Page 6 of Fight Or Flight

Eric

When you cheat death before you take your first breath it sets the stage for a remarkably interesting life. It starts off all sunshine and rainbows. You’re spoiled rotten and put on a pedestal. Your mom considers you a miracle and your father, who is a badass biker with no religious background, refers to you as the second coming of Christ, or rather Simba because he, himself, is the King of the Jungle—don’t ask. It’s a very long and extremely embarrassing story.

Anyway, you don’t think anything of it because you’re a kid and when you have two younger brothers and one little sister; you soak up any attention you can get. Then somewhere between priding yourself on being your parents’ favorite child and adolescence, you learn favoritism had shit to do with all the attention you received growing up. That your parents let you get away with swinging from the chandelier and riding a four-wheeler in your grandma’s living room because of another man’s sacrifice.

I should not be alive today, and if I’m being totally transparent, neither should my mother. In fact, the whole Montgomery family shouldn’t be here. The only reason we are is because my dad’s best friend, Eric Nicholson, or more commonly known as Bones sacrificed himself to spare us.

Let that sink in for a moment.

The man my dad considered a brother, not by blood but by choice, gave up his life to save us and it had nothing to do with them both being members of the Satan’s Knights motorcycle club. Bones had pledged to have my dad’s back long before either of them had a patch or a rank and it’s because of that bond—that love, respect, and loyalty they shared for one another that I’m here today, feeling all kinds of guilt because Bones has a daughter.

Yeah, you heard me correctly.

Bones has a daughter.

Or at least hewould haveone if he were alive.

I mean no one has whipped out DNA test results or anything, but I’ve seen pictures of him, and this girl is a spitting image of the man except she’s like ten times prettier. On a scale from one to ten, she’s an eleven.

I’m seventeen, so of course my eyes did everything backward and worked their way up, checking out her slender body first. Long legs, a trim waist, and if I had to guess I’d say, her cup size is a B. But it’s her face that tips the scales and sets her apart from every other girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s like every single feature has been delicately carved, from her full lips and perfect little nose to her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes that are the color of milk chocolate and full of sadness. One glance and you want to pull her into your arms and assure her everything is going to be all right. It’s a beautifully tragic picture that’s framed by what seems like miles of auburn waves that I want to touch.

So, yeah, Brooklyn is definitely an eleven.

She’s also a mindfuck because none of us saw her coming. Not me, and certainly not my dad, who seems as if he’s having an out-of-body experience since Joss confirmed Brooklyn was, in fact, Bones’ daughter.

After my dad revealed Bones was gone, Joss lost it. The nice lady whose car I wrecked started shaking like a leaf, demanding my dad explain himself. That’s about the time the knot in my stomach formed. My chest tightened instantly, and I forced the bile down my throat as I took in the pale coloring of Joss’ face and the tears that slowly slid down her cheeks. However, it wasn’t until the wind kicked up and blew the silk scarf from her head that I actually wished I could disappear without a fucking trace.

The woman was sick and by the looks of it, she was really sick. Sicker than my grandma Maria, who beat breast cancer about ten years ago. I was just a kid, so I don’t remember much, but I remember her wearing a scarf around her head just like Joss is wearing, and grandpa Wolf, who, at the time we called our uncle, would carry her to bed after Sunday dinner because her body was too weak.

Not realizing my body was in motion, I bent to retrieve the scarf, like somehow the simple gesture would even the playing field and lessen the guilt I was feeling. But dad beat me to it, and I watched as he handed it to her. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Not a single word. For the first time in quite possibly his entire life, the man who prided himself on being a jokester was completely speechless.

Joss snatched the scarf from his hand and yelled at him when the doors to the bar opened. Grandpa Wolf and Uncle Pipe were the first to step on the porch, but it didn’t take long for the rest to follow. The Satan’s Knights surrounded us and every one of them wore a patch in memory of Bones whether they knew him or not. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t have to. One look at my father and they were ushering all of us into the bar. My dad took Joss’ hand and without a word, he led her and Brooklyn to the backroom that acted as the club’s chapel.

I don’t know how long they’ve been in there, but it seems like forever and more than anything, I wish my uncles would get lost so I can steal a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. Nothing washes away guilt better than a little Jack Daniels.

What a mindfuck, man.

One minute I’m staring at the girl wondering how I can get her number after wrecking her mom’s car, the next I’m looking at her like she’s heaven sent or some shit like that. It’s fucking weird.

“I’m sorry, but did we skip over the part where Eric wrecked that nice lady’s car? If it were me who stole Uncle Gangster’s car and crashed it, I’d be dead or at the very least grounded. This guy leaves a bumper in the street and crickets,” my idiot brother rambles from beside me.

“We’ll get to that,” Grandpa promises, giving me a pointed look. I roll my eyes and look down at my hands. I’m not really in the mood for him. “One of you better start talking.”

My eyes cut to him.

“And one of you should probably go in there because dad is not okay right now,” I snap. It’s true. If I’m fucking spooked, I can only imagine how my father feels. The poor guy looked distraught. Grandpa arches an eyebrow as his light eyes quietly assess me.

“I got that much,” he says finally. “You want to tell me why?”

“Who’s the woman?” Uncle Pipe asks from behind him.

Great, now he’s gonna start too.

All we need is Uncle Jack to join in and it’s a fucking party.

I tear my eyes away from them and lift my hands to my face. I don’t even know how to answer them. Grandpa pulls my hands away from my face and grabs my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye.

“That woman…is she sick?”

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