Tyson

Hearing Hemmingway declare that those babies are hers has me fuming, ready to burn down this house with the two assholes still passed out inside. Why should they be given the chance to escape? They should burn in the pits of hell!

Without having to ask her, instinctively, I knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that those little ones weren’t conceived out of love or from her willingness to crawl into the bed of one of those two fuckfaces. Which means, they violated her in the worst way a man can against a woman. I’m so fucking pissed that I’m surprised smoke isn’t billowing from my nose and that fire isn’t shooting out from my eye sockets.

I didn’t ask which one fathered the twins, I don’t give a fuck. They’re both guilty and are going to pay the ultimate price for what they’ve put her through and have done to her—injury wise. Hemmi’s going to bear the phantom pains and bodily scars for years to come. She’s going to have recurring and excruciating nightmares that stem from her time of imprisonment inside of this house of horrors.

Just like Amara, my inner mind snivels. My back snaps ramrod straight, my chest constricts from the alarming memories, and my psyche begins to relentlessly ache from the agonizing, stark reminder.

If nothing else, it’s an acute and devastating warning that I’ll need to always keep in the forefront of my mind while in Hemmi’s company. I have to resist taking on the role of Hemmingway’s knight or savior. I refuse to endure that again. What I went through with Amara was a catastrophic blow to my soul unlike any I’ve ever felt before. I won’t rehash or relive how much I suffered during the time I tried to save Amara from her demons and claim her as my old lady… not with Hemmi, and absolutely not when it comes to Master’s baby sister. That’d go against every ethical code I have where it pertains to my brother’s families anyhow.

Sisters are considered to be off-limits and untouchable. It’s not written in our bylaws that this is a decree, but it’s an unspoken agreement between us as a whole, and I’m not going to betray one of my brothers by chasing his sibling. That thought takes me down a path that has me wondering how Charlee, Country, and their little guy are doing. They’re an exception to the rule. For one, Gunner basically set them up, even if the couple didn’t realize that at the time. And for two, Pops had already made it clear to us all that he liked Country for his baby girl and encouraged us all to put them in rooms together as much as we could. As long as we were being sly, inconspicuous, and not obvious with our plotting and scheming, it was game on.

Nobody considered the unfathomable scenario that’d eventually play out where Country ended up being Charlee’s keeper and caretaker when Ma and Pops disappeared without a visible trace. Except for the few notes they’d written to their kids, we had no way to track them. That had left us all scrambling and perplexed as we called in all of our friends and asked for them to help us look. We had a boatload more questions than answers for the mysterious way they’d fled.

At the time, we’d thought our matriarch and president had either been captured and forcefully removed from their home, compelled at gunpoint to leave behind goodbye instructions, or they were running from something that was fatally enormous, something so unscrupulous and threatening to their loved ones’ safety that they chose to leave of their own free will, abandoning us all, and going on the lam. Turns out, the latter was the correct assumption. But once Pops was reunited with his parents and brother, and they worked out the troubles that had split them up in the first place, we, as a whole, gained a strong, powerful, and feared ally through the Alvarez organization—Pops’ biological family. Through them, we gained their alliances as well as their enemies, but now, our support system is also immeasurable. We have more markers penned in our ledgers than we’ll ever be able to cash in.

Pops gave me a rundown of safe houses and confidants I can use which are available to me. He swears these men are loyal, trustworthy, and that we’d be safe and promised that nobody would talk or share our secret location. I’m not convinced that I can let my guard down and allow anyone else to have the upper hand. Not when it comes to hiding out from the government and their trained militia forces. I’m a one-man team, as it has to be this way in order to be successful, but that also means that I need to be smart and think about my moves, be one step in front of the ones that’ll be chasing us, and not let anyone strong-arm me into doing what they think or feel is best.

My instincts scream that with whatever is happening back home in the club, I need to be as ruthless as I can while in hiding, keep an eye on my own back, and not rely on others to protect us while we’re being pursued. The way I see things, all available men need to be watching over my brothers, my sisters, and their kids, keeping them safe while I’m not around. It’s the only way I won’t be worrying about them, be able to keep my charges safe, and take care of what I’m here to do.

As I round the top of the staircase, all of my rumblings dissipate, and my focus becomes hyperaware. My mission is to find the key that’ll unlatch Hemmi’s shackles, and get us all the hell outta here. When I breach Miller’s room, both men are still passed out, but the urge to end them now is nearly overwhelming. There’s a right way to do this, to dispose of their bodies where they won’t be discovered, and unfortunately, I don’t have the time to go through the process and get outta here before the neighborhood starts to rouse. I’ll have no other choice but to come back as I’d originally planned. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make the time they're knocked out and in la-la land stretch further.

Pulling out one of the pairs of latex gloves from my back pocket that I’d carried with me as part my arsenal, as well as dragging out a handful of leftover darts from my bag, that’s still arbitrarily strung over my shoulder, I wrap my fingers around a bundle of them and bury no less than five into Frankfuck’s ass cheeks before repeating the action and doing the same to his son.

As I rummage through Miller’s dresser and desk drawers, I find nothing of use. But when I change direction and scour through his closet, I hit the jackpot as I plunder the bottom portion of the space and come across a roll of chains and padlocks that’re covered up by a filthy load of discarded clothes. As I toss his stuff around, a grotesque odor flicks through the air, and has me close to gagging, burning my sinuses and making me fight the want to pinch my nose the same way I used to do when I was five and was forced to eat food that I thought smelled rank before I’d be excused from the table.

“Jesus, this is nasty as hell. When’s the last time this dumbass did his washing? This pile of laundry smells like it’s been flung and hauled through a heap of horse shit before being tossed in here and forgotten. How the fuck can he sleep each night in this room with this stank drifting around him?” I shake my head in utter disgust as I continue to rifle through his belongings. I’m searching to see if I can’t find a set of bolt cutters or another tool with teeth that are sharp enough to saw their way through this wound scroll of metal.

As I maneuver through his belongings, shuffling things to the side, a stack of different varieties of colored and labeled folders stick out like a sore thumb. Reaching out, I grab them and stuff them into my pack to scan over later. The more things I move around, the more frustrated I become. He has to have something lying around that he uses to cut through the chain.

As if a beacon of light points in a certain direction and calls for my attention, I notice that underneath his bed is a long and wide lockbox. My impulsive hunch is that this will be the hiding spot where I’ll find the materials I’ve been hunting for. As I fetch it, and pull it free from underneath the bed, I notice that it’s unlocked which has me combusting and gloating from this victorious score.

Popping the top lid, I see that I was right and a coy, triumphant smile spreads wide across my face, spanning the distance from one ear to the other. Stuffing the lone key that was sitting in a corner of the box into my front jean pocket for safekeeping, and then yanking loose the bolt cutters, and the wheel of duct tape, I trim it into measured, inched strips. There are six even rows lined over the expanse of the floor by the time I’m done. I make quick work of tussling the two up and hog tying them. I’m meticulous as I wind the chain around their ankles, followed by their wrists, and then locking the two into place with another strand, padlocking them together behind the men’s backs.

My goal is to make it difficult for them to get out of their bindings without outside help. As far as I’m aware, nobody knows of this house’s existence besides me, so they should be stuck here for a long damn time… optimistically, they won’t be able to break free until I have the chance to return and put them through a torturesome trial, all without them being able to wield a defense for themselves. A day where I’ll be their judge, jury, and executioner. I’ll reap their souls and dig their graves… kinda.

I’m still thinking that dumping their chopped up remains is in my best interest, and will also be the least likely way for anyone to come across and expose their dissected corpses.

“I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.” I chuckle over my shoulder, pleased with the fact that I know they’re stuck where they are and won’t be getting any outside help. Which is their fault for being the cunning fuckers they are. “Kinda screwed the pooch when you two didn’t share your location with anyone outside of your diabolical duet, huh? That’s karma wielding her bitch sword, fellas.” I continue taunting them even though I know they don’t hear me and can’t respond. “No matter, I’ll be seeing you soon.” With that assurance, I jog down to the lowest story and stop dead in my tracks when I see Hemmingway’s tears streaking down her cheeks as she makes pledges to her children, swearing to always protect and love them no matter what hindrances they face.

It’s heartbreaking and a sense of longing hits me square in the feels.

I’ll never have that—a family, my family. I won’t be experiencing a home that’s filled with the tranquility one receives from his or her soulmate—filling that empty void that’s always been romping in their hearts. I’ll never have someone anchor the sulking child within me that’s been lost, unfulfilled, and persistently restless. I won’t hear rooms filled or echoing with laughter or have the need to cross my eyes as a migraine sets in from silly, mundane arguments—ones that require their dad to step in and referee. As a dad, I won’t feel the ground vibrate from running feet as children play. None of these things are a realistic likelihood for me. Not the boy whose parents were selfish and didn’t want to spend unnecessary money, taking him to see a doctor. Nope, that man, he’ll never hold his newborn baby in his arms on the day it’s born and make oaths to that kid.

When I was a teenager, I had a blood stream infection that went untreated for too long. Without the medical intervention, blood replacement therapy, and injections that are imbued with an aggressive round of antibiotics, ones that I was in desperate need of but didn’t get, my sperm was diseased, trickled off, and as a result, died. I have no active swimmers and never will. It’s said that you always want what you can never have… and that’s the honest truth in my case.

Clearing my throat and mind, I ask Hemmi, “Wanna get outta here?” As her eyes line up with mine, and she sees the key dangling from my fingers, she smiles and nods her head. “Good. This place gives me the creeps.”

“You’re preaching to the choir with that one, Tyson.” She snorts. “This place has always felt spooky and otherworldly to me too. I always feel like there are eyes on me, and there aren’t any sort of surveillance cameras around. Trust me, I’ve looked. Could you imagine what the walls in this joint would say if they could talk? I bet it’s haunted. I’ve heard sounds that aren’t that of an old house settling.”

An eerie shiver that’s racked full of uneasiness races up and down my spine the very second she implies this as an innate risk, causing me to inadvertently peer down and start scanning the empty space alongside my extremities, fearing that a resurrected phantom or any other earthbound essence that I can’t physically fight, will crawl out of the woodwork like a shadowed mist and snatch me up by my feet, cart me away, and possess my entire being.

With the way my luck has been in the past, it’d be the first probability instead of the latter. I’d be marked down and listed on the books as a missing person, one whose physical being disappeared without any traceable clues to follow. My case would be considered an unsolvable mystery, one that’s never to be seen nor heard from again.

Paranoia sets in and I scour every square inch of this space for any wandering, ethereal apparitions that have the capability of overriding a person or discovered a way to inhabit any sort of humanoid form. Ghost-like or not, that shit’s freaky as fuck to think about. My hands sweat as my imagination short-circuits and takes root, wreaking havoc on my subconscious mind, embedding thoughts of a ghostly entity attaching itself to me and haunting me or worse, jumping out from the shadows and whispering boo in my ear. As traumatized as that’d make me, as much as I’d want to be a man about it and face it dead on, the truth is, I’d undoubtably squeal like a little bitch and use Hemmi as a shield.

Females are better at dealing and accepting the freaky things that have to do with the supernatural and paranormal crap than men do.

Men, we’re simple creatures. We like to be able to see, touch, smell, and hear everything that surrounds us. I need to be able to lay eyes on my nemesis.

If we’re facing a threat while being deaf or blind to our situation, in layman’s terms, we’re screwed. Men understand and can comprehend being under a physical attack better than we can with any sort of metaphysical phenomenon. We need to be able to fight and defend ourselves and our family. If we can’t, we’re stumped on how to move forward.

“Jesus fuck, Tyson. Get a hold of yourself and stop being a pussy,” I mutter, manning up. I force myself to ignore the need to find some sage and cleanse the house and us before retreating. Ma and her psychic tie to the spirit world always made me wary and uneasy of anything that can’t be seen by the human eye. I don’t understand the hereafter, but she always suggested we be careful with what we say and do.

“Never know who’s listening or what you’ll say that’ll bind you to the other side,” she’d always say. Fuck that! We’re out.

My feet shuffle in place before they sync with what my mind is ordering them to do and begin moving. Schooling myself, shutting down all outward signs of emotions so that Hemmi doesn’t pick up on my edginess, I all but jog over to her with the key firmly fisted in my hand.

“Why do you suddenly look mad, Tyson?” Hemmi asks, criticism, along with a touch of annoyance, peppering her face. “Babies have a tendency to pick up on our emotions and react accordingly. Whatever has you frantic and broody all of a sudden, you need to get over it and move on.”

“I’m not broody or frantic, Hemmi,” I blatantly lie through my clenched teeth, but I do it with good intentions so it shouldn’t be a mark against my soul and lightning shouldn’t lash out, striking me on the spot. “It just so happens that I’m ready to hit the road and put some distance between us and this place.”

“Uh-huh.” Her voice is full of skepticism, but I ignore it. “I’ll pretend like I don’t have eyes and can’t see my way through that load of bullshit you’re pitching. But the only reason we’re not going to hash this out here and now, is because I want to get Honor and Haven as far away from this place and put as much space between us and those fucktards as I can.”

“There’s nothing for us to hash out, Hemmi,” I contend, inserting the key into the padlock and twisting it. A relieved sigh leaves her mouth the second she’s released from her bindings.

Standing, I reach down, with my palm facing outward for her to clasp, so I can drag her up. She looks at it then back at the two sleeping bundles nestled in her arms before shaking her head no. Understanding dawns on me, so I reach down and situate my hands underneath her armpits and heave her up. Hemmi’s legs are wobbly, unstable, and tremble when she applies her body’s weight on them. What little mass she has left from being underfed is still too much of a burden for her to handle.

Hefting my bag further onto my shoulder, I curl my body forward and squat while placing one of my arms underneath the bend of her knees and the other dead center of her back so I can hoist her up and carry her outta here.

“Thank you. I’m not ready to let them go yet,” she sheepishly admits, her gaze not once swaying from them to me. I can’t help but wonder if she’s been kept away from them and not allowed to care for them.

“No thanks are necessary, Hemmingway. The club asked me to do this, and I was happy to accept. When we get to my room in town, you’re going to sit down and tell me what happened. We got the watered-down version from the base’s authorities. There were a shit ton of blacked-out lines in their reports.”

“You got reports?” she asks, shooting her eyes at me as I sprint up the stairs. “How did y’all manage to get your hands on that? It’s unheard of for them to share any information with civilians while there’s an ongoing investigation.”

“Pops,” I answer, only needing to use that one name for her to understand exactly how we managed to accomplish it.

“Oh. Well, that explains that.” She huffs. “Why are we staying in town? That’s not safe, Tyson.” Her breathing becomes rapid and her anxiety is plain to see.

“It’s a stopping point. We’ll get you showered, get y’all fed, and I’ll run out and snatch you some supplies.”

“I don’t have anything to change into after showering.” Her statement sounds mournful and heavyhearted.

“You can wear one of my shirts and boxers until I get back with the things you three will need. While I feed you, I want you to make me a list. Only add the essentials to it for now. When we land someplace safer, and I know you won’t be spotted by Miller or the Admiral, I’ll take you shopping for the rest. Until then, we’ll grab the important shit and take things one step at a time.”

“As long as Honor and Haven have what they need, I’ll deal,” she remarks.

“Master gave me twenty thousand dollars to spend, Hemmi. I haven’t spent a single dime of that. I’ve been saving it for you. Not knowing what condition I’d find you in, I wanted to make sure I had plenty of funds in my pocket to pay doctors to take care of you under the table and give them a cash incentive to keep their traps shut.”

“What? Why so much?” she asks me, not touching anything else I said.

“Because we didn’t have any idea how long I’d be away while looking and tracking you down. He wanted to make sure that if the need arose, I could pick up supplies quickly, and I had access to enough money to bankroll it.”

“I guess that’s logical reasoning.” She sighs. “It’s just that I hate the fact that he’s out of that much money and you’ve had to spend your personal time searching for me.”

“That’s what family does, Hemmi.”

“Yeah.” She goes silent, not uttering another word and her expression draws into a blank slate. Even with me wondering what she’s thinking, I don’t ask or probe for information that she’s not ready to discuss. She needs time to process and I need to place all of my concentration on getting us out of this neighborhood undetected. But once we get to my room, she’s going to spill and lay it all out in the open for me. Once I have all the crucial facts, phase two of this mission will go into effect.

I’m calling it Operation Mayday. Only, those two won’t be able to send out any SOS’s. They’re shit out of luck on that one. They’ll be forced to look me in the eye while facing a myriad of questions that I want truthfully answered… I’ll accept nothing less. The two will be given no other option than to man up and face the firing squad.

They will pay the ultimate penalty for their nefarious acts against a beloved sister of the DreamCatchers, a woman that they brutalized, violated. The biggest strike against them is that she just so happens to be underneath the club’s umbrella of protection. As a patched officer’s sibling, she’s been deemed as untouchable. When they beg for me to show them some mercy and plead for leniency, they’ll find out I’m not a forgiving, kind man. They’ll get no pardons or a slap on the wrist from me.

Death is knocking on their door. It’s just a matter of time until it’s opened.

I can’t wait.