Cole

by Trent Jordan

  It was yet another reminder that just because I wanted life to go a certain way did not mean that it would. I would never forget Cole, but I would never get to be with him as I would have liked. I just needed time, and time was something that I never could get.

  I stood at the outside of the train station and watched until he not only disappeared from view, but the sound of his motorcycle’s engine vanished from my ears. Once Cole could no longer reach ne, I trudged through the train station, looking for platform six. It was easy enough to find, but I still had an hour to kill before the train took off.

  But right now, all of the benches were taken. I guess everyone else was eager to get out of town on a Thursday evening as well. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one looking to start a new life somewhere.

  I had to imagine, though, I was the only one starting a new life not only against the wishes of my father, but against his physical restraint as well.

  I had in my hands the printed paper with my train ticket. It was, strangely enough, the only physical possession I had that would remind me of Cole. Meanwhile, practically everything else had come from my father. Would I keep all of these things?

  The immediate reaction was hell no. But there was a second reaction that said I couldn’t just forget everything my father had done for me. It wasn’t like I woke up every day to a father calling me a shitty person and berating me for being a terrible woman. His sin wasn’t in making me feel terrible, but in never allowing me to have the agency to feel anything.

  But I had to lead my own life at some point.

  I walked closer to the platform and looked around. Most of the people here didn’t have the clothes I had; most of the people here didn’t have the jewelry that I had on. Most of the people here took the train because they had no choice; I had taken the train because I had lost the ability to have a choice, no longer having access to my father’s money but perhaps gaining something more valuable. I was leaving behind a life of privilege, but a life of privilege that came with so many strings attached I couldn’t even move my finger, let alone an entire arm.

  At least I’d finally have freedom.

  I looked over to see one guy walking toward me with a black jacket on. It looked vaguely like the Fallen Saints jacket, but I reminded myself that lots of black jackets could look like the Fallen Saints from a distance. And in any case, it didn’t look like anyone I had ever seen at the house.

  I turned my mind, instead, to what kind of work I could get when I got to Albuquerque. Bussing tables, maybe. Bartending, perhaps?

  “You know, we wondered when you’d show your face.”

  I looked to see the man standing to my right. Only now, with him as close as he was, could I see that he was, indeed, a Fallen Saint.

  I’d never seen this man before; he had a dark mustache, curly hair, and menacing brown eyes that looked like they wanted to burrow into my body. If the intent of my father was to get as many evil, dark men in the club as possible, he was succeeding.

  I decided to play dumb.

  “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “That’s not important,” he said, lighting up a cigarette. “What is important is who you are. You are Lilly Sartor. You are the daughter of our leader. You have been missing for some time.”

  “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong—”

  “I can do this the easy way or I can do this the hard way. It’s up to you.”

  I thought about what Cole and his brother had said—how my father would have his sense of self-preservation overtaken by madness to find me. How I had been discovered here... it couldn’t have been Cole’s fault, but someone, somehow, had to have sold me out. Someone had to have figured it out.

  Someone had to have had connections I couldn’t even begin to imagine.

  “Care to explain what the hard way is?”

  The man shrugged, putting his hand by his hip and brushing his jacket aside.

  “Think this might give you a hint?”

  It was a gun.

  “You can’t possibly be serious,” I said, trying to laugh but instead just sounding terrified. “You’d shoot me to get me back to my father? I don’t think he’d like it if you laid a finger on me.”

  “Oh, not at all,” the man said. “In fact, I was told in no uncertain terms that if I laid a finger on you, I would be decapitated. And trust me, I like life. It’s got a lot of pussy and bikes. I’m in no rush to give it up.”

  “So you’re bluffing.”

  The man took a puff of his cigarette and coldly looked at me.

  “It’s not you I’d shoot.”

  I looked around. All innocent people. All of them just wanting to get on a train, head down to New Mexico for who knew how long, all just looking for a quiet, peaceful weekend.

  And if I made the wrong choice, any one of them would be killed.

  “You’d be dead,” I said. “There are many cops in the area. They’ll find you with ease. And you’ll go to jail for the rest of your life.”

  “You say that as if your father has never had to work with some of us on the other side,” the man said. It was chilling how simply he spoke about things that should have been heavy. “Sure, I might go to prison. Sure, I might spend some time behind bars. But, sure, I’d know that your father would take good care of me.”

  I bit my lip, trying to decide what to do. I knew my life wasn’t in danger. But was this man, this sociopath, so willing to go to jail that he’d shoot an innocent bystander just to make a point to me? If he really loved “pussy and bikes” as he so claimed, why would he be willing to go to jail?

  I looked at the train. I still had what seemed like another forty minutes to go. Perhaps if I could stall long enough, the man would eventually grow tired and move on.

  “And why do you do this for my father?” I said.

  “Because he takes care of me and I take care of him.”

  “What’s your name?”

  The man took a puff of his cigarette.

  “Not important.”

  “How did you find me?”

  The man took another puff.

  “Not important.”

  So that’s how it’s going to be.

  And then the train opened its doors. Obviously, it wasn’t leaving yet, but it presented an opportunity to call the man’s bluff.

  “Well, Mr. Not Important, it has not been a pleasure,” I said, rising from my seat.

  I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety being clicked off.

  “You really want to test a man with no soul?”

  Chilling did not describe how those words made me feel. This wasn’t just dark; this was madness. This wasn’t a lack of fear of consequences; this was a complete disregard for consequence, truly not giving a fuck, not giving anything.

  “You’re insane.”

  A buzzing sound came. The man pulled out his phone, looked down, and smiled. Then he looked up to me.

  “Oh, absolutely,” he said. “You’re welcome to get on that train, by the way. But you’ll have company if you do.”

  “What the hell…”

  And that’s when I realized that the man hadn’t approached me as soon as he’d seen me. He’d probably seen me somewhere, notified my father, told him what platform and train I was on, and then come and held my attention while my father headed over.

  “You all are sick fucks,” I said.

  “Yep,” he said. “That’s why we’re Fallen Saints.”

  And that was when, over the sociopath’s shoulder, I saw my father, in his dark red cut, approaching with three other bikers.

  I was caught.

  There was no point in even running. I backed off from the train.

  My father stood in front of me, taking off his sunglasses, shaking his head.

  “Lilly, Lilly, Lilly,” he said. “It’s time to come home. You are in deep trouble.”

  I went with my father without resistance.

  There was no point in fighting. If I didn’t believe that m
y father would use excessive violence to get me back, I needed to only recall the argument between Cole and Lane and how both had agreed that he would do whatever it took. A lone rogue biker shooting up the train station was someone easily taken down; a man who had lost all sense of perspective and value, accompanied by at least four of his allies, if not more in the shadows, was someone who could create a massive hostage situation full of loss of life.

  I was willing to gamble, but unlike my father, I was not willing to gamble with innocent lives.

  There was a black van waiting for us. My father ordered me to get into the back of the vehicle, which looked more like a van that transported SWAT police or prisoners than it did everyday citizens. As I sat there, I readied myself to be alone.

  But instead, to my surprise, after a couple of minutes, my father joined me in the back, sitting across from me. He smiled at me, folded his hands, and leaned forward. I refused eye contact at first.

  “Why did you run away?”

  I didn’t answer. My father patiently waited for me to say something before he eventually stood up, gave a long sigh, and chuckled.

  “Look, you think that you’re carrying some great secret, but I already know everything,” he said. “You can play dumb and then I can punish you later, or you can talk to me, your father, and we can have the kind of relationship we should.”

  I bit my lip. Until he called out what that “great secret” was, I felt he was just bluffing.

  But I also knew better than to underestimate my father.

  “I will ask this again, Lilly,” he said. “Why did you run away?”

  “Because it was the only way to have my own life,” I finally said, though I still did not look him in the eye. “You have all but trapped me in your house. I’m in my twenties, but I feel like I know less about being on my own than a thirteen-year-old who has gone to summer camp. Just once, I’d like to know what it’s like to be free.”

  “Understandable,” he said, but that just seemed like he was saying it because it sounded right, not because he meant it. “Have I ever told you what my father was like?”

  I shrugged.

  “You said he’d served in World War II,” I said. “You said that he also served in the Korean War. Said he was a real hardass.”

  “The meanest, toughest motherfucker I ever knew,” he said. “Forgive my language. Grandpa Rusty was no one to cross. You think I’m bad, but he hit me, he punched me, he slapped me, he kicked me. He did everything he could to toughen me up. Said that every time I cried, I was letting myself be a fucking pussy. Said that in this world, people would do whatever they could to fuck you up. In war, he said, the more rules you set for yourself, the more you restrain yourself. Said the only real way to win a battle is to give yourself complete liberty to do whatever the fuck it took.”

  He sighed. He said those words almost with admiration, as if Grandpa Rusty was a man to be respected, not loathed or pitied.

  “He kept me on the tightest fucking leash I have ever felt. Didn’t so much suggest I join the military as he did demand it. When I finished school, there was no question of college. It was ‘go kill some assholes.’ So I did. And I fucking loved it.”

  Big surprise there.

  “But I also vowed that if I had a daughter, I would make sure she never, ever had to face the sort of shit my father and I did,” he said. “A son? Sure, go fucking fight. But a daughter? You? No. You were not going to suffer—”

  “You say that like I couldn’t handle this, Dad,” I said. “And it’s not like ‘suffering’ is bad. I’m not going to starve. I’m not going to war. I might lose a job or go through a breakup, but I can handle that suffering.”

  My father just groaned as if I was too stupid to understand it.

  “I gave you a life that I never had,” he said. “And you chose to reject it. No, even worse. You chose to run away from it. And why? So you could indulge in some... alcohol? Some day drinking? With the fucking Reapers?”

  I tried my best to not make it obvious I knew what he was talking about, but his persistence was wearing down what little façade I had left.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Lilly, one of the perks of being your father is I know you very well. And I know when you’re lying.”

  I didn’t say anything. My father snickered.

  “OK, fine. Let me spell it out for you. A week ago. Tom’s Billiards in Ashton. We were able to locate your phone there. I sent two of my men down. You hid, likely in the women’s bathroom. The only reason we didn’t finish the job was because you made nice with two of the fucking Reapers. The enemy! You’re lucky I’m your father. Rusty would have beaten you for such a betrayal. If you were lucky.”

  I didn’t care about my grandfather. He’d died when I was so young, I could only remember him in the most abstract sense. I didn’t have any specific memories of him. He was just there, and really, my father had almost never spoken about him before this conversation. I just imagined he didn’t want to remember some of the harsher moments of him.

  Maybe madness was pushing him to recall, to revere, his old man.

  “So let me ask you this, now, since I know why you ran away,” he said. “Where did you hide the last, oh, ten days, give or take?”

  Now that was a question I absolutely, unequivocally, could not answer. Not if I wanted the towns of Springsville and Ashton to still exist by the end of the weekend.

  “I bounced around from place to place—”

  “Bullshit!” my father snapped with unbridled fury. “Do not fucking lie to me, Lilly! I have a pretty damn good idea of where you were. You’re already in deep trouble when you get home, don’t fucking make it worse for yourself!”

  And then, like someone had literally thrown a switch on him, he smiled, chuckled, and put his hands on his knees, looking quite at ease.

  “Now, where did you stay? The more you tell me the truth, the less trouble you’ll be in.”

  I shook my head. I laid down across the platform I was sitting on, staring straight at the roof of the van, and put my arm over my eyes.

  “Such a child, trying to ignore me like this,” he said. “Perhaps you were staying with Cole Carter?”

  Oh, fuck.

  I swallowed. I prayed he didn’t notice the tension in my body. My father never had truly paid attention to me, but now, I was under a microscope.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said. “I just bounced around from place to place.”

  My father sighed.

  And then something strange happened.

  He didn’t say a word.

  For the duration of the entire ride, in fact, all the way back to my house, he did not say a single word. I wondered if this was some sort of mind game to get me to talk, but there was never a moment where he pushed the issue. It was almost eerie how quiet he became.

  Finally, we got back to the house, along with a few other bikers. He gathered them all around, with me still in the van.

  “My daughter has decided that she would prefer to try and protect the lives of the Reapers who kidnapped her than to tell her father the truth,” he growled. “Whatever sort of shit they pulled to make her this way, we cannot forgive. It is time to remove any rules, any fear that we have, and strike them at their homes. And we will begin with the residence of Cole Carter.”

  What? No!

  “He lives in Ashton at the Fairway Apartment Complex. Apartment 312.”

  “Dad!”

  “Oh, so now you want to talk?” he said with a snicker, which led many of the other bikers to laugh. “We will kill Cole first. And then we will kill Lane and that fucking deputy DA girlfriend of his. And then we will move down the line, wiping out these assholes where they sleep. This will be the end of the Reapers!”

  The crowd cheered. Tears formed in my eyes. All of this, just because I’d tried to just have some freedom.

  And now, Cole would die.

  Cole

  My phone rang. Standing ove
r my clothes drawer, I headed to my bed and looked down. “Lane Carter.” I tapped decline.

  I returned to my clothes, grabbing two pairs of jeans, three white t-shirts, and some socks and boxers, stuffing them into a bag. Again, my phone rang. Again, it was Lane. This time, I silenced it but just let it go to voicemail.

  I went to the bathroom, grabbed some deodorant, my razor, some shaving cream, and some clippers. I got a buzz that alerted me I had one new voicemail.

  “Goddamnit, Lane,” I muttered under my breath.

  At first, I just continued putting supplies and necessities into my bag, but I knew curiosity would win out at some point. I walked over to my phone and saw I had close to a thirty-second voicemail. I bit my lip, fully anticipating a verbal onslaught from Lane.

  “Hey brother, we’re having the meeting now. We’re all wondering where you are. We hope you’re OK; let us—”

  I deleted the voicemail. I did not have to hear anything more.

  For what was anyone going to say that was going to change my mind? I didn’t belong with the Reapers. I never had. Fuck, I had never belonged with anyone or anything other than myself.

  Let’s see. Family? My mother had died giving birth to me. My father always seemed to favor Lane, even if he had repudiated that notion on his death bed. My brother had excommunicated me, and for some reason now... maybe he had changed, but that didn’t erase over two and a half decades worth of older brother dickishness.

  My club? Well, I had always been the doer for the Black Reapers back when my father was alive, but never a man of great importance. Now, the Black Reapers were consuming the Gray Reapers. Once more, the Black Reapers were becoming the sole, dominant Reaper club.

  I said none of this with malice or bitterness in my heart. By this point, I had accepted it all as straightforward fact. Perhaps it qualified as depression and brooding the night before, but now, I had a plan.

  First, I was going to change my phone and my number. I had done so a year and a half ago, but I had allowed myself to resurface when I wanted to. That was a mistake, but changing my contact information had not been.

  Second, I was leaving Southern California. Just like Lilly had to leave to escape her father’s overbearing presence, I had to leave my brother’s and father’s shadow. They were certainly no Lucius, but their outsized impact on my daily life was all the same.