***
“It’s gotta be done, man,” the president of the MC, Peek, said in his Irish brogue. “And you’re the only one who can pull it off.”
I rolled my eyes.
It wasn’t that the others wouldn’t survive, because they could. Easily.
The real problem was that they were all married or had kids. I was the only one that didn’t have anything to come home to.
“I know it’s gotta be done,” I growled. “That’s why I’m doing it. I don’t have to fuckin’ like it, though.”
Peek snorted and shook his head, then went back to the tattoo he was doing on my hand.
“I can’t believe I’m finally getting to mar this beautiful skin,” Peek said cheekily.
I flipped him off and then moved my eyes back to the wall where they’d been holding steady vigil since the tattoo had been started.
“Wish it wasn’t something my stupid brother had, though,” I muttered darkly.
“From what I understand, your brother doesn’t have it anymore, right?” Alison, Peek’s old lady, asked.
My eyes moved from the wall where I’d been studying years and years of pictures, to the older woman with flowing blonde hair.
Alison, although in her mid-fifties, was a looker.
She had mom hips and big breasts, but she made it work.
“That’s true,” I said reluctantly. “Well, partially. He’s missing three fingers, and his hand is pretty scarred from the amputations.”
Alison moved up until she could see what Peek was doing on my hand, then smiled.
“That’s cute,” she said.
It wasn’t really cute. In fact, it was downright disturbing, and I’d never been able to figure out exactly why he’d gotten a picture of a skull on his hand.
He’d done it, however, and now I was stuck getting it permanently tattooed on my body.
Fucking fabulous.
“Alright,” another brother, Griffin, said as he came into the room. “I got you a new phone that doesn’t link back to you. Brand new number that’ll always show up as ‘private’ anytime you want to make a call. Have you been memorizing the numbers?”
I gave Griffin a look that said millions.
Griffin snorted and handed me the phone, and I took it with my free hand.
“Thanks,” I muttered, looking at the phone. “This one’s nicer than mine. Do you think it holds a good charge?”
“It’s solar powered. So as long as they put you in a room with a window, it should charge without a plug,” Griffin explained, gesturing for me to turn the phone over.
I did and saw the small panels on the backside, knowing they were the world’s smallest solar panels without even verifying it.
“Fuckin’ A that’s cool,” I muttered to no one in particular.
“Yep,” Griffin confirmed. “It’s a brand new product, too. One that hasn’t even been released yet.”
“Then how did you get it?” Alison asked, blissfully unaware of the shit Griffin was willing to do to for the ones he love.
Griffin looked at her for a short moment, his eyes going far away just for the slightest of seconds, and I knew the thought he’d just had was a terrible one.
A few years ago, Griffin’s son had died by way of a drive-by shooting, and he’d struggled to move past it since it’d happened.
His old lady, though, was largely responsible for getting him to where he was today.
“Alison, darlin’,” Peek said. “Why don’t you go get Ridley a water, he looks a little rough.”
I shot Peek a look.
If I looked ‘rough’ it was because I was fucking scared of needles.
And I still had two more tattoos to go in the next four days before I went to prison.
A place where I never in my life thought I would ever have to be.
Alison turned to study me, and mother hen came out to play.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she said, leaving the room without another word.
I turned to Peek and raised my brows at him.
“You’re such a shithead,” I said. “You know she’d do anything for me.”
“Exactly the way a good woman should be,” he said without an apology. “But don’t feel special. She’d do it for all of us.”
I smiled.
“Yeah, she would,” I agreed. “She likes me best, though.”
“She does not,” Casten countered as he came into the room next, a stack of papers tucked under his arm. “I’m her favorite.”
“That would be me, dumbass,” Mig said, following directly behind Casten.
I snorted.
“Y’all fight like brothers now,” Peek said, the Irish lilt to his voice getting a little more pronounced as his concentration became more focused on what he was doing to my hand. “And you’re annoying the ever loving fuck out of me.”
Except ‘fuck’ came out more like ‘fook,’ causing Mig to make fun of him, which made Peek stop what he was doing and glare at Mig.
Mig shrugged unrepentantly.
“What?” he asked once the silence went on for a long while. “I can’t help that no one understood what you said.”
“Shut up,” Peek ordered, then got back to torturing me.
“Here are copies of your last will and testament,” Casten said, skirting around the chair Mig had sat in, handing them to me.
I put the phone down on my lap and picked up the papers, the words on the top hitting me hard.
The last I’d done my last will and testament was when Aerie, my wife, had been alive.
We’d done it before our trip to Cancun, and had never thought about it again.
Now I was doing another one up, just in case.
Everything that I had to my name was being left to Emily and my sister.
A text message popped up on the phone in my lap, and I brought it up to my face to read the message almost on instinct.
I wasn’t one of the best of texters in the world.
In fact, I kind of sucked at it.
My fingers were too big, and more times than not I mangled the word, even with Autocorrect on.
It was a simple, three-word text message, but it made something weird happen to my heart.
Unknown (7:33 PM): Love/miss you.
I didn’t reply, but my heart started to pound so hard in my chest that I was worried someone might be able to see.
Aerie used to say those exact words to me.
I quickly deleted the message and silently prayed that I’d never get another.
I couldn’t go through that again.
Losing Aerie broke me. The thought of losing her all over again sent chills down my spine.
Too many people needed me, and I didn’t need any of the stuff that probably went with that text message.
Deleting it was the best choice.
Maybe it was just a wrong number, anyway.
Tuesday December 8th
Unknown (12:02 AM): I really fucking miss you.
Wednesday December 9th
Unknown (12:32 AM): I can’t sleep. I keep looking at your picture and forget to breathe.
Unknown (1:02 AM): I found a letter you wrote me in 5th grade when cleaning out your locker at work today. I can’t believe you kept that. You’re so silly.
Unknown (9:20 AM): You left me alone, and I don’t know if I can survive Christmas without you.
Unknown (12:00 PM): Do you want to build a snowman?
Unknown (6:09 PM): A few of your co-workers dropped off a medal of yours that you received while in the line of duty. Something heroic they said you did. They said they never got a chance to tell you that you’d be receiving it, so I put it on your grave on the way home.
The more I read the texts, the more it felt like I knew the person on the other end.
I’d decided that I would reply to the text as soon as I got settled into my new temporary home, but things never work out the way they’re planned.
Little did I know that I would have to fight for my life the very day I slipped into my new role, and I would have to continuously watch my back the entire time.
The only alone time that I was safe from being jumped was when I was in my cell, and even then it was hit or miss, since I was constantly watched.
The next day, though, I knew I had to say something. If I didn’t, something could go wrong, and the person on the other end of the line would be lost to me.
Thursday December 10th
Unknown (1:53 AM): Goodnight best friend. Today you would have been thirty-one.
Unknown (8:44 AM): I brought you balloons today. I wish you were still here. I need to talk to someone about my day. It’s really hard to keep working there, and I know I promised you that I’d leave, but with you not here anymore, to give me courage, I can’t make myself do it.
Unknown (6:02 PM): My superior just tripped me. I swear, she did. She turned, but the orderly that was standing directly behind me, the one that actually likes me, saw it and nodded that she had. So I didn’t imagine it.
Unknown (10:13 PM): I can’t do this. I just can’t, and you can’t expect me to. I’ll see you soon.
I hid under the blankets like a ten-year-old would that’s trying to hide what they’re doing from their parents, only I was hiding it from the prisoners across the way from me.
Me (10:13 PM): You’re not alone. I’m here. Don’t do anything hasty.
It took so long for whomever was on the other end of the line to reply that I started to get worried that I was too late.
Just when my finger hovered over the ‘9’ to dial 9-1-1, a message popped up on my screen.
Unknown (10:22 PM): Who is this?
Relief poured through me at the response, and before I knew it, I was telling them who it was.
Me (10:23 PM): Ridley. Who are you?
I stared at the screen waiting for a reply, and when it did, suspicion poured through me.
Unknown (10:24 PM): Freya. You’re kidding me, right? You have my brother’s phone? How long have you been getting my messages?
Unknown (10:24 PM): I asked about you today, by the way. They said you were at some undercover assignment. Is that why you have my brother’s phone?
Out of all the phone numbers I could have gotten, this one was the one chosen? My mind sped at the speed of light as I thought about all the chances of this, and how rare it would be.
But I had to admit, I’d been worried about Freya.
It was weird, yes, that I’d gotten her brother’s phone number. However, I never said that fate didn’t work in mysterious ways.
I’d met my wife much the same way.
I’d met Aerie while in high school. Then I’d gone off to Iraq about two months after graduating, and while there, I’d picked up a pen pal.
My wife.
We’d conversed for three years by email and letter alone, and the day I discharged from the Army, I went to find her in my hometown of Uncertain, Texas, and we’d been together for four blissful years before she was taken from me so harshly.
As my fingers fumbled over the keys, I had to stop and delete twice before I was finally able to type out the words I’d wanted to say.
Me (10:25): I got a new phone because I’m undercover, yes. I didn’t know it was your brother’s number. Delete the message that says who it is, plz. And don’t think anything of texting me. I don’t mind.
I closed my eyes as I thought about the day I’d had.
Everything on my body was sore.
I was in shape, or so I’d thought.
But being in shape and kicking people’s asses to stay alive were two different things.
My fists and head, though, were in the worst shape, and before I knew it, my eyes were closing before I even realized it.
Knowing that Freya was safe was like a balm over my tired soul. The uncomfortable bed meant nothing as exhaustion overtook me.