Taming Crow (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club) (6 page)

As a result of that early morning visit, two things happened.

One was that Crow started to take more notice of Jett and the words he used when the kid was within easy earshot.

And the second thing was that Crow found that he got enormous personal satisfaction out of pissing Melissa off.

So feeling that, Crow went out of his way to use the loudest and most foul language possible whenever he knew that Melissa was home alone. He cheerily watched as she scowled at him from an open window before she upped the volume of her music and slammed the doors and windows of the little cottage when he let loose.

A couple of times when he had really given it his all, she had huffed and puffed and marched across her lawn. There she had stood in the driveway with hell to pay in her eyes. One small hand had sat jauntily on her hip and the other had toyed nonstop with that chain around her neck.

Crow had halted what he was doing and glared right back at Melissa, daring her to come across the property line and let him have it.

To his immense disappointment, she did not.

But that did
n’
t stop him from trying.

Crow knew the last goddamn thing he needed was a fascination with the little brown hen of a widow next door.

But there it was.

Because when it actually came down to it, Crow knew that his earlier assessment of Melissa had been dead on. There was definitely more to Mousy Melissa than met the eye. No doubt, she gave off that white-bread soccer mom kind of vibe.

But when she had shown up at his doorstep all fierce and determined…
cocksucker
and
motherfucker
rolled a little too easily off her tongue.

She had barely flinched when he sprayed her with that beer foam.

The way she flung her shoulders back and put that hand on her hip and flipped him the bird—that was hood shit.

However, he noticed that his restraint of using cuss words when Jett was home had resulted in Melissa allowing her kid to spend more and more time out on that picnic bench watching Crow's every move. And lately Jett had been throwing out all kinds of questions that he seemed pretty confident that Crow knew the answers to.

   Crow found that he didn't mind that at all.

***

“Hey, Crow!” Jett called out to him from his perch on the picnic table. “You gonna work on your motorcycle today?”

“Yeah.” Crow nodded, grabbed the tool box out of the van, and slid the door closed.

To his surprise Jett got off his bench and began to follow him to the side yard. But he supposed that technically the side yard was the kid’s yard too.

“Hey, my dad used to have a tool box just like that!” Jett called out excitedly. Then he added thoughtfully, “I don’t know where it is, though.”

Crow threw a casual glance over his shoulder at the boy. “It’s probably in the cottage somewhere.” Crow figured Melissa couldn’t have gotten the shit she had done in the house without some hardware.

Jett shook his head with certainty. “No. It’s not.”

“Well, I’m sure your mom knows where it is.” Crow put the box on the grass. “Ask her.”

“She probably don’t know either. My mom sold almost all our stuff and then we moved. Because my daddy died.” The little boy looked hard at Crow.

“Bad break.” Crow turned and gave Jett the full attention this share deserved.

“She don’t think I remember him, but I do,” Jett told him. “I kinda forget what he looks like, but I remember that tool box, ‘cause sometimes when my dad came home, he used to fix stuff and I used to watch him. Just like I watch you.”

Crow felt something tighten in his chest.

“Why does your mom think you don’t remember your dad?” Crow asked carefully.

“Because she don’t talk to me about him. Even when I ask her stuff.” Jett looked down at the ground and shrugged. “She just makes a sad face. And I don’t like that face. So I stopped askin’.”

Poor fucking kid.

“But it’s okay.” Jett assured Crow. “Lots of kids in school don’t have ‘em either. And my mom used to be sad
all the time
. She smiles more now. I’m glad you didn’t make us move.”

Then, typical of a boy Jett’s age, he moved quickly onto the next topic.

“Is that heavy?” He pointed to the tool box.

“Heavy enough.” Crow indulged him. “Give it a shot.”

“Really?” Jett looked at Crow wide-eyed.

“Yeah. Check it out. Use two hands.”

“Argghhhh.” Jett struggled to lift the box an inch off the ground, where he held it for a millisecond before dropping it back down with a thud. Crow smirked to himself when he saw Jett’s little chest puff out with pride.

“You see that? Someday I’m gonna have muscles just like you. Mom said I’m getting stronger every day and this morning I got to carry in the heavy bag.”

Crow shot Jett a quizzical look.

“When we were bringing in the groceries.” Jett explained. “Usually my mom just lets me carry the bag with the napkins, and the cereal and the bread.”

“The light stuff.” Crow nodded his understanding and knelt down next to the bike.

“Yep. But today she let me carry the bag with the milk and eggs in it,” Jett boasted.

“That’s big.” Crow lifted off the crank case cover.

“Yep, I think so too. I was real worried I would drop them, but Toni said that if I did, it just meant that the birds would get scrambled eggs for supper.”

Crow’s head snapped over to look at Jett. “Tony?”

Tony
?

“Yeah. Toni.” Jett pointed to a tool in the box. “Is that a wrench?”

“No.” Crow picked up the tool and handed it to Jett. “It’s a screwdriver. Tony’s your mom’s friend?”

No fucking wonder Melissa was smiling more now.

“I got a Mitch the Mechanic book for Christmas and this don’t look like the screw driver in the picture.” Jett frowned at the tool.

“It’s a Phillips head. What kind of friends are Tony and your mom?” Crow fought to keep his voice even as a wave of jealousy washed over him.

Jett shrugged. “The only kind she likes, I guess. My mom don’t have a lot of friends. What’s this called?”

“A ratchet.” Crow answered and felt his shoulder’s tense. “What kind of things do Tony and your mom do together?”

If the kid says wrestle on the couch I’m gonna fucking lose it.

“I don’t know.” Jett was twisting the ratchet so it made a noise. “They do regular friend stuff, I guess. I do it with them sometimes, too.”

“So this guy hanging out with you and your mom. You like him okay?” Crow’s mind raced through the cars he had seen parked in the driveway. There hadn’t been very many of them and he sure as shit would have noticed if anyone parked there for the night…

“
Jett
? Melissa’s voice sounded out from the backyard. “
Jett
!
Where are you?”

“Uh-oh, I gotta go. Mom’s gonna be mad. I’m supposed to stay in the back when she’s got a customer. I’m gonna go in the house and tell her I had to pee. Don’t tell her I was out here, okay?”

“I got your back, little warrior.” Crow lifted his chin to Jett. A muscle clenched in his jaw as he watched the boy disappear into the front door of the cottage.

Tony
.

***

Melissa was just rounding the corner when she saw Jett slip inside the front door.

“Jett! There you are! You know that you’re not supposed to…”

“Had to pee, Mom! And the back door was stuck again.” Jett shot out the explanation, threw Crow a conspiratorial glance and ran inside.

Yeah, sure. And Crow Mathison just happened to be out here working on his bike
… Melissa did not believe her son for a minute. When she felt a hard push from behind, she rolled her eyes. She had just spent the last hour fielding questions from Toni about her new landlord. And now Melissa knew there was no way that she was going to be able slip past Crow without introducing him. Seeing as their last conversation had ended with Melissa flipping Crow off she was thinking that it might not go too well.

“Crow?” Melissa called out as they approached the side yard.

“Yeah.” Crow stood up quickly, wiped his hands off on a small rag, and glared at her.

Uh-oh.

“This is my friend, Antonia Dumont.” Melissa stammered out the formal introduction. “Antonia, this is my landlord, Crow Mathison.”

Crow gave her a quick glance and went back to scowling at Melissa.

“Everyone calls me Toni.” She stepped forward and gave him a flirty smile. “And it’s nice to meet you.”

Crow grunted and kept his eyes on Melissa.

Awkward.

Melissa cleared her throat. “Toni’s husband is the one…”

Crow’s brow furrowed.

“What did you say?” Crow abruptly turned and narrowed his eyes at Toni.

“Sorry?” Toni looked confused.

“Name”.

“Oh, it’s Toni Dumont.” Toni flashed a dimple.

“Tony?” Crow frowned the question.             

“Yes. Her husband buil--” Melissa continued to explain.

“This is your friend
Tony
?”

“Yes, Crow. This is To-Ni,” Melissa said with exaggerated patience while she and Toni exchanged a questioning look.

“So Tony’s short for …what did you say it was?”

“
Antonia
,” Melissa repeated a little louder now.

“T-o-n-i,” Toni offered. “It’s you know…like a nickname.”

Unexpectedly Crow flashed a huge grin. And what that did to his face took Melissa’s breath away.

“Nice to fucking meet you, Toni.” Crow kept that shit-eating grin.

“Nice to fucking meet you too, Crow.” Toni stopped just short of a giggle.

Melissa watched them both and had no idea what had just happened.

“Is that a feather?” Toni looked boldly at the tattoo inked over Crow’s heart.

“Yeah. Eagle feather,” Crow answered. His expression relaxed and his tone turned congenial now.

Humph
.

“What does Brave Enough mean?” Toni was looking at Crow like she wanted to reach out and lick that feather right off.

Melissa fought the sudden confusing urge to jump between them.

“Brave Enough to get it, Brave Enough to keep it.” Crow ran a calloused finger over the ink.

“But what?” Toni asked breathlessly. “Brave Enough to get what? To keep what
?
”

Crow looked straight at Melissa then.

“Whatever I want.”

Crow smirked when he thought of the conversation with
Toni
and Melissa, but really it was the conversation with Jett that stuck in Crow’s mind. If possible, it had made him even more curious than ever before about Melissa Raymoor. He wanted to know why she had sold all her stuff, packed up her kid and headed miles and miles away to a place that she had only seen in pictures.

And Crow knew just the guy to ask.

Jules Bonny was Prosper’s Sergeant-at-Arms and the club go-to-guy.  Back in the day, Jules  and Crow had been prospects in the MC together. Because Crow was practically raised in the club, he knew the ins and outs of the year-long initiation and helped Jules navigate those dangerous waters. Jules, being the kind of guy he was, had never forgotten that help, and Crow, being the kind of guy he was, had never taken advantage of Jules feeling that.

So when Crow asked his best friend to put out a looksee on Melissa Raymoor, Jules was more than happy to oblige.

My mom sold almost all our stuff and then we moved.

Sounded a lot like Melissa had felt a need to travel light and run fast. And Crow knew all about that.

Lots of kids in school don’t have dads.

Crow knew all about that too.

He lit a joint, grabbed a beer and braced himself as the memories came flooding back.

***

Twelve-year-old Crow was roused from an uneasy sleep at the sound of the familiar hard bang on the door of the ramshackle trailer home. His eyes immediately flew open and he felt the fast beating of his heart. From the thin mattress on the floor, Crow looked up and out of the grime encrusted window. The Tamarisk tree that grew just on the other side of the dirt yard stood in eerie illumination against the night sky. He used to love that tree. Before the suicide, he used to climb that tree and hunt for the nests of mourning doves.

“Don’t look at it. Don’t climb it,” Shiwóyé had warned him gently after the local teenage girl hanged herself from one of the sturdy twisted branches.

Shiwóyé always looked out for him that way. Without her guiding influence, life would have been so much worse for the young Apache boy. But as fate would have it, Crow’s beloved grandmother, his Shiwóyé, died the spring he turned ten, taking with her the only steady, loving force in his young life.

Her daughter, Nalin, Crow's mother, did not even come close to having the skills that it took to raise a child solo. What she did have was the exotic beauty of an Apache woman and a severe alcohol and crack cocaine addiction. By the time Crow was eleven years old, Nalin had given up even trying to be a mother, and by the time he was twelve, Crow had given up trying to make her be one. But he never gave up on trying to keep her alive. And it had just gotten harder and harder.

Thank God that the school on the reservation had breakfast and lunch programs. Those meals kept Crow and his mother fed. Crow always volunteered to help with cafeteria cleanup. If the lunch ladies or custodian saw him slip an uneaten piece of fruit, cereal bar or cheese stick from the lunch trays into his backpack, they never said anything.

The pickings from the lost and found bin kept them clothed. Full into the throes of addiction his mother was skinny enough to wear the clothes of middle school girls. But no one at the reservation school was much better off than they were, so there wasn’t much lost to choose from.

Fully awake, Crow could hear the low voices and the groans of the squeaky mattress springs filter through the paper-thin walls. Over the years since his Shiwóyé died the young boy had heard other things too, but he had learned to block those out. However, in the still of the hot night, the sounds that came from his mother's room seemed louder and more frightening than ever before.

When the string of profanities was interrupted by the sound of a hard slap, Crow scrambled quickly to a dark corner. The young boy brought his knees up to his chest and made himself as small as he could. It was just a few short seconds after that that Crow saw a pair of legs covered with dirty jeans darken his doorway.

“Fuck. What we got here?” The drunken man stumbled hard and unsteadily towards Crow. “Squaw's got herself a little brave, has she? Damn. I thought we'd killed all of you off. Well, your whore mama just passed out before I could squirt my load. Open your mouth there, Tonto, and take a suck out of the Great White Hope.” The drunk’s filthy hands fished for the limp dick inside of his pants.

Crow sat crouched and tensed on his haunches. He had known it would be only a matter of time before one of his mother's johns came knocking at his door. The young boy felt a moment of panic when he realized the small sharp paring knife that he kept under his pillow was gone. Searching frantically Crow reached for the only thing he could find—the ballpoint pen that he kept by his bed for doing his homework.

Through his alcohol-induced haze, the intruder had somehow managed to jerk himself into an erection. Now the staggering drunk jangled his loose, pink balls in Crow's face.

When the man made a move to shove his balls into Crow's hand, Crow let out a warrior cry and with the desperate strength of a hunted animal he stabbed the pen right through the wrinkled, soft sac. When the man fell forward with a howl, Crow was on him. All the hate and resentment and fear that had built up in the twelve-year-old boy's heart broke wide open.

Crow rained kicks on the guy’s nuts long after he had passed out from the booze and the pain, until there was nothing left between his legs but a mass of purple bleeding pulp.

Then Crow grabbed the unconscious guy's legs and dragged him out of the trailer and across the dirt road. Under the star-filled sky, the boy rolled the body into the deep ditch that lay just beyond the Tamarisk tree. Crow checked to see if the guy was breathing before he left and found that he was. Good. One less thing on his conscience.

Crow knew then that he was going to have to leave. He was going to have to set out on his own before the addiction and the sadness and the desperation that had destroyed his mother seeped into his bones. He knew he had to leave before it killed him the way it was killing her.

So he went back into the trailer and by the light of the full moon packed his few meager belongings. Crow left three apples, four sticks of cheese and six breakfast bars on the dirty kitchen table. He knew it wasn't much, but it was all he had. Then he went into his mother's room and covered her half naked body with the thin blanket. He placed a kiss on her hair as she lay snoring and whispered goodbye. Then he closed the door on the life that had been no life at all and moved on.