Chapter Ten

 

Sloan

 

I wiggled my butt but there wasn’t much space to maneuver being wedged between the two guys.  Clutch leaned against the truck door, but his wide shoulders took up most of the seat.  My feet rested on the center console, my knees almost to my chest, but it didn’t seem to bother Creed as he propped his elbow on them.

I was starting to regret my decision to continue on.  I wanted to meet the guy Johnny had told me about, but three hours crammed into the truck cab with these two was bringing that decision into question.

Clutch snagged the pack of cigarettes off the dash, shaking one out.  “I thought you were trying to quit?”  I asked just as Creed barked, “No smoking around Jailbait.”

He cut his eyes toward us, but tossed the smokes back with a heavy sigh.  “Yes, Jailbait, I’m trying to quit which is why I bum them off Creed.”

“That reminds me,” I turned to Creed. “Why do you buy cigarettes when you don’t smoke them?”

It was his turn to cut his eyes at me as Clutch started to laugh next to me.  “Busted,” he crowed around bouts of laughter.

“I –” Creed stopped, casting a quick glance at me.

“What?” I shrugged, unconcerned.  “I just noticed you buy them but never actually smoke them.  Are you trying to sabotage Clutch’s efforts to quit?”  I asked with a grin.

“Yep,” he answered quickly, nodding.  “You caught me.”  He jerked a thumb toward Clutch.  “He’s a total ass when he tries to quit.”

“Hell, no.  That is not true,” Clutch denied, shaking his head.  “Well, the bit about me being an ass when I try to quit is true, but that is not why he buys cigarettes.”

“Then why?” I asked, puzzled.  “If you don’t smoke them, then why bother having them?”

“So he can fit in,” Clutch sang in a high pitched voice.  “Be like all the other boys in the club.”

Creed pushed my head down toward my knees then proceeded to punch Clutch in the arm, not that it stopped his hysterical laughter.

“Really?”  I couldn’t help my doubtful tone, but when I noticed the red creeping up his cheeks, my mouth dropped open.  “Seriously, Creed?  You do it to fit in?”

“Alright.  Yes.  But,” he stressed, pointing a finger at Clutch.  “I started that shit when I was a teenager.”  He snorted to himself.  “Back when I wanted to be like Cord.”

“Who didn’t?”  Clutch scoffed. “He was the favored son.  Johnny’s golden boy.  He dated fucking Ashley, for fuck’s sake.  We all wanted to be him at one point.”

“Wait, Cord and Ashley?”

They exchanged glances above my head before saying in unison, “You know who Ashley is?” 

I shook my head, “No, but Johnny mentioned her name.  Sounded like she was important to him.”

Creed swallowed, “She was.”  He glanced down at me.  “She was his daughter.”

“She was around your age when she died,” Clutch mentioned, his arm settling on the seat behind me.  “It’s why he didn’t like you.”

“And why you insisted he’d protect me,” I figured out, glancing at Creed.  “What happened to her?”

“She died,” he said shortly.  “And Cord left.”

I glanced at Clutch whose expression was solemn.  “You told me not to mention Cord around Johnny.  Is it because of Ashley?”

“Nah, that one is all on Cord,” Clutch mumbled as he picked at one of his nails.

“He left.  Turned his back on the club and everyone in it,” Creed said bitterly.  “He choose to become an outcast.”

Before I could ask anything more, Creed flipped on the blinker.  “I think we’re here,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t want to continue the discussion about Cord.

I nodded mutely, nerves suddenly racing through me now that I was about to meet someone who possibly knew my dad.  Creed turned the truck around before parking, giving us an easy exit if needed.  He squeezed my hand before helping me out.  “Stay behind us until we know what we’re dealing with, okay?”

I nodded in agreement, my attention on the old mobile home.  It was probably older than me, but someone took care of it.  Everything was neat, there were even flowers in the pots on the porch.  The porch steps creaked under our weight, but held.  Creed motioned for me to get behind him as he knocked on the door.

When no one answered, he knocked again, shouting, “Hello?”  My stomach dipped as I considered the possibility they might not even be here.  “It’s a’ight, Jailbait, we can wait for him,” Creed reassured me and I gave him a tight smile.

Clutch jumped off the edge of the porch, the absence of any railing making it easy.  “I’ll poke around the back.  Maybe they don’t like strangers.”

“Be careful,” Creed called after him, turning away from the door.  A flicker caught my eye, almost like the curtain on the thin door had moved.  I edged around him, staring at it hard.

“Micah?  Micah Bradshaw?”  Nothing moved inside as Creed hovered next to me.  “Johnny sent us.”  I glanced at Creed helplessly. I had no idea what Johnny’s last name was.  “Mitchell,” he mouthed to my relief.  “Johnny Mitchell.”

The door jerked open, the woman standing there giving me an irritated stare.   “I know who Johnny is,” she snapped.  “Just like I know who you are,” she told me, her stare straying to Creed right as Clutch leapt onto the porch beside him.  “And y’all are Hayes’ boys.”

I didn’t question how she knew, my attention more focused on the shotgun resting casually in the crook of her arm.  Creed angled himself so he stood in front of me, Clutch coming up to close the gap.  I now had a wall of muscle blocking me.  I squeezed my face between their arms and asked her, “Will you talk to us?”

She glanced away, her lips almost but not quite curving up, and eventually nodded at me.  “You’ve come a long way, Sloan.”

“You know who I am?”  I asked, shocked.

“You’re Spencer’s girl,” she declared and I nodded.  “You have his eyes.”

“You know who they are too,” I said, pointing to Creed and Clutch.

“Everybody knew Cash Hayes,” she said, chuckling.  “Him and Johnny were thick as thieves. Not hard to recognize his boys.”

“You’re Micah?” I questioned, before blurting out, “I thought you were a guy.”

“I used to be,” she answered with a nod, her mouth splitting open in a wide grin when I stared at her in shock.  “I’m kidding, Sloan.”  She shook her head and waved us inside, “Come on in. I’m sure you didn’t drive all the way up here just to say hi.”

We settled onto a worn, but comfortable couch as she kicked back in a recliner, propping her shotgun against the wall next to her.  She nodded at it.  “Never know who might show up.  Flying Eagles had a certain reputation in the day.”

“You were a Flying Eagle?”  Clutch asked incredulously.  “A woman….back then.”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”  She cackled, the sound turning into a raspy smoker’s cough after a second.  “There were plenty who thought my being a Flying Eagle is what brought on the curse.”

“There really was a curse?”  I scooted forward, eager to hear more.

“I honestly don’t know, but it sure seemed like there was.”  Micah reached for the cigarettes sitting on the table next to her, shaking one out before offering them to us. I shook my head and so did Creed, but Clutch looked like he wanted to take one.  I leaned my head, staring at him until he shook his head no, while Creed tried not to smile.  Micah watched us in bemusement, lighting the cigarette and taking a puff.  “At first, it seemed like bad luck, when Johnny’s brother, Nix, died.”  I felt Creed tense and glanced at him. His expression could have been carved from stone but I didn’t get a chance to ask what was wrong when Micah continued.  “Then we lost Chet and Sanchez.”  She glanced at me.  “We were outlaws.  Ran guns, drugs, you name it.   Dying young was almost a given.”  She flicked her ashes, her face contemplative.  “Daddy Mitchell wasn’t taking a chance though.  He refused to allow Johnny to join the Eagles.  Said losing one son was enough.”

“And my dad?”  Creed questioned, his expression half eager, half wary.

Micah snorted, unable to stop the amused curl of her lips.  “He was a wild card. God knows he was a good looking son of a bitch.  Rebellious as hell.  Defiant.  He was the one that convinced Johnny to start their own club.”  She lifted one hand. “Hence, the Southern Rebels were born.”

“What about my dad?”  I sucked in a breath, preparing myself.  She stuck the cigarette between her lips and leaned over, plucking a picture frame off the shelf.  She stared at it for a second before giving it to me.

“Scottie was a good man,” she said as I stared down at the photo of my father.  He was smiling widely, sitting on a motorcycle as he held a little girl in front of him.

Creed nudged me, tapping the glass.  “That you, Jailbait?”  With a jolt, I realized it was me.

“He loved you more than anything, Sloan.  You were the apple of his eye,” Micah continued, stubbing out her cigarette.

I inhaled shakily, my fingers tracing the photo.  “Why do you have a picture of me and my dad?’

“Because after your mother took you away, it was all I had left of my brother.”

“You…my dad was your –”

“Brother.  You are my niece, Sloan.”

“Huh, would you look at that,” Clutch nudged Creed.  “Apparently, it runs in the family.”

Micah sent him a sharp glance.  “What runs in the family?”

“Joining motorcycle clubs,” he replied glibly in spite of Creed elbowing him.

“You’re a Rebel?”  She breathed and I lifted my shoulders.

“I guess.  I mean I don’t have a sweet jacket or anything, but they took a vote to let me stay.”

Micah’s gaze went to Creed, “You did this,” she declared.

“I did it to keep her safe,” he replied harshly.  “Where were you when she needed you?”

“Lilah took her after Scott died.  She wanted a fresh start….away from the club,” she answered, the tough as nails woman who’d met us at the door disappearing under a wave of grief and regret.  “I lost my brother, my niece, and my best friend the day Scottie died.” Her burning gaze met mine.  “I thought maybe she was right…you would be safer away from the club,” she murmured.  “I never thought you’d be in danger.”

I shook my head, “You couldn’t have known.  My mom,” I paused, exhaling.  “She didn’t talk about my dad or the club.  I didn’t remember you.”

“You were little when your dad died.  You’d just turned three when the accident happened.”  She glanced between us. “Are you in danger?  You can stay here,” she offered with an unexpected eagerness.  “I can tell you all about your dad.”

“No,” Creed said flatly, shaking his head when Clutch murmured his name under his breath.  “I’m sorry, but no.  She’s a Rebel and she belongs with me….us,” he corrected.  “It’s time we left.”  He stood abruptly, his gaze daring Micah to protest.  She glanced at me, her eyes telling me she’d go with whatever I decided.

I smiled apologetically, “I want to know more about my dad and you, but Creed is right. I don’t belong…here.”  I kept my gaze on hers, hoping she could understand.  She nodded after a minute and reached for a piece of paper, scribbling something on it. 

“My number,” she said, handing it to me.  “Call me anytime.”

“Thank you,” I said, accepting it gratefully.  “I will call you.”

“I’d like that.  To know more about your life and your mom.”

“My mom,” I paused, the words harder to say than I realized.  “She’s dead.”

“Oh, Sloan, I’m so sorry.”  Micah clasped my hands, her expression so sympathetic, tears sprang to my eyes.  “Lilah was such a strong, determined woman and I can see she’s raised her daughter to be the same.”  She brushed a lock of hair from my face, “Sloan.”

The sound of my name caused me to smile involuntarily.  After being called Jailbait, it felt strange to hear my name.  “I’m glad I came,” I told her.  “Aunt Micah.”  Her smile lit the room and I leaned forward to hug her.  She hesitated for a second before squeezing me tightly.  Creed hovered by the door, fingers drumming against his leg anxiously.  “One more question,” I said to her and she nodded.  “Where is my Dad buried?”

 

***

 

We rode in silence, squished together, but this time Clutch drove.  When I spotted a sign for an overlook, I tapped his arm.  “Can we stop?”  He sent a glance toward Creed as he nodded, and flipped the blinker on.  We got out of the truck, stretching as we took in the sight of rolling mountains.  I reached back for my backpack, unzipping the top and pulling out the small box.

I walked over to a bench, which overlooked the wide valley, and sat down with the box in my lap.  The guys stood back, respectfully keeping their distance, as I stared into the distance.

“They’re pretty,” I told her. “The mountains, but you knew that didn’t you?”  My mouth twisted.  “You lied about so many things, and now I can’t ask you why.”  I sighed, remembering Micah’s face when she’d seen me.  “I have an aunt I never knew about.  I have friends you’ll never meet.  I’m living the life you never wanted for me, but, Mom, it’s good. I’m good.” I brushed away a stray tear.  “He’s dead. I killed him so he’ll never hurt another family.  Never destroy another person ever again.”

I brought my knees up to my chest, crushing the box next to my stomach as I stared at the shadows of clouds chasing each other over the mountains.  “I planned to bury you with Daddy, but I should have known you wouldn’t let him be buried either.  Micah released his ashes years ago so I hope you found each other in Heaven.”  I rocked back and forth, hugging my knees as I stared into the distance. 

“I know it’s nothing more than a pile of ashes, but it’s still hard to let them go,” I told him as he sat down next to me.  “It’s all I have left of her.”

“You have your memories,” he answered, leaning forward, his hands between his knees as he stared at the wide expanse of sky.  “You are their legacy.”

“You think they would be proud of me?  Of what I’ve done?”

“I never got the chance to meet them, Jailbait, but I do think they would understand.  They raised you to be a fighter, to survive, same as they did, and they wouldn’t fault you for doing what you had to.”

“I didn’t have to kill him,” I whispered.

His head swung toward me, and as our eyes met, he said, “I think you did.”  His understanding snapped the dam holding back my tears and I leaned into him as sobs tore from my throat. 

He stroked my head, murmuring softly, until I forced back the tears, wiping at my face angrily.  “No more,” I growled.  “Tears won’t bring her back.  They don’t do anything,” I grumbled, staring up at the sky as Creed stared at me.

“I don’t blame you for crying or being upset,” he said carefully.

I waved my hand at him, “I know that, but my mom,” I inhaled sharply.  “She didn’t believe in crying.  More the suck it up type.”  I held the box of her remains in front of me.  “I’m starting to understand why,” I whispered, studying the plain brown box.  “She needed to be strong.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he reminded me.  “You don’t have to be strong all the time.  It’s okay to cry.”

“Five minutes is long enough for self-pity, my girl.  Anything after that is just milking the situation,” I told him, my lips curling up in a smile as I heard her voice in my head.  I glanced at him, and saw his confusion.  “She didn’t raise me to cry.  She raised me to survive.”

I hopped up from the bench, and used my fingernail to cut the seal on the box as I stood by the railing.  Creed came up behind me as I kissed the box, then opened it, tilting it so the ashes spilled out.  A strong wind swirled the ashes, pulling them out over the valley and away from me.  “I love you.”

I pressed back against Creed and he wrapped his arms around me as we watched until the last trace of ash was gone.  “I’m ready to go home now,” I told him and he rubbed my arms, guiding me back to the truck.

We piled in, Clutch still driving, and I snuggled against Creed, tucking my head into his shoulder.  “Going home?”  Clutch asked and Creed nodded silently.  My eyes drifted closed as he pulled back onto the road and I was asleep before we hit the highway.

 

***

 

“Can we stop at the salon?”  I asked sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes at Clutch.  He edged away from me, glancing at Creed in panic.

“Make her stop,” he begged.

“I just want to talk to Ronnie real quick,” I added, going for a full pout.  “Since we came back so early.”  A dash of guilt sealed the deal and Clutch pulled the truck in behind the salon.  “Thank you,” I squealed, climbing over Creed to hop out.  “Be back in a jiff.”

I didn’t wait around for them, skipping to the back door as I practiced how I was going to ask Ronnie.  I knew she would take some convincing but I could be persuasive when necessary. I didn’t bother to knock as I pushed through the door so she didn’t have time to pull her sleeves down.

She spun around at my gasp, tugging the arms of her shirt down frantically.  “Ronnie,” I cried, pushing her sleeve back up to see the bruises, perfect imprints of a hand.  I glanced up at her searchingly.

“It’s nothing,” she declared.  “I bruise easily.”  I tilted my head doubtfully and she yanked her arm away. “It’s none of your business,” she stated sharply.

“You’re right,” I replied, holding my hands up.  “It’s your life.”  Some of the tension eased from her with my words.  “But if you do need help or want to talk, I’m here.”

Her mouth twisted as she glanced away.  “You mean you’ll tell Creed.”

“No, not if you don’t want me too,” I promised.  “I’ll listen without judgement.”  Hope flickered to life behind her eyes for a second before disappearing as she shook her head.  “I can get you some cream that will help with the bruises,” I offered, not discouraged by her resistance.  “Norah made some for me. It really helped.”

“Norah?  Deacon’s old lady?”

“Uh huh,” I answered, perching on the old barber chair she had stashed in the office area.  “I can get you some, no questions asked.”

“That would be good,” she said slowly, her gaze still wary.  “Why are you here?”

“I came to see if you would be willing to trade favors,” I said promptly, deciding I’d pushed hard enough on the whole bruises issue.  She talk when she was ready and I knew I’d need to earn her trust.  “Candy wants to work in the salon.”

“No,” Ronnie refused instantly.  “Absolutely not.”

“Hear me out,” I held up my hand, eyeing her when she opened her mouth to protest and she sighed, nodding.  “Candy is good at hair. I can vouch for that.  But it’s well known you don’t let club girls work at the salon.”  I didn’t bother to state my opinion of that since I didn’t know why she was so against club girls to start with.  “I thought maybe you could let her work on a probationary status, see what she can do and how dedicated she is.”  Ronnie was shaking her head, ready to say no, I could tell.  “And in return, I’ll babysit Kara.”  That stopped her in her tracks as she stared at me open-mouthed.  “And I want you to know I’m CPR certified.  I’ve babysat….a lot.  Kara seems to like me too.  Oh, and I’ll do it for free.”

“You’d be willing to babysit my kid for free just so I’d give Candy a chance to work here?”

“Yes,” I answered with a nod.  “Exactly.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a win-win for both of you,” I said stoutly.  “She needs a chance and you need incentive to give her that chance. I’m willing to be the broker in this instance.”

Ronnie crossed her arms, pressing her perfectly stained lips together, as she studied me.  “You’d go to all this trouble for a club girl.”

“You should have seen what she did with my hair,” I said with a shrug. “Totally impressed.”

She paced in front of me, her fingers worrying her sleeves.  “One week,” she declared.

“Two weeks,” I countered, lifting my hands when she gave me a sharp glance.  “And she has to work at least three days each week. Full days,” I specified and her eyes narrowed.  “And she has to be given a chance to do everything.”

“You want a lot.”

“I want her to be given a fair shot,” I corrected.  “And in return I’ll give you thirty-two hours of babysitting.”

“Forty-eight,” Ronnie countered.  “You want her to work at least six days, eight hours.  Only fair I get that many babysitting hours.” 

“Alright,” I conceded, eyeing her respectfully.  “I can agree to those terms.” I held my hand out and after a minute, Ronnie took it with a sigh.  “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Not sure I can say the same,” she retorted, arching an eyebrow.  “Where’s your guard dog anyway?”

“In the truck,” I answered, pointing to the back door.  “And I should probably get going.”  The door to the salon opened before I could make good on my words and as the scared looking girl stood there, we both heard shouting.

“Rob,” Ronnie muttered, dashing to the door. I followed more slowly, glancing at the back door as I wondered if I should get Creed.  Steadily louder shouts drew me forward though.

“What are you doing, Ronnie?  We discussed this.”  A guy stood at the counter, hair slicked back, a gold cross dangling from around his neck.  He had his hand wrapped around Ronnie’s arm, exactly where the bruises were, telling me everything I needed to know.  “How stupid do you have to be?  I got shit to take care of and I don’t need this hassle.”

“I understand, Rob,” Ronnie said, her entire demeanor placating.  “Let’s go into the back and I’ll get the money.” 

I scurried backwards, not wanting to get caught between them and my exit.  I hurried toward the back door but it opened underneath my hand.  “Hey, we should get back,” Clutch started to say, trailing off when the door to the salon opened behind me.

“I don’t know why you got to make this shit hard,” Rob berated her, and the sound of a thud made me wince, especially when Clutch’s expression hardened.

“Let her go, asshole,” he snarled, stepping around me as he glared at Rob.  I twisted, seeing it through Clutch’s eyes and it was bad.  Rob had Ronnie pinned against the desk, his grip so tight his knuckles were white and I could only imagine how much it hurt.

“Or what?” Rob sneered.  “You gonna get your little club buddies to beat me up?”

Clutch didn’t bother to answer as he lunged at Rob.  “You’re going to pay for hurting her,” he roared, his fist slamming into Rob’s face and sending him lurching backwards.  “It’s time you learned some respect.”

Rob tried to dodge the fist that came toward his gut, but Clutch was bigger than him and there was no avoiding his rage.

I watched, knowing better than to get between the two of them, but when Ronnie leapt on Clutch’s back, screaming at him, “Let him go, you’re going to hurt him,” I went to the back door.

“Creed,” I shouted, knowing he’d be able to calm Clutch down.  Ronnie pounded her fists against Clutch’s back, crying for him to stop hurting Rob, as Creed ran inside.  He took one look and headed straight into the fray.  “Ronnie, get the fuck off him,” he growled, yanking her down.  “Clutch, stop,” he commanded, locking his arm around Clutch’s shoulder and slowly dragging him back.  “Man, I need you to get control.  He ain’t worth it.”

Rob spat blood on the floor, grinning manically at Clutch.  “See, done been leashed like a little bitch.”  Clutch lunged forward but Ronnie put herself in front of Rob, staring at Clutch angrily.  “Leave him alone,” she cried and Clutch stopped struggling against Creed’s hold.

“And you hide behind one,” he told Rob, shaking Creed off as he stomped past me out the door.  Ronnie shook her finger after him, telling Creed, “You need to control him.  He just went after Rob.”

“Did he?”  Creed questioned, pointing to Ronnie’s arms where her sleeves had gotten pushed up, revealing dark purple bruises all over her forearms.  He shook his head, “You’re a fucking piece of work, Ronnie, defending this piece of shit.”  He backed up, pushing me toward the door and then slamming it behind us.

“This is bad,” he muttered under his breath, rushing me to the truck where Clutch paced, kicking the tires and puffing on a cigarette.  “Get in,” he ordered, repeating himself when Clutch glared at him rebelliously.  “Get IN.”

Clutch jumped in the bed of the truck next to his wrecked bike and I scrambled inside the cab as Creed started the truck with a roar.  “Is Clutch going to go after Rob?”  I asked quietly as Creed drove through the streets of Friendly.  He took so long to answer I started to wonder if I’d even asked the question aloud.

“Not if I can help it,” he finally answered, careful to maintain his speed and obey all traffic laws. “Rob deserves it but Ronnie didn’t ask for our help.  She made it clear just now who her loyalty is with,” he added bitterly.  “I won’t let Clutch go down that road for a woman who won’t thank him for it.”

I glanced out the back window, seeing Clutch lean back, his expression one of a man destroyed.  “Maybe it’s not Ronnie we should be worried about.”