He went back to the cabin that night, late. He made sure things were okay and he watched Paige sleep for a while. Her beautiful face and the slow, rhythmic movements of her chest as it rose and fell gave him peace. He did ache to touch her, but he resisted. Instead, he refueled his body with food and coffee, slept for two hours, and by the time Ewell showed up for work the next day, he was there.

For the next two days, Garrett followed him, making mental notes of all his movements. During that time, he didn’t go back to the cabin. He wouldn’t until this was all long over, if he was still breathing. On the third morning, he went back to his own apartment, fixed himself something to eat, and then began the preparation process for the job. It was a routine that he went through anytime he did a job in Vegas, which wasn’t often. It was precautionary for him...but mostly, it was to keep the club out of it if he ever did get caught.

He went into the bedroom and packed a small bag before unwrapping the new burner phone and sending Monkey a text. He stuck the phone in his bag when he finished. It would be crushed and tossed somewhere far from here, just in case. After that was done, he went into his closet and pushed the clothes that hung on the rack along the back wall out of the way. Using his combination...J-E-S-S-I-E...he opened the safe and pulled off his kutte. He folded it and put it on top of the safe with his wallet and the now-crumpled envelope with the letter for Jessie inside, still in the pocket.

He reached into the back of the safe and took out a black leather wallet and opened it. He counted the hundred-dollar bills to make sure they were all there. He had twenty of them. He tucked the wallet into his back pocket and then after taking Jessie’s letter out of the pocket of his kutte, he put that inside the safe. He almost closed it before he remembered that he’d taken the box out to show to Paige. He went out to the living room and took the box off his desk, and it went into the safe too. Monkey would be sending someone to clean out the safe if anything ever happened to him. He never wanted the club associated with any of the things he was responsible for doing...even if a lot of it had been at their behest. His brothers were his family and a man protected his family. It was all he had, really.

After he finished with the safe and it was locked back up and hidden once again, he moved to the closet in the hallway. He pushed the pile of clean towels to the side and slid open the panel behind them. Reaching inside, he pulled out a long, black gun case and sat it down on the floor next to him. He reached back in and pulled out a small one then, heavy with the ammo that was packed inside. He also pulled out a black duffel bag. It was empty, but it wouldn’t be for long. He closed the panel, moved the towels back over, and carried everything he’d just taken out into the living room. He sat it all down near the front door and took a dark jacket off the hook there, slipping it on before pulling the ponytail holder out of his hair and running his hands through it.

He picked up the gun cases just as the knock sounded on the door. He didn’t need to look out, or ask who it was. Only his brothers knew the special knock. He pulled open the door and without saying a word, Saint took one of the cases out of his hands. Garrett picked up his overnight bag and the empty duffel bag and followed Saint. Saint was an oxymoron in a lot of ways. He looked like a choirboy, spoke with a soft, Tennessee accent, wore a cross and carried a bible...but next to Garrett, he was probably one of the most lethal sons of bitches alive.

When they got to the parking lot behind the apartment building, Saint hit a button in his hand and the trunk of a black sedan popped up in time for him to put Garrett’s gun case inside. Garrett followed him and did the same with the rest of the gear and closed the trunk before pulling the key to his Harley out of his pocket and holding it out to Saint. Then he handed his Harley keys to Saint and Saint handed Garrett the keys to the SUV. Before they separated, Saint embraced him and said, “See ya soon, Bear.”

Garrett gave him a nod of thanks and as Saint walked toward Garrett’s parking stall, Garrett got into the car and waited until his friend had driven away on Garrett’s bike before pulling out onto the street. On his way to the station he avoided the Strip, which would still be busy with tourist traffic. He took the back roads, which lengthened his trip, but that was okay since his train wouldn’t be leaving for a couple of hours. He passed a park on his way and his eyes landed on a cage underneath one of the bright streetlights. It was a batting cage, and the sight of it brought a rush of memories to the front of his mind that he’d been trying to bury for years. Every so often they returned like a tsunami, flooding every corner of his brain.

Besides Jessie’s letter, his stepmother Vivian’s had been the hardest one for him to write. Their relationship had been tenuous for years and maybe when he died, she wouldn’t want to hear from him. But the letters had been his final act of self-indulgence and perhaps even a little cathartic...especially Vivian’s. Garrett’s enormous body convulsed with a shudder as his thoughts went back to the day that changed his and Vivian’s lives forever.

Vivian married Garrett’s old man, three years after his mother died. Garrett was nine at the time and he was pissed. He was pissed that his mother was dead. He was pissed that his old man spent more time on the road than he did with him, and he was really pissed that suddenly this woman who was young enough to be his old man’s daughter was suddenly his stepmother. He was also pissed that she came with baggage...a six-year-old boy named Beau who Garrett was expected to entertain. Beau was small and pale, and his eyes were really close together. He had trouble learning in school and retaining anything he learned, in or out of school. Garrett knew now that the boy was special needs, but back then, he was an angry nine-year-old in a fourteen-year-old’s body. Despite the fact that Beau looked up to him, followed him everywhere he went, and wanted to be just like him, Garrett wasn’t exactly mean, and he never laid a hand on the boy...but he went out of his way to ignore the little boy as much as he was able. Poor Beau had no idea why Garrett treated him so poorly, and he ached for a brother or a friend so badly that he consistently tolerated it, never saying a word to Vivian or Garrett’s old man about anything Garrett did, or said.

One day when Garrett was twelve and Beau was nine, Garrett went to the batting cages in town to hit a few balls and Beau tagged along behind him. Garrett rode as fast as he could on his bicycle, trying to lose the younger boy, but to no avail. He’d just put on his helmet and stepped into the cage when he heard the sound of Beau’s quiet little voice behind him.

“Hey, Garrett, can you teach me to hit a ball?”

“No,” Garrett remembered saying. “You probably couldn’t even lift the bat. Your arms are too skinny. You should stick to what you’re good at, naturally.”

“But...I’m not good at anything.”

Garrett snorted. “True,” he said.

“Teach me, please. I can hold the bat. I’ll show you!” Garrett was about to snap something else mean back when he spotted the group of boys coming toward them from the other side of the park. They were kids from a rival MC and the leader was a sixteen-year-old piece of shit who had spent most of his adolescence locked up in the youth authority. Garrett had had a few run-ins with him, which he’d always gotten the better of. But the last time Garrett had beaten him down for putting his hands on a much younger girl, Ivan had made threats to come back with a gun.

“Beau, go inside the arcade.” The batting cages faced the back side of the arcade. It was a cold Connecticut morning, so most of the activity was inside. As Garrett’s eyes scanned the park, he could see that he’d be on his own with Ivan and his friends. He just hoped the older boy hadn’t made good on his promise to get his hands on a gun.

“Why? I want to learn how to hit the ball...” Beau whined.

“Get the fuck inside! Now!” Garrett watched as the group got closer. He could still see Beau out of the corner of his eye and the kid wasn’t moving. “Beau,” he said again, not taking his eyes off Ivan and the three big guys behind him.

“Why, Garrett? What’s...?” Garrett heard the change in Beau’s voice as soon as he spotted Ivan and the others. A tremor of fear ran through it as the nine-year-old said, “Oh no.”

“Go...Inside...Now!” Garrett’s pleas once again fell on deaf ears.

“I don’t want to leave you!” Beau said, trying to sound brave, but not managing it. Garrett was going to yell at him again, but it was too late. Ivan and the other guys had already surrounded Beau and Garrett was trapped inside the batting cage. One of the boys was leaning against the door cut into the gate.

“Fuck!” Garrett pushed with all his might and the door budged slightly, even as the other boy pushed his full weight into it. Another one of the big boys came to help, and it shut tightly then. Garrett was trying not to panic. He picked up his bat and started slamming it against the fence in the direction of the two boys. He could see Beau out of the corner of his eye. Ivan stood in front of him and another boy stood right at his back. “Don’t touch him!”

Ivan smiled, reached down, and ruffled Beau’s blond hair. “Your little boyfriend is cute.”

“I swear to God, Ivan. I’ll fucking kill you.” Garrett saw the flash of metal even before he realized what Ivan had just taken out of his pocket was a gun.

“You’ll kill me?” Ivan asked, pressing the gun into the little boy’s temple. Beau had begun to cry, and Garrett was still slamming the bat against the fence. Beau was moving, trying to get away, but the other guy grabbed his arms and held onto him tightly.

“Ouch! Fucking cunt got my fingers,” one of the guys yelled as Garrett slammed the bat into the fence harder.

“Keep him in there...” Ivan warned them in a low, menacing voice. His eyes never left poor Beau’s face, though and Beau’s tear-filled eyes stared up at the big boy.

“Why, Ivan?” Garrett asked, stopping his assault on the fence momentarily. “Why don’t you want them to let me out? Is it because your dick only gets hard when you’re one on one with a little boy?” Ivan curled his lip and slid the safety off the gun. Garrett had never felt anything like the panic he was feeling at that moment. He’d screwed up by taunting the older boy. He should be kissing his ass. He was helpless to do anything else. He should be on his knees begging Ivan to let Beau go.

He looked around the park again. There were a few people around, but no one that looked at all interested in coming to help. There wasn’t even anyone close enough to see the gun. The boys wore leather vests with patches that identified them as “Demons.” It was Ivan’s own club, a spin-off of his old man’s 1% club known as Sons of Satan. Everyone knew how dangerous the Sons were and they had no desire to get involved. Garrett knew he was on his own, but he had to try. He started yelling toward the people he could see...the ones just standing there watching. “He’s got a gun! Someone help this kid! Call the fucking police at least!”

“Wow,” Ivan said, “your old man must be proud of his little pussy boy, and a rat to boot.”

“Fuck you, Ivan. My old man will skin you while you’re still breathing and then drag your skinned body behind his bike through town if you hurt that boy.” Ivan finally looked at Garrett, then he smiled and without looking down at Beau he pulled the gun back and slammed it into the side of the boy’s head. Beau screamed, and his knees buckled. The other boy held him up, keeping him from going to the ground. Beau looked dazed and he was sobbing. “Leave him alone, Ivan. It’s me you want. Let him go home. He’s just a little boy...”

“Oh, don’t worry...I’m gonna deal with you next.”

“He’s not a part of this!”

“You seem awfully worried about him, for him not being a part of anything...”

“I don’t even like him!” Garrett saw Beau wince when he said that, and it tore at his gut...but he couldn’t let Ivan kill the little boy. He hadn’t even known he cared until it was a possibility. “I don’t give a fuck about him. He’s a pain in my ass. I’m just wondering why a big, tough guy like you wants to pick on a little kid instead of taking on someone your own size. You scared of me, Ivan?”

“Fuck you! You’re nothing but a snot-nosed kid yourself.”

“A kid who kicked your ass more than once.”

“Not today,” Ivan said. He turned the gun on Garrett and Garrett screamed at Beau to run. As soon as the kid took off, Ivan turned back in his direction. Garrett screamed so loud that he barely registered the sound of the gun inside his head. Then suddenly there was nothing but dead silence until one of the other boys said,

“Fuck, man, you killed him. You fucking killed a little kid...” Everything happened in slow motion after that. He heard Ivan and the others talking, yelling at each other. Then suddenly they were running away, and Garrett was looking at the limp little body lying about ten feet away. He saw the door to the arcade open slowly; someone was peeking out. That’s when his brain woke up again and he hit the door of the cage and started running toward Beau. “Call a fucking ambulance!” he screamed...before he slid to his knees and through the mud to get to his stepbrother, he saw the pool of blood underneath the blond head. When the ambulance got there, he had to be sedated so that they could get him to loosen his grip on the little boy. That was the day he first felt the monster inside of him take root...and it would only continue to grow as he fed and nourished it over the years. And Vivian...she was broken, and she hated him, even though while his old man was still living, she tried to hide it. When Garrett was fifteen and the old man died, he was on his own with a woman who couldn’t stand to look at him. That was when he called his Pops in Vegas and the old man sent him a plane ticket to come out. The monster followed him.

He turned the car onto the road that would take him to the train station then and for a second he pictured himself just stopping it on the tracks. He looked over toward the restaurant across from the station, at the big window in front, and thought about something else that had happened. It was six years after Beau died and Garrett still felt like he was searching...for something. He remembered looking out the window of the restaurant that day and seeing the pale, skinny kid with the big hazel eyes push out the front door of the diner and start jogging across the street. Something about him reminded Garrett of Beau and he felt strangely drawn to him. His eyes were glued to the boy...until the sound of screeching tires mingled with the persistent blare of the train. Garrett nearly knocked over the table as he stood up and cried out to the boy...as if he was ever going to hear him. It was like watching Beau die for the second time, or so he thought. Somehow the boy survived, and just being near him made Garrett feel like he was being given a second chance to be the big brother Beau deserved. His letter had been the third, and like Jessie and Vivian, Garrett hoped that someday Saint would understand that he did what he had to do for his family, to rid the world of one last monster that could ultimately do them harm.