Gawking at me, she shakes her head from side to side. “No… I can’t.”
“Can’t what? Shoot a gun?”
“I, uh, I have no idea how to even hold the damn thing.” Walking over to her, I grab her hand and lead her to the door to outside. The rear yard is huge, the high fence lining the entire perimeter. Positioning her small frame against my chest. “I know you don’t know jack about guns which is why this little one is perfect.” I hold the gun in my hand, showing her how to open and close the cylinder. “The bullets go here,” I show her, “but don’t worry about that for now. The sound of the gun firing is going to startle you. But you get used to it.”
“I can’t do this…”
“Yes, you can. There are just two things you have to remember. Don’t point the gun at anyone other than the bad guys and don’t put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to shoot. It’s that simple.”
I place the handgun in her right hand, positioning her hand in the correct way. “It’s important to have a good grip on the gun. Now hold it out in front of you. Aim for the tree over there.” I nod pointing to the small tree to the right-hand side of the yard.
“You’re not really going to get me to fire this thing, are you?” Her voice is high-pitched and I need her to relax, dammit.
“You need to be able to take care of yourself, Izzy.” I meet her frightened gaze with a serious one of my own. My brows furrow together and I glare at her until she gives me the tiniest of nods. Groaning with resignation, she holds the gun up in front of her, her hand shaking a little as she holds it out straight, pointing it toward the tree.
I wrap my fingers around her arm. “Relax a little. Don’t stiffen up.” I flick my gaze over to the small tree. “Aim for the trunk, Izzy. Place your finger on the trigger and squeeze lightly.” I watch her intently as the skin around her eyes crinkles, her focus narrowing on the target. I jerk a little as she fires off a shot, my eyes darting toward the tree.
“Did I do it?” she croaks, her head whips and her eyes widen in surprise. I look again, stepping closer to see the bullet hole located in the middle of the trunk. I turn slowly, a smile spreading as I look at her face, her eyes still widened in shock.
“You did it, baby.” Taking a few steps forward, I reach out lowering her arm that still clutches the gun. “Keep it on you at all times.” I give her a warning with my eyes and watch as she nods her head, accepting my request. “You know you look so damn hot pointing that gun.” Snaking my arms around her waist I pull her into me, my eyes glancing down at the gun in her hand. I notice her finger resting against the trigger. “Trigger,” I say with a nod. “Remember, don’t rest your finger there. It’s sensitive. The slightest squeeze and the gun will go off.”
“Shit,” she mumbles, retracting her finger and holding it precariously in her hand. “What if it goes off when it’s in my purse?” She offers the gun to me like she is holding a bomb in her hand.
“Keep it in the holster,” I say with a shrug. Making our way back inside, I put the gun back in its holster, sliding it into her purse. Grabbing my keys and phone from the countertop, I light up the screen of my phone, conscious of the time. “Baby, I need to make tracks.” I place a soft kiss on her forehead, stroking the side of her head gently. “Have fun. Stay safe.”
Racing over to the door, I give her a fleeting wave as I make my way over to my bike, mounting it and revving the engine. The gates open and I pull away from the drive, fleeting a glance over my shoulder. It’s hard to explain the protection I feel for that girl. I finally feel like my life is back on track, my heart nesting in the place it’s always meant to be. With Isabelle.
Driving the short distance, I pull up at the Savages’ residence, and I just have to hope that Nate has kept to his word. He promised that he’d spoken to Jeffries and cleared the air. I’m still going in with realistic expectations. These fuckers are Savages. It’s in their nature to be erratic, and so far, Nate is by far the most civilized of the Savages I’ve met.
I park up my bike amongst the other twenty or so lined up outside the front of the house. I chuckle a little, knowing this is a result of their unexpected good fortune. I dig into my back pocket, pulling out my smokes. The need for nicotine is strong right now, and I know it’s the nerves kicking in. I’m here to smooth things over with a bunch of crazy-ass bikers. You could call it mission impossible. Taking a huge drag, I draw in the much-needed hit, flicking the end with my thumb over and over.
“Hey, man,” Nate shouts, bouncing over to greet me. I hold out my hand and he takes it, slapping his palm against mine, pulling me in for a man hug.
“All good,” I ask with a lift of my brow.
“I told you, man. This is just to clear the air. My old man is cool now. Well, when I say cool,” he leans into me, “what I mean is he’s pissed about it, but the money has definitely sweetened him up a little. He sees you as a serious ally. Especially since we have struck up quite a friendship.”
“I like working with you, Nate,” I say patting him on the back. “You have a long way to go, but I like you. You’re different to the rest.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what my father doesn’t like about me. You know, that I’m different. He doesn’t like the fact that I’d rather spend hours sketching out tattoo ideas rather than fucking shit up the way the rest of the gang do.”
“That earns my respect,” I say, offering him a smile. “Don’t change, man.”
He nods, leading me into the house. We make our way into the main room, Jeffries sitting with one leg pulled over the other. The smell of weed is strong in the room.
“Braxton,” he sings, stumbling to his feet as he rushes to greet me. I hold out my hand, offering it to him. Taking it, he squeezes tightly, covering it with his other hand, patting the back of my hand. “It’s good to see you.” He nods, pursing his lips; his eyes hold a serious expression. “I’m saddened by the whole Xander situation,” he barks, dropping my hand and walking over to the large leather chair he just stood up from. “Please,” he points to the couch beside him, “take a seat.” Walking over, I drop down on the couch, Nate following closely behind me, drinks in hand. Placing two glasses out on the small coffee table in front of us, he grabs a bottle of bourbon, pouring a small amount into each of the glasses, before turning and walking out of the room.
“Not going to lie, I’m a little fucking pissed off right now.”
“I’m not gonna argue about the rights and wrongs of what happened that night, but shit like that doesn’t happen where I come from.”
“That was my man,” he roars, leaning forward onto his knees. “You had a problem with him, you bring him to me. You broke the unwritten rules putting your motherfucking bullet into my man’s skull.” He grasps the glass while pointing his forefinger at me. “And what made the whole fucking thing worse was you and that cocksucker Carter lied about it. I called him out on where Xander was, because come on, my men don’t just disappear.”
The thudding in my chest does nothing to calm my nerves. I slowly shuffle forward in my seat, leaning until I’m close to him. “I don’t follow no fucking Savage rules. You walked onto our turf and your piece-of-shit man put his hands on one of our girls. I wasn’t going to let the sick fuck get away with that. Looking back, yes, I should’ve reacted differently. But I don’t regret killing him, not for a fucking second. Because that’s what I do. I react to the situation, just like I did at Alvrez’s place and my reaction there made you a motherfucking millionaire.” Glaring at him I know there is a fine line between giving as good as I get and pushing all the wrong buttons. “And there’s more where that came from. We can work together, Jeffries. We can continue making money. Lots of money.” Grabbing the glass, I throw back the amber liquid, swallowing it down in one gulp. The warmth has a pleasant kick and I can’t help but slam the glass down on the table in front of us.
“How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you won’t kill another one of my men the minute my back is turned?
Huh?”
“Oh, come on,” I say dropping back into my seat, holding out my hand. “Put yourself in my shoes. Fuck, man, you’d have done the same. The girl was Carter's cousin. That alone was fucked up.”
“Shit.” He blows out a huge breath. “That tiny piece I had my eye on?” Rolling my eyes, I nod a little. “She was a fine piece, I kinda don’t blame Xander for wanting a taste, but I get it.” He holds up his hands in surrender, his eyes meeting my harsh glare. “He crossed a line, and you did what you thought was right at the time.”
I let out a huge breath as the words fall from Jeffries’ mouth. He’s starting to understand, finally. Like it’s fucking registering in his tiny brain.
“But one thing you need to note, Brax. You have a problem with any of my men, you come to me first.” He holds out his hand. “I think we could work real fucking nice together. What ya reckon?”
“I reckon we have a deal.” I place my hand in his, giving him a firm, hand-squeezing shake.
“My son has had nothing but good fucking things to say about you.” He chuckles, dropping the hold on my hand and pushing his heavily tattooed hand through his hair. “Pussy motherfucker seems to have taken a shine to you.”
“Do me a favor…” I flick my chin upward a little.
“What?” he asks, picking up the half-smoked joint from the ashtray on the table and resting it loosely against his lips. Grabbing the lighter, he flicks the lid, placing the larger-than-necessary flame to the end of the joint. Dark smoke surrounds him, filling the air surrounding us.
I narrow my eyes, lean in a little and lower my voice. “Don’t call him a pussy. Boy did you good. He needs to be shown some respect.”
“Don’t talk to me about respect.” He takes a huge drag of the joint, blowing the smoke into my face.
“Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick here, but it seems to me you give Nate a hard time when he really doesn’t fucking deserve it.”
“I do give him a hard time. You’re right about that. But listen, what would you have me do? He’s not like us, Brax. He’s not the son I imagined I’d have.”
“No,” I roar, “he’s much more than that.” I stand up, leaning forward and patting his shoulder lightly. “Nate is a good kid.”
“I think that’s the problem.” Jeffries shrugs, finding his feet and standing in front of me, his hand resting on my shoulder.
“It was good that we could clear the air,” I say as we walk over to the door.
“I look forward to working with you again.”
I let out a sigh of relief, nodding in agreement. “I’ll be in touch,” I say, shaking his hand for a final time. I catch sight of Nate standing near the door. He lifts his head when he sees me and I know he’s checking to see how it went. I narrow my eyes on him, nodding my head ever so slightly.
“Nate,” Jeffries shouts over. “See Brax out.”
“Got it,” he shouts back, stepping closer to me.
“Good. It went good, right?”
“I’m still in one piece, aren’t I?” I retort, clasping my hand on the back of his neck. “Thanks for smoothing shit over with him, although, I’m not sure why he listened to you. He still isn’t your biggest fan, is he?” Scratching his chin, he shakes his head slowly. “Nah, fuck. We never have been that close, but coming home with the money fucking helped. He takes me seriously now.”
“You’re a good kid,” I say as we walk through the door and over to my motorcycle. “You’re my favorite Savage of them all,” I say with a laugh.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He laughs too, and I can see why this kid doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of them. He’s just a little too nice. No doubt he carries the fucking crazy gene, but it’s like the lifestyle hasn’t quite rubbed off on him. I think he’s good for Tara. I just hope the two of them can make it against all odds.
Getting answers is the focus of the day. And there is only one person other than Carter that I know I can ask.
My mother.
Tara has driven us to the house that holds a thousand memories and we sit outside in silence for what feels like a lifetime.
“So.” She reaches for my hand, squeezing it a little. “Do you want me to go knock on the door? I don’t mind.”
“No, it’s fine. I need to do this. I’m just trying to compose myself.”
“You got this, babe. I’m with you every step of the way.”
“I’m not scared of facing her, I’m just scared that I won’t be able to believe a word she says, and today is about getting the truth. I need to know.”
Making her way around to my side of the car, she opens the door, urging me to step out. I jump out and pull my hands into the sleeves of my jacket. Hiding my nerves is easier than admitting how I truly feel. I take slow, steady steps toward the house, stopping at the large wooden door.
“You knock,” I say with a glance and a nudge of my elbow.
“Okay,” she says, lifting her clenched fist, rapping her knuckles against the wood. I watch as her eyes roam over the dilapidated house. “I can hear someone,” she whispers, stepping back to look through the window beside the door.
The door opens, and a gasp escapes my mother. “Isabelle. It’s really you. Oh, baby.” She rushes toward me, wrapping her arms around me tightly, but I freeze and in my heart have nothing to reciprocate. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m not here for a reunion, Mom. I’m here for answers.”
Pulling back she draws her brows together, her eyes search mine as she questions me. “Answers… for what?”
“Maybe we can come in, talk civilly about this.” Tara speaks in a calm, sensitive tone, her eyes flit between me and my mom and I know she can feel the tension between us.
“Sure, I mean, I wasn’t expecting guests, but come in. Of course.” She steps back, allowing us to enter. I follow her into the living room, sitting down on the edge of the well-worn couch.
“So, spit it out. What is it you’re so desperate to know?” She stands in front of me and I lift my head to meet her bloodshot eyes. I swallow down the lump of disappointment that has formed in my throat, hardly able to believe this is my old house and the haggard-looking woman in front of me is my mother. She’s drunk already, the whole place is littered with empty bottles and smells like some kind of old bar.
“I need the truth about my father.”
“What about him?” she snaps, annoyance lacing her tone.
“Did he work for Carter? I mean, you know who Carter Mellano is, right?”
Her face blanches and her mouth drops open a little. “How do you know about that?” she croaks before stumbling over and dropping in the seat opposite me.
“I need to know the truth,” I yell. “You knew where I was, didn’t you?”
“No, of course not.” She stutters her words and I know it’s a lie.
“You’re lying.” I scream so loud it scratches the back of my throat. Tara rests her hand on my knee in an attempt to calm me, but it has the opposite effect. I bolt from my seat, over to my mother, leaning into her, one hand placed on either side of the chair. “Tell. Me. The. Truth,” I grate out, unable to unclench my teeth. “Now,” I roar and she jerks with fright.
“Okay, okay,” she whimpers, tears filling her eyes. “Your father started working with Carter, small-time dealing, but it got out of hand. He was making Carter good money, only, he was robbed. Some thugs jumped him, taking all of the money he’d made this particular day. See, your father wasn’t a fighting man. He did what he needed to, but violence wasn’t his thing. I had no idea what he was mixed up in until he came to me one day saying Carter was pissed about the money that was lost and that he had to pay it back within five days. If he couldn’t he was coming to take you. He admitted to your father that he wanted you. He said that you were destined to be with him, that he would take you and own you completely.”
“So that’s why he kept me locked away all that time?”
“Yes, Isabelle, you
have to believe me. We did what was necessary to protect you.”
I shake my head, leaning in until I’m so close to her face we’re practically touching. “No. No one does that to their own daughter. You could have moved me away…”
“No,” she interrupts. “He would’ve found you. It was too much of a risk. Please, we were just protecting you.”
I push myself away from her, placing both my palms against my face in an attempt to control my raging thoughts. “Do you know what I’ve been through? How being separated from my friends and being completely isolated has affected me? Do you have the first fucking idea?”
“Isabelle, honey, it’s okay.” Tara tries to soothe me, her hand caressing my back. “No,” I snap, moving away from her touch. “It’s not okay. Jesus, it all makes sense now. Brax said you didn’t look bothered. And that’s the reason you didn’t file a missing persons report.” I let out a growl of frustration, reaching for the empty glass of vodka on the table and launching it against the wall. The sound of glass shattering echoes around the room, shards of glass cover the floor.
“How long, Mom, huh? How long would you have kept me locked up?”
“Sweetheart, please.” She steps up from her chair, holding out a shaky hand as she tries to placate me. “We only did what we thought was best for you. To keep you safe. When you’ve calmed down, you’ll understand…”
“Understand? I’ll never understand how you’ve treated me and what you’ve done. You could’ve gone to the police. You could have done… something, anything but that.”
“Do you have any more questions?” she asks quietly.
“What is it, Mom? Am I taking up too much of your precious time?”
“Now you’re just twisting my words.”
“Just forget it,” I say, charging toward the door and barreling out and over to the car. I lean against the car, a sob wracking from me, my body shaking thunderously. A million unanswered questions play over and over in my mind.
The complete scars series: Books one-four Page 37
