Honor and Redemption

by A. C. Bextor

  Vante contemplates, the vein at his temple about to burst. He’s frustrated. I get what’s on his mind, I do. However, maybe for the first time in my life, I’ve come to realize the value of patience.

  “Now isn’t the time,” I warn. “We wait.”

  Forty minutes ago, Vante and I pulled up, parking our bikes on the opposite side of the street to the Rainier estate. We weren’t looking for much, only canvasing to keep myself busy.

  I want to give credence to Abram’s advice. I wanted to keep gathering information, verify Varo Babak is in fact the piece of shit he hides beneath his polished exterior, then decide how best to proceed.

  But, I’m not known for making rash decisions.

  Seconds before telling Vante we needed to head back to the club before we were missed, a black sedan pulled up. Five minutes later, Varo stepped out of the house, wearing a dark suit, a rigid posture, and a thunderous expression. As he stormed toward the car, a black briefcase had been dangling from his hand. Once he threw the car door open and folded himself inside, the driver wasted no time in speeding off into the dark of night.

  So far, all we know is that Varo comes and goes at random. So this, per all the intel Abram had gathered and shared, wasn’t out of the norm.

  But, what transpired next, sure as fuck was.

  A few minutes slipped by, Vante and I paying careful attention to the mansion’s front door. We figured at this hour, Letta, Belle, and the kid were probably still inside.

  That was when Vante’s patience had come to its end.

  Just as he started to dismount from his bike, Letta opened the door. Looking right and left, as if nervous to leave, she missed our location directly across from where she stood.

  Sensing her coast was clear, she took a small timid step onto the brightly lit porch. Behind her was the little girl clutching Letta’s hand, her movements the same.

  Small. Slow. Careful.

  Another car drove up to the curb. Letta walked down the path, pulling the little girl along with her. The young girl’s hair had been flying in the night breeze. Letta spoke to the driver. Then, looking around, she stuffed the little one into the back seat.

  We heard the cries and whimpers of the young girl from where we sat. Still, I made the call not to approach.

  The house has been quiet ever since.

  “I’m not waitin’ anymore,” Vante decides, stepping off his bike, removing his cut and laying it across the seat. “You wanna sit here and do nothing, that’s on you. But you saw what I did. Somethin’s up.”

  “Stand down,” I order. “We don’t have enough to tell us anything.”

  “Enough?” he spits, raising his voice and pointing to the house.

  “Do you have any fuckin’ clue what the word casing means?”

  “I don’t give a shit, Leglas. Not when we can do something.”

  Looking on as he fights with himself, we watch as one at a time, the lights in the house go out, starting at the bottom floor.

  Settling, he demands, “Why the fuck did you bring me out here if we weren’t doing anything?”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “My plan?” he questions back, staring over at me in the dark.

  “What do you expect to happen, Vante?” I clip, my tone harsh. “You’re gonna do what? Storm in? Demand they leave? And then what?”

  “Find out what the fuck,” he fires back. “That’s plan enough for me.”

  Jesus Christ.

  Not once before bringing him in on this did it occur to me that he, too, was a hothead. Vante’s never given any indication that, like me, he was a cannon ready to fire.

  Inhaling a calming breath, I try to reason. “Let’s say you do that, and let’s say neither of them wanna go, they fight you on it. Are you plannin’ on takin’ the role of bitch or gangster in prison?”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Can’t steal an unwilling woman in the middle of the night, asshole.”

  Vante exhales. “Fuck, this is shit.”

  Tearing my gaze from his, I look ahead and order, “Sit down.”

  Vante growls, balling his hands into fists, but does as I’ve told him.

  We sit in silence, looking around the large white house. The manicured front lawn, trimmed with flowers and bushes of all kinds. The brick sidewalk, rounding in places, but leading to the oversized double doors. The lights, the balconies, the fucking cameras, to finally, the wrought iron fence caging all who may not want to be there inside.

  “I hate this,” he tells me, still giving way to his frustration.

  My focus moves to the top right window where my breathing stops. Long, heavy curtains shift before a woman’s body stands holding them at her sides. The figure may only be a silhouette, but one I’d know from anywhere.

  Belle.

  “We aren’t gonna be missed,” Vante notes, his gaze following mine. “She’s seen me. Think she knows I’m here?”

  “No doubt,” I return. “She also knows I am.”

  “How you figure?” he queries, curious. “You haven’t seen her in how long?”

  Eleven years. My hair is longer, my body bigger. I’ve got more tattoos and gained a fiercer disposition, but if I recognize her, no doubt she knows I’m here, just outside her front door.

  We gotta go.

  “Let’s move,” I direct, grabbing my helmet from behind me.

  Vante follows, doing the same while stating, “Known you a long time, Leglas. Never would’ve guessed you thought with the head on top of your shoulders.”

  “She’s not ready,” I relay.

  If Belle does in fact know I’m here, and she thought it was safe to approach, she would. Without a doubt.

  “We got what we needed,” I tell him next. “And if waitin’ to make the move is best, that’s what we’re gonna do.”

  “I’m with you,” he clips, straddling his bike and kicking the stand. “But you better be right.”

  I know I am.

  “Let’s ride.”

  “I’m worried about Gypsy,” Mia notes. “He’s still not over what happened, and it’s not as if Texas is one state over. Texas is a long ride out.”

  “You’re worried about him driving?” Sunny argues, her tone incredulous. “I still haven’t wrapped my head around them leaving for good. This is their home.”

  “This is still our home,” I put in, yet again. “We aren’t leaving forever.”

  With the going away party happening all around us, the girls and I, as well as little Ziah, are standing at the front of the room near the door. The guys are at the bar, slapping backs, toasting to memories, and getting drunker by the shot.

  Except, of course, Gypsy, who’s been watching my every move. I know he’s worried I’ll backtrack, and take away my decision to go.

  Aiming to bring my point home, I tell my friends, “Gypsy said we’ll be back on holidays. He said Elevent and Sty have already agreed for you guys to visit whenever you want.”

  “I’ll visit in the winter,” Sunny utters with petulance, still upset with our decision to leave Saint’s. “I could go for some warm weather, I guess.”

  “See?” I cheer on. “And it’s not like we won’t talk every day.”

  Still not convinced, Sunny rolls her eyes. “Text and video chatting aren’t the same, but sure. It’s whatever.”

  Part of mine and Gypsy’s agreement is that in the beginning, we’ll stay with Mom and Pop. Gypsy will look for work, as will I. With the cut he’s saved from the club, we have enough to put down for a house. But in the beginning, Gypsy doesn’t want me spending any time alone. Either because he knows I’ll be homesick, which means I’ll be unhappy, or I’ll be bored, and as he puts it, I’ll get up to no good.

  “Maybe I can come visit, too,” Ziah pipes in. “Mom and Pop said I could, right?”

  “You’re welcome with us anytime,” I tell Ziah as his expression eases.

  Mia hasn’t said a word. She stands at our side, worrying her bottom lip. When her
lost gaze shifts to Sunny, I stop talking. Ziah, at her side, takes the same notice, and his stare bounces between the two women.

  “What?” I prod, and her face pales. “Mia, what’s happening?”

  Tears swell in her big, beautiful brown eyes. Sunny and I share a concerned glance.

  Sunny, running her hand up Mia’s arm, prompts, “Honey?”

  “I don’t think I can…” Mia starts, but trails away. She looks to the floor and takes in a breath. When she glances up, the depths of her contemplation is determined. “I don’t think Elevent is going to let me travel too far away from him for a while.”

  “He’ll let you go with me,” Ziah encourages.

  Mia shakes her head, fidgeting as I’ve known her to do. Moving a piece of hair behind her ear, avoiding our attention, she shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sunny stresses.

  Mia stands straight, drops her arms, and rests her hands on Ziah’s shoulders. He looks up, clearly more confused when she says, “You know how Elevent is anyway, but soon he’ll…”

  “What?” I prod. “Everything’s okay now. Seveena is gone. My dad is dead.”

  Mia shakes her head and closes her eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Oh my God,” Sunny breathes, smiling happily.

  “Sunny?” I press. “Clue me in?”

  Sunny ignores my insistence and gets out a rushed, “When?”

  What’s happening?

  Of course, I’m lost. With all that’s going on, my head is full of all I still need to get done before tomorrow.

  “What are you chickens goin’ on about now?” Ziah exacerbates, folding his skinny arms over his small chest.

  “You’re going to…” Still smiling, Sunny grabs Mia’s hand. “Does Elevent know?”

  “You’re pregnant,” I realize at the same time I say it aloud. “You’re having his baby.”

  Ziah’s body tenses at my side, and he takes two large steps back the huddle. His eyes are wide pools of shock, no traces of humor or excitement are found in them whatsoever.

  He breathes deeply before screeching, “You’re what?”

  Mia’s head turns and her gaze hits his. Lifting her hand, she rests the palm of her hand on his head and rubs over it with gentle care.

  Calmly, she informs, “I just found out.”

  “My Mama Mia is gonna have a baby?” Ziah accuses, his voice rising higher with each word.

  “Elevent doesn’t know, so keep this our secret until I find the right time to tell him.”

  Tears spring to my eyes.

  Elevent, the best brother I’ve ever had, is going to be a daddy. Images of him holding, cradling, and loving a little girl takes my breath away. Visions of him showering a little boy with guy toys such as fishing rods, pocket knives, and club clothes forces a reflective smile.

  “This is shit,” Ziah pouts.

  Uh Oh.

  The youngest member of our tribe is having none of this.

  Sunny’s brows furrow in annoyance. Mia’s lips get tight.

  I say nothing. I can’t. I’m so happy. If I were to open my mouth, I’d risk screaming my congratulations to the room.

  A little baby. A new addition to Saint’s Justice. Amazing!

  “Ziah,” Mia calls. “I thought you’d be happy to hear you’re having a little brother or sister.”

  “No way!” he cries out, throwing his hand over his eyes. “Pyke told me how you girls have those babies.”

  And there it is.

  “And he also told me why you have them,” Ziah expresses.

  Oh, shit.

  Pyke, the loving old man who was a father to us all, must have, in fact, explained. And judging by the look on Ziah’s face, he didn’t leave out the important details.

  Crap.

  “Um…” Mia starts on a murmur. “Ziah, maybe you should talk to Elevent about what you think you know.”

  “Talk to Elevent?” Ziah tersely throws back. “Woman, you can’t be serious.”

  For the life of me, other than when Pyke was killed, I can’t recall him ever using that tone with anyone, especially Mia. He loves her.

  “I can’t look at Elevent right now!” he blasts back. “You and him…” Ziah stops and turns in a circle, much the same way Elevent tends to do when he’s exasperated. He looks up at Mia with resolution. “So, when is this bun gonna be out of the oven?”

  Sunny and I giggle, Mia rolls her eyes, and Ziah’s face remains serious, clearly expecting an answer.

  “How about you give me time to tell Elevent and we’ll go from there?” Mia questions.

  Strong arms wrap around my waist, and a chaste kiss touches my neck. “Tell Elevent what?”

  Sunny, Mia, and Ziah look on to a clueless Gypsy at my back.

  “Nothing!” I claim quickly. “Girl talk.”

  “Lies,” Gypsy smarts. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Mia’s got one in the oven,” Ziah blurts.

  “Ziah!” Mia punishes.

  Our huddle giggles at Mia’s frustration. Fool on her for trying to keep something in this place a secret.

  “No shit?” Gypsy returns, a sweet smile to his voice.

  “No shit,” Ziah gives back, some animosity returning. “And he doesn’t know yet.”

  “My guess is that he does know somethin’ about it, Z. He was there at conception,” Gypsy explains, and I curl my lip.

  Ziah holds his hands out, his dark eyes dropping to the floor as he shakes his head. “Stop that. And don’t say conception. I live in that house with them. I don’t wanna know—”

  Gypsy’s laugh cuts Ziah off. My body moves with the force of his chest going up and down.

  A round of cheers comes from the other end of the room, taking our focus from our group. Leglas stands alone at the bar, his elbow propping him up as his gaze comes to Gypsy and I.

  I haven’t spoken to him about leaving, fearing if I did, he’d be the one who’d make me stay just by asking. I also hadn’t spoken to him because he’s been busy, his mind full.

  “Go to him,” Gypsy clips directly in my ear, noticing Leglas too.

  Turning my head, I look up. On the surface, Gypsy’s eyes are quiet, agreeable. In their depths, though, his mind is turning.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I confess.

  “Honey,” Sunny calls. “You’ll figure it out. But Gypsy’s right. You should talk to him.”

  “You got ten minutes,” Gypsy adds. “That’s it.”

  Swallowing hard, but deciding my friends are right, I turn back in search of Leglas.

  But all that’s left is an empty bottle of beer in place of where he stood.

  As I round the stairs of the clubhouse, Leglas is sitting alone in the game room. His legs are stretched out in front of him as his ass rests in a beat-up black leather chair that sits off in the corner. He’s no longer wearing his cut, and instead, an old and faded black T-shirt. One hand grasps a new bottle of beer, sitting comfortably on top of his thigh. The other hangs from the arm of the chair.

  When the door clicks closed behind me, Leglas turns his head. His expression remains blank, not giving way to his mood. I swallow the lump in my throat. Ignoring the sting in my eyes, I wait patiently.

  Leglas tips his head to the side, so I move in closer and prompt a quiet, “Hey.”

  At my voice, he winces.

  “Thought you’d still be out there enjoying your goin’ away with the others,” he guesses, his voice raspy, its tone gruff.

  A piece of my heart breaks. The rough composure he’s always held has shifted. I don’t know what’s happening, but Leglas looks sad.

  “I thought the same of you,” I return. “El’s probably wondering why you left in such a hurry.”

  “Not feelin’ much like a party,” he returns solemnly. “Not feelin’ much of anything.”

  I’m not feeling much of a party, either.

  I’m l
eaving in the morning. Everything I’ve ever owned from this life has been packed up in a trailer to come with me to my next.

  Leglas turns his eyes from mine and downs a pull from the bottle. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and directs, “Come here, Cricket. Need to say goodbye now so I can get the fuck outta here.”

  My heart trips and my stomach turns. This really is what he says it is—our goodbye.

  A part of me rationalizes that we’ll see each other again. Gypsy and I will come back to visit, and who knows? Maybe Leglas will come to Pop’s for a stay.

  But, no matter what the future sees, Leglas and I will never be what we once were to each other.

  My chest aches.

  A small part inside nags with fear. The part deep down where I know Leglas, being as volatile as he can be, may not be here when I come for my next visit. And it won’t be my business to know where he’s gone.

  Walking to him in slow, cautious steps, I fight back the burst of tears aching to be freed. Leglas hates tears, and this is the first chance I’ve had to be alone with him since his choice to let me go was made clear. It was the right decision, I know this, but right or not, the unsettled thoughts between us are palpable.

  Setting the bottle to the floor at his feet, Leglas invites my approach. Grabbing my hand, he pulls my body into his, adjusting me into his lap as he’s done so many times before.

  His hair is down, and I use my fingers to run through the thick, heavy strands. How strange it seems that doing this once brought his eyes to shut. Now, he’s staring into mine with not only question, but anxiousness, and some frustration.

  I hadn’t expected to feel this much sadness in letting him go for good.

  “You’ll be a good girl for him,” Leglas whispers roughly, resting his hand on the back of my neck. “You’ll do what you’re told and you’ll stay out of trouble.”

  Shrugging, I’m honest as I reply, “I’ll try.”

  Leglas smiles, but it’s small, reflective. “If I’ve taught that asshole anything, he’ll give you no choice but to be a good girl.”

  Thinking he’s right, I admit, “Probably.”

  Grabbing his hand that sits on my knee, I flip it over and run my fingertip from the top of his middle finger to his wrist.