Chapter 35 – Christian Shaw
Chapter Thirty-Five
Christian Shaw
Wyatt calls a family meeting in Missouri for us all to attend.
We’re here to discuss and determine the fate of our family’s most troublesome woman – Tylee.
Ever since I was a kid, Tylee hated my guts.
She’s way older than me so until I hit my growth spurt that redhead would kick the shit out of me or hit me any chance she got.
It’s not like she could beat up the older boys…
I’m glad not to be a kid anymore. After all that I’ve done for Wyatt and the club now, he finally agreed to patch me in.
At twenty-two years old, I patched into the Rebel Barbarians MC.
Ever since I was a kid, I wanted this. I grew up playing with toy dirt bikes and took my first ride when I was two-years-old, sitting up on my daddy’s lap while my mother was out getting groceries.
Ever since I was thirteen, I got addicted to riding on my own and sneaking out with either Wyatt’s bike or my dad’s.
There were plenty of spare parts lying around, didn’t take me long to fix up my own bike and have the shittiest dirt bike you ever saw by the time I turned sixteen and could officially get my license.
Uncle Harley bought me a new-to-me bike that was much nicer – ‘07 Harley Davidson he traded at some show out in San Diego. The body needed work due to salt damage from the ocean spray but I didn’t give a damn.
That bike was perfect. I ended up selling it to Tylee so I could get the money to move out of Missouri when I turned eighteen.
Long story how that all turned out.
What matters is that I’m home. I have a family. Now, I have a cut with my name embroidered into the back by Deborah Shaw.
SPADE.
I have a black spade tattooed on my wrist, and another on my neck. Both are lucky. Every man in my family has his preferred good luck totem that helps him at the roulette or pool tables. My lucky card, a black ace of spades, stays tucked in my wallet. I’ve had it since I was six-years-old.
Uncle Harley told me the card comes from the deck of cards he used to play with his buddies in Vietnam.
His soldier buddies each took their favorite card from the deck, according to his legend, and only the spades survived.
Never know how much truth there is to those war stories, but they sure as hell stuck with me as a kid.
The club members at the meeting are as follows: Wyatt Shaw, club president and black-bearded asshole in chief.
He’s my favorite. Ethan Shaw, his older brother and an even bigger asshole with anger issues and a therapist wife who has yet to fix him.
Owen Shaw, the youngest of my cohort of cousins, with the complete opposite of an anger issue – an I don’t give a fuck issue.
Kelsey Shaw, that’s Tylee’s younger sister and she’s a bit of a whore if you don’t mind me saying.
Then there’s Ryder and Hunter Sinclair, who I can barely tell apart.
Pretty sure Ryder is the bald ex-convict. Family meeting, Wyatt calls it.
I patched in the year after my dad died in the big clubhouse explosion.
I was seventeen when that happened – I’m twenty-two years old now.
My dad, Claude Shaw, who went by the club name ROTTIE, was Harley’s first cousin.
Dad always bred Rottweilers growing up which made him pretty fucking weird, but got me used to always having a dog.
I still have one now – a precious 50-kilogram queen by the name of Echo.
Truly, I feel like I don’t belong here and I worry that I’m only here because they plan on sticking me with the grunt work.
It’s total bullshit. For years before I patched in, I worked summers at all types of gas stations and convenience stores for the club along Route 66.
I had to deal with all types of crap – robberies, enemy gang members, lot lizards trying to turn our gas station into their personal fucking brothel.
I don’t want Wyatt to do something diabolical, but I’m the lowest ranking member in this room, my black cut barely has a couple patches on it.
My club name is across the back. Spade. And there’s a black spade sewn on.
Other than that, there’s very little and I’d like a lot more patches on this cut without getting sent off to do some crap that takes me out of my little patch of the Midwest.
Wyatt starts talking, expanding on Tylee’s crimes.
He all but calls his sister a whore and it’s honestly a lot for me not to laugh my pants off.
Tylee sits there turning red as hell the entire time, slumped into the chair that Wyatt sets up in the center of the room like some type of slut intervention.
He seems to take some delight in telling her that her boyfriend is dead and that Isaac fed the best bits of Scum to some pond koi out in Boston.
Not sure if that’s true or not, but it’s a nasty detail and it makes her sob silently. Just red in the face with tears streaming down. Lord. This woman looks like she’s already thinking of revenge. I pray that Wyatt does not think I’m competent enough to look after Tylee for any amount of time.
He continues expanding on her crimes while she cries – slutty, bad mother, ran off with a white supremacist, betrayed the club, nearly got half the room killed, stole money, drugged Magnum’s wife. I’m surprised Wyatt doesn’t command her execution.
“We came to the conclusion there was only one way for you to learn your lesson and reflect on what you’ve done.
Although… it’s my personal opinion,” Ethan says, never forgetting to leave us with his oh-so-valuable personal opinion.
“That you are beyond saving. Amanda believes in a lot of therapeutic crap and we all are willing to at least try it.”
Wyatt nods affirmatively. I guess this is where Ethan takes over.
“For the next year, Tylee Shaw, you will be living in exile far away from anyone you can harm, in isolation from most technology, weapons, and the internet on your own property with a club-assigned guardian for that yearlong period who will handle your major needs.”
Owen can’t handle the suspense. “We’re sending you to rural Montana. With Christian Shaw.”
They can’t be serious. I look up, my eyes darting from Wyatt’s face to my other cousins’.
I should have known they invited me here for a reason, but I foolishly thought that they might ask me to be a courier, or to take on some other role within the club that might actually stand a chance at helping somebody.
Instead, they expect me to be Tylee’s babysitter.
It’s beyond offensive.
“My job is to guard Tylee?” I finally ask, when my long silence doesn’t provoke anybody to step in and admit that this is a stupid, stupid idea.
“You’re more than capable. She’ll be stripped of just about everything and yours to look after. We’ll give you everything you need to be comfortable out there.”
“For a year?”
“Were you planning on going to college?” Wyatt asks snidely.
Bastard. I can’t seethe at him publicly, although I desperately want to share my opinion on all of this shit with Tylee.
It would be much faster to beat her ass so she can’t walk.
That’s what I would do in his position. If Wyatt notices my glaring, his face doesn’t change.
He won’t rise to my anger and fight me, which is what I desperately want.
Because I sure as fuck don’t want to go to Montana.
“No. I was not,” I answer calmly. “I have a couple patches on my jacket and Tylee outsmarted the entire room here. Not sure I’m smarter than all of you put together.”
I smirk a little bit, but Wyatt doesn’t look entertained.
I can’t help but think that it serves him right to feel a little put under the spotlight.
Let’s be honest – once Wyatt says my ass is going to Montana, I’d better stop putting up a fight and start thinking quickly about how to sweeten the pot.
“You’re not,” Ethan snaps. “You’re a dumbass kid, which is exactly why a simple woman like Tylee should be no trouble.
We have a reinforced basement where she will be spending twelve months in what will effectively be a humane prison.
You are permitted to live life as you please and since she will have plenty of space to exercise, and access to sunlight, this will be a very comfortable warden job. Not a punishment.”
“I’ve been working summer jobs at the gas station.”
“This is obviously more important,” Wyatt snaps. “And we’re trusting you, Christian. I don’t necessarily think it will be simple, but it’s important and I don’t trust Tylee with anyone but family.”
She can manipulate just about everyone else. I think that’s what he means.
“A full year?”
“Yes,” Wyatt says. “Don’t worry. You will be compensated. Just don’t gamble all of it away on football.”
I don’t bet on football anymore, but I bite my tongue.
I heard the magic words. You will be compensated.
That’s just about all it takes for me to surrender to Wyatt’s demands for me.
I prepare myself to ghost the girls I’ve been talking to back in Missouri and I verbally submit my two weeks notice to Kelsey Shaw, who happens to be in the room with me.
“Compensation would be nice.”
“$400,000 if you can spend the entire year without letting her escape,” Wyatt says. “$300,000 if she escapes once… If she escapes twice, the deal is off and it will be your job to put her down.”
I don’t have to think, to be honest. Won’t come to shooting Tylee in the head. The words come out of my mouth quickly.
“I accept.”
Montana. Timbuktu. Wherever the fuck they want to send me.