by Jessie Cooke
“Why, Garrett? What’s...?” Garrett heard the change in Beau’s voice as soon as he spotted Ivan and the others. A tremor of fear ran through it as the nine-year-old said, “Oh no.”
“Go...Inside...Now!” Garrett’s pleas once again fell on deaf ears.
“I don’t want to leave you!” Beau said, trying to sound brave, but not managing it. Garrett was going to yell at him again, but it was too late. Ivan and the other guys had already surrounded Beau and Garrett was trapped inside the batting cage. One of the boys was leaning against the door cut into the gate.
“Fuck!” Garrett pushed with all his might and the door budged slightly, even as the other boy pushed his full weight into it. Another one of the big boys came to help, and it shut tightly then. Garrett was trying not to panic. He picked up his bat and started slamming it against the fence in the direction of the two boys. He could see Beau out of the corner of his eye. Ivan stood in front of him and another boy stood right at his back. “Don’t touch him!”
Ivan smiled, reached down, and ruffled Beau’s blond hair. “Your little boyfriend is cute.”
“I swear to God, Ivan. I’ll fucking kill you.” Garrett saw the flash of metal even before he realized what Ivan had just taken out of his pocket was a gun.
“You’ll kill me?” Ivan asked, pressing the gun into the little boy’s temple. Beau had begun to cry, and Garrett was still slamming the bat against the fence. Beau was moving, trying to get away, but the other guy grabbed his arms and held onto him tightly.
“Ouch! Fucking cunt got my fingers,” one of the guys yelled as Garrett slammed the bat into the fence harder.
“Keep him in there...” Ivan warned them in a low, menacing voice. His eyes never left poor Beau’s face, though and Beau’s tear-filled eyes stared up at the big boy.
“Why, Ivan?” Garrett asked, stopping his assault on the fence momentarily. “Why don’t you want them to let me out? Is it because your dick only gets hard when you’re one on one with a little boy?” Ivan curled his lip and slid the safety off the gun. Garrett had never felt anything like the panic he was feeling at that moment. He’d screwed up by taunting the older boy. He should be kissing his ass. He was helpless to do anything else. He should be on his knees begging Ivan to let Beau go.
He looked around the park again. There were a few people around, but no one that looked at all interested in coming to help. There wasn’t even anyone close enough to see the gun. The boys wore leather vests with patches that identified them as “Demons.” It was Ivan’s own club, a spin-off of his old man’s 1% club known as Sons of Satan. Everyone knew how dangerous the Sons were and they had no desire to get involved. Garrett knew he was on his own, but he had to try. He started yelling toward the people he could see...the ones just standing there watching. “He’s got a gun! Someone help this kid! Call the fucking police at least!”
“Wow,” Ivan said, “your old man must be proud of his little pussy boy, and a rat to boot.”
“Fuck you, Ivan. My old man will skin you while you’re still breathing and then drag your skinned body behind his bike through town if you hurt that boy.” Ivan finally looked at Garrett, then he smiled and without looking down at Beau he pulled the gun back and slammed it into the side of the boy’s head. Beau screamed, and his knees buckled. The other boy held him up, keeping him from going to the ground. Beau looked dazed and he was sobbing. “Leave him alone, Ivan. It’s me you want. Let him go home. He’s just a little boy...”
“Oh, don’t worry...I’m gonna deal with you next.”
“He’s not a part of this!”
“You seem awfully worried about him, for him not being a part of anything...”
“I don’t even like him!” Garrett saw Beau wince when he said that, and it tore at his gut...but he couldn’t let Ivan kill the little boy. He hadn’t even known he cared until it was a possibility. “I don’t give a fuck about him. He’s a pain in my ass. I’m just wondering why a big, tough guy like you wants to pick on a little kid instead of taking on someone your own size. You scared of me, Ivan?”
“Fuck you! You’re nothing but a snot-nosed kid yourself.”
“A kid who kicked your ass more than once.”
“Not today,” Ivan said. He turned the gun on Garrett and Garrett screamed at Beau to run. As soon as the kid took off, Ivan turned back in his direction. Garrett screamed so loud that he barely registered the sound of the gun inside his head. Then suddenly there was nothing but dead silence until one of the other boys said,
“Fuck, man, you killed him. You fucking killed a little kid...” Everything happened in slow motion after that. He heard Ivan and the others talking, yelling at each other. Then suddenly they were running away, and Garrett was looking at the limp little body lying about ten feet away. He saw the door to the arcade open slowly; someone was peeking out. That’s when his brain woke up again and he hit the door of the cage and started running toward Beau. “Call a fucking ambulance!” he screamed...before he slid to his knees and through the mud to get to his stepbrother, he saw the pool of blood underneath the blond head. When the ambulance got there, he had to be sedated so that they could get him to loosen his grip on the little boy. That was the day he first felt the monster inside of him take root...and it would only continue to grow as he fed and nourished it over the years. And Vivian...she was broken, and she hated him, even though while his old man was still living, she tried to hide it. When Garrett was fifteen and the old man died, he was on his own with a woman who couldn’t stand to look at him. That was when he called his Pops in Vegas and the old man sent him a plane ticket to come out. The monster followed him.
He turned the car onto the road that would take him to the train station then and for a second he pictured himself just stopping it on the tracks. He looked over toward the restaurant across from the station, at the big window in front, and thought about something else that had happened. It was six years after Beau died and Garrett still felt like he was searching...for something. He remembered looking out the window of the restaurant that day and seeing the pale, skinny kid with the big hazel eyes push out the front door of the diner and start jogging across the street. Something about him reminded Garrett of Beau and he felt strangely drawn to him. His eyes were glued to the boy...until the sound of screeching tires mingled with the persistent blare of the train. Garrett nearly knocked over the table as he stood up and cried out to the boy...as if he was ever going to hear him. It was like watching Beau die for the second time, or so he thought. Somehow the boy survived, and just being near him made Garrett feel like he was being given a second chance to be the big brother Beau deserved. His letter had been the third, and like Jessie and Vivian, Garrett hoped that someday Saint would understand that he did what he had to do for his family, to rid the world of one last monster that could ultimately do them harm.
15
Two days went by without any sign of Garrett, or any word from him at all. Paige felt like she was going crazy, sitting at the cabin with one annoying biker after the other. First, she had to listen to Tyler whining about his broken teeth. She was so grateful to the quiet, moody medic for shooting him up with painkillers that she could have kissed him. But then Tyler was hauled out to a black van by a couple of guys with “Prospect” patches on their leather kuttes, and a short, stocky man with a unibrow, whom they called “Munchkin,” took Tyler’s post. That one was a talker, and she finally feigned exhaustion so that she could go to the bedroom in the hopes that he would stop talking.
She was still awake when she heard Garrett’s bike. She watched out the window as his massive form climbed off. He looked so tired as he walked up to the front of the cabin, and her heart hurt for him. She wanted to touch him again. She wanted to curl her body into his. But...he’d more or less proven that he was a typical biker. He settled his problems with sex, or violence, and she had enough violence in her dreams alone to last her a lifetime. She didn’t need a “bad boy.” Hell, she didn’t need any “boy.” Forty
-eight hours ago she was planning on killing herself. She was ready to be done with it all. And now here she was attracted to a biker with a soul wearier than her own. What did she honestly think she was going to do with that?
Paige went back to bed and lay there listening to the soothing sound of his deep voice as he conversed briefly with the small man in the living room, and when she heard his footsteps coming down the hall, she closed her eyes tightly and pretended to be asleep. She could feel him standing there, and one of the hardest things she’d ever done was pretend as if she couldn’t, as if she didn’t want him lying in the bed next to her. She had a vivid picture of herself in her head, getting out of bed and taking off the long t-shirt she was wearing as she walked over to him...but she’d stayed where she was and after a few minutes, she heard him leave and go into the bathroom. She waited until she heard him go back into the living room to open her eyes. She stared at the ceiling and fought the urge to go to him, until at last slipping into a deep sleep. When she woke up the next morning it was once again well-rested and calm. Something about Garrett’s presence continued to chase the nightmares away.
She’d been disappointed that next morning when she got up and the Munchkin guy was the only one in the house. She tolerated his incessant talking through breakfast even though he wasn’t saying anything she was the least bit interested in. He seemed to enjoy talking about himself, so she let him and didn’t interrupt. It wasn’t until they were almost finished eating and he paused to take a bite that she finally asked, “Is Garrett coming back today?” She wasn’t supposed to know what he was up to. She was just here for the protection while Ewell was out...since Garrett was her original savior, it seemed like a legitimate question.
“Doubtful,” Munchkin said as he popped the last tater tot on his plate into his mouth. He ate a lot for a little guy, but she supposed he had to fuel all that muscle somehow. “I think Saint will be up to relieve me soon. He’s a good guy, you’ll like him. He doesn’t talk much, though.” Paige almost forgot herself and told him how relieved she was to hear that. She didn’t, though, and she even controlled the smile that fought to curl her lips as she got up and began to clear the table. Munchkin didn’t help, but he did thank her for the food before stepping out into the living room and lighting a smoke. She enjoyed the quiet while she washed dishes, and she was just finishing up when she heard a knock on the door.
She dried her hands on the cup towel and pushed open the kitchen door in time to see Munchkin let a man into the cabin. He was tall and lean, but it was a hard, muscular kind of lean. The thing about him that was most striking at once was how he looked nothing like a biker. He had no visible tattoos. His face was shaved smoothly and his skin was clear and looked like it would be soft to the touch. His hair was long and pulled back into a ponytail, but it was so thick and shiny that he could have starred in a shampoo commercial. His hazel eyes were large and framed by lashes just a shade or two darker than his light brown hair...and around his neck, lying against the white t-shirt he wore underneath his kutte, was a gold cross, dangling from a thick gold chain. Paige could only assume that this was the “Saint” Munchkin had been referring to.
The two men greeted each other with fist bumps and then Saint’s eyes found Paige. “This is the lady of the hour,” Munchkin said. “Paige, this is Saint.”
“Nice to meet you,” Saint said before turning back to Munchkin and saying, “Can we talk outside?”
“Sure. Paige, it’s been real nice,” Munchkin said, picking up a small overnight bag near the door. He grabbed his gun off the table near the door and tucked it into his pants under his vest. Saint looked at her again and said:
“I’ll be right back.” She nodded and then thanked Munchkin. He was annoying...but nice enough. Besides, they were all putting themselves out to help her at Garrett’s behest, and she really did appreciate it.
“No problemo,” Munchkin replied as he followed Saint out onto the front porch and the door was closed behind them. Maybe it was boredom, and maybe she was hoping to hear something about Garrett. Either way she decided that stooping to eavesdropping was okay...as long as she didn’t get caught. She went over close to the door where she could hear the sound of their voices and then leaned in and pressed her ear to it.
“Bear should be on the train by now.” The train? Ewell lives in Vegas. Where is he going? She hated the panic welling up in her chest. Why am I so attached to this guy? Is it the old adage about someone saving your life then being responsible for it? Whatever it was, she was sure it wasn’t healthy. Yet she couldn’t move away and stop listening. “If you leave now, you’ll be there a half an hour before the train arrives in Mesa. Get a photo of the two of you in front of the sign on the platform. There’s a big clock on it too, so besides the date on your phone, you’ll have the clock behind you. You’ll get on the train with him when it leaves and when you get to Sacramento, the prospects will be waiting to pick you both up. Take another couple of pics and then they’ll drop Bear at the heliport and Randy will fly him back to the Hoover pad where I’ll pick him up.”
He’s building an alibi. Paige shivered. If he was building an alibi for today, then today must be the day. She was surprised at herself for the tickle of excitement she felt running through her. She never imagined that she’d be so incredibly happy over the loss of a life. But this was different. This pig was the reason her beautiful sister was gone, and she deserved to want to celebrate his death.
She tiptoed away from the door and went into the kitchen. When Saint came back inside, she was making coffee. “You doing okay?” he asked her as he sat down at the table and stretched his long legs out in front of him.
She nodded. “I’m good. You want some coffee?”
“Got anything to put in it?”
It was early, but whether he looked the part or not, Saint was a biker and they marched to the beat of their own clocks, lived within the confines of their own morals, and wrote their own laws. “I think I saw a bottle of vodka in the freezer.”
“That’ll work.” He reached in his pocket and took out a joint as she was doctoring his coffee with the vodka. He had it up to his lips and was about to light it when he said, “You mind if I smoke?”
She sat the coffee down in front of him and took the seat opposite. “No, it’s fine. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“You don’t look like a biker.”
He grinned and lit the joint between his lips. He took a long drag and held the smoke in his lungs for several seconds before slowly blowing it out and offering the joint to her. Paige shook her head and he said, “That’s technically not a question.”
“What made you want to be a biker?”
He let out another smoke-filled breath and took another drag before answering her. While she waited she studied his clean-cut baby face. His skin looked soft and there was no sign of a beard at all. His light brown hair was long and pulled back into a ponytail that hung down his back. It was thick and shiny...hair that Paige herself would have been proud to have. His hands were masculine, but his nails were clean and short and almost looked like he’d had a manicure. “My old man,” he finally said.
“Your dad was a biker?”
He chuckled. “No, ma’am. Daddy’s a Baptist minister, fire and brimstone like nothing you ever seen.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that. They were both silent for a while and then Saint said:
“I suppose I’m the old cliché...the preacher’s kid gone bad. The old man always thought I’d follow in his footsteps and take over the church someday, and I almost did. But then I met Bear.”
“Garrett got you into the club?”
He smiled and his hazel eyes looked like they were focused on a memory projected on the wall over her head. “Bear taught me how to ride, and introduced me to the club. I joined because I felt like it was where I belonged. These guys don’t live a life that most people approve of...but the difference between them, us, and
people like my father is that they don’t judge. They don’t care if you get up every morning and hit your knees and say a prayer to start your day, or if you’re...excuse my bluntness...waking up with your dick in some club girl’s mouth. They love you either way, unconditionally, and they always have your back.”
Paige had always wondered what the draw was. Tyler had soured her on the whole MC thing and in her head, they were all wild animals, untamable and unable to integrate into regular society. But from the minute Garrett pulled her off that wall, she’d had a feeling he was so different from what she’d imagined. “So how long have you known Garrett?”
“I met Bear when he was eighteen and I was fourteen.” He used the lighter to light the end of the joint again and took another drag. He held the smoke again, this time with his eyes closed. When he opened them and let out the smoke he said, “I was starting to get restless. I knew I didn’t belong in my old man’s church, but I didn’t know where I did belong. I got up one morning, packed a backpack, and used what little bit of money I had to buy a train ticket. With what cash I had, I could make it as far as California. I had no idea what I would do when I got there, but I was just itching to get away. I was at the station, waiting for my train, when I saw the group of bikers ride up and go into the Denny’s across the street. Their Harleys fascinated me and the hot girls on the backs of their bikes were even more thrilling to a fourteen-year-old boy that had never touched a girl.
“I had over an hour to kill, so I walked over and took a seat at the counter and got a soda. I sat there and listened to them laugh and talk. My whole life I’d felt suffocated by things that were forced on me, and they just seemed so free. They said what they wanted, flirted with the waitress, touched the girls they were with. This one guy, he practically took up one whole side of the booth by himself. His shoulders were freaking massive. I was this skinny, pale kid and I would have cut off one of my arms for the chance that the other one would ever look like his. I watched them as long as I could until I had to get back across the street to my train. I waited too long, and I could hear the train coming when I ran out of the diner. I ran across the tracks as the arms started to come down and there was this car...”
