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“This isn’t on you, Reaper. None of us saw this coming, but we’re gonna figure it out. I promise we’ll make this right.”

For everything he had done for me, I swore I would do this one thing for him: unburden him, relieve him from the weight of Crow’s sins. He didn’t need blood on his hands. Not this time.

The light outside Lilah’s front door was on, letting me know she was waiting up for me. The ride back had been tense, and I had to rush to the clubhouse with no explanation. Tommy, the prospect, was stationed out front until I could come back. It was the middle of the night, but I let myself in with the key Lilah had given me.

She was awake, curled up on her couch drawing in a sketch book. Her head shot up as I entered, and she quickly got to her feet.

“Are you okay? Are you in trouble with the club?” Lilah asked once she reached me, her hands skating over my body like she was checking for new wounds. When she cupped my cheek, I closed my eyes, taking a moment to enjoy just being near her.

“Let’s sit down,” I finally said, guiding her over to the couch. Instead of sitting next to her, I chose the chair next to the couch. It was going to be a hard conversation. I needed to get it all out. I couldn’t get distracted, and touching Lilah was a distraction.

“There is a lot about the club you don’t know. It’s not all good, and it’s not all bad. We live in a world in between. We abide by the rules we created. There will be some things I can never tell you. I will not tell you any club business that puts you at risk. Our main focus, though, the reason this is so important, is because of the club’s work on Seph’s Trail.” Lilah’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t interrupt, even though I knew she was already making a list of questions in her mind.

“Seph, Reaper’s Old Lady, was married before him. Her ex was abusive, and when she met Reaper, he rescued her. As the club grew, Seph wanted to give back. To help women and kids who were in the same situation she had been in, helpless and with the odds stacked against them. Her husband was a cop. The whole town knew about the abuse but looked the other way. The club steps in when the cops can’t…or won’t.” Lilah’s eyes filled with tears as I spoke, her hand squeezing mine encouragingly.

“Even if she managed to get away from her husband, Seph had no money, nowhere to stay, no way to get a job. If kids are involved, it’s even harder, so as time passed the mission grew. Giving them the tools and resources they needed to stand on their own two feet. We have safe houses, escape routes, and bunkers all over the country.

“We set them up with new papers, IDs, names, but more than that, we give them time to heal. To recover. Our safe houses have doctors for both physical and any psychological needs. GED courses and certifications are taught, and we also have a network of businesses that we can get them started at.

“In the beginning, though, it wasn’t that comprehensive. It was just about getting the women out, if they managed to find them at all.” I swallowed, trying to prepare for the conversation I was dreading.

“I know I told you my dad wasn’t a great guy. What I left out was how bad things got. How we finally managed to leave…Or more importantly, why.”

Chapter 23

Scythe

The memories had morphed over time, fading in some areas, while others got brighter, leaving only flashing neon lights reminding me of every defeat. It were as if I was searching a dust-covered photograph, the black-and-white images beneath familiar, but no longer clear through the haze.

The accident happened when I was twelve. Dad had landed another warehouse job, and within the first month, a pallet truck ran over his foot. That last year at home was the hardest to remember, my brain both trying to protect and remind me. He was on paid leave while the insurance agencies sorted out who was responsible. Promises of a settlement were assured before he even got to the hospital.

Every penny from his workers comp was spent on booze, drugs, and women. Some days, he never left his lazy boy. Cracking a beer first thing in the morning, and not stopping until he passed out in that same soiled spot. Mom and I spent the day dancing around him, not making noise or getting in the way but always alert and available if he needed us. The only thing worse than his sallow form rotting away in a worn out chair was when he felt the need to get up.

“Can’t get anything right.” The muttered warning before a sharp slap, a shove across the room, or a sharp yank that pulled you off your feet. Once his hands were on you, pushing, pulling, once he was up and activated, there wasn’t much either of us could do to settle him back down.

The nights he went out weren’t any easier. We had no idea what state he would come home in or who he would have with him. Then, the settlement money came through. A whopping eight thousand dollars. Old man thought he had made it. Party nights got bigger, cases of beers turned into bottles of hard liquor, and baggies with pills and powders started appearing.

Although he had no qualms about bringing me around his girlfriends, he had mostly kept it away from the house. Didn’t flaunt it in Mom’s face or, more importantly, in the neighbors’. Always cared more about what everyone else thought.

“Can’t shit where you eat and all that. You can do things with a girlfriend you wouldn’t do with your wife. But at the end of the day, my wife, the mother of my child, that’s who I go home to. You make sure everyone knows that. You’ll understand when you’re older,” he would say, leaving me in the car with the window rolled down while he visited his flavor of the week.

One night, I got home late and walked in on a scene I would never forget. Mom, her back to me, was in the kitchen cleaning up a mess of cups and bottles. As I took a step further, I could see my dad with the two women he had brought home. I made some sort of noise, and Mom started to turn toward me, but then froze, as if suddenly remembering something.

Her face was turned toward me long enough that I saw the bruise blooming on her cheek, the split lip that had dried blood around it. Mom just dropped her head, turning back to where she was cleaning up after my dad and those women. Walking into the living room, I took everything in. There was no misunderstanding the situation; one of the girls looked only a few years older than me, her arm draped over my father as she audibly chewed a piece of gum.

“Liz! Get me another beer,” my father shouted before catching sight of me.

“You want one, kid? Grab them from the fridge and you can keep one,” he said before turning to kiss the brunette girl, who was pressed against his other side.

“Hey, cutie pie. You got anything stronger around here? Ya know, vodka or something?” the blonde one said, still firmly plastered against the couple now making out, seemingly unmoved by the entire situation.

“Get her the tequila from the cabinet,” Dad demanded, breaking away from his partner just long enough to boss me around.

Woodenly, I found myself moving, knowing exactly where the bottle was from my time spent as Dad’s butler those past few weeks. As I reached for the cabinet, I caught sight of my mom. She was sobbing quietly, her phone in her hand, her entire body trembling. I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Grabbing the bottle of tequila, I stormed back to the couch. My father’s hand was up the girl’s shirt while the blonde was laying out lines of white powder on the coffee table. Without thinking about it, I threw the bottle at my father. It hit the wall above his head, sending glass and liquor spraying over the whole group.

“YOU LITTLE FUCK!” he roared as the two girls jumped about in a huff of squawks.