If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel Read online

  After letting my eyes scan him from head to toe once more, I slowly reach out my hands until our fingertips brush. He smiles, and it’s the most reassuring, warmest smile I’ve seen in…well, forever. And a second later, I react as my hands grab onto his. I don’t think twice, I just grab on, and hold on. And then I let him pull me up.

  “I already know you won’t tell me your name, but will you at least tell me where you’re going?” he asks. “Seems harmless enough. Just name the state.” He shrugs. “Or the area code.”

  “I don’t know area codes, stupid. And you should’ve started with a first name. That’s a much less creepier question than, ‘Hey little girl, where are you going alone on that bus?’ Just for future reference. You know, just ever in case?” I’m more than certain it’s hormones that also leads to embarrassment finally winning out and any false, cocky bravado I had when I started speaking wanes. Especially when the thought crosses my mind. Maybe he didn’t ask, ‘cause he didn’t care.

  “Okay, then, little girl, what’s your name?” His face reflects amusement. And my heart feels so light in my ribcage, I think it may fly out of my throat and escape. He asked me my name. He asked me my name. “Hey…” The amusement on his face falters, but his smirk remains in place. Then his dark blue eyes seem to lighten as they sharpen on mine. They’re almost completely silver when they’re done zeroing in on me. Instantly I want to flee, the weight of the room weighs too heavy on me, much like his stare, and it’s too much for me to take. I feel the silver chain tug on the flesh around my neck sharply, before his harsh words lash out, and the chain snaps. “Where the fuck did you get this, Pipsqueak?”

  I clench my eyes shut. Breathe. Just breathe. They can’t hurt you. They can’t touch you. ‘Cause they don’t even know where you are. And he? I peel my eyes open and square my shoulders, doing everything in my power to be every bit as tall at thirteen as I imagined he was. Which sucks, because he looks every bit of twenty these days.

  “I swiped it from Mildred. And?” Taking my fists into the tightest balls I can manage, I pound on his chest. Once. Twice. Then I shove him away from me, putting some space between us. Much needed space. I can’t freaking breathe! Freaking hormones! “After you left me. You asshole! And what’s it matter to you, anyway? It was gone the minute you left your bag unattended, jerk. I wish I would’ve never even told you where it was that day.”

  The look I give him, before running away without my lucky charm necklace, the one I held onto like a stupid life-line for the last several years…I hope the look is hiding the hurt I feel. God, I hope so.

  “I hope I never see you again, Jacques. Never.” But more than anything, I hope he doesn’t see the tears as they fall when I turn and stalk away…heading straight for the bus departing for NYC at 2:15pm.

  That little pipsqueak. That damn little pipsqueak. I chuckle as I knot the chain of the necklace around the chain on my key ring. It’s been how long? Since that day in the park? Shit, several years at least. Yeah, because Ben and I hadn’t been able to ride that year. That was the last year we had to man the trucks because of our age.

  And Pipsqueak’s held onto the necklace that damn long? Hmm…

  I glance up, unable to hear her feet hitting the marble floor of the bus station any longer, and when I see her fleeting steps carrying her up the stairs to the far left of the station, I breathe in relief. No, I don’t know why. But I do watch her dark brown curls hanging in ringlets down her back as they bounce the further up the stairs she climbs. And her face, with those braces showing every time she smirked, flashes in my head.

  She’s a kid, I remind myself. That has to be the reason for her erratic behavior. She’s a kid. Nothing she does is rational. Then her words flit through my mind. “After you left me. You asshole!”

  But I didn’t leave her.

  I didn’t leave her. My eyes move from Vagabond to the huge clock on the wall and I curse. After grabbing my bags from the floor, I head off in the exit’s direction. Nagging teenage girls no longer a thought to plague, I get back to the shit at hand.

  The entire club is falling apart. The shit with Dad and Unc. Ben and I don’t even know what to say about it anymore. First and foremost, the old lady trading has got to stop. The swapping of bitches between my pops’ bed and my uncle’s has gotten ridiculous enough as it is. And dammit, since Ilsa left, it’s only gotten worse. Hell, we were barely nineteen the first time this shit forced Ben into going full nomad and leaving.

  I know things have been crazy, but for him to just haul off on my bike to places unknown is a bit overkill. I mean, we’re twenty, not thirteen. Or however old that kid is. I glance back over my shoulder but I don’t see her anywhere. I’m not surprised by any means. A good five minutes has already spanned since she turned her little self around and sprinted off after her brave last words.

  “I hope I never see you again, Jacques. Never.”

  “You and me both, Pipsqueak. You. And. Me. Both,” I mutter as my hand grasps the necklace and charm that belonged to my mother before she died. I step out onto the curb and hail a taxi. “I can’t believe she went back and got it.” What’s up with this kid, anyway? Why does she keep popping up? I wonder for the hundredth time since seeing her perched on the bench next to the lost baggage claims.

  “Common and West Palmer. It’s in Oak Park, man.” I summarize where I’m heading for the taxi driver and his only response is a nod. Meanwhile, I lean back in the back seat and after digging the heels of my hands so deep into my eye sockets that I see spots behind my lids, I look up at the ceiling and let out a sigh.

  Ben’s lost his damn mind this time, though. Taking Pops’ step-kid when he left? And he’s gonna have fucking hell to pay. I know it. I just hope I can get to him before Unc does. It’s fucking over when, and I said when, Unc gets to him. Because it’s inevitable. Unc will get to him, and he, unlike me, will be thankful it was him and not my pops. Either way, though, he’s dead to me after this. Dead.

  I can’t afford to lose Pops’ trust, and Ben does nothing but just that. He doesn’t realize how much has changed since he left two years ago. He doesn’t realize the responsibility and the repercussions if those responsibilities aren’t taken seriously by me. I’m VP now. Why doesn’t he understand that?

  The night he took off, Eden, Ilsa’s barely-hit-puberty thirteen-year-old daughter, kept hanging around the club. And in particular, hanging all over Nails, one of Ben’s old football buddies. I remember thinking how I ought to go upstairs and tell Pops and Ilsa, then deciding, fuck that. If she wants to pretend to be a big girl, then let’s watch. It’d be more fun watching her get caught by herself…and not just by our parents, but by what Ben had in store for her too.

  Another broken heart. One of many, many. He ended up coming back for her, and somewhere in the mix my bike was dragged into it. He left his and took off with Ilsa’s kid daughter on mine. She’s gonna get hurt. If she’s not careful, one way or another, she’s gonna get hurt. It’s his game, it always has been. And as weird as it seems, even though we’re getting older, his tastes are staying the same age as when we entered puberty…and that just so happens to be another in the long list of problems my cousin is becoming. To both the club and our family. Which is inexcusable. And the reason I’m fucking here, in this god-forsaken place. Chicago. Again.

  The last time our guys saw Eden and Ben they were leaving a motel in a rundown part of the city. It was by Lake Michigan, but still the shanty conditions made even me wince as I stepped from the cab.

  “Sixty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents, man. I gotta get back across town, so can you hurry?”

  I glance back at the cab driver and smile.

  “Sure, sorry—wait? Sixty-seven?” My voice rises of its own accord towards the end while he starts doing the math aloud. The math that quickly adds up, too. “Okay. Okay.” I shove him four twenties. “Thanks for the lesson in math. Now we’re done.” And thankfully he doesn’t respond before pulling the cab away from the
curb.

  The windows to the front office of the motel are so dingy you can’t even see through them, and the smell of rot almost knocks me on my ass as I step in through the glass front door. Bells jingle as the door swings open then closed.

  “’Lo?” I call out a shortened version of the word then say it normally. “Hello? Anyone here?” When an older man in his sixties comes out from behind the particle board wall that sections off what I assume is the back office from the front, I walk forward and introduce myself, instantly noticing his cut. “Hey, man. Name’s Jacques. My pops is the prez of NYC’s Sons of Silencers—”

  “I know who your daddy is, boy. Don’t come in here throwing around names and expecting merit. Hell, I don’t even want you to expect common courtesy at this point. Not after that damn stunt your boy pulled. Did your daddy send you with word, boy, or are you just here to try and clean up the mess your stupid ass cousin left? Huh? He left a fucking kid here, Jacques. A kid. I’m not in the skin biz, and this one can’t be more than twelve. Thirteen tops, man. What the fuck?” His sharp eyes are hard to hold in a staring contest, but I do fine. I hold my own. Then after nodding, I square off with the man and tell him like it is.

  “No. I don’t have a message from Pops. I’m not his message boy. And yes, I’m here to clean some shit up. As well as a few other things. First and most importantly, I’m here for my bike. Second, I need word on Bentley. And lastly, I need to use your phone before I head back out of town. I’m here to clean up the motherfucker’s mess—including getting rid of the girl. Not because I expect a goddamn thing, though.” I’m inches away from the man’s face, and practically nose to nose. I catch myself counting the old man’s wrinkles instead of seconds, get to thirty, and speak again. “Because that’s how my momma raised me. My actions and the person I am reflect that of my upbringing and the club I represent, unlike most of the punks you have in your club. My parents taught me to earn respect, never to expect it.” I pat both his arms at the tops of his shoulders before turning and heading towards the dingy glass door I just walked through. “Room number? And I’m assuming my bike is in the garage in the back?”

  “Yeah, kid. She’s in the first stall. I cleaned her up, but we couldn’t do anything with the dings and shit, man. That’s custom. We’re not fucking with your customs. Oh, and the girl is in room 233, by the way. Hey, kid—can I ask you something?”

  The old man steps out into the sun, and when the bright light hits him, I realize just how pale and old he looks. He almost looks terminal; I know Pops said something about him getting sick. The sight of how much a man can wither from illness causes my steps to almost falter. I step back towards the man I’ve only met twice before in my life. Once when I was four, I believe. And again a few months back at this first region’s meeting.

  I’ve been dealing with a lot more new faces these days, since the decision was made. A lot. A lot of meetings, a lot of back rooms. I’ve also been cleaning up messes. And now it’s a lot more than before. It’s getting downright dirty around the club.

  “Anything, old man.” I answer his question, and turn to face him.

  “The kid keeps asking for her sister. Said something like Ben promised her he knew where she was? Any of this ring any bells? I figured this kid was your one of your Uncs.”

  “No. But then again, I don’t remember Eden’s little sibling’s name. At least I don’t think I remember hearing it. Did she say anything? She give you a name or something?” I squint my eyes in hopes he doesn’t see how hard I’m assessing his answer.

  “No. No name. It just seemed like something worth mentioning. You know I usually like to keep my nose in my own business, though.”

  No. He doesn’t. And he’s known for it too.

  “Yes, sir. I just think I will. Thanks for mentioning it.”

  It probably lasts longer for me to assess the damage than required, but I make my circles around Linda, my black on black Sportster 48, and I’m not too terribly upset about the damage she’s sustained thanks to Ben and his bullshit. She’s not my only bike, but she’s definitely one of my favorites, so it doesn’t sit well with me to see her like this. But I’m not pissed, either. Well, I’m not pissed pissed.

  I pull the sunglasses off my face before hooking them to the neck of my t-shirt then I knock twice on room 233. “’Lo?” I call out as I open the door. “Anyone home? I’m stepping in. Don’t swing or shoot, or I swear to fuck—” A whimpering causes my words to trail off and I follow the sound to the bathroom door to the right of the room.

  “Hey, it’s Jacques. Arch’s kid. You okay in there?” I tap my knuckle on the door and wait, uncertain if I should enter or not. She’s a freaking kid; is it even legal for a twenty-year-old of the opposite sex to be in the bathroom with someone underage? Holy shit. This sucks.

  I decide to just crack the door when I hear her sniffle.

  Her voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear her words, “It’s me. It’s Eden.”

  “Well, are you freaking clothed, Eden?” I ask, exhausted. “’Cause I’d like to come in, or have you step out. This talking through the door shit is pissing me off.” I growl, before kicking the door open and note that she is, indeed, dressed.

  Thank. Fuck.

  I step into the bathroom, but not any closer towards her. I actually kinda hover over threshold, if you will.

  “Look. Ilsa hasn’t even been around, kid. In months. What the hell were you even doing out at the club the night of the bonfire? Eden, you’ve been told. Not only by Pops, but by me and your mother. You don’t have any business being around the club anymore. Do you understand? None, Eden. None whatsoever. You’re supposed to be in Brooklyn with your ma, anyway. How’d you even get to our side of town—” I stop, entirely too frustrated to deal with this right now. “Do you have someone here? Anyone who has a place you can stay at for a while? At least for the night. Pops said he’ll fly you home first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Her head pops up from where her arms are folded around her legs and her eyes pin to mine. “Yeah. I have my sister. My sister lives here. That’s why I’m in Chicago. For her. Bentley only promised to take me this far.”

  “Jesus, kid. Did you fuck him?” My hands shoot in the air the instant my words register. “Never mind. I—Pretend I didn’t even ask. Your sister, kid. Your sister. What’s her name?” I ask the crossover between a woman and a child huddled in front of me.

  “Eve.” Her singular word ricochets through me for reasons I’ll probably never know and I tip my head to the side and try and place why for a brief moment. But nothing clicks.

  Hmm… “Eve? That sure is a cool name,” I tell my step sister. “Come on, kid. Let’s go find Eve, then. Get you back with your sister. When’s the last time you saw her, anyway?”

  “The last time we were here. Of course. When Mom got pissed and took the truck?”

  But none of what she is saying is making any sense to me. Even as she babbles on while pulling her backpack onto her shoulders and explains how the two of them always assumed they were twins. Even though Eden is pale blonde and blue-eyed, and Eve has dark hair and dark eyes, and an even darker complexion.

  No connections are made. Nope. None.

  As far as I’m concerned, I’m listening to a rambling teenage girl, again. For the second fucking time today. And all I really want is to drop this kid off, get my bike, then go to the airport, return my ticket, and get the fuck back home.

  I was done with my duties for the day.

  I rescued the bitch’s daughter. I left her safe, and in the care of her extended family. Two birds-one stone. Let the kid be Ilsa’s damn problem now. Not ours. Not my club’s.

  It didn’t take long to for me to track down the name and address of an Eve O’Malley. Not long at all. In fact, after dropping Eden off at the end of the driveway containing her sister’s last known address, I stopped by the old motel’s front office and put a call into Pops. Once I’d let him know what I’d done with his step kid, I in
formed him I was headed home, and less than thirty minutes later I pulled onto I-80 East. Headed home. And the hell away from Bentley and his crazy antics.

  Pops just wanted me to get the kid. Mission accomplished.

  I love Ben. He’s always been like a brother to me—he’s my best friend. But it seems like the wider this fracture in our family splinters, the more of his mind begins to split.

  He’s not even on one side or the other any longer. The last time he and I spoke, he made it clear the only side he was on was his.

  And well…it’s like Pops said before I left, “We can’t have a bunch of motherfuckers just jumping up and deciding to make their own sides now, can we?” If Pops wants him killed, though, then let him do it. I understand what Ben’s doing to the club isn’t right. I understand what his father, my Uncle Chase, has already done is unforgivable. But what Pops can’t understand—and what I can’t explain to him—is that I love Ben. Like a brother. Hell, he was the only other tot in the bunch when we were kids. He was the only other motherfucker in diapers in the yard with me. Pushing our little plastic bikes up and down the gravel drive of the salvage yard. His mom and mine were best friends. I think they planned it that way—at least to hear it the way my pops tells it.

  Mom was the greatest, too, man. She really was. In all of her four-foot-nine stature, she was every bit as fearless on a bike as my dad was when they were younger. But that was way before she got sick. Ma’s family was French. Actually, Mom didn’t move here until her twenties. When she met Pops outside of a Waffle House one night off I-1-something, and that was all she wrote. They were married two weeks later, and eight months after that I came out in this world, feet first. Kicking and screaming. The very next week, Ben was born.