by L. Wilder
“What are you talking about? You had them in your hand an hour ago!”
At six-three and three hundred and twenty pounds, my father wasn’t a small man. He towered over me along with most of the people in my family. That was enough to make him intimidating, but it was his ferocious temper that made him scary as hell. The man was a legend in our town, known for whooping half the football team when he was in high school. Those rumors continued when he started getting into brawls down at the local bar. I didn’t have to listen to the rumors to know about his short fuse and the havoc he could bring when he lost control. I lived with him. I knew exactly how terrifying he could be. His cold, black eyes narrowed as I answered, “Yeah, but I gave them back to you.”
He didn’t like my answer. In fact, it was enough to cause his back to stiffen and his chest heave with fury. “If you gave them back to me, I wouldn’t be standing here asking you where the fuck they were!”
“You were sitting with Uncle Jamie when I handed them to you.”
“That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it.” My heart started to pound, and my palms were all sweaty. “You been running around doing God knows what. There’s no telling where my fucking keys ended up!”
My shoulders drew up as I muttered, “You sure they aren’t in your pocket?”
“No! They aren’t in my goddamn pocket ‘cause I gave them to you! You think I’m stupid or something?” He threw his hands up in frustration. His face was growing redder by the minute, and that vein in his neck was now pulsing. I knew what that meant. He was spiraling into a fit of rage, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. “And now you’ve gone and lost them! Stupid, worthless motherfucker!”
By now, everyone at the cookout was staring at us, but no one said a word. They all just stood there, watching silently as I muttered, “I promise I didn’t lose them, Dad. I gave them back to you. I swear it.”
“I know damn, fucking well you didn’t, and don’t you say that shit again!” His chest was heaving with each breath, and his eyes were wide with rage. My eyes drifted to his nose, and panic started to set as I watched his nostrils flare in and out like an angry bull. I’d seen that expression enough times to know he was on the brink. He was about to lose control, and I could only stand there and watch as it happened. He reached out and grabbed my shirt collar, twisting it into his fist as he leaned down and growled, “Your sorry ass lost my fucking keys, and now, your sorry ass is gonna find them! You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as he released me, I ran back to where he’d been sitting and searched high and low for his keys. Michael and Jake, two of my first cousins, felt bad for me and tried to help me. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for them to chicken out on me. Michael glanced over at my dad as he whispered, “Hey, man. We gotta go. Um...It’s time for the show.”
“Oh, okay.”
“You’ll find them.” He motioned his hand towards the grill. “Check over by the picnic tables. Maybe they’re over there.”
“I’ll check.”
My heart sank as I watched Jake and Michael join their families and load up in their cars. It wasn’t long before they all backed out of the driveway and left me and Madden to fend for ourselves. I got why they’d want to steer clear. My dad was being an asshole, but damn, I was just nine years old. You would’ve thought one of them would’ve said something to him, tried to get him to calm down and get him off my back, but no one said a thing. They simply drove away and never looked back.
There was still no sign of his keys, and I could tell by looking at him Dad was getting madder by the minute. I didn’t know what to do. Madden and I had already checked all the places I could think of, but they were nowhere to be found. I could literally feel the anger radiating off him from twenty feet away.
“You’re a goddamn idiot—just like your fucking mother.” I’d heard my father’s rants plenty of times. I knew he was angry and trying his best to hurt me. That’s what he always did. Not only did he scare us all, but he wanted to break us and make us feel as shitty as he felt. I tried not to listen as he barked, “Don’t know why I even bother trying with you. All you ever do is disappoint time and time again. If I could disown your sorry ass I would!”
His words stung. My father was often mean and callous, but he was still my father. Rational or not, I hated the thought of being a disappointment to him. I lowered my head and tried to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. That was a mistake. I’d shown a sign of weakness, and that was all it took for my father to lose his self-control. He charged over to me and grabbed hold of me. Before I realized what was happening, he had his arm wound around my neck in a choke hold, strangling me as he lifted my feet off the ground. Madden was too little to help. He could only stand there and watch as I clawed at his arm, trying with all my might to break free. It was no use. He was simply too strong. “Next time I give you something of mine, you best keep up with it. You got me?”
I didn’t get the chance to answer. Before I could respond, he reared his free hand back and formed it into a fist, slamming it into the side of my head—each blow harder than the last. I don’t know how many times he hit me before I finally lost all consciousness and fell limp in his arms.
When I awoke, I was in my father’s lap. He was cradling me like I was a fucking infant as he held a cold rag to my head. He was on the verge of tears as he mumbled, “I’m sorry, buddy. You gotta know I didn’t mean it. I just lost my temper.”
“Um-hmm.” My head was pounding. My chest felt like a hundred-pound weight was pressing down on me. I just wanted to lay there and pretend I was somewhere else. I wanted to pretend that my father hadn’t almost killed me, but that wasn’t an option. Dad would keep coddling me until he felt like he’d made amends, just like he did with Mom every time he hit her. I despised him. I wished he was dead, but he wasn’t. He was right there, living and breathing, waiting on me to come to. I forced my eyes open, and as I laid there trying to come to my senses, I spotted them. My father’s keys were sitting right there on top of his cooler. I lay there staring at them with disbelief. I had to know if my mind was just playing tricks on me, so I asked, “Those your keys?”
“Yeah...I found them in the cooler. They must’ve fallen inside when I was getting a beer.”
“Oh,” was all I could muster as a reply. I was too dazed, too angry to say anything more. I sat up and took in a deep breath. That’s when I finally noticed Madden. He was white as ghost as he stood there staring back at me. “You okay?”
“Um-hmm. Are you?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
Dad stood up as he asked, “You boys wanna go watch the fireworks?”
“I’d rather just go on home.”
“Alright. Whatever you want, bud.”
He grabbed our things, and as soon as he had everything loaded, we all got in his truck. On the way home, I thought about everything that had taken place. Up until that night, my father had never been like that with me. Sure, he’d yelled and made me feel like shit, and even belt whipped me whenever he thought I got out of line, but he’d never actually punched me or strangled me like he had today. He’d always saved all that kind of brutality for my mother.
That all changed after the cookout. I was no longer just a bystander. I had gotten older, bigger in my father’s eyes—big enough to face the wrath of his quick temper. Leaving a wet towel on the floor could result in a busted lip or a mild concussion, being late to dinner could leave me with a black eye or a broken rib or two, and no matter how trivial, backtalking in any way could leave me incapacitated for days. Hell, even looking at the guy the wrong way could cause him to release his madness. I’d hoped he would leave him be, but Madden got his own fair share of my father’s attention. After each attack, the guilt would get to him, and he’d ease up a bit. But it never lasted long. My father wasn’t a happy man, and he took it out on the people he was supposed to love the most.
This was my life. I walked a fine line. If I fuc
ked up, I paid the price. Even when I didn’t fuck up, I paid the price. It was a vicious cycle that was only compounded by the fact that everyone knew what was going on. We lived in a small town. We all knew each other by name. They saw the bruises, the bandages, and broken limbs, but instead of feeling sorry for me or trying to help, they’d simply ignore it, pretending they hadn’t seen anything, or look at us with utter disgust, thinking we’d gotten what we’d deserved. Over time, people just quit looking altogether. It was like they saw right through us, treating us like some kind of reject or scab on their perfect little town. The bruises hurt, the busted lips stung, and the broken bones were almost crippling, but the pain they caused was nothing compared to the pain of feeling so utterly alone—so fucking helpless. I hated that fucking feeling. I hated it almost as much as I hated my ol’ man.
Madden and I had pleaded repeatedly with our mom to pack up and go. She always refused, saying we needed our father—that she simply didn’t have the means to raise us on her own. No matter how hard we tried to convince her, my mother wouldn’t leave. She didn’t leave when he knocked out two of my teeth, broke my femur, and shattered my wrist. She didn’t leave when he dragged her across the floor by her hair and kicked her in the side until her spleen ruptured. Yeah, things got pretty bad. We lived in a world of darkness and secrets, but she stuck it out.
By the time I’d turned sixteen, I’d had enough. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wouldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t going to let him hurt my little brother, not like he’d done me. I’d made up my mind that the next time he touched either of them I would put a bullet in his head.
But I didn’t get the chance.
He was on his way home from work when he decided to stop at the local bar for a few drinks. After one too many beers, he found himself in a fight he couldn’t win. A guy had enough of his fucking foul mouth and knifed him right in the gut. Left him for dead in the parking lot. By the time he was found, it was too late. My father was already gone. Our lives with my father were over, but the effects of his abuse would last for years to come. You see, there are some scars you cannot see, but they are there just the same—some so deep they’ll never fully heal.
Those scars are what made me the man I am today—a man full of anger who never let anyone get too close. A man who knew when to remain silent, how to stand strong inside and out, and knew exactly when to strike. Those were lessons only a father like mine could teach.
Because of him, I had a bite so venomous it would put you in the grave.
Because of him, I was Widow.
Widow
“Where is everyone tonight?” Marlowe asked as she wiped down the counter. “I haven’t seen it this dead since I started.”
“There’s a big Titans game tonight, but don’t get too excited. Things will pick up.” Marlowe is Rafe’s ol’ lady. He’s one of the reasons why she started bartending for us. It’d only been a few months since she started, so I got why she might’ve been concerned about us being slow. I glanced back over my shoulder at the table behind us, where a group of five or six guys were tossing back one pitcher after the next. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but just looking at them gave me a bad feeling. The way they were drinking didn’t bother me. In a strip bar like Stilettos, you have to expect rowdy drunks, but there was just something off about these particular guys. Maybe it was the way they kept looking around, watching every move the brothers made—almost like they were hoping for trouble. Regardless of what they were thinking, my gut told me our quiet night wouldn’t be lasting long. “Take my advice. Enjoy the quiet while you can.”
“That’s just it. I’m having a hard time enjoying all the quiet.” She motioned her head over to the flatscreen mounted on the wall behind us and sighed at the sight of Stark’s image flashing across the screen. “Just when you think they’ve put this story to rest, they dredge it all up again.”
“It’ll all die out soon enough.”
Stark was actually an associate of Marlowe’s biological father—a man who was once high up in the Italian mafia and planned to expand his business by branching out in Nashville. He didn’t live long enough to make good on that plan. We made sure of that, but Stark wasn’t ready to give it up. He had it in his head he was going to finish what his partner started and thought he could use Marlowe to carry out his plan. He was wrong. There was no way in hell we were going to let someone come in and take root in our territory, and we sure as hell weren’t going to let him use one of our own against us. He never saw us coming. The asshole actually thought he had the upper hand, but it was clear from everything that was being said on the news, Stark was done—in more ways than any of us realized. After listening to the reporter for several moments longer, Marlowe shook her head and said, “I knew he was a bad guy. I just had no idea how bad. To think he had all those guns and men at Crockett’s. You’d think he was planning on going to war or something.”
“Hard to tell exactly what he was planning,” I lied. All the brothers knew what Stark was up to and how he intended to take down the club, but that was club business and club business was never discussed with our women—no matter how tempting it might be. Hoping to change the subject, I asked, “You heard any more from Kate or your folks?”
“No, and I’m not planning to either...especially now that the truth has come out about Eric.” Marlowe shrugged. “I’m sure Kate is done trying to one-up me ‘cause there’s no way I could ever one-up that.”
“Ah, you never know.” I chuckled as I replied, “Give Rafe a little time. I’m sure he’ll step up to the challenge.”
Marlowe threw her hands up as she shrieked, “Oh, no! There’s been no challenge declared here! I’m good with things just the way they are.”
“I understand.”
Lisa, our veteran bartender, came over and smiled. “Hey there, handsome. Can I get ya a beer or something?”
“A Coke would be good.”
“You got it.”
Lisa winked as she turned and went over to make my drink. She was filling the glass with ice when Marlowe leaned over the counter and whispered, “Lisa’s really sweet, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she’s one of the best.”
“She’s really pretty, too.” Marlowe quickly glanced over her shoulder, making sure Lisa couldn’t hear as she whispered, “She’d make a great catch for somebody.”
“Umm-hmm. You gettin’ at something, Lowe?” I asked, knowing good and well she was trying to set me up with Lisa.
“No,” she lied. “I was just making an observation.”
“Um-hmm.” Lisa was a pretty girl. She had a knockout figure and an ass that wouldn’t quit, but there was no way I’d ever tangle up with her. Lisa was the kind of woman who was looking to settle down. In fact, she’d had a thing for Hawk and was hoping to settle down with him until he hooked up with Delilah. She’d never say anything, but I knew that shit hurt. And the last thing I wanted to do was hurt her even more. That didn’t mean I was going to miss the opportunity to fuck with Marlowe. “So, you’re not trying to say that I should make a play for Lisa?”
“I was just thinking you two could really hit it off.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. I just thought since you’re a nice guy, and she’s...”
“Make no mistake, Lowe. I’m not a nice guy,” I warned. “Lisa can do far better than me, and she knows it.”
“I don’t know. If you ask me, she seems pretty interested.”
I didn’t respond. There wasn’t any reason to. I knew Marlowe had good intentions, but I wasn’t a relationship kind of guy. Lisa came back over, smiling ear to ear as she placed my drink on the counter. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
“Thanks, Lisa.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Lisa gave me a flirty smile, then turned and went back to work. I was about to get up to do my rounds when someone walked up behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Rafe. I could tel
l just by looking at the expression on Marlowe’s face. Her lips curled into a warm smile as she said, “I wasn’t expecting you to come by tonight.”
“Not staying long. Need to check in with Menace, and then we’re headed back.” Rafe eased forward and gave Marlowe a brief kiss before asking, “You having a good night?”
“Pretty good.” Marlowe motioned her head towards the empty tables in the corner as she continued, “Kind of slow tonight.”
“It’ll pick up after the game.”
“Yeah, Widow said the same.”
At the mention of my name, Rafe turned his attention to me and asked, “Everything running smooth tonight?”
“So far so good.” I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth when Country came over and plopped down on the stool next to me. I looked over to him, and then back to Rafe as I mumbled, “Until now.”
“The party has arrived.” Country scanned the room as he chuckled, “And it looks like I arrived just in time.”
“I think that’s my cue to go find Menace.” Rafe gave me a brotherly slap on the shoulder as he turned and started towards the back office. “You three try to stay out of trouble until I get back.”
“What’s the fun in that?” Country snickered.
Rafe didn’t respond. Instead, he just shook his head and continued towards the office. I was taking a drink of my Coke when I overheard Marlowe asking Country about his grandmother Gladys. Marlowe had worked with her down at Crockett’s until Gladys sold the bar and her upstairs apartment. Since she didn’t have another place lined up, she decided to move in with Ada, an older lady the club had watching over our storage lot, and from the sound of it, the two had become instant friends. I was listening to Country tell Marlowe about some big dinner the two had fixed up for him when I noticed a security light flashing outside of one of the VIP rooms—signaling one of our girls was in trouble.
Without stopping to let Country or Marlowe know what was up, I stood and charged towards the room. The second I opened the door, I saw red. One of the assholes who’d been pounding beers with his buddies had our girl Izzy pinned against the wall. Her lip was busted, along with her cheek, and there were red handprints all over her arms. She was trying to push the guy off her, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. The piece of shit had his hand between her legs, groping her as he mumbled, “Come on, baby. You know you want it.”
