Mountain Misfits MC: Complete Box Set Page 4

  “Sloan,” she says, her voice quivering. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m on my way to class, Pam. What’s up?”

  “Is there any way you can come in a little early tonight?”

  “I will come as soon as I’m done with school. Is everything ok?”

  There’s a prolonged silence followed by some deep hard sobs.

  “Pam!” I shout. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “It’s Stanley.” She’s sniffling. “His wife found him passed out at the bottom of their basement steps this morning. It looks like he fell. He’s in surgery now, but I have no idea what kind of condition he’s in.”

  My blood runs cold.

  It has to be a coincidence.

  Arthur would NEVER.

  “I’ll cover for him, Pam. No worries. Keep me updated if you hear anything.”

  I try to concentrate on the road ahead. No worries. He’s old and frail. It’s probably just a coincidence.

  Chapter 6

  Gavin:

  Speeding is an understatement.

  I’m not paying attention to how fast I’m going. I don’t even really know where I’m going, and I definitely have no idea what I’m going to do whenever I get there.

  Whatever it takes.

  I’m in such a hurry, I’m splitting trucks on the freeway, driving in between them on my bike, trying not to let my road rage get the best of me. My mind is empty of anything except pure rage.

  I try to imagine my mother’s face, but all I can see is red. Red, and the road ahead.

  The apartment complex looks like a place I wouldn’t even want to park my bike, let alone raise my child. I thought this guy was a fucking suit. Thought he had money.

  Maybe I could see a parent giving up his child if he knew they were going to have a better life. I don’t know why I’m making excuses for my old man.

  I’m greeted with the smell of cat piss and moldy newspapers when I step into the hallway. It hits me like a ton of bricks, almost bringing me to my knees. The walls are yellowed with years of cigarette smoke. This place is fucking disgusting, and I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.

  I put my ear to the door, apartment 218. I don’t even know if they’re here, but it makes no difference. I will wait as long as it takes. I have all the time in the world now. Nowhere to be but up on the hill.

  I double-check the gun in my waistband. Hopefully, I won’t have to use it, and if I do, hopefully, it will just be for show. I don’t know what Goob’s been through, but I’m sure it’s enough to last a lifetime. I don’t want to scare him. I just want to get him back where he belongs, grab him and tell him I’ll never let him out of my sight ever again.

  I slowly turn the doorknob. Worth a shot. It’s definitely unlocked.

  What’s the game plan, Gavin?

  I don’t need a game plan. As soon as I crack the door open and peek inside, there is only one plan.

  I’m going to kill this asshole.

  Chapter 7

  Sloan:

  I don’t know if he left it sitting on the coffee table by accident, or if he was actually trying to taunt me.

  Arthur and my father are in the kitchen, talking low and serious. I’ve learned to keep my nose out of their meetings. It’s none of my business.

  I have never seen a stamp bag in real life, but I know enough to recognize that menacing little wax baggie. I knew Arthur’s business wasn’t necessarily legit, but this was the first time he had left me a clue.

  Only it was more than a clue.

  It was a message.

  Stamped on the bag in pink ink was none other than my name, “Sloan,” in big bold letters.

  I pick it up and burst into the kitchen. The two are hunched over the table, counting money and smoking cigars.

  “There’s our future doctor,” my dad gushes, and for the first time in years, he looks happy to see me. He and Arthur are thick as thieves these days and I’m not sure if his kindness is genuinely directed towards me, or more of a way to impress Arthur. His gray hair is slicked back in a feeble attempt to hide his bald spot and he wears a tacky button-down bowling shirt. It looks like he’s been spending too much time in my stepmother’s tanning bed, and the orange glow of his skin does nothing to mask the liver spots dotting his face. The man always thought he was Tony fucking Soprano or something, but he couldn’t organize a spice rack, let alone a crime.

  I don’t acknowledge him. I go straight to the source.

  “What the fuck is this?” I toss the bag across the table.

  He doesn’t even look up from the pile of cash in front of him. He pushes his thick black glasses back up his nose and thumbs a banded stack of hundred-dollar bills.

  “Your college tuition.”

  Bile churns in my stomach and begins burning its way up my esophagus. I can taste the acrid liquid in my mouth, and I gag.

  “What did you think, I was running a daycare center or something?” He chuckles, his tone dripping with condescension. My dad lets out a hearty, dirty laugh and blows a thick cloud of cigar smoke in my face.

  “I want to be a doctor so I can make people better,” I’m barely able to squeak out. I feel like a little child. “This goes against everything I believe in, Arthur.”

  I’m crawling out of my skin. To think that I am using someone else’s suffering as my gain made me just as bad as he is, even if it’s unknowingly. I’m a monster.

  “You are making people better, love. All the junkies are lining up for a hit of Sloan. They think you’re the greatest thing since ‘Get High or Die’.”

  I can’t hold it in any longer. I bend over the kitchen sink, foaming at the mouth, the contents of my stomach backing up the drain.

  “They deserve it, Sloan.” I hear his chair slide out and I brace myself. I can’t handle his touch right now, his smell, even his presence in the same room is making me sick. I dry heave, nothing left to give.

  He puts his hand on the small of my back and I wince. “It’s natural selection, babe.”

  I need to go but my legs won’t move. I need to scream, but the only things coming out are pathetic sobs, sounds I don’t recognize, sounds of a completely broken and defeated woman. He turns me around and hugs me to his body and I go limp, not sure if I can support my weight any longer.

  “You need to listen to Arthur, Sloan. He’s a good man,” my dad scolds. “He is just trying to take care of you. I’m not going to be around forever, you know.”

  Dad has never taken care of me.

  He was always tangled up in the shadiest shit as long as I could remember. Mom constantly turned a blind eye, justifying his lies. “He’s a good man, he provides for us!”

  Now she’s in a hole. And I might as well be. Stuck here forever, being “provided for.”

  “I need to go lie down,” I say, breaking away from his embrace. Maybe I could disappear into the night without them noticing.

  I drag my weary body up the staircase to the bedroom. I don’t even turn the lights on, just slam the door and fall into the bed. Within minutes, I hear the door creek open. I see his shadow looming there, taking up the whole doorway. I roll over and pretend like I’m asleep.

  He sits down on the side of the bed and brushes my hair out of my face.

  “Honey,” he whispers, “it’s not what it looks like.”

  I want to believe him. Thinking about the lifestyle we live, the cars we drive, the mansion, there’s no way in hell it could be funded with cheap bags of junk.

  “When I told you I would take care of you, I meant I would take care of your family, too. I know your dad needs work, and this just seemed like a good job for him. You know him better than I do. I just figured it would keep him busy and would probably be hard for him to fuck up.”

  There was truth to what he was saying. I’m sure my dad had sold drugs in the past, and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.

  “He loves you so much, Sloan. I just assumed you would want to see him have a chance at a b
etter life for himself and your family.”

  Everything he says sounds so selfless. I wish I could turn the switch off in my brain that scrutinizes everything, that pores over his every word, waiting to catch him in a lie. If the old man wants to sell street drugs, likely the only thing he’s any good at, stopping him is selfish. If people want them, they’re going to find somewhere to get them regardless.

  “Why do you guys have to put my name all over that shit?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “I’m sorry. That was his suggestion, and at the time, it sounded kind of cute to me. He wanted to make sure everyone knew all the money he makes is going towards putting you through college. I promise you’ll never see it again.”

  “So you’re not selling stamp bags?”

  “Shit, Sloan, I’ve never sold a stamp bag in my life. That’s way below my pay grade.”

  I try to take that answer at face value and not read into it, but my gut is telling me otherwise.

  He flicks the lamp on the nightstand on and my eyes strain to adjust to the light. Between the crying and puking, it feels like they are swollen shut.

  “We have reservations at Miyake in an hour if you’re up for it.”

  “I’m trying to be mad at you,” I groan. He knows me too well. I’m easy. The best sushi in town always serves as an adequate bribe.

  “Do you want me to just grab you some takeout then?”

  “No, you big jerk,” I laugh. “I’ll be ready in a minute. We don’t have to take my dumbass dad though, do we?”

  “I’ll go get rid of him.”

  I kiss him on the lips. “You’re the best.”

  Chapter 8

  Gavin:

  Nobody sees me lurking in the doorway.

  I wish I could unsee what’s going on in front of me.

  My stomach is turning. The man who I’m assuming is Harry is standing behind a video camera, oblivious to what’s going on behind him.

  Goob looks like hell. He’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the room in just his underwear. His arms are dotted with track marks, his eyes glossed over. He’s definitely gotten taller since I saw him in December, but he’s so malnourished; I can see every one of his bones poking out through his skin.

  All I can see of my mother is her frizzy blonde hair. She’s kneeling on the floor in front of Harry. I wonder how high she is. I don’t think any amount of heroin could justify what I assume I’m witnessing.

  He’s just a little boy.

  And we all fucking let him down.

  As he looks up at me with his glassy blue eyes, I put my finger to my lips, urging him to stay quiet. I know I can take this scrawny fucker, but I don’t even want to give him the chance to beg for his life. His time is up.

  One shot in the back of the head and he’s on the floor. My first kill in years and I don’t even particularly enjoy it. Namely because now there’s a wailing woman covered in brain matter on the floor in front of me, and my lanky little brother fucked up on who knows what is just staring me down.

  I grab the video camera and smash it to the ground, stomping it with my leather boot.

  I want to hurt her. I want to show her a world of pain far beyond the torture she’s subjected my poor little brother to. It’s not about me right now, though.

  “Hey, Goob,” I say in the calmest voice I can muster. I scoop him up from the chair and he wraps his arms and legs around me, hugging me close. He’s damn near my height but he weighs nearly nothing. He’s so frail, so child-like. “Wanna go for a ride?”

  “On your bike?” his little voice peeps. I have to fight back tears. He’s like a damn puppy dog. Doesn’t matter how long I leave him, I’m still his world.

  “Yeah, bud. Go get dressed and pack your bag.” I set him down and he stumbles off, barely able to keep himself upright.

  “Gavin,” my mother hisses in desperation. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Gail.”

  “Please, Gavin. Just kill me too.”

  “No way. I hope you live to be a hundred and twenty goddamn years old. I hope you try and kill yourself every day for the rest of your life, but you keep getting revivedover and over again. This poor kid is going to have to live with whatever you did to fuck him up real good for the rest of his life. Why would I let you have the easy way out?”

  I wade my way through the disgusting trash-filled apartment and into Goob’s ‘room.’ He’s gotten himself dressed, but now he’s slumped over on his bed. Between the filth and the fleas everywhere, I don’t want to touch anything.

  “Hey, Goob,” I say, shaking his shoulder softly. His eyes snap open, and as soon as he realizes it’s me, he’s smiling from ear to ear. “Why don’t we just leave your stuff here and we can have Mom mail it to the house.”

  “Ok,” he agrees, and he stands up. “But I need three things.”

  “Whatever you want. Let’s hurry, though. I don’t want to have to drive too long in the dark.” And I really need to get the fuck out of this creepy place. Plus, who knows who heard the gunshot. Though it’s doubtful, judging by the looks of the place, the cops could be on their way now.

  He grabs his backpack. It’s blue with motorcycles all over it, with a Mountain Misfits patch stitched to the pocket, thanks to Aunt Trixie. He’s had this backpack since he was in kindergarten. You’d think he’d be over it by now, but I can tell his time away from the mountain has stunted his mental state. Hopefully, once he’s off the junk, he gets back to normal.

  He lifts up his pillow, and underneath it is a framed picture from hunting season two years ago, when he got his first deer. It was the first year he was allowed to go legally and I skipped school for a week to take him. We’re both smiling in the photo as he proudly holds the buck’s head up by the antlers.

  “And one more thing,” he says, pacing around frantically, digging through piles of magazines and dirty dishes. “Yes!” he cheers as he pulls out his helmet.

  “Atta boy.” I smile. Thank God. I was going to give him mine, but I knew it would be ill-fitting. This is going to be a rough ride to begin with, so that’s one less thing to worry about. “You ready to get out of here?”

  We walk through the living room. My mother is still lying on the floor.

  “I love you, Mom,” he says. It’s like he doesn’t even notice the dead body and blood everywhere. “Don’t be sad, ok?”

  “Go wait right outside the door,” I tell him.

  “I better not ever see you again, Gail.”

  “Oh, Gavin.” She laughs deviously. “You’ll see me every day. Every time you look in the mirror. Every time you look at your brothers or your sister. You’ll never stop seeing me. You think I’m fucking terrible? You think your dad’s fucking terrible? What do you think you guys are? You’re double fucked.”

  I can’t resist reaching for the gun in my waistband. I use my shirt to wipe the fingerprints off of it and set it on the floor, kicking it to her.

  “Changed my mind,” I say. “Have at ’er, Gail.”

  I walk out the door, slamming it behind me.

  I can hear the shot ring out as we’re heading down the apartment steps. Goob doesn’t seem to notice, just grips my hand tight as we walk out into the sunlight. I’m concerned about being able to keep him on my bike, but judging by his current death grip on me, I don’t think it will be a problem. I’ll just have to make sure we take it slow and that I stay on super high alert.

  I start up my bike and his eyes light up.

  “You better hang on tight, Goob.”

  If I wasn’t just a kid myself, I’d start driving the opposite direction. Take us to the beach and start all over again. Instead, I’m banking on the fact that the devil I know at least is surrounded by a bunch of guys I call my family.

  We’re losing daylight here. I need to take as many back roads as possible to make sure I can go as slow as I need to get him home safely.

  “What are you waiting for?” he yells over the roar of the engine.


  A sign. A solution. A voice from above. Anything to show me that what I’m doing with my life is right. I don’t know.

  It’s not coming to me. I’m not a philosophical guy. I need something to blatantly hit me over the head and make it perfectly clear that this is the life I was made for.

  Chapter 9

  Sloan:

  “You sure you don’t want to go to the lake?” Olive whines as I open the door of her car. “It’s absolutely gorgeous and my white ass needs some sun.” She exaggeratedly pulls up her sundress, exposing her lily-white thighs.

  The lake sounds absolutely fantastic, but I’m in no condition for a bikini right now.

  I’m in no condition for anything but jeans and a turtleneck thanks to Arthur.

  “How long is Art out of town for?” she asks.

  “I think three days at least. Wanna stay at the house with me?”

  She points to her duffel bag before tossing it over the seat.

  “I’m a step ahead of ya, Sloan. What the hell are you wearing anyway, it’s eighty degrees. Are you sick or something?”

  I already had my speech prepared. I had rehearsed it at least ten times on the ride over to her apartment. We’d been best friends for so long I knew there was a chance she’d see right through my bullshit, but it was worth a shot.

  “I always get so cold in the movie theater.” I had a lot more than that ready to go, but judging by the way she was staring at me, I knew she wasn’t buying it.

  She tugs on the bottom hem of my shirt and I slap her hand away.

  “Show me now,” she demands, her voice getting low. Her blue eyes are burning a hole through me.

  I lift up my shirt, exposing the purple welts all over my torso. They’re mostly flat now and they don’t hurt, but Arthur felt the need to leave his mark before he went out of town.

  “That motherfucker. Are those hickeys?”

  I nod.