Page 114 of Hostile Saint

Arms crossed over his chest, Vice asked me, “Where was your dad the most, that you can remember?”

“Pool and garage.”

The three men faced the back window and stared at the backyard I had told them had, years ago, been full of holes. That area had been thoroughly searched.

Then they looked at each other. Dagger shrugged. “A man’s domain is his castle.”

After Lynx put out his cigarette, sticking the bud in his pocket along with the other one, we headed to the garage.

I stayed in the doorway, staring, as Dagger and Vice started searching toolboxes and shelves. Again, the Prez circled in place. “In plain sight. Plain sight.”

Plain sight. Plain sight. Had I missed something? Was it right under my nose—

I suddenly remembered being so small, in the garage with my dad. He tapped my nose. “Always look up to see the light. It will lead the way.”

Still in the doorway, I peered up to the ceiling. In the center, hung a shop light from small chains on each end.

Noticing me, Lynx leaned his head back to look straight up. “Pup, you said he was tall, right?”

My jaw felt like Jell-O. “Like you.”

Moving slightly to his left, he then faced me and stared at me as he got on his tippy toes and reached high, over the light. Then he froze. “In fucking plain sight.” Coming down flat on his feet again, he held a small journal and a VHS tape.

Of their own accord, my feet stepped forward and my hands reached out. I wanted to hold something that, besides Lynx, my father touched last. I wanted to open the little book because I was hoping my father’s handwriting would be in there. Suddenly, knowing what his penmanship looked like was dire to my heart. Was there a note in there for me? Would my dad speak from his grave?

“Uh, Prez?” uttered Vice, causing my feet to falter.

It seemed there was something else I was to hold first.

“Ah, shit,” mumbled Dagger.

As if already knowing what I was about to see would cause utter shock to quake my heart, I slowly and timidly looked at what Vice was holding.

It was an urn. With my father’s name engraved on it.

Everything went so quiet I could hear the blood rushing through my veins. Veins that my father had created. Veins that were the only ones left to carry on the Young blood. My father’s blood no longer existed. Everything his body once was, was now ashes.

Lynx growled, “They fucking stored that in the garage?”

As if handing me a dirty urn was disrespectful, Dagger found a rag and properly wiped it down, taking a gentle hold of the green marbled jar with a lid. With much care, he brought it to me. “Tate Young,” he handed me the urn, “it would be an honor if you would bring your pops home with us.”

No longer in control of my upper limbs, my broken heart took over and I held my dad… to my chest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Weaving Full Circles

In the garage, I stood there, holding what was left of my father. I couldn’t swallow. I could barely breathe. It was spooky to be cradling the large, formidable man I had idolized, now contained in an impossibly small jar.

Trying not to slip into shock, I looked up at Lynx. He stared at me while pulling his vibrating cellphone to his ear. “Talk.” After listening for a few seconds, his jaw locked. “Repeat.” More silence hung before his nostrils flared. Lynx seemed to be fighting to rein in a building rage. “Yeah, we’ll be there soon.” Slipping his cell in his pocket, he told Dagger, “Text your brother. We need an escort to the local chapter.” His jaw ticked. “The Stallion is dead. Poisoning confirmed.”

Dagger was already typing. “Fuck. He was supposed to make it.”

Vice growled, “Someone fucking got to him in the hospital.”

Lynx gave a nod. “Shit’s getting deep, boys.”

Blood rushed through my veins, all of it carrying adrenaline and guilt. This was my fault. I entered these people’s lives. Now, one was dead. I looked around the garage, expecting to see the fake-brothers.