“Home.”
God fucking help me.
Chapter Four
Life is like a riddle, one we can never quite figure out. Just when we think we’re getting close to uncovering the truth, something trips us up. We ask ourselves why. Why me? Why now? Just plain why. Time goes on and we get so busy with the daily grind that we forget we don’t have the answers. Some people, people like me, forget we’ve been tried and tricked a thousand times. We accept the shit hand we’ve been dealt and carry on. I don’t dare say we live because this isn’t living. I know what living is. I was fortunate enough to experience life in all it’s glory. Sure, I was young, and it was brief—another tricky piece of the riddle—but nonetheless true. Nothing compares and so, you give up.
You give up on your dreams and your desires.
You give up on finding the answers.
You give up on trying to turn things around, knowing your efforts are only a waste of your time.
I stopped asking myself why a long time ago and learned to expect tragedy as a way of life.
But the little boy sleeping soundly in my childhood bedroom isn’t supposed to know tragedy. He’s supposed to be innocent and believe the world is a giant playground waiting for him to conquer.
I told myself if I ever had children their childhood wouldn’t end prematurely like mine had. My kids would be able to look back on their younger years with a heavy heart and a smile firmly planted on their face. I was going to be the type of mother my mom was before she passed. The kind of mother who let the dishes pile in the sink because her daughter asked her why Wonder Woman was the only female superhero. A mother who took the towels out of the linen closet tied them around her little girl’s shoulders and told her the world was waiting for her to take her place beside Wonder Woman.
I want to believe Ryder has memories like those. That he’ll remember the nights he and I spent huddled away, building forts in the bedroom we shared. I can only pray those little stolen moments left an impression on him, one strong enough to fade all the ugly from his mind. If I had one wish, I’d wish my son could forget some of the things he’s seen and heard. I’d go back and erase time. I’d find my will. I’d be the tough as nails girl my Nana raised, and I’d stand up for myself and for my son. I’d walk away from this hell and give my boy the life he deserves. A life without tragedy.
A knock sounds on the bedroom door, jarring me away from my thoughts. Instinctively my arms tighten around my son as the door slowly opens and I lift my head, meeting my Nana’s aging eyes.
“I made a pot of coffee,” she whispers.
“I’m okay,” I reply, loosening my grip on Ryder and releasing a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“No, you’re not,” she retorts. “Let the child sleep, Mackenzie and get your ass into the living room.” Though she whispers the demand, there is no mistaking the authority in her tone.
Louise Bradshaw might be a tiny woman but twist her the wrong way and she’ll hand you your ass. It wasn’t until I was a teenager running amuck with my boyfriend that I learned my Nana wasn’t the sweet old lady everyone thought she was. When she wasn’t baking pies for the community center, she’d knock back some moonshine and threaten to break the kneecaps of anyone who trampled on her petunias.
Reluctantly, I gently unravel my arms from my son and scramble out of the twin bed. Threading my fingers through my curly hair, I look at my sleeping boy one more time.
“For goodness sake, he’s not going anywhere,” Nana whispers harshly.
I wish I believed her. While my Nana might be a little rough around the edges, she is no Milly Turner. Whatever Milly wants, Milly gets and she want’s my son. She’ll do whatever it takes. She’ll lie, cheat and steal but she’ll have to kill me before I let her get her hooks into Ryder.
Leaving the door ajar, I follow Nana out of my childhood bedroom and into the living room.
“Sit,” she orders, pointing to the couch.
“Nana—”
“Don’t you Nana me, Mackenzie. You sit your ass down on that sofa and listen to me,” she says, crossing her arms against her chest. My younger self would’ve laughed at her. After all, she was wearing a floral house dress and galoshes. She looked like Sophia Petrillo from the Golden Girls—the crazy hillbilly version.
“You haven’t left that boys side. If you’re trying to scare the bejesus out of him, you’re succeeding.”
“I’m trying to keep him safe.”
“Sweetie. I didn’t raise you to be this dumb,” she says. “If they want him bad enough, they’ll shoot you and take him.”
Visions of red blind me and defensively I jump to my feet.
“How could you even say that to me right now?” I shout. “After the way, Junior was killed, how can you say that to me?”
“Finally,” she replies, dropping her arms to her sides. “I was wondering if the girl I raised would ever return or if that bastard had killed her.”
Narrowing my eyes, I look at her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you failed yourself. You let a man who wasn’t worth the toilette paper he wiped his ass with, you let that man control you. He stripped you of your self-esteem, robbed you of your confidence and dictated every aspect of your life for years.”
Disappointment flashes in her eyes and I tear my gaze away from her. Everything she says is true but, I foolishly believed I hid it well.
“For years I stood by helplessly and kept my mouth shut. I watched you die a little more every day. Now he’s gone, and he’s still controlling you from the grave.”
“Nana, you got it all wrong.”
As the words leave my lips, I have a hard time believing them myself.
“Do I? Praise Jesus, I hope I do because I don’t want to leave this Earth worrying about you and that boy. Before I die, I’d like to see you happy. You were happy once, you could be happy again. He’s dead, not you.”
She’s right. I used to be happy. I used to smile and laugh. I used to feel.
But that part of me did die.
It died the day I learned I was a pawn in the Devil’s game.
And it died a little more the day Bas returned home from prison and didn’t look me in the eye.
Losing him changed my whole life.
It changed me.
I want to say it hardened me, made me stronger but all it did was annihilate my ability to feel. For instance, my son lost his father and I haven’t shed a tear. While I may not be brokenhearted over Junior, I should still feel something as a mother of a boy who is grieving such a loss. I know how it feels to lose a parent. I know the pain my son will experience his whole life. It doesn’t matter that Junior wasn’t a great father. Half the time, he looked at Ryder as a nuisance. Luckily Ryder was too innocent to notice Junior’s shortcomings. He doesn’t know his father was a monster and I hope he never does because no child should have to live knowing their father was a ruthless animal who didn’t give a damn about him.
So, he’ll grieve.
He will yearn for one more moment, another memory and it will never come.
He’ll ask why.
Until he doesn’t.
Until he gives up.
“I’ve got a can under my mattress. There isn’t much in there but, it’s enough to get you out of here and away from this town and that woman,” Nana says.
“Milly isn’t going to let me get away from here,” I argue, lifting my gaze to hers. “With Junior gone and Bas God knows where she’s going to want to dig her claws even deeper.”
“So, what are you going to do about that? You going to lay down and die like you did for her son or are you going to stand on the two feet God gave you and fight like hell?” she challenges.
Staring back at her, I can’t help but wonder how I let it get this far. I don’t know how to reclaim my life or where to even begin. All I know for certain is I won’t let Milly take my son.
Before I can reply to Nana, I hear the distinc
t sound of pipes blaring. My pulse pounds as I glance over my shoulder.
“She’s here,” I mutter.
Rising to my feet, I start for the bedroom, but Nana quickly shoves me back. Falling to the couch, I lift my eyes to hers.
“God, girl, you’re shaking like a leaf,” Nana retorts, pointing her finger at me. “Stay,” she commands before making her way toward the door.
Maybe it isn’t Milly. Crank, the president of the club and Milly’s husband, ordered Mooney to guard Nana’s house since everything imploded. As far as I know, he hasn’t left. It could be another one of the brothers relieving him of his duty.
The engine dies and I turn around, watching Nana go completely still as she peers out the window.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispers.
“What? Who is it?”
She doesn’t respond, and I hear Mooney’s muffled voice greet whoever has arrived. Before I can think better of it, I round the couch and begin to make my way toward the door. A large shadow fills the frame and Nana shuffles to the side. For some reason, I close my eyes as an overwhelming sense of familiarity washes over me. In an instant everything changes. My world flips on its axis and I know, without opening my eyes, I know it’s him.
“It’s about damn time,” Nana rasps.
Still, I don’t open my eyes, too fearful it’s another tricky piece of the riddle.
“Nice to see you too, Nana.”
His voice is still as deep and gruff as I remember but the southern twang isn’t as prominent. It makes me wonder what other changes I’ll find if I muster up the courage to open my eyes. Then I feel his gaze warming me and I can’t wait another second. My eyes slowly open and I blink, willing them to focus.
I dreamt of this moment.
In my dreams, he stood before me, much as he does now, broad, built and beautiful.
We drink each other in, searching for all the pieces we’ve been missing, wondering if the other has kept them safe and sound through the years.
“Bas,” I murmur.
It’s then, in that moment, I realize this isn’t a dream. For if it was, he’d step to me, wrap me in his arms and I’d finally be whole again. Instead, he stands there, hands in his pockets, bags under his eyes, shaking his head. Tears roll down my cheeks and I realize I’m not an emotional reject.
I’m still capable of feeling.
It just took the man who once made me feel anything and everything to open the floodgates.
The man who once stared at me like I was his whole world.
The man who now stares at me like I’m a stranger.
Like I’m nothing.
Chapter Five
The first time I ever saw Mac cry she was eighteen years old. We were dodging the cops, and she fell trying to hop a fence. She wound up breaking her leg in two spots. I still remember her face contorting with pain as she struggled not to cry. When the dam finally broke my first instinct was to kiss the tears right off her face and tell her everything would be okay. However, she never gave me the chance. Clenching her jaw tightly, she brushed away her tears with balled fists and ordered me to keep moving.
Emotions weren’t Mac’s thing.
Back then, I saw it as a challenge and decided it was my duty to make Mac feel all the things she’d never allow herself to feel. I didn’t want the mask she gave everyone else.
I wanted her—flaws and all—I just wanted her.
She thought to cry made her weak that it would break her in some sort of way. Well, I was going to show her she could never be broken. I’d make her understand that she could trust me with her emotions, that she could lean on me and still be strong. While I hated seeing her cry, I knew those tears were a lost treasure. A piece of herself that she didn’t give to just anyone.
I kissed every one of those tears away until I became the reason behind them.
Staring at her now, I watch her wipe furiously at her cheeks and it’s like we’re standing in front of that fence, debating on if we should leap. Shaking my head, I shove my hands in my pockets and struggle to keep my focus.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, turning her back to me. Aware her grandmother is watching us like we’re the trained chimps at a circus, my eyes follow her as she pads across the room. Snatching the pack of cigarettes sitting on the coffee table, she fits one between her lips and lights it up, taking a long drag. Pulling it away from her mouth, she perches the cigarette between her fingers and squares her shoulders before facing me.
The first thing I notice is her honey colored eyes are dull. Lifeless but miraculously they’re now void of tears.
Void of emotion.
“Still got it,” I mutter.
Narrowing her eyes, she brings the cigarette back to her lips.
“Excuse me?”
Taking my hands out of my pockets, I cross my arms against my chest and peer back at her. My treacherous eyes flit to her mouth and the fucking cigarette dangling between her full lips. For a fleeting second, I wonder if she tastes the same. If those lips still feel as soft as they used to.
“You can still flip the switch,” I retort, shaking the crazy out of my head. “Ain’t no one on this Earth who can go from hot to cold quite as fast as you can.”
“On that note, I think I’ll excuse myself,” Nana says.
“No,” I argue, turning my attention to her. “I’m not staying,” I add before glancing back at Mac. “I’m coming from the clubhouse.” I pause. “I saw Milly.”
At the mention of my mother’s name, Mac’s body goes rigid.
“That bitch send you here?” Nana questions. “If so, you can turn your ass around and tell your mama she’s going to have to get past me first. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let her get her hands on that boy.”
Keeping my eyes on Mac, I watch her hand tremble slightly as she grinds out the cigarette. Judging by the tone of Nana’s voice and the fear radiating off Mac, it’s clear some shit went down between my mother and Mac.
“Milly only wants to keep the kid safe,” I say carefully.
“Ryder,” Mac says, lifting her gaze to me. “His name is Ryder.”
Hearing her say his name is like a slap to my face. The memory of seeing her pregnant flashes before me. I wanted to touch that belly so bad. I wanted to feel that baby move but Junior’s hands beat me to the punch, staking claim to a baby who should’ve been mine.
My girl.
My kid.
I should’ve gotten her pregnant long before he had the chance to, but I thought we had all the fucking time in the world.
“I suppose I should get used to that,” I mutter, angrily scratching my jaw.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snaps.
My hand pauses and I lift my chin, matching her glare.
“It means, pack your shit. You and…Ryder are coming with me,” I growl.
“The hell we are,” she spats, crossing her arms under her chest. It’s only natural my eyes wander, taking in the pair of tits that once fit perfectly in the palms of my hands. What I’m looking at now is a fuck of lot more than a handful. I’m not sure I could close both hands around one tit but fuck if I don’t want to try. I also want to take those nipples of hers that are peeking through her shirt, between my teeth and listen to her moan.
“You get your tits done or something?”
Rolling her eyes, she turns around, obstructing my view of her tits.
A pity but the view from behind ain’t too bad either. The girl has a fucking ass you can’t help but want to squeeze.
“Don’t let Milly fool you,” she says. “That woman hates me. She wants me gone and my son for herself.”
Peeling my eyes away from her ass, I focus on the reasons I put myself in this fucking hell.
“I don’t know what kind of shit you got going on with my mother and I don’t care to know either. What I do know is that I got a call from Mooney, telling me I needed to get my ass down here because you were in some kind of shit. Like a
fool, I drove on no sleep for twelve hours for a woman who ain’t my fucking problem no more.”
“If I’m not your problem then why are you still here?”
She retorts, spinning around to face me.
Mac’s always had a talent for calling my bluff. It’s good to know some shit don’t change. Still, I’m not about to let her know that. Being exhausted and having my head fucked six ways to Sunday in the last twenty-four hours, I’m riding on adrenaline and making no fucking sense whatsoever. The quicker I get on the road, the quicker I get back home, the sooner I can clear my head and decide what the fuck I’m going to do with Mac, the kid and the fucking cartel gunning for them.
“I’m here because there’s a kid involved and while he might not be my responsibility, his piece of shit father left him with a bullseye on his back. Now, if you don’t want Milly around your boy, you’ll quit mouthing off and pack your shit.”
“This Milly’s idea?” Nana questions from behind me.
“Like I said, Milly wants to keep the kid safe. Whether she’s got an ulterior motive or not, I don’t know but she knows I got no patience for her bullshit.” I pause, recalling my mother’s desperate plea. I don’t remember a time in my life where that woman ever looked as frightened as she did, thinking her grandson’s life was at risk. “For what it’s worth, I think she genuinely wants to keep Ryder safe, and she knows he isn’t safe here.”
Mac stares at me, her eyes softening at the sound of her son’s name.
“I can’t go with you, Bas,” she says hoarsely.
“Why the hell not?” Nana replies, stepping out from behind me.
“Nana—”
“Don’t you Nana me, girl,” she scolds. “Not five minutes before he walked in the door, you were saying you’ll never get away from here. That, Milly, would never let you leave. Now, she’s holding the door for you and you’re rooted to the floorboards. For the love of God, child, she’s giving you the out you want.”
“Yes, but at what price?” Mac cries, shaking her head. “That woman doesn’t give you anything without getting something in return and I’ve got nothing left to give.”
The Devil Don't Sleep Page 4
