bitch to his father about our speed or lack thereof. My smile brightens when I see Ian and Mindy approach with the kids. After Chel died a few years ago, they took in Xavier and DJ, who are now thirteen and six. It was tragic the way we lost her. Marks lost control of his bike when they were on a ride up the coast. Chel and the baby didn't make it. Marks did, until he couldn't take any more and took his own life six months later. He was a good man who loved Chel with his whole heart. Did right by her. Married her, treated Xavier as his own, had DJ, and was expecting a little girl. But sometimes that's just how life is. It takes the best ones early and leaves the rest of us to suffer the consequences.
Out in the distance, closer to the barn, are Wyatt, Grady, Jeremy, and Diesel. They have a few prospects with them, including Chief's son, Stephen. Duke and Nic sit side by side at a picnic table with their daughter Robin, who's a teenager now. On the opposite side is Cheyenne, who's about to give birth to her and Jeremy's son any day. Their toddler-aged daughter, Haley, sits between Chey and her grandma, Holly. My line
of sight follows Track, running around in the distance, being chased by Charlie and Jim, Grady and Holly's kids. Once, a few years ago, I made a joke about the growing size of the Forsaken family, to which Amber announced she was pregnant again. It was right before Elle and Diesel started trying, but after one miscarriage, they decided not to go through that again.
Ryan stomps in the house with his mini-me son hot on his heels and shakes his head at the stack of patties in front of me. I've been done for almost five minutes now, but I wasn't about to rush them out to Mr. Temper Tantrum. Even if he is damn cute when he's acting a fool.
"Al, I think you need another baby," I say. My eyes are on Ryan, but my comment is for his wife. I'm smiling like a goofball, fondly remembering the day the twins were born.
Alex snorts in response and starts telling me how that's not going to happen in a variety of ways. Ryan moves behind Alex and holds her against him. Softly, he places a kiss to the scar between her eye and ear. He does this a lot, touching her scars, kissing them. He never shies away from them or seems to think she's any less beautiful with them. If anything, she's more beautiful, I think. I can't help but watch this man and woman who remind me so much of me and Jim. I love my kids, I love my family, and I love this club. There will always be violence and danger on the periphery. That's life when you live outside the bounds of the law. But there's also loyalty and pride. And family.
A black suit comes into view, blocking my sight line of the kids off in the distance. I blink, my eyes trailing up the long torso, and nearly burst into tears at the sight before me. His olive skin is darker than the last time I saw him, but that's to be expected in summer. His brown eyes dance, almost exactly like his sister's did just a few minutes ago.