Undeniable (2 page)

"Bye," I yelled, waving frantically, as I was marched away.

Reaper gave me a two handed handcuffed wave and a big smile.

Deuce got to his feet grinning and gave me a two-finger salute.  "Bye darlin'."

Darlin’.

It was official.  I was head over h
eels in love.

☼☼☼

Deuce watched One Eyed Joe, Silver Demon CM, stalk off with Preacher's kid hanging over his shoulder, grinning and waving like a lunatic.  He shook his head and smiled.  When he could no longer see her, he lost his smile and turned back t
o his old man.

His old man had
lost his smile too.

"Cute kid," Reaper grumbled.  “Shoulda had a girl instead of you two fucks.”

He stared at his
old man
.  He’d had a moment of longing watching hi
m
smile at that kid, talk to her the way he should have talked to his own kids but never had.  He’d been too busy beating on him and his brother.

Good times.

"Preacher's on the move," Reaper growled.  "Takin' that fuckin' deal with the Russians right out from under you.  Why the mother fuck didn't you snap that shit down when you had the chance?"

And there it was.  He was VP and that’s all he was to his old man.  Someone to pass the fucking gavel to when he finally - and it couldn't come fast enough - kicked it.

"Preacher's RC beat me to it.  Snagged that shit fore' I even heard about it."

Reaper's expression went glacial.  "You're such a fuckin' fuck up.  Shoulda made Cas VP, shoulda had that fuckin' cunt of whore get ridda ya."

His mother had been a whore.  Not a streetwalker but a club whore.  She'd been sixteen when his father knocked her up, his old man nearly thirty.  After he was born his old man kicked her to the curb with nothing but the clothes on her back.  All he'd ever had of his mother was a gritty picture of a very young girl sitting on his old man's Harley, Olivia Martin written on the back.  He liked to think that she'd started a new life somewhere else, with someone who was nothing like his old man.  Found some peace and a family who loved her. 

His younger brother Cas was the product of another knocked up whore.  Same story, different day.

Twenty three years he'd been putting up with his shit.  He'd had enough.  Pushing out of his chair he stood up, placed his palms on the table and leaned forward. 

"Nobody, and when I say nobody, I mean fuckin' everybody, gives two fucks about what happens to you, you miserable shit.  The club respects their
Prez
but not one of your boys fuckin' give a fuck whether you live or die.  You got life old man and I been runnin' shit in your absence.  And seein' as I been runnin' shit a fuck of a lot better than you, I don't have to come here but I fuckin' do outta fuckin' respect and I just lost the last shred of respect I had left."

"You little shit," Reaper hissed, "You're gonna pay-

"No.  You're gonna pay.  Puttin' the cash up for bids the minute I walk outta here."

Fear flashed through his old man's eyes.  He'd never seen anything sweeter.

"Remember you piece of shit fuck, when you're bleedin' out, that it was me who fuckin' ordered it."

He turned away before his old man could say another word and strode through Riker's visiting room breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest, determined to end that man.

"Deuce!" A little voice squeaked.  He turned.

Eva Fox was gunning for him.  Just before she reached him, she came skidding to a stop, breathing heavy and thrust her hand out.  "Didn't get to share with you," She said breathlessly.

He bent down and closed his hand
around a
small bag of peanuts.

His throat closed up. 

This kid, this little fucking kid who didn't know him at all, had just given him his first gift, nothing expected in return, no favors, no stipulations, no nothing.  He’d been wrong.  There was something sweeter than seeing fear in his old man’s eyes.  Eva Fox was far sweeter.  If he ever had a kid, he wanted a kid like this one.

"Thanks darlin'," He said hoarsely.  

"Will I ever see you again?"  She cocked her head to the side, wide eyed, waiting for his response.  He stared into her eyes; her fucking phenomenal eyes, too big for her face.  Big and smoky gray like a thunderstorm.  Fucking beautiful. 

He smiled.  "Hope so sweetheart."

She gave him a killer cute grin and bounced back to her old man and uncle - who were staring daggers at him - shakin' those pigtails.

After shoving the peanuts in his pocket, he left.  First street payphone he saw, he posted the hit.  It took all of an hour and he had a buyer.  Three days later, his old man bled out in the showers.

Seven years passed before Deuce and I crossed paths again.

During those years, my father had been released from prison and I had gained an older, pain in the ass brother, Frankie. 

Franklin Deluva Sr. had been my dad's road chief.  He had died in a head on collision with a Mack truck a few years back and his old lady had died several years earlier from breast cancer.  As was the case with most biker brats, Frankie didn’t have any other family willing to take him on.  Since my father didn't have a son, he took Frankie in and under his wing and began mapping out his future as a Demon.  If Frankie stayed the course my father had made it clear he'd be taking the gavel from him one day.  Which was fine, great even, there was just one big problem.

Frankie was angry. 

All the time. 

So much so that all he did was get into fights.  At school, at the club, on the sidewalk, in the grocery store.  Frankie would fight with a brick wall if it pissed him off.  You would not believe just how many walls have pissed Frankie off.   

His poor fifteen-year-old body was already covered in scars from street fights.  Since he had come to live with us he'd been hospitalized sixteen times for various broken bones, knife wounds and numerous concussions. 

Frankie also had serious abandonment issues.

When he had first moved in with my father and me, he had violent nightmares.  He would wake up
terrified
, covered in sweat and
screaming at the top of his lungs
.  The nightmares turned into night terrors and Frankie began thrash
ing
in his sleep, beat
ing
his head with his fists while screaming and crying uncontrollably.  My father had to hold him down until he either calmed or regained full consciousness. 

One night, when my father was out on a run, Frankie snuck into my room and slipped in bed with me.  He slept soundly for the first time since he'd moved in with us and he’s been in my bed ever since.

And life moved on.

Two weeks after my twelfth birthday my father decided it was time for Frankie to tag along on an MC run.  When he found out I wouldn’t be going he threw a violent fit until my father caved.  When it came to Frankie, my father was a total pushover.

On the back of Frankie’s bike I left Manhattan
,
Northern Illinois destined, our first stop: A pumpkin farm.  When your father and his cohorts were involved in illegal dealings and needed to meet privately
,
criminal gatherings at pumpkin farms were more frequent than one would think.

These sorts of meets usually lasted a couple of days; the adults stayed inside and the kids outside.  There was always a lot of yelling, a lot of fighting and a lot of drinking.  And a lot of slutty women. 

I'd started developing early and looked rather awkward being as skinny and as tall as I was, all elbows and knees with a pair of C cups. Several boys who had accompanied their father’s to the meet had been following me around, snapping my bra strap, and calling me “stuffer”.  Which was how I found myself hiding in a tree, my headphones on,
listening to the Rolling Stones,
swinging my legs, bobbing my head and singing along.

I felt a tug on the toe of my chu
cks and I jerked my foot away.

"Go away Frankie!" I yelled. 

Frankie tugged my toe again and I ripped my headphones off my head and glared down at him.

It wasn't Frankie. 

Except for his hair, which was now thick and sandy blonde and hung down to his shoulders, he looked exactly the same.  Still devastatingly beautiful.

He grinned his multi dimpled grin. 

"Heard you were around here somewhere, darlin'.  You remember me?"

"Deuce," I whispered, staring at him.  "From Riker's."

He burst out laughing.  "I'm not actually from there.  Home sweet home is in Montana.  I was just visitin' my old man, same as you.  Remember?"

I nodded.  "Reaper.  I liked him."

His smile slipped.  "He's gone now.”

I never knew what to say to people who had lost their loved ones.  Nothing ever sounded right.

But
seeing the
faraway look in Deuce’s icy blue eyes, I had to say something.

"He had a great smile," I said softly.  "Just like yours."

His eyes shot to mine and he smiled. 

And I smiled.

"You know," He said as he pulled a thin gold chain out of his dirty white tee shirt and lifted it over his head.  "You should have this."

He grabbed my hand and placed the chain in it.

"It was my old man's," He said.  "Ain't no one ever said nothin' nice ‘bout that bastard.  Ever.  Not even his own mother.  Not until right now.  Figure that makes it yours."

I held the chain up and studied the small, round medallion hanging on it.  The Hell's Horsemen's insignia was on the front.  The words, “Hell’s Horsemen”, encircled a hooded grim reaper straddling a Harley and holding a scythe. 

On the back it read, "Reaper".

"That day seven years ago was the first time I'd seen that asshole smile.  It was also the last."

I didn't know what to say.  So I didn't say anything, just slipped the chain over my neck.

"Thanks," I said and tucked the medallion under my Jimmy Hendrix tee shirt.  "I like it."

Nodding, he looked off into the distance.

"Gonna take a walk through them pumpkin's darlin'.  You wanna join?"

I hung my headphones around my neck, clipped my walkman to my jeans pocket and hopped down.

I didn’t give it much thought, just slipped my hand into his like I would with my father or Frankie.  He glanced down but didn’t pull away and his thick, warm fingers curled around mine and we started walking.

As we walked, Deuce stared up at the cloudy gray sky, chain smoking, not speaking.

“Are you sad?”  I asked.

He glanced down at me and his brows furrowed.  I bit my lip.  Had I said the wrong thing?  Maybe he hadn’t wanted anyone to know he was sad.  My heart started beating faster and faster, I felt my palm grow clammy, and because my hand was in Deuce’s hand, I became embarrassed and started sweating even more.

“Little brother died, darlin’.  Few days ago.”

I stopped walking and threw my arms around his waist, squeezing as hard as I could.  “I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered.

Deuce
sucked in a breath. “Darlin’.”

Then he fell to his knees and squeezed me until I couldn’t breathe but I didn’t care because it felt so nice and I knew he needed it.

“You’re a good kid, darlin’.  A good, sweet kid,” He whispered in my ear. 

He pulled away and looked me in the eyes.  “Promise me you’ll stay that way, yeah?  You and me kid, we were fuckin’ born in the life, reared by the road and the wheel; it’s what we know and where we belong but that don’t mean it won’t take its toll.  So you promise me, no matter what you see, no matter what sort of fucked up shit happens to you.  Don’t let this life turn you bitter.”

I stared into his icy blue eyes, entranced by the safety and comfort blanketing me, warming me.  I couldn't look away.  I wanted to tuck this feeling in my back pocket, take it home with me and keep it safe under my pillow to
have
when I needed it most.

Eventually, when I remembered what he’d said, I nodded.

He brushed his knuckles down my cheek and stood.  I slid my hand back into his and we resumed walking, Deuce resumed smoking and I began pointing out unusually large pumpkins.

“You ever watch, "It's the great pumpkin Charlie Brown”," Deuce asked.  “Stupid fucker makes me laugh.”

I decided I too really liked that stupid fucker Charlie Brown and made a mental note to watch everything featuring Charlie Brown as soon as I got home.

"You gonna dress up for Halloween, darlin'?" 

"I haven't decided," I told him.  "Halloween is very tricky.  Once a year you get to dress up and pretend you're something or someone entirely different then you are.  There’s nothing else quite like it.  You don't want to mess that up, you know?  It's important to pick carefully that way you have no regrets only fabulous memories."