by Dahlia West
Pop was up off his chair before the front door even closed behind her. His stride was quick and nimble even for his age as he skirted the coffee table and charged toward her.
Ava raised her chin. Not in defiance, but prepared to take the blow. Take it like a Stark. The old man had never raised his hand to her in all her life. Until now, she supposed, he’d never had a reason good enough. She closed her eyes and held her breath.
Don’t cry.
He pulled her forward, though, instead of hitting her and sending her flying. His large arms wrapped around her in a fierce hug. “Oh, I could break your legs!” he growled, squeezing her tightly. “I could just break your fucking legs so you never leave the house!”
He pushed her back, holding onto her shoulders, and studied her intently. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Did they hurt you?”
Despite her earlier admonition to herself, tears sprang up and welled in her eyes. She shook her head. “No. They didn’t. They said they would, but they didn’t. Then they said they’d hurt you. All of you. They knew where I lived, they knew all about us.” Her eyes landed on Adam, because he was the one they’d mentioned first. “But they didn’t say how.”
Shooter and Doc maintained a respectful silence as Adam’s brow wrinkled. “I guess this is my fault,” he finally said.
Pop let go of Ava and turned to face his oldest son. “You? How’s it your fault?”
Ava watched as Adam swallowed hard, the lump in his throat bobbing as he did so. Even twice as old as she was, he didn’t want to disappoint the old man.
“It started with me,” Adam replied quietly. “I couldn’t get a loan to open the shop. Not from a bank. So, I borrowed the start-up cash from Jack Prior.”
Pop rubbed his scruffy face. “Jesus Christ.”
Ava gasped. She could hardly believe that Stark Ink was funded by the Badlands Buzzards, that they were associated with that kind of filth voluntarily. “They’re drug dealers!” she protested.
Adam winced. “It wasn’t my finest hour, Ava. I was desperate. I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve always regretted it.”
Dalton cleared his throat. “I borrowed money from them, too,” he admitted. “Back when I was drinking. It’s... it’s why Adam lost his first bike. He sold it to pay my debt.” He sighed heavily as Zoey patted his thigh to comfort him. “None of us are exactly innocent in this family.”
Ava looked over the solemn faces of her family and finally to Shooter Sullivan, who stood in the corner but somehow managed to take up half the living room. “So, what’s going to happen? Where’s my bike? Where’s Hook?”
“Here,” he said, raising his hand. “It’s on again anyway.”
Ava realized he had the remote control to the television in his hand. He unmuted the news program that she hadn’t even noticed was playing. On the screen, a haggard-looking reporter stood in the middle of a street that Ava recognized. Behind her stood the warehouse where they had dismantled her bike. The building was now cordoned off with police tape and blocked by RCPD squad cars as well as several unmarked, black sedans.
“In a highly coordinated, pre-dawn raid right here in downtown Rapid City, a local motorcycle gang known as the Badlands Buzzards was surprised with no-knock warrants in multiple locations throughout the city. A joint team of Rapid City Police and federal law enforcement responsible for dozens of, as yet, unconfirmed arrests.
“Sources close to the investigation say that the DEA has been investigating the gang for over a year after the former president of the gang, Jack Prior, alias Preacher, went missing. He is presumed dead and his murder is among the list of charges that range from pandering to international drug trafficking. We’ll keep you informed here at Channel Five News as this massive story unfolds.”
Shooter muted the television again and handed Adam back the remote.
Ava stared dumbly at the brightly lit screen. “DEA?” she whispered.
Doc nodded. “They’ve been building a case for a while now. Not many people know about it since a good portion of RCPD is on the Buzzards’ payroll. The feds couldn’t afford to tip them off too early.”
Ava recalled Haze telling her that the local cops couldn’t be trusted. It seemed he had been telling the truth.
“They aren’t too happy with me,” Doc informed them. “They weren’t ready to close in. God knows what they were waiting for; every day they were out on the street was a day they fucked up this town just a little bit more. I’m not sure how taking thousands of photos while sitting with their thumbs up their asses was actually in their job description.”
“Photos?” Ava gasped.
He looked at her darkly. “They have surveillance set up all over town. At their clubhouse, at the Rainbow Motel... at the warehouse where you were. They have photos of you coming and going.”
“Oh, God!” Calla wailed.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Doc assured everyone. “She’s a kid, not a hardened criminal. They’re not inclined to lock her up. But I won’t lie,” he told Ava directly, “it’s not over and it’s not going to be easy. You’ll need to go downtown, make statements—a lot of statements—to a lot of people.
“Some of them are going to get out,” Doc told them. “Low-level guys, guys who make deals. I doubt any of them would come after you or your family. They’ll go into WitSec, new identities, new locations. You’ll never see them again.”
Ava’s lower lip quivered at the mention of Witness Protection. “Are we safe, though?”
Doc frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know this DA, but I’ll lean on him. Hard. Answer their questions, cooperate when and where you can, but you’re not going to testify. I’ll get it worked out.”
Shooter stepped out from the corner he’d been haunting. “The Buzzards are crumbling without Prior to hold them together. They’ll be focused on each other, on old vendettas that Prior kept in check. Just keep your head down. No racing for a while.”
“Or ever,” Adam chimed in.
Ava ducked her head. “You told them about that, too?”
The silence in the room gave her the answer.
“Did you take apart my bike?” she asked Shooter.
Did you put it back together? Will I ever get it back?
Ava decided not to be too pushy.
Shooter nodded. “I did.”
“What did they do to it?” she asked. Part of her didn’t really want to know, but another part needed to. Was it worth risking her family, her life for?
“They partitioned the gas tank,” Shooter replied. “Filled it with cash.”
Ava stared at him. “Cash? That’s it? Not drugs or... or guns or something? Just cash?”
It was Doc who answered. “According to my source, the address you were supposed to go to was a garage. Their job was to swap out the gas tank with the cash for one filled with pseudoephedrine.”
She blinked at him. “Pseudo-what?”
“Pseudoephedrine,” he repeated. “The main ingredient in crystal meth. The U.S. has cracked down on sales over the years. You can still get it over the counter, in cold medicine, but it’s tough to buy it in large quantities, not enough for steady batches.
“Canada’s laws are a lot more lax. No one brings drugs into Canada, except heroin. The drugs come out of Canada, or the ingredients to make your own. With kids muling for them on a regular basis, the Buzzards would have a steady supply of everything they needed to cook for themselves, then sling it all over town.”
Shooter said, “They’re trying to build the MC back up. Or they were. I’m sure they didn’t realize that killing Prior would have such serious consequences. He kept everyone in the dark, disconnected. Suppliers, dealers, money handlers... he kept them all separate from each other, so no one could run his business without him. He thought it would keep him safe. They thought they could make it without him. Guess they were both wrong.”
Ava didn’t know what to say or how to begin thanking these men, these total strangers to her, for taki
ng such a huge risk to help her.
Pop could, though, and he did. As he took Shooter’s hand, he said Ava’s words for her. “Thank you. Thank you so, so much for protecting my daughter. She’s my baby,” he said quietly. “I’d be so lost without her.”
“She should have asked for help,” Adam snapped, still clearly upset.
Ava had to accept that he might be angry for a long time.
Doc shrugged and shook his head. “I wouldn’t come down too hard on her,” he told Adam. “She was right.”
Adam gaped. “How is getting involved in drug trafficking right?!”
Doc shook his head again. “I mean, she was fucked the second they took her. There was nothing she could have done. She was right about not being able to take them all down at once. She couldn’t. Not by herself. And if she’d gone to the wrong person in RCPD, she’d be buried next to Preacher Prior in a shallow grave in the Badlands.”
He stood up and sauntered slowly to the front door. “It’s hard to know who to trust in this town, Adam. Ava’s very, very lucky that she just happened to meet Emilio and that Emilio came to us when he heard something was wrong. It couldn’t have gone any other way, though. Not with everyone in this room still breathing in the end.”
Ava watched him go and Shooter followed. Emilio hugged her tightly before eventually pulling away. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told her as he left.
As the door closed, Ava felt the enormity of the last few weeks hit her full force. Anyone in this room could have died, including herself. In that light, running into Emilio seemed more like fate than fluke.
Never one to think much about God or destiny or guardian angels, Ava realized she might have to reconsider her opinions on the matter.
She turned, though, to face her family. Philosophy had to wait at least another day.
“I...” She licked her lips and wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans. “I’m sorry,” she told them all. Because nothing else seemed good enough.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
There was a knock on Ava’s bedroom door and she sat upright. It creaked open and Pop was standing in the hall. “Can I come in?” he asked.
Surprised, she nodded. As he closed the door behind him, Ava said, “That’s the first time you’ve ever asked.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m still getting used to you not being my little girl anymore.”
Ava stiffened, certain this was it.
“You’re eighteen now,” Pop continued. “Full-fledged adult.”
She snorted sarcastically. “I’m not exactly doing a great job of it, am I?”
He grimaced. “If you haven’t noticed, none of us are doing a great job of it. We’re just getting by.”
“She did,” Ava pointed out.
Pop knew exactly who Ava meant. “Yes. Yes, she did. And God only knows why she stayed with my dumb ass for so long. She could have done better. I’m grateful she didn’t.”
Ava swallowed hard and picked at the sheets on her bed, unable to look her father in the face. “Could you have done better? With me, I mean?”
“How’s that?”
She took a deep breath and finally met his gaze. There were more wrinkles around his eyes than she remembered. Worry lines. Maybe she’d caused them. “The other day,” she told him, “you... you called me Ashley.”
He cleared his throat and rubbed his knees. “Well, I don’t... I don’t recall.”
“I know,” she whispered. Then louder, “But I think about it sometimes. Would you have been better off with her? I used to think I wasn’t a very good replacement.”
He frowned at her. “But—”
Ava raised her hand to wave him off. “I know,” she said. “Adam told me that I had it wrong. He told me that I came first. All these years, I thought it was the other way around. No one ever talked about her. Mom could never hear her name.”
The old man took a long time to mull this over. He looked around her room, at everything on display, everywhere but her. Just as Ava started to feel invisible, small, he said, “That’s my fault. Not your mom’s.”
He finally turned on the bed and put his hand on her ankle. “This family’s seen some hard times. The baby, Jonah. It’s not natural for a child to die before their parents. Losing them or seeing them suffer, it tears at you, Ava. It leaves big, gaping holes and I guess you worry that if you talk about it too much, the holes will just get bigger.
“Your Mom couldn’t talk about Ashley without crying. And it was a hell of a thing for me to see her so upset, in such despair, and not a damn thing I could do about it. It wasn’t your mom, Ava. It was me. I couldn’t take it. She stopped talking so she could stop crying. So that I wouldn’t have to hurt so bad.
“I never asked her to stop, she just... just knew I needed her to. Then, I guess, so much time went by that once we were able to talk about it, there was just nothing else to say.
“I’m sorry you ever felt like we didn’t love you, Ava. I don’t know what we could have done to make you feel that way.”
Ava reached for him, shaking her head. “No! I didn’t mean that. I never thought you didn’t love me!”
Except she did. She had. But the way he said it made it seem like she was blaming them, like she was saying they’d failed as parents. It was something wrong in Ava that people couldn’t love. Not something wrong with them because they couldn’t.
They were two amazing people who adopted two children who’d turned out to be difficult, a real challenge to raise.
“I didn’t want you,” he told her suddenly. “I thought we were done having our kids.”
Ava’s breath caught in her throat.
“Course you were just an idea then, not a flesh-and-blood little girl. Not my little girl. Not yet. But then a social worker brought you here and you were so small, Ava. God, you were so small. You fit right in the palm of my hand, did you know that?”
He held out his large, calloused hand. Time and hard labor had crooked his fingers and stained them permanently brown. “I think that was the drugs your birth mother was on when she was carrying you,” he told her quietly.
“When I held you that first time, you grabbed my thumb. Just like this. Those tiny fingers wrapped around me so tight. You were so strong, Ava. And right then, I knew. I knew you were my daughter. I knew you were a Stark. ‘Cause you were a fighter.
“I always thought ‘cause you were so young that it wouldn’t matter where you came from. Only where you ended up. You were so little you couldn’t possibly remember.” He sighed. “I guess not being able to remember a thing doesn’t necessarily mean you can forget it.”
Ava shook her head solemnly. “No. It doesn’t.”
“I don’t have much time left, Ava. I know it. I don’t want to forget, though. And talking helps me remember. Almost better than the drawings Adam made me. Maybe...” he said carefully. “Maybe you could listen. I could tell you what Adam and Dalton were like when they were kids. Right hellions, they were. Worse than you and Jonah put together.”
Ava laughed, but she didn’t believe it. “I broke a boy’s nose with a skateboard,” she reminded him.
Pop grunted. “Yeah, that little prick deserved it, too,” he mumbled.
She gasped. “Pop!”
“Well, I couldn’t hit him! Hell, to be honest, sweetie, I was damn glad you did. Couldn’t tell you that, though. Your mom had ears like a bat.” He grinned at her. “I was proud of you, though.”
“Wow.”
“The little shit used to tear through here like his hair was on fire. Hit your mom’s car. Dented it, too. Put a cherry bomb in Edna Halloran’s mailbox. Old Missus Halloran!” he exclaimed. “A widow! Husband killed in the war, she lived alone, and that little bastard did nothing but terrorize her and her dog all day and night.”
Ava paused to consider this. “I remember that dog. But not his name.”
Pop grunted. “Patton,” he told her. “George S.” He grunted again. “Not sure how Old Bloo
d and Guts would’ve felt about sharing a name with a poodle. Well, that’s not true. I can probably guess. But I can tell you the old stories. If you care to listen.”
She took his old, withered hand in hers and tried not to think about how many more times she’d be able to do that. “I do. I want to know. And I want you to tell me.”
He squeezed reassuringly. “It’s a date, then.”
After he left, Ava wiped her eyes and then spotted the photo of Mom on the nightstand. It felt like she was there in the room. Maybe the house was haunted in good ways, too. Ava realized she wanted it to be. She never wanted her mother—her real mother—to leave her.
She reached out and plucked the unopened envelope with shaky hands. It was time for this, too. Carefully, she unfolded the letter, smoothing it out gently. She instantly recognized her mother’s flowery script. It was a little pinched, though, because she was in so much pain when she wrote it.
A single tear slid down her cheek. She swiped at it quickly before it could fall onto the pristine white paper.
Dear Ava,
My wild girl. I see you sometimes running in every direction, not sure which way to go. So many times I’ve wanted to help you but I couldn’t. Your journey is your own and though I wish I could, I can’t make it for you. Just know that you’ve always had a place in this family and a place in our hearts.
What I want to tell you is the easiest advice to give and the hardest to live: find out who you are and be that person every day.
But slow down, Ava. Don’t live too fast or you’ll see me sooner than you should. Live a long, happy life, my beautiful girl. Slow down enough to enjoy it.
Love Always,
Mom
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Three weeks later, things seemed to have calmed down considerably. As Ava stood in her driveway checking her Honda’s oil, she realized just how grateful she was to have it back, and that Pop had let her keep it, though lately she’d only driven to Stark Ink and back home again.
