LOST KING: THE KINGS OF RETRIBUTION MC, page 3
Reid's old man helped start the program which teaches any kid, male or female, a trade skill. Reid has continued what his father started years ago by providing hands-on training with the addition of getting the kids involved with charity builds. I do what I can by teaching them mechanical skills, and along the way, it becomes therapeutic for them. The kids learn something and get to talk about what may be going on in their lives in an environment they feel relaxed in. I fell into the role fairly easily. For whatever reason, people find it easy to open up and talk to me about things. It's been that way my whole life. When my brothers would need someone to listen—I was there. When these kids need someone not to judge them—I'm there.
The club gives back to the community in many ways, but just about all of us do a little extra on our own, and this right here is mine. I'm passionate about helping the youth in the community. Am I the best role model they could have in their lives? Not by most societies standards. Do I give a damn what others think? Fuck no. I care about those kids, and I want to be there for them, and in the end, that's what matters. Reality is, life can fuckin' suck sometimes, but it's how you choose to handle it; it's the path you choose to make for yourself that will help determine the outcome. They don't need someone to teach them to sit around and wait for change. They don't need a handout, they need a hand up. We all have the power to control our own destiny—our own future. You want it, make it happen. That's what I teach them.
I walk around the back of the building where a small shed big enough to house a beater car happens to be located. Unlocking the padlock, I swing the doors open and walk inside. Along the back wall is a collection of second-hand toolboxes that have been donated to the center over the years. My phone chimes. Reaching into my cut, I take it out and swipe my thumb across the screen to read a text from my dad.
Dad: You staying for dinner tonight?
As I type out my answer, I grin. I love my mom's cookin'. Since she knows I'm comin' over maybe she'll make my favorite meal; meatloaf.
Me: Does a bear shit in the woods?
I'm always trying to come up with a joke to reference his job in forestry. About half a minute goes by before he replies.
Dad: 😄
I laugh as I stare at the smiley face on my phone screen. Dad loves technology, but when it comes to texting, he doesn't get it. If he wants to have a conversation with you, he calls. That was until KitKat decided he needed to get with the times, so he does it for her. Don't even get me started on the time he sent me a text meant for my mom. Knowing where my dad wanted to put his eggplant was more than I needed to know, but fuckin' with him about it every chance I get is priceless.
The sound of shoes hitting the pavement outside the shed grabs my attention. I shove my phone back in my pocket as Liam and Aiden come into view.
"How's it going, Quinn?" Liam, the older of the two greets me with a firm handshake. Liam is a senior in high school. Skippin' classes and fallin' in with a couple of older guys he wasn't aware were small-time drug pushers landed him in some trouble. He's been coming to the center for over a year now. Tough kid. Built like a linebacker, with a broad chest and broad shoulders. He was court-ordered to be here, so he didn't come willingly—at first.
"Can't complain, man," I respond, then turn my head and look at Aiden. Aiden is fourteen. He comes here after school for a place to hang out while his mom works. Aiden has had a hard time fitting in and making friends since moving to Polson six months ago. I can relate. I was once that kid. "What's up?" I ask him lifting my chin.
Aiden rubs the back of his neck. "Not much," he casts his eyes to the ground and scrubs the toe of his shoe across a dark spot on the grease-stained floor.
The kid looks like something's bothering him. "Want to talk about it?" I ask. Liam walks to the back of the shed and starts to dig in a toolbox, purposely giving me time with Aiden to find out what's goin' on. "Someone been fuckin' with you at school?"
"No. It's nothin'."
I lift the hood of the car, and Aiden walks up beside me. "Well, you see, there's this girl—" he draws out the last word, hesitating to say more. Immediately, I get a shit eating grin. Aiden is a good looking kid, but his confidence level is a zero, and he's shy as hell. "You thinkin' on asking this girl out?" I question him.
The kids gather the necessary tools they need to start disconnecting parts from the motor. As I guide them along, the conversation begins to flow.
"I see her sitting alone sometimes when my mom and I pass that ballet studio over on Baker Street on my way to my piano lessons."
That's right. Aiden plays the piano. The kid is a fuckin' musical genius.
"She looks sad. Something in me doesn't like that," he more willingly tells us.
"There's nothing to it. Just walk up to her and ask," Liam grunts and puts more torque on the bolt he's trying to loosen.
"I can't do that," Aiden answers with a sigh.
"What are you so afraid of?" Liam asks.
Liam doesn't have an issue with the ladies. I would even venture to say he's a little bit of a player. "The worst she can do is say no. Go for it," I do my best to encourage him.
Aiden never says anymore about the subject as we steadily work and talk about other issues, but I can tell he's thinking heavily about it. Before I know it, an hour has passed and it's time to go.
"Alright, guys," I wipe the excess grease from my hands with a shop rag. "I got to run. Liam, let me know if you're still interested in that bike you were lookin' at. I'll ride with you to take a look at it and make sure the guy is givin' you a fair deal."
"You got it," he waits for Aiden and me to step out before closing the shed doors and locking the padlock.
"Aiden," I clasp my hand over his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze, "ask her," I say before letting him go.
With a confident grin, he lets me know, "I'm gonna do it."
"That's what I'm talkin' about, kid."
I've been under the hood of my dad's car all of ten minutes after telling him about my day when I feel his eyes burnin' a hole through the side of my head. "There somethin' you wantin' to ask me, Dad?"
"With all the good, solid advice you give these kids you can't take the same advice you're dishing out? If I remember right, you've been pining after a particular doctor for a while now. When are you going to do something about it?"
He had to call me out. I tighten the bolt one more turn. "I'm not pining."
He grunts in response.
"Okay, maybe I'm pining a little." Standing from being bent over the backside of the motor, I snatch my beer that's sitting on the front bumper of the car and take a huge gulp. "She not making it easy ya know," I confess.
My dad laughs and drinks down the last of the beer he was holding in his hand. "The right woman won't make it easy for you to catch her, son. I knew the moment I saw your mom she was the one. I've been stupid crazy in love with her since the day she sat next to me in chemistry class years ago. She didn't make it easy either, let me tell you. I was a slacker surfer boy. I lived and breathed the beach—the waves and chasing girls. Your mom was popular, smart and had her shit together and wanted nothing to do with me and my reputation."
I've heard all about my dad's high school days, so my mom had every reason to worry if she would be just another notch on his bedpost.
"I had to prove to her I wanted her and only her," he finishes.
"Took him over a year to convince me to go on that first date."
Startled by the sweet sound of my mom's voice, my dad and I look over at the garage door to find my mom leaning against the doorframe with one hand on the door's handle. My dad walks over, grabs her waist, pulling her close and admiringly looks at her. "It was worth the wait. I'd do it all over again to be able to relive the first time my lips touched yours," he kisses her.
They are the example of what I want.
My mom offers her opinion on the Emerson matter, which means she had been standing there listening longer than we realized. "I see the way she looks at you when you aren't looking, sweetie. I don't know her well enough to know what she's battling, but I assure you, Emerson wants you too."
My mom is right. I catch her stare often.
I feel the energy in it.
It's high time I make my intention very clear to Emerson.
Chapter Four
Emerson
I'm sitting at a stoplight on my way to the airport when I hear the rumble of a motorcycle. I smile thinking of Quinn. But when I turn my head to the right and look out the passenger window of my Jeep, the smile I had moments ago falls. The person on the motorcycle next to me is not Quinn. In fact, he's not even a King. The man is wearing a cut like The Kings, but his is sporting different colors. When he turns and looks at me, I instantly feel the hairs on my arms stand, and a shiver runs through my body. We both sit there at the light holding each other's stare until a car behind me honks their horn. A second later, the biker drives off before I even get a good look at the name on his cut. I make a mental note to say something to one of the guys when I get back in town. I'll see them on Sunday at the patch-in party. I don't like to involve myself in anyone's business, especially the clubs, but something tells me I need to say something.
Parking at the airport, I grab my overnight carry-on bag from the seat beside me, lock my door and make my way inside to catch my flight to Seattle. I dread this trip home. I wish I could have a simple visit with my parents, one that involved hugs and catching up on life, but I know that won't be the case. My mother no doubt has something up her sleeve. Probably another blind date. She means well, and I know she wants to see me settled down and happy. I just wish she would ask me what would make me happy—what I want. With a heavy sigh, I store my bag in the compartment over my seat before sitting down. Once the plane has taken off, I take my phone from my purse, put my earbuds in and turn my playlist on. The flight to Seattle from Polson is a short one, and I need to relax before getting there. Lord knows I'm going to need all the patience I can muster.
"You going to get out lady?" The driver of the taxi I am currently sitting in asks knocking me out of my daze. I didn't realized we'd arrived at my parent's house. "Yes. I'm sorry." I tell the guy as I gather my things and get out of the car.
"Alright, Emerson. Let's get this over with. It's only one day," I say giving myself a pep talk. Using my key, I let myself into my parent's house-the same house I grew up in. They bought it a year before Easton and I were born. It's a two-story house in the suburbs of Redmond which is about twenty minutes from Seattle. My mother is the attending physician at the Seattle Children's Hospital, and my father holds the same position at Northwest.
"Hello," I call out and shut the door behind me.
"Hey, sweetheart," my dad greets me as he walks down the stairs. "You should have called me to come to pick you up," he chastises, kissing me on my cheek.
"I took a taxi, it was no bother. Where's Mom?"
"She's in the kitchen finishing up dinner. She insisted on cooking."
"Okay, I'm going to go say hi."
"Tell your mom I'll be in my office. I need to make a few calls before dinner."
"Will do," I say over my shoulder as I make my way to the kitchen. I can already smell the roast cooking before I even enter the room. I love my mom's cooking. No matter how busy her and Dad were, she always made time to cook Easton and I home cooked meals at least four days a week. "Hey Mom, something smells good," I sing-song pushing my way through the double doors of the kitchen and see my mom pulling a large pan from the oven.
"Emerson, how long have you been here? Why didn't you call your father to come to pick you up?"
"I only just got here, and like I told Dad, I took a taxi. It was no biggie." My mom huffs and gives me a look, but doesn't say anymore. "You want me to help with anything?"
"No, I have dinner covered. Why don't you go on upstairs and get cleaned up? Dinner will be ready in an hour."
"Okay," I say as my mom walks around the island and gives me a warm hug.
"I'm glad you decided to come home for the weekend."
"Me too, Mom. I'll be back down after I freshen up." On the way up to my room, I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe this visit will be different. Maybe I can visit my parents without my mother trying to shove another date down my throat or her telling me I need to leave Polson and come back home to Seattle. Once I make it into my old room, I decide to take a shower since I didn't have time to take one after my last shift. After I've finished, I change into a pair of black jeans and a red long sleeve silk blouse. I made sure to choose an outfit that covers my tattoos since my parents have never seen them. I decided to keep them covered, so I don't have to add my ink to the already long list of things they don't approve of. I got my first tattoo while in college. My tattoo covers my entire hip and runs up my side. I chose a peacock because a peacock is a possessor of some of the most admired human characteristics and is a symbol of integrity and the beauty we can achieve when we choose to show our true colors. That is what I aspire to do one day. I want to be brave enough to show my true colors. I also started a sleeve on my left arm, hence the reason for a long sleeve shirt.
As I'm about to walk out of my bedroom door I get a text. Opening my phone, I see it's from my brother.
East: What's up?
Me: Hold. Sending pic.
Holding my cell out in front of me, I snap a picture of myself with my childhood bed behind me and press send.
East: Good luck with that.
Me Thanks. I'll need it. Where are you?
East: Miami. It's hot as balls here. Houston tomorrow. I found out from my manager today we'll be in Missoula in a couple of weeks.
I squeal and do a tiny dance of joy at the news. Missoula is a little more than an hour from Polson. I haven't seen my brother in months.
Me: This is the best news! I can't wait to see you.
East: Our next show won't be for three days after the one in Missoula. I can stay for a day before heading out. I have to go. I'll call later with the details. Love you.
Me: Can't wait! Love you too.
My brother's news comes at the perfect time. I needed a pick-me-up and my Easton fix. This is the longest we have ever gone without seeing each other, and the facetimes are few and far between. This tour though has been something he and his band worked so hard to get, and they deserve it. Hearing the doorbell chime brings me out of my thoughts, and I instantly feel irritation and dread settle in the pit of my stomach. I should have known this visit would not be any different. Squaring my shoulders, I walk out of my room and downstairs to see who my parents have invited to dinner. When I descend the last step, my insides fill with rage when I look at who is standing just inside the front door of my parent's home. My mother is the first to notice my presence.
"Emerson, sweetheart. You remember Phillip and Beth Stewart and their son Parker. Didn't you two go to prom together?" My mother asks.
Not taking my heated disgusted stare off Parker, I answer, "we did."
The whole time Parker smiles at me as if I have forgotten that night.
"You look good, Emerson," he says with a fake smile still plastered on his face.
"I know," is my only response. I can tell by the irritated look on my mother's face she is not pleased by my behavior. I can't bring myself to give a shit.
"Why don't we all go sit in the dining room. We don't want our dinner to get cold," my mother suggests trying to diffuse the current tense and awkward moment.
I take my seat at the large dining room table, and Parker sits down directly across from me with his parents sitting to his right. We all serve ourselves and conversation flows between my parents and the Stewarts'. With my appetite suddenly gone, I block out the voices around me and absently push my food around my plate. I can feel Parker's beady gaze on me. He makes my skin crawl, and I hate him.
Prom night was one of the worst nights of my life. After the dance, Parker drove us to Nash Curtis' house. Nash was the star baseball player at our school and was hosting the after-prom party. Parker was the perfect gentleman all through the dance but once we got to the after party—gone was the doting date. I asked him to show me where the restroom was, only he didn't. Parker led me upstairs to an empty bedroom where he proceeded to force himself on me. Thank god he'd had a few drinks. His drunkenness worked in my favor, and I was able to fight him off. I will never forget my victory and his cries of pain when I grabbed a handful of his balls and twisted. I would be surprised if he'd be able to reproduce after that.
Afterwards I ran down the stairs and out of the house. I ran four blocks all the way back to my house. Both my parents were working that night and didn't see me when I came home at two o'clock in the morning with a ripped dress and a tear streaked face. But Easton was. My brother didn't go to prom, and he was laying on his bed with his door open when I came up the stairs. He rushed up to me and took my face in his hands. I saw the rage in his eyes when he took in my appearance. Easton didn't even ask me what happened. He knew. In fact, he had warned and begged me not to go out with Parker. I was blinded by my crush on him though. Easton kissed me on my cheek, walked back into his room, grabbed his car keys, and walked out of the house without a word. I knew what he was going to do. My suspicions proved true when I returned to school the following Monday and saw Parker's left arm in a cast, and he had a black eye along with a busted lip. We never spoke of the incident, nor did we tell our parents.
"How is Easton these days?" Mr. Stewart asks. Lifting my eyes from my plate, I look to my father to see how he responds to the question.
