“Goddammit all to hell,” Olivia grunted as she spit out the window of her car in frustration. Okay, fine. She knew this was her own fault. She never checked her tires. You know what? I’m just going to forgive myself, Olivia decided as she exited her vehicle. She was too busy keeping fledgling criminals from developing into masterminds at her parole officer position, and that was only when she wasn’t busy dealing with psychological trauma at her freelance counselor gig. Fucking sue her. She was too distracted to pay attention to her car. But she was paying the price for it now with a flat tire in the middle of nowhere on her way to a major client in the countryside.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she yelled out into the empty landscape.
Olivia berated herself for not continuing to date that one guy, that mechanic she fucked last year. But hell, she never really dated anyone anymore. She threw her head back in thought, trying to conjure up the image of the last guy she’d seen for more than one night. Fuck. She couldn’t even remember. That wasn’t how she operated.
In the back of her mind, she could hear her mother’s voice: “This wouldn’t be happening if you had a boyfriend.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, that wasn’t on the agenda for Olivia. Sure, she had prospects. Men were lining up for her at work and at the bar where she hung out during the evenings, but she wasn’t interested in any of them. Not for more than a night, anyway.
But here she was, totally fucked, completely clueless as to how to replace her ruined tire with the spare in her trunk. She bit back the shame that rose up like bile in her throat. She hated feeling anything but independent. But it was no use. There was no way she was going to get out of this situation without some help.
Olivia removed her phone from her pocket with a long, drawn-out sigh and opened her contacts list, trying to weigh all her options. She didn’t have any family in the area, or at least anyone who could get to her in time to make her appointment. She flicked her thumb over a few starred names in her contact list, semi-regular hook-ups she’d frequented a few times over the past two years. Bob, Rich, Allen, Pat. Could she call any of them to come help?
Olivia sighed and wiped a few beads of sweat off her forehead. She had to decide soon. She was practically melting underneath the heat out here on the desert road. “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo,” Olivia whispered to herself as she alternated between the four options. “If he hollers, let him go, eenie, meenie, miney… mo.” Her finger landed on Pat. Good enough. She pressed his number to call him, tapping her foot on the hard gravel of the road as she waited for the ringtone to start filling her ear.
Fuck! The call dropped. There was no reception out here in the middle of nowhere.
Olivia felt that sick feeling of desperation start to weigh on her chest, her heart pounding harder every second. I’m trapped. I’m trapped, I’m trapped, I’m trapped. Forget the appointment— Would she be stranded out here for hours? Maybe even the whole night?
Vroom. Vroom. The hum of an engine reverberated around Olivia, deep and resonant. “Yes, yes, yes!” Olivia shouted out loud, walking to the middle of the road and splaying her arms out, flapping them around like a stupid chicken. Yes, yes, yes, this is my way out. Someone is going to come help me and I’m going to be okay, I’m going to be okay, I’m going to— Oh, shit. It wasn’t a car at all. It wasn’t even a single engine. It was motorcycles, an entire fleet of them bearing down the road at top speed. Fear trickled up Olivia’s spine like ice water working against gravity. There were tons of reports this year of rival gangs in the area, running drugs and guns and women from one side of the desert to the other. Olivia bolted to the side of the road, getting on the other side of her car.
But by the time her hand touched the boiling-hot car door handle, the engines slowed down, rolling to a stop in front of her car. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Olivia felt thick beads of sweat start to fall from her armpit down the side of her black dress. Come on, snap out of it. Dan’t just sit here shivering like a coward. You deal with hardened criminals all the time. Just because there isn’t a desk between you doesn’t mean you can’t do the same thing here. Focus.
Olivia straightened her back and walked slowly around the car to face the horde of bikers, deliberately adding a spring to her step to look as confident as possible. She could do this. She could get out of this situation. “Evening, gentlemen,” she said with her patented half-smile that made even the most jaded parolees visibly shiver in their seats.
The man at the front of the group took his helmet off, revealing a shelf of thick grey hair. He remained straddling his bike and stared at her. “Got a problem here, miss?”
Olivia had to restrain herself from revealing how scared and desperate she’d been. But she couldn’t quell the feeling of relief that spread through her chest at the sound of the man’s voice. He sounded almost grandfatherly, gentle. I’m okay. This is going to be okay. Olivia nodded and let her sexy façade fall to the side as she approached the gang leader. “I’m afraid so. Got a flat.”
The biker leapt off his bike and he walked over to the car, immediately identifying the fucked-up tire. “Yeah, you sure do. Got a spare, darlin’?”
Under normal circumstances, Olivia would have bristled at the unearned term of endearment. But there was something so charming about this old guy with the tattoos criss-crossing over his bare arms and hands. He reminded her of her dad, somehow both tough and sweet at once. Olivia nodded and retrieved the spare, barely able to carry it over to the old guy who was yelling directions over to the other bikers.
Halfway through changing the tire with ease, the old guy spoke again. “What you doing out here all by yourself, hun?”
“I’m a parole officer,” Olivia said without thinking. Maybe that was a bad decision, when this guy was more likely than not an active criminal. “But I’m a private counselor, as well, and there’s a client out here who needs my help today.”
The man’s hand slowed on her tire, like he was frozen in thought, and for a second Olivia was terrified she’d pissed him off by revealing herself as law enforcement. But then he turned and stared at her curiously. “Really?” he asked. “So…give me an example. What do you do when you’re not following ex-cons around?”
“A lot of it is about avoiding recidivism for young offenders. I help them make goals, find other passions, take on other projects that divert their energy back to where it should go. A lot of parents hire me to help their kids.”
The man nodded slowly before looking up at her, still on his knees on the ground. “You help parents get their kids to behave, huh?”
Olivia shrugged. “I guess that’s about as accurate a description as any. It’s pretty simple. I just help kids find their way.”
The old guy pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand for Olivia to take. “I’m Jerry, Jerry Bellows. The boys over there call me Jerry.”
Olivia smiled. What a cute name for such a tough guy. “Nice to meet you, Jerry. I’m Olivia Brennan.”
“Listen, Ms. Brennan,” Jerry said, his voice dropping as he stepped closer to her ear. “I might have a job for you. If you’re up for it.”
That was unexpected. “I’d—I’d need more information on the job first,” Olivia stuttered.
“Right. Well…I have a problem child of my own. Not my kid, but he might as well be.”
Olivia nodded, stepping forward so they could whisper comfortably to each other. She was keenly aware that Jerry didn’t want his gang members to overhear them. “How old?”
“In his twenties. He’s my nephew. Good kid, but he’s been acting out recently. Getting in fights, you know, that kind of stuff.”
Olivia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Fighting? But isn’t that…don’t you guys…?” She trailed off in embarrassment, unsure if mentioning gang violence was a faux pas.
But Jerry just smiled. “Yes. But I expect leaders to behave differently. We’re a family here, Ms. Brennan. It might be hard to see on the outside, but on the inside, that’s what we are. Just a group of families sticking together. I need us to be fighting for each other, not tearing each other apart. And if he’s going to lead…”
Realization dawned on Olivia like a bulb switching on inside her head. “Oh. You want him to replace you.” Jerry just nodded. “And you need him to get his shit together.”
“That’s what you do, right? Force kids to get their shit together?”
Olivia chuckled, but she didn’t deny it. That was probably the most succinct way of putting it. “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m assuming you don’t want me to put him on the path of the law.”
Jerry didn’t laugh like she expected him to. “No. Club law. He needs to respect club law. It’s the same thing, Ms. Brennan. And I can assure you that you’d be compensated.”
A lump formed in Olivia’s throat. She couldn’t quite tell if she was terrified or excited. “How much?”
Jerry looked over his shoulder, once, then twice, clearly checking to see if any of the other bikers were trying to listen in. “A hundred Gs sound good to you?”
Olivia had to fight back choking laughter in response. “Wh-What?”
Jerry just held her gaze. “I think you heard me. So what do you say? We got a deal?”
I’ve got to think about it, Olivia thought to herself. But her mouth opened and— “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ll do it.”
Jerry offered his hand again, and Olivia took it, squeezing hard to match his tough grip. “Ms. Brennan,” Jerry said. “Welcome to the Immortal Souls.”
***
Xander shoved his way through the front doors of the Souls’ clubhouse, his skin itching with the need to do so
mething. If he were honest with himself, he knew he had wanted the arms drop today to get…colorful. But no such luck. The arms were traded for the cash without any conflict, barely even a rude look shot his way. Xander was fucking bored. He needed some action, some way to move his bones and jump start his nerves.
Xander felt whatever energy he had left in his body drain as soon as he stepped into the lounge, despite the booming music and the clouds of comforting smoke. His uncle was sitting right there at the first table, clearly waiting for him.
“What?’ Xander barked, marching past his uncle to head to the bar. He needed a couple dozen stiff drinks before having this conversation.
Uncle Jerry got up and followed him, moving to a stool at the bar and ordering two shots of Jack. “Dan’t worry, they’re both for you.”
“I’ll get my own drinks,” Xander grunted in response before directing the bartender to pour him two more.
Uncle Jerry downed one of the shots. “You always drink free here, son.”
“Listen,” Xander started, suppressing his gag reflex to knock back two in a row. “If you’re going to start nagging me, you might as well just hurry up and get it over with. I’ve had a long day.”
“No, exactly the opposite,” Uncle Jerry said. “You think I’m not tired of it, too? The same conversation over and over again? Believe me, I’m sick of it. But that’s all going to change now. I’ve figured out a solution.”
Xander felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in anxiety. “Shit, here we go,” he muttered, banging his fist on the bar to get the bartender’s attention. “Beer. Thanks.”
“I met someone today who might be able to help.”
Xander rolled his eyes, bringing the beer bottle up to his mouth. “What dealer are we teaming up with now?”
“Not a dealer. No more drugs, Xander. You need real help.”
“And what exactly is that?”
Uncle Jerry put a hand on his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze, obviously trying to calm him before dropping a verbal bombshell. “A parole officer.”
Xander laughed and got to his feet, taking his beer with him. “Nice. Nice one. That’s good. You’re really working on your stand-up skills, Unc.”
“Sit down,” Jerry spat, shoving him back into his seat. Xander flushed with anger and humiliation. He hated it when his uncle treated him like a child, even if he had raised him as his own. “Now you’re gonna sit still for five fucking minutes and listen to me. I deserve that.”
“Fine,” Xander said between clenched teeth before he took another large swig of his drink. “Five minutes, and that’s it.”
“She’s a counselor and a parole officer. She helps people figure out their problems.”
“What problems?” Xander snorted. “I’m fine. I’m still your number two man. Name the last time a delivery I made went south.” Xander waited, staring at his uncle expectantly. “See, you can’t name one time.”
“You know what your problems are, Xander,” Uncle Jerry replied. “The fighting, the drinking. It’s gone too far. You’re making the other boys angry. We can’t be a family if—”
“What family?” Xander cut his uncle off. “Whatever. Fine. I’m disrupting the family,” he said. “Big fucking deal.”
“For most people, you’re right. It wouldn’t be. But you’re not most people, Xander,” Uncle Jerry said.
“Oh, God. Here we go.”
“You’re my heir, son. This woman, she can make you into the leader you were always meant to be.”
“All right, time’s up,” Xander said, getting back on his feet.
“Listen, listen,” Uncle Jerry said before grabbing his shoulders to keep him in place.
As old as he was, his uncle could still pack a lot of force in his wide hands. It almost made Xander curious. What would the old man be like in a fight? That was the way Xander related to everyone nowadays. Could they make me bleed? Could they put up a good fight?
“Listen to me,” Jerry repeated.
“No. You listen. This life you’ve got planned out for me? I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it.”
“That’s not true, Xander.”
Xander seethed, barely biting back a scathing response. But he didn’t say anything, instead just staring at his uncle with as much venom as he could muster.
“It’s because of Marta. Right? That’s what this is all about?” Jerry asked, but his tone didn’t sound like a question.
“Dan’t—” Xander cut himself off before he started ranting. “Just stop, okay? Dan’t go down that road. Not today. Not with me.”
“We’re going to have to talk about her sometime,” Uncle Jerry retorted.
“How about sixty years from now, huh? How about that?” Xander asked. “That work for you? Because maybe then the idea of talking about her with you won’t make me throw up.”
Uncle Jerry visibly swallowed and opened his mouth, then shut it again before finally speaking. “I know you blame me for it. I know that. But we all tried to save her. It was nobody’s fault. Maybe you can’t accept that yet, but….”
Xander started shaking his head. “Bartender? Two more over here!” He knocked them back, relishing in the deep burn at the back of his throat. “She loved you, you know. She loved you, Jerry. She loved all of us. And look at how we repaid her.”
His uncle audibly cleared his throat. “It was an accident. It happens, Xander. But you shut off. Do you think that would make Marta happy?”
Xander snapped, slamming his hands down onto the surface of the bar, making his palms sting with the impact. “Nothing will make Marta happy! She’s dead! Because of us, okay? If it weren’t for us – you and me and our stupid war – she’d still be alive, not scraped off the side of a road.” Xander cleared his throat, his heart fluttering furiously. “Sorry, Jer,” he whispered under his breath, feeling a sick sensation of shame at having blown up at his uncle.
It was more of Xander’s fault, if he were being honest with himself. It was his responsibility to help Marta, to get her off the drugs when things went too far, to make sure she never got on a bike by herself when she was high out of her mind and unable to slip past bullets. And he failed. He failed her. And now Uncle Jerry was telling him he had to be a leader, he had to lead all these young men. How could he lead anybody when he failed the person who meant the most?
Jerry put a hand on his back to comfort him, but Xander stiffened up more. He hated being touched unless it was in the form of a fist smacking against his face.
“I just want to help you, Xander,” Uncle Jerry said in a low voice. “All I want is to see you become the man you were meant to be.”
Xander smirked humorlessly. “I’m already exactly the person I was meant to be. Fighting, fucking, making money— That’s what this club is all about, right? I do all that shit all the time. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“It’s about more than that, Xander. The family—”
“Fuck the family,” Xander said simply, keeping his voice down. “Fuck it. It’s a job. I do my work, but that’s it. You can forget about molding me into a new man.”
Uncle Jerry shook his head. “Too late, Xander. Already paid her.”
Xander just laughed. “Well, tell her to keep it. I’m sure she won’t care. I’m not doing it, Jer. Period.”
He got off the stool and finished his drink in one huge gulp before slamming it down on the table and marching away. He could faintly make out the sound of his uncle yelling after him, “You can’t walk away from this forever, son.”
Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.