Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Late summer 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

It had been a month since Katie and I started dating, and our time together was always enjoyable. Ripp and Shane shocked the family three-weeks prior, announcing simultaneously that their wives were pregnant. I couldn’t have been happier for either of them, and was excited for the day to come when their children arrived. In my opinion, no one was more excited than Katie’s father, who was having a hard time hiding not only his excitement, but his naturally protective nature of those he loved.

He pulled his fork from his mouth and wagged it toward Ripp. “You need to give that woman some space, Mike. You’re crowding her. Inch over and give her some damned room.”

I shifted my eyes toward Ripp. Sitting in his wife beater, covered in muscles, and littered from head to toe in tattoos, he probably didn’t appear to be a soon-to-be father by all of those who saw him, but I knew where his devotion lied.

He lifted his head from the piece of chicken he was eating, glanced toward his father, and glared.

“The table ain’t shrunk since we was all here last has it, Dekk?” Ripp asked as he stared at his father.

Shane looked up from his plate. “Not that I know of.”

“A-Train, table seem smaller to you?” he asked without shifting his eyes from his father.

My assigned position at the table had changed from being seated beside Ripp to across the table between Manda and Katie. I peered over the table toward him and shook my head.

“Same size,” I responded.

Still staring at his father, and his father steadily staring back, Ripp released his piece of chicken dramatically and tossed his hands into the air as his chicken fell to his plate.

“How in the hell can I be crowdin’ her when we’re all sittin’ in the same spots we’ve always sat in, Pop?” he growled.

“She needs more damned room,” his father growled in return. “She got one in the oven.” 

“It’s the size of a damned piece of rice,” Ripp said as he reached for his piece of chicken. “And Vee’s fine, aren’t you, Vee?”

“I’ve got plenty of room,” she said.

His father shook his head. “A piece of rice? Where in the Sam Hill do you get your information? That kid’s the size of a damned orange.”

Ripp sighed loudly, lowered his piece of chicken from his mouth and let it dangle from his fingertips. “Internet, Pop. Maybe you heard of it.”

“Oh, Lord. You can’t go believing everything you read on that damned interweb” he said as he glanced down at his plate and began to eat.

“It’s true, Mr. Ripton. Rice baby. I’ve looked,” Kace said.

Mr. Ripton raised his head, turned toward Kace, and lowered his chin. “Is that a fact? Never would have guessed it.”

Ripp glanced at Kace, shook his head, and shifted his eyes to his father.

“So Kace says it and it’s a fact. I say it and I’m an idiot?” Ripp howled.

“You
are
an idiot. Rice baby or not, you’re a damned fool, Mike. Now, eat your chicken,” his father said with a gesture from the tip of his fork.

“Don’t call Michael an idiot, it isn’t nice,” Mrs. Ripton said.

I grinned and glanced around the table. Everyone in attendance acted as if this was typical, and from what I had seen of the dinners at the Ripton residence, it was quite normal for the family to act in the manner they were acting. Vee rarely spoke unless spoken to, and Shane never said a word unless asked a question or paying Mrs. Ripton a compliment on the food. Manda, Ripp and Katie’s sister, seemed to have a hidden agenda, and attended the meals only to eat, never saying a word one way or another.

Ripp cleaned the meat from the bone he was chewing on and tossed it aside. “You need to treat everyone at this table the same, Pop.”

“I do,” his father said without glancing up from his meal.

“Don’t either,” Ripp responded. “I said
rice baby
, and I’m a damned fool. Kace said rice baby and you said
is that a fact
. Be fair. I’m not a damned fool, and stop calling me one. I’m excited about this baby.”

“So am I, Michael,” his mother said.

“So am I,” his father said with a hint of love in his eyes. “But you’re a damned fool, baby or no baby. And I call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

“Like a fuckin’ umpire, now, huh? Now you’re a god damned umpire, callin’ ‘em like you see ‘em?” Ripp snarled playfully.

Katie gripped my leg slightly above my knee and squeezed, causing me to jump, hitting my leg on the bottom of the table.

“Michael Allen. Not. At. The. Table,” his mother said as she looked up from her meal.

“Sorry, Ma,” Ripp said.

Kace turned toward Ripp and cleared her throat to get his attention. “If we’re treating everyone the same, why do you always say Shane is kissing your mother’s rear end when he compliments her on the meal, and you never say the same to Alec?”

Ripp turned toward her and furrowed his brow. “Dekk’s the all-time biggest ass kisser ever. A-Train’s just sayin’ when he likes something. It’s different,” Ripp explained.

“Nicknames, Michael,” his mother said.

“I can’t win,” he said.

Ripp reached for the platter of chicken. After digging through the platter and tossing each piece of chicken to the side without actually taking a piece, his father looked up, tilted his head to the side, and widened his eyes. Still tossing pieces of chicken left and right as if looking for the perfect piece, Ripp didn’t notice his father’s glare.

“What in the hell are you doing, fingerin’ all the damned chicken? Nobody’s going to eat it now, who knows where those damned hands have been?” his father snarled.

“I know where they been, and they’re clean,” Ripp said without looking up.

Ripp turned toward his mother. “You buy breastless chickens, Ma?”

She shook her head. “Two per chicken, just like always.”

“No extras?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It was before the football game, and they were out.”

He pushed his chair from the table and crossed his arms in front of his chest, like a child throwing a fit.

After a few long seconds of no one caring about his act of defiance, he cleared his throat. “Where the hell did you go?”

“HEB, just like always,” she said.

“Eat a damned thigh,” his father said, pointing to the platter of chicken with his fork. “Thighs are good.”

“I ain’t looking to get fat just because Vee’s gonna get fat,” he said.

Oh shit.

“Excuse me?” Vee said. “I’m pregnant. I’m not
getting fat
, I’m
giving birth
.”

Vee had a dark complexion, had dark hair, and was what I would guess to be Italian. She was all of a size two at the absolute most. If she doubled in size she wouldn’t be the size of one of Ripp’s thighs.

“Well, you know what I mean,” he said. “I’m done. I’m full. Food was good, Ma.”

“Thank you Michael,” his mother said.

“We’re going to have to get out another leaf for this table when those grandkids get here,” Mr. Ripton said as he glanced around the table.

As our eyes met, I nodded my head in agreement.

“So, Alec. You like kids?” his father asked.

“Yes, Sir. I love ‘em. They’re our future, and there’s not a thing on this earth more innocent and eager to absorb all we’re willing to offer them. I look at a child as our opportunity to right the future wrongs of this earth – in how we raise them and the values we instill in them,” I said.

He nodded his head and grinned.

“I like that. Be a lot of fixin’ right here though,” he said as he wagged his fork toward Ripp.

Ripp shook his head, stood, and stomped to the kitchen with his plate full of bones.

“Good answer,” Katie whispered.

“No secrets at the dinner table,” Mrs. Ripton said.

Katie squeezed my leg again, causing me to jump slightly, but not as much as before.

“I said it was a good answer. I didn’t think the table needed to hear me,” she said.

After a shallow breath, she tilted her head back slightly and shouted. “Good answer!”

“There, now everyone knows,” she said as she pushed herself from the table.

Eating dinner at the Ripton residence was nothing short of a three-ring circus.

“Are you finished?” she asked as she reached for my plate.

I nodded my head and handed her my plate. As she walked away, I realized little by little she was coming out of her shell. Be it because she was more comfortable with me, letting go of her past, or that we were simply making progress in our relationship, I didn’t care.

One Sunday dinner at a time, I was becoming human again.

And so was she.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Fall 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

Several months into Kace’s pregnancy and Shane disappeared. For those who didn’t know Shane, maybe it wouldn’t have seemed at all a shock or out of character. For me, however, I knew something was terribly wrong, so I went to his home and talked with Kace at length about his disappearance.

“So, the doctors did that test, you know, the amnio deal, and they said our baby was probably going to be special needs,” she said.

“How’d he take it?” I asked.

She shook her head and tossed her hands in the air.

I nodded my head and reached for my glass of tea. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know sorry doesn’t fix things, but it’s out of our control, you know? This is all God’s will. So, did you two discuss it?”

She shook her head. “He clammed up, Alec. He wouldn’t talk. He freaked out. I just thought he needed some space, but then he was gone. He hasn’t talked to Ripp or Kelsey or anyone. And he’s supposed to be getting ready for that fight. I swear, when he does come home…”

“I’ll find him,” I said.

“How?” she asked.

“I have my ways,” I said.

“Kick his ass, Alec. I mean it. You know, everyone thinks he’s so nice, and this? This is bullshit. Who leaves their pregnant wife? Who?” she asked.

Someone who’s scared, that’s who.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Kace was a saint. She was barely five-foot tall, a blonde, and more full of spunk than any other woman I had ever met. Her husband, six-foot two and 200 pounds of undefeated professional boxer, was no match for her. She would challenge him in a moment, and argue with him until she was blue in the face if it was something she believed in.

For Shane to leave her at such a time was absolutely unforgivable, but I fully understood. His reasoning for doing so was similar to my reasoning for keeping my distance from my father. The space that separated Shane and Kace prevented him from dealing with the issues in life he took exception to.

But a man can’t hide forever. 

Sooner or later, we’re all forced to face reality whether we like it or not. It’s only a matter of time.

I stood from my seat. “Well, thanks for taking the time to talk. I’ll be in touch.”

She stood and waddled to my side. After a heavy sigh and kicking one of the pillows across the floor, she gave me a hug.

“I meant it about kicking his ass,” she said as I walked toward the door.

“We’ll see,” I said.

I had yet to meet a man I was scared of. If push came to shove, I’d fight Shane over this, but I sure didn’t want to.

First, I had to find him. 

***

The entire thought of Shane leaving Kace, their child potentially being born with special needs, and not having the best of luck finding him, and I went to Mr. Ripton and requested my cigarettes back.

Six days, half a pack of cigarettes, and 600 miles after talking to Kace, and I rolled into the parking lot of a shitty little diner in Anthony, New Mexico. Spitting distance from the Mexican border, and miles from any real civilization, Anthony was a small town of 9,000 people and a step into yesteryear, with half of the residents still riding horses.

As I pulled my motorcycle alongside Shane’s filthy Harley, I peered through the glass and caught a glimpse of him sitting at a booth facing the lot. I wanted to walk in, grab him by his thick hair, and drag his ass back to Austin. After smoking two long drags off the cigarette, I put it out, and placed the butt in my shirt pocket alongside the others.

“You might need a lesson or two in how to hide, Dekk,” I said as I walked into the diner.

He gazed back at me as if I were a ghost. “I won’t even ask.”

I walked to the edge of his booth, pointed to the empty side of the seat and waited. After a nod of his head, I sat down.

“In the future, you need to use cash. That debit card of yours is like a flashing beacon of fucking light.” I said.

Without speaking, he pulled his hood over his head.

I glanced around the diner, then fixed my eyes on Shane. “I’m going to tell you a story. Say my peace, so to speak. When I’m done I’m going to walk outside and smoke another cigarette then ride out of here. I hate shitty little dusty towns like this. They remind me of places I’m trying to forget about.”

I glanced out the window at the dust blowing down the street in front of the restaurant. “You know, if God was going to give the world an enema, he’d more than likely stick the tube in this shitty little town.”

“When I leave you can either head out with me or stay here, I don’t care either way,” I said as I pointed toward a full cup of coffee on my side of the table.

He nodded his head toward the cup.

I took a drink from the cup of coffee, and considered the analogy I was prepared to share with him. After another sip of the luke-warm java I began.

“During my first tour, we were looking for al-Zawahiri. Hell, we were searching for a lot of al-Qaeda officials, but at this point in time,
he
was our target. We received intel on where he was and why he was there. It seems he was having a summit meeting of sorts with every other high ranking Islamic militant within a three-hundred-mile radius. Without a doubt, on this particular night, we were going to bag this shit-bird and bring the war to a screeching halt. At least that’s what we were told.”

He sat and stared, his hood pulled over his head to a point I could barely see his eyes. A complete meal sat on a plate in front of him. Apparently, I had stumbled onto him during his morning breakfast.

I tossed my head toward his plate. “Go ahead and eat, this is going to take a minute.”

“So, based on this intel, they assembled a handful of us; three Marines, and seven or so SEALS. They indicated al-Zawahiri had gone into some shit-hole home earlier on this particular day, and he hadn’t come out. Hell, from what they said, no one came in or out after he arrived. It seemed his little meeting was underway, and all we had to do was get there before he left,” I pause and removed a cigarette from the pack.

As I chewed on the end of the unlit cigarette, I continued. “Now this being my first tour, I didn’t have much experience – and none in extraction to speak of – only training. All the brass wanted him alive if possible, so they’d preached protocol and rules of engagement to us all fucking day. We all sat around and waited for the cover of darkness while we planned what we were going to do. You know, studying the chicken-shit map they’d given us showing the supposed layout of the home, cleaning our weapons, and talking about how we were going to get this prick.”

“So, it’s zero dark fucking thirty, and we’re all waiting. About oh two thirty they round us up, take us as close as they can get us, tell us good luck and god fucking speed. We surround the front of this little mud hut and blow the door off this place, toss in a few flash-bangs, and in we go,” I paused and recalled the night of the raid, and what a cluster-fuck it ended up being.

“Needless to say, I’m as nervous as a fucking whore in church service. I’ve got diarrhea, my stomach is all fucked up, my head’s full of all kinds of thoughts on what
may
happen to me or to someone else, and what I’m going to do when it does. I’d gone over every possible god damned scenario based on the intel we have and who’s supposedly in this shit-hole. You see Dekk, men are just that; men. And men make mistakes. A man will give you an
opinion
, and portray it as an absolute fact. If you’re either gullible enough or dumb enough to believe him, you then make a life changing decision based on the inaccuracies of his beliefs.”

I gazed out into the parking lot, stared at our two motorcycles for a moment, and turned to face Dekk. “And you see, Dekk. It’s just that. It’s an opinion. It’ll never be any more or any less. If I had all of the lives we lost based on one man’s opinion of what was sure
not
to happen, I could fill this fucking diner with good god damned Marines. But I can’t, because they’re all fucking dead.”

“The opposite happened on this particular night. The shit-hole home was empty. No hidden exit. No tunnels. No way out except the doors which were in full view. And we had eyes on every fucking corner of this place. And after an assurance he and his band of merry men walked in and never came out – we went in after him. I was mad as fuck. Let down, depressed, and I felt kind of betrayed. They were wrong Dekk. They’re wrong more than they’re right. You know why? Because they’re fucking human and they gave their
opinion
.”

“You see,” I said. “If we’re forced to make a decision that has the potential to have a profound effect on our life, and it’s based on the
opinion
of one man, we must weigh the legitimacy of the man in question. And in my humble opinion, if the man in question is not God, his opinion is nothing more than an educated guess.”

He pulled the hood from his head and stared. After a few seconds, his face washed with what I would have guessed to be shame. I said all I came to say, and I hoped my little speech was enough to convince him to come home. As he gazed at me blankly, I stood, flipped the cigarette into my mouth, and nodded my head.

“I’m going to go burn this. I’ve been chewing on it for too damned long. Come out and join me?”

He nodded his head and stood from his seat.

I walked to my bike, lit the cigarette, and waited for him to come outside. Half-way into my four puff limit, and he was standing in front of me with a blank look on his face.

“So, you riding out with me?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just…”

I shifted my eyes to meet his and glared. “You just what?”

The more I studied him the angrier I became. I tossed the cigarette on the ground beside the motorcycle, stepped on it, and stepped in front of him.

“You wanna give me your honest
opinion
as to whether or not you think you can whip my ass?” I asked.

His eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

I spread my feet shoulder width apart, and tugged against the thighs of my jeans. “You heard me.”

His eyes fell to my feet, back up to my face, and narrowed. I needed to make another point, and I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Desperate times, however…

“I have an
opinion
you won’t get one punch to make contact.
Not a fucking one.
You know why? Because you’re a washed up piece of overweight shit who’s scared to fight for the title fight. You’re scared to be amongst your friends, and scared like a little bitch you might have to become a man and raise a child who doesn’t fall within the limits what
you
perceive as perfect,” I said as I raised my hands in preparation of what was sure to come.

I would give anything to have a relationship with a woman and have a child. If God so chose to have that child be born with special needs, so be it. I’d welcome him into the earth with all of the love, care, and hope for a future that he or she deserved. For Shane to run from his responsibilities made my temper flare to a point I really didn’t care if I had to fight him to make my point.

As he stood and glared at me, I continued.

“Did I hit a nerve? You afraid if you and Kace raise a special needs child someone might eventually call him a retard?”

His eyes narrowed and the muscles in his jaw flared.

Good, it’s working.

“You’d get mad if they called your little boy a fucking retard. Huh Dekk? Your little retard boy?” I asked, attempting to lure him into a fight.

His right hand twitched, and I swung my left arm upward in anticipation for one of his signature heavyweight right hooks. As I stepped into the punch, allowing his arm to go under my armpit, I turned, pulled my knife, and held it to his throat.

I chuckled a light laugh and pressed the knife to his throat. “You see Dekk, you threw the punch under the
opinion
you were going to teach me a lesson. But here’s the thing. I made those comments about your child knowing –
absolutely knowing
– I had to do so to make my point. You swung because you’re going to defend your child regardless. Special needs or not, he’s yours. Subconsciously, you’re already committed to him being your son. And you’re his father. You’re just fucking scared. And there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

I pressed the knife with slightly more force, just to make sure he was paying attention. “That doctor gave you his fucking
opinion
based on the amnio test they performed. He told you the kid
might
have some chromosomal disorder. He said he could be born with Down Syndrome, and you fucking disappeared. Well, I got news for you. My nephew
is
special needs. More specifically, he has Down Syndrome. And he’s one of the best damned people you’ll ever meet.
Ever
,” I growled.