She’d just gotten crushed by an ex, Robbie, whom she deeply loved and thought she would marry. She and he had not broken up for any reason other than circumstance. He’d gotten a job in Boston, and she could not see herself moving with him. The two of them tried like hell to make it work, doing long-distance for several months, but in the end, things just didn’t line up. On the prowl for his complete opposite, she found... that fucking asshole.
A guy named Jason. Tall, white dude, bearded with earrings, wore sunglasses frequently, had neck tattoos... he was, in every way, the exact opposite of Robbie. If anything defined a rebound relationship, Jason was that man.
I never exactly inquired into why she liked him, but I didn’t doubt that the sex, the flair for being so exotic and different, and, well, yes, his love of motorcycles had something to do with it. At first, I just let it go, hoping that she would ride it out.
But then I began to notice signs. The Kristina I knew, the one who would laugh and giggle at just about anything, became something of a recluse, quiet and detached in our time together. I didn’t notice any physical signs at the time, so I just chalked it up to complex feelings for Robbie and Jason duking it out in her head.
But then she came home with a bruise on her neck. She tried like hell to hide it, but I knew full well that it was from Jason.
And then, one day, Jason came into the hospital. He talked about how the asshole Reapers had done something to him, and they would pay as a result. It was the first time I ever learned the levels of violence that the Black Reapers and Fallen Saints could go, but unfortunately, it wasn’t even close to the worst I’d see from those two fighting.
I had to take Kristina out of town—so far out of town, in fact, we wound up in Mexico—to talk some sense into her. Admittedly, she didn’t break up with Jason as soon as she got home, but it didn’t take long. She was scared at first, but after a month away from him, we went to that wedding, and I thought that everything was fine.
Two weeks later...
I was on shift when I got the call. A couple was talking loudly in their house, fighting even, then a gunshot went off.
When the paramedics arrived, Kristina was already dead.
I would never learn the details of why she had gone back to Jason’s house, who, to this very night, still had not been arrested, even though to me it was clear as day he had done it. I still did not know, nor would I ever know, if she had gone back out of sympathy for him or under the threat of violence if she did not.
But all I knew was that my only sibling was dead, gone at the hand of motorcycle gang violence.Yes, gang. A club wouldn’t do any shit like that.
And as I finished remembering the story, something I was seemingly destined to replay every night for the rest of my life, and as I felt the tears fall down my cheeks, I knew that there was now no way that I could ever do anything with Michael. Not even meet him for drinks again. Granted, Michael, at least with clothes on, was far more presentable than Jason ever was. Jason was the kind of guy you looked at and instantly knew he was trouble, whereas Michael could throw on a suit, and no one would suspect him of being anything more than a typical businessman.
But that’s how they got you. They either sucked you in with the promise of a “good time being bad,” or they made you think they were good guys with a flair for the dramatic. And then, once trapped...
No. No. No!
I was not going to see Michael again. Bad enough that I would never see my sister again in this lifetime. Bad enough that I’d never hear her laugh, never see her smile, never listen to her giggle at even the most innocuous of statements.
I was not going to compound that and put my parents through worse.
I was done.
* * *
When I woke up the next morning, it was after nine a.m., far later than I usually woke up. I was very much used to rolling out of bed around seven, relaxing a bit before work, and then starting my shift.
But it being Friday, I didn’t have to work today. I still typically rose at the same time since my body struggled to be flexible, but I guessed after having a meeting with a biker, my body needed more time in recovery.
I fumbled for my phone, trying not to look at the photos of my family and my sister at this hour. Some memories were best held back until later.I really need a younger photo of us. Or a photo that won’t unearth such memories.
If such a thing even exists.
I finally grabbed my phone and nearly dropped it. I pulled it forward, unlocked it with my thumb, and stared at the one text message that I had.
“Thanks for coming out last night. Really appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”
Michael. I gave him my number?
Yeah, I did. I remember now…
Shit.
I stared at the text for a long time, far longer than I really should have. Just as intellectualizing my way past our meeting last night had not really worked, trying to reason my way into what I should do with this text wasn’t going much better. For all that I had thought last night, for all that I was thinking this morning, the choice should have been easy. I’d be polite about it, but the end result was the same.
And yet...
