Son of a Beard

by Lani Lynn Vale

  Aaron was a good man. He was the newest member of the club and was fast becoming one of my friends.

  “I don’t think it’s sunk in yet,” I finally settled on. “I see him there, see his body…but I feel numb.”

  A loud curse had me looking toward the door where Stephanie had pulled Big Papa to the side.

  He was staring down at her with pure rage on his face.

  She continued to talk, and I stopped listening to what Aaron was saying and started focusing in on what they were discussing.

  “Shit,” Big Papa groaned. “Fuck.”

  And that’s when I knew.

  Stephanie had been the one to be assigned to go check on my grandmother.

  And by the look on Stephanie’s face, my grandmother had likely received the same fate as my grandfather.

  Having it confirmed moments later was pure torture.

  And that’s when it finally sank in.

  Chapter 7

  In college, my favorite course was intercourse.

  -Truth’s secret thoughts

  Truth

  The first time I saw the meme floating around the Internet, I had zero to nil patience left in me.

  Everything that was left was rage.

  Normally, I would’ve handled it better.

  I would’ve told the person who shared it on Facebook that they needed to take that meme down before I beat their ass.

  Instead, I went straight to beating their ass.

  Well, not the person who shared it with me, but the person who made the meme.

  ‘Hey, isn’t this you, bro?’ I read again on my company’s page.

  But it wasn’t just me who saw it.

  So far, it’d been shared over a thousand times, and multiple people who I knew that were commenting or tagging me in it.

  The picture wasn’t that bad.

  Of me, anyway.

  Well, not of Verity, either.

  It was the words that had me pissed off.

  The picture itself was of Verity and I riding on the back of my bike, my helmet seated firmly on her head, and her hands around my waist.

  It was a profile shot, but it clearly showed part of Verity’s ass hanging off the back of the bike seat.

  But that wasn’t because she was fat, it was because the seat on that bike was on the smaller side, and really only made for one person.

  Yet, the person taking the photo had no problem putting ‘watch out—wide load’ across the bottom of the photo right under Verity’s ass.

  Picking up the phone, calmly, I called in a favor from a friend of mine in Kilgore, Texas. A man whose wife was a computer savant that could find out anything I wanted to know with only a few minutes’ effort on her part.

  “Hello?” Jack answered shortly.

  I could hear kids screaming in the background, and I found my first smile in two days.

  Jack was a good man. I’d met him while he was deployed at the same time that I was, though he was Army and I was Navy. Usually we would’ve never crossed paths, but a SEAL never knew where he’d end up or what mission he’d be needed on.

  Ten years later, he was married with a shit ton of kids and living about four hours away from me in a biker club of his own.

  “I need help tracking down the original poster of a picture on fuckbook,” I said without preamble.

  I hated Facebook. It was a waste of precious time and brain cells, yet it was a necessary evil that I couldn’t stand.

  “Shoot me the link,” Jack said.

  He didn’t even need details. That was how much both of us trusted the other.

  I did, and a few minutes later he whistled.

  “Hot man. She yours?”

  Heat pooled in my belly.

  “Yeah,” I confirmed.

  She was.

  I just had to pull my shit together, first.

  ***

  Two hours later, Jack shot me the original poster as well as the original poster’s address and photograph, and I found myself in front of a metal shop, idling on my bike, waiting for the motherfucker to come outside.

  It didn’t take long.

  It was near lunch time, and the entire lot was emptying faster than a disturbed wasp’s nest.

  The man went to his own bike, straddled it, and I pounced.

  One second I was on my bike, and the next I was eight spaces over, pulling the motherfucker off of his.

  One well-placed fist to the man’s nose had the little shit doubling. The next fist hit one of the man’s kidneys.

  “Pissing blood for a week,” I heard someone mutter.

  I knew they were there.

  I could see about ten of them, but not one of them tried to interfere.

  Either that meant they didn’t like the guy I was about to teach a lesson, or they didn’t want to be on the receiving end of my fists…or possibly both.

  “Should we call the cops?”

  They could always try, but likely the one to come was going to be Aaron since I’d warned him it may happen twenty minutes before.

  “No.”

  That was the same voice that said the man would be pissing blood for a week, and I found that I kind of liked him.

  Reaching down, I picked the man’s head up by his hair, and turned him to look at me.

  “You took a picture,” I said angrily. “Do you know which one I’m talking about?”

  The lower half of the man’s face was covered with blood.

  “No,” he said.

  Tears and snot were intermingling with the blood on his face, and I sneered at him in disgust.

  “Let me remind you,” I pulled out a photo I printed out and shoved it up against his face, letting the blood hit the paper and smearing it hard into his face.

  He cried out.

  “How about now?” I asked, pulling it back slightly. “Do you remember now?”

  He started to fight back and I grinned, dropping the photo on the ground.

  The man with the deep, amused voice behind me picked it up, and then cursed.

  “You did this, Tyson?” the man asked.

  Tyson, the douche that deserved way worse than an ass beating, threw out a punch that landed on my arm and grazed my bicep.

  I retaliated by dropping my knee down onto the man’s balls and grinding down.

  I followed it up by kicking the man’s knee, causing it to turn sideways—likely breaking his kneecap in the process.

  He bellowed in pain, unsure what to hold—his balls, his nose, or his knee.

  I stood up and started to back away, and he tried to follow.

  So I dropped back down, the weight of my knee on his chest.

  It was a miniscule try, but I had to give him credit. Most men would’ve been down and out by now.

  “Stay the fuck down,” I growled, leaning my knee into the man’s sternum. “I ever, ever, see you share something this offensive again, I will rip your goddamn eyes out and shove them up your ass with the rest of your head.”

  The man nodded, licking his broken and cracked lips.

  I stood, this time happy to see he wasn’t going to try to follow.

  Turning to my bike that was still running at the edge of the parking lot, I started towards it, uncaring that the men surrounding me watched me with wary looks.

  “Truth?”

  I looked up to see a bearded man holding the photo.

  His beard was much larger than mine, and tied in a goddamned braid.

  “What?” I half snapped.

  “My name is William.”

  I shrugged.

  His mouth twitched.

  “I’m Randi’s husband. Verity’s best friend.”

  Understanding dawned.

  I held my hand out as I said, “Nice to meet you.”

  He took my offered hand and shook it twice before letting go.

  “I like what you did back there. Had I known, I’d have done it myse
lf four days ago,” he promised.

  I shrugged.

  “I just saw it this morning. Been dealing with funeral arrangements for my grandparents.”

  And waiting for my family to make it into town.

  Not to mention finishing up a class session.

  And avoiding anything that had to do with Verity.

  Any sympathy on her part would cause me to break down, and right now I needed to be strong.

  Because if I wasn’t strong, I would cry like a goddamned baby.

  “You ever need anything, a favor, I’m here.”

  I studied the man’s face, noted his sincerity, and nodded once.

  “Thanks.”

  With that, I mounted my bike—having gone back to the seatless one—and throttled it up as loud as it would go, sparing one final glance at the piece of shit still on the ground, before I rode away, back to my workshop and all of the problems that plagued me.

  Chapter 8

  Beards make my nipples have minds of their own.

  -Verity’s secret thoughts

  Verity

  “What are you doing?”

  I looked up at my best friend, tears dripping down my face, and shook my head.

  “Nothing,” I said as I tried to wipe away my tears before she saw them.

  She sighed, and took a seat next to me.

  “Is it that man, or is it the meme again?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Both.”

  And it was, but more of the sadness was directed toward Truth than my own fat ass at the moment.

  “I still can’t believe someone would put that on Facebook. You didn’t even look bad! Seriously, it was you sitting on the back of a bike…though, I am fairly sure I could see the pink thong you bought at Victoria’s Secret last week.”

  William started to chuckle darkly next to me, and I flipped him off, causing his smile to widen.

  William and I had a weird relationship.

  I started dating William first, and after a few weeks of dating, we both knew it wasn’t going to work.

  Then came in Randi.

  I introduced her to him, and they really hit it off.

  Flash forward six months, and they were engaged to be married. Now, six years later, they were married with five kids.

  Literally, five kids.

  And I wasn’t sure that Randi was done yet.

  William liked keeping her pregnant, and Randi liked making William happy.

  It was vicious cycle, and one that would only end if one of them got their baby makers taken care of.

  “So, I had a thing happen at work today,” William started. “You’ll never guess who got his ass kicked.”

  My heart leapt into my throat.

  “Was it Tyson?”

  Was that a hint of hope I heard in my voice? You bet your ass. I hated Tyson with a passion.

  “Yep,” he confirmed much to Randi’s and my amusement. “Got his ass kicked thoroughly. By a big ass biker with a beard that has almost as much grandeur as mine.”

  I snorted, my hand going to my neck where Truth had given me a slight beard burn the last time I’d seen him…held him.

  “Yep. Guy made sure that little fucker will be pissing blood for a week, thank God.” He started to chuckle darkly. “The boss man told him to take a week off to get rid of his menstrual pains.”

  I rolled my eyes, but inside, deep down, I thought it was funny.

  Tyson was a douche.

  He’d never missed an opportunity to give me hell, and since he worked with Kenneth and William, I saw the little bastard at all the company functions.

  Though, Kenneth was a big boss, the douche canoe who made sure everyone was doing their jobs correctly and thought he was better than all the grunts and peons at the company.

  William was one of those peons, though not because of any lack of trying on the company’s part in attempting to get him to take on more responsibilities. He just plain didn’t want the job, and he liked it exactly where he was.

  He made damn good money as a machinist, but he just didn’t want the extra headache of having to deal with assholes like Tyson.

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” I hesitated. “Do you…do y’all think I should go to the funeral?” I licked my dry lips. “I don’t want him to think I’m stalking him, but I want to be there…just to show my face. Let him know I care.”

  Randi’s face softened. “I think you should go.”

  “I don’t know,” I murmured.

  William, Randi’s husband, butted in then.

  “I think you should go, too.”

  I blinked, startled to hear him offer an opinion.

  “Why? What makes you think he won’t see me and get mad?”

  He grinned, causing his braided beard that was lying flat against his chest—something he did when he was about to ride—to shake, and gestured for me to sit up.

  He sat down next to me, pulling me into his chest like a brother would—though I could only guess since I didn’t actually have a brother—and started to talk.

  By the time he was finished explaining the merits of going versus not going, I was convinced that he was right.

  I should go.

  “Now I just need to find something to wear.”

  That turned out a lot harder to do than making the actual decision to go in the first place.

  Chapter 9

  If you’re going to get in trouble for hitting someone, you might as well hit them hard.

  -Fact of Life

  Truth

  My parents and my brother and sister made it in time. Even though we weren’t quite sure if my sister would or not.

  I suppose that was to be expected when you were in the middle of the ocean on an aircraft carrier, and it wasn’t as easy to leave as someone who was on land could.

  My brothers were at my back: Sean, Aaron, Big Papa, Ghost, and Tommy Tom.

  The rest of the community—those who adored my Pops and Grams as much as I did—were also there.

  Police officers. Paramedics. Firefighters. Plumbers. Even the fuckin’ mayor was there.

  The hall that we’d settled on to hold the service in was filled to maximum capacity, and my heart swelled knowing that the place was packed.

  I heard a familiar voice say ‘excuse me’ from somewhere behind me, and I turned in my seat next to my mother, freezing at the sight that awaited me.

  Verity, in a black dress that hugged her curves and came to a stop right above her calves, was taking a seat about four rows from the back, next to a few of my Grams’ bingo partners.

  They smiled at her, scooted over, and made her feel welcome, causing my chest to ache.

  I should’ve called her myself, but if I was being honest, I was using the death of my grandparents as an excuse. A convenient excuse that allowed me the time I needed to figure out what exactly I was going to tell her.

  She looked up then, her eyes searching the room, and froze when she found me already looking at her.

  She smiled and gave me a small wave.

  I continued to stare, causing her eyebrows to furrow.

  Then I lifted my hand and motioned my fingers at her, ordering her silently to come to me.

  Her eyes widened, and she shook her head furiously.

  The old ladies around her, though, saw that I wanted her, and all got up as one and ushered her out of her seat.

  Not even five seconds later, Verity was on her feet in the middle of the aisle.

  She was left standing there, looking at where she used to be sitting, wondering whether she should run for it or follow directions.

  I leaned forward in my seat, then stood, gesturing to my mom to scoot down, which she did without another word.

  “Verity,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Sit.”

  She turned on her heel, and walked up to the pew I was standing in the middle of.

 
; “’Scuse me,” Verity said to my brother.

  My brother stood, swiping his tie down against his chest as he did, and moved without a word.

  Kenneth, who was on the end of the pew behind me, stood, and stared at Verity with a look of shock crossing over his face.

  She looked damn good.

  I agreed with his assessment.

  What I did not agree with, however, was him reaching for her.

  “Trent,” I said quietly.

  Trent, seeing that Kenneth was reaching for Verity, moved in front of Kenneth and blocked his way, allowing Verity to slip past him and my sister, Marnie, before coming to a stop beside me.

  She smiled timidly at me, and I dropped my mouth down to hers, giving her a quick, soft kiss.

  She had no clue, but she’d just saved my sanity.

  Having to deal with my sister, brother, mother and father, as well as having Kenneth and my cheating ex at my back, was hard in and of itself.

  But having to do that while also laying my grandfather and grandmother—people who had been like second parents to me—in the ground was tipping me over the edge of reason.

  I didn’t have any patience today, and I hadn’t had much for the last five days since my grandparents had been murdered.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I told her, taking her hand, and pulling her to the pew beside me.

  She crossed her left leg over her right and leaned into me.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered in my ear.

  I squeezed her to me, wrapping my arm around her shoulders, and held on tight.

  My sister, who was curious by nature, stared at me over the top of Verity’s head, and I winked at her.

  She stuck her tongue out at me, and I felt something tight in my chest relax.

  Marnie, Trent, and I had had a knockdown, drag out fight with our parents over the last two days about whether we should cremate my grandparents or not.

  They agreed with our aunt, Kenneth and Eugene’s mom, that they should be buried in a cemetery next to each other.

  I’d argued that that hadn’t been what the two of them wanted, and Trent and Marnie had agreed.

  In the end, my parents finally settled with us, and we’d outvoted our aunt, but it hadn’t been because they were agreeing with us. It’d been because the lawyer had butted in and informed my dad and aunt of their parents’ wishes.