Tyson

Stomping across the street, my fists clench as my anger strongholds me, nearly choking me.

I try to get past the unwarranted judgment and the contemptuous, insulting words Hemmi unleashed and spewed at me, raining on me like a tornado that had been hovering and funneling above me, filled with sulfuric acid as it rotated and released its poisonous toxins.

I feed the animal inside of me by dishing out a plateful of reminders. The first one being that she’s been through a gut-wrenching ordeal and I should be the bigger person by stepping back and giving her a free pass this time for being so coldhearted and rude. Then I replay the look that crossed her face, and the way she deflated when she told me she had no idea how long it’d take to feed her son, shoveling a fork full of that shit down his throat too.

It temporarily lulls and pacifies him. Halting the thunderous rattling in my chest that always demands the taste of blood and need for vengeance to sate him, his anger and bruised ego are still simmering below the surface. It won’t take much to push him over the edge, reemerge, and strike like the predator he is. I’m going to need to lasso that erratic fury, securely wrap a rope around it, and detain it. I can’t unleash this outrage on Hemmi. She’s been through enough and should feel safe enough to unharness her burdens on me, even if that means decimating my character and making me feel like I’m scum at the bottom of the cesspool while doing it.

I need to be her safe place, the person she can lash out at, and release the repressed rage without worrying over the blowbacks. She’s right about one thing, I am a hothead that doesn’t think before reacting to verbal or bodily attacks. I let my madness entomb me and take the lead. I haven't had a reason to give a damn about anyone or anything lately, but with Hemmi, I find myself wanting to be considerate of her situation and take back my possession from the untamable beast. Because if he hurts her, in any way, I’m not sure I could ever look at myself without seeing how far I’ve fallen, and realize I’m not the honorable, caring man I was before Amara shredded me into splintered pieces.

I’m not sure where that man went, but it’s obvious he’s not going to make a reappearance without a good reason to spring up and reveal himself. He’s gone, and the only barren fragments that were drifting behind his swift exit, is the fractured casing of an infuriated, contemptible man. I’ve accepted that, but have hidden it well from my brothers, not wanting to see the pity in their eyes or deal with their constant hounding. For a bunch of badass, hardened men, they like to sit down and have heart-to-heart conversations about shit men have no business talking about. It makes my balls shrivel up and take a hiatus anytime we start the bullshit of “strengthening our brotherly ties” by talking our feelings and shit out over the campfire flame.

I’m not now, nor have I ever been a Boy Scout, and I don’t plan on trying to earn any badges to fill a sash. I’m not roasting marshmallows over a firepit, and I’m not going to join in on any male-bonding exercises. Give me a bottle of tequila, a pack of smokes, and leave me the fuck alone. I may drown in my own misery, but at least I’ll be doing it while being numb and not feeling the debilitating aftereffects of being left behind by the one person I saw myself lowering the walls around my heart for and making commitments of forever to.

Some days, I hate her more than I miss her. Apparently, the few times she’d open up, even with the barrier of a door between us, meant more to me than it did her. I thought we had a connection, but now, I wonder if it was because I wanted us to, and not because we were actually forming a budding relationship.

Then again, I have to keep in mind that she never promised me anything. At the same time, she didn’t discourage anything I said toward where I saw us going or decline my efforts to spend time with her either. Every single damn time I’d knock on her door and sit in the hallway, I’d see the shadow of her body as she’d perch on the other side, letting me prattle on about non-consequential things, just to have a reason for me to extend another olive branch, and let her get to know me for who I am, not wanting her to see me the same way as the outside world does.

My riding leather, long hair, beard, and the chrome horse I ride, automatically brand me as a troublemaking, gun-wielding outlaw. It’s not far off from the truth, but not all things are as they appear to the naked eye. People shouldn’t put labels on those they don’t know personally. That’s a pansy-ass attribute that only makes them guiltier than I am. They’ll be smote long before I am when we stand in front of those pearly, white gates on our final judgment day, and face our maker.

I’m not a holy man by any stretch of the imagination, but I do believe that there’s a higher power out there. One who we’ll all one day stand before, and answer to, for our earthly transgressions. As soon as my feet land on the concrete pathway in front of the diner, my blood pressure has skyrocketed, sweat beads on my forehead, and my mind is more muddled than it was before I started walking.

* * *

Standing outside, my foot kicked up on the wall I’m slouched against, and a cigarette in my hand as I pull a toke on it here and there, my eyes never stray from the motel across the way. I can’t see our room from where I’m perched, but I can observe and see if any foreign people or unfamiliar cars pass through.

Noting the payphone off to the side, knowing it’s time to make a call to check in, I kick off the wall, and brush the end of my cigarette against the brick to put out my smoke. Digging through my pocket, I pull out a quarter, insert it in the coin slot, and dial the number I know by heart. When it starts ringing, I square my shoulders, and mentally prepare for another verbal spar with Luca.

“Julius Alvarez,” Pops answers.

“Pops, it’s me,” I state, relaxing my stance, but still alert. Turning around, my eyes land on the motel once again, and I continue studying the comings and goings. “I’ve got her.”

“That’s good news, son. Why is it I hear a ‘but’ in your tone, Tyson? Did something go wrong?”

“I’ve got something to tell you that you’re not going to like. I don’t have all the details yet, but once Hemmi’s had a chance to rest and eat, I plan on getting them.”

“Okay,” he says, as a creak from his chair shifting hits my ears. I hear the familiar sounds of a lighter being fired up as he inhales deeply. “Am I gonna need a drink for this?”

“It’s not even noon yet, Pops.” I snort, knowing he doesn’t give the first damn. Men like us don’t let time restrict us from doing anything we wanna do.

“It’s five o'clock somewhere,” he refutes. His words are playful, but his tenor is not. “Tell me what’s going on. I don’t like being kept in the dark. You know that.”

“The takedown was smooth,” I start off saying. “I used the dart gun I’d bought off the streets and knocked them out cold before either knew what hit them. But I came across a few roadblocks along the way that I wasn’t expecting. Two of them actually. They’re the reason it took me longer to get her out than I’d intended for it to.”

“And those obstacles were?” he prompts, puffing on what I’m presuming is one of his expensive, humidified cigars he pays a boatload of money for and has shipped in through customs, from somewhere overseas.

“Pops.” I sigh, knowing this is going to be a blow that’ll have his temper soaring. “We know Hemmi was raped by the reports we found, right?”

“Right,” he concurs, parroting my prior sigh. “Now, tell me what wasn’t written in those reports, Tyson. Because from the way you’re dragging your feet in telling me what I don't already know, I’m starting to believe that what you’re going to say is going to piss me off and be a game changer. Am I correct in assuming this?”

“More than you could know,” I admit, deciding the best way to put this out there is by doing it quickly. “What we didn’t know was that from that violation, she got pregnant, with twins. A boy, Honor, and a girl, Haven.”

The silence that meets me from the other end has goosebumps pebbling across my skin. It’s never a good thing when Pops shuts down and doesn’t make a peep. Pops on a terror, tossing furniture and wielding his infamous bazooka is scary as fuck, but a silent Pops is downright frightening, and that’s the man I try to steer clear of.

“I’m not going to ask you to repeat that, even though I wish my ears were deceiving me, but I need you to answer me one thing, son.” His tone leaves no room for argument. I’m sure that once we get off the phone, he’s going to let his temper fly.

“What’s that, Pops?”

“Are the Admiral and Miller still breathing?” I could answer this one of two ways. Lie like a motherfucker so I can seal the deal with them at a later time myself, or tell the truth, and beg for him to save them for me to put an end to, instead of being part of his cleanup team.

“They’re incapacitated,” I reluctantly convey. “I wanna be the one that ends them, Pops. I need this. My beast is in a bloodlust haze. Revenge is driving me, demanding to feel their life force draining out of them, and coating my hands.”

For a brief moment, I pause as I anticipate him shooting me down, but that is pushed to the side when he says, “I’ll allow you to be the one to terminate them, but, Tyson, I need to interrogate them first. I’ll have them picked up and taken to one of our safe houses near you. But other than a few bumps and bruises, they’ll be left alive for you to dispose of.” A few bumps and bruises means that they’ll be in bad shape when I eventually get to them, but they’ll still be breathing when I wrap my hands around their deceitful necks and snap them. Works for me.

Pops doesn’t compromise often, so I’m taking my wins where I can. “Thank you, Pops.”

“Until I can get her name wiped off the AWOL list, you’ll need to keep her hidden and out of public sight. Plus, we don’t know who all is a part of the Admiral’s inside gig. We have to find out how far up the chain this treachery reaches. Someone stealthy is helping him cover shit up. There’s no conceivable way he has an eye on everything. A resourceful person, one who undoubtedly has access to confidential files, is stealthily sending him this classified information. Reports he shouldn’t have access to are landing in his lap, making it easier for him to cover all his bases. I want to know who that is.”

“Miller said something to Hemmi that is cause for concern,” I tell him. “He told her that they have a community on the down low that sounds an awful lot like a cult, full of women and children. From what I read between the lines of what she did say, they’re all the Admiral’s or Miller’s kids. My gut says these women are not there of their own free will. Not sure if it’s only one, or both of them, that is fathering these kids.”

“That’s not good,” he spits out. “But I have to say, it doesn’t surprise me that Hemmi is not his first. What I can say, is that she’s the first one he's hit from his base. He got ballsy taking her, but it’s going to come back and bite him in the ass. He wasn’t accounting for the people that’d miss her back home and want answers.”

The knocking on the window next to my head catches my attention. When I swivel my head, a waitress is standing there with a takeout bag dangling from her fingers. “I’m being summoned, Pops. I stepped over to the diner to get us breakfast. I need to feed her and get to the store to get supplies.”

“Are you low on cash? I can have one of my associates pick up anything y’all need and drop it off or meet you somewhere close. I’m not sure leaving Hemmi by herself is the best idea right now.” I think over his words and acquiesce after the look on her face when I was leaving flashes in my mind. She was putting on a brave front, but I can read her. Secretly, she was anxious about me leaving her there on her own.

I refuse to tell him where we’re currently staying. Not because I don’t trust Pops, but because I don’t know this person he’s sending our way, and there’s no way I’ll make us vulnerable to a sneak attack. He doesn’t like it, but he understands why I’m being cautious. In his eyes, we’re all his children, and he’d slit his own wrist before letting anything happen to us.

Hemmi needs a day or two of recovery time before we pack up our meager belongings, and switch locations. After giving him the home address where he can pick up the two tussled-up packages, I agree to call with a list in an hour and hang up.

With our breakfast and drinks in hand, I rush back to the room, not wanting to go past the promised time I gave her for my return.

Not wanting to interrupt the babies’ feeding time, or catch her with her tit hanging out, I rap my knuckles on the door before hollering, “It’s me! I’m coming in. Are you decent?”

A slurred, tired Hemmi answers with a resounding, “Yes. I’m decent. And starving.”

Unlocking the door, I hold the door ajar as I slide my body through, not wanting to open it all the way. If anyone happens to be nosy, and lurking around the corner, they won’t see who occupies this space with me.

When I look over at the bed, my feet stall. The babies are wrapped in clean towels, but they don’t look as if they’ve had a bath. “What’s going on?” I ask, pointing to the two squirming, cooing babies. They’re facing each other, not paying attention to me and their mother, only having eyes for the other as they babble away. “Looks like they’re having themselves a full-on conversation.”

She chuckles before telling me, “Once Honor was done eating, Haven’s eyes snapped open and she started wailing. So I fed her too before realizing that their bottoms were soiled and saggy. I didn’t have a spare one for them so I wrapped towels around their midsection as makeshift diapers.”

Her words snap me from where I’m watching the two, mesmerized about how instinctively they know who the other is. “I stuffed a few diapers in my bag. Let me get them for you.” Setting the food down beside Hemmi, I grab my knapsack from where I’d dropped it on the floor and rustle through it, snatching two diapers, and handing them to her.

With a small smile, she takes them from me and wraps them around the little ones. No words are shared as I dig out our food and hand her a container and a drink. “Fill your tank, then we need to make that list we talked about and have ourselves an in-depth conversation. It’s time to tell me everything.”

Her eyes hesitantly lift to mine before she subtly nods her head. “Okay.”