The Lords of Carnage is the local motorcycle club in Tanner Springs. It basically runs this town, and what it doesn’t directly run, it controls by influence — through protection deals it has with local businesses, or connections under the table with the local city government.

My father is the mayor of Tanner Springs. Has been for years, in fact. Since I was a little girl. He’s also cozy as hell with the Lords of Carnage. The motorcycle club helped him get elected to the position all those years ago. I’m not sure what kind of a deal my father struck with the MC back then, but he’s reciprocated their support by doing them all manner of favors ever since. The full nature and scope of these favors, I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. But I do know he and the MC are tight. Tighter than an outlaw biker club probably should be with the mayor of their town. But then, that’s none of my business.

The relationship between my dad and the club has only gotten tighter in recent years, too. Ever since my brother Gabriel decided to prospect for the Lords when he turned eighteen. Since getting patched in to the club, he’s been known around town by his road name: Angel. In the six years that he’s been in the club, my brother has quickly risen up through their ranks, and now, he’s their vice-president.

All of this means that, between my dad and my brother, there is almost no way for me to stay away from the Lords of Carnage when I’m in Tanner Springs. This tiny two-bedroom apartment where Noah and I will be staying for the foreseeable future is in the top floor of a house right off Main Street. The floor below houses the tattoo parlor that the Lords of Carnage frequents. So, I don’t really know whether the club or my dad got this place for me. But I’m guessing that the landlord, who lives in the house next door and whose name is Charlie, was only too happy to do a solid for the club and the mayor at the same time.

Whether my father or the MC found the place for me, though, I hate like hell to be indebted to either of them. My father’s political ambitions have always taken precedent over his family’s needs, and I’m used to being ignored unless he needs something from me. His favors always come with a price. And as for the club… well, they’ve been a presence in my life almost from the moment I was born. They’re pretty much inescapable. They own this town, and so to some extent, they own practically everyone in it.

I left Tanner Springs in part because I didn’t want them to own me, as well. Unfortunately, my life circumstances are such at the moment that I have little choice but to move back here temporarily and accept the help they’ve offered — if, in fact, they’ve offered it. But as soon as I’m back on my feet, my intention is to get myself and my son the hell away from here.

After this, I don’t want to be in anyone’s debt, ever again.

I open my mouth to tell Angel I’ll call Dad later, when a noise from down the hall interrupts me. With a yell that sounds like a high-pitched war whoop, Noah comes barreling back into the living room, flying over the arm of the ratty couch and doing a somersault onto the cushions.

“Mom mom mom mom mom!” he cries. “I’m hungry!”

I shush him. “Okay, honey. Calm down. We’ll eat soon.”

Noah jumps up from the couch and starts running in circles around Angel. “Moommm!” he yells again, “I’m HUNGRY!”

“Noah, stop it,” I admonish. “Indoor voice.”

“Okay, I’m out,” Angel calls above the din. Clearly, he’s had enough four year-old for one day. “See you later, sis.”

Noah immediately quiets. “Are you leaving, Uncle Angel?”

“Yeah, buddy, I’m taking off.” Angel grabs his leather cut from where it’s hanging on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Can I have a ride on your motorcycle?” Noah asks, his eyes big as saucers.

“Sorry, bud, you’re a little too young yet.” Angel reaches out and ruffles my son’s dark brown hair. “One of these days, though, maybe.”

Angel turns and clomps out of the apartment, his heavy motorcycle boots thumping loudly as he descends to the first floor. A few seconds later, the rumble of Angel’s motorcycle below reaches us. Noah immediately runs to the window and stares in fascination as the bike drives off, his nose pressed hard against the glass.

I watch my son and try to push down the spike of worry that rises up inside me. Noah has always been transfixed by motorcycles. He’s had a near-obsession with the machines almost from his birth. As I stand there contemplating my young son, I hope like hell I’m not making yet another huge mistake by bringing him here to Tanner Springs. I’d hate to look back at this moment as a possible reason he ended up getting mixed up with a damn motorcycle club — like every other member of my family seems to in one way or another.

Including Noah's father.

I shake my head and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I just have to hope that love of two-wheeled vehicles isn’t something that’s passed down genetically. Noah has no idea who his father is, and Noah's dad has no idea he has a son.

And I’ve been telling myself for years that everyone is better off that way. If I could manage to keep it a secret, I reasoned, Noah would grow up not knowing that father is an outlaw biker. And the man who knocked me up almost five years ago will never have to know that our brief, meaningless fling produced anything more than an earth-shattering orgasm and a wave of regret the next morning.

Not that I could ever regret having my son. Noah is the only good thing that’s ever come out of one of my multitude of mistakes. Sure, being a single mom has been tough. There have been times when I wasn’t quite sure how I would ever make it through. But even so, I wouldn’t trade being Noah’s mom for anything. My little boy is sweet, sensitive, and the center of my world. Not to mention smart as a whip. Too smart, sometimes. At age four, he’s already reading, and I sometimes wonder how long I have before he knows more than his mama does.

About six months ago, when we were still in Denver, he started to realize that most of his little playmates had a mommy and a daddy. Not long after, he began asking me where his father was, who he was, why he didn’t live with us. Noah is clearly starting to look for male role models to emulate. Which is why I’m not exactly thrilled to see him staring out the window in longing as Angel drives away on his bike. I love my brother, but he isn’t exactly my idea of the man I want Noah to model himself after.

Little does my son know that his own father is a biker, as well. But I can’t imagine that Noah's dad would react with anything other than dismay if I told him that he had procreated. And there’s no way I’m going to saddle my son with a father who’s indifferent to him. It’s better for him to have no father at all than a father like that. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

So, I’ve kept my secrets buried deep inside me. I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that Noah will probably grow up not ever knowing his dad. Although recent events, and moving back here to my hometown, might make that a little more complicated.

As I watch my young son stare out the window watching his uncle drive away, I make myself a solemn promise then and there. Even though I’m back in Tanner Springs — site of some of my stupidest mistakes — I’m done doing dumb things that will come back to haunt me. Today marks the end of the past, I tell myself. No more dwelling on things that have already happened. No regrets. But no more mistakes, either.