War
Mom’s disease leaves me feeling helpless. I watch while she fights to be the woman she once was. I sit back, unable to help her as she faces the reality of her limitations. She has good days and bad. We hold tightly to the good outweighing the bad. She wants so desperately to be the pillar of strength she was for me growing up.
I wish I could find a way to show her she is stronger now to me than ever before. To know that she doesn’t give up, she doesn’t just rollover and let MS win, that makes her tougher than nails. I can’t say I wouldn’t succumb to the comforts of my bed and never get out if I were her. Hell, it takes everything I have to go out and get Axel to and from school some days.
Work, oh work, a battlefield in my mind. I can’t bring myself to go back to Ruthless. Living off my money from Brinkley’s is fine as long as we stay with mom.
She worked hard to pay off the house. Her car is as outdated as mine, but she doesn’t drive much these days because the numbness in her legs gets so bad. Therefore, thanks to my mom’s forethought and financial planning, I am able to survive on a part-time waitress’s income. I have had to excuse myself a few times from work and had to leave twice because the anxiety was too much.
Right now, I am sitting in Shooter’s car outside the diner, waiting for my shift to start. I should go inside, but being around people doesn’t appeal to me right now. I am not a social butterfly on a regular basis; however, since the night of the attack, I find it even more difficult to associate with anyone outside of my house.
Push through it, Tessie, I coax myself. If Momma can wake up every day and still fight to do regular activities, I can get inside and serve lunch to these customers.
The rumble of a Harley startles me. Instinctively, I look around, my pulse racing. Shooter starts his bike daily and the noise doesn’t faze me, but away from home, it sends my blood pressure skyrocketing.
My breathing is unsteady and too fast as the panic attack seizes me. Even knowing there’s no way Shep could be here, I’m unable to calm down, my body trembling. With sweaty palms, I pick up my phone and dial the first person I think of.
“Tessie,” Shooter answers on the first ring.
I can’t get the words out. I can’t catch my breath. No words escape, no sound comes out except my heavy, rapid breathing.
“Exhale, baby,” he coaxes. “Inhale, Tessie. Calm down, baby. Exhale,” his voice soothes me.
I hear the phone shuffle. “Ryder, I gotta take off, man,” Shooter says to someone in the background.
“Inhale again. Deep, slow breaths, baby. I’m on my way.”
“No,” I manage to squeak out.
“What happened, Tessie?”
“I… I… I,” I stutter, unable to calm my breathing enough to talk.
Blowing out a breath, I try to settle enough to stop him from coming here.
“Inhale, baby. It’s okay, Tessie. Just stay on the phone with me.”
Dammit! I am so frustrated. Why do I allow myself to depend on him? How does he calm me so easily?
“I’m better. No need to come,” I manage to get out, even if the strain in my voice gives away my struggle to settle down.
“Look around, Tessie. There should be a black sedan near you in the parking lot at Brinkley’s. Boomer is watching out for you. You’re safe, baby. Please calm down and tell me what has you so upset.”
After a few minutes, the trembling stops, and I am back in control of my emotions. Looking around, I easily find and maintain eye contact with the black sedan. Only now I feel ridiculously stupid for getting so worked up and then reaching out to Shooter.
“I heard a bike, and I don’t know… I thought about him. It just got to me. I’m sorry for bothering you with this. Oh, my God, I’m such a pain in your ass.”
“Never be sorry for ever calling me. Baby, no apologies here. Shep, he’s not gonna come around you. I promise he won’t get to you again.” Something about the way Shooter says it makes me believe him. I truly believe he won’t let Shep anywhere near me.
“I’m late for work. I gotta go,” I say, needing my escape.
“Don’t ever hesitate to call me, baby.”
“’Kay,” I manage to whisper before sliding the phone off.
Blowing out my breath, I set about getting inside and to work. This cannot consume me further. I survived. I cannot allow it to hold me back from my life.
“Got it bad this time, brother.”
“Fuck off, Boomer,” I reply, not trying to hide my agitation.
“Took off from work when you knew she was okay, drove straight here, hugged her, and now watchin’ her work.”
“Shut it, Boomer,”
“She’s a hot thing. After what she went through, you’re her hero, man.”
“I’m no one’s hero.”
“I beg to differ,” Boomer states in all seriousness.
Boomer was part of my team. He knows me better than most and takes that liberty to be brutally honest with me. He got out of the Army two years ago, and after spending a year riding the open highway, he came to visit me and stayed. His brown hair is in need of a cut along with the shave he is overdue for. Boomer likes his shaggy look, but don’t think the man isn’t put together in his mind. He is setting down roots here in Catawba and prospecting for the Hellions.
When my phone pings with a text, two words pop up: Sermon Immediately. Something is going down.
Tossing some money on the table for Tessie, I make my way to her.
“Gotta run, baby. See ya tonight. You need me, you call. If I can’t answer, Boomer will.”
She nods her head and I take off. Unfortunately, I can’t answer my phone in sermon. I will leave my phone with Boomer, should Tessie need someone. Since she started her shift, she seems to be busy; therefore unable to dwell on what is going on around her. I doubt she will call, but I would rather be safe than sorry.
A thought hits me. Could the bike she heard have been Shep? Did they find him? Is that what a sermon has been called for?
Wasting no more time, I break more than one or two traffic laws as I make my way to meet with my club. Within forty-five minutes of the message, we are all assembled.
Tripp calls the meeting to order, his face not hiding the contained rage he is battling within.
“Gonna keep this short and simple. Got a message,” Tripp barks out at us.
After a swipe and a few clicks on his phone, a video plays. Slice, one of our drivers, is tied to a chair, his arms restrained with zip ties to the arms of the chair.
“Your club is now our enemy. Not by our hand, but by your own. We all face choices. Tripp, your brother has been delivered unto us. We captured him during your raid of our recent shipment. You may have gotten our goods, but we got your brother. The sins of one should not fall upon the shoulders of the innocent. Shep will not be handed over, no matter what my brother Thorn’s orders are to the crew.” Preacher’s sick laugh fills our now silent room as we watch the video, helpless to do anything for Slice.
“Joshua 21:44. And the Lord gave them rest on every side, according to all that he had sworn to their fathers, and no one of all their enemies stood before them; the Lord gave all their enemies into their hand. The Lord delivered you unto our hand, Hellion. We have been given rest. And now the Lord hath delivered our enemies to our hand,” Preacher recites the scripture in his sick, twisted version.
Then he pulls a knife out of his waistband. Taunting Slice, he cuts across his forearms. Four cuts on each arm for the eight shipments we have taken from their club. Slice fights against the unrelenting restraints as his arms bleed out, grunting in pain.
“By these hands, you stole from my family. By these hands, you pay,” Preacher rambles on while he produces a machete off a nearby table.
Tripp’s chest rises and falls heavily as his breathing increases, watching our brother helpless to do anything. When Preacher raises the machete and slams it down, blood splatters the video screen as we hear Slice scream out in pain.
“As the Lord delivered our enemy to our hands, we deliver your own hands back to our enemy. His hands will be all you get back.”
The screen goes black as the room fills with aggression and anger.
“Everything they say about Preacher is true. The fucker is crazy or on something. And his ramblings are gibberish. None of that bullshit he spouted makes sense,” Kix pipes up.
“He punished the club for our antics in pushing Shep out of hiding. We have attacked their entire club for the ‘sins of one,’ meaning for what Shep did to Tessie. We are their enemy. In that fucker’s head, God delivered us to their hands, so Slice was given to them for what we have done. It’s twisted and goes against anything the Hellions would do. Thorn has ordered Shep to turn himself in to us, but the order is being ignored or no one knows where he is. Either way, Thorn is fucked from both outside his club and inside,” Head Case explains.
Tripp is still staring at the now blank screen, breathing heavily. “I want Shep out of hiding. He will pay for Tessie and now Slice!” He looks to me. “You call every contact you have, both on the right side and the wrong side of the law. I want Shep brought to us. We are puttin’ that fucker in the ground by our own hands. Thorn needs the message that I’ll kill every fucker it takes to get to Shep. I’m done playing with his transports and his money. If they want blood, it’ll be their own I spill.”
“If the Outlaws and the Regulators can’t find him, Lock can. Lock, though, he won’t flip for us. He’s gotta stay clean in this,” I inform Tripp of who I can reach out to easily. Lock is a cop and stays in touch pretty regularly.
“I don’t give a fuck what we have to do, who we have to owe, you get Shep here. Call every marker we have. Make it happen,” Tripp orders.
“On it.”
My mind runs wild. Slice was a good man, and without having medical treatment, he most likely bled out in that chair while they did who knows what else to him. There is no way they let him live.
I step to the back of the room while the others continue to discuss how fucked up in the head Preacher is. Picking up a burner phone out of the file cabinet on the back wall, I dial the man with the most contacts. I reach out to the Regulators.
“Alibi,” Ice answers.
“It’s Shooter. I need a secure line.”
“Negative,” Ice replies. “Clean it up or tread water. Heard you got yourself an ol’ lady,” he laughs.
At his comment to ‘clean it up or tread water,’ I know he is telling me the line is secure, but he is not in a position to give me free replies. Therefore, I proceed with only tidbits of information so he can get started yet not give anything away to any ears listening around him. The mention of my ol’ lady lets me know he is aware of my situation to some degree. Doesn’t surprise me; the Regulators MC has more contacts on both sides of the law than any club.
“I need to find someone who is underground.”
“Toilet problems happen to us all, brother. Little wifey doesn’t like dealin’ with shit, either,” Ice states, letting me know he understands I need to flush someone out of hiding to take care of Tessie.
“Shep from the Desert Ghosts MC, Dana Shepard is his legal name.”
“Get a fuckin’ plunger, and I’ll call a plumber. You got a mess on your hands.”
Well, I do have a mess on my hands, but at least he will make a call for me. Ice will get the intel on Shep’s location or scare him enough to walk right up to our clubhouse of his own free will to avoid the connections the Regulators have.
Turning back to my club, I give Tripp a chin lift to let him know it is under control on my end. Waiting is the hardest thing. Some of the guys want to go in, guns blazing, after the Ghosts. However, Tripp is level-headed enough to know we have to plan our attack, especially if Thorn really has no control over his club right now.