Retaliate Page 3

  “How are you? How was your day?” She shakes the tears from her eyes, inhaling a breath.

  I scoff, before rolling my eyes. “Ran into the infamous Felix a few times. You know, how you deal with Zeek on a daily basis I’ll never know, because I want to kill that Felix!” I grit every word, and Jillian just smiles in return.

  “What?” I narrow my brows.

  “Sounds a little familiar is all,” she shrugs, rocking her babies.

  My eyes flare with what she’s getting at. “No! We are not you and Zeek,” I adamantly shake my head. I mean yeah, Felix is hot but he is so opposite of me. What could we possibly have in common besides wanting to kill one another.

  Jillian yawns, before wincing. She needs rest, and I can’t help but think she’s trying to stay awake because I’m here.

  “I’m on the clock, so I better go,” I offer, but I really don’t want to.

  Jillian looks up at me with a thin smile. “Thanks for seeing us, I should be home soon,” she thanks, slinking down in her blankets comfortably.

  “I wouldn’t miss it! Well, I did. But I was across town too,” I admit, lifting my left shoulder.

  “Go catch some bad guys,” she whispers.

  I laugh silently. “You have a whole crowd in the waiting room I could have a hayfield on,” I tease and she just shakes her head before looking back down at two soft heartbeats that will forever change my best friend.

  Stepping out of the room Raven is lost in a lust filled dazed with Machete. Frowning, I elbow her and she jumps to. God, I can’t lose another one to a biker.

  “Let’s go,” I tell her.

  “How are the babies? Are they okay? Did she have twins? I heard it was twins?” she rambles behind me, trying to keep up. I hold my hand up stopping her firing of intrusive questions.

  “They’re good,” I inform her. She nods, looking at the room Jillian and the babies are in.

  I stride through the waiting room and my eyes catch sight of Felix in passing. He’s sitting in a waiting chair looking bored, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed with hooded eyes following me across the room.

  A cold chill licks up my spine, and my heart beats a little faster. Using my middle finger, I act like I’m pulling the top off a lipstick and apply my middle fingertip to my lips as if I’m painting them in my favor color. Flipping him off, as I look away.

  I don’t know what it is about that asshole, but I want to slam my nightstick in his gut and pull his gorgeous hair in a sea of ecstasy all at the same time. It confuses me and pisses me off. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Dangerous, out of control, but oddly safer than I ever have before. He’s a dangerous fantasy, and fairy tales don’t exist in the city of Sin.

  Felix

  “How’s Momma doing?” I ask Zeek, rubbing my hands together. He looks tense and stressed out.

  “Jillian is fine, tough,” Zeek tells me. He looks stupid with that blue gown on and cap. I should take a picture and post it to the wall at the clubhouse. “Did you settle the problem?” Zeek asks, concern heavy in his voice. Before Jillian’s water broke we were knee deep in a conversation with the mafia. They want Sin City Outlaws as their muscle. I’m all for violence and striking fear into this city, but I reign my own control. My brotherhood condemns my punishments when I fuck up, not an outsider and surely not the fucking Mafia.

  But they were clear. We submit, or war.

  “No, the mafia is adamant. They want us to take over the Casino now that Frank and Cross are gone, and they want us to be their muscle. End of,” I explain.

  “Fuck!” Zeek barks, causing other families in the waiting room to scowl at us. Reminding us we are in a family environment and not our clubhouse.

  “Look, I have this shit handled. Go be with your family, man.” I suggest, not that him fucking knocking up a sheriff is my idea of a happy family. Not when you’re an outlaw, but this is the path he is trying to pave for us and I have his back. Family and brotherhood, and I bleed brotherhood I just have to learn the family part. All I know. I trust my fellow brothers with my life, as they do mine.

  “I’m trying, man, but you know as well as I, the mafia is not someone to fuck with and I don’t want my club back in the throes of that chaos,” he bites his bottom lip, his black hair falling in his eyes. He’s right, no matter how I tried to tell him it’s going to be okay… it’s not. The mafia will fight back if we protest.

  Zeek looks over his shoulder where Jillian and his newborn babies are held and back at me, a sullen look on his face. His forehead wrinkled with stress. I hate seeing him so vulnerable. I swear to God I’ll never fall in love, look at this shit.

  “Just, I want you to run the casino, Felix,” he mutters, hesitation laced in the tone of his voice.

  “You’re kidding.” I take a stand from the chair. I can’t believe we’re going down this road again, it was our dream to be out from under the mafia and running our own club. Doing our own bidding, and he’s wanting to just give in? “We can fight this, brother,” I implore him. I want to fight this. Blood, carnage, and war is what I know. Peace, that is a whole other fucking route.

  “I know that, and we will. But right now I have to think about my family. Take over the casino, buy us some time to figure this out. Because when we tell them to fuck off… we’ll be getting a war we may be able to win brother…”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Alessandra

  Two weeks later

  SITTING IN MY CAR in my parents’ driveway I strangle the steering wheel as I flick my eyes to the house. The one-story bungalow that has seen better days. Containing my stepmother, who I think is beginning to suffer from dementia. My father died on the job when I was fifteen, and nothing has been the same since.

  Climbing out of my car with a long sigh I shut the car door with my hip and head up the steps and go inside. The door creaking and warning me it’s about to fall off the hinges if I don’t oil it.

  The house is clouded with cigarette smoke, and the TV is blaring with the television show “Cops.” Using my hand, I waft the smoke out of my face and fish the remote out from Dad’s old recliner. Turning the TV off I look around for my deranged mother.

  “Mom?”

  “Oh thank goodness you’re home.” She pops her head around the corner, her hair pulled into an 80’s ponytail on the side of her head. “I’m almost out of smokes,” she coughs with a cigarette in her hand walking into the room. She has on a large Mickey Mouse sweater I’ve never seen before and skin tight rainbow pants. Where did she even find those?

  I frown, my forehead wrinkling in confusion.

  “Mom, you don’t smoke,” I shrug confused. I’ve never seen her smoke. Maybe she thinks she’s back in the 80’s. This is getting out of control.

  Her eyes widen as she looks at the cigarette dangling from her fingertips, the wrong end of it lit. It’s smoking like crazy and reeks of nothing I’ve smelled before. A small cough wracks her small frame as her lost eyes find mine.

  Groaning I take the cigarette from her and rinse it in the sink before tossing it in the trash.

  “Mom, have you eaten anything today?” I question, looking at the clean sink and counter. Yesterday she ate Manwich right out of the can, then she was up sick all night.

  I think I’m going to have to get someone to come in and watch her during the time I can’t be here. Maybe a live-in nurse or something. Dad’s insurance should cover it. I just can’t send her away to a nursing home. She’s all the family I have left.

  She throws a hand at me and makes her way to Dad’s chair, flipping on the TV to resume her binge watching of “Cops.” She sits there most of her days, lost in the show. Yelling how they do everything wrong because nobody can compare to my father. When my father died, so did she.

  “I’ll make us dinner,” I mutter under my breath.

  A dog yelps and I jump where I stand clutching my chest. A little ball of fluff sits on the floor looking up at me with a wet nose. A German Shepard
to be exact.

  “Mom, whose dog is this?” I ask, poking my head around the corner.

  “Oh, there’s a note on the table.” She throws her hand at me as she gets lost in her show.

  Eyeing the dog, I pick up the folded card.

  Alessandra-

  This is from the very same bloodline as Pete571, the same line that your father owned. I was on a waitlist to have him but I can’t look at him and not think about how I failed your father as his partner. I wanted you to have him. He may not have been your real father, he did the right thing that day.

  -K

  Two emotions slam into my chest. Sadness and confusion. What does he mean he wasn’t my dad? He’s lying. He has to be. With my heart pounding in my chest like a sledgehammer, I barrel down the hallway to my parents’ room on a mission to find some answers.

  Entering their room, it’s stuffy and dusty, the smell of musk strong as if the room hasn’t had a waft of fresh air in years. The bed is perfectly made like usual, and a picture of my stepmom and father of their wedding day sits the bedside table. Passing the bed, I jerk open the closet door and a worn robe swings in my face, the slight smell of my stepmom’s lotion swirling around me. Quickly I pull down the large box that sets atop of the closet, it has all of our family’s important information in it. My dad always put our stuff in here since I can remember. Report cards, pictures, diplomas, all of it went in here. He wasn’t much for filing things in the most efficient ways. Shuffling through the large amount of papers and folders, I pull out my worn birth certificate.

  It doesn’t show anything questionable or to suggest any red flags. The box falls from my grip and pictures from my parents’ wedding fall freely to the thick tan carpet.

  One of my grandma and dad smiling in a picture catching my attention amongst the mess. God, I miss them so much. My stomach knots as my eyes burn with emotion. Falling to the floor, tears pool in my eyes as I grab the picture, my fingerprints smudging across my dad’s face. They both have blonde hair, and blue eyes. They look identical. I realize I look nothing like them with my dark hair, and dark eyes. My bottom lip trembles with the thought he may really not be my dad. Betrayal from my own family slicing through my chest almost too much to handle. The idea he lied to me becoming a reality, a sob wracks my whole body.

  My dad told me my mother left when I was a baby searching to find herself, that she would be back one day. He told me she was a blonde bombshell that was too good for him, that he was lucky to have her in his life at all. I would always make a Mother’s Day card for her, hoping one day she would come back. Hell, I still believed to this day she would.

  Looking at the pictures of my dad’s side stare back at me. Blonde, tall, pale smiles haunting me.

  The proof is sitting right in front of me, yet I refuse to believe it. A sudden loneliness creeps up my spine, and bitterness fills my chest.

  “Alessandra, you make your dad so proud, have I told you that?” Dad smiled down at me, wrinkles around his eyes as he sipped his coffee. The smell of his aftershave and coffee on his breath was soothing, and comforting in a way. It was my dad. I got an A on my spelling test and was nominated for the school’s spelling competition and my dad is beaming with excitement, however, I could care less.

  “Does that mean I can ride along with you this weekend?” I asked with hope. I loved riding in my dad’s cop car watching all the crazy people try and get past my father was entertaining.

  “What about the spelling bee?” he chuckles.

  “Nah, that’s for sissies. You think I can shoot someone?” I asked with hopeful eyes, and my dad chuckled, pulling me into his side. I could care less about winning a medal or making it to the top of my class. I was different than other kids and I knew that. They always wanted to make their parents proud of their academics, and I always wanted to do something athletic or violent. I was a freak.

  “Now how would I explain to the chief that my daughter is a better shot than me when you take down the perp?”

  The dog whimpers, coming into the room, taking me out of the memory. He slides into my lap like were long lost friends. Tears slipping down my face, I clutch his chin and force him to look up at me. I remember my dad’s dog very well, he was my best friend. They called him something stupid and I called him Rufus. Dad always told me to not treat him as a pet but as an officer, but it never stopped me from rubbing his belly and giving him the food I didn’t want.

  “They all lied,” I sob, dropping the photo to the floor. Tears slip between my lips as I remember my dad’s dog. I always felt like this was home, a place of safety and comfort but now it all feels wrong. Sniffling I stand, the note from Dad’s partner crumpled in my sweaty palm as I stumble my way to my stepmom, the puppy following closely behind me.

  Stepping in front of the TV, the card in my hand, I stare down at my stepmother. One I always saw as my mother as she has been there since I was able to ride a bike. Her and my dad were my parents, they cared for me and wanted me to succeed in life. There has to be an explanation other than my dad isn’t really my dad.

  “Was Dad really my dad?” I blurt with emotion, and her eyes pop to mine in a look of terror.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. What is this card about? Was Brock my real father?” I repeat with a louder tone.

  “Why would you ask that?” she sneers as if I’m being ridiculous.

  “Well, according to this note, either I’m adopted or I was stolen, so which is it?” I question, my eyes starting to sting. My heart aches at the memories of a man that may not even be my father.

  She sighs heavily, sitting forward in Dad’s worn-out chair. “Your father was going to tell you when the time was right he said. But he passed before that time, and I just couldn’t do it. I already lost your dad and I was afraid I’d lose you too,” she admits, tears filling her eyes to the rim.

  My mouth drops, the sound escaping my mouth a cross between a cry and a scream. How could he not tell me the truth, we were so close? Not hearing it from him but hearing it from a weak ass note from a coward partner makes this ten times worse. It makes me question a lot of things now. Why had he hid that from me? What else is he hiding from me? They say my father was shot in the head by a drunk man who turned the gun on himself, but reading this card has me second guessing that too.

  “When he died, did he really get shot by a suicidal suspect or was there more to that too?” Emotion thick in my voice. My dad was the best shot I’d ever seen, he bought me my first gun even. So some unstable man shooting my dad and killing him was something I’ve always thought was too unbelievable. He was a beast behind that badge and handled any criminal with ease, and a man who wasn’t at peace with himself was the one to break my daddy? I don’t think so.

  “Mom! Answer me! Was Dad’s death a cover-up?”

  She begins to cry, her body wracking with emotion.

  “I don’t know, to be honest. I really don’t,” she whispers so quietly I almost didn’t hear her. Slowly she raises her head, her cries softening and a look of confusion crossing her sun-kissed face.

  “Have you seen my smokes?” she asks, looking around her. Her moment of clarity gone.

  “You don’t smoke,” I mumble, biting my bottom lip in thought.

  I wonder who my real parents are? I wonder if they are good people or bad? Why did they give me up? Actually, I don’t want to know. My dad is Brock, and always will be.

  He taught me to lead with my gut, and then follow my heart in everything I do.

  My gut tells me there is something more to everything around me, and my heart is breaking at the thought of what it all means.

  One lonely tear slips from the corner of my eye as I drop the card on the table. Hesitantly I look over my shoulder at the pup who is laying on the floor like a good boy.

  My father was the K-9 unit for the department, and when he was killed his dog was too. His partner Kelly went nuts and quit, never to be seen again. Stress of the job, and my dad’s death too
much for him to handle. But now, I think more than what was let on lead to Kelly’s breakdown and my father’s death.

  My dad helped those who needed help on the streets, and that often made him more dirty than he intended. There’s more to how he died, and I think it was covered up. The only people that could possibly know that is the Sin City Outlaws. Even if they killed him and covered it up, I need to know.

  Felix

  Sitting at the poker table that has seen better days, I lay down my royal flush, and get groans from Machete and Mac, who slap down their shitty hands. Gatz chuckles as he nurses a beer beside me. His eyes smiling behind the rim of the beer bottle. He never plays against me because he knows I’ll win.

  Laughing, I stub my cigarette out in the ashtray and exhale a cloud of dancing smoke.

  “Sir, we have a problem outside.” Looking over my shoulder, I find our newest prospect, Bud, standing beside me, his arms behind his back like a fucking gentleman or some shit. His dark hair is slicked back, and his green shirt untucked from his torn jeans.

  Pushing myself away from the table, Machete, Mac, and Gatz stand and follow.

  Making our way through the casino, Bud explains to me how a couple of hang-arounds were giving some girls a hard time near the club across the street. It’s Saturday night and the club is filled with biker enthusiasts and girls running around half naked in leather.

  “It’s always something,” I mutter, pulling my gun from my holster.

  Pushing through the double doors of the casino I find a man pulling a girl around by the hair, calling her a bitch. It unnerves me, and the grip on my gun tightens. I may have been raised by a bunch of criminals, but even I know to treat a woman with respect. At least a little.

  “Do you know who I am?!” A familiar sassy voice echoes through the building as she swings at the man.

  “A fucking pig that arrested my brother-in-law!” Flame sneers, jerking the woman around by her brown hair. She elbows him, her other arm hooking around his neck in one swift move. It’s not street fighting, it’s trained. That’s when it hits me.