by Avelyn Paige
My breath hitches as I stare at the letter in my hands. How is this even possible? It’s been a year. Clutching the crumpled letter to my chest, I reach down to retrieve Roxie and her car seat before sliding my keys into the lock and stepping inside the house. I walk over to the kitchen island still covered in the boy’s breakfast plates and gingerly lay the letter down in a clean spot. Roxie begins to fuss, so I set her down and unbuckle the straps. Lifting her from the seat, I cradle her in my arms and walk over to the love seat. It takes just a few minutes before she’s asleep for her mid-morning nap. The entire time I was rocking her I stared at the letter from a ghost and half expected it to just vanish.
Gradually, I rise and place Roxie into the second bassinet I keep in the dining room so I can work while she naps. She coos and cuddles into the soft blanket I swaddle around her before her breathing becomes steady and even again. If she sticks to her schedule, I have just forty-five minutes before she’ll be ready to play and eat again. Forty-five minutes to decide if I even want to open the letter or just burn it because I honestly don’t know if I’m ready to read what it might contain. What if Brent had some post-death confession about an affair, or this is his version of a fucked up Hollywood romance movie?
The fact that there is a letter isn’t why I am hesitating—Brent used to write me letters all the time while we were dating. He was always very old-fashioned and truly tried to romance me as often as he could when he was home. It was his way of letting me know how much he loved me and to give me memories that could never fade away. I saved every single letter, and in the last year, I have read each and every one of those letters a million times; they’ve even begun to fray at the edges. Other than my children, those letters are the only thing I have left of him that can continue to preserve his memory. I’m not sure if I can physically sustain another blow to my already shattered heart.
You can do this, Darcy. It’s far easier to rip the Band-Aid off now than to let it burn a hole in your heart from fear and speculation.
Walking over to the dirty counter, I pick up the letter once more and just stare at my husband’s scribbled writing for what seems like a millennium. So many mixed emotions barrel into my mind all at once to the point I feel like that little girl in that new Disney movie. Fear, disgust, joy, sadness, and anger flourish as my fingers begin to tremble when I flip the letter over. The envelope is sealed with a smiley face sticker that I know came from one of the boys’ coloring books because there are a thousand sheets of them in my desk. The sudden realization that Brent wrote this letter in our home nearly stops my heart. How long ago was this written?
I bring the back of the envelope to my lips, inhaling his cologne scented on the old paper. Laying a chaste kiss at its seal, I pull the letter away from my face and walk toward the junk drawer in the kitchen that houses the letter opener. It’s all I can do to contain myself from ripping it apart, but deep down, I know that I may need to turn this over to the police or even some of the men that I have been considering contacting that remain outside of the law.
Slipping the sharp edge of the letter opener underneath the seal, I slice open the envelope. I pull out a thrice-folded piece of paper before quietly slipping outside onto the covered porch to read it. I settle into the rocking chair that Brent made for me, unfolding the paper gingerly while smoothing out the edges on my leg. The first two words are all that I need before the tears begin to flow.
Hi Belle,
As much as it fucking sucks to say this, if you are reading this then I am not with you anymore. You know that I wanted nothing more than to spend my days growing old next to you. Without even knowing what ended my life, you need to know that I never wanted to leave your side. You’re probably angry at the world right now, but I don’t want you to be. Our boys need their mother to be strong. Please promise me, Belle, that you won’t hide away from the world. I know you’ve thought about sending the boys to your mothers by now, but please don’t. They need for you to help them make sense of the world without me. Those two little boys are the only connection you have of me left and I want you to pull them close and shower them with love from the both of us.
This might be sappy shit, but I still remember the first day I saw you. It was like the skies had opened up and painted you in heavenly light the moment my eyes connected with yours. I remember thinking how in the fuck do I get a girl like that and when you smiled at me, I handed you my heart on a silver platter right then and there. Even if you wouldn’t have given me the time of day, I would have spent the rest of my life pining after you because with just one look and that sexy little smile of yours, I was fucked for life. I knew from that one glance that you were the only one who could teach this old man how to live again.
I know right now you think you’ll never love again, but I know you will someday. I want you to take time to heal my void and to figure out your new life, but I don’t want you fucking moping around in a moo moo eating moon pies. As much as it hurts to think of another man touching you, I need to know you’re happy. A world without your smile wouldn’t be worth living in, Belle. I want you to find someone out there that makes you happy again and when you smile for him, you’ll be smiling at me, too.
Please don’t blame the club. I dragged you into the life of a biker’s wife, but seeing you and our family interacting with my brothers is one of the happiest moments of my life. You didn’t question why I needed them and you let them into our lives like real family. It takes a special woman to love a man like me and I thank god every day that you agreed to give me a chance.
Be happy for me, Darcy, and every time you feel the sun shining on your face that’s me, covering you in my love.
I love you, Belle, and will always love you even now as I am not on this earth. Tell the boys I love them and raise them to be the men I know they are destined to be.
Brent
P.S. I hate to ask this of you but you are the only one I trust to make sure that my wishes are carried out. There’s a file of information hidden under the floorboard of our favorite spot that you need to give to Raze. There are traitors in the club’s midst and I don’t want you to get wrapped up in the problem. Promise me you won’t open it, Belle, and just let Raze handle it. I love you, my sweet southern belle. I’ll see you again someday.
Setting the letter down on my lap, my hands fly to my face to mute my sobs. Seeing his scribbled penmanship was one thing, but to discover that my suspicions were correct about his accident brings the weight of the world down upon me once more. I knew that motherfucking club was the cause of his death, but knowing that Brent walked into the pits of hell because of traitors to the club makes my blood boil and my heart break all over again.
I stew in sorrow and rage then Roxie wakes from her nap and begins to fuss. Leaving the letter behind on the seat of the chair, I briskly enter the house and hold her tightly as I sob uncontrollably and seethe with anger. I walk over to the kitchen and fix her a bottle while she continues to fuss in my arms. Roxie seems to always know when I’m upset because she fusses until I quit sobbing. Tracing my finger along her cherub face, I make a decision that could possibly change our entire lives. Once she’s finished, I change her diaper and put her in the electric swing and turn on the music. She coos and watches the mobile of giraffes and elephants swing as I walk back over to my purse, retrieving my cell phone from the front pocket.
I quickly dial a familiar number and wait—it takes two rings before her voice comes through the earpiece.
“Hey, sexy mama,” Dani says playfully. Judging by the music and noise in the background, I have a sneaking suspicion she’s at the clubhouse.
“Hey. Can you come over to watch Roxie and grab the boys from school? I hate to ask you to do this knowing you’re about ready to give birth at any time, but I had an emergency pop up that requires me to leave immediately.”
“Sure, it’s honestly not a problem. It would be kinda nice to get away from Hero’s hovering. Do you need me to stay the night?” she questi
ons.
“Yeah, that would probably be best. There’s plenty of food, diapers, and formula for Roxie, and the boys will eat just about anything you put in front of them.”
“Sure, no problem. Is everything okay? Do I need to have Raze or Hero come over?” Shit, she sounds suspicious. Play it cool, Darcy. Don’t tip her off that something is up.
“Yeah, just something I need to handle and don’t want to take the boys out of school. I really appreciate you helping me, Dani, especially knowing how much Hero hates you being away from home right now.”
Dani laughs into the receiver. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about my husband. I know how to make him see things my way.”
I laugh at her response before giving her the timeline on when I need her to come over. After quickly checking on Roxie and cleaning up the kitchen, I head to the bedroom and pack an overnight bag. It’ll only take me a few hours to get where I’m going. Unlocking Brent’s nightstand, I pull out the Glock .380 automatic hand gun he gave me shortly after we got married. It’s illegal to carry across the border, but I am not going un-armed into a foreign country alone. I’ll grease some palms or flirt if I have to, but that gun is coming with me.
I check the gun to make sure the safety is still clicked on before tucking it in the back of my jeans. I toss an extra clip into my bag just in case. Brent always worried about me being home alone, especially when trouble brewed up for the club, so he made for damn sure I was armed. Little did he know, I was a better shot than he was. My daddy raised a true southern belle that was pretty to look and deadly if crossed. Let’s just hope that this adventure won’t cause the other side of my upbringing to be necessary.
Just as I grab Brent’s letter—along with my passport—and zip up the bag, the doorbell rings, signaling that Dani has arrived. Greeting her at the door, I go over a few things before giving Roxie a quick kiss on the forehead and heading out the door. For a woman carrying twins, she doesn’t look a bit exhausted. God, I wish I had pregnancies like hers, but then again, my baby making days are over. Three is definitely enough in my book.
I know Dani will need the van to pick up the boys so I am forced to take the one car I have avoided driving since Brent died: his 1971 Dodge Challenger R/T he named Betty. He loved this car and his bike more than I think he ever loved anything in his life, besides his family, of course. Tossing my bag into the passenger seat and placing the gun under the driver’s seat, I put the keys in the ignition and let the engine roar to life. While Betty idles, I grab my phone and say the words I never thought I’d speak again.
“Siri, get me directions to Tijuana.”
The ride back to the clubhouse takes longer than expected from the Hollywood Bowl. Apparently, some jackass decided it would be a smooth move to try to drive in the carpool lane with a semi-trailer and jackknifed when the California Highway Patrol tried to pull him over. My hour trip turned into three hours because people don’t seem to realize that shit doesn’t fly in California. Fucking idiots.
Rolling into the clubhouse at nearly two AM, I notice the line of Harleys parked by the backdoor—looks like most of my brothers are here late. I guide my bike into the first spot and lower the kickstand. Before I even swing my leg over, the backdoor of the clubhouse swings wide and out steps Ratchet. His entire demeanor is filled with fluid anger. Fuck, can’t I come home to a normal night at the clubhouse? It seems like there is always someone with a bowl full of piss-covered Cheerios around here anymore. When did this MC turn into a high school with hormone-crazed teenagers looking to score some pussy and rebel against their parents?
Sliding off my bike, I remove my leathers from my legs and stow them in the saddle bags across the back of my bike. Ratchet takes a long drag off of his cigarette while staring at the sky with his eyes closed. I approach him carefully, because, much like Hero, Ratchet has his moments of instability and it’s best not to sneak up on him. He sees me and throws his cigarette to the ground, grinding the cherry out with his boot.
“Sup, Prez. You look like you’ve had a hell of a night.”
“You could say that, Ratch. Remind me to kick Hero’s ass the next time I try to help him. Fucking pop singers, man.”
Ratchet laughs as he shakes his head at me. “She the one that put her lipstick on you, or do you have a secret you need to share?”
Taking my hand, I rub it across my lips and see the bright-red stain of Michelle’s lipstick on the back of my hand. I didn’t even notice she had it on, but it would explain the smoothness of her lips.
“Nah, Ratch. My dick doesn’t touch the client, but her manager went for a ride.”
Ratchet reaches into his pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes, tipping the package to offer me one, but I wave his gesture off. Ratchet slides one from the pack and pulls it to his mouth, lighting the end before taking another long drag.
“About time you got your dick wet. Me and the boys were about to start taking bets on which one of the girls would be warming your bed,” Ratchet utters between hits of his cigarette. “I know Maj fucked you up, but we expected you to mow through the club whores once she left.”
“Let’s not talk about that bitch. What’s got you out here chain smoking? Something I need to know about?” I question Ratchet.
The mention of my ex-wife’s name sends heated anger coursing through my body. That bitch crossed the line far too many times to let her last indiscretion slide. Turning Dani in on a fake warrant to to her motherfucking rapist step-brother was one thing, but fucking my own brothers in our bed was a step too far. The decision to not only end our marriage, but her life, was the hardest one I’ve ever made. Maj planted the seeds of disloyalty into my club and our brother chapters, and I wasn’t about to let all the hard work we’d put into making this club legitimate at risk because my wife couldn’t keep her legs closed. I had dragged her out into the Mojave with intent to kill her, but I couldn’t pull the trigger and take the life of the woman who had given me my children. Twelve years of a semi-happy marriage made me weak, but the work still had to be done. I waited for hours until my back-up arrived out there in the desert. Taking the gun from my hand, my brother sent me away, and just as I reached my truck, I heard the gunshot echoing off the mountain range. While he often worked against me in club politics, he always came through when it came down to orders.
Ratchet lets a long exhale of smoke billow from his lips before discarding his second cigarette into the dust.
“It’s nothing, Prez. Just some bullshit with Ricca.”
Ever since we brought Ricca home from the Twisted Tribe compound, Ratchet has been glued to her side. While I wouldn’t be too keen on being cozy with a Tribe’s cast-off, Ratchet doesn’t seem to care. As she’s battled her demons from her time in their demented playroom, he’s been the one to bring her back to reality. If I wouldn’t have known any better, I’d have thought she was his old lady.
“Ricca, huh? What happened this time?”
“She told me today she wants to leave the clubhouse and move into an apartment out east. Something about going home to her family.”
“How’s that a bad thing? She’d be a less of a pain in our ass if she wasn’t here.”
Ratchet’s eyes flare with anger at my indifference to her declaration.
“Shit, sorry I asked, man. I know you feel responsible for her, but hell, maybe it’ll help with how fucked up her head is.”
Ratchet stands in silence and just walks away. He knows I’m right, but for the first time in a long time, I think he might actually care about someone other than himself. I just hope it doesn’t fuck up our club business because he can’t let a piece of pussy go. Ricca is an unstable liability, and she would serve us better not being in our clubhouse.
Pulling the back door open, the bass of the stereo almost smacks me in the face with the heavy sound waves reverberating from the main room. I walk past my office and throw down my bike keys on my desk before heading toward the loud commotion.
The
main room is lined with the typical man cave and pool hall shit: worn leather couches, a well-stocked bar, and a pool table that has been used far too many times as a fucking surface than I care to admit. But tonight, there seems to be a new attraction in the main room. In the center of the couches stands a bare-chested woman swinging from a newly-installed stripper pole. She jumps and wraps her legs around the pole while she slides down. My brothers hoot and holler as her tits barely brush the ground when she spins. While a nice pair of tits would usually interest me, I’ve seen Ruby’s far too many times to even care. Side-stepping the action at the center of the room, I saunter over to the bar and slide up next to Hero. Four empty bottles sit in front of him. He’s usually not a big drinker, so I know shit has hit the fan.
Slapping him on the back, I draw his attention to me.
“Thanks for the pop whore duty today. You could have warned me, you know.”
Hero’s face turns from a scowl into a smirk as he laughs and shakes his head.
“If I’d have done that, I would be the one looking like they begged for their eyes to be gouged, and not you. You’d have done it either way. The money was too fucking sweet to deny. Fifty large to watch some pretty bitch prance around a stage singing cock tease music is easy money. Have any trouble?”
“Nah, like you said, it was easy money. The little bitch tried to get me back to her hotel room, though.”
Hero wiggles his eyes at me with a knowing smile plastered on his face. “Well?”
“Fuck you, man. You know the rules. Dicks don’t touch the clients. Besides, girls with Daddy issues are too much fucking work and a lousy lay.”
Hero heartily laughs before he takes another swig of his beer. “Did you know about Ruby’s performance?” I ask Hero.
“Nah, just sort of happened. The guys were here waiting to see if you survived the job when the beer started flowing and Ruby started stripping. Not my idea of fun anymore.”
