Page 16 of Reaper and Abby

I blew out a mouth full of smoke. I looked directly at him. “You’ll be learning the lifestyle straight from me. You won’t be shadowing, or doing jack shit for any other member of the club. With a full patch, no prospect years. Respect will be harder to earn. You’re already the son of Reaper. Expectations are high to begin with. But I’m telling you Tyson, every one of my fucks up, you won’t be repeating.”

I noticed the cigarette burning down between his fingers.

“A prospect is expected to pour beers, clean bikes, and dig holes.” That was the reality. “Within the two years, they either get themselves killed, the club breaks them or they kill themselves cause they never could handle the club life.” I butted the cigarette out. “You don’t get the pass of just being a member or of just getting by. You will be learning every aspect of this lifestyle. Anyone can do a crime, but it takes fucking brains, to get away with it. Risk, reward, each is weighed.”

I got up from the bed. “You want this lifestyle, then be prepared you don’t get the easy route. It’s a dark road. You asked me why am I bothering with my family?” I titled my head. “You, your sisters, and your mom. Are the only reasons I haven’t been reaped by the ghosts that haunt me. My family is my light. My family is the reason I do one year, instead of twenty five. Because I calculate every risk.” I looked him dead in the eyes. “You’ll wear the patch, son, but I want to make fucking sure, that there is never a chance that the patch wears you — and,” I stepped back. “You ever call Reaper again, you’ll feel the back of my hand. Hear me? I’m dad and I always will be. Now start to prove to me, you are ready to handle a patch.” I looked around his room. “Painting your room is a good start. After all, you’ll need somewhere to hang those upside cuts from clubs you help me patch over.”

* * *

Abby’s studio door was still shut. I recalled how long ago, she would go on long day binges creating. I hoped she was currently in there recreating the work. More importantly, I hoped she was finding her love for art again.

As I walked down the hall. I noticed that most of the pictures had been ruined by a black marker. My lips formed a tight line. How much crap had Abby been putting up with from Tyson?

I walked into the kitchen and spotted Kim sitting in the lounge gripping a glass of wine.

I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. I walked into the lounge and took a seat across from her.

“So, are you going to yell at me now or later?” I asked, while I ran a hand over my head.

She finished her wine. “You and I both know, you fucked up.” She placed her now empty glass down. “But we both know you can come back from it. You always seem to redeem yourself in my sister’s eyes.”

“My kids are brats.” I took a long gulp of my beer.

“You mean Tyson, he’s a mini you and the girls are just like Abby.” She gave me a small smile.

I nodded my head and gulped down the rest of the beer. Fucking hell. I felt like I needed straight shots after dealing with my kids for half a day.

“Reaper, is it true Callan was here?”

I looked up at her. Why would she ask me that? “It was just club business.”

She stood up. “I am going to give you some advice. If you don’t want to be divorced and those kids taken from you. You’ll end any business you have with him.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Callan touched Abby.” She spoke those damning wordsclearly. “There is a reason he is missing a hand. Dad chopped it off for touching her. She was the same age as Hannah and Eve.” Kim gave me one long casting look. “Now I’m going to bed. I think you have a phone call and business connection to end.”

She walked from the room and Abby’s reaction to Callan being in the house now made complete sense. The way Abby got so protective of the girls. Abby hadn’t been upset that I had kicked her out of the office because of club business. It was all to do with Callan. Fuck, that bastard had a death wish entering my house. He had known Abby was my wife and we had. . . two daughters.

Fuck it.

I couldn’t let a moment pass. I had promised myself to let Abby create, but her and I needed to have a conversation. Now.

Every step I took in the direction of Abby’s studio. I tried my best to come up with an apology, or at least, how I was going to bring it up with her.

I knocked on the door. Heard nothing. So I opened it. The door wasn’t locked, but we had a rule in the house that no door would ever be locked and if it was, I’d just kick it down. So my family knows better.

I opened the door and Abby was sitting in the armchair. The ruined canvas was on one side. A blank canvas opposite it.

So she hadn’t been in here creating. Her eyes were locked on a picture on thewall. Abby had one wall in her studio. It was completely covered with photos. From when we first met, it was basically every memory, even the bad ones, displayed. Hell, even some headlines from the news outlets had been cut out and stuck on it.

I noticed the bottle of vodka beside her. But the seal hadn’t been cracked.

“Abby,”

“I understand.”

I frowned. What? “I haven’t said anything.”

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