Page 2 of Brother to Brother

I snatched her keys hanging out of her hip pocket and as soon as she shut the door hauled her over to the passenger side of her own cage, dragging open the door and sitting her ass in the seat.

When I’d first seen her, the first thing I’d noticed was that she’d cut her hair, and that she’d filled out some in all the right ways, but now I knew why for the second. She’d had a fuckin’ baby,my brother’sbaby. I shut her into the cage and went around to the driver’s seat.

“Where you takin’ her, Archer?” Reaver demanded, winter in his voice.

“My place,” I uttered, “It’ll have to fuckin’ do for now.” I got into the cage’s driver’s seat and turned it over, the guys walked back to the club and I pulled out in a spray of gravel. I could see ‘em watching in the rearview mirror but I didn’t care.

I glanced at Melody, who was staring at me wide eyed, I expected her to ask me where I was taking her and her boy, my brother’s son, but she didn’t, instead she asked me, voice hollow with shock and pain, “Is he really dead?”

Fuck.

“Yeah,” I gritted my teeth a second to bite of the string of curses I had for every last one of my old chapter. “He’s really dead,” I said, and I didn’t have a fuckin’ thing else for her.

She turned her face out the window and stared blankly, and it was like I watched her shut down, like some kind of robot or something. Her eyes unfocused and stared blankly as the scenery whipped by the window, and for her? Knowing where she’d come from? I knew it was nice scenery.

At least the boy was quiet now, too. I stared into the rearview mirror for a second and found him staring back at me, little cupid’s bow of a mouth hanging open, my brother’s eyes staring wide like I was the most interesting and awe inspiring thing ever. I felt my jaw take on that familiar determined steel and shook my head, casting my eyes where they belonged on the road ahead.I hated driving a fucking cage.

Chapter 3

Melody

He stopped the car in front of this old motel that appeared to have been renovated into apartments. I looked up at the place, as dilapidated as they got, and he shut off my car, pocketing the keys.

“Get the boy,” he grunted.

“Noah,” I said softly.

“What?”

“My son’s name is Noah,” I said and I got out of the car. He sat for a moment and I think seethed, but I didn’t give a damn. I’d named my son after his father, Archer could and would just have to get over it.

I went around to the driver’s side back door and opened it up, slinging Noah’s diaper bag across my chest and ducking into the car to get him out of his car seat; my sweet boy looked distressed, and reached for me, calling “Mamma!” I pulled him out of the car and stood up with him in my arms, his chubby little arms wrapped tight around my neck. He looked around, his father’s hazel eyes scanning the cracked parking lot at the same time mine did. This place was a dump, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Get up here,” Archer said, halfway up the cement steps with their rickety looking metal railing. I hugged Noah to me and followed him warily. He went to the door with a rusty, corroded metal number six nailed to it; rust stains running down the dirty, beige colored door like blood, and unlocked it ushering me quickly inside.

He shut the door behind us, and I stared. The living room was nothing more than a couch, television on an overturned milk crate, and a battered coffee table that looked like it’d come out of a pile marked ‘free’ on the side of the road. To the right was an old, seventies, equally battered four seater table in front of every apartment kitchen you’ve ever seen. The table had four chairs around it, vinyl and equally as aged, yellow foam peeking from a slashed seat. The table at least looked like itmighthave come from a goodwill or garage sale, the chairs though? They looked like they came out of the same ‘free’ pile the coffee table had come out of.

A doorway in the wall by the kitchen led back to the bedroom, which is where he took us next. I stared at the queen sized bed with the wrought iron headboard – probably the nicest piece of furniture so far, and swallowed hard.

He gripped me by the upper arm and hauled me through the door when I hesitated too long, sitting me down on the end of the bed. I sat, and Noah looked around quietly; my heart broke just a little. Noah was usually a bubbly, talkative child, but kidsknew, and my boy’s silence as he slobbered all over his fist, told me he was as apprehensive as his mamma. I looked up at Archer and he set his jaw.

“You can take the bedroom, I’ll take the couch. I’m going to go pick up an extra shift. I’m taking your cage. I’ll be back later tonight. Don’t go anywhere,” and just like that, he went out the bedroom door shutting it tightly behind him. I blinked and looked around the room.

Aside from the queen sized bed, there was a battered garage sale dresser with a smaller television and DVD player on its top at the foot. One of those tall chest of drawers. There was a squat, longer dresser along the wall beside the bed where a doorway opened into a bathroom off to the side and by all appearances, theonlybathroom in the place. The opposite wall had a window that was not only shuttered with venetian blinds, but had a heavy military blanket tacked up over it.

That was it furniture wise; there was no more room for anything else in this bedroom with its stark walls and cracked ceiling. I looked at Noah, asking him, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” his soft little breathy child’s voice almost made me smile.

“You got a stinky butt?” I asked and he shook his head no, his fist resolutely back in his mouth and I closed my eyes for a second.

“I love you, my sweet boy,” I murmured and kissed his soft hair. He chattered and murmured in his soft baby voice, his breath evening and deepening and I sighed. He hadn’t had much of a nap in the car. I slid the strap of his diaper bag off of my shoulder and sat him down on the bed. He immediately started to fuss and whine until I picked him back up and he clung to me. I sighed…I knew exactly how he felt.

Chapter 4

Archer

The bar was closed, and the shift had gone pretty well, and by well, I mean it’d been boring as shit. That’s pretty much what you preferred when it came to this shit, and so I wasn’t complaining, in fact, I was giving Cindy, one of the lead bartenders, a hand by mopping the floor while I waited for my two dumbass younger brothers to show up.

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