If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel (11 page)

“No. It was washed. Have a seat. We need to talk.” He pulled his specs from the tip of his nose and set them on his desk before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. My hackles, which couldn’t get any more fucking raised, raised another goddamn hair. “Ilsa’s been having some problems. It’s her kid’s dad. He’s hitting her again or some shit. Anyway, I sent someone to take care of it. She says she’s working on getting out of it. I don’t know. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

I shook my head back and forth in my hands after face planting my palms. After I raked my hands through my shoulder length hair I rested my elbows on my knees and looked up at my father, narrowing my eyes on his. “Why? Pops, why? She’s toxic and you know it.”

His deep blue eyes fucking sparkled before he smirked. “Yeah, and she’s also my business. I was just giving you a heads up, son. Now, listen. When you speak to Bentley, you tell him that he and his father are more than welcome back through the gates of this compound. You make sure they understand this is still their home. I need us to be in the clear. WE need to always appear as the good guy. The strong leader. Otherwise no one will follow. Is that understood, Jacques Archer?”

I nodded, somewhat understanding. “Okay, so what? We’re just going to pretend the two of you didn’t have a knockdown-drag out over a woman, and that he didn’t split, and we ain’t heard shit from him since? That’s the ace up your sleeve, Pops? That’s the big grand plan you’ve kept to yourself ‘til it’s curtain time? That’s it? And what are you hoping for Bentley’s response to be, Father? How will that affect whatever you have planned for you and Ilsa? And what about the club?” I was shocked when he didn’t put a bullet in me the moment I finished speaking, but goddamn it, I needed some answers. And the ones I was hoping for when I got his text weren’t coming. “This is bullshit! Do you think I’ve talked to Ben? Because I haven’t! Is that what you’re holding out for?” I stood, and after making my way across his office, I pulled the blinds to the side and pointed out the window to the fun-loving chaos that I call home, looking out over the boneyard where hundreds of different brothers and their friends and family had gathered. “What’s your plan, Pops? What’s your plan? Just fucking tell me, man. Because all I see are brothers guarding something, and even they don’t know what it is!” I shouted. Because I was pissed. And I was tired of just following the orders my father barked and commanded without reason or explanation.

I needed to know why. If I’m killing myself for something, if I’m working my ass off for it, morning, noon, and, night—If I’m putting my life on the line for it, for this club then I had to know what his plan was. I had to fucking know why.

“Because this is family, Jacques. And I don’t know what to do when it’s family. That was always supposed to be your mother’s shit, not mine. That’s why. I do know that I need your fucking help to keep what’s left of it together. And if you make me ask again, son, I’ll fucking put you to ground. Is that understood?”

I took a couple of breaths, keeping my eyes on Pops, and I nodded my head. “Understood.”

And I couldn’t tell if it was anticipation glinting his cerulean blue eyes, determination, or the lethal combination of both mixed with hope. But when he smiled and said, “Good. Then, Jackie boy, go tell the prospects to tap the kegs and start the bonfires. It’s game time!”

It didn’t feel like I was on the cusp of something fun and fucking amazing. It didn’t feel like I was riding eighty miles an hour down the stretch of curvy road, strapped to nothing but chrome, steel, rubber, and fuel. It felt like I was on the Hell-side of a damn hurricane—looking straight down the barrel of what very well could be the end of club life as we knew it.

Present:

The silence on the other end of the phone is enough to make a brother want to scream when my cousin, Bentley finally speaks after I answer the phone.

“It goes much different now than it ever has before. And you? How are you, bro?” He sounds different. It’s like I can still hear my old best friend’s voice, but there’s another layered on top of it. It’s familiar, but not.

Which is odd, because that becomes the theme for rest of my evening at the Sons of Silencers Reunion Party.

I’m past the quick of my nails when Grams snaps at me for the elevententh time for biting them. “Eve O’Malley, stop biting your—”

“Shi—Shoot! I’m sorry, Grams!” I clasp my hands together before setting them in my lap. “But can you freaking step on it already?” I glance over my shoulder to see if she can get over. “Here. You can get over. Take this exit—” It passes when she speeds up the more I chatter.

Okay, I may be slightly nervous. This hasn’t exactly been on the top of my agenda. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. “Grams, I can drive. Remember? Got my permit just yesterday. After school?”

I watch as her brows furrow, and she flips her blinker on, scooting up in her seat, closer to the steering wheel. And I can’t help it, I giggle at her as she rants. “No way in hell you’re driving in this crazy traffic. I don’t know which is worse, Miami or New York City. But damn, if I hope it ain’t better in Jersey.” She cuts her eyes over at me before narrowing them on mine. “You can stop that damn laughing, too, Evie May. I may be old, but I’m still rocking this boat.” She gets over into the other lane after waiting in the one we were in with her blinker on for the last five minutes. And thankfully, it’s in enough time to take the exit, headed for the Jersey turnpike.

The closer we get the more my stomach knots with nervousness.

Beside the few letters Eden I exchanged while I was in Chicago, before the bus station
incident
, I haven’t spoken to her. Grams said she gave Mom our address, and had her give it to Eden once we got settled on Rau Street, but Eden never made contact. She never reached out to me.

Pulling at the strings of my cutoff shorts, much like my sad thoughts are starting to pull at my heartstrings, I accidently let my wandering, pointless thoughts stumble from my mouth. “Wonder why Eden never tried to call or write.”

“Wonder why Eve never tried to call or write. Don’t be so stubborn, Evie. You have just as much fault for not keeping in touch with your sister as she does. Don’t start pointing fingers, sweet pea. Even though it hurts.”

“I did try—” But there’s no point, so I shut my mouth and glance back out the passenger side window. But I did try. I wrote...countless fucking letters to both Mom and Eden. I even wrote them and sent them through Donna a few times, thinking I hadn’t gotten a response because I had the address wrong or something. But no, the one time Donna did write me when I was in juvy, she let me know two things: She never wanted to hear from me again, because of what a disappointment I was, and that that was my mother’s correct address.

I knew then I’d headed for the right place when I was fourteen. I just got worried and let greed mess my whole plan up. I had the address the whole time. But I was so worried when I showed up that it’d be a stranger answering my mother’s door and then I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. I wrote them both every day for the first six months I was in that hell, in the same town they were in.

And nothing. Not a single word. Not a single letter. Not one phone call. Until Grams showed up and saved the day. Animosity? Nooo. What animosity? Are you kidding me? This is going to be a walk in the park! Oh, no wait—she didn’t show up for that one.

Maybe she’ll show up for the walk through the zoo. Since this is where this meeting is supposed to be taking place.

Animosity? Pfft. No, and that’s not a chip on my shoulder.

***

Eden looks...different. Shit, she looks just...like...me. Which is odd seeing how neither of us has seen each other since before we were ten, but still we ended up looking almost exactly alike. Guess we were more like twins than they thought. Take that, Mrs. Brown.

My mother looks different, but the same. She looks sad. And tired. And when her eyes land on mine and they smile—I feel the first little fissure splinter in my ironclad resolve and intentions. I don’t love my mother. I can’t love my mother. And I won’t love my mother. Because all she has ever done is break my heart. And you can’t break what’s already broken.

Remember? This is her fault. I was the child. All she ever had to do was just come and fucking get me!

Somehow, some-damn-way, I keep my voice even and my face passive when we’re close enough and alone enough to speak under the garden canopies. And I’m even more proud of myself, because I speak first.
See there? Who’s the adult here now?

The lush green ivy and flowers curl up and around the wrought iron lattice creating a world inside another, where hummingbirds and butterflies and lightning bugs huddle in masses around all the trees, ferns and shrubbery. And while I clocked all of this in my peripheral, I didn’t react to it. I didn’t let the setting of this fake ass meet and greet persuade my feelings. I just stepped up, with Grams at my side, smiled like there was no such thing as world hunger, and then I said, “Hi.”

Yeah, that was about it. I was trying so hard to look like I was okay on the outside, and I forgot to double check on the inside that I was. Didn’t get my ducks lined up. Or my speech. But thankfully, Grams picks up where I completely and horribly let off.

“Ilsa. Eden. How’ve you been, sweethearts? I love the idea of meeting here. Who’s idea was that? It’s beautiful.” She looks around briefly before settling her eyes on my mom’s. “Ilsa, honey, you have some explaining to do. And you’re not gonna like it one bit. Girls, go play.” And that’s that. Ilsa and Grams step off to the side under a low hanging
enormous
tree that has no business living indoors, and Eden and I scoot off down a hidden path under more hanging trees.

It takes us both a while of walking before either of us speaks, then when we do, it’s at the same time. But I motion for her to go ahead, attempting to turn over that new leaf Ty keeps reminding me about.

“I’ve missed you like crazy. I’ve written you, like a hundred times. Did you not get them? Any of them?” my sister asks.

My Chucks would probably have squeaked if we weren’t walking on the soft ground and soil all the plants in the room were rooted in when my footsteps cease. “Did I get them? No. Did you get mine? Where have y’all even fucking been? Excuse my language, I’ve been away from mother. And I’m ill-informed. Sue me.” I roll my eyes before moving to walk around her. But not too fast. I’m pissed, but I also still want information. Thankfully it only takes a few seconds before I hear her feet falling into step behind mine.

“I haven’t been with Mom this whole time. My dad—I had to go stay with him for a long time. After Chicago. And every time Mom got me back after that, she was trying to get you back too. Why are you so angry? We were trying to get to you, just like you were trying to get to us. What’s Grams told you? Whatever it is, don’t believe it.”

Well that was more information than I expected...and so quickly. It’s odd, but I feel a measure of pride swell when I realize my sister’s grown up so much. But I’m still pissed. And looking for more answers. There’s never enough answers. “Don’t believe her? And why? She was the only one who even came. Do you even know where I was? Does Mom? I’ve been in hell! At least the two of you have had each other! I’ve had no one!” I know what I’m doing. I know I’m doing exactly what Grams told me not to, but I can’t help it. This fucking hurts, so much more. Damn it, I underestimated it.

I didn’t think you could hurt an already damn broken heart. But
shit! I was wrong!

“She’s old and senile, Eve. Mom has been trying. I don’t care what that woman or the snakes in her head have told you—she never stopped trying.”

I spin, flying around until I’m pinning her eyes with mine. I’m grabbing words quicker than I think them to spit at my sister.
My twin
. Or so I’d thought for half my short life. But before I can even say them, I feel my chin quiver—and curse myself just before falling apart. “Fuck,” I mutter as the tears fall, streaming down my face.