“Yeah, I’ll make sure Darlene talks to the girls about safety too,” Grem says.
“Make sure they’re doubled up if they go anywhere,” I say as he starts his bike up.
“Got it,” Grem says before sticking his knuckles out at me. “Thanks, Pres.”
“Got ya, brother,” I say and knock mine against his.
That’s as much of a hug as he’ll ever get out of my ass.
Compartmentalization is a fucked up thing. And it’s another thing I learned about when I was in high school.
School made me see this counselor about grieving and shit when my mom died from her fucking heroin overdose. He tried to get me to talk about why I wouldn’t touch people. Why I didn’t weep and wail, and why I wasn’t moping around.
About all I got out of the whole thing was, it’s okay to cry (I didn’t), and that what I was doin’ was compartmentalizing shit. Instead of lettin’ shit overwhelm me and dealin’ with it properly, I was puttin’ it away in neat little cubby holes. Filing away all kinds of shit I didn’t want to deal with for later.
Most of it is probably still filed up there in my brain collecting dust.
So, me pushing all emotions aside with Snowbird’s death is pretty much the easiest way to figure out how to respond to it. It might seem cold and callous, but that’s part of the gig.
I can’t fucking rush off doing stupid shit.
Instant violence will only solve so much right now. We don’t have enough firepower to hit the Scorpions hard enough to make them leave Louisville. But we can’t let this hit go unpaid either. We gotta make sure they know they fucked up bad.
We hit one of theirs cause he was caught slingin’ around our little town. Shit don’t float like that, they know it too.
But torturing a sweetbutt?
Fuck that. Especially with what they did to her. I can feel my mind wanting to slip into a rage of emotions, but I gotta shut it down.
Stupid thing is, I’m wonderin’ if the Bastards have become complacent in our little town of La Grange outside the big city Louisville. Have we become the fat cats and let our asses get tender?
Fuck, I hope not.
But we should’ve never been in the fucking position of not havin’ enough firepower like we are right now. We ain’t gotta be fucking doomsday preppers, but shit, we’re fucking sittin’ ducks if a real war comes down the pipe at us.
This deal we got with Anchorage is good for everyone that’s involved, but it’d be even better if the guns and ammo were here yesterday.
Fuck. Gonna have to call up Church tonight or tomorrow, depending on what shit we can get from Grem looking for guns.
My stomach starts to warm the closer I get to home, though. I’m feeling warm and pissed the fuck off. I don’t like how Allie and I left things, even if it was on somewhat better terms because she finally stopped screaming at me.
Allie’s home and she brought my kid with her. A kid I never knew existed. I can’t be mad that he’s here, just pissed I’ve missed all the shit a new dad gets to do. Missed his first words and first steps. Missed bein’ up all night with the cryin’ and changin’ his diapers.
I’ve missed it all, and it fucking crushes me inside when I can’t put my feelings neatly away.
I want to rage and scream at Allie. I want her to quit fuckin’ messin’ around with all this bullshit of not rememberin’ me.
But how do I do that?
Is it really fucking possible she lost all memory of the time we had together? Is that even a fucking thing? Amnesia? Don’t that shit only happen on soap operas and shit? It’d sure as fuck explain stuff, but damn.
In bed she sure as fuck acts like the old Allie Cat I knew, and that pisses me the fuck off even more.
Did she fuck Mikhail?
Did she fuck him like she fucks me?
I can’t believe that she did. I felt something last night that I bet even she didn’t know she had in her. She fucked like it had been years since she felt something so real. That, and I had to stretch the fuck out of her. If she’s been fucking some other dick, it was tiny as hell.
Bet she didn’t even get off half the time she was with soon-to-be-dead Mikhail.
Fuck, having her home is good, but I’m gonna have to boost security around the house. Can’t let her out of my sight till I know she’ll fucking behave, and I don’t trust the Scorpions not to go after any of us now.
They broke one of the Bastards’ rules, no women and no children. They broke that rule, will we?
Fuck.
My damn head is everywhere.
Pulling into my neighborhood only strengthens my resolve to make sure the Scorpions don’t come anywhere near us again. We’ve got a good, quiet community here. We’ve established a giant ring of protection around us. We keep drugs out, we don’t do protection rackets, and we take care of everyone we can.
Crime is practically nonexistent.
We don’t want the people around us unhappy. Unhappiness is the quickest way to find the law and all those agencies that hate MC’s coming down on our heads.
Some calm has entered my head when I turn down my street. Finally, I’ve got ideas on how to go forward, but I still need a better map of where the Scorpions stand right now.
I’m calm and have a fucking desire to fix whatever is broken inside of my Allie Cat.
I need her on my side, I need my fucking ride-or-die chick back. I need her like I need air to breathe. And I need my son with me for as long as I can keep him by my side.
Fuck, I have a son!
A real fucking part of my soul in a tiny little body that depends on me for love and safety. Fuck, that’s a heady feeling. I may have missed so many fucking firsts, but I won’t miss another one.
Everything is bright and shiny until I see a huge fucking man on my front lawn cradling the front wheel of a bike like it’s his dying hound. His shoulders are fucking heaving up and down as his big, bushy-bearded ass rocks.
What. The. Fuck.
Slowing my bike to a sudden stop in my driveway, I can already see the aftermath of what looks like some serious shit that went down.
First fucking clue that gives me the impression there was trouble beyond fucking baby Hammy weeping in my front yard? A fucking minivan is sitting on top of a fucking motorcycle.
The next is Poster Boy lifting his hands as he walks up to me.
Shutting off the engine of my bike, I look down at the gas tank for a long time. I’ve already raised my hand up to keep Poster Boy from talking.
I need this little moment before I decide how many dead prospects is a bad thing.
When I think I’ve got my shit under control, I look up at Poster Boy and ask, “Allie?”
“Inside, Pres,” he says, and it looks like he wants to say more but he sure as fuck knows not to.
“The van on the bike?” I ask.
“Hammy parked it behind the van. Allie didn’t like it when she found out her battery was missin’.”
I try to keep my voice as calm as possible. “Why isn’t someone inside with them right now?”
Reaching up to rub the back of his neck, he says, “Well, she locked us out.”
“You let her lock you out?” I ask, and again I force myself not to shoot him in the foot with the Glock that’s holstered on my hip.
“Well… none of us wanted to touch her.”