by Jackson Kane
I originally wanted to have the party at a restaurant, but our father, Bruce, wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t outright say why, but I knew he wanted it at the house so it’d be easier for him to remember to show up.
“Hey, just because Dad and I don’t see eye to eye anymore doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop harassing you.” I winked at her. Seeing eye to eye was the biggest understatement I’d ever made. We hated each other, but there was no need to belabor the point, especially on Anna’s birthday. “Where is he?”
“I dunno. Club stuff, maybe? I haven’t seen him yet today.” Anna shrugged.
She was good at acting aloof and indifferent. It was a survival mechanism she’d developed to not let things important to her crush her… like her father missing her birthday party. I could always see through it though. I couldn’t blame her for it because I did the same thing at her age right after Mom disappeared.
And almost on cue, the front door swung open with a heavy crack. Although the music continued, the various conversations petered out quickly.
Dad was home. He was drunk, and he wasn’t alone.
Anna was a wonderful, smart girl, and I did everything in my power to keep her from getting hurt. I even went so far as to challenge our father for custody.
I lost.
Being that Slick, as he was known in the club, had no priors and nothing to tie him to any alleged illegal activity, the judge had to begrudgingly rule on his behalf. As far as the court was concerned, he was just a tax-paying, law-abiding carpenter.
Walking out of that courtroom was the first time he had ever threatened me. My father’s words, muttered clearly through a plastic coffee cup because we were in public, still chilled me. “Your mother vanished. Hope that’s not contagious.”
The words struck me like an arctic breeze bending Caribbean palm trees. It was wrong and horrible to hear that from my only parent.
Since then, I kept Anna as close as possible, but it would never be enough. For the following two years, whether I liked it or not, Anna was his—a prisoner to the notorious Steel Veins motorcycle club.
When father and company swaggered in, they dragged with them an oppressive cloud of reeking cigar smoke, worn-out pussy, and old, spent motor oil. If Hell had a scent, it would be that.
At just over five and a half feet tall, Bruce was dwarfed by some of the taller men in his inner circle. But what he lacked in height, Dad made up for in presence. Stout, but not fat, he had an old bodybuilder’s thick frame and the temperament of a patient rattlesnake. Although there were, of course, a few inherited commonalities, neither Anna nor myself shared Dad’s remorseless blue eyes or his stony jawline.
“The fuck is all this?” Dad’s temper rose with his confusion. He’d obviously already started drinking. The remaining guests took a few steps back, visibly startled at the outburst. He was an unrestrained, emotional man who was quick to anger and even quicker to violence as Mom had found out a few times.
Bruce spied the cake and decorations and slapped himself on the forehead, immediately remembering what day it was.
“Aww, shit, baby! Was that today? Fuck. Guys, it’s my beautiful daughter’s birthday!” He had the slumped-shoulder sag of a life’s worth of bad bike posture as he sauntered over to Anna. He started singing the happy birthday song, gesturing emphatically that everyone join in. Intoxicated bikers and extremely uncomfortable teenage girls stumbled through the lyrics, offkey and out of sync. The song had all the wholesome sincerity of hostages reading off demands to a camera at gunpoint.
“Happy fucking birthday!” Dad cheered and clapped and was joined by his hollering biker minions. Anna’s friends huddled a little closer together and seemed to shrink beneath the oppressive and unwelcome gaze of the intimidating middle-aged men.
“Here you go, baby.” Dad thumbed out a couple hundred dollars from his wallet and gave it to her along with a kiss on her forehead. “Get yourself somethin’ nice, huh?”
“Thanks, Dad.” Anna offered a weak smile but couldn’t hide her unease as she was already on the verge of tears at the embarrassment in front of all her remaining friends.
Our father, of course, didn’t notice. He was too busy being father of the year.
I was just mad. It was one thing to forget or ignore an important date for one of your kids, but to come in and shit all over it like that? Bravo! Fucking monster....
“Maya.” The word pierced me like a shattering icicle. I hated him so much, but what could I do that wouldn’t make things worse for Anna? I lowered my eyes, my throat turning to jagged glass.
The man wasn’t large or muscular, but encircled by his goons, he was bolstered with a sense of inviolable authority. It was terrifying. He’d spent so long dispensing life and death and ruling with “brotherly love” that he’d forgotten what paternal love was. He viewed Anna as a young patch member as opposed to a daughter. And me, after everything that happened with Anna…
I was a traitor.
Slick broke his gaze and, with the cock of his head, directed his boys into the pool room.
“Yer honor,” spat a biker as he jostled passed me, clipping my shoulder and driving me back a step.
After Mom’s disappearance and after what happened to me, I had started studying law, which was why I went to college. It was only within the last few years that any firm in the area would even look at me. Given my connection to the alleged “family business,” I had a difficult time finding a position as a freshman lawyer at any law firm—finally being successful at some of the sleaziest out there, one of which I immediately quit after being hit on too many times on the first day. I would have had better luck if I had relocated, but as much as I wanted to, I just couldn’t leave Anna alone with them.
I was all she had.
One of the other Veins sniffed my hair as they walked by. Any time they could, the Veins loved reminding me just how unwelcome I was here. They skeeved me out so badly that if I could’ve taken my skin off, it would have stood rigidly all by itself. But I choked it all down and pushed it away. Never letting them see how uncomfortable they made me was a skill with which I had far too much practice. I would never let them intimidate me, at least not while in front of Anna.
Despite not making it to the cake-cutting part of the party, Anna’s friends all quickly made excuses to abruptly leave. I couldn’t blame them now that a gang of unsavory bikers was lingering around. If it weren't for Anna being held captive here, I would have sneaked out too.
Anna was all smiles while thanking her friends for coming, apologizing for her father and half-heartedly making plans to get together soon. I offered to walk everyone to the door and closed it behind them. When I turned back, I saw Anna sitting sullenly in the middle of the room surrounded by empty chairs.
“You okay, Anna?” I asked now that it was only the two of us.
“Yeah, of course!” Her cheery words were strained through a practiced smile followed by a timid laugh that made my heart break. “You know how Dad is….”
Yeah, I knew, all right, but I decided against responding to her rationalization. Anna didn’t need my anger, my doubt, or my weakness. I couldn’t burden her with that, so I would be strong for her. “You wanna come over to my place for a few hours? We could marathon Kitchen Nightmares on Netflix and binge on cake and ice cream.”
“Okay.” She glanced back toward the kitchen, which was on the other side of the biker-infested entertainment room. Her face screwed into a sad half smile while her eyes watered as she turned away. She opened them as wide as possible to trap the tears, struggling to prevent them from rolling down her cheek. “I should, uh, probably go get the cake you got me.”
Anna was so strong because she had to be, but everyone had their limits.
“Wait! I have a better idea!” I grabbed her arm as she hesitantly headed toward the bikers. “Instead of that crappy, store-bought cake, how ’bout we go grab ingredients and bake one from scratch?”
Anna took after our mom and fell in love w
ith the kitchen. Despite only being sixteen, she was a phenomenal cook and an even better baker! Starting at the tender age of three, our mother had allowed Anna to help her in the kitchen, which mostly just meant washing veggies, cracking eggs, and kneading—and eating—a lot of dough. Every day after school, Anna would rush through her homework to help Mom make these amazing dishes for dinner and club events.
“That sounds great!” Anna’s slightly puffy face lit up. She snorted, shook her head, and held up the wad of dirty money. “The ingredients are on me, I guess.”
“Put that away before you get an STD.” I smirked at her then remembered something I was excited to tell her but had forgotten. “Oh! I didn’t tell you! I found the recipe to Mom’s famous chicken pot pies! We should make that tonight too!”
“Yeah, I’d love that.” Anna sniffled, the corner of her mouth twitching, catching the cascading tears on the cuff of her sweater. She looked up at me and now smiled—a beautiful, genuine smile full of teasing snark and love. “I’ll make sure you don’t screw anything up.”
“Hey!” I let my eyes flair at the joking insult then shoved her playfully. “Go grab your stuff, you punk.”
She didn’t need the reminder. Anna always packed her jacket and a backpack in the off chance she was allowed to sleep over at my place. It was a fairly slim chance because rarely did Slick ever feel so benevolent. Most of the time, our father kept us apart out of spite alone.
Anna scampered up the stairs that led to her second-story room while I sat quietly in the wreckage of the failed birthday party. I frowned when I remembered the second, small present I got her last year on her birthday… a deadbolt lock for her room to help her feel safer when she slept at night.
And that was nothing compared to the present I had to give her this year.
I will get you out of this, Anna, I promise! I drew a heavy breath and exhaled, trying not to cry myself.
My solemn pledge was interrupted by the rhythmic tapping of heavy, ringed hands against a marble-topped bar and the raucous laughter that followed in the entertainment room straight down the hall. I tried not to look at them, but the house had an open floor plan, and I could feel their eyes on me.
If I left the room now, it would be obvious that it was because of the bikers, and I didn’t want to give Dad that satisfaction. I would endure their invasive glares until we were good and ready to leave.
God, I hated feeling pushed out of my childhood home.
I tried to recall a time when I saw him as a father and not just some thug in a leather vest. It pained me, but nothing came to mind. He did diddly squat during our childhoods that Mom didn’t at least have a hand in. Birthdays and other celebratory milestones in my life were all because of her, and only very occasionally could she actually get Dad to make an appearance. The club always came first for him. Everything else... this family... it was all just decoration. Old Christmas lights on a long, dead pine tree.
Mom had been the soul of our family.
She could warm the house with just a wink and a smile. The aromas of her steaming chicken pot pies and her famous kitchen sink stew hung joyously in the air and somehow made the house sing for days. Minty cardamom, ginger, and cinnamon were her favorite scents, and they greeted us like a loving caress each day when we came home from school. It was no wonder Anna got into cooking at such a young age.
It smelled like an honest-to-God home.
Despite the supermarket cake and other baked goods I brought in for Anna’s party, the air in the house these days was stale. Hopelessness settled thickly into the house’s very foundation, and smoky ghosts and rancid memories haunted each and every room.
This place wasn’t home any longer.
I didn’t know what this structure was anymore. Everything, although familiar in layout, seemed so out of place, as if someone hung all our family pictures up at the neighbor’s house and pretended we lived there instead. It felt like every private, cherished moment was on display in a forgotten family museum that no one ever kept up.
“The fuck do you mean Deadeye’s gone? He’s the one that brought me into this club and gave me the St. Louis chapter!” Dad bellowed in the other room before quieting to a low talking voice. “Is he dead?”
I couldn’t hear the reply, so I walked a little closer, hugging the wall to stay out of eyesight. It was dangerous to eavesdrop on club business, but they were all so drunk that as long as I was careful, I should be all right. At least, I hoped.
“We’re talking about the national president of the entire Steel Veins organization here!” Dad barked in equal parts bewildering disbelief and venomous anger. “And you’re telling me that some nobody asshole traitor fuck from...”
“Leslie, Oklahoma,” another biker gruffly added.
“Where in the spiky-shit is that?” Dad grumbled then immediately continued. “Doesn’t matter. So what you’re telling me is that some fuck from a nowhere chapter in Butt-Fuck, Oklahoma, is our new national president?” The question was punctuated by the loud crack of Dad’s fist slamming into the bar.
“There’s already a list of new club rules in effect now too,” someone said, pausing long enough to probably look them up on his phone. “All new members with less than three years in the club were dropped back down to prospects—”
There was a roar of cursing and angry disapproval.
“So that means fucking half of us aren’t even members anymore!” a different voice rang out, and more marble-top slams echoed throughout the house. “What the fuck are we going to do now, Slick? I’ll be goddamned if I’m going back to being a fucking prospect!”
“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Dad growled, quieting down the room. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. I want you to find every Steel Vein that was loyal to Deadeye and have them contact me. Fuck it, I want every support chapter with a chip on their shoulder and lead in their belly to call me. Find me every pissed-off, disenchanted biker out there!” Dad let the words hang in the air. I could almost feel the heat steaming off the glares he must’ve been giving his men. “If our club don’t want guys like us, fine. Fuck ’em! We won’t be a motorcycle club. I’ll make us a fucking army!” Dad finished to thunderous and sinister applause.
Jesus… an army of angry bikers sounded ominous. What was all that about? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. I was going to have to look into some out-of-the-box ways to keep Anna safe.
I slunk back toward the front entrance and secreted Anna away when she rounded the bottom of the stairs with her backpack and light coat.
It wasn’t until after we went shopping and returned to my apartment that I decided to give her this year’s second present. I had it with me in my large purse the whole time but didn’t dare give it to her with anyone else around.
“Hey,” I said when we parked in my condo’s private lot. It had become dark enough that I wasn’t worried about anyone accidentally stumbling into eyeshot. “I did get you one more thing.”
“Yeah?” Anna asked curiously but with a wary look on her face. My second presents were never gift certificates or clothing or really anything a well-cared-for teenager should ever have to ask for. “What is it?”
“Your real birthday present. It’s a twenty-two semiautomatic pistol,” I said flatly, extracting the safely unloaded gun from my bag and placing it into her hands.
She stared at me hard. She didn’t like the club either because we had both lost so much to it. Anna deserved not to get such a dangerous present, but that was the world she was born into.
The world we both were born into.
“Take it, Anna. Just keep it on you when you’re at home or near any of the bikers.” I desperately needed one of these when I was sixteen. “Have any of them tried anything?”
“It’s not like that now. He doesn’t let them stay over anymore.” Anna nervously lowered her eyes, and her voice fell to a whisper. “At least not as much.”
It made me furious. What kind of parent left their children in thi
s kind of environment? It was criminal! I sighed. Of course, it was criminal. That was the whole point.
“Let’s head inside.” I smiled widely, trying to lighten the mood. We’d talk about the gun a lot more at length, and maybe I’d even be able to take her down to a firing range at some point, but that was all a discussion for another day. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, and I was determined to make it one. “That pot pie ain’t gonna make itself!”
“Oh, hey! I almost forgot!” Anna plunged both arms into her backpack, fishing around for something, and she came up with a now crumpled letter. “It was addressed to Mom, but I figured I should give it to you. It looks like maybe a bill or something.”
A bill? A decade after her disappearance? I tore open the envelope, only to discover it wasn’t a bill. It was for a safe-deposit box out in San Francisco. What the hell was this?
“Due to the lack of response from both Amanda Merritt of 1232 Waller Road, St. Louis, MO and Robert Merritt of 567—”
Robert Merritt? I wondered at the oddness of seeing those two names together.
“Isn’t that Dad’s brother?” Anna asked inquisitively.
“I think so... but why would he share a safe-deposit box with Mom?” I vaguely remembered a horrific argument about him a long time ago but couldn’t remember exactly what it was all about as I had only met him once. I scanned the rest of the document.
“...SeaCoast Bank will be closing. Your safe-deposit box can no longer be held for you. The treasurer has declined to receive the property as abandoned. Please claim your box prior to the date posted, or your box’s contents will be destroyed. It will be necessary to appear in person with your pin number.”
“Pin number? Do you know what that is?” Anna asked.
“No idea. I’m sure as hell going to find out though.” Looked like I’d be tracking down our dear old Uncle Robert. I turned back to my little sister. “Are you ready to watch Gordon tear people’s hopes and dreams apart while we make some amazing food?”