Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) (18 page)

Reluctantly, they got in the SUV and backed out of the parking stall. As they pulled away, I lowered the pistol, shoved it into the waist of my jeans, and sighed.

As he stared up at me, his eyes filled with wonder, I planted the heel of my boot into his forehead, knocking him onto his back.

“That’s for pulling a gun on the father of my nephew,” I said. “If you move, I’ll break your fucking neck.”

I reached down and helped him to his knees. Blood trickled down along his face from the massive cut on his forehead. There was no doubt he was half delirious, but I didn’t have much time to make a decision, and I needed his undivided attention.

“You’re going to need to listen, and listen carefully,” I said.

He nodded his head eagerly. As with many people who terrorized others, he had obviously never been on the receiving end of a violent situation and it was apparent by the level of fear his eyes projected.

“As you might have suspected, I’m not new to this shit. I’ve killed motherfuckers like you and walked away without even giving it a second thought. But something tells me I don’t
need
to kill you. I’ve always said I give everyone a chance, and I guess this is yours. If you’ll give me your solemn word that you’ll never do something like this again, I’ll let you walk away. If you don’t, or if for some reason I don’t believe you, I’ll blow a hole in your head the size of a grapefruit. Now, you haven’t got much time, so I need an answer,” I said.

He fixed his eyes on mine, swallowed, and responded.

“Wuh wuh wuh won’t happen. Eh eh ever ah ah again,” he said.

Well, he maintained eye contact.

“Will you ever do anything like this again?” I asked, wanting to see where his eyes went when he responded.

He shook his head from side to side and maintained eye contact. “No.”

“Why?” I asked.

I didn’t care to hear his stuttering response, but I needed a little more reassurance.

“Buh buh because I’m guh guh giving my word,” he said, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.

It appeared he was being truthful.

“Stand up slowly and turn around with your fingers interlocked behind your head, just like you were getting arrested,” I said.

He slowly stood and complied with my request. After patting him down and finding not even a wallet, I pressed my hand against his right shoulder.

“Turn around,” I said.

He turned to face me. His eyes told it all. He was scared shitless.

“Go sit beside that truck, out of sight. Don’t move until you’re sure twenty minutes have passed. Not five, not ten, not even fifteen, but twenty, Understood?” I asked.

He nodded his head repeatedly.

“Go,” I said as I tilted my head toward a truck parked thirty feet away.

He stumbled to the truck, walked to the far side of it, and hunkered behind it, well out of sight.

I gazed down at my feet as I waited, realizing it was the first time in my life I had let such a man walk away. I was undoubtedly taking a risk, but my objective was to protect the people I loved, and I accomplished it without resorting to killing a man.

A tremendous improvement on my part, I felt proud knowing I was a more compassionate man than I had been in the past. I realized I would probably never know if my decision to let him go was a good one, but it was my decision nonetheless. As the SUV pulled up in front of me I knew one thing for sure.

At least he would never harm one of the people who were important to me.

Although I realized that particular fact wasn’t all that mattered, it was all that seemed to matter at the moment.

And I had lived one more day without taking a life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Early Winter 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

At one minute and fifty-seven seconds into the third round of the fight, Shane Dekkar knocked out Tick-Tock Brock and became the new Heavyweight Championship of the World. Not once did I doubt his ability, I only questioned his devotion. From what he said, he won the fight for Kelsey, who claimed to have never trained a fighter as great as Shane, and had never trained a champion.

Shane’s father was a former Marine who was killed in the line of duty in Afghanistan, a fact that may have played a part in my devotion to Shane as a friend and brother. His father, however, had abused his mother, and his mother left when he was as small boy. He was raised by his grandfather while his father was away at war, and his mother never returned.

His grandfather trained him as a boxer, and the sport was Shane’s outlet for a lifetime of frustration, anger, and slight hatred toward the actions of his father for what he had done to his mother. Shane never forgave his father, which was something else I could completely understand, because I had never forgiven mine fully either.

One night, after one of his fights, Shane’s grandfather had a heart attack and died, prompting Shane to move to Texas from Compton, California for a new start in his career.

Kelsey trained Shane, and in many ways, became the fatherly figure he always wanted but never had. I admired Kelsey for being exactly what each fighter needed, but never allowing them to understand he cared about them as deeply as he did.

He was, to the fighters in the gym, exactly what I was to my combat Marines.

A true leader.

“Listen up, Jarhead,” Kelsey said. “This gym has people beating the door down to be trained by the great Shane Dekkar, and if you can’t make a fighter of this Justin Bieber look-alike, we need to send his skinny ass down the road.”

“He’s getting there, Boss,” I said.

Kelsey shifted his eyes into the ring, studied Austin for a moment, and shook his head in exaggerated frustration. “He needs to stick to dancing and sashaying around like a princess.”

“Two more weeks, and we’ll know,” I said, referring to Austin’s first scheduled fight.

Ripp met Austin one day in a street race, and the two became quick friends. Austin was a dance instructor, and agreed to trade Ripp dance lessons for boxing lessons. Somehow, after the birth of Ripp’s daughter, I became Austin’s trainer. I enjoyed training him to not only box, but to protect himself, and to have the proper mindset to compete in a match.

I had no doubt he had the ability to win against any comparable opponent, and the last thing he wanted to do was let any of us down, so I was quite certain when the time came that he’d apply everything he had learned when fighting.

“The kid’s a fucking weirdo, you’ve got two weeks, Jarhead,” Kelsey complained as he turned away.

I glanced into the ring. Austin’s opponent connected a right uppercut, sending him reeling backward to keep from falling.

Turn your body, Kid. Just like I taught you.

He twisted away from the other fighter as he stumbled, making himself more difficult to hit.

Suddenly, he had his footing. He raised his hands slightly, obviously ready to continue. As the fighter approached him, certain he was a few punches away from a win, Austin lit into him with a barrage of jabs.

The punches caught the other fighter off guard, and as he fought to keep his footing, Austin swung a slightly wild but extremely effective uppercut. It was, without a doubt, his most effective punch.

The fighter collapsed onto the mat, flat on his back.

I shifted my eyes toward the locker room. Kelsey stood beside the entrance intently watching the fight. As my eyes met his, he flipped me his middle finger and turned away.

You grumpy old fucker.

I shifted my eyes into the ring. The fighter was unsuccessfully attempting to get onto his feet. Austin shifted his eyes toward me and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fight’s over, fellas,” I said as I ducked under the ropes and entered the ring.

Training Austin was not only good for him, but it was good for me. It gave me a sense of accomplishment, and a means of measuring my success through his wins or losses. To date, he hadn’t lost a fight, but everything so far was nothing but sparring, and not an actual boxing match.

As I helped the other fighter to his feet, I shifted my eyes toward Austin.

“I had my doubts, Kid. You need to protect that chin of yours or someone’s going to knock it off,” I said.

He nodded his head. 

“You alright?” I asked the other fighter.

Incapable of responding legibly with a mouthpiece in his mouth, he blinked his eyes and nodded his head.

“Alright, hit the showers,” I said as I tossed my head toward the locker room.

Kelsey began to walk out of the locker room, noticed Austin walking in that direction, and quickly turned toward the door. As I watched him hustle back into the locker room, I laughed to myself.

Going to give him some pointers, Old Man?

Shane had earned almost 50 million dollars for winning the fight, and Kelsey made enough to make his life slightly easier to live than it had been in the past. The money, however, would never change either of the men regarding the sport itself, they enjoyed it far too much.

I walked toward the locker room and stood beside the door waiting on Austin to come out. Kelsey’s unmistakable voice echoed from the concrete room.

“Keep that chin tucked, Kid. You’re going to lose it if you’re not careful. And turn that skinny little body of yours when you’re on your heels, it’s a smaller target,” he growled.

Sounds familiar.

“You got it, Boss,” I heard Austin say.

“Now listen to me,” Kelsey said. “Whatever that Marine tells you, you listen to him. He’s a good man, and he’ll lead you to a championship if you let him.”

Filled with a newfound pride and a slightly inflated state of being, I walked toward the ring, proud that Kelsey felt my abilities were sufficient. I realized I was good at almost everything I devoted time to, but I rarely received recognition from anyone for anything I had ever done. As I gathered up the wet towels from around the ring, I swelled with pride.

I turned toward the dirty rag bin and tossed the towels inside. As I glanced up Kelsey walked by, flipping me the bird as he passed.

I didn’t say a word, at least not out loud.

Thank you, Old Man.

I won’t let you down.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Late Winter 2015, Austin, Texas, USA

The day was unseasonably warm, and I was glad to be riding the motorcycle. A thirty-minute ride had the ability to transform my mind to another place altogether, and allow me to release things I would never be able to let go without it.

It seemed the nation’s perception of a man in Levis and boots riding a Harley was one of drinking, fighting, and the commission of crimes. From what I had learned of bikers – and I had been exposed to all walks of biker life – the exact opposite was true.

Bikers were the first to stop and lend a helping hand, the last to resort to violence without a reason, and although they were quick to protect their brethren, they typically didn’t do so with any more force than was necessary to do so.

As I sat at the traffic light one block away from my destination, the woman beside me in the minivan stared straight ahead at the traffic light, seemingly petrified in fear of what may happen if she glanced in my direction.

In the back seat, her children waved and made faces.

I grinned at the children, stuck out my tongue, and waved one last time before pulling in the clutch as the light changed from red to green.

I pulled into the driveway, shut off the engine, and let the bike coast to a stop. After a short emotion-filled hesitation, I tossed my leg over the bike and walked to the porch.

On my third knock, the door opened.

“I heard you half way up the street. I didn’t think any of those damned things were louder than Mike’s, but yours sure is. Got a distinct sound, too. Come on in, Son.” he said as he opened the door.

“So, you called and said to get the pack of cigarettes ready. What’s going on?” he asked.

“Can we go out onto the back deck?” I asked.

“Hell, we can go anywhere you like, Son. This is just as much your home as it is anyone’s,” he responded with a light laugh.

“You go on out there, and I’ll grab those smokes,” he said as he turned toward his bedroom.

I walked out onto the deck, glanced around the back yard, and inhaled a long slow breath through my nose. As I opened my mouth and tilted my head back, he opened the door to the deck. I exhaled and turned toward him.

“Great day, Sir,” I said.

“Sure is. Damned near eighty degrees. Spring is almost upon us,” he said as he handed me the pack of cigarettes.

Since I gave them to him, I had been back on three occasions. I took one from the pack, reached into my pocket, and removed my lighter. As I flipped the lighter between my fingers and toyed with the cigarette, he sat down in the chair beside me.

“Now I’m gonna guess because you’re here and you’re wanting a smoke that this is a tough day for ya, Son. Just what’s going on?” he asked.

I sat down across from him, flipped the cigarette into my mouth, and bit into the cotton filter. As I clenched it lightly in my teeth, I shifted my eyes toward the large maple tree in the corner of the yard. I imagined each of his children attempting to climb the tree as they grew old enough to reach the lowest of the branches. I laughed to myself, took another breath of courage, and turned to face him.

I had no way of knowing how he was going to react to what I had to say, but I’d never been one to sugar-coat subjects or dance around the truth. There was one way and one way only to do what it was I came to do, and spitting out what I had to say was a far better alternative than chewing on it.

I raised the lighter to the tip of the cigarette, lit it, and inhaled a long pulled deep into my lungs. As the smoke from the stale cigarette burned my lungs, I fought not to cough. I tilted my head to the side, exhaled, and took another long drag, watching the paper burn as I mentally prepared to speak.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” I said as I exhaled the smoke toward the yard.

The deck was concrete, covered, and a very peaceful place to sit. I found it quite relaxing, and although Katie and I often used the space for relaxation and make-out sessions, the remainder of the family rarely came out onto the deck.

“I have a question for you,” I said.

“Something’s eatin’ ya, I can see that. What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing happened,” I said as I leaned forward, resting my forearms onto my thighs.

I fixed my eyes on his, swallowed, and said what I came to say.

“I’ve got something I feel like I need to do, and although I’m not planning on doing it for a while, I need to see if it’s acceptable to you before I make any plans to do it,” I said.

I was clearly beating around the bush. 

He narrowed his eyes and stared, revealing the wrinkles beside his eyes that generally remained hidden. “Well, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what it is, Son. Say what you’ve come to say, and we’ll go from there,” he said.

Katie’s mother carried out two glasses of tea, handed them to us, and turned toward the house without speaking a word. As the door slid open, she spoke over her shoulder.

“Good afternoon, Alec,” she said. “It’s sure nice to see you.”

“Good afternoon, Ma’am. And likewise.” I responded as I raised the glass of tea to my lips.

I lowered the glass to the table, shifted my eyes to the cigarette, and then to Mr. Ripton.

Just say it, Jacob. Say it quickly

I locked my eyes on his. “I’d like to ask your permission to marry your daughter.”

His eyes widened slowly as his mouth curled into grin. “Well, I’ll be go to hell. That’s what’s eatin’ you?”

I nodded my head. “It’s not something I want to do right away, and I’ll know for sure when the time is right, but I don’t want to plan on doing it without your getting approval first.”

At some point in time, the application of traditional values escaped the minds and lives of the residents of the nation, and although I firmly believed in old-fashioned traditions, there were not many people who shared my opinion.

Perform every task to the best of your ability.

Respect your elders by addressing them as Ma’am and Sir.

Open the door for anyone who’s within eyeshot.

Don’t lie, steal, or cheat.

If you have anything to say to someone, say it to their face or don’t say it at all.

Ask a man’s permission to marry his daughter.

Save sex for marriage. 

Always remain true to the one you love.

“Damn it, Son. This heat’s drying out my eyes,” he said as he reached up and rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers.

After a few seconds, he stood from his seat, lowered his head, and coughed. As he looked up, he lowered his hands and nodded his head.

“It’d be an honor to have you as a son-in-law. It surely would,” he said as he extended his hand.

I tossed my cigarette to the side and reached for his hand. “Thank you, Sir. I won’t disappoint you. Or her for that matter.”

“Now, you’re not thinking of one of those runnin’ off deals, are ya? You know, when the time comes, that is,” he asked. “We’d sure like to attend.”

“No, Sir.” I chuckled. “I’d like for it to be something we could all enjoy.”

He grinned a prideful grin, wiped his swollen eyes, and nodded his head. “That’d sure tickle the wife and me.”

I reached down, snuffed the smoldering cigarette, and pushed the butt into the pocket of my jeans.

“Well, that’s all I had,” I said with a laugh as I patted him on the shoulder.

“Well, I don’t know if I could handle any more in one day, so I suppose that’s a good thing,” he said. “You mind if I tell the wife?”

“Not at all,” I said.

“That’s good, I hate the thought of keeping secrets from that woman,” he said as he shrugged his shoulders. “Call me old-fashioned.”

“You and me both,” I said with a laugh.

“Wouldn’t want you any other way,” he said as he draped his arms over my shoulder.

And, I couldn’t have agreed with him more.