by A. C. Bextor
Agatha stops her furious chopping. Bits and pieces of celery, carrots, and potatoes are pushed aside as she lays down the knife and shoves the cutting board away.
With a posture meant for a purpose, she glances to my hands set flat on the table. Smiling, she places one of hers on top of mine, while the other comes to my face. With sad eyes, she runs the tip of her finger down my battered cheek.
“If you’d let me, I’d like to offer you some advice.”
“Anything,” I welcome.
“When you make your way from here, you will not be the same person you were when you left.”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
Agatha examines my expression. “You’ll struggle with being home. Maybe this is just an old woman talking crazy, but still an old woman who’s been around a good long while.”
“Nothing happened,” I explain. “Other than a few cuts and bruises, I’m fine.”
Leaning over, she taps my nose with her finger and smiles warmly. “And this is a blessing. But cuts and bruises are also physical. Mentally, you haven’t begun to process what happened. You haven’t taken anything to memory.”
“But I—”
“Nikolas assured you were safe, and I’ve not gone far from your side. You may find yourself lost at home.”
“Maybe, but I—”
Cut off again, Agatha sternly presses, “You’ll want to turn your back on your family’s hurt because soon you’ll be angry at your own.”
That makes sense, but still. “I really think I’m okay.”
Pushing forward, she gives, “You’ll love them, of course. But you’ll also hate them for wanting to help and torture them because they can’t.”
She’s wrong. I don’t have it in me to intentionally torture someone I love, physically or otherwise. The notion itself is hurtful to consider.
“Agatha, I think maybe—”
“Your family will struggle as you will, but to a different end. They’ll try to do what’s best for you, and in doing that, may end up causing you more grief.”
I close my eyes, hating to imagine how many times Agatha has had this same conversation at this very table. Then I wonder how often she reflects back, wishing she could have done more.
When her features turn grave, I nod in understanding. The message she’s sending is important. This conversation wasn’t only for me to hear, but also for her to say.
“Just promise to remember what I said. And also remember those who love you, love you for good reason.”
The lump in my throat fights to break loose. My eyes burn with unshed tears, one falling down my cheek at the sudden movement from the other room.
Agatha and I turn our heads to the now empty chair Eve was settled in. The blanket she’d been covered with lies on the floor, forgotten and alone.
“Nikolas must be home earlier than expected,” Agatha notes, as if Eve running from the room was a natural reaction. “She still trembles at the mention of his name.”
“Because he’s a man?”
Agatha confirms, “With help, she’ll get over her fear in time.”
I haven’t seen Nikolas since our one and only conversation days ago. I’d been going over the words we spoke again and again, trying to come up with how and why he did what he did for me. Agatha has shared, albeit sparsely, but I can’t say I know enough to justify his reasoning.
Before I can contemplate further, Agatha glances to the clock above the kitchen sink.
“I’ve got work to do. You go see to Eve. I’ll call you down when dinner is ready. The two of you will join me at the table this evening.”
“Okay,” I agree before standing on tender feet. “Thank you for today.”
Agatha’s manner warms. “You keep with you the advice this crazy lady gave. Maybe you’ll find life at home a little bit easier to take.”
I don’t respond. Rather I smile, and turn to walk away.
I’ll remember what the sweet old woman said, but I’ll also do whatever I can do prove she’s wrong.
“Got another one of those?” Elevent prompts, stepping through the sliding glass door leading from the balcony of my room.
I don’t answer as he stops at my side and waits for permission. Instead, I keep my focus to the empty field at the back of the club. I point to the cooler full of ice and beer that I’d brought out hours ago.
Elevent will have something to say; he usually does. On most occasions, when he and I talk, we do this as equals. Friends. These conversations usually revolve around the same topics—my temper and piss-poor attitude. I know what to expect. I also know what to say to ease his tension and calm his shit.
Today’s conversation will be different. This talk’s been coming for a long time.
Elevent never settled over the relationship between Cricket and I. He’s hated me for her since I made the decision to take her on. He’s voiced his dislike repeatedly. But being me, even respecting him as much as I do, I’ve never cared for his opinion.
Elevent doesn’t understand, and neither do the others. My reasons for taking care of her the way I have so far isn’t because I’m a selfish bastard who enjoys her mouth, body, and how she responds to what I do to them. Cricket’s not a faceless fuck or a woman I’ll ever discard completely when we’re through.
I’m with her because I care. Whatever Cricket and I have is between us. Her opinion is the only one that matters.
Catching a glimpse of the cigarette held between my fingers, Elevent observes, “I’ve known you over a decade now, brother. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you sittin’ back out here smokin’ alone.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I remind, dropping the smoke to the wooden floor and crushing the remnants under my boot.
“Agree,” he murmurs, lifting the cooler lid and grabbing a bottle. He pops the top, sits farther back in the chair, and waits. When I give him nothing, he starts in. “Just got word that Nikolas is ready to send Cricket home.”
“If she so wishes,” I mock what the son of a bitch had said.
A smile in his words, Elevent assures. “If that’s what she wants. Yeah.”
I nod, wondering if when she gets home, she’ll have much to say to me. If there’ll be anything between us to discuss.
What happened to her was my fault. Her being taken from the club and delivered into her worst nightmare is on me. I knew she was miserable after Gypsy left so soon after Pyke was killed. I also knew she was in a dark place without them both.
That evening, I left her alone as she’d asked, doing it not thinking she’d walk out of the clubhouse without someone with her. Shit’s not been safe since her sick fuck father was released from prison. Until that night, we hadn’t heard a word from him, and talk on the street said he was moving on with his miserable existence, and doing that far away from here.
All that had been a lie, which we found out the night our club informant, Tyrant, snapped. He freaked the fuck out and spilled everything, all while holding a loaded gun to Cricket’s head.
Looking at my hand, my middle finger aches. I’d split that one open and had broken two others in rage as I pounded my fists into his face. I wanted to kill him, and I would’ve had it not been for Cricket, Mia, and Sunny around to witness. They’d already been shaken by what had happened. Scarring them further was pointless.
Fuck, but I wanted to kill the slimy bastard and piss on his skull for added measure.
Not only did I lose a brother in Pyke that night, the girls lost a close friend. Lane wasn’t much to many of us, but she was still one of us, and that hit home.
Elevent sighs, and takes a pull of his beer. He rests the bottle on his leg and confesses, “I’m concerned, Leglas. Worrying how Cricket will take to being back.”
“She’ll be all right.”
“She’s been beaten,” he argues. “That does something to a man, but a woman like her? Fuck, I don’t know.”
He’s wrong for not giving Cricket the credit she deserves. She
’s stronger than any one fucking person in this club. Sure, she’s young. Sure, she’s been sheltered under Pop’s thumb and Elevent’s wing. However, she’s also learned more about life than any other woman here, mostly by observation.
“Mom and Pop close?” I question.
“They’ll be here tomorrow,” he confirms. “Mom’s out of her mind. Pop is near that, but keeping his shit together for Mom.”
No doubt, their little girl being through what she has, Mom and Pop are climbing the walls in nervousness and frustration, feeling as helpless as the rest of us.
“I’ve warned Gypsy,” Elevent says next. “He’s to stand down, let you guide this with Cricket.”
“He won’t stand down,” I disagree, then admit, “The son of a bitch loves her.” Before taking back the last dregs of my beer, I include, “If I were him, you telling me to stay away wouldn’t be an order I’d give a shit about.”
“He does love her,” Elevent claims quietly. He taps his booted heel to the ground, his knee working beneath his tatted hand as he prods, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You love Cricket?”
There it is, what I knew was coming.
“We’re not having this talk, El,” I insist tersely. “You already know I give a shit about her.”
“You care about her as much as we all do,” he unfairly compares. “But caring about her doesn’t give her a future away from the one she’s heading toward now.”
Unsure of his meaning, I turn my head to watch him stare into the back fields of the club. “What are you sayin’?”
“Cricket doesn’t belong here,” he tells me. “She should have left years ago when Mom and Pop did.”
“She’s a grown-ass woman,” I rationalize. “How is it you people don’t see that?”
“We see that,” he returns evenly. “But what we also see is that she deserves more than Saint’s.”
“Does Sunny deserve more?” I argue. “How about Mia? You think she belongs here?”
“We’re not talking about Mia or Sunny.”
“The fuck we’re not,” I voice to reason. “Especially Mia. That woman had no clue about this life, yet you didn’t hesitate to keep her in it.”
The strike I intended hits home, but he quickly recovers. With his jaw hard, he answers, “Cricket’s nothing like them.”
He could argue this point until the moon falls from the damn sky, and I’d be no more convinced.
“The future is whatever Cricket wants it to be,” I defend. “What she wants isn’t up to you or me, and sure as hell not Gypsy.”
“You say this, but I know you get me,” he clips.
“I get you.”
Unconvinced, he presses, “Roberts won’t stop, and what he’s already done…” His words trail off and he grips the bottle tight. “I don’t know how she’ll ever come back from this.”
Christ, if these fucking people never give credit where it’s due.
Done with this, I state clearly, “If Cricket tells me to fuck off, I’ll let her go. She says she wants to stay where she is with me, meaning with me in any way, that’s what she’s gonna get.”
Sitting up in his chair, Elevent’s body braces. He shakes his head and grinds his teeth before he turns to face me. Finally there, we meet eye to eye, man-to-man, brother-to-brother.
“Known you a long time, Leglas,” he begins, his voice low, its tone lethal. “And I know you’ve never cared about a single woman much past the occasional fuck. You lose interest after that and—”
“You serious with this shit?”
“Step back,” Elevent demands. No beating around the bush. No back and forth. Nothing but a pure and absolute order given with an expectation to follow.
“What the fuck?”
Elevent’s brows furrow. “You don’t have a fire in your belly for Cricket. And you’re lying to me and yourself if you tell me you do.”
“Fire in my what?” I charge back. “Fuck, El. What the hell does that even mean?”
“Fact you gotta ask tells me you don’t have a clue how to make her happy.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I punish. “And sure as shit out of your own fuckin’ business.”
Elevent’s eyes narrow, so I turn away. I don’t need this shit, and being this is my fault, I already know Cricket’s gotta be heading toward letting whatever we have go.
President’s not done, though. Throwing his body back in the chair, he twists to look out again.
Hissing beneath his breath, he says, “Christ, Leglas, you’re old enough to be Cricket’s—”
“Fuck you, dick. Do not finish that.”
But he’s right. The age difference between Cricket and I does span long enough that I could be her much, much older brother. But when I look at Cricket, I don’t see years. No one does. The girl acts out like a nut half the time, but spends the other half caring for us.
With her start to life, she was forced to grow up fast and never stopped.
“Let her go,” Elevent bids quietly.
Never, in all our years, has he stepped foot on anything personal in my life other than club business. What he’s just said may as well be all of his weight leaning against the back of my goddamn neck.
“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’—”
Elevent’s words are knowing, reflective, as he states, “Don’t make Gypsy stand down. Give this shit to him to handle. He’ll do it with care.”
“An act of redemption for all the shit he’s ever shoveled at her?”
“No,” he denies quickly. “This is his by right. She belongs to him whether they’ve both dealt with that or not.”
To argue this point is futile, but I remind him, “He fuckin’ left her, remember?”
“I remember,” Elevent echoes. “But that doesn’t mean with the shit that went down he’s not back for good.”
Turning my head, I focus away. I knew this day was coming. I also knew when Cricket was taken that Gypsy would come for her, and he did the very next day.
My time filling the void in her heart while she filled the void in my bed has ended.
If she has Gypsy in the way she’s always wanted, she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need anyone anymore.
“We’ll bench this for now,” Elevent states. “Until she’s home, safe, and settled.”
“Thank fuck.”
“But this shit with Roberts isn’t over,” he presses on with a subject change. “Cricket’s comin’ home. She’ll be safe here forward, but that’s not the end of this.”
Something else I knew. Cricket was stolen back from an organization that paid a fuck load to get to her. Her old man is still out there, lurking in some damp, dark shadow. He wants revenge against anyone wearing Saint’s colors, whether they were in the club or not the day he was put behind bars.
“You find out anymore about who we’re dealing with?” I question.
Elevent nods, setting down his empty beer and replacing it with another from the cooler. He wipes off the excess liquid from the ice and answers, “Yeah. Seveena is a woman scorned, and a Russian bitch, no less.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah,” he growls.
“Who is she?”
“Well-known underground sex trafficker.”
A woman selling women. Worst kind of bitch, then.
“Ties to Zalesky?” I query.
If this woman has any ties to that Russian, good or bad, and she hurt one of ours, my guess is that she’s no longer our problem. Zalesky will make himself her worst nightmare.
“No ties to Vlad,” he confirms.
“That’s something to be thankful for, I guess. Good we have no common ground with her.”
“Talkin’ to Nikolas this morning, I found out she’d once been sold, only she didn’t hate her time in captivity. Bitch thrived under the teachings of her sick fuck owner. Learned the ropes, became his protégé.”
Even worse than a bitch scorned is a bitch who lived the life and hat
ed others who hadn’t suffered it.
“She’s a survivor,” I tell him. “How’s Nikolas know so much about Seveena? How’d he know Cricket was there?”
“The two have history, an ugly one. Apparently, Seveena moves quickly and often. He’s hunted her for a while. She knows he’s on her trail.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah.”
“Other than bein’ connected to that cunt, what’s your take on Nikolas?”
Elevent takes in a breath. “No read yet. My guess, if he’s anything like Vlad, he’s a straight shooter.”
Reluctantly, I point out, “He’s taking care of Cricket, bringing her home as promised.”
“Straight shooter,” he repeats, and I nod. “Cricket’s gonna need support on her way back from this.”
Without hesitation, I agree. “She’ll have it.”
Bringing us back to where we started, he queries, “You gonna think about what I said?”
To pacify, I tell him, “I’ll think about what you said.”
Elevent stands, taking his beer with him. “Headed back in. Need anything?”
“I’m good.”
Pausing to deliberate, he clears his throat. “Fire, Leglas. I mean it. Cricket won’t be the one to let you go. You gotta be the one who cuts her loose.”
I can’t argue his point. Cricket is loyal to a fault, her love for Gypsy be damned. She made a commitment to me, and she won’t break it without being pushed to do so.
“Got it, brother. Now, get out of here.” To push his exit, I dangle the bait. “Vante said Mia’s lost her mind, pacing a hole in the floor waiting for Cricket to get home.”
Elevent laughs, loud and long. “You think I can tame that, you’re wrong.” He shakes his head and slaps my shoulder.
I smile, the image of how Mia came to be one of us so clear. The woman tries hard to be tough, strong, and mean. A peach with bruised skin has more hope of this than she does.
“Night, El.”
“Later.”
I listen to the sliding door close, thanking fuck all my brother’s got nothing left to say.
“There you are.” At Nikolas’s voice, I turn away from the floor-to-ceiling bookcase I’d been snooping through.
