Chapter 8—Milly
I ’m annoyed. Okay, I’m beyond annoyed, but I’m trying to deal with it for Ollie’s sake. The kid was smiling this morning—actually smiling . Don’t think I can name a handful of times that’s happened since all this started.
When I woke up, Ollie and I weren’t the only ones in the bunk room with Bass, like when we went to sleep. The only reason I didn’t start panicking right away was because the threat wasn’t tall enough to reach the pedals of a car.
There wasn’t a lock on the door, and I wasn’t expecting to get much sleep as it was. New places rarely bring comfort for either of us. But the night’s events dragged Ollie under quickly, and I fell asleep, too, just not as deep as Ollie as he pressed his back to me on the inside of the bottom bunk farthest from the door. I’m exhausted, but I’ll gladly give up sleep to protect him.
Also, it doesn’t help that Ollie doesn’t actually sleep really well with others in the bed with him. It’s one of his triggers, but we both knew there wasn’t a better option. Neither of us trusts these people enough to sleep alone. They might have taken all my weapons when they showed us this room, but they didn’t check Ollie. His small pocketknife won’t do much, but it’s better than nothing.
Thankfully, I didn’t use it on the person who crept in on us. They haven’t started torturing us yet, but that might change if I get stabby, especially with a kid. Fortunately, my reflexes are quick enough that I slid the knife under the pillow again from where I had it almost at the kid’s throat. I don’t know what kind of place this is, but they’ve got to expect us—me especially—to be jumpy around them. I killed two guys last night for coming in on me while I was sleeping, for fuck’s sake. They really need to teach these kids a few basic survival skills. One day in the life Ollie and I live would get them all killed.
But all my thoughts of wanting to reprimand the kid went out the window when he whisper-yelled if Ollie was awake and asked if he wanted to play Super Smash Bros. with him. Not only was it what he said, but the bright smile he pulled from my kid first thing in the morning. Then came the laughter as they pretended to sneak away into what I assume is the main clubhouse. Even a badass kid like mine wouldn’t laugh when tortured, so I pushed the morbid thoughts aside for now and rolled out of bed, stretching as I got up. The snap, crackle, and pop is real, and just the back release I needed after a night of nearly being kicked to death.
I expected a few things today, mostly more questioning. They went easy on me last night after I dropped the bomb about being connected with the Russians. Not many react really well to that, unless they think you’re joking. And if they think that, they aren’t the ones you want to hang out with, as they won’t take the threat seriously. At the very least, I hoped I could convince them that I’d play nice with them to hopefully get a Red Bull—or four—out of them.
How could I have known that walking into a room full of bikers, with my kid laughing and playing in the corner with the other kid, would be the highlight of my day?
“Wow. Is this all his?”
Ollie’s state of wonder has me looking up for the first time in the last twenty minutes. Glaring at our driver, someone who doesn’t talk and only answers to the name of “prospect,” doesn’t help my temper, so I’ve kept my mouth shut and eyes off anything that was pissing me off. Which didn’t give me much to look at, and since I don’t want to creep out Ollie by staring at him, I’ve faked sleep for the last ten minutes as I rocked between the two in the truck’s cab.
“Yup, and a few more acres in the back that you can’t see.” The deep rumble from the guy on my left has me clawing my nails into my skin. Guess he can talk. Just not to me, or at least not to answer any of the questions I asked when I was first forced into the truck.
And forced is the correct word. One of them, think it was Casper, literally picked my ass up and put me in the cab before the prospect buckled me in. It was all the distraction they needed to get Ollie in next to me before they slammed the door. They must have known I wasn’t going to harm my kid to get out, even if I seriously thought it over for five minutes.
When I woke up this morning, I was optimistic. Figured they would run things through, see I wasn’t lying, and just wash their hands of the “baby daddy issues.” That’s what normal people do.
But this lot is different. First, they wouldn’t let me leave the clubhouse at all, even to walk across the street to get fresh clothes. Okay, I get that one. I’m a flight risk, but I would never leave without Ollie, and they should have realized that from the get-go.
Second, after half of them got done with a meeting that was oh-so-important enough to do behind closed doors, they had the nerve to say I would stay with Bass. For a week. A week! Are they insane? Even my own family won’t spend a week with me. I’m brash on a good day. Ollie deals with it out of necessity. I’m going to annoy the hell out of this Bass guy, and they’ll blame me when he commits suicide to get away from my ass.
And let’s not forget the part that these people don’t know us. We’re strangers, and they’re forcing their way into our lives. Something I detest on a whole other level. I might admit to myself that I don’t have everything under control like I pretend. But having a man come in thinking he can fix everything just pisses me off.
Screw the suicide thought. I’m liable to kill the asshole myself if he tries to control anything Ollie and I do.
Looking up, I take in the remote area. No surprise since we’re in Kansas, but the trees surrounding the area are a welcome hideaway from the open road. It’s a spacious lot, I’ll give it that. But also tiny. We’re talking about a one-story house with two windows facing the front.
As we get out of the truck, I take in the rest, noting a detached industrial-size garage that seems twice as big as the house. Bass parks his bike in front of it—and I don’t notice his ass, thank you very much—gets off, and unlocks the chain on the door before walking in. A second later, the whole thing lifts like a typical garage, letting me know it’s mechanical.
As the bay doors rise, so do my eyebrows. Guy has about six bikes and a two-door truck in there. But that’s not what draws my eyes. It’s the weapons on the back wall that have me whistling, earning a glance from Bass before I divert my attention to the back of the truck and pull out our bags.
That was another thing the club decided for us. Apparently, my car is an issue, hence the ride out here. Bass didn’t have a vehicle on-site since he just got back from out of town, or so they say, so the prospect had to bring us. My car, which I loved, is being destroyed as we speak. Somehow, the club thinks it’s better that way than just hiding it in someone’s backyard under a tarp. I don’t get the logic, but I didn’t get to speak my mind. Okay, I did, but no one listened. They’ve all got a bad habit of pretending I’m not around. If they keep this shit up much longer, I’m liable to maim someone.
“See you around, Bass,” the prospect says before ditching me and Ollie. Not even a sideways glance to check that we’ll be okay out in the middle of nowhere with a biker. But I guess if they’re going to kill us, they’d do it in a remote location.
“Should we be worried?”
Ollie’s soft words have me looking down at him and frowning. Kid’s not even ten, but he’s going on thirty with the way he thinks things through.
“Nah, kid, ain’t about to hurt you. Don’t piss me off and we’ll be just fine,” Bass says as a way of greeting as he passes us to head into the house.
I notice the garage bay door is already automatically closing, and I’m impressed by the lack of noise from it. I file that away in the “how to get the fuck out of here” part of my brain and pick up my bags to follow our “caregiver” inside the house .
Because that’s the plan: to escape. They can call this “helping” or whatever they want, but they’re keeping us from leaving. In my book, that means we’re being kidnapped. Might seem extreme, but just because they wrap up this kidnapping in a nice package under the guidance that me and Ollie will be safe staying with a club brother and I can bring Ollie over for playdates to Maddy’s house anytime I want, it still feels like a cage.
As predicted, the house is small, but surprisingly it gets bigger toward the back. Walking in, we find Bass still at the entrance, as he’s emptying his duffel bag into the washing machine. We wait half a beat for him to finish dropping all his clothes into it, not even checking pockets or sorting colors, before grabbing a bottle of detergent and pouring a generous amount on top, then shutting the lid and starting it. Without a backward glance, he walks into the room connected to it, and we follow like lost little puppies.
It’s an open floor plan with the kitchen closest to us. The island is big with chairs around it, which is good since the guy doesn’t have a dining room table—there’s a pool table where one should be. On the other side, a corner couch takes up more space than it should with a giant TV opposite it. There are two hallways off the main hall, and I chance a glance at both.
“Right hallway is yours.”
Bass’s words have me looking at him and noticing he isn’t looking at us, his head stuck in the fridge. From the angle he’s bent, it’s impossible not to check out his ass. I have half a mind to tell him those jeans need a good washing, too, but get a feeling that he’s not shy about stripping. Not that I would mind. But Ollie being here makes it go from a possible porno to a school video on how to avoid sexual predators.
Without a word, Ollie and I go down the hall. The first door on the right is a spacious guest room, which is even clean. Ollie takes in the bed, then starts looking under it, and I’m checking the closet at the foot of the bed. Empty but some hangers. I turn to look at my kid, who shakes his head. Okay, nothing wrong with this room so far. We both search a bit more and find no cameras or listening devices. I was a fool last time for not checking the rental. Won’t make that mistake again. Might seem paranoid, but this isn’t our first rodeo. We usually check every room before we get comfy. Which I doubt I will ever be again, since not only did the club take my car, but they went through our bags and took our weapons too. All but the pocketknife that Ollie took back when we got our stuff out of the bunk room.
It seems they want us to trust them, but they don’t reciprocate that trust.
Whatever. I don’t need a weapon. Sure, it helps, but my first two kills when I started running with Ollie weren’t with a gun or a knife. I’m not saying I’m a kung fu expert or some shit, but my brothers taught me how to fight, and I’m not above fighting dirty.
Once we clear the room, we go to the bathroom across the hall and do the same. It’s a small three-piece, but it does what’s needed. Don’t need fancy to get the job done. At the end of the hall is another door, but it’s locked. I try the handle again, just ’cause I’m pissed at the whole situation, but no matter how much I rattle it, no miracle unlocks it.
Ollie looks to me with a shrug, and I just nod for him to get back in the room while I go have a chat with our prison guard. Kid’s smart and knows to put on his headphones and start reading the newest book he downloaded on his Kindle. He might enjoy video games like everyone else, but he has a love for the classics, and he’s stuck on a Hardy Boys fix right now. I’m all for him reading, or just about anything that will keep his mind busy and not thinking about the stresses of life that I need to worry about constantly.
“Got a key?” I’m giving Bass the chance to make the right decision right now. He has about five more seconds of me being nice before I start turning his clean home into a war zone. He might live the simple life, but when I start going, I will have no problem finding things to throw around.
“Key for what?” he asks as he finishes taking a pull from his beer. I noticed he didn’t offer me one, but that’s fine. Got no problem making myself feel at home here, but after I get this figured out.
“For the second guest room.”
“Don’t have one.” He swipes the back of his hand across his lips.
“A key?”
“A second guest room.” He drops the bottle on the island and moves to the couch, sitting down and turning on the TV.
I follow him as far as the edge of the couch. “Then what the fuck is that other room?”
“None of your business,” he says without a glance in my direction as he puts on some baseball game. Only thing I notice about it is it’s not the Yankees. If they aren’t playing, no reason to watch, in my opinion.
“Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?” I’ll absolutely start ranting and raving about something that probably annoys him. I actually find a sort of glee at getting under his skin. Maybe he’ll take us back to the clubhouse and tell them to deal with us. Which would work out perfectly, since there’s a better chance for an escape in a place with easily accessible cars compared to this lockdown of a home.
“Don’t know, don’t care. My job is to keep you here for a week. Nothing was said about giving you a place to sleep. Sleep outside for all the fucks I give.”
If I could crack walnuts, I would with how hard my teeth are grinding together. I get it. He’s not happy. Join the fucking club. But he’s also right. Neither of us is doing this because we want to. We both got the short end of the stick.
Growling to myself, I walk back to the room Ollie’s in and shut the door. Last night was the first in a long time that we slept in the same bed. You’d think we’d do it all the time with how things are for us, but no. Ollie might be small, but he kicks like a mother in his sleep. I learned early that if I want any kind of sleep to keep me going, it’s not a sleep that ends with me getting a cracked rib. And yeah, that’s happened.
Twice.
No surprise, I barely make it three hours into the night before I call it quits and make my way into the hall. I have half a mind to check the bathroom for gauze to wrap my ribs now, but I don’t want to put in the effort. I’m exhausted.
Being constantly on the run, worrying about every noise, takes a toll on a person. I’m lucky to have gone this long without screwing things up and getting both of us killed, much less finding the time to rest. I just want a single night. One night where I can rest and not stress. To sleep a solid eight hours. Hell, six hours would be miracle enough.
The light from the TV draws me toward it before I even hear it, as it’s turned down low. Bass is watching something else, not that I care. Just wish he would finish and go to bed so I can take up the couch to pass out for a few hours. I don’t know why, but my gut is telling me they won’t hurt me and Ollie. If they wanted us gone, they would have done it before everything—everything being that the club apparently stocked Bass’s home with enough food for the three of us, to include kid drinks. You don’t waste your money on something like that for someone you plan on offing. It’s a waste of effort if this was just a con. But since my gut is telling me it’s not, that for some strange reason, they want to offer us a bit of shelter for a week, I’m not going to fight too hard. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still fight. I’m from Brooklyn after all. It’s in the blood. I’ll just do it while I take my steak medium well with a loaded potato on the side.
No matter how long I stare at the man, he doesn’t magically get up and leave the room. With a huff, I sit on the opposite side, shove a throw pillow under my head, and curl into the couch. I might be starting to trust these guys a bit, but I still have the pocketknife at the ready. Ollie and I both decided that at night I get it, and during the day, he gets it.
It’s not cold out here in the living room, but sleeping, even if it’s just for a few minutes here and there, without a blanket just isn’t right. My brothers used to tease me that I needed a blankie all my life. And maybe I do. All I know is, I won’t be getting much sleep as I try to force myself to relax into the soft cushions.
For an asshole, he has soft things. The guest bed was amazing—just need to get rid of the kicking kangaroo. But that will never happen. If I have to live with bruised, even broken, ribs, I’ll do it to keep him in my life.
I feel the softness of a blanket float over and on me. I stiffen, gripping the knife tight to my chest. Panic runs through me that I didn’t hear him move, proving I’m not a superhero and the lack of sleep is affecting me more than I want it to. I peek from under my eyelashes as I turn my head slightly to see Bass’s back as he moves back to his spot on the couch. Not a word out of him, and I say nothing either.
He goes back to watching his show and drinking his beer, pretending I don’t exist and he didn’t just show kindness to a stranger. A stranger who’s been forced into his world. And if he’s anything like me—which I think he is—it’s a world he tries to keep separate from others. Not saying this guy doesn’t love his club or his club brothers, but this place doesn’t radiate hospitality. Hell, other than his vest that he hung up on the back of an island chair, nothing else here screams Hounds of the Reaper. Rather, it screams nothing but solitude. There aren’t pictures of friends and family on the walls. Not that they’re barren, but it’s just not the home of a person who seems to need to see a picture to remember their friends. This place, even if I haven’t seen his room, says it’s his sanctuary from it all.
And Ollie and I are desecrating the grounds by being here.
But fuck it. I can’t remember the last time I got a gift, and while this might just be a borrowed blanket, I’m taking it for what it is—a peace offering, at least for tonight, so I can rest easy. Who knows if that’s what he meant it for, but that’s what I’m taking it as. He can take first watch, guarding me and Ollie, and when he goes to his room, I’ll hear him and wake up for my turn to watch over things.
I’ve slept lightly for three years. It’ll be a damn miracle if I don’t wake at the sound of crawling bugs or a shutting door.
With the resolve in place to accept sleep for a few hours, I finally settle in enough and let my brain shut off.
Rest now, fight later. It’s a mantra I’ve lived by, even before Ollie, and it hasn’t failed me yet.