BUTCHER: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 3) (12 page)

~ Butcher ~

“What’s wrong? What time is it? Is everything okay?”

My brother Gator hit me with question after question, then he swung his backdoor open so fast and hard that it nearly collided with my face.

“Everything’s fine,” I said, giving a quick summation. “Just let me in, and I’ll explain.”

Gator raised his eyebrows and shook his head at me. “Alright, motherfucker,” he said. “C’mon in.”

Gator stepped to the side, and I squeezed in past him. As he shut the door behind me, I noticed that he was wearing nothing but a pair of Pac-Man boxers, and his hair looked like he’d just been through a wind tunnel. I’d obviously woken him up, as expected—and he was obviously alone, as expected.

I’d chosen to go to Gator’s because I knew he’d be here alone, and there was no chance that he’d have some bimbo in his bed. See, like the song goes, Gator left his heart in San Francisco… Well, technically, he didn’t
leave
it there, but it belonged to a girl who lived there. He was in love with her and committed to her, and he was a good, solid guy—so the chances of him having a girl at his place were negligible.

“This better be good,” Gator said, running his hands through his mangy mop.

“It’s no big deal,” I replied, walking over to the fridge and helping myself to a beer.

“I had a fight with the girl I’m seeing,” I explain, taking a seat at the cluttered kitchen table. “She kicked me out; and I’m not expected home until morning. I just need a place to hang out for a couple of hours, ‘til after Sonja’s up; then I’ll leave. You can go back to sleep, take care of whatever you gotta take care of. I’m good. I just need somewhere to chill for a while. That’s all.”

Gator slapped his hand on his chest, made a clicking sound with his mouth, and went to the fridge to get a beer as well. He cracked off the cap against the counter, turned around to look at me, took a sip, and then let me have it.

“You come here in the middle of the night, get my ass outta bed, and say you wanna crash here for a couple hours,” he said, giving his own, more apt, summation. “That’s fine. I’m cool with it,” he went on. “But now, I’m awake—and you gotta entertain me. Tell me why you had a fight with this girl and tell me why you’re spending a whole night away from Sonja.”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, spitting my words out like sunflower seed shells. “It’s late—and like I said, it’s no big deal.”

“Obviously it is a big deal, brother,” Gator said in a caring voice. “And it ain’t gonna go away just ‘cuz you don’t wanna talk about it.”

Damnit
, I said to myself. I was starting to think I’d picked the wrong brother to call upon in my hour of need. Though truth be told, I guess I should’ve expected any one of them to probe me in the same manner.

“Alright,” I sighed, feeling defeated. I knew that Gator was gonna keep pressing me until I caved, so I decided to spill the beans before that happened.

“I’ve been dating this girl, Lexi,” I explained. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks, so she doesn’t know anything about Sonja yet. She got upset the other night, when I left shortly after we hooked up—so I promised her I’d spend the night with her the next time we went out.”

Gator shook his head from side to side and took a sip of his beer, and I tried to ignore the judgmental undertones of his gesture.

“I made arrangements and told Sonja I had to take care of some business tonight,” I went on, uninterrupted. “And I went on my date with Lexi and went back to her place… Well, long story short, Sonja called me in the middle of the night. I went off to the bathroom to call her back, and Lexi somehow overheard or listened.

“She was still in bed when I got back to the room, and I thought she was sleeping—though I guess she was just pretending… Anyway, I went back to sleep, and next thing I knew, like an hour or so later, she’s standing at the doorway, yelling at me, and throwing shit at me.

“She must’ve looked through my phone and was going on and on about me lying to her, lying to Sonja, and two-timing them both. It got really, really ugly, and she kicked me out—so I left. But as I said, I’m not expected home until morning... And that’s what brings me here.”

“Yep. Definitely does sound like a big deal to me, brother,” Gator said. He made that clicking noise with his mouth again, as if he was sucking air, or spit, through his teeth. He threw back another drag of beer, scratched his stomach, and continued, “Now, I’m gonna do ya a big favor here—even bigger than letting you crash here… I know why ya came here to me, instead of going to someone like Hammer. Hammer got a girl that basically lives with him. Tall Boy lives with his sister and her son. Smokey’s married and got a baby. But Gator—Gator ain’t got nothin’ akin to that. He ain’t got no family, least not yet.

“Ya made the right call with that one, Butcher—and now
I’m
gonna make the right call. You’re right, I ain’t got no family. So, I don’t know nothin’ about family-like situations and demands—and that’s why I ain’t gonna speak on ‘em.

“I won’t say another word about all this crazy shit you got goin’ on with Sonja, because I can’t even begin to understand it. But I
will
say something about this Lexi shit—and yeah, it does relate to Sonja. And you ain’t gonna like it.”

I sighed and took a drink. I had a good idea what was coming next, but I wasn’t at all prepared, or willing, to hear it.

“Be a man,” Gator said. He chugged what was left of his bottle and tossed the empty into the nearby garbage can. “You know the right thing to do,” he added as he pulled open the refrigerator door and leaned in to get another beer. He cracked it open on the counter, just as he’d done with the last one, and went on.

“You need to go to Lexi,” he said. “Tell her the truth about Sonja. Tell her you’re sorry for lying to her. And just
deal
with the consequences that follow.”

For a big lug from the bayou, Gator sure could be eloquent at times, and quite convincing. I knew that what he said was right—and inevitable—and I nodded my head to acknowledge it.

“Thanks, man,” I replied, regarding my brother fondly. “I didn’t come here looking for advice, but I couldn’t ask for any better than you gave me.”

Gator smiled and wiggled his eyebrows at me. “You’re welcome,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Gator walked over to the backdoor and peered out the tiny window.

“The sun ain’t even up yet,” he said with a chuckle.

“Huh?” I asked, making sure I got his words straight. He spoke with a faint Louisiana accent that, at times, made him sound too lyrical to follow.

“The sun ain’t even up yet,” he repeated, talking a little slower. “I already done solved your problem, and it ain’t even daybreak yet… So what the hell’re we gonna do ‘til mornin’ comes?”

I laughed and shrugged my shoulders, as Gator walked back toward the main part of the kitchen.

“Wanna help me do these dishes?” he asked, eyeing the full sink.

“Hell no!” I yelped with another laugh. I took a sip of beer and grinned as I swallowed.

“How ‘bout helpin’ with the laundry?” he asked, trying to maintain a serious expression.

“If you think I’m getting
anywhere
near your dirty skibbies, brother,” I chimed back, “you’re fucking crazy.”

“Alright, alright,” Gator replied. “I hear ya. No need to start cussing.’” (Under his breath, Gator finished his sentence by mumbling the word “jackass.”)

I mumbled the word “fucker” under by breath in turn, then took another sip and responded, “You still workin’ on that old truck out in your garage?”

“Always,” Gator answered.

“Need a hand with anything?” I asked.

“Always,” Gator repeated. He set his beer down on the counter, ran his hand through his mane, and went on. “Lem’me go put some clothes on,” he said. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

“Okay,” I said before throwing back my beer and draining the bottle. Gator walked out of the room, and I went to the fridge for another cold one.

Once I had my beer in hand, I sat back down at the kitchen table. I
wanted
to think about the old truck in Gator’s garage, but instead, of course, my mind turned to Lexi and the complexities of our situation.

As Gator said, I
had
to confront her. I had to tell her about Sonja. I had to fess up to lying, and I had to tell her
why
I lied. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I had to do it—and I had to do it soon.

Without Gator in the room, I found myself drinking my beer pretty quickly. I basically pounded my way through half of it in less than a minute, and I decided to slow down and pace myself. Just like you’re not supposed to operate heavy machinery when under the influence, you’re not supposed to work on it either—and I didn’t want to get fucked up and fuck up Gator’s classic pick-up.

I pulled out my phone and checked it quickly. It was 4:56 a.m., and I had no missed calls or messages. Nothing from Sonja. And nothing from Lexi. I felt simultaneously relieved and let down.

I played around with my phone for a while, waiting for Gator to return. I checked the local weather, read some of the latest national headlines, and even indulged myself with a bit of celebrity gossip (shh!).

When I heard Gator’s footsteps on the stairs, I stood up, put my phone in my pocket, and picked up my partial beer.

“You ready?” I asked, as Gator walked back into the kitchen.

“Yep,” he said, tossing something at me. It hit me in the chest, but luckily it was soft—and it was familiar. For the second time in just a few hours, an article of clothing had been thrown at me—only this time, it was out of an act of kindness, and was a very large T-shirt.

“What’s this for?” I asked, holding the thing up in the air and dangling it from my finger like it was a coat on a coatrack. Gator was much bigger than I was—in terms of height, width, girth, and, probably, every other measure—so the shirt looked like a dress hanging next to my body.

“You just came from a date, bro,” he said. “And now you’re gonna go work in the garage. You don’t wanna get them fancy digs of yours all dirty, now do ya?”

I snorted and nodded, as I folded the T-shirt over my arm. “Good point,” I said. Little did Gator know, my digs were already “all dirty.” I remembered, just then, that I’d used the shirt I was wearing to “clean up” after Lexi and I…

After Lexi and I… what?

What had Lexi and I done earlier?

Made love?

Fucked?

Screwed?

“You comin’?” Gator asked from the open doorway. I’d gotten lost in my thoughts and didn’t even notice that he was ready to exit.

“Yeah, yeah,” I answered, following after him blindly. My body was moving, but my mind was still stuck on Lexi.

~ Butcher ~

I pulled up in front of Lexi’s apartment building around nine that night, and I sat on my Harley, collecting my thoughts for a moment. I was in her neck of the woods unannounced, and I didn’t know how—if at all—she’d receive me, so I wanted to be completely levelheaded when I approached her.

Rest assured, I’m not a stalker, and it’s not usually like me to just show up somewhere I’m not expected or wanted, but I’d tried calling Lexi earlier—three times—to arrange for a “meeting” of some sort, and it got me nowhere.

First, I called before I left Gator’s, around seven in the morning; then I called around noon, after Sonja passed out in front of the television; then I called at six, just as the evening beer special at Pinky’s kicked into gear.

Three calls. No answers. No callbacks.

Really, I had no other option. I needed to talk to Lexi, and if I had to come to her uninvited, so be it. I’d had a
very
long day and hadn’t slept since I slept with her, and there was no way I’d be able to rest until I talked to her and tried to clear things up… and, now was the time to do so.

I got up, got off of my hog, reached into my side-bag, and pulled out the small Manilla envelope I’d brought with me from home. I held it snug to my side and clutched onto it for dear life, as I made my way toward Lexi’s building. I was pretty nervous about what I was about to do, I had to admit. It was a longshot that she’d even respond to the buzzer, and an even longer longshot that, if she did, she’d respond in a positive way.

Once I got to the outside security door, I took a deep breath and counted to three before I pressed the button next to Lexi’s apartment number. My heart pounded hard against my chest as I waited for her to answer.

But she didn’t.

So I pressed the button again.

And again.

Finally, through the clear glass door, I saw Lexi emerge from her apartment and gaze down the hallway toward me. As soon as she registered my face and form, she shook her head from side to side, folded her arms up at her elbows, and walked hurriedly in my direction.

“I’m not letting you in,” she said when she arrived at the door.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, “about Sonja.”

“Whatever you have to say,” Lexi replied, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Yes, you do,” I insisted. “You
need
to hear it.”

“No, I don’t,” Lexi spat back. Her eyes glowed with fury.

“Now, get out of here,” she added. “Or I’ll call the cops. I’m sure they’d love to get their hands on a big-time gang member like you.”

Phew
. I took another deep breath. But instead of counting to three, this time I counted to ten. I had to really, really get ahold on myself here and mind my manners—and my temper. When Lexi said that, my first impulse was to say “fuck it,” turn, walk away, and forget I ever met her—and my second impulse was to slam my fist against the door and tell her what a bitch she was being.

Don’t do it, Butcher,
I told myself as I bit my tongue, stood my ground, and held back my anger.
Don’t do it.

I squeezed the envelope at my side and reminded myself why I was here.

“Just hear me out, Lexi,” I requested, calmly. “I can explain everything.” I was proud of myself for being so civil.

“I mean it, Butcher,” Lexi stated sternly. “If you don’t leave, I’m gonna call the police.”

Lexi turned and started back toward her apartment, which I took as my signal to take action. I dipped my fingers into the Manilla envelope and pulled out the first thing I touched, then pressed it up against the glass door with one hand.

“Lexi!” I screamed as I pounded against the glass with my other hand.

Lexi spun around like a top. Her hair whipped through the air and revealed a vile, vehement look on her face, which curled into something curious when she saw what I was holding. She slowly stepped forward, cocked her head to the side, and came back to the door to more closely examine the object.

“
This
,” I said, pressing into the glass as firmly as I could without breaking it, “is Sonja.”

Lexi looked at the photograph I had pressed against the glass, then looked at me, before looking at it again and staring at it intently. Her face softened, and her expression yielded to kinder, more compassionate emotions. She stepped back, brought her eyes to mine, then reached out and opened the door.

“Come on in,” she said cordially, as if nothing ugly between us had ever happened.

I pulled my hand away from the glass and put the photo of Sonja back in the Manilla envelope, along with the others, bowed my head, and walked into the building. Without saying a word, I kept walking until I got to Lexi’s door, where I stopped and waited for her to catch up.

She’d been walking at a slower pace, with her arms folded up at her elbows again, and she, too, had remained silent during the trek.

As soon as she got to the door, Lexi opened it, stepped in, and held it open for me invitingly. Yet, as welcoming as she otherwise appeared, she refused to look at me as I entered.

Once I was in her apartment, Lexi shut the door behind me, folded her arms at her elbows yet again, and looked off to the side, staring at the blank wall. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could tell they were leaking.

“So…” she began. It sounded like the beginning of a statement, but I treated it like the start of a question. And as such, I jumped ahead to the end and answered.

“Yes,” I said. “Sonja is my daughter.”