Page 48 of The Heir

“Drink,” Easy insisted.

He stared until I twisted the tab and did as he instructed. He opened his and swigged before stepping around the tree that separated his father’s headstone from the next one. I followed him, only to find another Aviston marker.

“Darla Robbins Aviston,” I read before piecing together Aunt Daisy’s last name and my father’s last name. “That’s your mother, Aunt Daisy’s sister.”

“Your grandmother,” he agreed.

I did a slow calculation of her birthday and date of death. It wasn’t lost on me that my grandparents died on the same day.

“She was only thirty-two.”

He nodded and followed me back to my grandfather’s grave.

“He was thirty-six.”

My gaze darted to my father’s and Easy grunted, “He didn’t get that long. Ant was twenty-nine.”

My mouth went dry as I took all of that in. What did it even mean? Why were they so damn young? I knew my father died in the war with the mob, but my grandparents?

“They were all young. What did she die from?” I heaved a thumb back at his mother’s grave and tried to recall the name on the stone, “Grandma Darla?”

“He killed her.” He hitched a thumb at his father’s headstone, and I fumbled with my beer.

“Not like that,” Easy fanned the air. “He prided himself on his ability to cook meth. He was good at it, according to Montana and Mark, the older brothers– but not good enough. I was ten years old when he fucked up his batch and blew up our trailer. Your dad was spending the night at Mak Miller’s house.”

“Where were you?” I whispered, captivated by the tale.

He grunted, his lips tipping up on one side in an unamused smile, “In my bed.”

I set the beer down on the Chef's headstone.

“Your mom?”

“Was in her bed, fast asleep… oblivious to his doings. She was a battered woman and used to keeping her head down by that point. I woke up to the sound of the explosion, and half the trailer was immediately engulfed in flames. The firefighters barely got me out.”

He slowly moved to an empty space on the opposite side of my father’s grave.

“Can you blame your mother for not wanting you to end up—?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped, before he could finish his speech.

He sobered at once and started toward me.

“I don’t even know my past. It’s stupid. Okay, our people make bad decisions. Don’t do drugs, got it. I’m a little old for the D.A.R.E. bullshit, don’t ya think?”

Easy laughed, “You know, Mayhem once told his kindergarten teacher that his daddy smoked trees. I refused permission for my child to hear any part of that stuff. I already knew it was game over if someone gave that boy a soap box in that arena. He loved an audience. Shit, he still does.”

I rolled my eyes, and he nudged me with his arm and cocked his head, inviting me deeper into the cemetery.

We crossed a few rows, and he paused next to a stone that read Briggs. His hand landed on the stone, and he was silent a moment before moving to one that read Miller.

“This is Marchella’s mom, Sasha Miller, she was Makaveli’s first wife.”

The date of death was only days before my father’s.

“The one back there was her grandmother, Trista and Mak’s mom, Janice Briggs. She wasn’t even one of us. She had beendivorced from Mark for years. She took Trista away from him, married a dentist and started a much different life, but the mob still killed her to make a point. It was a simultaneous hit. They killed Janice in front of Aunt Daisy’s hair salon and opened fire on the clubhouse killing Sasha.” He gravitated over another row and paused, placing a hand on a grave that said O’Brian, “Oak’s brother, Big Vick was the best enforcer the Disciples ever had. He was standing guard on our president, Mark Miller during the funeral of his wife, Sophia Valentino Miller.”

Easy walked to a grave near the front and paused again.

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