Eye for an eye (The Nighthawks MC Book 5)

by Bella Knight

  Late that night, as Nantan made sure they brushed their teeth, Tam rinsed his mouth, spat, and turned to Nantan. “Was my father scared?” he asked.

  Nantan knew he had to answer the question well. “Yes,” he said. “Bullies who harm others are usually taught that by others, like their fathers. They grow up scared and angry, so they take these emotions out on others. They are afraid of being less, of being laughed at, of being ignored, but their behavior makes them less. It makes other people stay away. They are also afraid of those bigger than them, so they hit those smaller than them to make their small souls feel bigger. So, they get more angry, more fearful, and behave in worse and worse ways. It is a terrible trap.”

  “I hate Dad,” said Nico.

  “That’s understandable,” said Nantan. “His behavior was unacceptable. But, his father did it to him, maybe back ten generations. He learned it. The idea, if you learned it, is to unlearn it. Be and behave the opposite. Strength is being physically strong, yet gentle and kind. It is in defending others who are smaller than you from those who would hurt them. It is in listening with both ears and your heart. It is in learning all you can so you can make intelligent decisions, ones not based on strong emotions, like anger or fear.”

  “Let’s read,” said Tam. So, Nantan sat them down in the hallway right there, pulled out his cell phone, and read to them. When their eyes were starting to close, he sent them to their room to sleep.

  The chores, once Tam got over his fear of the horses, made them strong and lean. Dena raced them everywhere, and they stopped huffing and puffing after the first week or so. Vi’s huge breakfasts and dinners put meat on their bones, and probably the late-night snacking did as well.

  Getting them to bed was the problem. Other than their tendencies to read under the covers, something Nantan embraced wholeheartedly, they didn’t want to miss anything. They went through life with wide eyes and, over time, eager smiles. They still had nightmares, where one would comfort the other. They still jumped at loud noises. But, they were slowly settling in, their skin turning a deeper cinnamon from being in the sun.

  Nantan desperately needed a day off. The pickers rotated, even through Saturday and Sunday, so that wasn’t the problem. Game night had gone great; he’d played a little, then slipped away to get some things from the store and give himself a Sonic sundae. He’d even arrived in time for the last games, and some s’mores. The boys ate two each, smearing their faces with chocolate and marshmallow. He’d had to use three wet wipes on them. He took them for trail rides, always with another teen or adult, when Tam would finally sit on a pony.

  Once he realized he wouldn’t get bucked off, Tam loved riding. Getting him off his favorite pony, Spice, was the problem. They often had movie nights and gaming contests, and the boys loved coding their own games. What he needed was time alone. So, he set up “camping” in the big house in tents in the living room; it was too cold at night in the winter in the desert. Vi showed them how to bake cookies for the “trip,” and Henry and David were set to tell them many stories.

  The problem was, of course, the boys not wanting him to go. They begged him to stay.

  Henry solved the problem by saying, “Nantan is Sioux, like you. Warriors need time alone with their thoughts, to relax, to gather their strength together.”

  Henry had been learning Sioux, and sang the song of going forth well. It was a hunting song, but good enough, so Nantan sang back. He went out, put on his helmet, and rode away on his Harley, tears on his face at the goodness of Henry, loving the little boys and honoring him with a Sioux hunting song.

  Little Bill and Keyan met him at a restaurant in Boulder City, overlooking the lake. Little Bill and Keyan were both Apache, but Little Bill was huge and all muscle, with dark skin and long, blue-black hair he kept in a braid.

  Keyan was a slight man with a lilting voice and strong hands, his hair also in a braid. Little Bill taught Sioux, so he gave Nantan a thick box of textbooks, workbooks, and storybooks in Apache.

  “Thanks for this,” said Nantan, in Apache. “I need to teach them. I wrote a little program —I had help from the coding girls, but this will help me teach more.” The server came up, and all three men ordered steaks, potatoes, vegetables, and colas.

  “Show me pictures,” said Little Bill. Nantan showed him the boys on hiking trails, on ponies, stuffing their faces with pizza. “Norman boys, healthy,” said Little Bill. “Show me their test scores.” Nantan pulled up and explained the scores. “They are much improved,” he said.

  “Their weight is up. The psychologist says they are doing well. The nightmares are farther apart. It breaks my heart not to go in and comfort them, but I understand why I must not set foot in their rooms. Ajai helps them keep it clean, everything in its place. She made me order boxes, and bins, and a label machine. Now the boys have labels for everything, even their sleeping pods! Nico calls his The Nest, and Tam calls his…” Nantan had to clear his throat, “his home.”

  “Good,” said Keyan. “They are doing better than we hoped. Bodaway is still in jail. He cannot come up with bail.”

  “And Anpona, his wife?”

  “We are suing to have the machines turned off. It is terrible for her to be kept alive against her will. But, Bodaway insists that she live, and even though he is the one that hit her, he has not yet been convicted. So, the courts are siding with him.”

  Nantan snorted. “Of course he says that. If she dies, his charges turn to murder.”

  “We failed,” said Little Bill. “The house is just off the reservation, so we did not have jurisdiction. We sent women to talk to Anpona, but she was weak and exhausted. We brought clothes, food, and medicine for the boys, but either Bodaway used what we brought for himself, or he destroyed it, saying he did not wish to take charity. It is only because the boy is registered full Sioux, and that they ran into the res to call for help, that we can now help them. We want them on the res, but they are safer and happier with you.”

  “Thank you,” said Nantan.

  They spoke of jobs and fishing and rides other inconsequential things. Nantan was just happy to hear and speak his language.

  Both men clasped hands with him. “Go,” said Keyan. “Your man stares at you.” Juan was sitting at the bar, staring longingly at Nantan.

  Nantan sighed. “He did not agree with my taking all my responsibilities, and now I have two more.” He laughed without mirth. “I wonder what he will say now.”

  “Find out,” said Keyan. “He may surprise you.”

  “Good night,” said Nantan. He watched them leave.

  Juan brought his soda over to Nantan. “Is this seat taken?” he asked.

  “No,” said Nantan. “Please sit.”

  Juan sat heavily in the booth. “Friends of yours?”

  “I hope so,” said Nantan. “And they are here to make sure the boys are well.”

  “Wolfpack,” said Juan, drinking more cola.

  “No, Apache boys. I am adopting them, if it is to be.”

  Juan nearly dropped his can. “Adopting?”

  Nantan sighed. “Their father hit their mother over the head and put her in the hospital. She will die. She was finally trying to protect her boys.” He pulled up a picture he had taken their first day, their bruises clear on their faces, and terror and resignation in their eyes.

  “Dios mio,” said Juan. “And now?”

  Nantan scrolled to a more recent picture, of the boys laughing during a card game. “Wonderful before and after photos,” said Juan. “You have the touch. Horses and Apache boys.” Juan smiled, sadly. “I get it, now. This is your life’s work. You raise things, plants and horses and teens and boys. I just…” Juan looked away. “I just wanted a man, you know? To laugh with, share a life with. I’m young. I want to see life, do things, not be tied to a farm and kids.”

  “You made that clear before,” said Nantan, sipping his own cola. A waitress came and took the plates, and Nantan smiled at her. He paid the check that she left, and
left a generous tip.

  “I miss you,” said Juan. “Other guys aren’t you. You’re funny, and strong, and speak three languages, and can cook. I’m just some guy who works in a casino.”

  “Ah,” said Nantan. “You’re selling yourself short. These plants, and horses, and people are my life; bring me great joy. And, it is fucking exhausting. That’s part of why I’m here, a break from all the responsibilities you don’t want to shoulder. They could bring you great joy, too.”

  “I know,” said Juan. “I’m just not ready. And,” he said, holding up a hand, “I’m not asking you to wait.”

  “What are you asking for?”

  “One night,” said Juan. “Just one damn night.”

  Nantan followed Juan to his hotel, one that looked out over the lake. They came together in the dark, the stars outside their window. Juan was tentative at first, content to let Nantan lead, but Nantan stepped back, forcing Juan to reach out. They took off each other’s clothes in the dark; leathers and boots, then shirts. They pulled each other close, kissing deeply, hands on the back of each other’s heads. Juan took of Nantan’s jeans, and Nantan took off Juan’s, stroking his back. They got off the underwear and socks, and Juan got some courage. He pushed Nantan into the wall, and kissed him, touched him, licked and kissed his neck, then his shoulder. He slid his fingers down, clutched Nantan’s buttocks, felt Nantan’s hardness in his hands. He knelt then, kissed, stroked, and sucked, and held Nantan’s balls in one hand while he held the base of his penis with the other. Nantan came with a groan, pushing his head back against the wall. He reached down to his jeans and pulled out wet wipes. He wiped himself down while Juan washed his hands in the bathroom. They fell on the bed into each other’s arms, and fought the dawn.

  When Nantan woke, there was nothing, not even a note. He stared at the ceiling, but he was unable to regret their last night together. He took a shower, dressed, and went down to the hotel’s coffee shop for pancakes, bacon, and orange juice. He looked out over the lake, and then got on his Harley. He didn’t look back.

  Stupidity

  They were on a snack break, everyone having done chores and eaten breakfast, or vice versa., except for Alo, Alicia, Elu, and Yanaba, who had gone to work with Tito for the day. Henry ran the GED classes on the Pomodoro method, so they had four rounds of two, twenty-five-minute classes, with ten minutes in between. So, they had a thirty-minute break, where everyone ran around grabbing snacks and sodas, and played video games at the table. Jacy and Yas were having a “fuck you” conversation, with them saying, “Fuck you!” to each other.

  Ajai gave them a little glare; they settled down and fought in their video game. She kept an eye on Tam and Nico; they were finally eating healthy snacks, apples and nuts. They actually spoke occasionally, too, and their bruises were gone.

  Nantan heard shouting outside, and he stood up. He looked out the glass surrounding the front door, and he held his hands at his side. He touched his ring finger to his thumb, first on one hand, then the other.

  Tam and Nico went wide-eyed, stood, and ran out the back door. What the fuck?” asked Yas.

  Ajai shushed him with a glare, and hurried to the sports box as Nantan opened the door and stepped out. She grabbed two baseball bats. “Willow and Ruby, follow the boys. Guard the door.” She took out two more.

  Willow rushed to her, and took it. “The rest of you, go upstairs.” Ajai pulled out her phone, and, one-handed, typed a 911 and sent it to Henry.

  She sent a second 911 to her mothers, Herja and Rota, replying to one they sent. She didn’t know that both Wraith and Ivy were CC’d on it; it had been about a Valkyrie’s picnic.

  She nodded to Yoki, who nodded back. They stepped out on the porch, bats in hand. The arguing boys finally realized that the girls were deadly serious about something, and they looked out the window. There was a man that looked like a wider, meaner version of Nantan, standing at the bottom of the steps and screaming. He was glaring at Nantan and waving his fists, and swaying a little. He looked either drunk or high.

  “Oh, shit,” said Jacy. He pulled out his cell, and called David. “Get over to our house!” he shouted. “Really big angry guy going after Nantan.”

  “You stay put,” said David, who grabbed the gun out of the locked case in the living room.

  Henry already had the pump-action shotgun off from over the door, and was loading shells.

  “Sister,” he said, “Turn off the ovens and whatnot and get you and Sofia upstairs. Bella’s gone. Guard Inola and the baby.”

  “I’ve got them,” said David, as the lock opened. He filled the rifle with bullets.

  “Love you,” said Henry, and he was running out the door with the shotgun.

  Ivy was walking out to go to work when she got the text, and so she texted Henry. There was no reply, so she sent a text to Ace to open without her, who sent a 911 to Gregory and Tito, and went full throttle toward the farm.

  Wraith was typing up a report on one screen, and researching a nasty little gang of meth head thieves with the other. They’d killed their first cop, and the hounds of Hell were after them. Her phone beeped, and she saw the 911 from Ajai. She grabbed her jacket and was on her bike before she realized she was moving.

  Rota had much the same reaction; she was at the new house doing demo with Tito and the kids. Tito got the same text, and told the kids to literally drop what they were doing, and get in the fucking van, now. He barely remembered to lock up behind him.

  Herja finished teaching a karate class for the police department. She watched them leave, in various shades of red and pink, depending on how many times she’d thrown them, or had them in locks. Her cell phone shook, and she opened it, thinking Rota was inviting her to dinner or out. She saw the 911, and she ran out like a bat out of hell.

  “Iron Knight to me!” she yelled.

  “I’m off duty,” said Thrasher, running with her.

  “Henry’s farm. 911. My daughter.”

  “Fuck,” he said. They put on their helmets, and Thrasher had a police bike, so he opened up with the siren, and they rode like the wind.

  Nantan kept his hands by his side. The man in front of him was rock-solid. His nose had been broken several times. He was screaming in a mix of Sioux, English, and Spanish, and he kept changing speeds, from fast to slow and fast again. His pupils were dilated, and he sometimes slurred his words.

  Nantan knew who he was the minute he saw the man, and that he was looking at the boys’ father. Henry had gotten his hands on the police reports. Bodaway was not allowed to be within a thousand feet of his wife, who was dying in the hospital in a coma from her injuries. Or his kids, multiple bars, two bosses, and three ex-wives. The boys were too traumatized to see their mother, who looked nothing like the woman they knew, with the side of her face bashed in. There were no other relatives to take the boys.

  Bodaway should have been in the process of being convicted of his wife’s murder; he was definitely facing charges of assault with a deadly weapon. He’d taken a baseball bat to his wife after she’d finally gotten a backbone and attempted to stop him from beating the kids with his fists. He’d lost a fight that night at a bar, and had gone home to “win” a fight, by beating up his wife and children.

  Nantan parsed enough of the mess the man was yelling to realize he was demanding to see his children.

  Who was a stupid enough judge to let this guy out? How did he find this place? Nantan thought.

  Their location should have been blacked out in court documents. The tribal elders were the only ones who should have been aware of where the boys were.

  “Stop,” he said in Sioux. “Why are you here?”

  The man stepped forward, his face getting stonier. “Do you have a brain of stone? You stole my sons!” he screamed.

  Behind him, Nantan heard the door open. He saw Ajai out of the corner of one eye, Yoki out of the corner of the other. Both girls were armed with baseball bats. He knew Ajai had been learning from her mother Herja
, and that Yoki had played baseball for the past seven years. He actually thought of how to get out of the way if either girl started swinging. He would probably lose a kneecap.

  “I stole nothing and no one,” said Nantan.

  “You were seen! They got into your van! You are some sort of sick monster!”

  The word “pedophile” was an English one, but Nantan knew perfectly well what the man meant.

  “I do not harm people,” said Nantan. “I grow plants.”

  “Who are these? Your wives?” Bodaway said, swinging his arms. He was building himself up for a fight.

  Some people are too mean and stupid to go on, Nantan thought.

  “I am Sioux,” he said. “Not a monster.”

  Jeffrey came flying up on the big stallion, with a harness but bareback. He reined the horse in behind Bodaway. Bodaway was too stupid to realize that Jeffrey could have let the horse land, feet first, on his head.

  “You good?” asked Jeffrey.

  “So far,” said Nantan, switching to English.

  “You fucking moron,” said Bodaway, swinging an arm at the horse. Jeffrey backed the horse up perfectly.

  “I think you may be referring to yourself,” said Henry, riding up on the gorgeous gray mare. Smoke, they had rescued and was training to jump, bareback, with no reins.

  Henry held a shotgun loosely in his hands. He let go of the reins, and the horse stood, patiently. He racked the shotgun, an unmistakable sound.

  “You are not wanted here. You will leave now.”

  “Fuck you,” said Bodaway. stalking towards Nantan.

  Nantan held out his hands. He preferred no fighting to fighting. He also didn’t want Henry to have to fill out paperwork, or explain to the boys how their father had died on his doorstep.

  “You will stop,” said Nantan, in Sioux. “You will leave this place.”

  “Why the fuck would I do that?” asked Bodaway, stepping forward.