Page 21 of Tormented
SEVEN
Sawyer
I needed to hold her, reassure myself that she’s okay and there’s at least one person in this fucked-up world I haven’t sentenced to death by association. And she let me. Ramona and I went into King’s office last night, and she climbed on my lap like old times and simply held me. Nothing else was said. Nothing needed to be. All I want to know, is that my boy will grow up with his mother by his side, not spending a lifetime planning how to best get revenge on the son of a bitch who killed her . . . like I have.
That ain’t no way for anybody to live their life.
But what Ramona never told me was that she’d moved on. I spent a week in my father’s hell, three more recovering, and never once did anyone think to fucking say she’d given herself over to someone else.
The friend of the guy I killed a couple of months back, of all people. A Butcher Boy; our newfound allies in the battle against my father’s oppression.
I’d always planned to give her up, to let her go, cut the leash and give Ramona the freedom she deserves from me. But knowing the decision’s been made for me? That somebody’s stolen her away before I had the chance to bring the idea up first?
Yeah, not cool with that.
What you going to do about it then . . . ?
Not sure, old buddy. Not sure.
Especially seeing as the guy told Hooch last night that he’d be watching me, waiting for me to slip up again, and when I did he’d be there to deal. I might be worried about it if the jerk wasn’t such a straight-and-narrow kind of fucker. Ty, his name is. And from what I’ve learnt, he’s the Butcher Boys’ pencil pusher. The logistics guy. No match for me at all.
Still, never stopped you before . . . .
I won’t lie—it amused me no end at the meeting today when the whole fucking table was giving him the side-eye. Good to know that after everything, my brothers still have my back.
He’s going to be the one in charge of arranging how King’s plan goes down. This guy who’s taken my woman while I was safely tucked away out of town is going to decide how we take my father off his throne.
But she’s not your woman . . . .
No. She ain’t. Really must get used to that.
I shouldn’t complain. He’s good for Ramona, and if she’s happy playing families with some rich guy who can take good care of her and provide for Mack, I’ve got to be man enough to admit defeat when it’s due.
After all, what the hell can I offer my son? Life with a schizophrenic father who flips the switch to crazy on a regular basis?
Who says you flip? Aren’t you always this way . . . ?
That’s exactly the problem, isn’t it. Do I snap and lose control from time to time, or am I always mad? I can’t even tell the difference anymore.
I’ll take care of you . . . .
You always do.
A few of the older members without families to rush home to still hang about in the common room nursing hangovers as I make my way across the floor. Most of the visitors left late afternoon, the meeting a flying visit, but not Hooch. Can’t say that made me too happy. I mean, the guy’s great and all that, but when I heard who he bunked with last night . . . .
Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why I haven’t seen Abbey all day: girl is guilty as sin.
She’s just lucky I’ve been preoccupied with the meeting. I did as King asked and addressed my brothers. Understandably, they weren’t too happy to hear that my old man plans to use the Fallen Aces as the fall guy for his drug operation. He wants these people wheeling and dealing like puppets on a string.
If King gets his way, it’ll never happen.
Stranger things have . . . .
The Aces haven’t dealt in drugs for the fifty or so years they’ve been in operation, and my pick is King ain’t the kind of guy to see that changed long-term. He may need what the old man’s got to offer to drag this club’s finances out of the shit, but he hates my father enough that he’d never enter into a long-term deal with him—call it remnants of his time fucking Dad’s wife in an affair that went south.
Sly old dog . . . .
But hey, if it leads to us ultimately walking into my father’s property with the sole purpose of taking him out, I’m in. Fuck knows I couldn’t do it on my own—tried, failed, repeated history.