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Grabbing the food with one hand, I toss a Benjamin on top of the opened bag and close the door to him saying, “Wait, the tip was already on the app!”
“Keep it,” I holler.
We fall on the pizzas like rabid teenagers instead of grown men, which I guess I should expect because we rode hard. Finally sated, we shoot the shit for a bit while drinking the beer that Scythe ran and grabbed.
* * *
“What do you think we’ll face?” Kracken asks as he idly flips through the channels on the television. “I mean, after having seen what the Reapers can do, and how the crew in Ankeny are, nothing really surprises me anymore, y’know?”
He finally settles on a sports channel which is fine; none of us are big on watching television, preferring to be outside. Either riding or fixing something, it doesn’t much matter. Because despite the fact we’re bikers and grew up in the life, we’re still country boys in a lot of ways. Some folks might think that it's odd that we’d rather be hunting or fishing if we’re not riding, but it’s the truth, and our freezers at the clubhouse reflect how capable we are as a club. The good thing is, we also provide venison to the local food pantry, as well as families we know are down on their luck. RiffRaff and my dad started a small processing company years ago, and some of the older brothers keep it going.
“Not a fucking clue, Brother,” I reply. “But knowing that there are some motherfuckers out there who think they can create a ‘superior race’ is enough to have me there fighting alongside our brothers to stop that shit.”
“Yeah, I’m ready to crush some skulls,” Scythe sneers. “Maybe some sacks too, at least of the bastards who forcefully took from a woman or child.”
“Y’all are bloodthirsty fuckers,” I announce, standing to my feet. “With that being said, let’s roll out around daybreak if possible so we can get some miles under our wheels before we stop for breakfast. Sound good?”
“Works for me,” Kracken says, flopping onto his back. “See ya in the morning, VP.”
“Night, Brothers.”
* * *
“You won’t remember I was here, Banshee, but I’m going to help you,” an unknown voice says.“I’m just going to rummage around and take a sneak peek. Rest now, Brother.”
Rory
“Dr. Terry,I can’t thank you enough,” I say, nearly three and a half weeks later.
While Sassy and I both still have casts on, my ribs are already feeling better, and I can see out of both eyes once again now that the swelling and bruising has dissipated. That means, it’s time to hit the road once again. Not sure where I’ll go, of course, but until I can figure out how to get rid of Patrick for good, I refuse to return to the property my grandparents left to me.
“The pleasure was all ours,” he says. “Both Judith and I enjoyed having the two of you around. You said Sassy was a feral when you first got her?”
Nodding, I reply, “Yes. One of the barn cats had kittens but the mother was killed by a predator. The babies were still too young to be weaned and all were little hissy bits, that’s for sure. I took them up to Dr. Zack who showed me how to bottle feed them. Despite constant feedings and cuddling, the only one who ever gentled enough to be handled was Sassy, so I got her fixed and vaccinated and she’s been by my side ever since. The others were fixed too, but Dr. Zack tipped their ears so anyone who saw them would know they weren’t able to procreate, and we would trap them every year for their annual vaccines. Unfortunately, a rabid fox got to them in the barn one day, so the only one left is Sassy since she was an indoor kitty by that time.” I can’t help the way my eyes well up thinking about the scene Grampy and I walked into that fateful morning. Thank God he had his shotgun; he put the fox down, then got one of his farmhands to help him bury what was left of the barn cats.
“Well, she’s a beautiful girl,” he states. “Now, I know you can’t go home yet, but when you find someplace to land in a few weeks, call me or Dr. Zack and one of us should know somebody in the area to recommend so you can get y’all’s casts removed, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“None of that now,” he chides, pulling me in for a hug.
It’s been so long since someone has hugged me with any affection, at least since Grampy passed, that I find myself fighting back more tears. Both of my grandparents were affectionate toward those they loved, so I grew up being told I was loved and hugged frequently by those in my life. When my grams passed, it was hard on me and Grampy both, but we managed, because neither of us was afraid to cling to the other when grief hit. Although, looking back, I think I was probably the worst of the two of us simply because Grampy tried to be strong for me. Still, he never shied away when I would tell him I needed a hug.
Patrick never hugged me. Hell, for the past four months, he didn’t even touch me, so I knew he was cheating on me. Probably with that floozy, Mary Jane Blevins. She always had her eye on him and quite bluntly, she’s welcome to him. My grandparents showed me what a true loving relationship should be like, and it doesn’t involve verbally berating me, or putting hands on me in anger. Both of which Patrick chose to do.
“Thank Judith again for me,” I request. “And I promise I’ll keep in touch, although being completely honest, it’s been years since I’ve had anyone worrying about me.”
“Well, we will worry if we don’t hear from you, young lady,” he advises, grinning at me. “Now, Judith packed up some food for you to take so you wouldn’t have to stop until you were ready to do so for the night.”
“Y’all have been too kind to me,” I murmur, as he grabs the picnic basket in one hand and Sassy’s carrier in the other. “I can take her.”
“No, no. I want to see this contraption you have set up for her in the RV,” he says, grinning.
Shaking my head, I lead him to the RV, where he places the basket inside the door before opening up the passenger door.
“See, it works like this,” I tell him, unzipping the top. It’s got a strap that goes around the seat itself and the seatbelt then goes around the front, but the carrier is mesh-sided and big enough that Sassy can lay down or sit up depending on her mood. He easily transfers her from the plastic, hard-sided carrier into her ‘car seat’, then closes the door.
“That’s pretty nifty,” he muses as he watches her get settled. “What happens if you’re driving, and she acts like she’s got to go to the bathroom?”
