Black Sheep (Rawkfist MC Book 1) (21 page)

Justice

D
espite my breaking a key Tumbling Rock rule,
life settles into a quiet routine the next few weeks. Felix and Court essentially
live at my house. I love having my guys around, and sharing a bed every night
with my hunk is pure bliss.

Christine seems
calmer since getting laid. She no longer panics when Jared shows up but now
leisurely hurries away. Journey decides she wants to learn to ride a Harley, so
our father has taken to giving her lessons. She’s awful, of course, so they
spend most of their training talking about engines.

Poppy enjoys
having a little brother figure to boss around. She especially likes starting
trouble for him and then yelling at everyone to leave him alone. Her dweeb
friends also dig Felix, and the five of them play video games online a lot.

My younger
sister’s improved mood isn’t apparent when she calls me to whine how she needs
a ride. Turns out Chunks’ parents got into an argument and kicked her out of
the house. Now I have to drive just outside of Tumbling Rock to pick her up.

Chunks’ place
is down a mud road with “Do Not Enter” signs posted everywhere. Parking a few
blocks away, I walk to his house where I find Poppy sitting on the front porch
playing
Candy Crush
.

“We were
supposed to do an English project together, and then his mom showed up and
complained the house smelled like kitty litter, and she wasn’t taking anyone’s
bullshit anymore,” Poppy explains as we begin walking. “I suspect I’m not the
only one on the rag.”

“We’ll go home,
and Court will grill outside. Just think of fully cooked hamburgers with all
the fixings.”

“Is Mom making
her potato salad?”

“Nope. Journey
and Felix are making it.”

Poppy’s mood
immediately improves. We’re both picturing dinner spread out on the table. Our
new family of six together while the dog begs for scraps. I feel a smile on my
face as we ready to cross the street.

Before we reach
my SUV, an old rusted sedan jumps the curb and comes to a stop in front of
Poppy and me. Two men open the doors and start yelling my name.

Label me a
bigot if you will, but when long-haired, stinky, shirtless hillbillies come
looking for me, I assume the worst.

“Which one of
you is Justice?” asks the guy with an overgrown goatee.

“I am. Do you
need directions?” I answer, stepping in front of Poppy.

“Who the fuck
are you?” Poppy demands because menstrual cramps make her stupid.

The second guy
scratches at his Father Time-style red beard and reaches for me. I lean away
and turn to Poppy.

“You should
run.”

“I’m not
wearing a tampon.”

In that
instant, I forget about my fear of the scary men. I’m simply an older sister
ready to beating the ever living shit out of her younger sister.

Poppy knows the
look on my face, and she forgets about her period long enough to take off
running. I pray she thinks to call Jared or Court for help. With my luck, her
Midol-addled mind becomes distracted by a cloud.

I plan to run
in the opposite direction and draw the dirty fuckers away from my
extraordinarily hot pubescent sister. Unfortunately, I’m wearing frigging
flip-flops and tumble over them when I spin around too quickly.

When the queef
I mentally name Father Time grabs me by the arm, I kick his leg. He doesn’t really
care, but I’m a proud duck for putting up a fight rather than having my ass
handed to me like I did with Becca.

“Get the bitch
in the car!” yells the one I mentally tag as Dirty Goatee.

“I’m trying.”

The sedan’s
back door is open and waiting for me. I pull the same move my cats use when I
try to shove them into their carriers. Feet and hands out, I push off the edges
of the doorjamb and bang into Father Time.

Dirty Goatee
walks around the car and punches me in the face. I manage to turn away enough
for my bangs to cushion the strike. My head still spins, and I scream like a
wounded animal. The guy makes Becca’s punch feel like a child’s.

“Throw her ass
in the fucking car,” he tells Father Time, who heaves me through the door
opening.

Toppling on my
stomach, I feel one of them maneuver my legs to allow the door to shut. The men
walk around the front and get into the car.

“Don’t start
shit or I’ll wallop you for real next time,” Dirty Goatee says, starting the
engine.

My brain very
quickly registers two horrors. The first is Dirty Goatee’s punch was him
holding back. The second shock is at how bad the country music is that’s
blasting from their radio.

“I’m going to
die listening to a cowboy yodel!” I text to Journey since her name comes up
first on my phone “Come save me!”

Journey
replies, but I can’t read it because Father Time grabs my phone.

“You calling
the cops, cunt?”

“Oh, yeah,” I
whisper, wondering why I hadn’t thought to dial 911.
Has Tumbling Rock
infected me with their police phobia?

I sit up in the
car and look at Father Time. He’s missing his front teeth, and I notice ketchup
on his beard. These are my last two observations because I say fuck it and jump
from a moving car.

I land first on
the asphalt before rolling into the grassy embankment I was aiming for. Without
pausing, I stand up on my bare feet and check to see if any bones jut from my
body. Finding myself bloody but intact, I notice the sedan making a U-turn.

Mentally playing
Cake’s
Going the Distance
, I take off running toward a line of houses
away from the highway. My long legs stretch out to their fullest. I breathe in
and out slowly to keep myself calm. Legs pumping, I envision myself running
miles without stopping. The assholes will never catch me. I’m as fast and
invincible as the wind.

A block into my
impression of the
Flash
, my lungs burn nearly as badly as the muscles in
my legs. Oh, and what’s happening to my stomach? I want to vomit and wonder if
I can hurl cyclist-style while never slowing down.

Why am I in so
much pain? I’m a young woman in good health. Why can’t I run a few blocks
without wanting to die?

By the second
block, I feel as if I’ve run through the entire state. I can barely keep going.
My feet throb. My legs no longer fully extend, instead screaming for me to save
them from this never-ending torture.

Now my stomach
can’t even puke. The pain is unbearable. Gasping for air, my lungs burn like a
million suns, and I wonder if I’m dying. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I barely
have the energy to wipe it away.

Giving up on my
heroic run to safety, I dive into thick bushes in someone’s yard. I don’t know
where I am or how much time’s passed since I texted Journey.

Trying to catch
my breath, I close my eyes and think about Court and Felix. I imagine us
fishing on the lake. It’s quiet, serene, and with zero exercise in sight. I
slow my breathing until I no longer sound like a freight train struggling to
climb a mountain.

I open my eyes
and take in my surroundings. The yard I’m hiding in looks well kept. I notice a
fake deer on the other side of the lawn and two ceramic squirrels a few feet
from me. Scanning the area, I don’t spot any sign of the assholes. What do I do
now?

“Hon, are you
alright under there?” a woman asks.

From the porch
of the house, two sets of elderly folks sporting flopping hats and drinking
glasses of lemonades stare at me.

“Wait, were you
always there?” I ask, crawling out.

“Yes. We
thought it best to leave you alone until you caught your breath.”

Wiping dirt off
my clothes, I sigh. “I haven’t run since high school.”

“Want
lemonade?”

“Yes, please.
Can I use your phone? I was abducted.”

“Oh, dreadful.
Glenn will get you a piece of pie too.”

Glenn is a
tall, thin man with a well-trimmed white mustache. He pours me a glass of
lemonade while his wife, Peg, walks me inside and hands me her cell.

Court answers
on the first ring, and I exhale with relief to know he’s safe.

“I got away,” I
tell him immediately, having assumed Journey alerted everyone to the situation.
“Is Poppy okay?”

“She’s with
Christine and Wanda. Where are you?”

I relay the
address from Peg to Court, and he says he’ll be here in five minutes.

Peg returns to
the porch with her friends while I wait inside. I’m worried the queefs will
drive by and sense I’m in the house. What if I get these lovely people hurt?
What if the assholes go after Court?

My eyes burn,
and I want to cry so badly, but nothing happens. My innate optimism forces me
to remain calm. I keep thinking how I survived rather than how I could have
endured a horrible fate. My glass half full philosophy won’t allow me to cry,
so I give up and walk to the front door.

A few cars pass
by, but none of them belong to the queefs. Peg and Glenn are playing a game on
a long table on their wrap around porch. I watch them finish up, and the other
older woman claps in triumph.

“Want to join
us?” Peg asks.

“What if those
guys come by?”

Peg stands up
and walks inside where she plops a floppy yellow hat on my head.

“Now you look
like one of us,” she says, taking me by the arm. “Have you ever played
Yahtzee
before?”

“No. Is it
hard?”

The four
seniors share a conspiratorial smile, and I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into
with these people. Joining them at the table, I’m still lost about the rules
when Court rides up on his Harley with Jared not far behind.

“Are those the
bad guys?” Peg whispers.

“No, that’s my
boyfriend and dad.”

I run over to
Court and wrap myself against him. Jared walks up and wants to say something,
but he’s pissed, and I suspect he has trouble yelling around me. I’m okay with
this issue of his. I hate screaming men.

“Tell me
everything,” Court says after giving me a long, deep kiss that leaves me a
little embarrassed with an audience watching.

I mumble the
few facts I know. The guys’ description. Their car. How they have my phone.
Once I share everything I remember, Court kisses me again, and I forget about
the eyes on us. The glass half empty part of me grabs onto the comfort Court
offers, even if I notice a spark of recognition in his dark eyes when I
describe the men. I don’t ask questions, though. I know he won’t answer me with
the truth, and I’m not in the mood for lies.

Court

I
’m not a monster. I kill for work, not fun.
Never have I killed for personal reasons, but this fact is about to change. If
Becca wasn’t locked up right this moment, I suspect she’d be the first name on
my list. For too damn long, I was weak with her in the hopes of protecting
Felix. Now I want her dead.

Sitting in an
exam area, Justice chats with the hospital nurses about her favorite milkshake
flavor. I listen to her voice and try to calm myself down, but it doesn’t work.

I want to get
out of this place and track down Brandon and Bryce Sikes. Until they’re dead, I
can’t soothe the pain in my gut that’s been killing me since I heard someone
grabbed Justice.

“I know what
you’re thinking,” Jared says from behind me while I wait for Justice to finish
up with her paperwork.

“I’m sure you
do. You’re thinking it too.”

“You have
responsibilities now. Running off half-cocked isn’t what a man does. It’s the
act of a kid with something to prove.”

I give him a
dirty look. “You’re full of shit.”

“I’m trying to
keep you out of prison, so you can marry my daughter and give me grandbabies.
You’re not thinking that far ahead. Right now, you can only think about how
good your hands will feel around the asshole’s throat. Or what his brains will
look like splashed on a wall. You need to think about Justice waiting for you
to get out of prison.”

Sighing, I
cross my arms and glance at a smiling Justice.

“I’m not a
scary guy,” I say. “Not like Jimmy Marvin. Do you remember him with his face
tattoos and piercings? He’d walk into a room, and people got out of his way
even though he couldn’t fight for shit once he had two drinks in him. People
were still scared because he looked scary. That’s not me. I don’t walk into a
room and own it. I’m not a big guy, and I don’t have an intimidating demeanor.
I’m Boy Scout, and people aren’t scared of Boy Scouts. They’re afraid of me,
though, because I hurt people without caring.”

“What if you
end up in prison? Are you doing right by Justice then?”

“You sound like
Joe. Either we’re one percenters willing to cross the line, or these patches
don’t mean shit. Look, people don’t fear me because of who I am. They fear me
because of what I do. If I don’t deal with the men who hurt my woman, I might
as well kick myself in the balls and hand in my vest. You know I’m right. You
want revenge too, but you’ve lost your taste for blood.”

“And you
haven’t?”

“I never had a
taste for it. I don’t feel much of anything when I kill a guy. Maybe that’s
worse, but I don’t give a shit. I’m taking care of the problem. While I haven’t
got the stones to kill Becca, I can sure as shit deal with these assholes.”

“I’ll come with
you,” Jared says, and I realize he’s as worried about me as he is about Justice.

“Thanks for the
offer but two guys showing up will be too suspicious. I have a better shot of
jumping them on my own. If I need help, I’ll call, but we both know I won’t
need help.”

Jared scratches
at his jaw, wanting to do more. He tried to do the honorable thing by talking
me out of acting. Now that I’m still going, he’s restless.

I know the
feeling. I’m desperate to make the assholes dead. The longer they live, the
less like a man I feel.