Tyson

As I dump a large dose of liquid courage into the glasses, the conversation I recall that I had with Pops earlier in the day, not long ago, pollutes me with a magnitude of guilt. I’m supposed to have my brothers’ backs, be at their sides when they face our enemies, and pick off all threats against them. I’m enraged, terrified, and bloodthirsty.

We’ve had run-ins with the Crumley brothers in the past, not many, but with the impression of them I had during those few encounters, I honestly didn’t think they had big enough balls to pull off the type of acquisition they have. None of us were aware they had connections in the assassination guild.

Somehow, they’ve managed to circulate and finance kill orders—on every member of the DreamCatchers, and their intermediate families, including the children. They have a stipulated clause that mandates the assignment can’t be re-bought or sublet once it’s been awarded to the winning bid. Which means, we can’t hire a third party to pay the drafted executioners off, then claim the contract for ourselves, and follow that up by declaring the edict as null and void. The shit that leaves me cold, while my blood boils over in rage and anger, is these fuckers put women and children on a hit list. We may be assholes, and yeah, we’ve done our fair share of eliminating those who seek to harm us but unless she’s fucked with the club, a woman is never hurt or killed, and kids? Well, we’d all have to be fucking rabid as hell before we’d harm a hair on a child’s head. Knowing the little ones I’ve grown used to seeing have a bullseye on their head doesn’t sit well with me, and I wish I were with my brothers as we worked together to end these threats.

The strategy Pops and Luca have come up with is drastic, and unprecedented, but it’s the only way to stifle the Crumleys long enough for an alternative plan to be formulated then be efficiently implemented.

What has me riled up, is that Pops has already sent everyone underground, and has left personal items behind in the ash to be found that belongs to everyone, including some of mine and Hemmingway’s. When I handed Marco my old identification, and they managed to somehow get their mitts on Hemmi’s military ID, I had no clue that they’d intended to bury them at the site where the clubhouse used to sit. I thought I was handing them over for safekeeping until I could sort things out and come back to use it.

But as usual, with the Alvarezes, you never know what they have up their sleeves. You have to grin and bear it, then get over whatever matter of contention you have with what they’ve planned. You can’t argue with men like them, you’d be better off, and have a greater chance of succeeding by bashing your head against a brick wall. They’re both stubborn, set in their ways, and always know better than anyone else—meaning no matter how smart you think you are, you may as well consider yourself as being a dumb fuck, because to them, that’s what you are.

Breaking this news to Hemmi, and telling her that, yes, in a few days from now, we will be relocating, but not for the reasons she thinks, worries me. Will this send her into a tailspin and undo all the progress she’s made? She is already going stir-crazy staying here, and there’s open space all around us. Where we’re going, the way Pops explained the underground fortress to me, will amplify that sensation by tenfold. My only hope is that, because it won’t just be the two of us, she’ll take it better than I anticipate.

The way her eyes are lasered onto me, on top of the double shit comment she hissed, has me guessing that I can’t put this off for much longer before she snaps, and rips me a new one.

“Enough, Tyson, spit it out already.” Just as I detected, she’s ready to chop me to bits, turn me into a kabob, and put me on a skewer, roasting me over an open fire.

“Sorry,” I apologize, as she harrumphs, not giving into my pouty expression. I mean, I had to try something compelling to save my bacon. It’s worked in the past with women I’ve been in relationships with at least and I thought it was a good tool to have in my arsenal. Should’ve known better, Hemmi’s nothing like any of them, and I prefer it that way, unless we face circumstances like this.

“We’ve had some… unfortunate things come about in the club,” I explain, but then stall, not sure how to accurately define what Pops told me that won’t have her freaking out.

“How unfortunate?” she asks, crossing her arms across her chest, leaning forward, planting her feet into the floor. Then, she starts tapping one of them which indicates even further just how much she’s annoyed by my reluctance to say anything.

I’ve never felt intimidated by her until now. There’s something about the ominous glare she’s beaming at me, and I can metaphorically see steam billowing from her ears, which has me wondering if she’s trying to think of the best way to take me out and dispose of the body.

“Enough to where the entire club has faked their deaths and is in hiding. The entire world thinks they’ve all been annihilated. It’s been presumed that the detonation was blistering enough, and with them being trapped inside of the scalding flames after the scaffolding caved, it acted as a crematorium furnace which naturally incinerated their bodies,” I confess.

“What?” she whispers, which is distinctly more unnerving than if she’d shouted the word.

I ignore her outburst since there’s still something else I need to divulge to her, something humongous that she’s going to be upset over. “I have another thing to tell you, Hemmi. It’s going to infuriate you, but you’ve gotta know. You and I, we’re included in the headcount of the alleged deceased.”

“And how exactly was that done?”

I retell her everything, verbatim, explaining what Pops told me, expressing the fact that he’s to blame for making that choice for us. There are times when a man should have another man’s back, but then there are times like this, when you make sure your woman knows you're one hundred percent innocent and she shouldn’t direct her ire at you. In my opinion, this is one of those times. With the way she’s fuming, and the mutinous look sketched on her face, I’m more than happy to toss Pops under the bus and call it a day. He and his brother might be scary motherfuckers, but the way Hemmi’s looking at me right now, she’s the imminent threat.

“Do I want to know how they pulled that one off? Do you know how they managed that, Tyson?”

“Um, no,” I answer, because that’s a can of worms I am not interested in opening up.

“No to what? One of those or both of them?” she asks.

“Yes,” I respond, drowning my second shot, again not giving her a direct answer to the questions she’s asking.

Before rebutting, she constricts her eyelids, slants her head to the side, her beady eyes watching while I drain my alcohol in one gulp then refill the glass. “Tyson,” she carefully says, her body gravitating closer to me, and then my silent wishes are answered as the first one, followed by the second baby, starts squalling.

I lift my eyes up toward the sky, and soundlessly mouth the words, “Thank you.”

“I saw that,” she snaps, slowly standing up, keeping her cutthroat vision affixed to me. “This isn’t over, Tyson. It’s just on pause until later.”

“Figured,” I remark, nodding my head. It’s a small reprieve for sure, but one I’ll gladly take and I silently thank the babies for having my back right now.

“Don’t run off and don’t get comfortable. I mean it, Tyson. This is not over.” She puffs as she stomps away to the nursery. As she changes their diapers, I do what any sane man in my position would do. I haul ass—straight to the only jackasses I can get my hands on. It’s been nearly forty-eight hours since I’ve put them through the ringer, and since I’m in for a night of tongue-lashing hell, I may as well spread the love and make sure others get an up-close-and-personal preview of my impending misery.

I’m in a sharing kinda mood.

* * *

We’ve kept the two men separated, wanting them to be anxious about what the other may be spilling, and potentially, them wanting to save their own asses while shamelessly feeding the other to the predator. With the way I’m feeling, I want them to watch, and wonder what I have in store for them as the other has my adamant attention. They’ll be a witness to the other while he experiences the wrath of my unbridled fury, guessing what I have in store for them while hanging around—literally, waiting for their turn.

On my way, I stop for a pack of smokes and call Marco to give him a heads-up, telling him what I have in mind. After he says he’ll make it happen, and get everything prepared for my arrival, I climb back into the truck, and continue driving to the soundproof warehouse we have the father and son team strung up in.

Needing my head to be transfixed on the Aarons, getting them to reveal where they’ve got their survivors housed, not stuck on Hemmi’s scorn, I roll down the windows, light a cigarette, and tune into the local rock-n-roll station. I jam on the way, turning the volume up when one of my favorite hits airs, and drum my thumb on the steering wheel, forgetting about how I’m going to pay later for leaving as abruptly as I did.

Whereas I miss the hell outta my bike, sometimes being able to blare a good tune while driving down the road, and still having the wind blow across my face, rectifies the absence of nothing more than two wheels gliding down the pavement.

Less than twenty minutes later, I steer into the industrial lot, shut the engine down, and disembark. I can feel the air beneath my boots as I stride inside, a savage smirk sculpted on my face. It’s moments like this that alleviates the complex emotions that never have a rational leeway to be set free. It’s not like I can pick a stranger off the street to burn off some of my hostility. It never quells my bloodlust anyhow, only when I face someone who’s wronged me in some way or another, does the strain loosen. Until the next time animosity pops up out of nowhere, needing to be shed. It’s a cycle that’s quietened here recently, which I attribute to Hemmi and the twins. They subdue my beast, only leaving a calm presence behind where there once was nothing but chaos.

It’s a nice change of pace not having an endless desire to find a way to expunge the agitated influence of my demons. Amara’s memory parades through my memory, only this time, instead of finding infuriation and outrage, I feel a sense of peace. I’m sad. I’ll always wish she’d had an alternate way to find her peace, but I’ve finally found my other half, the one woman who makes me feel alive and free.

Now, I can think of Amara with fondness. Where I’ll miss her angelic presence, I don’t want to self-destruct when I think of what she did to escape her never-ending pain. I’m sure on some level it’s always going to hurt, but where before there were seething pits of despair, now there’s a sense of understanding that she wasn’t meant to be mine forever, just for a short span of time.

Hemmi, however, she’s everything, my solace. She represents my future, paves the way to a blissful future full of love and laughter. Things I’d all but given up ever seeing or finding again have come to life ever since I rescued her and the kids that fateful day.

The monsters on the other side of this door are fixing to find out how essential she is to me. Today is their day of atonement. I won’t be leaving here, then going underground, without ending their lives, and plucking out all of their secrets.

Walking through the door’s threshold, a roar of pent-up laughter thunders from my chest. Not only has Marco hung them from the rafters, arms raised high and toes barely skimming the floor, but he’s also stripped them naked. I rub my hands together gleefully, a maniacal sneer aimed at the duet as new, masochistic ideas form in my brain.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” I boom, announcing my presence. “Are we ready for another round of show and tell?” They both wiggle from their chains, murmur behind the duct tape splayed over their mouths, and each send me looks of animosity. “Aww, fellas, this is getting a bit redundant isn’t it? Shouldn’t we be over the nasty glares and keeping things to yourselves?” They both shake their heads, steadily yelling through their gags. “Well, that’s a shame, isn’t it Marco?”

“Shameful,” he agrees, walking across the room where he uncovers the loaded down tray with the toys we’ll play with. “I’ve added a few things since the last time you were here.”

“Oh, yeah? Let me see,” I saunter over and peer over his shoulder. Instead of seeing a new sharp instrument, there’s a note lying flat on the surface.

Pops found the location where they’ve tucked away the women and children. It’s time to end these two. But we decided not to let them know so you could fuck with them.

“Fucking fantastic.” I cackle like a psychopath. “Now, let’s get busy. Today’s the day I get my lethal vendetta.”

“Ah fuck, guys,” Marco taunts, shifting his body and leaning against the table that has the tray laid on top. “He has that look in his eyes. No more messing around. This is the last day of your lives.”

Their shrieked rumblings get louder. I can hear the chains clanging together, and enjoy every second they try to get loose.

“Truth,” I say, winking at the tousled-up father and son. “Let’s get down to business.” I pick up the scalpel, holding it up in the air, inspecting it to where they can see. “It’s sharp, but it won’t spill enough blood.” Placing it back down, I continue scanning and my eyes light up when I see the tomahawk, reminding me of the glory days when I kept one stored in what I called my kill kit. “Hello, old friend.”