Page 36 of Patching Over

“We knew not everyone we had to interrogate would be the same so rather than have one huge room with a drain in the middle, I decided the punishment should fit the crime,” Pops decrees, waving his hand around. “Some fuckers deserve to be strung up then bled out, sure, but others need a little time to considerwhythey thought it was a good idea to cross the club. Granted none of them ever made it out of there alive, but we always got a lot of good intel when they finally broke.”

I briefly remember what Madame Laveaux said and ask, “What about the Demon Devils, Pops?”

His face darkens as he pounds his fist on the table, causing the pitcher of beer and mugs to nearly tip over. “Bad time for the club then, son, bad fucking time. You were too little to remember, but they stole that precious little ray of sunshine, then killed her, before deciding to run her parents off the road, killing all of them.”

“How did y’all figure out it was them, Pops? Did you ever find her body?” If possible, his glower has his skin tone almost dark red at this point as he shakes his head.

“We looked everywhere. Wanted to give Bonzai and Lorelai some closure, although I think that word’s overused. What kind of ‘closure’ will any parents get when their baby girl is kidnapped then brutally beaten to death? None, none at all.

“Even when we managed to catch one of the fuckers, all he would do was laugh. Wouldn’t answer our questions, even when we had him practically knocking at Death’s door. Only thing the fucker would say was we didn’t know everything we thought we did. He died laughing even as blood poured from his throat after I slit it.”

He then looks at Phantom and states, “The fucking clean up down there is one reason we renovated the space. I’m sure you’ve noticed it by now.”

Phantom grins while nodding. “It’s fucking brilliant, RiffRaff.”

As the rest of my brothers make their way back into the clubhouse, some covered in far more snow than I think is warranted, Pops suddenly yells out, “Church!” Not missing a beat, every single one passes by and heads into Church. Shaking my head, I watch as my pops navigates his fancy electric wheelchair to the room.

“This oughta be very interesting,” Phantom wheezes out, finally letting his laughter out once my pops is out of earshot.

“You got that right.”

To give my brothers credit, none of them utter a word of protest when I sit where I used to when I was just a patchedmember. They all just shift around until we’re all seated as Pops’ eyes move around the room to our legacy wall. Instead of saying anything, he maneuvers his chair over and I watch him reverently touch the double shadowboxes where Bonzai’s cut, and Lorelei’s property cut now reside. He stares hard at the various pictures of the couple in happier times then out of the blue, asks, “Why is Lorelai in the kitchen with the whores? What the fuck has been going on around here when I’m not around?”

What the fuck? Standing I move to where he’s staring at one picture in particular. Bonzai has his arm around Lorelei’s shoulders, and she’s curled into his side. A much-younger Banshee is standing before them, a few of his teeth missing as he grins up at the pink bundle in his father’s arms.

“What do you mean, Pops?” I ask while the rest of the brothers remain silent, waiting to see how this impending shit show plays out. I say that because the hairs on the nape of my neck are standing straight up as I realize what he means.

“Look to your past for the answers you seek.”

Madame Laveaux’s words are ringing in my ears as I finally realize what she meant. Without a word to anyone, I rush out of the room then practically run to Banshee’s. Quickly unlocking the door, I head into his bathroom hoping against hope I can find what I need. Once I have it in hand, I relock his room then go into my own suite where I take Rayleigh’s toothbrush. Snagging two Ziplock bags which she has underneath the cabinet for some unknown reason, I put each item I took into a separate bag then head back into Church where I motion for Phantom.

When he comes closer, I thrust both bags into his hands and quietly utter, “Need you to get DNA run on both of these, Brother. As quickly as you can.” When he starts to speak, I hold up my hand. “Not ready to divulge the reason behind it,Phantom. Just know this, I think I figured out the mystery we were left with.”

With that, I retake my seat and clear my throat. “RiffRaff, I thought we were having Church.” I know I go back and forth with what I call him, but in Church, he’s always been RiffRaff.

He turns, glares in my direction then navigates his chair until he’s once again at the front of the table with all eyes on him. Taking the gavel he handed down to me in his slightly gnarled hand, he slams it against the wood and bellows, “Shut the fuck up! We’ve got shit to discuss!”

Later that night, as Rayleigh sleeps in my arms, fully sated as well as worn out from her earlier baking, I take every one of her features into account, unsure how I missed the obvious. However, until Phantom gets me the information I requested, I’ll keep my suspicions and thoughts to myself. No sense tipping my hand until I know for sure. I grin when I feel the kittens move into their desired nightly spots; Hobbes beneath Rayleigh’s hair, his face buried in her shoulder, Calvin around the top of my head. I gently kiss her temple then say, “Good night, boys. Watch out for your momma while she sleeps.”

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Rayleigh

Ever since Thanksgiving, Brick’s been acting strange. He’s always looking at me, which has me self-conscious that I’ve got something on my face, or worse, he has finally realized I’m a hot mess. As I wrestle with the green garland I’m trying to straighten enough so I can get the bar decorated, I worry I might have worn out my welcome.

“You know you could ask for help,” Brew grumbles before taking the garland from my hands and adeptly fixing it. “Now, where do you want it to go?”

“I was thinking just below the countertop, around the bar,” I reply. “That way, it will hopefully keep out of the way of spilled drinks. Plus, I can plug the end in right at the edge where we go behind the bar.”

He chuckles before yelling out, “Prospect!” Two identical young men come rushing over and he thrusts the garland into their arms and growls out, “Your job today is to help her. Doesn’t matter how big or small the job is, she’s your President’s ol’ lady so you fucking do it. Got me?”

Two voices immediately reply, “Yes, sir!” Turning to me, one asks, “Where do you want this, ma’am?”

As Brew stomps off to do whatever it is he does in his office, I can’t help the giggle which escapes. “I’m no ma’am, y’all. I’m probably just a few years older than the two of you, if that. Call me Rayleigh.”

“Sorry, Rayleigh, it’s just how we were raised,” the second Prospect states.

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