Page 42

Skull

“What the fuck do you want?” I snarl, my words sounding slurred even to my own ears.

My head is pounding. I’m starting to get too sober.

I need more to drink. With that one thought in my head, I ignore Dragon, who is walking toward me as I walk over to the large six-foot-tall toolbox.

This damn thing cost a mint, but it’s nice.

There’s a fridge in the bottom of it and the pull-out drawer above that used to contain wrenches.

Now, said wrenches are strung across the floor—although one is buried into the windshield of the old Impala—and the drawer is full of Jim Beam.

I grab a bottle and then zig-zag my way back to the plastic outdoor chair I stole from the porch.

I almost fell, but as proof that I’m not drunk enough just yet, I manage to keep standing.

“So, this is your life now? Getting drunk off your ass and leaving your old lady alone to cry her eyes out alone,” Dragon asks.

“Livin’ the fuckin’ dream, hermano,” I grunt, opening the bottle.

“Your club is dying. Most of your members are gone. You don’t give a fuck?”

“If you came to just ride my ass like Torch tries, you can just turn around and leave. I’ll tell you what I told that asshole.

Everything I was living for is gone. He wants the club, he can have it,” I snap, slamming the bottle back and guzzling a quarter of it down before putting it on the folded camping tray beside me.

Dragon leans over me, grabs my fucking bottle, and takes it.

Stupid ass motherfucker. I wait for him to take a drink and give it back, instead the son of a bitch throws it over my head.

I turn my head to watch as the glass and amber liquid crash against the cinderblock.

I watch as it splatters, then drips down to the floor.

With a heavy sigh, I get back up, go back to my drawer, and pull out another bottle.

This time, I nearly tip over more than once.

“Shit,” I hiss, trying to right myself. Dragon grabs the bottle out of my hand while I’m not paying attention.

The strength in the way he wrenches it out of my hand sends me falling backward and I land on my ass, wincing as I hit the concrete.

“Fuck. Damn,” I huff, scrubbing my face because my vision goes blurry.

“That’s goin’ to leave a mark.” Dragon doesn’t say shit, he just takes my unopened bottle of Jim Beam and flings it across the room so it hits on the wall close to where the other did.

“What the fuck, hermano?” Dragon doesn’t answer.

He goes to my beloved drawer and pulls out two more bottles of Jim Beam.

I don’t feel like sharing with the fucker—especially since he’s already responsible for ruining two bottles.

Still, I’m not going to quibble because I’m sensing the asshole is in a bit of a bad mood.

“Your old lady freeze you out of her pussy? I knew I liked Nicole.” I grumble, scrubbing my face again.

Why does the room keep moving? Dragon doesn’t answer or hand me another bottle.

The fucker chucks another bottle against the wall—then another one.

Panic hits me. It takes me four tries to get up on my feet.

That’s not my fault. Something is wrong with the damn floor.

I’m going to have to dig up the concrete.

It keeps rocking back and forth. I don’t even know how it’s doing it.

By the time I finally get up and start walking toward Dragon, the asshole has destroyed at least four more bottles.

Once I’m close to him, another one bites the dust. “Stop it! You fucking asshole! That’s mine!

” I grab the bottle in his hand, yanking at it because, with just a glance at my drawer, I know it’s my last one.

Before I can make it safely away, Dragon pulls it back and I don’t even get a chance to get it again before he’s slamming it against my toolbox.

Glass and my favorite bourbon rain down on and around me.

“Now I have to cart my ass back to the liquor store. I’m billing you for that shit, hermano,” I growl.

Instead of a reply, Dragon’s fist connects with my mouth.

I go back, slamming against the floor, dazed and trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

When I look up at Dragon, there are two of him … maybe three.

“Is this how you want to honor your son?”

His question guts me. It slams into me like a thousand knives with jagged edges, cutting through skin and bone and leaving me bleeding out. “Don’t,” I beg, my breath burning my lungs like gasoline set on fire.

“What do you think Diego would say to you now if he could see you, Skull?”

“Stop!” I order, but my voice comes out more like a cry. I clap my hands over my ears, not wanting to hear anymore.

“Your boy thought the world rose and set in your ass. Is this how you want to live up to that image he had?”

“Stop!” I scream.

“The fuck I am. Diego was all about the club, you, his mom, his brother, and his fucking sister! How have you honored that? Look at you. You’re a disgusting sack of shit. You stink. When is the last time you pulled your drunken ass into the shower?”

“Fuck you! You have no idea what it’s like, asshole!” I yell so loud it feels like the words are ripped out of me. My body is vibrating with pain and anger.

“You’re right! I don’t and I pray to God I never will, but you know the one thing I would never do is let my family down. You lost one boy, and I’ll admit that shit is fucked up. It’s not right that we outlive our kids and it fucking sucks, but you have a wife and two more kids who depend on you.”

“They don’t need me.”

“Bullshit. Your woman is barely holding on. She’s lost so much weight she looks like skin and bones. Your club is dying. I haven’t seen Carlos, but I can’t imagine he’s very proud of his old man letting his mother down the way you are.”

“Fuck you.” I try to blot out his words, but they keep hitting me. I didn’t know Beth was losing weight. I haven’t really seen her in a week or so. It might be longer and the last time I saw her, I was so far from sober that I can’t even remember if I spoke to her.

“You’ve got to pull yourself together, asshole.”

“Why the hell do you even care?” I hiss, holding my head in my hands and staring down at the cement.

“Your girl needs you, Skull. She’s drowning in so much guilt it’s choking her.”

“Yeah, right,” I huff, not wanting to talk about Gabby.

“You need to pull your head out of your ass, Skull. Listen to me. You lost one son. Don’t lose all your kids and Beth. The road you’re going down will lead to that, and it’s the last fucking thing Diego would have wanted for any of you.”

“I’ve let them all down,” I whisper. “I’m the reason my son isn’t here.

I ordered him to go. I gave the order that got my son killed because I wanted to send a message that no one touches my daughter.

I did that shit. I killed my son.” The guilt and pain mingle so deep that my insides are raw.

I close my eyes and Diego’s face is there.

I raise my hands, punching my head, wanting the memory to leave, but at the same time praying it never does.

“My boy,” I howl, and I know I’m crying.

The tears burn just like the grief. I don’t have the right to cry.

All of this is my fault. I killed my boy. “I killed him.”

I feel arms go around me and realize that Dragon is there.

He pulls me up into a sitting position and then clamps his hand on my shoulder.

“You didn’t fucking kill him. You know this life.

Your son died, but he knew the risk, Skull.

We all know the risk. He took the job because he loved who he was, who you taught him to be.

He was there because he loved being a member of the Blaze.

He loved his family and his sister. You didn’t kill your boy.

Some fuck-head with a God complex did, and we dealt with him.

We got revenge for your boy. Now, dig down deep and you tell me what Diego would want from his dad right now.

How would he want you to go forward, Skull? ”

“I miss him. I fucking miss my boy,” I pant, my lungs seizing so that it is fucking hard to breathe. “He was the best of me. Jesus, he was so full of life. So fucking full of it.”

“Which means he wouldn’t want his dad pulling this shit. He’d want him looking after his mom, his sister, and Carlos. He would want that, Skull. You know he would.”

“I can’t even fucking look at my kids or my wife. I let them down. I got my son killed. I look at their faces and I see the pain, the grief, and it destroys me all over again.”

“Skull, Beth needs you. She’s not taking care of herself. She’s a mess. I haven’t seen Carlos, but I have Gabby, and man, she’s drowning in guilt because you’re blaming her even more than she’s already blaming herself.”

“I can’t look at Gabby.”

“Fucking hell, Skull. I remember the last time we had this conversation, and it wasn’t true then and it isn’t now. None of this shit was Gabby’s fault.”

“I know that!” I huff. “I needed to blame anyone but me. I spouted bullshit that really didn’t mean anything because I love her.

I’ll always love her, no matter what bullshit goes down.

Instead of telling her that, I couldn’t handle what I was feeling.

I needed someone— anyone —to blame. So, I threw it all on my daughter, and she heard me.

I never meant for her to hear that shit.

I saw the pain on her face that day, Dragon, just like you.

What I said destroyed her. Then, to know she’d been raped.

My precious daughter violated. She needed me and what did I do, Dragon?

I broke her. She broke right in front of my eyes, and I just let her walk away.

My family doesn’t need me. I’m the last thing any of them need. ”