TWELVE
Edison
Fuck.
That was the only accurate word to describe the entire situation.
Her sister was the light of her fucking life. Lenny had been something like a second mother to her. She had a soft spot for her. It might have been the only soft spot Lenny had.
And Letha had found herself abused, depressed, and too hopeless to think of anything but permanent escape.
She didn't want to burden Lenny with it.
She didn't want her to have to keep being her mother, this adult woman.
It sounded like Letha got a lot of what Lenny never did. She got softness and love and a man she could lean on without fear.
She got a childhood and a chance to bloom.
That was good.
It was important
But it also meant she didn't get the grit that came from falling and crawling around on her hands and knees like Lenny did, that unshakable spirit and drive to go on.
She was sweeter.
Softer.
More easily taken advantage of by a shitbag of a man who knew he could try to take that softness and mold it into whatever he wanted.
She had been young, beautiful, and open.
Unfortunately, just what predators like that fuckhead looked for.
Suddenly, it all made sense.
The training.
The ruthlessness with which she approached it.
It wasn't because she had a stalker, a psycho ex, or some rapist or something to deal with.
She had the man who abused her little sister, who eventually led the girl to suicide to make pay.
And pay he would, if her focus had anything to do with it.
I was sure that was the last thing on her mind now, now that a life she held so dear was ripped away from her by someone who had no right to make that call.
I had never seen someone grieve like she was grieving.
Or, perhaps, that wasn't right to say either. Maybe it was so startling because it was Lenny, because it was someone as hardass, as stoic, as guarded as she was almost all the time.
Maybe this was what it was like to see every shield fall at once, to reveal all the shit underneath that she needed to keep hidden for her own sanity.
It was, to be perfectly honest, a scary thing to witness, her grief.
It came from a bottomless well inside, surging with a force I didn't know was possible, then going still, leaving her staring at walls, eyes open, but unseeing, for hours.
I almost preferred the tears.
At least it was something I understood, it was a release for her.
She talked to me when she was crying.
I had no idea what was going on in her head when she was staring at the walls, if there was anything going on in there at all, or if she was just numb at those times.
All I knew was that numb, for any prolonged period of time, was not good.
Numb was when you turned to a bottle.
Numb was when you turned to a knife.
Numb was when the demons had a chance to whisper in your ear.
She needed to grieve because it was the only way she could get her fight back.
I knew it would come.
In a few days, when she had cried herself out, when she had gotten a chance to get the ugly parts of death over with - the arrangements made far too soon, when she finally got a chance to say the goodbye she needed for closure.
She would get the anger back then.
And that anger would lead to one thing.
Revenge.
I knew that feeling well.
I lived a life of it.
And if ever there was a reason for it, driving a woman to her own suicide with your evil, yeah, that was it.
He needed to be taken out.
And soon, Lenny would be ready to do it.
And me, well, I would let her.
But I would be there in the shadows, having her back.
Watching my girl do what she needed to do to be able to go on.
Yes, my.
There was no mistaking that at this point.
She was mine.
Hell, she was mine the first night I got to be inside her, she just didn't know it yet, or, more likely, was too stubborn to admit it.
And she was damn sure mine when she sat in the clubhouse and got on with my brothers.
And when she brought me French Toast Crunch and Cookie Crisp for dinner.
And when she snuggled into me at night.
When she gave me little pieces here and there of herself.
And I think even she would admit that she was mine when she learned the news of her sister... and came right to me, knowing I would be there for her, because I promised her I would, and I had made sure to keep my promises before, because she knew I would let her grieve how she needed to, but keep her going at the same time.
Because, as much as she would never want to admit this, she needed me.
She needed the comfort I could give her, the freedom she needed, but also the grip that held on at the same time.
Hell, I could even give her family, as makeshift as mine might have been, just bikers and old ladies. But no one could say we were as tight as any family. Our bond ran deep.
She would get on with them, too.
I already knew she got on with a bunch of them. But I could easily picture her and Renny throwing sarcasm back and forth. I could imagine her having deep conversations with Lazarus, pushing Reign's buttons.
As for the girls club, they would like her as well.
I already knew she and Lo and Janie got on from the gym. Alex and Lenny were cut from the same cloth, all sarcasm and attitude.
Maybe she wouldn't exactly be best friends with some of the other, softer girls like Penny and Kennedy and even Summer.
But then again, maybe they could help fill the void of softness that was left with Letha's passing. Maybe she would surprise me by clinging to that more than I would have expected.
"Yeah?" I asked, voice hushed, moving out of the doorway to Lenny's room where I had just put her down on the bed, still out cold. I didn't want to go far, but I knew better than not to pick up when Reign himself was calling.
"Know you're dealing with some shit," he said, voice understanding since he had fresh memories of Summer's grief over her father on his mind. "I just want to keep you in the loop."
"Did someone finally find something?" I asked, meaning about Adler who was just bouncing around the clubhouse in his cuffs, throwing around his snark, flirting harmlessly with the women when they happened by, clearly winning them over, for better or worse.
To be perfectly honest, I even liked the fuck.
Hell, I think we all did.
We were maybe even hoping that things came back as he said, nothing sinister in his connections.
We wouldn't hate having him as a brother.
So far, Janie and Alex had turned up almost nothing on Adler. He was a social media ghost. They said it was almost impossible to have no footprint online anymore.
But he had nothing.
They couldn't find a birth certificate or social security number, though that was likely because he wasn't originally from the States. There was no driver's license, no credit score, no nothing.
He was traceless.
In his line of work, that was not only smart, but necessary.
If people could trace you, so could the law, and then your ass was looking at twenty-to-life in a cell, pissing in front of other men, eating shitty food, and going half-crazy.
Reign would ask him directly eventually.
He could sit him down and demand the ugly details, every last one of them.
We had all had that treatment, not being allowed to play much close to the vest. He wanted to know if any of our dirt could come back and get thrown on the club.
But he liked going in knowing some shit so he could make sure you weren't trying to pull one over on him.
"We finally got in touch with Ward. He was apparently too fucking busy buying a dog to see us."
"Did you get a meeting?"
"Yeah, Cash and I went over to Hex today. Pagan and Laz came along since those two guys are close. He was shocked as shit when we said Adler had broken in."
"So he does know him."
"Since they were fifteen apparently, though there was a huge gap when Adler was off doing his contract killing thing where they weren't in touch."
"That's not really giving us too much then."
"Not what we wanted, no," he agreed, and I swear I could hear him scratching a hand down his face like he did when he was a mix of confused and frustrated. "But Ward did say he would trust the man with his life, and the life of his woman. I know Ward; Laz and Pagan know Ward. That is saying something that he would make that claim."
"Yeah," I agreed. I couldn't claim to know Ward, but I had seen the man; I knew how he handled business and his fighters. I knew his reputation as a fighter. He was someone who took pride in his reputation, who would never let a recommendation come back to bite him in the ass.
"He did warn us that there is some shit that went down, with the two of them, that he was pretty sure we wouldn't be able to get out of Adler. But he assured me that it wouldn't affect the club, that what it involved was taken care of back when they were eighteen."
"Yeah, but what about the decades after that?" I asked.
"Exactly," Reign agreed. "I'll get it. I always do."
That was true.
If he got Roan's past out of him, as secret as that shit was supposed to be, he could figure out Adler's deal.
"How's your woman holding up?"
I looked back into the room, taking a breath. "Not good. She's got to do arrangements tomorrow. And she's not up for it."
There was a pause at that, a slightly muffled sound that likely meant he was covering the speaker so he could talk to someone else. "Do you think maybe I should send Summer over? She's been there recently. She could, if nothing else, make some of the decisions for Lenny. They fucking need to know everything from goddamn program paper to chair coverings."
I didn't know how Lenny would react to having a third party brought in, but quite frankly, I didn't know dick about program paper or flowers or music. And I wasn't sure Lenny would be up to it all herself.
"If she's up to it," I said carefully, knowing she was on her way back to her old self, but worrying maybe that adding another set of funeral arrangements to it would make things worse again.
There was a shuffling, then Summer's sweet voice filled my ear.
"Don't worry about me, Edison," she said, sounding soft. "Worry about Lenny. I had Reign to worry about me, and the girls club to worry about arrangements. And, honestly, I couldn't have done it without them. That's what we're here for. I can pick out all the stuff she doesn't care about, make it nice. She doesn't need to worry about music selections right now."
"Thank you, Summer," I said, meaning it. "I just want to warn you that Lenny is..."
"I heard she is a bit, ah, prickly," she said carefully. "And that is probably going to be exacerbated by the grief, but that's fine. I'm a big girl; I can take it. Just text Reign a time. I don't have anything pressing going on tomorrow."
"You're a good woman, Summer. The best."
"Take care of her, Edison," she said, handing the phone back to Reign.
"I'll text you if we find anything out."
He didn't say goodbye.
He never did.
Lenny seeming out for the night, I ventured out into her hall, finding a frazzled mom of what looked to be a three-year-old, and offering her a hundred bucks to run to the store to grab some groceries for Lenny's bare cabinets and empty fridge. I had a feeling she would want to be here for a while, around her stuff, around Letha's stuff, away from anyone who might judge her grief.
The mom jumped on it, of course. A hundred bucks was a small fortune for such an easy task.
That handled, I found out the number to Meryl's, calling and explaining that Lenny had a death in the family, and would be out for a while. And I may have thrown in that I expected her job to be there for her when she was ready to come back, whenever that might be. That phrasing coming from someone with a Henchmen logo on their back was almost a threat, and he took it as such.
"No, no. Of course! She will always have her place here!"
Then, to wrap things up, I put away the groceries, handing the mom an extra fifty because judging by the red on the baby's face and the strain on hers, the poor thing had missed naptime or bedtime.
I wasn't sure what kind of schedule the kid had, but it was sunny out by the time I opened the door to them.
I wasn't surprised to realize that it was closing in on ten when the food was away, and I had a funeral home address plugged into my phone.
It was right about then that Lenny rolled out of bed, going into her bathroom.
I heard the shower turn on, and set to making her something simple to eat - some English muffins with a bit of butter and jelly.
She stopped short on her way out into the kitchen.
"Oh," she said, brows drawn together, eyes swollen, skin down her cheeks still raw-looking from all the tears. "You're here."
"Of course I'm here," I said, holding out a plate.
"Don't say you're not hungry. I know you aren't, but you still need to choke some of this down."
She took the plate, going over toward the couch. "Do you have my phone? I need to call around and find..."
"I got the address to the best funeral home in the area, love. They are expecting us. So whenever you are ready."
She said nothing for a long time, systematically pulling apart her muffins and eating little bits of them.
Not much.
But it was something.
I could deal with that.
She was just so fucking thin already. She really couldn't afford to lose any weight.
"Tulips."
"What, love?" I asked, sure I misheard her.
"Letha liked tulips."
"Okay," I agreed. "There will be tulips."
She nodded a bit firmly at that, like it was important, like it was a big weight off.
I guess at this point, every little thing would feel like that.
"Okay. I want to go," she declared, standing suddenly.
"Lenny, there's no ru—"
"I need to get this part over with," she declared, moving toward the door to find her boots, stabbing her feet into it, then reaching for her jacket.
"Okay," I agreed, finding my phone and keys, and following her out, finding her already halfway down the hallway by the time I got out the door.
"Thank you again," the mom from earlier said, the baby fast asleep in a stroller as they made their way out.
"Don't mention it," I said, rushing to catch up with Lenny.
I wasn't sure what this stage of grief was, and I didn't know how to handle it. I guess my job was just to be there, to follow her through it.
We got there just four minutes later, Lenny barely remembering to take off her helmet in her rush to get inside and get it over with.
I barely even got to notice where the hell we were going, not wanting to lose her down the winding hall toward the back where she somehow guessed was the office.
"Oh," she said, shocking back, hitting me in the chest. "I thought they were expecting us."
"They are. This is Summer," I said, putting an arm around her, giving her a squeeze. "She is going to help with all the stupid little details you want nothing to do with."
"Oh," she said again, and I wasn't sure what kind of 'oh' it was.
So I looked over at Summer instead. "She wants tulips."
"Tulips," Summer agreed, giving Lenny a firm nod, no fake smiles in sight, something I knew that Lenny in her right mind would appreciate. "Done."
"We were wondering what day and time works for you for the wake."
"No wake," Lenny snapped quickly, too quickly.
But the funeral director, more accustomed to the various forms of grief than I was, was completely unfazed by the tone.
Lenny, seeming to sense the discomfort in the room, went on, "Letha was creeped out by wakes. She made me promise I would never let someone look at her inside a casket with bad makeup making her look like a wax figure. I promised her," she said, turning to look at me, eyes pleading.
"Love, whatever you want. No one is forcing you into anything."
Her eyes seemed to scream Except bury my sister.
"No wake," Summer agreed. "Lenny, do you want to sit down and look at some pictures?" she asked, leaving off the word we all knew and inwardly cringed at.
Caskets.
Summer was much better at subtlety than I was. Maybe it had to do with having kids, and needing to shade the truth a bit about their father's business.
Half an hour later, Lenny had picked out an ivory casket with a light pink interior.
Letha liked girly stuff.
The plot was chosen already, apparently, Letha's father had purchased three of them, one for himself, which he currently occupied, one for his wife, who Lenny realized she needed to contact, but Summer assured her that she could handle that for her, and then one for his daughter.
I couldn't help but be angry again for the complete disregard the man who had been a father figure for her for four years of her life showed for Lenny.
Summer had chosen the passages to be read with the only input from Lenny being Nothing religious. Letha was spiritual, not religious.
Tulips had already been chosen, so all that was left was a date, time, and a few minor details that Summer assured Lenny she could handle.
She was so relieved to be able to leave, that she didn't even think to ask about payment.
Which was good because I knew she would flip shit if she knew that I had already told them that I had it handled.
I knew her mind wasn't going there, but funeral plans cost a mint in the States. It didn't take a genius to know she didn't have it. But with the love she had for her sister, it needed to be nice, something memorable.
I wanted her to have that.
And I had it to spare.
That was one hell of a perk to living at the compound; you had no living expenses. And Reign gave us all a nice cut. It added up to more of a nest egg than I had any need for anytime soon.
She had two days more to learn to adjust, to accept the reality of the funeral.
And I was there for every minute of it, the lows and the lowers.
I forced food into her.
I picked her up off the floor more than a time for two.
I gave her Advil when it looked like the crying was giving her a jackhammering migraine.
I cleaned.
I fielded the minimal calls and texts to her phone after paying the bill because the service had gotten cut when I went to check it for Letha's step-mother's phone number.
And then on the morning of, I went into her closet, finding it a lot like mine, as in mostly black, so I handed her black jeans, a black long-sleeve tee, and her jacket because I felt like she would never be seen without it, not even at a funeral.
I ended up not being wrong.
Though, when she actually found a bra to put on, I was kinda convinced she wasn't thinking clearly anyway.
I drove her to the cemetery, almost worried she might fall off the bike with how detached, numb she had been since she woke up.
But as we climbed up, for the first time ever - let alone since her sister passed - she reached for my hand, holding onto it like a lifeline.
Which I was happy to be for her if that was what she needed.