Chapter Fifteen
Elise
Duchess,
I love you so fucking much.
Maybe that’s the reason why, as I write this, my heart’s thudding out of my chest.
Hurting you means hurting myself, Leesy, and you’ll probably get pissed at me, so I’m just going to explain everything, and the chips can fall where they’re meant to.
My lieutenant approached me about becoming a Rifleman. He was impressed by my shooting range scores, so he suggested I join a battalion better suited to my skills. After a bit of soul-searching, I researched the MOS the lieutenant recommended and discovered that not many people get it. So, after thinking long and hard, and having a few conversations with Dad, I decided I may as well apply.
Things have happened at the speed of light, baby. It only took twenty-four hours before I was told I’d been accepted into a training program to become a shooter. My lieutenant told me the high-ups had been keeping an eye on me since boot camp. Can you believe it? I’ll be working with weaponry Dad could only dream of owning.
I understand it’s a far cry from auto mechanics, baby, but it’s an opportunity I can”t turn down. They only take the best, so it’s a huge honor. Who would’ve thought a small-town guy from Wyoming would even be good enough for that shit?
Guess Dad taught me well.
I hope you’re okay with it, baby, because it’s happening regardless. I’m staying at Pendleton for training. After that, who knows? It will depend on what battalion wants me and where there’s space. However, with all the unrest in Kuwait, I think the government is bulking up its military resources just in case.
I know it’s not news you’ll like, but please don’t worry. Even if I went into auto mechanics, I could get deployed or sent to the frontlines if war ever broke out. Nothing’s really changed, Leesy—I’ll still be home when I said I would. Our plan hasn’t changed, baby.
I talked it over with my dad, and he gave me his blessing. Believe me, if what I was about to do was too dangerous, he’d have told me not to do it. Mom would beat his ass, and he knows it. It’ll be okay, Leesy. I trust my dad, and I know he’d never steer me wrong. It’s like he said to me—how could I say no when an opportunity like that falls in my lap?
I hope you’re okay with it, baby. I hate it when you’re mad at me (at least, I think I’d hate it if you ever were. You’ve never bitched me out yet).
Love you, baby. I’ll write again soon.
Yours always,
John.
The words on the page became a blur as moisture welled in my eyes. Halfway through reading John’s letter, my stomach had plummeted so forcefully that it felt like I’d be sick.
Raising a hand, I dug the heel of my palm into my eye, desperately trying to make sense of what John had done.
I looked around my room, unseeing. Rifleman? What the hell did that even mean? He was supposed to go in the Marines and do a job that would keep him relatively safe from harm while he built on his skills before coming home to me. My eyes lowered to the letter again, heated frustration clogging my throat as I read the words for a second time in disbelief.
It was a huge decision, and John hadn’t even discussed it with me. What did that say about us? Would it always be a case of John getting a crazy idea and not giving me a say in it? He was so matter-of-fact and blasé about it in his letter, and it made a sharp pain shoot through me because I would never be that way with him.
Every decision I made had John in mind. If a choice wasn’t conducive to our future, I wouldn’t choose it, because we were a team, and I wanted to show him that courtesy. Unfortunately, the same courtesy fluttered out the window when it came to John. He did whatever he wanted without giving me a thought, consequences be damned.
For a third time, I glanced down at the sheets of paper in my hand, lip curling as some words jumped out of the pages, almost burning my retinas. After thinking long and hard, and having a few conversations with Dad, I decided I may as well apply… Guess Dad taught me well… I talked it over with my dad, and he gave me his blessing… I trust my dad, and I know he’d never steer me wrong.
My chest heated, making my heart contract as a realization dawned.
He’ddone this. Bandit had enabled John to somehow justify this bullshit to himself without a care or a thought for me or what it could mean for us. Bandit had never warmed to me, and he didn’t think I could cope with the club life. He’d do anything to keep John in the fold, even by causing trouble.
Bandit knew I was on the edge, but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, women didn’t deserve the respect of being consulted about important stuff. Now, it seemed his attitude had rubbed off on John.
Like father like son.
Without pause, I scooped up my purse—stuffing John’s letter inside—grabbed the keys to Bessie and thundered from my room. As I took the stairs down, two at a time, I heard my dad call my name from the kitchen door, asking what was wrong, but his shocked voice hardly registered as I stormed from my house and jumped into Bessie.
As I whipped my head around to check the street, before I reversed from the driveway and sped away, I had one focus, one thought, and one objective.
It was time I gave Bandit Stone a piece of my mind.
The sun was beginning to dip behind the trees as I pulled up to the farmhouse, giving the sight before me an almost eerie feel. The parking lot was filled with bikes, and groups of brothers stood around drinking beer and shooting the shit, some with club girls under their arms.
Throwing open the door, I grabbed my purse and jumped down, noting the sound of electric guitars filling the lot as ‘Carry on Wayward Son’ by Kansas thumped loudly from the clubhouse. I wasn’t a confrontational person—if anything, I avoided it at all costs—but the heat licking inside my belly and the burn invading my chest spurred me on.
A brother eventually noticed me standing there with my body stiff as a board and my hands clenching into fists.
He nudged the guy next to him and jerked his head toward me.
The second brother went to take a swig of beer when his eyes slashed in my direction. The bottle stopped halfway to his mouth, and he cocked his head curiously, booming, “Can we help you, sweetheart?”
I snapped my shoulders back and jutted my chin. “Where’s Bandit?” As my words hit the ether, a familiar loud cackle came from the clubhouse doors. I turned to see the man himself saunter out with Abe and John’s cousin Seth in tow.
Bandit’s familiar golden eyes flicked over my face, no doubt noting the fury coming off me in waves. His eyes slashed heavenward, and I saw the beard around his lips move as he muttered something under his breath.
Abe’s head swiveled toward Bandit and then toward me as he looked between us both quizzically. He muttered something to Bandit, who shrugged as they began their approach.
Whipping my bag from my shoulder, I rummaged inside and pulled out the letter, holding it up as Bandit neared. “Rifleman?” I shrieked. “What does that even mean?”
The sound of chatter faded, and the parking lot fell silent, except for the thud of bass from ‘Carry on Wayward Son.’
The Prez’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a bushy salt-and-pepper brow cocked in challenge. “You better watch your tone, girlie. The fuck you think you are?”
“Watch my tone?” I yelled. “I’ve just got a letter from John, telling me you encouraged him to take a dangerous job, and you tell me to watch my tone? What does Rifleman mean? Answer my question,” I thrust a hand through my hair, desperately willing myself to keep my tears at bay, “What did you do?”
Bandit’s arms crossed his barrel chest, and he planted his feet apart. “Show some fuckin respect. This ain’t a roller—fuckin’—disco, it’s a motorcycle club. Blowin’ up and givin’ me shit ain’t the way to go.” He leaned forward, getting in my face. “Now, I’ll only tell ya once, turn around, climb in the truck, and get gone. You can fuckin’ stay gone until ya find some respect and learn your damned place.”
I jutted my chin up further. “No!”
Shouts went up from the brothers, most saying, “Fuckin’ bitch,” and, “Get her the fuck outta here.”
My face heated. I went to say something, but instead, I heard a loud click from somewhere behind me, making my body lock.
“You heard him, bitch. Fuck off,” a voice rasped.
Slowly, I craned my neck to see John’s cousin there, with a gun pointed inches away from my head. My throat contracted in a hard swallow. “You’re gonna shoot me for asking questions?” I whispered incredulously, rotating my head back to Bandit. “Is this what you do here?”
“Stand down, Seth,” Abe ordered. “Talk about a damned overreaction. When Stone finds out what you just did, mark my words, he’ll fuck you up.”
“He won’t do shit,” Bandit announced. “My boy knows the way it is. I’m the one in charge, not some stuck-up townie girl.”
I waved the letter. “Is that why John changed his mind? To please you? It says he spoke to you, and you gave him your blessing. You’re his father; you’re supposed to protect him.”
Bandit opened his mouth—probably to put me in my place—but was cut off by the sound of a door banging loudly.
“What’s going on?” Constance demanded, hurrying over from the house with Iris. Her eyes slid to Seth, still behind me. “Put that damned gun down, now, before I take it off you and shoot your ass.”
Seth pursed his lips but obeyed.
I took in Connie’s wide-eyed look, and my heart clenched. “I got a letter from John saying he’s changed his mind. He’s going to be a Rifleman, and nobody will tell me what it means. John’s talking like it’s dangerous. He says Bandit gave him his blessing and even encouraged it. Why would he do that?”
Connie’s eyes softened. She didn’t look shocked at all by my words. Everything suddenly locked into place, and I stared at her accusingly. “You knew?”
She dipped her chin. “I got a letter today, too.” Walking closer, Connie took my arm. “Come into the house, we’ll talk.”
My heart sank, full of heaviness, and I gently shook her off. “No. I’ll go home.”
“Let her leave, Queenie,” Bandit ordered. “She’s a fucking nutjob.”
“Shut your mouth,” Connie snarled, cutting him off before her gaze fell on me and softened again. “I didn’t know either, Elise. He kept it from me, too.”
Bandit sniffed loudly. “It’s nobody’s business but John’s—”
“I said, shut your mouth,” Connie bit out again, harder.
“What’s a Rifleman?” I asked, throat heating. “He wrote all these things, but I don’t understand what he’s talking about or what any of it means.”
“It’s an Infantry role,” Connie explained gently. “John will focus on weaponry. It’s quite a wide term and encompasses a few roles and duties, but ultimately, John will take responsibility for the discharge of weapons.”
I rubbed at the ache shooting through my chest. “Will he be on the frontline if we go to war?”
“Probably,” she admitted. “But the troubles in the Middle East don’t affect us, and anyway, even as a mechanic, it would be likely he’d go to war. The Marines need auto mechanics on deployment as much as any other unit.”
I took Connie’s hands in mine. “You know whatever he does, he’ll make sure he’s the best at it, right?”
She smiled sadly. “Yes.”
I squeezed her fingers. “John will take risks and put himself in danger before he lets anyone else do it.”
“I’m aware,” Connie said dryly, shooting Bandit a glare. “But I will say, it’s not all Don’s fault. If John didn’t wanna do it, he wouldn’t, the same as if he did want to do it, nothing would stop him.”
I blinked owlishly. “But Bandit could’ve warned him. He certainly didn’t have to encourage him. John constantly thinks he has to prove himself because of this club, when, in fact, he’s the most honorable and loyal person I know. He doesn’t need to prove anything to anybody.”
Bandit made a noise in the back of his throat. “Shows how much you know, girlie.”
“What do you mean by that?” I demanded.
Bandit’s lip curled. “I won’t tell you again. Watch your fuckin’ tone.”
“Don,” Connie snapped. “She’s upset. John’s blindsided us here. Give the girl some grace.”
“Don’t give a fuck,” Bandit retorted. “Nobody walks in here and disrespects me on my own turf. She’s lucky I didn’t fuckin’ shoot her.”
“Don!” she roared, leaning up and getting in his face. “Shut up!”
Silence fell over the compound.
Nobody would dare go against Connie. In some ways, the men were more likely to listen to her than Bandit. She was the mother figure to many of the brothers, and they thought the world of her.
She whirled around to face our audience and pointed toward the barn. “Get in the clubhouse and carry on with your shindig.”
As they went to walk away, Connie called out, “Boys!”
They halted.
“If I ever see or hear any of you threaten Elise again, either physically or verbally, you’re out. Whatever you think of her, she’s an ol’ lady of this club, and tonight’s been fueled by her worry for my son, who one day will be your brother. I’ve lost count of all the times some of you have lost your shit when you’ve been pissed or worried. I’m not happy you stood by and allowed Seth to put a gun to her head, and I won’t forget it any time soon.”
Stares hit boots, and feet shuffled as the men let Connie’s words hang in the air. Within a minute, the lot cleared, and all the brothers—except Bandit and Abe—disappeared into the barn.
Connie heaved a frustrated sigh. “Come inside and cool down, sweetheart. Iris will make a pot of coffee, and we’ll talk about it.”
Glancing at Bandit, I shook my head. “I think it’s better I go home.”
“No shit,” Bandit muttered.
Connie threw her hands up and screeched, “Will you shut up!”
Bandit’s lips thinned. “Fuck this.” He turned and stomped his way to the clubhouse, before disappearing inside.
Opening Bessie’s door, I climbed in and pulled my seat belt across my body, clicking it into place. As I wound the window down, I gave Connie a tentative smile. “I’m sorry I lost it. John’s letter came out of nowhere. Before he enlisted, he promised he wouldn’t be in danger, it’s what’s kept me going. Now he’s saying the opposite, and I’m confused because I didn’t think this would happen. All the news stations are saying there may be a war, and I’m terrified. All I want is for John to be safe. Then, to find out that Bandit encouraged it all… Well… I guess I freaked.”
Connie rested her fingers on the open window. “Can I see the letter?”
Going into my purse, I pulled it out and handed it to her.
She smoothed out the crumpled paper, her eyes moving left to right as she read the words. A small smile played around her lips, but after a few seconds of reading, it slowly faded. When she finished, she looked up, folded the paper carefully, and handed it back to me with troubled eyes. “I’m sorry. I hate that my son blindsided you that way.”
I slipped the letter inside my purse, expelling a resigned breath.
Blindsided didn’t come close. John had twisted me inside out until I was raw and exposed. The frustration came from having no choice in what was happening. I felt like a Victorian wife with no agency; a woman with no vote and no opinion that mattered.
John wasn’t taking me seriously, and it made me ache inside.
“I have to go.” I started the engine and turned to Connie. “It’s probably best I don’t come Sunday. After what just happened, Bandit won’t want me around.”
Connie’s face paled. “Don’t do this, Elise. Don’t take yourself away from us. We’re your support system.”
“That’s just it,” I whispered. “I don’t feel very supported.”
“It’s just a difference of opinion,” she insisted. “Bandit’s pig-headed, but I know he wouldn’t want you out there alone and adrift. You’re John’s, which means you’re ours. Families have differences of opinion sometimes. It doesn’t mean we think any less of you.”
My throat thickened as I studied her pleading expression, and a realization darted through me.
Every choice I made was laden with guilt.
I never wanted John to enlist, but I felt guilty for opposing it. At sixteen, I’d agreed to something I didn’t really understand, but as time went on and I matured, I wanted a say in what happened, and I even felt guilty for that because John didn’t fall in love with a girl who spoke out and made demands. I felt guilty for growing up and wanting to be heard.
I’d been ignoring my needs for his, and it worried me, because I wasn’t sure I could continue down a path that made me unhappy.
On the one hand, John told me he wanted me to have a voice, but on the other, he didn’t listen to me. Even the club and all its patriarchal rules made me feel guilty for speaking up, like today. Was this how it would always be? The men telling me the way it was and expecting to be obeyed? Or else I’d get a gun pointed at my head.
Everything felt wrong—like I’d been catapulted into a world I didn’t understand. I felt sick because, for the first time ever, my inner voice whispered words that made my stomach churn with doubts.
Is this really the life I want to live…?