If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel (2 page)

“What the fuck do you mean, you’re leaving? No, you’re not gonna do this! Just because he’s coming—” My eyes probably bulge out of my sixteen-year-old head when Ilsa, the bitch in subject, dodges his hand flying out to grab hers, and he trips.

He doesn’t fall though. Don’t get it twisted; Pops doesn’t fall.          

But he does trip.

And when Ilsa gets the door of the truck thrown open and crawls in, her screeching voice echoes through the truck’s cab at me. “Get out. Get out. Get out. Get the fuck OUT, Jacques. Eden, get in the back seat and buckle up. Now.”

“But, Mom!” I hear her knob-kneed little girl start to whine, but her bitch mother yells for her to shut up at the same time she reaches over my lap and opens the truck door.

“I said ‘now’, Eden. Get in the damn truck! NOW! I’m not doing this!” Her voice has escalated to an unhealthy octave at this point. Then suddenly me and my ass are meeting the black gravel outside my pop’s truck. And just before my leather bag slams into my gut, that same black gravel digging into my backside is being spewed off the rubber tires as the bitch slams Pop’s F-150 from reverse into first, and balls the tires.

“What the FU—?” I scramble on all fours before gaining some traction with my feet and standing to my full height. “Pops, what the HELL?!” My hands toss my bag on the ground before shooting above my head. My eyes probably look like they’re going to pop out of my head when they meet my father’s dark blue ones. I gesture my words then repeat them. “Dad. What. The. Hell. Man?”

My pops and I have always had the sort of relationship most would compare to siblings born in different generations. Pops is like my brother…who just so happened to be born one score and a decade before me, putting me about thirty years behind him in experience.

As I stand toe to toe with the man in front of me, I do realize that even though I’m nearly seventeen, I
still
don’t meet my father eye-to-eye. But I don’t let it get under my skin. Not too much. I take my father in from head to toe. He stands a good six-foot-three. And he has to weigh at least two bills; he’s always kept himself fit. And he’s attractive, I guess. If one was measuring by the looks of the women he keeps in frequent rotation.

I watch him rake his hands through his salt and pepper hair before one stops behind his neck and the other rests on his hip. His dark blue eyes look up and pierce mine, and it’s now I notice all the lines around his eyes for the first time.

This one, though. This damn woman, though. She’s aging him. Quick. And it’s because he freaking cares.

He broke his own cardinal rule by letting another one in. He let one get to him—he let one of them matter.

I instantly break our eye contact and glance at the grass between our boots, silently shaking my head.

The silence is heavy between us for a second, and I wonder if Pops is going to say something and break it when my Uncle Chase jogs over. “Well that settles any qualms the guys have had. I’ve been cool. Jacques?” I nod and he jerks his head from me to Pops. “Arch? This shit sucks, but that bitch was crazy. Count your blessings, brother.”

After Uncle Chase slaps me on the back, he looks back over his shoulder to where his eldest son, my best friend, Ben, is walking over. “Ben, looks like we lost the Ford, son. Jacques, you can ride with Ben in the Chevy, but you boys better ride safe. No fucking around. I want both of you to look at me.” When we’re both facing him and looking him in the eyes, he finishes. “You hear me?”

After Ben flips him the bird and I do some smart ass salute, Ben and I head in the direction of the red Chevy.

“Dude, thank
God
! I thought we were gonna get stuck with that woman’s kids! Didn’t you? What the hell happened?” he asks as we climb into the cab of the truck.

“Man, I don’t know. They were fighting like cats and dogs this morning and it hasn’t stopped. I think he got busted with another damn woman. Then ‘King’ was supposed to meet us here, but she flipped her shit about it when she found out on the drive up. Not that any of this clicked in my head ‘til we stopped here and all hell broke loose. Did you eat all the damn Funyuns, you asshole?”

I keep flipping through different consoles in the truck, looking for something. Something to drink or snack on. I do note that something’s missing, I just don’t know what it is.

“Does a bear shit in the woods, Jacques? Hell yeah, I ate ‘em. There’s probably some Corn Nuts in the glove compartment, though.” He nods in the direction of it and I pop it open. Half a bag.
At least it’s not empty.

After he cranks the truck, he starts flipping through the radio stations and complaining about how he and I
WILL
be riding bikes next year on this trip. To which I think—
Duh, that’s always been the code
.

I don’t know why he thought they’d change it this year just because we’re a year away. It’s eighteen. The summer we both are patched in. That’s always been our fathers’ rule. That’s when we ride. Ben is such an idiot sometimes, I swear.

“Eighteen, bro. You know that. You need to learn some patience. That’s what you need to learn,” I pick at him. But I’ve always picked at him, it’s my job. I’m the oldest.

“Speaking of patience, how long do you think it’ll take them to start heading out? Nothing’s changed, route should stay the same. The only difference is we lost a mother and her two kids, but that’s a good load to lose. Less weight.” He smirks at me.

I just shake my head and pour the remaining Corn Nuts in my gullet before stealing his Dr. Pepper and chugging its contents.

As I wipe my mouth with my sleeve, I see the first of the guys cranking their bikes before filing into line. “True. But…can I just say something?” He nods, looking at me strangely. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but the shit you say…I’d only ever say that kinda shit to me, ya know? I know you think you sound cool, but—just don’t let any of the old timers hear you say any shit like that, okay?” I chuckle at the look of hurt that crosses his face and hold my hands up. “Dude, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t love you. Okay?”

To which he mutters under his breath, “Yeah, no. I know. And don’t worry, I won’t.” He pulls his father’s red Chevy truck out onto Main Street behind all my father’s men on their bikes in the pack.

Next year, though…Ben and I will be patched in. And we won’t be playing drag bike in a damn truck. That’s for freaking sure.

***

I knew something was fucking missing. I knew it. I’ve never cussed myself like I’m cursing myself on the ride back to some shitty little town outside Chicago. I’m seven shades of pissed when I slam Ben’s truck into drive and step out onto the grass in the park. I jog over to where my dad and I were at when Ilsa sped away, but I don’t see my bag. Nowhere.

Dammit, I had a freaking joint in there! What if the cops find it?
Oh my
God! My damn license was in my wallet! Which is—I run my hands over my ass pockets and wince when my situation worsens.

“Shit!” I kick some gravel, and when that doesn’t help get some of my frustration out, I spin around and punch the shit out of an old oak tree. As hard as I can, I whale on it.

But only once. Oak wins. All day, all day. Oak wins, every time. “Shit! Fuck! Dammit!” Tears are stinging the back of my eyes when my back slides down the hard
as hell
oak tree while I cradle my left hand to my chest and try to even out my breathing.

I barely hear the little pipsqueak over my gritting teeth, but I do hear her. With my head still leaning back against the tree, I look up and my eyes settle on the cutest little face I’ve ever seen. Big brown eyes blinking down at me from up in the tree are the first thing I see when I open my eyes facing the heavens under the branches.

“That wasn’t very smart. It hurt?” Her little head quirks to the side as her eyes take me in from head to toe, ringlets bouncing around her face. “Looked like it. Sounded like it. You know, you shouldn’t be saying words like that. You’re not old enough.” She tsks me before raising her eyebrows at me like I’m the immature nine-year-old. Then she shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Then don’t speak. See if I care.” She huffs before leaning back against the branch she’s perched on. “’Cause I don’t. I don’t care about anyone, just like no one cares about me,” she mutters, and it pulls on my heartstrings. But just a little bit. Not enough to ask questions or offer her a shoulder to cry on. A dude could get arrested for that shit.

And I gotta get Ben his truck back. He’s riding bitch with Slim ‘til I can meet them at our next stop outside of Detroit. I glance at the little girl. “Yeah, of course it hurt. Where’s your parents at, kid?” I ask out of pure kindness, not because I care.

“Don’t have none. I’m homeless. A vagabond, if you will. No one wants me and I’m just fine with that. What’s your name?” she asks, and even though I don’t want to, I chuckle.

“Vagabond, huh? You can’t beat that. I like that, actually. I’ve been calling myself a roamer. Or nomad. But vagabond has a much better ring to it. Name’s Jacques, and you? What’s your name, little one?”

“Jacques. There’s a reason I’m still here. There’s a reason I’m a successful vagabond-slash-homeless kid and that reason is I don’t tell strange boys my name. Ever. It’s a rule my sister and I stick to. Now, by any chance, you wouldn’t happen to be missing a bag would you… Jacques?”

I’ve scrambled from the ground quicker than she can finish her words, “Hey! You little brat! Give me my bag! Yeah, I lost it. It’s a black leather one. Have you seen it? Look, kid—” Her little feet landing dead in front of me stops my words.

And I step back a bit, trying to give her some space.

I don’t want to scare her; she’s no bigger than a minute. I realize this the instant she’s in front of me. All of her is less than four and a half feet. And I don’t care how big this
me-against-the-world
act is she’s pulling, I don’t believe it. She’s no more homeless than I am. She’s just a little girl who’s used to running her mouth loud and long enough to send most people running. But nuh-uh, I clocked her little butt. I know her game. I played the same one for almost a year after my mom died.

I also know I don’t have time for this shit.

“Kid, if you know where my bag is, just give it to me. I have somewhere to be and it ain’t here.” My words are calmly spoken, and in a hushed voice as I approach her slowly, keeping both hands held up to show, I don’t know… trust? So she can see there’s not anything in them. “Did you take it from the parking lot, my little vagabond?” I chuckle. “I won’t be mad. I just need it back, that’s all.”

But I don’t think she’s buying it. Especially when her hands land on her hips. “Why? What’s in it that’s so important?” she asks, and I almost lose my cool. Almost.

“Umm…how about adult shit. Like credit cards. And my driver’s license. My cigarettes. Do you speak to all adults like this? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Where’s my bag at, kid?”

I catch her looking over her shoulder towards where the actual park is for the second time, and it dawns on me just how far we are away from the other park-goers standing beside the trees skirting the park when I zero my eyes on hers. “Do I need to drag you over to where all those nervous-looking adults are clucking around? They seem to be searching for something…or someone. How long have you been on your own, again?” I have to swallow hard in order to keep the chuckle down when her wide anxious brown eyes shoot back up to mine while her two front pearly white buck teeth nibble on her bottom chapped lip.

“I didn’t take your bag. Mildred did.” She cocks her head towards the gathering of adults and I realize she’s showing her cards. She’s putting them all on the table. “She took your rolled up cigarette too, by the way. There wasn’t a pack. Oh, and she took your necklace. She said she thought it was hers or something. Anyway, look—don’t mention it to anyone, but I swiped your bag when they weren’t looking—tossed it in the boys’ bathroom. She was going to take it back with us and give it to the cops. So, you can thank me for saving it.” She harrumphs.
Harrumphs.
And smiles as though I now owe her the world…

And it’s at this point I can’t hold back the chuckle lodged in my throat for another second. I laugh at her and only barely stop when I see a look of hurt cross her face. Then I see the tears well up and gather on top of her bottom lashes, and stop all together.

“It’s not nice to laugh to people.” Her bottom lip quivers and I immediately feel like an asshole and step forward.

“Hey. I’m sorry, kid. Okay? Please—don’t cry.” I wince when I realize that I’m the one sounding as though they’re in pain now. “Look, you did a good job with my bag. I just hope you didn’t toss it in the pisser. But even if you did, you did a good job, and I appreciate you. Okay?”

She sucks her lips into her mouth before biting and nodding then she wipes away any traces of tears. “Mm-kay.”

“Those your people?” I nod to the adults and frown when she shakes her head.

“No. I don’t have any people.” Her dark brown eyes look out over the lush expanse of green grass across the park’s strolling field. And surprisingly, I don’t see the tears I hear in her voice when she quietly speaks. “You forgot, Jacques. Already, you forgot. I don’t need people. I’m a freaking vagabond,” she says.