Satan's Revenge (12 page)

“No, I’m…I’m waiting for Flint,” I murmur, hurriedly swallowing my food.

“Oh, Flint, yeah, I’ve heard of him,” she replies.

“You flirting with my old lady?” grunts a voice behind me. My stomach drops until I turn and see Flint. The woman bursts out laughing again.

“I’m sorry, honey, but your face…I’m Liz,” she says, extending her hand for me to shake. “Flint’s old lady. His wife.”

“That’s right,” Flint says proudly. He hands me a Coors. Liz raises her eyebrows at him.

“How old are you, exactly?” she asks me.

“Sixteen…
almost
sixteen,” I correct myself. “In two weeks.”

“Shit. Well, you do look older than that…you’re certainly tall enough,” Liz says, studying me.

Flint looks at her with a smile. He whispers something in her ear and she shakes her head at him with a grin and wanders off.

“Come sit by the fire,” Flint suggests, and I join him and some of the other guys on folding chairs around one of the trash can fires. I get up a couple times to refill my plate, but mostly I just listen to the conversations. Flint turns to me throughout to clue me in on what they’re discussing, but mostly it’s just nice to be around people who like each other’s company, even if I don’t know who they’re talking about.

A couple of the older guys start talking to me about Mr. Laurits, asking me about his teaching, and what I’m building in shop. I spot him a couple times across the yard, keeping an eye on me.

After a couple hours or so, I’m not sure how long, Liz walks over to me with a younger woman trailing her. She leans over my chair, and I focus hard to keep looking at her eyes and not down her shirt.

“Scott, this is Marissa,” she says, indicating the girl. “Marissa, why don’t you sit down with Scott here and get to know each other a little better?”

Marissa sits in the unoccupied seat next to me and curls her legs up under her.

“Good meeting you, Scott,” Liz adds with a wink and walks away again.

I turn to Marissa, unsure of what to say and very conscious of the fact that this feels like a set-up. She’s pretty, maybe even prettier than Ava, and young, probably only a couple of years older than I am. But she seems more comfortable than me, and she takes a slow slip from the can of PBR that she’s holding.

“So you grew up here?” she asks, and I hear a bit of a Southern drawl in her voice. I’m grateful that she started the conversation, because I didn’t know where to begin.

“Well, Oregon, but not here specifically. I’ve lived all over the state. What about you? Louisiana?”

I’m rewarded with a smile.

“Very good!” she says.

We keep talking as the light starts to fade from the sky and the yellow glow from the fire takes over. It turns out Marissa is only eighteen, and she came to Oregon to live with her aunt, but she turned out to be a “monster,” in her words. Now she’s a “house mouse” here, which she says means the Sons protect her, and she stays at the house and parties with them.

I feel the beer going to my head a little, and her words start to blend with the music. I’ve had all of two beers before in my life, both stolen from an old foster dad. My eyes drift from her dark brown eyes down to her small, perky breasts, and her tan thighs, exposed in tiny white shorts.

“You’re cute,” she says, and my gaze snaps back up to her face.

“Yeah?” I ask, glancing down as she bites her lip.

“Mmhm,” she replies, standing up. To my shock, she sits down on my lap, leaning back and resting her head on the back of the chair right next to mine. 

Well, I don’t think I’m going to get a clearer invitation. I look around quickly; it’s almost dark now, and no one is paying any attention to us. I lean forward and bring my lips to hers. Her lips are so soft, and I close my eyes as she opens her mouth slightly to me.

I feel her press her ass down into my erection as she slips her tongue into my mouth. I wrap my hands around her waist, surprising myself with my forwardness. I just feel completely in the moment, lost in our bodies pressed against each other, the cold air and the warmth from the fire, the music drumming in the background.

A burst of noise sounds from across the yard, and Marissa jerks her head up. We both look for the source—someone almost kicked over one of the other trash can fires.

“Marissa!” someone calls from the crowd.

“I better go,” she says with a smile. She bends her head to give me a final kiss and hops up, grabbing her PBR from her chair as she ambles away.

I lean back in the chair and look up at the sky. The crescent moon is starting to glow above the trees, and I know I should get going, but I don’t want to leave.

“Scott,” says Flint, appearing out of a group of people. I’m not sure when during my conversation with Marissa he left, but he beckons me with a nod of the head. “’Bout time for you to head out,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and walking with me back through the house. “You OK to get home?” he asks as we walk onto the gravel out front.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reassure him. It’s true—I’m used to looking after myself.

“Look, Scott, I wanted you to come here today to see that there’s a place for you in this world. All the guys out there, they’re all people who felt like they didn’t fit in everywhere else. You enjoy yourself?”

“Oh, yeah…yes, sir,” I correct myself, not wanting to disrespect him.

“Good,” he replies with a smile. “I think there could be a place for you in this club, but you’re still a kid. Fifteen, you said?”

I nod. I feel a ball of hope and excitement build in my stomach. Belong to a place like this? I’ve never belonged anywhere.

“Well, like I said, there could be a place for you here, but you need to make a life for yourself first. You need to become someone that brings value to the club, it can’t just be one-sided.”

“How do I do that?” I ask, frowning.

“Well, I can’t plan your life for you, but for me…I didn’t have the grades or the temperament for college either. Joining the military taught me how to be a man, strength, control.”

“I want those things,” I say.

“Look into it,” he advises. “I’m no recruiter, and I can’t lie to you, there are plenty of things about it that are fucking rough. And dangerous. But I promise you this, if you decide the military is the right path for you, there will be always be a home waiting for you here.”

A home. Something I haven’t had since I was ten.

“I will. Thank you.” I struggle to form the words for what I want to say. “I’m used to…I’m used to people giving me the minimum, only what they have to…it’s been a while since someone’s done anything
more
for me.”

He nods and I think he really understands what I meant.

I begin to walk back down to the bike.

“Hey Scott,” Flint calls after me. I turn back around. “The military is pretty strict when it comes to police records. I’m just saying…keep yourself clean. Don’t get involved in anything that will jeopardize your chance for a future.”

“I won’t. I’ll be careful,” I promise him. With a wave, he turns back into the clubhouse and I head down to the main road.

I pull the bike from behind the tree and hop on. It creaks as I press down on the pedals, warming it up as I start back down the road. It’s about ten miles to the Ralstons’ house, and I take my time. I know they won’t be looking for me.

As I pedal, I hear the crickets begin to chirp, their melody providing a constant background to my ride. The woods are dark on either side of me, and there aren’t any cars on the road. I think over what Flint said, and a calmness spreads through me. I had the best time today that I’ve had in as long as I can remember.

It strikes me that most people don’t get to make conscious decisions about their future. Like the Ralstons, for instance. It seems like they just sort of wound up where they are, plodding through life. They do the same thing every day, stuck in some sad pattern, and they don’t even know when they learned it.

I don’t want my life to be like that. I want to feel in charge of it. I want to decide the kind of person I end up being.

Today, Flint laid out two very clear paths for me: I can keep doing what I’m doing, or I could make a new life for myself. Enlist, and have a home at the club. Be a member of Satan’s Sons.

All I have to do is stay out of trouble.

Chapter Twelve

Violet

Present Day

Even though I was up late the night before, I go through work at the hospital with a new sense of purpose. I feel like I’ve shaken off some sad cloak I’ve been wearing, and I feel reenergized.

When I come home, Drifter and Marcus aren’t there, but I’m not surprised. I open the back door for the dogs and walk outside. I take a spin around the perimeter of the yard with them, just like Drifter and I used to do with Kalb when we were first getting to know each other at the clubhouse. Though of course our yard’s not so big. I grab a couple sticks and toss one for Kalb and one for Scout until they’re tired out and go lie in the shade under a tree.

After I grab a drink of water, I walk back into the bedroom. I feel like putting something nicer on than just the t-shirt and jeans that I’m wearing, even though it will just be for me. Maybe I’ll go over the final vendor list for the fair while I eat.

I pull off my old v-neck t-shirt and toss it in the hamper, then I choose a silky, blue camisole from the bureau and pull it over my head. I’m about to go grab a skirt from the closet when my eye catches on something on the top of the dresser.

I must have really let the housework go while I’ve been at the hospital, because I can see that my old jewelry box has been moved slightly. There’s a sliver of the bureau next to the jewelry box that doesn’t have any dust on it. I frown. I haven’t worn jewelry in a while. I always forget about accessories, unless it’s for some big occasion. And Drifter wouldn’t have any reason to touch it.

I reach over and open the top. A ballerina springs up in the middle of the pink satin. It’s the same jewelry box I’ve had since I was a kid, and the ballerina will still spin to twinkly music if you wind up the key on the bottom. I dangle my fingers over the ring section on the right and instantly know what’s missing. It’s the most valuable piece, both personally and financially: my mother’s engagement ring.

My mom left it to me when she died of cancer. I keep it in here, trying it on a few times a year, usually on her birthday, holidays, or the day she died. I can picture it perfectly: a silver band with two small sapphires on either side of a square diamond. It has her and my father’s initials on the inside of the band. And it’s gone.

Anger rises from my stomach and swells through my chest. I inspect the rest of the main compartment of the jewelry box for more missing items. There’s also a gold necklace chain missing, though it doesn’t hold much sentimental value to me and so doesn’t get me nearly as fired up.

I reorganize everything neatly so I will know if anything else goes missing, then close the jewelry box, the ballerina bending on her spring as I shut the top. I walk quickly out of the bedroom and pull the door closed behind me. I wish we had a lock on it, because I know exactly who’s responsible for the theft.

I stride down to Marcus’s room and push his door open. He’s made an absolute rat’s nest of the room we’ve let him stay in. What a fucking pig. Dirty plates, sheet laid over a bare mattress (he must have really had to try for that one – I made it up for him when he got here!) and dirty clothes covering the floor. The room smells of stale musk.

I eye the nightstand and start there. I pull open the drawer and only see a crusty sock and lotion. Gross. I shut it and make my way over to the low dresser. It’s made of pale wood, and sits underneath a large mirror that I thought made the room look bigger. I check the right top drawer, but it’s only underwear. I open the left, and hear a rewarding jingle. His trinkets drawer.

Everything is all mixed together. I see a couple of different decks of cards, loose and shuffled in with the rest of the stuff. Some crumpled papers…one of those plastic bead necklaces, like they wear during Mardi Gras. My fingers pause over a faded picture. I bring it up to my face, my anger dissipating a little.

It’s a family photo. Of the Burrells. I stare at the taller of the two boys, standing in front of their parents on the steps of what must have been their house. The mother has her hands draped on either side of Scott’s narrow shoulders. He can’t be more than 9 or 10 in this picture. They’re all dressed casually, and for summer. Maybe a July 4
^th
picnic?

I touch Drifter’s little face, smiling back at his happy grin. I never knew what he looked like as a kid. Happy. He looked happy.

I glance up to the woman above him. She’s beautiful, tall, and slender. And Marcus was right, they do have her blue eyes. The man next to her is broad-shouldered like Drifter, though his hair is short and his face is clean-shaven. His hair is dark, like Marcus’s, and his eyes are brown. He appears to have his hands clasped behind his back, and is looking proudly at his younger son.