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Her scream unleashed something dark inside me and a strength I couldn’t explain surged through my veins. I picked up the baseball bat I used for practice and swung, lucky enough to catch him in the jaw. We both hit the floor hard as he released Willow and she scrambled away, tucking her feet underneath as she clutched at her favorite stuffed bear.
My ears were ringing but I brought the bat up and swung again, connecting with Bill’s head. The loud crack was the only sound in the silent house. My sister didn’t say a word, but her whimpers clutched at my heart.
Blood began to trickle from Bill’s wounds, but I swung one more time as his eyes closed, determined to keep him from chasing after us again. The bat slipped from my fingers as the front door of our house opened wide and a man I had only seen once before rushed inside with my mother’s friend Paul Jameson – or Bulldog – as he was known.
“You okay, son?”
I nodded, backing up until I reached Willow. She stood and hugged my waist, her small frame trembling. We watched as Bulldog bent down to Bill, checking for a pulse. He didn’t find one.
The other man held up his hands and tilted his head, watching the two of us. “Name’s Grim. I was a good friend of your father’s. Boone and I were close. You look like him,” he observed as our eyes met.
“He was a badass,” I announced, not caring if I said a bad word or not.
“Sure was,” Grim agreed. “You seem to be taking right after him.” He ticked his head toward Willow. “Good job protecting your sister. That’s how it should be.”
“Yep,” I answered, swallowing hard. “That’s what Dad told me to do.”
“I’m sure he did, Ian. You’re like his own personal Angel of Death.”
I hugged Willow close, not bothering to reply. Bulldog took care of us that day and every day afterward until he died. Grim kept in close contact, his affection for us both obvious. Even though Grim’s club was out in Nevada, he still traveled to see us a couple of times a year. His words that dark day had been eerily prophetic, and I never forgot them . . .
I didn’t know what Grim meant at first. When he said the Angel of Death, I had no idea my mother’s corpse was in the other room, beaten to death by a drunk who wanted to harm her children too. He meant to kill us all that day which began a vendetta that caused just one of many issues with the Bloody Scorpions. Bill was a rogue member.
Over the years, I became close to Grim. He visited NOLA often and never forgot the two children of his late brother. Grim’s loyalty was fierce. When all of that shit happened and Willow died, he was the first person I thought of, the only option for escape. Grim took me in and embraced me as one of his own.
Thoughts of my sister’s sweet face and her tears, her fear and her innocence still haunted me almost every night. Nightmares were far too frequent. I often left the clubhouse to ride out into the desert just to clear my head. Willow died as tragically as my mother and I never forgave myself for what Rancid did. She was gone because I failed in my promise to my father. I’d probably be haunted forever by that knowledge.
“Willow,” I moaned, the sorrow returning with a merciless vengeance the second clarity surfaced. My heart ached so deeply I didn’t know if I could handle the level of pain it conjured.
“Who’s Willow?”
I didn’t answer. Nylah didn’t get to have that part of me. No one did.
No one.
Not even my pres. Not Elrik Jameson. Not a fuckin’ soul.
When I didn’t respond, Nylah stiffened and then her eyes revealed a brief glimpse of disappointment. Wish I could say that I gave a fuck. I didn’t. This was my burden. My choice.
Willow’s memory was never shared and never spoken about, just the way I liked it. Grim was the only asshole b
rave enough to bring up the subject and he was lucky I didn’t kick his ass for it. Willow remained buried in the past and I preferred to keep her there until the moment I could look her murderer in the eye and reap his evil soul.
Chapter 11 – Nylah
My argument with Naomi had taken a toll. I was beyond worried and heartbroken. All she did anymore was push me away. I couldn’t get close, no matter how hard I tried. When she kicked me out of her room, I left for home, knowing the hour and a half drive would allow ample time to think of how to help my sister. She wasn’t going to keep refusing and get away with it. I’d had enough. In a couple of days, I would return to the hospital and make her listen. She wasn’t the only one who was hurting. Naomi needed me and I couldn’t stand the unspoken words between us.
I stopped to buy groceries and some other necessities, filled my gas tank, then parked in my driveway, utterly exhausted. I managed to unload all of junk from work and the extra bags I normally traveled with. The change of jobs meant an end to the commute and long hours. One I desperately needed.
The next forty-eight hours were the longest of my life. Sure, I slept and cleaned the house, caught up on some of the shows I liked to watch and organized the cluttered spare bedroom. Everything was ready to bring Naomi home. Swallowing hard, I fought back tears as I tried not to think of everything that she’d been through. There was nothing I could about her past choices or her trauma, but I could be there for her once she was ready.
It was sometime after dinner when I heard the loud rumble of a motorcycle as it traveled down my street and then entered my driveway. Confused, I opened my front door, shocked to find Rael covered in blood. He was clutching at his side, crimson fluid trickling through the gap in his fingers. He swayed and nearly fell at least twice. I thought I would have to catch him as he stumbled into my doorway.
My arms shot out and kept him upright as we made our way over to my couch. Blood streaked the floor and puddled the material of the sofa before sinking in. Rael mumbled incoherent words, saying something about replacing my couch. Ridiculous. Like that was important when he was so close to dying.
“I hate this couch anyway.”
He smirked and then paled, his head turning as his eyes fluttered. I patted his whiskered cheek, trying to wake him. The big biker didn’t move.
