Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) Read online

  “It’s Casey, isn’t it?” She asked.

  “What?” I asked, even though I heard her clearly.

  “Casey. You don’t want to leave him,” she said.

  She was right. All things considered, I knew I could leave Texas. As a combat Marine, I learned not to become too attached to anyone or anything, because in a moment’s notice, things can change. People disappear. Some change units, others get killed, and, as time passes, yet others are discharged. I loved Shane and Ripp as brothers, but I could leave them if need be. Leaving Casey, however, seemed to be an impossibility.

  I felt if I left I would be doing what I had condemned my sister for doing.

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest, fully realizing she was correct in her assumption about Casey, but not willing to discuss it. “I don’t want to leave. It’s that simple.”

  “I guess we need to go talk to my dad,” she said.

  “We’ll go as soon as I’m done with this cup of coffee,” I said.

  I stood from my seat and walked into the kitchen. I only had two days to decide whatever it was we were going to do. Talking to her father was the next step, and something we had to do without exception. His response to our request may very well allow both of us to travel to Kansas on a temporary, or semi-permanent basis.

  And I knew as sure as I was standing there that of everything I had to do throughout my entire life, leaving that child was going to be the most difficult of them all.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Late Summer 2015, Austin, Texas, USA

  Unconditional love is something I had always believed was shared between parents and children; and at times, between two people who fell in love. I never expected it to exist between friends, or between a parent and a child who weren’t related.

  “Your father needs ya. There ain’t a damned thing I can do to fix that, other than offer my love and understanding. You know, we take care of you when you’re little, and there comes a time when it’s your turn to return the favor,” he said.

  I was completely shocked by his open-minded acceptance of what it was that I felt I needed to do. His insistence that Katie went with me was equally surprising, and although I was relieved, I realized my next step was to actually go through with it and leave.

  “I’ll see how things go, and we’ll hope for the best,” I said. “I appreciate your understanding, Sir.”

  He wrinkled his brow, narrowed his eyes and glared at me. “You appreciate my understanding? What the hell did you expect, Son? Resistance? Did you honestly think that I was going to stand between you taking my daughter – your future wife – with you to take care of your sick father? I might seem like a mean son-of-a-bitch, but I ain’t. Well, ‘less I have to be. Hell, Alec, I love you like you’re my own. Whenever you get the gumption to go ahead and get married, you’ll be just as much family as she is. Hell, to tell you the truth, you are right now. Appreciate my understanding? Shit, that’s almost funny.”

  My throat constricted and my mouth went dry. I didn’t know how to respond. I shifted my eyes toward Katie and met her gaze. As we shared a silent moment, she grinned.

  “Stand up,” her father said in a demanding tone.

  I looked up and realized he had stood from his chair and was hovering over me. I stood, only to be immediately pulled into a hug. As he held me in his arms and patted my back with his hand, he gave me all of the reassurance I needed to understand what he was allowing us to do came from deep within his heart.

  “I love you, Son,” he said.

  As his words sank in, I realized I was an extremely fortunate man.

  A month prior, as far as I was concerned, I had no parents.

  And now, I had two loving fathers.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Late Summer 2015, Wichita, Kansas, USA

  I hadn’t spent any time in my father’s home to speak of since I was eighteen years old. Being there at length brought a rush of memories with it, some good, and some not-so-good. As he slept and Katie cleaned the house, I looked through cabinets, boxes, and drawers for memories of my mother.

  The deepest memory came not only of her, but of Suzanne.

  I pulled the egg-shaped bottle from the bathroom cabinet and removed the lid. It became my mother’s signature scent, and the bottle was something I remembered seeing on a regular basis as a child, but I hadn’t associated the smell with my recollection of the bottle – or with my mother – yet.

  I pressed the tip of the nozzle and sprayed some of the fragrance into the air. As I watched the small droplets fall toward the floor, I craned my neck toward them and inhaled slowly.

  Immediately, I pulled my head back and wrinkled my nose.

  The scent reminded me not only of my mother, but of Suzanne.

  Confused, I turned the bottle to the side and lowered my nose to the tip of the nozzle. The perfume, without a doubt, was what Suzanne wore. It angered me that she wore my mother’s perfume, but what eventually caused me to feel enraged was that I had spent my entire time in combat associating Suzanne with the scent of my mother’s perfume.

  It was as if I had been robbed of a memory of my mother, or that somehow it had been replaced with a new one. Maybe it was something that happened over time, I decided, and wasn’t a conscious thing at all. In the end, as I carried the bottle to the trash, I decided the only reason I liked Suzanne in the first place must have been because of how she smelled, not the person she was.

  I walked through the kitchen, past Katie, and out the back door. I tossed the bottle of perfume into the trash container, slammed the lid, and walked inside.

  “I like the way you smell,” I said as I walked past her.

  I paused at the doorway leading to the living room and turned to face her. “What is it?”

  “Flowerbomb,” she responded. “And, I like the way you smell, too. What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just getting rid of some stuff.”

  “Okay. I’ll have lunch ready in about fifteen minutes, you should probably wake up your dad here pretty quick,” she said.

  “Just let me know when you’re done,” I said. “I’ll wake him up when it’s ready.”

  “Okay,” she said as she turned toward the sink.

  I walked through the bedroom, past the bathroom, and into the walk-in closet. On one side, my mother’s clothes hung, no differently than they had for years. On the other, my fathers. As I shifted my eyes along her outfits, memories of her wearing the clothes came rushing back, and I grinned at the thought of her.

  I dragged my finger along the shoulder of the clothes, watching them wave in my wake, each one bringing a separate memory with it. The dresses she wore to church. The dark suit she wore to my uncle’s funeral. The tomato colored jacket that I detested, and I was certain she wore for no other reason than to irritate me. The bottom of the closet was lined with her shoes, dusty, but still just as they were fifteen years prior.

  I glanced at my father’s side of the closet. His clothes weren’t as plentiful as my mother’s, but with them, too, came memories. His Carhartt work jacket that he wore on a daily basis to and from work. His one suit he owned. Several jackets hung side by side, none of which that he wore, all of which were gifts.

  I chuckled at the thought of his stubborn nature.

  My eyes fell to the floor, and immediately I noticed two boxes at the back of the closet, somewhat hidden underneath his clothes. I knelt down and gazed at the ends of them. One clearly marked good stuff and the other marked shit, my curiosity soon got the best of me.

  I slid the box marked shit from underneath the clothes, glanced over my shoulder, and removed the top.

  A quick check of the documents inside produced receipts, tax forms from what appeared to be his lifetime, and a handful of letters regarding overdue medical bills from years gone past. I grinned at his labeling of the box, placed the lid on top and carefully slid the box back into place.

  I shifted my hands to the other box, slid
it in front of me, and removed the top.

  A folded newspaper sat atop the large assortment of documents. The headline immediately caught my attention, and as I reached for it, I was quickly overcome by emotion. I swallowed heavily, carefully removed it, and peered down at the page.

  Local Marine, 23, A True Hero

  Although difficult at times, I read through the entire article. Reading about myself wasn’t easy, and along with the resurrected memories came a tremendous amount of emotion. The article was about the Second Battle of Fallujah, and when I had hidden behind the truck to kill the three snipers.

  I lowered the article to my lap, wiped the memories from my cheeks, and peered into the box with swollen eyes and a dry throat.

  Local Marine, 21, Awarded Second Purple Heart

  I stared down at the newspaper and tried to remember when I was 21 years old. As I read the article, the spotter who was shot and killed on the rooftop seemed as if he was with me. I could smell the cordite from the sniper rifle, the coppery stench of the dried blood, and the smell of our sweat.

  I wiped my runny nose, brushed the back of my hand against my eyes, and placed the article beside the other.

  One by one, I removed the newspapers and placed them on the floor beside each other.

  Local Marine Single-Handedly Saves Army Special Forces Platoon in Afghanistan

  Local Marine in Military Spotlight

  Wichita Marine Awarded Bronze Star

  End of the War is Near, Says President

  Local Marine, 19, Awarded Purple Heart

  Hijacked Airliners Destroy Twin Towers and Hit Pentagon in Day of Terror

  I stared down at the articles and swallowed heavily. As difficult as it was to read about my actions in combat for the first time, it was rewarding in many ways. In my father’s eyes, I was the man depicted in the articles. A boy who quickly became a man, did what he had to do at a time of war, and emerged – by the grace of God – as a hero.

  In my eyes I was nothing more than my father’s son.

  I gathered up the articles and neatly placed them in order. As I began to lower them into the box, I noticed a small box of photographs, something my mother had always truly loved, and my father refused to stop taking.

  My father never accepted digital photography, and for as long as I could remember, used a 33mm camera to take his photographs. As stubborn as he was, the majority of them were developed at home, in the basement. I gazed down at the photos, the majority of which were black and white, and stared.

  On the top, a picture of Derek I didn’t recognize. I picked up the photo, studied it, and realized it must have been taken on his birthday when I was deployed. I picked up another. And another. And another. All of Derek. Eventually, I got to photos of my sister and me, my mother, and some relatives.

  Several of the photos of Derek were with my father, obviously either taken by my sister. I spread the photos on the floor and stared at them, trying my best to etch the memory of my nephew into my mind as indelibly as my memories of the war. As my mind began to drift to memories of his first birthday, I realized that soon it would be Casey’s first birthday.

  The sound of Katie’s voice startled me.

  “Alec, lunch is ready,” she said.

  “Be right there,” I said as I began to pick up the photographs.

  One by one, I carefully placed the items back into the box. As I slid the box into its place in the closet, my mouth curled into a smile.

  There was no doubt my father loved me.

  And it was time for me to love him in return.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Present Day, Wichita, Kansas, USA

  Two months had passed since our arrival in Wichita, and my relationship with my father was surprisingly better than I could ever remember it being in the past. I desperately missed Casey – and my other Texas brothers as well – but Ripp and Shane had both ridden and driven to Wichita to visit on more than one occasion. Each time Shane drove he brought Kace, and with them, Casey.

  My father seemed to enjoy having Casey around, but I wondered just how much his visits reminded him of his only true grandson. For me to consider Casey to be my nephew was easy. I thought for my father to consider him as a grandson would be a stretch, but the excitement on his face and the smile in his eyes was impossible to hide.

  Katie’s parents had yet to drive to Kansas, which didn’t surprise me. It was my guess getting her father to ever leave the state of Texas would require nothing less than our refusal to return. She had, on two occasions, driven down and seen them, but I stayed in Wichita with my father.

  I realized the day would come when he was able to be alone, but further realized the day hadn’t arrived. For the time being, I was enjoying my time with my father, and viewed it as making up for lost time.

  I truly missed Katie’s Sunday dinners, the family in general, the feeling of participating, and training at the gym, but it was her father I seemed to miss the most.

  “Too damned bad about the club,” Jackson said.

  “Bound to happen,” I said as I tightened the exhaust bolts. “With me gone and that state as fucked up as it is with clubs? It was just a matter of time.”

  Our MC in Texas dissolved for a few reasons. One was my absence. But the primary reason was the string of recent problems in Texas with 1% clubs, violence, and the categorization by police of all MCs as being outlaw regardless of their intentions. Harassment and incarceration of men in cuts was becoming common, and it seemed a reason wasn’t always behind the incarceration. Out of respect for Shane and Ripp as parents and as good citizens, I decided to dissolve the club.

  “Well, the Sinners don’t accept applications, but we do invite men to prospect as long as they’re vouched in by a fully patched member. And, if a man has already paid his dues, so to speak, he may be vouched in without prospecting on a 100% vote. I know you can go back to your old club, but we discussed it in our last meeting…”

  He paused as I stood up and tossed the wrench to the side.

  “I feel like I owe you. For what you did for me,” he said.

  “Don’t owe me shit,” I said flatly.

  “I don’t mean owe you like that. Owe you respect,” he said.

  “Give it, get it,” I said.

  “Show respect,” he said. “Get respect.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Same difference.”

  I was anxious to hear what else he had to say about the club’s meeting. As we were eventually going to go back to Texas there was no real way I could be a member, but the thought of riding with a 1% club in Kansas appealed to me. I stood out with Bones, Doc, and Crash’s club as being a little too much of an outlaw, and maybe an outlaw club was where I truly belonged. The thought, at least, was appealing.

  “So, you were saying. You guys talked about it,” I said as I flipped the ignition switch on.

  I pressed the start button as he began to speak.

  “Club would love to have ya,” he said over the sound of the exhaust.

  I revved the engine a few times and listened for exhaust leaks. The dull drone from the new pipes sounded great, and there seemed to be no leaks. Only an open road test of hard accelerating and rapid decelerating would tell me for sure, but for now, I was convinced.

  I flipped the ignition switch to off.

  “No prospecting bullshit?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Not one single day of it.”

  “Fully patched the day I show up?” I asked.

  “Fully patched,” he said.

  I was flattered. As much as the thought of such a close-knit bunch of bikers appealed to me, and as much as I knew the brotherhood would help me feel at home, there was no way I could disrespect the club by being a member for six weeks, two months. Or whatever length of time it would be before we left.

  “I’m honored, but we’re leaving some day, just don’t know when. Can’t disrespect you guys like that,” I said.

  He grinned and nodded his head. “
Club’s already discussed it. There’s an Austin chapter of the Sinners. If you go back, you’ll just transfer to that chapter.”

  “Hell, I knew there was an Austin chapter, but I had no idea…”

  “Toad’s our Sergeant-At-Arms, and he’s not only my fucking brother-in-law, he’s one of the best motherfuckers in the MC. He’s solid as a rock. Hell, we’ve talked about it, Axton, Biscuit, Otis and me. Only thing we can come up with that makes him different is that he isn’t afraid of anything on earth, and he always thinks before he acts. It’s a result of his training. He was a Marine. You were a Marine. Hell, you were his fucking Platoon Sergeant.”

  He slapped his hand against my shoulder and shrugged his shoulders. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’re his fucking hero. He spent a lifetime thinking you were dead, and now that he knows you’re alive, he can’t stop talking about you.”

  My knee-jerk reaction was to say no, but for some reason I couldn’t seem to bring myself to it.

  “Let me think about it,” I said.

  “Sounds good.” He responded.

  The side door of the house creaked as Katie opened the door. “Lunch is ready.”

  She had proven to be one of the most caring, kind, and compassionate women to ever exist. She stayed up at night playing Scrabble with my father – an old tradition of him and my mother’s – and listened to every bullshit story he tried to tell her. She spent her days doing laundry, cooking, and folding clothes, and as much as I believed tasks like those should always be shared, she refused, and insisted I let her do what she described as her work.

  Having her as my wife would truly make me the happiest man on earth.

  I turned toward the doorway and pressed my hands against my hips. “What would you think about me becoming a Sinner?”

  She lifted her head slightly. “Hi, Jackson.”

  As her eyes fell to meet mine, she responded. “Becoming a sinner? You’re the devil himself, Alec.”

  “Katie,” Jackson said with a nod.