Page 7 of My Darling Mayhem

“It’s Miss, and you can just call me Wren,” I interjected again because I apparently couldn’t control my mouth anymore.

“Wren.” Mrs. Gerald gave me a flat smile while clearing her throat. “Our system isn’t perfect but you did put that you were bilingual, so I figured that perhaps you could assist with a few things at home with Cruz and what he learns, he can share with Kane.”

I wasn’t sure how that was supposed to work, but it was kindergarten, and I appreciated that they were attempting to diversify the curriculum. I smiled and nodded my agreement. She finally turned and gave our area a break, leaving my neighbor talking to Kane while the two of them started for the exit.

“Come on, Cruz, we need to head out too.”

My son grabbed his little backpack, and we started for the door, seeing that his new deskmate and older brother had stopped by the counter to drop off supplies. My neighbor’s blue eyes stayed glued to us as we walked past.

I’d push the strange awareness of his gaze to the recess of my mind. Where details around my past lingered, my estranged family, and the fact that Brian had already sent me three messages since our conversation earlier, asking if we could meet up.

The place where things just didn’t matter. The dead space. That’s where any and all information regarding Mr. Green would go.

THREE

ARCHER

“Prez, catch!”Thistle tossed a beer across the room with zero fucks about it shattering against the wall.

I lurched forward to grab it, glaring at my vice president. “Have you ever been inside a house that wasn’t a trailer? The fuck was that?”

My VP was nearly six foot seven, bald, and stacked with muscle. His laugh was throaty as he tipped the bottle back, drinking his beer. Moving boxes littered the counter and floor. I had a singular couch in the living room and a recliner, but that was all I had set up so far.

“We always threw our beer in the club. You never seemed to mind then.” Thistle burped while sifting through a box of plates and silverware.

I popped the cap off my beer and tried to calm down. My mind went to the club and how we were both absent from it at the moment. This new lifestyle change would be a lot to get used to.

Thistle tossed all the silverware into a random drawer without sorting it. “How come you only asked for me to come help unpack your shit?”

Because two days ago, I met my new neighbor, and I didn’t like how she looked at me as if I were a stain on her pristine, perfect life. Usually, I’d press in harder to piss her off, but she’d helped me out with Kane’s teacher, and while I had no idea why, it left me feeling cautious about having more of my club here.

“Just wanted to ask how things are going at the club. I didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t be honest with me.”

Thistle let out a sigh and started placing more shit from boxes in cupboards. No rhyme or reason to any of it, just random chaos that I’d have to sort out later. “Honestly, it’s shitty, Prez. The men are testing boundaries, getting in fights, and a few scattered clubs from around the city have started wandering in…so far, nothing major, but I can tell they’re scoping shit out…testing for any weakness we might have.”

Several clubs made up New York City. Honestly, there were too many to fucking count, but of those, there were only about three that wore the one percent patch, which kept shit mildly manageable. Mayhem Riot didn’t shit in their territories, and they never crossed over into ours. For the most part, we kept things peaceful. It wasn’t broadcast that I had left because I hadn’t.

I was taking time to figure this out, but I hadn’t stepped down or left my post.

“I’ll have to come back and make an appearance. Go for a ride next week.”

Our conversation stalled as the sounds of cardboard shuffling filled the space. Thistle had thoughts but wasn’t sharing them. I’d wait him out; he eventually always spoke up once he sorted out his feelings. I moved to the box on the floor that contained my new television stand and started taking out the pieces that needed to be built.

With another sigh, Thistle spoke again, “You get anywhere with the custody stuff?”

No, but I wouldn’t tell him that. He was under the assumption that all of this was temporary. Me living here in the suburbs, this house I purchased, he assumed I placed in the club’s name, using club funds, but I hadn’t. I had told him very little about my brother, just that I needed to get him out of the shitstorm my father had created.

Kane needed stability, and I knew what it would take to provide that for him. I just had no idea how to do it.

“I’m meeting with my lawyer tomorrow; I should know more by then.”

“Doesn’t Kane start school soon?” Thistle moved into the living room, bending down to help me with the long wood pieces.

“He starts tomorrow…I'm going to pick him up from his foster home in the morning, bring him back for some breakfast, and see if he likes the place. Then take him in.”

Thistle had a bushy beard covering his mouth, making it somewhat difficult to read his expressions. His eyes were down on the instructions and the various bolts we’d need to sort out. His mind likely whirring based on how focused he seemed to be.

“You got something on your mind; just speak it.” My voice was low, encouraging. Thistle was as loyal as they came and always had my back. I had no doubt about that, but he often took his time to think through his answers before he gave them. On the rare occasion, this prevented him from saying anything at all.

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