Page 13 of Gunner

I don’t know who my stalker is, but I don’t believe that he’s gone or that he won’t be coming back. If there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s that once someone makes you their obsession, they can’t just leave.

I could either wait and let the worst come to me, or I could go on the one gut instinct I have and take the fight to him.

If that biker is my stalker—it’s a huge leap, I know—but if he is, then could he just leave? Would his club even let him do that? Could he leave for a time and come back? They’d probably allow that if he did it under the guise of some kind of club-related business. Then again, he’s supposed to be guarding that little girl and her mom, and families don’t get guards like that unless they’re high ranking. Again, another assumption, and one based off my own life, but what else do I have to go on?

And if that biker isn’t my stalker, then he’s still a good guy to know if you have a pest problem and you can’t call the cops to deal with it. I need vermin control and who should I go to but someone who looks like he could tear the limbs clean off a man? I have money. I could pay. In cash. If I went to that guy and he was willing to take the job, we could set a trap together, or he could ask his club to get involved and then…

Yeah. Not my finest idea, but that’s where my mind’s been taking me. Tunneling down darker and out of control paths. Anyway, how does one approach a dangerous biker if one would not like their own limbs rearranged?

The bell rings and I snap up out of the seat. Puppets.Merda, I haven’t got a thing ready for the story.

I scramble around the room, snatching out the hand puppets, all of them, even though I was going to pick and choose, and grabbing the first book I could find. It’s a big job getting everyone assembled and calmed down, especially after they’ve been out on the playground running their faces off at full speed, getting all amped up, but it’s a skill I’ve mastered. Turns out, all I have to do is pick up the puppets and the scrambling for a seat on the carpet starts and after one goes down, the rest usually follow.

By the end of the day, I’m utterly exhausted, but I can’t deny that I’m happy. Teaching makes me fulfilled in a way that I have to admit that nursing never did, even though I thought I wanted to be a nurse more than anything in the world.

I never would have expected the answer to all my unanswered thoughts to come from a rambunctious five-year-old boy.

While helping everyone with their backpacks and changing out school shoes for outside shoes, I overhear Dean talking to Owen about a cookout coming up on the weekend. He’s super excited because his mom just started dating someone who rides a big bike. It’s really loud and the guy promised Dean that he could have a ride sometime. Anyway, his mom is taking him to a community cookout at the clubhouse where all the other bikers and all their bikes are.

Long after the kids are all out of the school, onto the bus, and dispersed for pick up, or walking home in groups or with older siblings, my stomach remains twisted in knots and filled with butterflies that I can’t honestly ever remember feeling before.

That cookout is the perfect solution.

Whoever my stalker is, I’m bringing the fight to him, one way or another.

Chapter 6

Gunner

Idamn well meant to leave.

I got on my bike that night and headed straight out of Hart. I pushed towards Seattle. After the city broke away, it would be easy to disappear into the mountains. Become some kind of fucking recluse. Those thoughts only steered me towards the fact that Tyrant bought property up that way. The old trapper’s cabin where his own father once took him to be tortured when he made his reappearance from the dead, is now club property. Raiden wanted to tear the thing down, but our Prez was adamant about keeping it and renovating it.

It’s another reminder that Tyrant is nothing like his father. Everything he has, he’s willing to share. Originally, he’d planned on making it a new family home, but instead he decided to build a property for him and his family elsewhere on the land, leaving the renovated cabin for club use.

I got about as far as the wrong side of Seattle before I started thinking about that cabin and how it was just up there waiting. Even when I was fleeing, I’d subconsciously strayed right back into the club’s arms.

People think that criminals have no sense of honor, but they’re dead wrong. The guilt ate at me. No one from the club would have been coming after me to slit my throat or put a bullet in my forehead for abandoning the place. It wasn’t fear that twisted me up.

It was family.

I gave my word to Tyrant. I didn’t give it lightly—even if I did trade it for a pan of lasagna. I told him I’d guard Penny. Having him ask me, when he could have had his pick of any other club brother… it hit parts inside of me that haven’t been touched in half a lifetime.

When I told him yes, I put my life at his feet. His daughter would be safe. I’d see to it.

I had to turn around and come back.

That, and the thought of never seeing Diletta again was more than I could bear. Truth? I’m addicted to her. I was nothing before I met her and I’m nothing without her. I barely exist as it is. She’s the light and breath in my body. Rolling back into Hart that night, my lungs felt starved for air. I was craving the sight of her something fierce, but I had to deny myself. I’d fucked up, doubly, and I was going to have to figure out a way to fix it that didn’t involve running.

I’m back, but this community cookout bullshit that Tyrant insists on doing a few times a year is enough to make any man wish that he’d found a good rock, or better yet, a steep cliff, and fallen straight off the end of it.

I’m hanging out in the background of the massive crowd assembled around the clubhouse. Unfortunately, we have a lot of lawn and right now it’s taken up with folding chairs and blankets, tables set up with food, four grills working overtime, churning out hamburgers and hotdogs. I have no idea where all the coolers came from, but they’re stacked along the back, filled with cold beers and sodas.

Anyone and everyone from Hart are welcome here. Tyrant likes to foster a good relationship with civilians. We basically run the town, but we don’t rule by fear and intimidation. Someone steps out of line, sure as fuck they’re gonna get put back into it, but one of the main reasons we have a decent relationship with the cops here isn’t just because a few are dirty enough to be on the club’s payroll. It’s also because we’ve done a lot of legit good for this town, clearing out the scum. Tyrant’s argument is that we don’t just have the club here. We live here. We’re members of this community.

I guess it hits different for him, having been born and raised here and having a kid himself.

The old ladies and club whores are circling around the crowd, being helpful for the most part. They’re the ones managing the snacks, handing out cans of soda, getting the condiments on the buns for the kids, taking care of all the paper plates and plastic utensils that are getting chucked in the garbage.

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