by Deja Voss
“No, you big jerk,” I laugh. “I’ll be ready in a minute. We don’t have to take my dumbass dad though, do we?”
“I’ll go get rid of him.”
I kiss him on the lips. “You’re the best.”
Chapter 8
Gavin:
Nobody sees me lurking in the doorway.
I wish I could unsee what’s going on in front of me.
My stomach is turning. The man who I’m assuming is Harry is standing behind a video camera, oblivious to what’s going on behind him.
Goob looks like hell. He’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the room in just his underwear. His arms are dotted with track marks, his eyes glossed over. He’s definitely gotten taller since I saw him in December, but he’s so malnourished; I can see every one of his bones poking out through his skin.
All I can see of my mother is her frizzy blonde hair. She’s kneeling on the floor in front of Harry. I wonder how high she is. I don’t think any amount of heroin could justify what I assume I’m witnessing.
He’s just a little boy.
And we all fucking let him down.
As he looks up at me with his glassy blue eyes, I put my finger to my lips, urging him to stay quiet. I know I can take this scrawny fucker, but I don’t even want to give him the chance to beg for his life. His time is up.
One shot in the back of the head and he’s on the floor. My first kill in years and I don’t even particularly enjoy it. Namely because now there’s a wailing woman covered in brain matter on the floor in front of me, and my lanky little brother fucked up on who knows what is just staring me down.
I grab the video camera and smash it to the ground, stomping it with my leather boot.
I want to hurt her. I want to show her a world of pain far beyond the torture she’s subjected my poor little brother to. It’s not about me right now, though.
“Hey, Goob,” I say in the calmest voice I can muster. I scoop him up from the chair and he wraps his arms and legs around me, hugging me close. He’s damn near my height but he weighs nearly nothing. He’s so frail, so child-like. “Wanna go for a ride?”
“On your bike?” his little voice peeps. I have to fight back tears. He’s like a damn puppy dog. Doesn’t matter how long I leave him, I’m still his world.
“Yeah, bud. Go get dressed and pack your bag.” I set him down and he stumbles off, barely able to keep himself upright.
“Gavin,” my mother hisses in desperation. “It’s not what you think.”
“Shut the fuck up, Gail.”
“Please, Gavin. Just kill me too.”
“No way. I hope you live to be a hundred and twenty goddamn years old. I hope you try and kill yourself every day for the rest of your life, but you keep getting revivedover and over again. This poor kid is going to have to live with whatever you did to fuck him up real good for the rest of his life. Why would I let you have the easy way out?”
I wade my way through the disgusting trash-filled apartment and into Goob’s ‘room.’ He’s gotten himself dressed, but now he’s slumped over on his bed. Between the filth and the fleas everywhere, I don’t want to touch anything.
“Hey, Goob,” I say, shaking his shoulder softly. His eyes snap open, and as soon as he realizes it’s me, he’s smiling from ear to ear. “Why don’t we just leave your stuff here and we can have Mom mail it to the house.”
“Ok,” he agrees, and he stands up. “But I need three things.”
“Whatever you want. Let’s hurry, though. I don’t want to have to drive too long in the dark.” And I really need to get the fuck out of this creepy place. Plus, who knows who heard the gunshot. Though it’s doubtful, judging by the looks of the place, the cops could be on their way now.
He grabs his backpack. It’s blue with motorcycles all over it, with a Mountain Misfits patch stitched to the pocket, thanks to Aunt Trixie. He’s had this backpack since he was in kindergarten. You’d think he’d be over it by now, but I can tell his time away from the mountain has stunted his mental state. Hopefully, once he’s off the junk, he gets back to normal.
He lifts up his pillow, and underneath it is a framed picture from hunting season two years ago, when he got his first deer. It was the first year he was allowed to go legally and I skipped school for a week to take him. We’re both smiling in the photo as he proudly holds the buck’s head up by the antlers.
“And one more thing,” he says, pacing around frantically, digging through piles of magazines and dirty dishes. “Yes!” he cheers as he pulls out his helmet.
“Atta boy.” I smile. Thank God. I was going to give him mine, but I knew it would be ill-fitting. This is going to be a rough ride to begin with, so that’s one less thing to worry about. “You ready to get out of here?”
We walk through the living room. My mother is still lying on the floor.
“I love you, Mom,” he says. It’s like he doesn’t even notice the dead body and blood everywhere. “Don’t be sad, ok?”
“Go wait right outside the door,” I tell him.
“I better not ever see you again, Gail.”
“Oh, Gavin.” She laughs deviously. “You’ll see me every day. Every time you look in the mirror. Every time you look at your brothers or your sister. You’ll never stop seeing me. You think I’m fucking terrible? You think your dad’s fucking terrible? What do you think you guys are? You’re double fucked.”
I can’t resist reaching for the gun in my waistband. I use my shirt to wipe the fingerprints off of it and set it on the floor, kicking it to her.
“Changed my mind,” I say. “Have at ’er, Gail.”
I walk out the door, slamming it behind me.
I can hear the shot ring out as we’re heading down the apartment steps. Goob doesn’t seem to notice, just grips my hand tight as we walk out into the sunlight. I’m concerned about being able to keep him on my bike, but judging by his current death grip on me, I don’t think it will be a problem. I’ll just have to make sure we take it slow and that I stay on super high alert.
I start up my bike and his eyes light up.
“You better hang on tight, Goob.”
If I wasn’t just a kid myself, I’d start driving the opposite direction. Take us to the beach and start all over again. Instead, I’m banking on the fact that the devil I know at least is surrounded by a bunch of guys I call my family.
We’re losing daylight here. I need to take as many back roads as possible to make sure I can go as slow as I need to get him home safely.
“What are you waiting for?” he yells over the roar of the engine.
A sign. A solution. A voice from above. Anything to show me that what I’m doing with my life is right. I don’t know.
It’s not coming to me. I’m not a philosophical guy. I need something to blatantly hit me over the head and make it perfectly clear that this is the life I was made for.
Chapter 9
Sloan:
“You sure you don’t want to go to the lake?” Olive whines as I open the door of her car. “It’s absolutely gorgeous and my white ass needs some sun.” She exaggeratedly pulls up her sundress, exposing her lily-white thighs.
The lake sounds absolutely fantastic, but I’m in no condition for a bikini right now.
I’m in no condition for anything but jeans and a turtleneck thanks to Arthur.
“How long is Art out of town for?” she asks.
“I think three days at least. Wanna stay at the house with me?”
She points to her duffel bag before tossing it over the seat.
“I’m a step ahead of ya, Sloan. What the hell are you wearing anyway, it’s eighty degrees. Are you sick or something?”
I already had my speech prepared. I had rehearsed it at least ten times on the ride over to her apartment. We’d been best friends for so long I knew there was a chance she’d see right through my bullshit, but it was worth a shot.
“I always get so cold in the movie theater.” I had a lot more than that ready
to go, but judging by the way she was staring at me, I knew she wasn’t buying it.
She tugs on the bottom hem of my shirt and I slap her hand away.
“Show me now,” she demands, her voice getting low. Her blue eyes are burning a hole through me.
I lift up my shirt, exposing the purple welts all over my torso. They’re mostly flat now and they don’t hurt, but Arthur felt the need to leave his mark before he went out of town.
“That motherfucker. Are those hickeys?”
I nod.
“Why did you let him do that to you, Sloan? This isn’t just some kinky sex thing.”
“You think this is my fault? That I let him do this?”
She lets out a hard sigh.
“I really don’t know. I’m trying to be a good friend here, but I don’t know how to help you. You are so fucking smart, Sloan. What would you do if you were in my shoes?”
I know exactly what I’d do. I’d kidnap her. I’d stab whoever was hurting her. I’d call the police. I’d do anything I could so she wouldn’t have to endure this life I was putting myself through.
“Just trust me,” I say. She is not me, and I would never want her wedged in this situation. Arthur is dangerous. Arthur kills people. This isn’t her problem. “I have a plan, I promise.”
She looks sad, deflated, and confused. I grab her hand and squeeze it.
“Seriously, Ollie. I’m working on it. Sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better.”
“What’s worse than this? Or the last time? When he puts you in the hospital? When he puts you in the fucking morgue? I can’t believe how ridiculous you’re acting!”
“He just got carried away. I swear. It’s not what it looks like.” I can’t believe I’m defending him. I knew exactly what his intention was as he tied me up and bit me all over. There was nothing sexy about it. It was his way of showing me and the world that I was his property.
“Please, I’m begging you, Sloan. Why don’t we just get you packed up and moved out while he’s gone? You can come stay with me. We’ll go to the cops. I’ll help you do whatever it takes.”
“I wish it was that simple, but it won’t work.”
“Is it because you love him?”
Partially, yes. As fucked up as the situation is, I do love him. I do think things will get better. He’s just really stressed out right now. I stay silent, not wanting to admit to her how I feel because I know it’s going to come out as crazy.
“Is it the money?” She’s angry now. She’s gripping the steering wheel but staring over at me, her forehead wrinkled up tight. “That’s even worse. I never pegged you as a whore, but if you’re trading your body for a mansion and a Maserati, then I guess you are.”
“Get the fuck off it, Olive.”
She hit the nail on the head and stabbed me with a million knives simultaneously.But she’s right.
I am a whore.
And instead of thinking rationally and trying to move forward with my life, the only thing I’m concerned about is if I will be able to afford to keep going to school.
I’m bawling, and as she leans in to hug me, I slap her hand away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Just take me to the movies, Olive. I want to sit in the dark and rot my brain for a couple hours.”
“All right,” she says sadly. “Let’s do that.”
Chapter 10
Gavin:
“Where the fuck is he?” I say, barnstorming the clubhouse, looking for my father.
The mansion looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was home. Like an oversized hunting lodge swimming with spandex-clad dirty birdies who will do anything for a chance at becoming an old lady.
My father always thought of himself as the playboy of the mountains. This clubhouse was an homage to that. It’s nice, but it definitely doesn’t fit our Mountain Misfit persona.
I have my brother over my shoulder. His dope sickness is coming to a full head, and I don’t know how we made it back in one piece. He’s quaking in my arms, and I don’t think he has anything left in him to throw up.
We should be at a hospital right now. We should be working with the cops. We don’t tend to do the things we’re supposed to do around here.
“Oh my God, Goob,” Trixie says, running over to us. “I’m going to go get Patch.”
“Aunt Trixie!” Even in his condition, he’s happy to see the woman who always seemed to hold things together around here. “Gavin took me on his motorcycle!”
She brushes his hair out of his face and plants a big kiss on his head. Built like a linebacker, there was something strangely comforting about this woman.
“That’s awesome, bud. You look like you need a nap, though. How about we put you down on that couch over there. Do you want some juice?”
“I think I need my medicine. Mom says I’m sick and she pokes me with a needle and then I get better.”
I lay him down on the couch, his skin cold and clammy. Morgan comes over with a wet cloth and a cup of juice and kneels next to him, baby-talking him. These dirty birdies don’t look like they have a maternal bone in their silicone-enhanced bodies, but when it comes to protecting the kids in the club, they go from hoe to housewife in seconds flat. I forgot that no matter how dysfunctional a family we might be, we’re fiercely loyal. We might be at each other’s throats in one breath, but at the end of the day, everyone here would lay down their lives for each other.
“Holy shit, Gavin.” Trixie pulls me aside as she heads for the door. “If you didn’t kill her, you better tell me where she is right now so I can.”
“Go get Patch,” I say. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Patch is our resident doctor. A founding member of the club, he used to practice in town down below until his retirement. He’s the only one we can trust to clean up after our messes and keep the police out of things.
My father emerges from the basement stairway. He’s holding a big cardboard box.
“My son!” He smiles, his voice deep as gravel. He sets the box on the floor and comes running at me. “I’m so glad to have you home, boy.”
He wraps me in a giant bear hug. His touch makes me cringe. I push him off.
We are caught in a stare-off. I see myself in those dark eyes of his, assuring everything my mother said to me is true. Everything about him, besides the gray in his beard and the angry wrinkle lines carved in his forehead, is a reflection of me. I’m sure one day I’ll have those too. It comes with the territory.
“What’s your deal?” he asks. “Too good for your old man now that you have a fancy piece of paper?”
“I just fucking rode ninety miles with your heroin-addicted ten-year-old son on the back of my bike.”
“Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve brought the truck.”
Of course he’s going to pin this on me. Never mind what led us to this road to begin with.
“What were you thinking, Dad? You know that woman is nothing but a junkie.”
“She came in here throwing paperwork in my face, making a scene. He wanted to go. What was I supposed to do?”
“Keep me in the fucking loop.”
“I didn’t realize you were entitled to that right. Maybe you should’ve been here.”
Maybe I should have.
Definitely I should have.
This club is my life. This is my family. Anything else is just a selfish pipe dream. That diploma means shit in terms of who I’m meant to be.
“I cleaned out Micah’s apartment for you,” he says, motioning to the box. “Figured you should have your own space now that you’re grown.”
“Where’s he supposed to stay when he comes back?” My older brother Micah left abruptly while I was away at school. Joined the Marines and we haven’t heard from him since. Nobody’s talking, so I’m assuming whatever went down was really bad. Or else he just came to his fucking senses and realized that fighting for our country is smarter than fight
ing whatever battles our father thought were appropriate on any given day.
“Fuck him,” he laughs. There’s more to the story, I’m sure. When it comes to Moses Boden, there’s always more to the story. “We can unpack the moving van tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to enjoy my family together under the same roof.”
There wasn’t going to be anything enjoyable about this night.
Chapter 11
Sloan:
Something had changed in Arthur in the time that he was gone on business.
While the reminders of our last encounter lingered on my skin, spending a few days with my best friend was good for my soul. She didn’t judge me, just let me pour my heart out while we binge-watched shitty reality shows and ate pizza and drank wine from the cellar that we couldn’t even pronounce.
She helped me put makeup on my arms so I could wear my scrubs to clinical without drawing too much attention. I’m so close to finishing this round of medical school, so close to beginning my fellowship so I can start training to become a surgeon, I don’t need something like this holding me back. I’ve spent my whole life hearing people talk about me behind my back, calling me white trash, judging me by the fact that my parents couldn’t afford to clothe me or feed me properly. I am happy to be out from under those whispers. This would just start the process all over again.
When he gets home from his trip, he doesn’t even say so much as hello, just heads right upstairs, straight to the shower.
I follow behind him, peeking my head in the bathroom.
“Art, hey, how was your trip? I missed you.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice tired.
“What’s wrong, babe? Do you want me to come in there with you?”
“I’m sorry, Sloan. I’m really tired. Can we talk in the morning?”
It wasn’t like him to act like this. Usually, if he was gone longer than a day, the first thing he’d do is pick me up and carry me to the bedroom.
