Page 31 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

A few more steps have me out in the night air, another few yards, and the loud music from the clubhouse fades. “Yeah, Mom, I’m okay now. Whatcha want?”

My mother and I don’t have a normal son/parent bond, just a strained and awkward relationship. A dutiful son, I go back to my hometown from time to time, but never stay long.

It wasn’t always that way. We might have been poor, but I grew up in a happy home. Dad worked hard to put food on our table and taught me how to be a man. However dire our straits became, he’d never countenance earning money other than doing it the hard way, and however Mom nagged, he’d never raised his hand. He taught me respect for women and those who couldn’t look out for themselves, a love for my country and fellow man, and the ethics that you worked your balls off for anything worth having.

All was good until a drunk driver crossed over the centre line and took him away from us. At fourteen, I had to step up and become the man of the house. It had been hard; his life insurance couldn’t even guarantee the meagre lifestyle that I’d known. But I’d remembered the lessons he’d taught me, and though my size and strength got me invited to join a gang, I’d resisted. Instead, I studied hard at school, and worked every free hour I had doing menial jobs, bringing in what money I could. Mom and I became extremely familiar with ramen noodles, a dish I can’t stomach today.

But it was to no avail, my efforts weren’t enough, and the woman whose skills had hitherto enabled her to keep house had to find a job for herself. With no education nor experience behind her, she became a minimum-wage cleaner.

Still, we jogged along okay, finding solace and support in each other until one of her cleaning contracts was to service a single businessman, ten years her senior. I’d like to say they clicked, but I’d always had suspicions that when he fell for my mother, it wasn’t a love match for her, rather an escape from her circumstances. I didn’t blame her, didn’t resent her from moving on from my dad. A good son, I’d wanted the best for her.

I grew up as an only child, and still consider myself that.

Mom had been seventeen when she married the first time, just a year later she’d had me. Three years after my father had died, she’d gotten hitched again. While she’d found a replacement husband, I hadn’t found a replacement dad. Grover was okay, but he wanted his own family and not one he’d inherited. Being thrust in the parental role, he’d gone into it too hard, automatically assuming a kid like me would need firm direction and a heavy guiding hand.

Having been the man of the house, I’d found his restrictions hard to accept. For Mom’s sake, I’d put up with it, but as soon as I turned eighteen, I joined the Marines. I had a new life, and knowing my mother was settled and as happy as she could be, I went out and lived it. I had no regrets, finding I relished my newfound freedom and the opportunity to make my own mistakes and my own triumphs. On visits home, Grover couldn’t stop being heavy-handed. For my sake and my mom’s happiness, I lessened the frequency, and fell into the pattern of returning only occasionally, and only ever for short periods of time.

She’d been just thirty-five when she’d met Grover, and while one baby had been sufficient for her and my dad, as though wanting to give her new husband everything that he asked for she quickly fell pregnant. In all, three kids—all girls—had appeared in rapid succession. They’d all been born after I’d left home, and I’d never felt they were siblings of mine.

I talk to my mom at Christmas and sometimes on my birthday. I haven’t been home since I joined the Devils—I don’t want to keep that secret, and me being a biker is something which my stepdad would not approve. All they know is that I’m a mechanic. I do know what Grover appreciates is that despite his wealth, I’ve never asked for handouts.

As memories flit through my head, I perch on a barrel and steel myself to hear bad news.Had Grover met with an accident or died from an illness?Hell, I hope not. Mom would never survive another such loss.

Mom doesn’t take long to put me out of my misery. “Niran, it’s your sister.”

I suck in air, for a moment I’m trying to process what she’s talking about. Oh, yeah, the three girls that I’ve never really felt were related to me because I’ve never been part of their lives. It puzzles me why she’s calling me about any of them. “Who? And what the fuck’s happened? What’s going on, Mom?” The prospect of one of my siblings being injured or worse looms closer.

“It’s Cynthia. She’s gone.”

Cyn, I remember, at twenty, is my oldest sister. I growl. “What the fuck do you mean she’s gone?”Dead?Fuck I hope not.

“She’s packed her bags and walked out.”

“Is she missing? Have you checked around with her friends? What happened to make her leave?” And why talk to me?

“She’s not missing as such,” Mom shares mysteriously. “I, your stepdad, well, Grover, he was just being Grover. She’s been such a handful, Niran, and Grover went too far.” For the first time I hear real emotion as she unsuccessfully stifles a sob. “Her latest escapade upset him so much, he lost his temper.”

Now my snarl is louder.You never hit women, Son, however much you think they deserve it.The voice of my dad echoes in my mind. “He ever hit you, Mom?” If I’d known Grover was violent, I’d have done more to check in on her and had a chat using my fists, man to man.

“No, Niran. Grover’s not violent. He didn’t hit her. He just lost his temper. It’s Cynthia I’m worried about. She’s been a handful the last few years. Sometimes, I don’t think I know her. She’s bullheaded and can’t be made to see sense.” Despite the circumstances, I grin.Yeah, and I wonder where she gets that from.Mom can be very single minded. Once she gets an idea in her head, it’s firmly bedded in.

“Okay, let’s break this down, Mom. Do you know where she’s gone? Is she safe? And what can I do?” I don’t even know her. When I do go home they treat me as an oddity, an interloper, and I’m just as distant as them.

I’m expecting her to say talk to her, but hell, Cyn might be my sister, but she’s a stranger. She was a babe in arms when I first saw her, and on the few occasions when I’ve been back, apart from a blood bond, there’d been little connection between us.

“That’s why I’m calling you. Grover, well…” Whatever Grover did or said, she stops that train of thought without enlightening me. “Cynthia’s got it in her mind to come find her older brother, thinking you’d have sympathy for her. She emptied her college fund and is currently on a red-eye to San Diego.”

What the fuck?I ignore the thought of a college fund which was a luxury I’d never had. “How the hell did she think she was going to find me?” I’ve always been vague about my address. Having never admitted to being a Satan’s Devil, I’d been unable to share that I lived on the compound. I’d been a Marine so long, one room as my accommodation suits me well enough, and communal living was something that had attracted me to this life.

“I don’t know, but it’s Cynthia all around. I suspect she was going to visit all the auto-shops around.”

I start to ask if she’s any sense of how big San Diego is, when I realise it’sCynthia.It’s all I need to know. Grover’s first child had been spoiled from the day she was born and being daddy’s girl had never wanted for anything. If she needed something, it would come her way. Now, apparently, she has for some unknown fucking reason, set her sights on me.

“When’s the plane land?” I ask through gritted teeth, mentally counting the beers I’d had. Conducting a sobriety test on myself, I walk a crack in the pavement. Passing, as my feet move in a straight line, I decide I’m okay to drive.

Mom’s done her homework and gives me the times of when the flight is likely to land and gives me the next one for good measure.

“I’ll go meet her, turn her around, and get her back to you, Mom.” How I’ll persuade her, I’ve yet to come up with a plan.

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