Page 47 of Risk
“Oh, he’s got a temper alright. But only when he’s pushed to extremes and he’s been forced to act,” Dragon states. “If those men hadn’t laid a finger on his mother, they’d still be around. The entire gang who attacked and killed his mom was wiped out in one fell swoop.”
“I’d be willing to meet with him if he’s interested,” Kodiak tells them. “That leaves us with two more people to run things and housing.”
“I put some feelers out there,” Conan says. “I expect I’ll be getting a call later once the word gets out. Y’all remember Aiden and Sadie Taylor from our stop in Hudson?”
“Fuck yes! They’d be perfect,” I holler. “He closed down his practice, didn’t he?”
“Yes. He got tired of the propaganda from his peers and the board. When I asked about it, that was all he’d say in response. He and Sadie both quit and are doing the whole traveling thing, but they’re getting bored. This would give them a purpose.”
“If you hear back from them, have them get in touch with me,” Kodiak orders. Conan gives him a salute and some of the weight that’s been dragging me down lifts. There’s nobody out there like Aiden and Sadie Taylor. They’re hardasses who don’t take anyone’s shit, but at the same time, they make you feel comfortable enough to tell them your life story and spill your guts—even if it’s your first time meeting them.
“If things work out our way and those three say yes, there’s still the issue with where we put them. Do we keep them close by so we can watch them, or do we get a place that puts some distance between us and them?” Regulator poses the final problem we’re facing.
The clicking of Auto’s fingers on his keyboard has us all shifting our heads his way. “I have something I think will work, it’s an old, abandoned schoolhouse that’s off the beaten road. It’s not in the public eye but it’s not so far away from town that they couldn’t get there by walking. It’s going to need some work, but it would give them something to do while adjusting to things.”
“Nothing better to unleash your anger on than some demolition,” I state.
“What’s the listing price?” Kodiak asks Auto.
“Two-hundred and fifty thousand. It’s on sixteen acres and there’s already a fence surrounding the perimeter for safety sake. With some tender loving care, they could turn it into their own community. We could counter the offer and see how low we can get them,” Auto suggests.
“Start negotiations,” Kodiak edicts.
“Just like that, sight unseen?” I ask, that’s not like him.
“I think an old schoolhouse is our best solution,” Kodiak answers. “From what Auto just told us, it’s roomy and secure enough that I’d be comfortable bidding on it.”
“If we get it for a low enough price, we could give them some funds to remodel it and make it their home,” Conan injects.
“Just like the Taylors, it’d give them a sense of purpose,” Hemi reminds us. “Fuck knows they’re going to need something substantial to motivate and reintegrate them into the life of the living.”
“Now that we have that moving forward, what about the conditions given to us by the Trifecta?” Kodiak asks. “It’ll put the club at risk.”
“Things were getting boring around here anyway, I’m in,” Rev tosses in his two cents and says.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep our family intact. My vote is that we go for it,” Conan states.
As we go around the table, it’s unanimous. Every man says yes with some heartfelt emotion attached to the reason behind it. When it gets to me, I swallow the lump in my throat and say, “Let’s do it.”
We may end up resting inside of the belly of the beast, but eventually, we’ll be able to dig ourselves out. I believe that or I wouldn’t be agreeing to this bullshit.
“Then I’ll call them and get the ball rolling,” Kodiak says, banging the gavel and ending the meeting. As he saunters out of the room, he places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. I keep my ass glued to the chair as all of the brothers stand and walk by me, doing the same. I’m not sure how I’ll make up for the sacrifice they’re making for me and my family, but somehow, someway, I will.
EPILOGUE
McKenna
Six months ago,when the Deviant Knights made the ultimate sacrifice for me and our boy, Risk took me to his little slice of paradise, a home in the back of the clubhouse. When I asked why we’d been staying in the clubhouse instead of being out here where we had some privacy, he told me it was because he had worried about my mental state and was concerned I wouldn’t feel as safe as I did without the brothers surrounding me.
To an extent he was right. Knowing I could bang on a wall and have someone there within seconds eased that anxious part inside of me that’d been sitting there, taking up residence like a concrete block since they carted me away from my apartment.
That’s one of the many reasons I love these men the way I do. Their honor and loyalty will allow nothing less than to put the women and children that have come into their lives first and foremost. I don’t know all of the details of how they managed to free the ones Marshall took, but these days, they’re gone more than they’re here. Each time they walk through those doors fora run, the light that once radiated from their eyes is gone. With club business cited, the women and I have been left in the dark, not knowing if, or when, they’ll be coming back.
That’s a hard pill to swallow because I want to protect them. It’s a natural instinct for me to want to keep those I love safe and tucked away at home where I know nothing bad can happen to them. Unfortunately, that’s no longer a reality for the club due to my haunting past. Every time I go to blame myself, I have to shut that shit down because that burden doesn’t belong to me, it’s Marshall’s cross to bear. He’ll be the one answering to a higher power for his misdeeds.
I started journaling a few months back, a recommendation from an old friend of the club. Aiden Taylor was once someone who meant the world to me, and when we reconnected he did a few therapy sessions with me, that’s what he asked me to do, and I’ve complied. It’s a good way to release some of the pent up anger I’ve harbored since I was a teenager. Today, I’m writing about Phoenix and his new love of anything motorcycle related. Before Risk left for his latest job, he gifted our boy with a motorized one that was painted to match his bike. My boy has had a puffed out chest ever since and whenever his eyes are awake, he wants to be riding it around our part of the yard.
The journal entry I’m working on goes like this:
