Chapter Five.
Amy
The hospital was letting us leave through a little-used side door.
The media gathering outside hadn’t shrunk, and I didn’t wish to end up in the papers.
Somehow, they’d discovered that I’d received no injuries, but they didn’t have my name.
The newspapers called me the blessed survivor, which I hated.
I hadn’t survived a good thing; I’d walked away from a disaster that killed several hundred people. There was no damn miracle involved.
Dad was waiting with me as Papa brought their car around. They were taking me home to theirs for a few days before I returned to my crappy apartment. Although if they got their way, I wouldn’t return to it at all.
Both of them loathed where I lived and had tried to bribe me with better places they’d pay for. But I wanted to stand on my own two feet and, as much as they hated it, they admired me for it too. I wasn’t a spoiled brat, that was certain.
“Come on, munchkin,” Dad said as Papa pulled up. I climbed out of the wheelchair the nurse had insisted I use and walked the few steps to the car. Quickly, I slid inside before anyone noticed, and as soon as Dad joined me in the back, Papa sped off.
“When we get home, we’ll spoil you,” Dad promised, and I laughed softly.
That meant home-cooked food, lots of binge TV, and log fires with pjs and s’mores. It sounded ideal—and it was. As I grew up, Dad ensured we did that once a month. If Papa were away, then we would FaceTime him. Papa never missed a single Sunday.
Papa was my biological father. I loved them both equally, and while many thought it weird, growing up with two dads was normal.
Naturally, I never knew any different. The surrogate who’d carried me wasn’t in my life.
As far as she’d been concerned, she was just an incubator.
The moment I was born, she had signed away all rights to me.
I was grateful because she’d given me my wonderful dads.
Some children were mean, but soon learned that this army brat could and would punch.
When either Papa or Dad was dragged up to the school because of my fighting, it often turned into a homophobic thing.
The schools backed down, and the other kids received a stern punishment.
Word of mouth quickly dealt with any potential bullies.
“What about work? Do we need to call in?” Dad asked, and I squirmed.
“No. They made me redundant. Now I’ve got my qualification in teaching, I was going to start applying for jobs locally,” I replied.
“When did you get laid off?” Papa exclaimed.
“Literally the day we boarded the Titanic of the Skies.”
“Damn, pumpkin, you’ve had a rough time,” Papa muttered.
“You’re telling me,” I quipped and subsided.
“You know, if you give up that apartment and come home, you’ll save money,” Dad wheedled. There it was.
“Luckily, Dad, I did what you and Papa taught me. Thirty per cent of my wages went into a separate account. I can easily exist for two years on my savings.”
Dad scowled. Papa matched it. As much as they wanted me to be independent, I was their little girl.
“Well done for listening,” Dad said sourly.
“Will you make chocolate s’mores?” I demanded, and Dad perked up. He made them a certain way, and they were definitely morish.
“Anything for you, Amy,” Dad replied and wrapped his arm around me.
Vortex
“Any news on what happened?” I asked two days after the accident.
“Feds have confirmed explosives on board. ATF has been collecting the remains of the bomb and is trying to find a signature,” Inglorious replied.
“Willow?”
“Yup, she’s keeping me updated. Especially since we’re housing the Feds,” Inglorious griped.
I felt for him. The town was due for its grand opening in two weeks. Now, one of our pristine hotels was being used by the various departments investigating. Willow ensured they paid up front, too. She wasn’t going to let the government string Inglorious along with payments.
They were well known for that. Each agent had an expense card, or the team leader did. Willow had made them pay in advance and told them that on the seventh day, they would either pay for a second week or get out.
None had argued, although there’d been some dour looks.
The club had also had a bonus. Food had been ordered for the chefs in the restaurants and the takeaways.
The plan had been to test the menus, and instead of it going to waste or us getting fat, the Feds were paying to eat it.
Gotta admit, we were a little on edge; having this many law enforcement officers around would put anyone on guard.
“Can’t believe someone bombed it. Wonder why. No terrorist organisation is claiming responsibility,” Oil announced from where he was listening.
“Something seems off,” Inglorious agreed.
“Gravey has freaked out that strangers have been near the graveyard and church,” Nanci said, entering. “I’ve calmed him down, but Gravey’s now sat out there with a shotgun. Can we warn the feds to stay the fuck away? There’s no reason for them to be intruding.”
“Damn. I’ll contact Willow. You’re right, there is no need. This disaster has brought out more curious gawkers. It’s been hard enough keeping them out of town,” Inglorious replied, frustrated.
“We’re still going ahead with the grand opening?” I asked.
“Yes. We need to get this place open. But I think we’ll also have to discuss a memorial for the site.”
Inglorious’s eyes took on a distant gaze. No doubt he was tired of memorials. There were plenty focused on what happened in the war with the Venomous Fangs. And half were dedicated to the MC who’d lost all but three members, us. We were slowly clawing our way back from that.
When Nanci landed, out of the three who remained, two had been drunk: Chill and Inglorious.
However, Inglorious had been a full-blown alcoholic.
Razor had been dealing with cancer, which left the prospects to run the club.
Two had taken advantage, and Nanci had kicked their asses.
Moon and King were made members for how they’d handled everything.
I’d returned alongside Hercules, and then Lasher and Oil had returned from nomad status.
Nanci discovered Gravey hiding out in the church and learned he was also a brother.
But he had a weird ass relationship with the club.
He hated people and preferred solitude. Gravey loved to ride his Harley and had decided the graveyard and church were his business.
Inglorious let him have his privacy but ensured Gravey had everything he needed.
I can’t say I was surprised that Gravey was now guarding what he saw as his territory with a shotgun.
Those who’d died during the war were buried privately there. The cemetery wasn’t a tourist site; it was personal to us. Our fallen brothers were laid to rest there. It wasn’t open to the general public to gawk at. Nobody had the right to stare at our pain and grief.
“Shit, will you leave me alone, woman!” Chill exclaimed, and Inglorious and I turned.
Nanci had cornered him, and Chill had one hand over his balls as he attempted to escape. She wore an expression that could only be classed as determined and demonic.
“Are you going to tell Chill he’s fucked?” I asked.
“Nah. It’s more fun watching Chill squirm.” Inglorious threw Chill under the bus. “Have you ever tried to get Nanci to change track?” He laughed. “Yeah? Then you understand, nothing I say will distract her. Chill’s on his own.”
“Damn…” Oil burst into laughter. “Fuck brotherly loyalty.”
“Hey, if Chill gets me cut off and I lose my sexy time, I’ll string him up myself,” Inglorious retorted.
Now I laughed alongside Oil. “Sexy time? Tell me you didn’t say that!” I teased.
“Screw you. If I call it anything else, she’ll have my balls in a vice. For all Nanci has a dirty mouth and moves, she likes it to be called sexy time and not ‘let’s go fuck’,” Inglorious said.
“What did you say?” Nanci demanded from across the room, and her head swivelled like she was processed.
“Holy crap,” Oil muttered, his eyes wide. Chill, seeing his opportunity, slipped out of the corner, smiled at us, punched the air in triumph, and fled. Fucker.
“They were taking the piss out of me calling it sexy time,” Inglorious whined, and the asshole threw me and Oil under the bus. Jesus. Brotherly loyalty didn’t mean shit when Nanci was involved.
“Lasher’s phoning me,” Oil snickered and began to walk away.
“Run, you coward, I’ll get you back,” Nanci cackled.
Oil’s shoulders slumped, and he sent Inglorious a dirty look. “I’d have voted to keep her as president, you pussy-whipped motherfucker.”
Inglorious grinned. “Yup, and proud of it.”
“Makes a man sick,” I inserted, and they both scowled at me.
“You’ll be lucky to have the love of a good woman,” Inglorious snapped back, and I laughed.
“Nanci took pity on you, brother. We all know it,” I replied. Inglorious’s frown descended, and I walked away as he bellowed Nanci’s name. I knew he was about to reassure himself of her feelings, and that tickled me. Once an asshole, always one, that was me.
Amy – two days later.
It was time to go home before I throttled one of my fathers.
While Papa understood how to handle my emotions, he wasn’t usually a satellite parent.
That was Dad. But both of them wouldn’t stop hovering, and it was starting to grate.
We’d spent the first day in tears; well, Papa hadn’t, but Dad had, as we grieved Natasha’s loss.
Her mom, Mari, had identified her body and was organising the funeral.
Mari, however, was so grief-stricken she couldn’t look at me and had asked me to stay away for now.