Fisher’s side piece bit it conveniently the day after he was released from prison. Either he did it or someone wanted to frame his ass. Could be coincidence. I also don’t give a fuck either way.
Word is he’s losing his shit because Freya took off. I hear she settled on Florida. Best thing she could do even if I hated to see her go. I’m not the man for her. Wish I could be, but we’re ten shades of wrong.
She deserves to find happiness away from Fisher and this club. I want that for her. Want her to find a better man. Even if that man can’t be me. It’ll never be me.
The scraping sound of shovels hitting the mound of dirt fills my ears, and I notice everyone has left but the grave diggers, myself, and my oldest friend in the fucking world—John Crow. Freya’s father. The Prez of the club I swore an oath to. The oath I broke the second I slid inside her.
Prez grabs a shovel and slaps the handle against my chest. I accept it and he picks up another. In silence, we shovel dirt onto my son’s casket. The red rose spray of flowers with white and silver ribbons on them that read ‘Beloved Son’ disappear into the soil of the Earth.
Out of sight but never out of my mind. This hellacious day will haunt me till I cease to exist.
Crow pulls out a joint once we’re finished. He lights up and takes a hard drag before handing it off to me. “Always figured it’d be me. Way my boys are. Way I raised’em. Shit don’t seem real,” he confesses.
“Some things don’t have a reason.” I don’t tell him that I put part of the blame on myself. That I thought I was being punished for fucking Freya. Deep down I know it’s dumb as fuck to entertain shit of that nature. None of this is Freya’s fault. Though it’s easier to shift the blame on her. Especially when she isn’t here.
The smoke burns through my lungs as I think about all the shoulda, coulda, wouldas.
“Cate put together a celebration of life party in Bensen’s honor at the clubhouse.”
“She told me. Didn’t need to go to the trouble. The in-laws are handling things.”
“They aren’t your family, brother.”
“He’s not even yours.”Belinda’s words eat at me.
“I appreciate it. Not in a celebrating mood. The fuck is she doing here anyway?”
He takes another puff and laughs under his breath. “You know Cate. Shit gets a little hard she goes runnin’.”
My mind swings back to Freya. Is that what she’s doing? Running away.
Fisher had the impression they were solid. Moving on with their lives together. Freya had other plans.
Wasn’t surprised to see the two of them together. Not with their history. Though I admit I hated knowing he was back in her bed. When she came to see me before she left, I wanted to drag her into my house and hold her captive. Keep her all to myself. Pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. Only that’s not my reality. She doesn’t belong in my world. At least she doesn’t belong in it with me.
I take a few more tokes, trying to forget, developing a bad case of cottonmouth.
Crow finishes off the joint and we ride out to the clubhouse. I can’t go back. Can’t bring my boy back. All I can do is drink a beer and toast to his memory. He was a terrific kid that brought me the greatest joy.
I grab a bottle of liquor, not bothering with a chaser. Plan to drink until this ache in my heart dulls down to nothing. Till I can’t feel a fucking thing but the numbness I seek.
I watch Crow flirt with Cate. Fucking sorry bastard. All these years apart spent hating each other, and they can’t keep their hands off each other. He’ll never love another woman like he’s loved her. He’s an idiot. I’m not much brighter myself considering my choices. Married a woman I didn’t love. Spent years barely holding on by a thread. Then came Freya shining her sunshine on me like I was something. Like maybe there was a better life waiting for me.
That was a dream.
A fantasy.
I continue to sit at the bar feeling fucking sorry for myself.
One of the club girls saddles up to me in nothing but a black leather skirt and fishnet stockings, pushing her fake tits in my face. “Hey, Death,” she coos, popping a lollipop between her plump red lips.
“You figured out how many licks it takes to get to the center yet?”
She pops the candy out of her mouth and shoves the stick between her legs, her wrist making a circle motion. “Why don’t you tell me?” She presses the sucker to my lips.
My lips tip into a smile and I give it a lick, tasting a hint of strawberries and pussy.
“Why don’t you take me to your room, and we can really get this party started?”