Page 13 of Deserter

Her blonde hair was streaked with red and her lifeless eyes stared right through me to whatever lay beyond. The scarf she’d worn to work was embedded in her throat and everywhere I looked, I saw blood. I dropped to my knees and cradled her body in my arms, rocking her like Angel had done in that motel bathroom six years before.

“Ma,” I wailed. “Ma, I’m so sorry!” Her blood clung to my clothing and hands, but I wasn’t letting go. I wasn’t leaving her alone right now.

We’d been close. The club was going to take care of Donald and that would’ve been it. Home free.

My sobs eventually tapered off, only to be replaced with rage. The edges of my vision went red and something snapped within me.

I gently laid Ma back on the carpet before throwing open the door to the kitchen to see that my old man was still slumped over in his chair.

He didn’t even have a chance to react before I yanked him up by the collar of his t-shirt and threw that first punch. It landed solidly against his jaw and sent him sprawling back out of my grasp and onto the carpet.

“You!” I roared. “You killed her! You’ve wanted someone to fight this entire time. Well, fight me!”

He scrambled to get his feet underneath him as I leaned over, managing to land several blows to my chest and neck. The adrenaline in my veins kept me from feeling any of it. I put my knee on his chest to keep him from getting back up and unleashed all of my pent-up anger.

I hit him for coming home from Vietnam.

I hit him for buying that goddamn motorcycle and forcing us to rely on charity from the church just to get by.

I hit him for ever laying a finger on the sweetest woman I’d ever known and turning her into a shell of the person she’d been before.

I hit him for the half-sibling I’d never gotten to meet.

My breaths grew ragged from the exertion, but I didn’t stop. Every time my fists connected with his body, I saw the horror he’d forced us to live through since he’d come home and it fueled my rage, spurring me on until my old man could no longer fight me off. He glanced a soft blow off my chin before his fists fell back against the carpet weakly, now incapable of defending him.

I paused to rest as he squirmed beneath my leg, fighting to get up. For the first time in our lives, the roles had been reversed, and I wasn’t willing to give him the upper hand. He did his best to keep me in his sights, even as his eyes began to swell shut.

“You wanna know the truth, old man? She should’ve left your sorry ass when you were still off at war. And she could have—she was good… and perfect… and men fell all over themselves to get close to her,” I taunted as I rocked back on my heels with a grim smile. “Now, I’m gonna show you the same compassion that you showed her.”

I stood up, towering over him, and took pleasure in watching him shrink away. Angel once told me that in a fight, there was no such thing as fighting dirty. If you had an opportunity to fuck the other guy up, then you took it. I’d never had reason to put that advice to use, until now.

My old man raised a bloody hand toward me. “James,” he began, just as my boot connected with his throat. There was a crunch of bone and then he was gurgling beneath me. One of my hits had broken his nose while another had damaged his jaw.

His hands instinctively came up when I removed my boot, desperately clawing at his crushed airway before reaching for me. I stepped just out of his reach and watched as he choked to death on his own blood and bone.

“This is on you, old man. This is the ending you deserve.”

His dark eyes stayed on me as his breaths grew shallower before stilling altogether.

Donald Quinn was killed on the kitchen floor of a house he despised, at the hands of a son he hated.

It felt like I’d been waiting for him to die forever, while at the same time, I wished that I could bring him back to suffer more.

It had been too good for a monster like him.

I kicked his side and shuddered out another strained breath before collapsing against the wall with a cry. His blood was spattered from carpet to ceiling, and some of it ran in rivets down the paneling before pooling into the carpet beside his body. I held my head in my hands and tried to think.

Even if I could somehow get it all cleaned up, I had no idea what to do with his body. I couldn’t hide it; I knew that much. I had to call it in; turn myself over to the police.

Unless…

I stumbled over to the wall phone and dialed, knowing they’d be around. Then, I went back into the living room and cradled my mother’s body in my arms until I heard the rumble of bikes down the street.

“It’s okay, Ma. It’s okay.” I stroked the hair back off her face and rocked. “The guys are coming, Ma. They’ll fix all of this for us.”

I was losing my grip on reality; maybe that’s what happened when you took a life. You gave up your mind in exchange for blood.

Wolverine was the first one through the door and he pulled back in shock at the devastation. “Jamie?”

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