26. Chapter 26
twenty-six
T he next morning, when Heavy heard he had a visitor, he didn’t bother to ask who it was, certain it was one of the Flyers. Maybe even Streak, with his bail paperwork.
He followed the jailer into the visiting room, scanning the area for a familiar face.
His gaze bounced over the stooped, lank-haired man at one of the tables. Then he froze, as he looked into an all too familiar smirk. Once, that face had resembled his own, square-jawed and firm. Now it bore the marks of years of hard living, and way too many hits of alcohol and drugs.
A tumult of emotions crashed through Heavy—revulsion, anger and the old shame that he had to claim this man as his father. He stopped on the other side of the table, and stared down at Armand Hanks.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Heavy demanded.
“Have a seat, Hanks,” the jailer said.
Heavy shook his head. “No. I’m not staying. Don’t wanna talk to him.”
His father’s mood shifted like lightning, as always, fury twisting his lined face, and narrowing his reddened eyes.
“Oh, you best talk to me, Marcus, after your gal dragged me clear across the state,” he said, his voice rough from years of smoking anything he could get his hands on. “I ain’t heard from you in years, but I come, didn’t I?”
“Either siddown or back to your cell,” the jailer said to Heavy. “What’s it gonna be?”
Heavy barely heard him. His ears ringing with his father’s words, his legs gave out under him, and he dropped into the empty chair. It shuddered under his weight.
“What?” he demanded, staring across the table at the older man. “’My gal’? My gal dragged you here—who’re you talking about?”
Armand smiled slyly. “Why, that pretty li’l piece ya got there, workin’ at your gym. You pop her cherry, son? She’s a sweet package, if you like ‘em ripe.”
Heavy ignored this foulness, for now. “Cassie called you?” he repeated. “She told you to come here? No way.”
She wouldn’t… would she?
But Armand huffed, as if he couldn’t believe Heavy was doubting him. “I’m here, ain’t I? ‘Course she did, an’ gimme her name too. How else would I know to come? Since you ain’t exactly kept in touch. Don’t even tell me or your big brother you got a bidness of your own.”
Heavy’s heart sank like a chunk of ice in his chest. His father might be a lying sack of shit, but he was right about one thing. How else would he have known where and when Heavy was in jail, unless someone had taken the trouble to contact him. Someone who knew that he was here, leaving his gym in his brothers’ and Cassie’s hands.
He’d thought she understood the depth of his disgust for not only his father, but all of his family.
He couldn’t believe she’d done this. But he’d deal with that, and with her, later, when he was out of here. For now, he’d deal with his father.
“So you came to help me out, did you?” he asked, not bothering to disguise the curl of his lip as he gazed at the man. “And help yourself, right? Thought I’d give you the keys to my gym, so you could pilfer anything you could carry to the nearest pawn shop? Or maybe you thought I’d give you the key to a cash register too—that’d be easy for you. Wouldn’t even have to pawn anything, you could just pocket the money and use it to buy your next bottle, or your next hit. Maybe even a prostitute, if you could find one desperate enough to take you on.”
As he spoke, his father’s face grew steadily darker, suffused with fury. His hands curled into fists on the table.
Heavy leaned closer, keeping his voice quiet, so only Armand could hear him. “You wanna belt me one, old man? Knock me around like you used to when I was smaller than you? Go ahead, try it. They’ll toss you in a cell too. And when you get out? My Flyer brothers—my real family—will be waiting for you. And by the time they get through with you, you’ll be sorry you ever bothered to remember you had another son.”
When his father replied with a wordless snarl of rage, tinged with fear, Heavy smiled coldly.
“Oh, and speakin’ of memories–remember our last little talk before I left home, when I’d been lifting at school all year, and was finally stronger than you? I do. Ended with you on your back on that filthy carpet, your face all bloody, too scared to get up and face me again, ‘cause you knew I’d break more than your fuckin’ nose if you did. That’s how I’ve remembered you all these years, and that’s how I’m gonna keep remembering you–like the fuckin’ useless coward you are.”
He shoved to his feet and turned away. “I’m ready to go back,” he told the jailer. “And he shows up again? I don’t wanna see him.”
“You always was a worthless piece of shit,” his father called after him. “Little fatty might have big muscles now, but you’re still just a dumb shit, you hear me?”
They now had the attention of everyone in the room, inmates and their visitors, and the guards. Another guard started toward Armand. “You, get up—we don’t allow that kind of talk in here. You’re done. Time to go.”
Armand ignored him until the guard took him by the arm.
Marcus turned to look back at his father one last time. “No, I’m the one who was smart enough to get away from you,” he said. “And now I have a real family, who have my back, which you never did, ‘cause you don’t even understand how a real family works. So fuck off, old man. And this time, stay gone.”
As he walked back to his cell, the jailer surprisingly gave him a side-long look. “Man, that old dude really your father?”
“Sperm donor, that’s all.”
The guard shook his head. “You did good, getting away from that. Take my advice, when you get outta here, don’t keep doin’ whatever you did to get in here. Slippery slope, man.”
Heavy stepped into his cell and turned as the guard closed the door with a clang. “Trust me, I get it.”
“Hope so.” With a nod, the guard walked away.
Heavy sank onto his bunk, but then he shot upright again, unable to sit still. He dropped to the floor and began doing pushups, as fast as he could.
As his muscles worked and his lungs sucked air, his father’s words repeated in his head. ‘She called me, and left her name, too.’
Goddamnit. He knew Cassie was impulsive, and maybe she’d just been trying to help him out. But her bringing that filthy old man into Heavy’s new life felt like a slap of cold, dirty water from the Seattle docks, right in his face.
Like a betrayal.
Rav woke with a start, to the pulse of his watch band against his wrist. A silent alarm going off.
He eased out of bed, trying not to wake his wife, who’d been up late with Boo. Their little guy was teething, and not happy with the experience. Grabbing his tee from where he’d tossed on the chair, he tiptoed out of their bedroom and downstairs into the office he shared with Della.
He brought up the Rock Solid Security alert screen with one key-stroke, and froze. The alarm was for Heavy Iron Fitness.
With a few more strokes, he was into the surveillance cams there. What he saw had him reaching for his phone again, and hitting a familiar keystroke.
“What’s up?” Rocker asked sleepily.
“Yeah, we got a fire at the back entrance of Heavy’s gym,” he said. “I’m seeing two perps, one of ‘em possibly… I dunno, epileptic?”
“Fuck. All right, brother. On it. Uh… I’ll call Moke to back you up quick, he’s close.”
“See you there.”
He pulled on a pair of jeans and boots he kept by the back door, and headed out, knowing he’d have backup soon.
Rav coasted his truck into the front parking lot of the gym, shoved his pistol in the back of his waistband, and checked that his knife was in his boot sheath. Then, with phone in hand, he ran lightly around the back of the gym.
He moved cautiously down the back of the buildings, peering past one dumpster, then the second.
In the bright lights beaming down from the motion sensors on the back door of Heavy Iron Fitness, a man crouched over a smoking pile of refuse and paper. He was cursing a foul streak as he snapped again and again with a small lighter.
“Told you t’ get me two o’ these lighters,” he snarled at the other man, a younger version of himself, who stood nearby, twitching and shuffling with nerves as he watched.
“Din’t have ‘nuf cash, did I?” the younger man whined. “An’ that ‘n works, I tried it.”
“Then ya shoulda stole ‘em, y’idiot.”
“They ’s cameras everywhere in ‘ere.”
Rav glided forward, and disengaged the safety on his pistol.
“It’s a warm evenin’,” he drawled. “No need for a campfire that I can see.”
“Oh, shit! Pops, I told ya not to do it.” The younger man did a strange, nervous dance away from the building.
“Freeze,” Rav growled. “You make me chase you down, you won’t like the way I tackle.”
The skinny guy wilted, hanging his head.
Armand Hanks lost his balance and fell back onto the pavement, eyes wide, lighter still flaring in his hand.
“Wha’?” he slurred. “Who the fuck’re you?”
“I’m the man who says you ain’t starting a fire here,” Rav said. Pistol aimed at the older man, he put his phone to his ear. “Rock? Yeah, I got ‘em. You were right, it’s Heavy’s useless relations. Take your time, I got ‘em covered, and I hear Moke almost here.”
“This’ my son’s bidness,” Hanks yelled, waving the lighter. “Gotta right t’be here!”
“Not when you’re here to commit a crime,” Rav told him. “And starting a fire at your son’s business ‘cause you’re pissed at him? That’s a felony.”
“Don’t you call the cops!” Hanks ordered, shaking his fist at Rav. “Ow, shit!” As a flame burst from his fingers, he threw the lighter away from him, clutching his hand to his chest.
“Told ya It works,” his son pointed out.
Rav kicked the small device away from the two, and smiled a shark’s smile as he heard the thunder of a big Harley coming around the building. “Call the cops? Oh, no… I would never.”
But before the night was over, they would wish he had.
The next afternoon, late enough in the day that the sun was already behind the spring clouds on the western horizon, Heavy stepped down from Streak’s SUV, in the parking lot of the Flyer’s clubhouse.
He had never been so glad to see the place.
Streak stepped down from the driver’s seat, and came around to Heavy’s side, smiling. “Come on in,” he said. “Let’s have a beer and something to eat, and celebrate your release.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Heavy said. He followed the Flyers’ attorney through the front door of the clubhouse. He stopped just inside, squinting. “Dark in here,” he said to Streak. “Somebody trip a breaker, or something?”
A score of voices hollered at once. “Surprise!”
Heavy rocked back on his heels, gaping as the lights came on.
Fuck him, the main clubroom was full of people—full of Flyers, and old ladies, and even a few other folks, all beaming at him, whistling and hollering. “Welcome home, brother! Welcome back, Heavy!”
Jaysus, there was Mary and Sue from the gym, beaming at him, and a bunch of his other gym clients too.
And there were decorations—helium balloons drifting in the air, and a banner across the back of the room, ‘Welcome Back, Heavy’.
“Is this, uh, for me?” he asked, finally.
Streak nodding, chuckling. “Of course it is, brother. We’re glad to have you back.”
“Damn right this is for you,” T-Bear bellowed, grinning like a maniac from the ranks of those facing him. “You’re the man of the hour, little bro.”
Rocker strode forward, arms out for a hug. “Welcome home, kid.”
“Thanks,” Heavy managed around the huge lump in his throat. Heat pressed at the back of his eyes as well, but he hadn’t cried since he was a chubby kid, and he wasn’t gonna start again now.
But gratitude swelled as one after another, Heavy was passed from brother to brother, all of them greeting him with a smile and hug, slap on the back, or in Pete’s case, a punch in the shoulder because that was Pete.
Then it was the old ladies’ turn, and he received hugs and kisses on his cheeks, until RaeAnn laughed up at him and whipped out a tissue, informing him his cheeks were stained with lipstick.
“That’s all right,” he told her.
“Pretty sure there’s someone here who thinks hers should be the only lip gloss on your face,” she told him with a wink.
He turned, and there was Cassie. Wearing a short skirt, high heeled sandals, and a floaty little top with sparkles in the fabric, and a neckline so low he could see the swells of her sweet little tits. She had sparkly earrings and a pendant on as well, but none of them came close to the brightness of her eyes as she gazed at him.
Their gazes locked, and she smiled at him, that smile that lit up her pretty face and the room around her.
“Hey, biker man,” she said. “Welcome home.”
Everything in him yearned toward her like a big pile of iron shavings toward a small, but powerful magnet.
“Cassie,” he breathed. “How’ve you been?”
She blinked, and tipped her head to one side, her smile slipping. “What? I mean… I’m fine.”
“Good,” he said.
She stepped closer, her hands reaching for him, and he grasped them in his, holding her there, gazing down into her blue eyes.
“Listen,” he said. ”Before we–I have one question for you. Did you phone my father–” he nearly gagged on the word. “And tell him I needed him to come and take over my gym for me while I was in jail?”
She recoiled from him, hurt raw in her face, trying to twist her hands from his grasp. “What? Why would you even ask me that?”
He held on, and moved forward, crowding her, gazing down into her face. “PIxie. Please, just answer the question.”
Her eyes shot sparks that would have laid strips out of his hide, if they’d been in a video game.
“No!” she almost shouted, facing him now toe to toe. “And how dare you even ask me that, Heavy Hanks? I know he said that, but–but how could you believe I would do that?”
A wide smile spread across his face, and lit up his entire chest, burning out the last tiny germ of doubt that had festered there.
“Listen to me. I did… for about five minutes,” he said. “Then I shoved my fuckin’ loser of a sperm donor outta my head, and realized that my true blue pixie would never do something like that. ‘Cause you know how I feel about him and the rest of ‘em,” he told her. “And you are on my side, aren’t you? Even when I got tossed in jail, you had my back. Always believing the best of me.”
Then he grabbed her up in his arms before she had a chance to move or breathe, one arm beneath her gorgeous ass, the other across her back, his hand cupping the back of her head so he could kiss her, deep and sweet and hard.
She tasted like life and sweetness and forever.
But after a long moment she fought her way free of the kiss, and glared at him, although she had her strong, sweet legs hooked on his hips, so he guessed she wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
“Say that again,” she demanded, ignoring their avid audience. “Say you believe me. Say you trust me, Heavy Hanks.”
He smiled at her, his sexy ninja pixie. “I believe you, baby. And I trust you. Trusted you to run my gym while I was in jail, didn’t I?”
She gave him a turbulent look, her hands sliding farther up his neck, her thumbs stroking the soft skin behind his ears and sending sweet shivers down his spine. “Stick gave me permission.”
“With my approval,” he said tenderly, sneaking another swift kiss. “It’s my gym. And I can’t think of anyone I’d trust better to take care of it than you.”
“Preach, brother,” T-Bear approved.
He was immediately shushed by several of the old ladies, but it was too late.
Heavy dipped his forehead to Cassie’s. “Can we please take this somewhere private?” he pleaded. “So I can show you exactly how much I missed you?”
And then they could get back out here and get some of the excellent supper he could smell wafting from the barbecues, ‘cause he was starving. Jail food was shit.
“Make a way, brothers,” Rav hollered. “These folks need a room.”
Cassie ducked her head into the shelter of Heavy’s shoulder, finally remembering to be shy, and he bore her triumphantly through the aisle cleared for them by the Flyers and their misty-eyed old ladies.
Only Cooler pointed two fingers at his own eyes and then at Heavy in the universal ‘I’m watching you’ sign. Heavy lifted his chin to show that he got it, and he did.
He knew exactly how precious was the sweet honey he bore in his arms, and he intended to hold onto her, for good.
And show her in every way just how valuable she was.
Stick gave Heavy time to celebrate privately with his woman, and then to shovel in three plates of excellent barbecue and the fixings. The brother could eat, there was no doubt about that. But having been behind bars himself in his rash youth, Stick remembered how bad institutional food was.
When the brother finally leaned back with a fresh beer and a satisfied look, one arm around his smiling woman, Stick knew it was time. He shoved back his own chair, and signalled to Bouncer and Rav.
"Heavy," he said. "A word?" He motioned toward the back of the clubhouse.
"Sure, Stick." Heavy kissed Cassie, and rose, following Stick. He looked surprised when instead of church, they paused in front of one of the false storage rooms, but then his eyes fired with anticipation.
"You got Jason?"
"Not yet," Stick told him. "Got someone else for you to see first. Rav?"
"Found them trying to set fire to your gym," Rav told Heavy. He rolled his eyes. "Was never gonna work—they had a lighter and some paper, a little bottle of cheap moonshine, an' you got that stone exterior. But they were tryin'."
"Oh, fuck no," Heavy groaned, his face falling. "Don't tell me…"
As Bouncer shoved open the store room door, slid back the shelving full of toilet paper, and then unlocked the inner doors, the four of them walked into the small room beyond, and Bouncer shut the door behind them.
The room stank, of piss and body odor and worse.
And of hopelessness, thanks to the two men slouched in two corners of the small room. They were both asleep, heads back, mouths open, small snores rattling his father's slack mouth.
"Well, if this doesn't bring back the joys of my childhood," Heavy muttered.
He reached down, picked up the bucket that had been left for the two to piss in, which they'd both used, and threw it, open end first, at his father.
The man woke with a hoarse yell of fear and disgust, throwing up his skinny arms. "What th—what the fuck all is this?" he sputtered. He focused on Heavy and snarled. "I mighta known it'd be you, you pissant fatty good fer nuthin…"
"Shut up," Heavy roared. "Shut up, or I'll shut you up, old man. One. More. Word… and I will stop you talking for good." His voice went from a bellow that filled the room to a low, menacing rumble aimed solely at the old man now cowering in the corner.
"You came here to see what you could get from me," Heavy told him. "And when I wouldn't give you anything, you tried to burn me out. You shouldn't have done that, Armand. 'Cause now I'm gonna have to see to it that you can't hurt anyone again. You and your mindless sidekick here, who does anything you tell him to. If he only had a brain… " He looked at his brother, or what he'd become, and shook his head in complete disgust.
"We can handle them," Rav told him, giving him an uneasy look. "You don't have to do this."
"No," Heavy said stonily. "I'm in. We don't do this now, these two drug zombies will just keep on keepin' on shitting on my life. And they are not wrecking what I've built, and they're not getting close to my—to anyone I care about."
"Then we send them for a swim," Stick said calmly. "The swimming is good over in Lake Coeur d'Alene, especially at night. But Heavy… you can't be involved. Not in this. When they go missing, you need a solid alibi. So you stay here, and party—live the high life with your woman, and your brothers. We've got this. Another time, you'll have one of your brother's backs."
Heavy stared at him, his jaw working. "I don't like passing this off on my brothers," he ground out.
Surprisingly, it was Bouncer who moved to lay a hand on his arm. "We know, brother. But we got you. We got you solid."
"Solid, brother." Rav repeated.
"Now go on back to your party," Stick said quietly.
After a look, not at the two men sobbing quietly in the corners, but to his club brothers, all three of whom shared a chin lift of respect with him, Heavy turned away, and did that.