Or on June.
This is only temporary, I reminded myself. I twisted the cap off the bottle of cheap whiskey I'd picked up at one of the gas stations when we stopped for a piss break on the way, and swallowed it down, feeling the familiar burn as it slid down my throat.
~
Standing in the convenience store, I'd tried to hide it, but Crunch had seen the bottle in my hand and shook his head. "Do you really need that, man? I mean, out here, with all the shit going down?"
Did I really need it?
Did I really want to give him an honest answer to that question?
"I don't want to hear it, Crunch," I said. "Lay the fuck off."
"Suit yourself," he said. "Just don't fucking drink and get on the back of that bike. I've had enough death to last me a while. And don't let MacKenzie see you drunk."
~
I'd heard all of it over the past year from a couple of the guys in the club.
Clean yourself up.
You used to be a Marine.
How can you just let yourself go?
I'd heard it from myself. It didn't matter. There was no turning around once you were headed on the path I was on. This is who I was.
A knock on the door shook me out of my thoughts. I screwed the top on the bottle and shoved it under the pillow on the bed. “Come in,” I said, steeling myself. I knew it would be my father.
He stood in the doorway. “I brought you a blanket for the bed in case you need it. You know how the temperature drops overnight here, even in the summer.”
“Thanks, Pop."
He paused, the silence awkward. Years of unspoken words just hung there in the space between us. "So your friends," he said. "Are they okay out there? Is everything still working all right at the old bunkhouse?"
The bunkhouse was part of the original homestead, and the only remaining remnant still standing after almost a hundred years. Tucked away from sight in a hidden gulch surrounded by tall pines, it was a good idea to place the family there, strictly from a security perspective. I knew Crunch and his family would be safer there, isolated; of course, Crunch was carrying a piece, just in case.
It used to be my fort back when I was a kid, but in middle school, my dad and I had made it into a real house, gutting the interior, laying new wooden flooring, and putting in plumbing. We'd spent weeks together, him and I, working on the project until the place was habitable. Afterward, I'd disappear for a weekend and my mom would have to hike through the woods to drag me home. And then, in high school, it was the place where I went with June.
Going up to the bunkhouse to get them settled had damn near ripped me in two. The place was haunted with ghosts from my past, filled with memories of her.
“Yeah,” I said. “You kept it up really well.”
Dad grunted. “Well, you never know when something might happen. I figured it could come in handy one day.”
He meant that he never knew whether I might return, the prodigal son coming home. He'd been keeping up with the repairs on the bunkhouse this entire time. For me.
I didn't know whether to be glad he thought I'd come home eventually, or upset that he hadn't written me off entirely.
“Thanks dad. I appreciate it.”
He nodded. “You going to tell me what kind of trouble they’re in?”
He was referring to Crunch’s family, but of course I was in just as much trouble. I had no idea when Mad Dog might discover we hadn’t actually been killed in the fire, and that April and Mac weren’t really in Puerto Rico. I figured we were safe for a while, at least. But who knew how long it would last?
“I can’t exactly, dad, not right now,” I said. “But we are in trouble.”
“With the bike club?”
“Yes.”
He was silent. “Ok, then. Are they armed out there in the bunkhouse?”
“Yeah, Crunch is carrying.”
“Well, you know where the weapons are inside the house. Should I buy ammo tomorrow in town?”
“It might be a good idea.”
“Ok then.” He turned to leave, then paused. “Son?”
“Yeah, Pop.”
“I’m thinking you did right by the family out there. Am I right to think that?”
“Yeah, dad.”
“Good. Glad to have you back, son.”
“Goodnight, dad.”
As the door closed behind him, my heart sank. He had the impression that this was a lot more clear cut than it was, that I was some kind of hero, rescuing Crunch and his family from the MC and coming back home.
The truth was a lot more grey.
Two days earlier Las Vegas, Nevada
Axe
I stood perfectly still, the sound of my breathing amplified in the quiet of the warehouse, my nine millimeter trained on Crunch's head. I nodded toward Tank, who kept his own weapon drawn as he disarmed our brother.