Chapter 18 #2
“Well, if it isn’t our favorite people,” someone calls.
I set the food down, and they swarm it, teasing and groaning and already asking for seconds.
“Man,” one of them says to Ollie, not knowing I can hear. “We love her.”
I pause, pretending to rearrange containers.
Ollie looks at me and smiles. “Get in line. I love her, too.”
My heart flips. I love him. And the way he looks at me tells me he feels it too.
We eat together, crowded around the mismatched tables and chairs, Owen in the middle, laughing too loudly and having a good time with the guys. It feels like a family dinner, the kind I always wanted.
When it’s time to go, Ollie walks us out. He pulls me in, arm snug around my shoulders, and kisses me.
“Thanks for this,” he says softly.
“Always,” I say.
“Yuck,” Owen adds immediately, wrinkling his nose up at me kissing him.
The whole place erupts in laughter.
Ollie grins and ruffles Owen’s hair. “Night, buddy.”
On the drive home, I watch the lights of Bridger Falls roll past and feel something settle deep in my chest.
This life we’re building, It’s not perfect. But it’s ours. Maybe those white picket fences aren’t what they’re supposed to be.
And for the first time, I have hope. But still, a slight uneasy feeling settles in my chest. I need to make sure my dad leaves us alone.
I can’t keep living my life under his thumb.
He contributes nothing to this business, and he’s stripped away any assets he brought to the table, which wasn’t much.
I have an idea, but I can’t take Owen with me.
I pull into the shop and park at the front, as I usually do. “If you take your shower now, you can play your game until bedtime.” I nod toward the direction of the bathroom.
He wastes no time and scrambles up the stairs and does just that. I pull out my phone and call Maggie. She picks up and says, “Hey, there, sugar.”
“Hey, Maggie. Are you busy?”
“That entirely depends on the rest of the information you’re about to give me.”
“Would you sit with Owen for an hour or so? I need to run an errand,” I say, hoping she won’t ask me too many details.
“Sure, let me get my shoes on, and I’ll head on over. See you in a bit.”
I close my eyes and lean my head back against my headrest. Either this is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, or the best. Time will tell. Either way, Ollie is not going to be happy about this, and neither is my dad.
But sometimes when you fuck around, you find out. And my dad is about to find out. Or me. Probably both. I might be making a huge mistake, but here goes nothing.
Twenty minutes out of town. That’s how far my dad’s biker buddies like to be from town. I pull off the highway and keep driving until the road turns to dirt and bad decisions. Ollie’s probably going to be so pissed that I’m doing this.
I park down the road where my truck won’t be obvious and sit there for a second with my hands on the wheel.
I reach down and grab the tire-iron creation I welded myself.
It’s heavy and spiked. A thing of beauty, really.
I tuck it into the side cargo pocket of my coveralls, where I can reach it fast if I need to. And hopefully I won’t need to.
My hair’s yanked up in a messy bun with a red bandana knotted across my forehead as a headband. No makeup. Clean face. When I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror, I look younger than I should. Like, I belong in a classroom, not walking toward a biker compound.
I could be walking into my death. But I need help. And calling my dad’s bluff feels like the only card I have left to play.
I move through the trees, keeping low, counting cameras, and checking out the fence. There’s a chain link fence around the compound, and I find a gap in it. Lazy maintenance. I climb it easily and drop down on the other side.
That’s when the dog comes out growling, hunched down, teeth flashing in a snarl.
Black and brown, looks like a pitbull mix. Before I can stop myself, I kneel slowly and whisper in a sweet voice, “Hey, baby. Come here.”
The dog freezes, looking confused. Then leans in and sniffs me once, sneezes, then starts wagging his tail like we’re old friends, his whole-body wiggling.
“Of course, I knew it,” I mutter sweetly. “You’re just a good boy, aren’t you? Just look at you. You’re perfect.”
I scratch behind his ears, and he presses closer, his whole body continuing to wiggle as he kisses my cheek.
He drops to the ground and rolls onto his back like he’s auditioning for a commercial.
Sidetracked, I’m on my knees petting him, and telling him how handsome he is.
I can’t help it, he is a good boy. He didn’t eat me after all.
That definitely makes him the best boy in all the land.
That’s when I hear the unmistakable click of a gun and a gravelly voice that rasps, “Don’t fuckin’ move.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I say, slowly lifting my hands while the dog licks my chin and growls at the gun wielder. “But you might want to lower the gun. You’re upsetting your dog.”
“Bandit,” the biker snaps. “You’re a worthless guard dog. Oughta beat your ass.”
I turn my body toward the voice. “Hey, don’t talk to that baby like that. And if you lay a finger on him, you and I are gonna have big problems.”
I crouch fully and rub Bandit’s belly. He groans happily and rolls more in the dirt.
“You’re just a baby, aren’t you?” I coo. “Yes, you are. He didn’t mean to talk to you that way. You’re a good boy.”
The biker stares at me like he doesn’t know what dimension he’s in.
“Are you gonna shoot me or what?” I huff. “Just don’t scare the dog.”
“Get up,” he growls, yanking me to my feet, shoving me toward a metal door against the brick wall I hadn’t noticed before. It bangs open, and the smell hits me like a brick to the face. The smell that filled Murphy’s Auto during my childhood, before I took it over, and Sully stopped working there.
Smoke, marijuana, booze, sweat, and oil. I glance around through the haze, and it looks like a bar for all intents and purposes. But then I look more closely and realize it’s also a garage, with a truck parked there, the hood propped open.
The dog that scary guy called Bandit stands at my side, wagging his tail and looking at the bikers like I’m a prize he’s found. The scary guy is looking at me like he’s not sure whether I’m going to live to see tomorrow or not.
The room is full of bikers in leather cuts, their tattoos visible, some on their necks.
Beards and flannel. Every single head turns toward me at once.
The rock music keeps playing, but the room itself goes dead quiet.
I count at least twenty of them. Some are clustered around a table playing cards. A few are behind a make-shift bar.
I raise a hand, smile, and wave. “Hi.”
“Jesus,” one of them says. “Pint, where’d you find the chick?”
“Climbing our fence and using sorcery on our piece of shit dog,” Pint bites out.
I glare at him. “You don’t deserve the dog, Pint.”
“Oh, shit,” someone grumbles.
Another guy squints at me like I’ve just ordered a death wish.
“Where’s Grave?” the scary guy whose name I now know as Pint asks the group.
“He ain’t back yet,” someone says, blowing smoke rings. “This ain’t gonna be good for the chick.”
My stomach flips. What the heck does that mean?
Okay, maybe this was a huge mistake. I didn’t think this through. Ollie’s going to kill me. Well, they might kill me first, technically. Then Ollie can kill whatever’s left of me. And rightfully so.
Then I think of Owen, without another mother figure. And I think, no way. This isn’t happening. I didn’t come here to chicken out. I came here to handle business. I also was staring at the open truck engine and noticed one of these dumbasses put the oil filter on upside down.
I yank my arm free from Pint, who had a tight hold on it. “Hands off, motherfucker.”
That gets their attention. I decide to run with it and use my best teacher voice on them. Maybe it’ll work. Heck, I escaped death with the guard dog. I can handle a few dozen bikers.
“Who’s in charge here?” I ask, planting my hands on my hips, looking around. “Well? Is it the Grave man?”
They all stare at me, and no one answers.
They all wear the same black leather coats, some more worn than others, some newer looking.
The pint next to me looks like it’s new.
He must be a new edition, a recruit, or whatever.
I grew up around bikers, but I don’t recognize any of these guys.
Not a single one of them. But it’s been a long time since my dad was at the shop with his biker friends.
Maybe they don’t have very long lifespans.
Kind of like raccoons in the wild have an averaged two-year lifespan.
If domesticated they can live up to seven to ten years. Maybe bikers are like wild racoons.
Pint swears under his breath and grabs me again. “You’re done.”
“Wait!" I hold up my hands and Pint stops.
I shrug out of his grip and walk ten feet to the truck engine.
I reach in, pull out the filter and reset it.
“Someone doesn’t even know how to put on the freaking oil filter,” I mutter as I finish tightening a few of the screws.
I turn and they’re all still watching me, some of them looking confused, a few shooting glances at each other.
Pint grips my shoulder and shoves me. I’m hauled down a hallway and manhandled into a back room that smells like mold and regret. I hit my head when I land and I rub my head. “Ow.”
I regret coming here. The door slams shut behind me, and the lock clicks. Oh, shit. This just got really, real. And I don’t like it. It’s dark, with concrete walls. No windows. I reach for my phone. No signal in my concrete jungle.
I lean back against the wall and blow out a breath. “Cool. I’m in a concrete coffin. Great.”
At least if Maggie doesn’t hear from me in like an hour or so, hopefully she’ll call someone.
If I’m still alive until then. But they’ll probably have no way to know where I went.
I regret not taking someone with me. I should have brought Cami or Violet with me.
Wait, scratch Violet, she’s pregnant. And Cami would probably have gotten us shot already.
Probably should have brought Maggie. She’d have charmed them all and I definitely wouldn’t have been kidnapped.
Anywho, I wouldn’t want to drag any of them into my mess. Keep them all safe.
I slide down to sit on the floor, hand brushing the tire iron tucked in my side.
If this is how I go out, at least I’ll go out swinging.