Kid: Cerberus MC Book 2 (2 page)

The sound the front door makes as it closes sounds much like I imagine the sealing of a tomb would.

I climb off the bed even though lethargy has begun to take over my body. I change out of the pajamas I’ve been wearing since getting back from the funeral two days ago. Sliding on jeans and a crumpled t-shirt, I don’t even bother to do more with my hair than a messy knot.

I walk out the door with nothing but my phone. I don’t plan to return, so there’s no need in grabbing anything else. My mind is made up. My fate is written in stone much like the one that is sure to mark Alec’s grave.

“That’s the last of it,” I tell Emmalyn as I set down the massive box of Styrofoam cups.

“You’re wonderful. Have I ever told you that?”

“All the time,” I say pulling my knife from my belt to cut open the box. “But feel free to keep saying it. I love it when beautiful women sing my praises.”

“Back off my girl, asshole,” I hear from an all too familiar voice coming up from behind me. My eyes widen, but Emmalyn just winks at me as Kincaid, our MC’s president, wraps his arms around her.

I adore Emmalyn; I can honestly say she’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. So it came as no surprise that Diego “Kincaid” Anderson fell hard and fast for her. If I were ever inclined to settle down, which I’m not, I’d aim for someone like her.

“Leave him be, Diego,” Emmalyn says swatting at the arms around her waist.

“Like hell,” he says in his deep baritone. “You got eyes for my girl, Kid?”

“Only in her dreams,” I say walking away from them both. They’re so crazy in love I can only tolerate the clingy, sweetness for a few minutes at a time. I turn back in their direction. “Come on, Ollie,” I say patting my leg for their dog to join me. “Little boy like you doesn’t need to hear all the nastiness spewing from your daddy’s mouth.” Tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, Ollie follows along beside me.

“Jackass,” Kincaid says from behind my back. Emmalyn giggles softly, and then I hear a quiet moan. Most days they can’t seem to possess the ability to keep their hands off each other, clearly today is no different.

The park is filling up pretty fast. I love seeing the townspeople mix with members from both the Cerberus MC as well as the Renegade MC, a visiting club from out of town. Tickets are being sold for plates of BBQ to raise money for a war memorial. Sad really, that this is just now happening, considering how many military members this town has lost to this war as well as the ones prior.

Several churches have also gotten involved in today’s festivities. Although not very religious myself, I’m filled with pride that our MC has a high enough standing in the community that the religious types are joining us for a great cause.

I make my way to a quieter side of the park, away from the food and children playing. Shadow must have had the same idea, as he’s standing on the outskirts drinking tea from a Styrofoam cup.

“Some turnout, huh?” I ask as I approach.

“Yeah,” he says looking around. “We’re going to match whatever this little shindig brings in and Scorpion’s club is going to do the same, but it’s always nice to see the town’s people come together.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” I kick at the dirt with the front of my steel-toed boot.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad we’re doing this, but being around this many people at one time makes my skin crawl. These are the town’s people; not
my
people. My skin tingles and crawls, awareness and unease creeping up my spine; not knowing the cause of it makes matters worse.

I raise my eyes to the crowd, my military training and paranoia never far away. It wasn’t long ago that one of our own turned on the club, more specifically Kincaid and Emmalyn. He’s six feet under by now, but only having happened a few weeks ago has me still on edge.

Scanning the people in the park, I don’t see anything or anyone I’d consider a threat. My eyes falter on a girl sitting alone on a bench. She’s young, beautiful, and looks completely heartbroken. I follow her quick glance and see her watching the parents of Alejandro Sanchez, the young soldier we’re honoring today.

Distraught doesn’t even begin to describe her.

“Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” Shadow asks in his deep southern drawl.

I remain silent, watching her pull something from her pocket, pop it in her mouth, and take a long pull from a bottle of water. I frown and shake my head. People deal with grief and pain in many different ways. Who am I to judge if this girl wants to ease her suffering with a few pills.

The fact that she doesn’t even look around or try to hide her drug use is what concerns me. It’s as if she feels invisible, almost like she’s gone unnoticed for so long she knows no one will see her or worse yet, wouldn’t care even if they did.

“Who is she?” I ask out loud more to myself than Shadow.

“Emmalyn told me earlier she’s the fiancée of the soldier.”

Fuck. That’s rough.

“Why isn’t she near his family?” I look over at the large group of people I know to be his blood relatives.

“Couldn’t tell you that, brother. You’d think they’d include her.” I barely register his hand slapping me on my back and his departing words. “See ya later, Kid. Gonna grab me a plate.”

I stand and watch her, only losing my line of sight for a few brief seconds when people cross in front of me.

How could she ever go unnoticed? She’s gorgeous. Even in jeans, a plain t-shirt, and her auburn hair thrown haphazardly on the top of her head, she’s breathtaking. And young. Probably too young.

I shake my head and pull my focus from her, feeling a little dirty gawking at a girl and thinking carnal thoughts, when there’s a good chance she’s a high school student and under age. Top it off with the fact that she’s grieving the loss of her fiancé, makes me feel like a complete asshole.

I force myself to look at anyone but her. The tingle I felt earlier hits me again, and I look over to see her looking at me. I immediately realize her eyes were on me earlier, even though I didn’t see her watching me. It was the cause of the feeling the first time around.

She meets my eyes for the briefest of seconds, and then looks down at her hands, giving her head a tiny shake. She stands from her position on the ground and walks away without a backward glance. She stumbles and staggers slightly, and I know it’s because of whatever pills she’s just popped. Concerned that she’s affected so quickly, I decide to follow her. Completely creepy, and possibly illegal, I know, but for some unknown reason I just can’t let her walk away.

I’m worried about her safety. I tell myself this over and over as she leaves the park and walks toward the long bridge on the far side of the park.

I plan to keep my distance from her. The last thing she needs is some stranger confronting her about drug use on such an emotionally exhausting day. Plus, by the way she’s tripping over her own feet, she wouldn’t retain a word I say.

I see her reach into her pocket again, pull something out, and stare down at it. I watch her shoulders slump, clearly frustrated with whatever it is she’s looking at. With her back to me, I don’t fully understand until she lowers her hand and a flash of orange falls from her grasp.

The lidless pill bottle falls to the ground; the low thud more like a shotgun being discharged.

My mind races as I quicken my step to grab the bottle from the ground. My normally steady hands shake slightly when I turn it over to read the label. Zolpidem? Sleeping pills? People don’t take sleeping pills to get high. Oxy. Hydro. Now that I would understand.

Realization slams in my chest just as I look up to see her grasping the railing on the bridge. Her foot slides off the edge as if she doesn’t have the strength to lift it up high enough to get over the top, which is clearly her goal.

“Hey,” I shout, hoping to get to her in time.

I watch in horror as she somehow manages the strength she wasn’t showing a few seconds ago and begins to throw her leg over the railing. Jesus, right here in broad daylight, less than a quarter of a mile away from a benefit being held for her deceased fiancé this chick is going to kill herself.

I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve been forced to intervene in a situation like this, but it’s not. War fucks people up pretty bad. I force the thought out of my head and focus all of my attention on getting to her before she can make the plunge.

The height of the bridge isn’t enough to kill her, but the rushing water under the bridge from storms from the last couple of days combined with God knows how many pills she has in her system, won’t make for a successful outcome. Well, maybe successful in her eyes, but I’m not letting that shit happen today.

I close the distance between us rather quickly and grab her around her waist. The action causes me to stumble back even though she feels as if she weighs next to nothing. We crash to the ground with me holding her close to my chest, cushioning her from the fall as best as I can.

My heart is pounding, blood rushing through my veins. I look down at her half-lidded eyes.

“Just let me die,” she whispers before her body goes limp in my trembling arms.

I don’t know exactly where I am when I wake up, but without opening my eyes, I know where I’m not. I feel a tear roll down my cheek at the realization. I’ve been a failure all my life. Why should my suicide be any different?

I continue to let the tears squeeze past my closed eyelids. I should be dead. That was the choice I made. I was willing to deal with the consequence. I’m not a religious person, but I know the Bible sees suicide as a mortal sin, casting me straight into Hell. Fire and brimstone don't seem as bad as facing the world without Alec. Eternal damnation would at least get me out of the shithole that is Farmington, New Mexico.

Regaining more of my senses, I’m certain I’m in a hospital. I can smell disinfectant, the mattress I’m laying on feels like a board, and the fabric against my skin is harsh and scratchy.

I can tell by the static in the air that someone is in the room with me, even though I’ve not heard a sound other than the rumble of distant traffic. I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to look in the face of another person disappointed in me, or worse the disdain I’ve seen on too many faces in my life to count.

“Hey,” I hear a gruff, unfamiliar voice say just before I feel fingers on my cheek sweeping hair away. “You awake?” he continues.

I swallow roughly, wincing at the incredible soreness in my throat. I feel as if I’ve ingested a bucket of glass.

“Where am I?” Even to my own ears I sound like a three pack a day smoker. I try to reach my hand up to clasp my throat, but a hand stops me.

“Open your eyes,” the man insists.

Why I obey, when all I want to do is crawl inside of myself, I’ll never know. Heavy eyelids keep me from opening them all the way, but I find myself staring into deep, dark brown eyes.

“Take a drink,” he says, and I see him holding a small, plastic cup near my mouth. I take a sip, never taking my eyes off of him. The cool water soothes my injured throat for the seconds I’m drinking, but then the pain returns.

I’ve never seen this man before, but somehow his beard, strong brow, and mesmerizing eyes give me a sense of familiarity.

“More?” he asks softly placing the straw near my lips again.

I drink, not wanting to refuse his kindness.

A throat clearing from the other side of the room draws both of our attention. He stands from his crouched position near my head and stiffens. A quick glance at the door heats my blood near to the boiling point.

I look back at him and for the first time notice the leather cut he’s wearing. A biker. I remember seeing lots of guys wearing them at the memorial. I close my eyes, suddenly recalling where I was before I ended up here. I sat alone in the park watching Alec’s parents from a distance, internalizing their hate as I downed pill after pill.

The leather-clad stranger begins to walk away, and I grasp for him. He pats the top of my hand and winks at me before pulling away and stepping out of the room.

“Well that didn’t take long,” my foster dad says coming closer to the bed. “Straight from the faggot to the criminal I see.”