Page 13 of Scythe's Salvation
“We’ll definitely keep an eye on it too, in case we need to add a third brother,” Brick adds. “What do you think, Scythe?”
I mean, my talent lies in a tattoo gun. I can draw, of course, but my art is worn on others’ bodies. Still, I like the ideas that the club presidents have to increase our coffers, because it benefits all of us. “I like it, Brick,” I tell him. “I think this will end up being another moneymaker as well, because the shop already is, and this is going to allow us to have dedicated bike bays, plus add several more to work on cars.”
“We’re going to need more prospects soon,” Banshee adds. “Right now, we’ve got two. Adding extra businesses is great forour bottom line, but we want them to survive to patch in, not die of exhaustion trying to run from place to place to take care of shit.”
“Then we need to put the word out,” Brick says.
Since I’m now superfluous to this conversation, I walk around the property, my mind on a certain curvy massage therapist. I wonder if she likes fishing, does she moan when she comes or is she more the silent type? With all of that spinning in my head, I decide I need a longer ride and motion to Brick that I’m heading out. Since the fundamentalist fuckers have gone deep underground, we aren’t as worried about riding solo. I head to my favorite thinking spot, which also happens to be where I like to fish, never expecting what I find.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Tamara
“Mommy, look, I got one!”Chance exclaims as he works to bring in the fish on his line. Right now, it’s giving him a run for his money, that’s for sure. However, since he prefers to do it himself, instead of jumping in, I stand close in case he needs me and shout encouragement.
“Tighten the line. Keep reeling it in, buddy,” Scythe says, causing me to jump and turn around in absolute shock. When he sees me staring at him, he waves and says, “Hey, beautiful. I see y’all found my favorite fishing hole.”
I’m shocked speechless because in all the times I’ve come here with Chance, I’ve never run into another soul, and believe me, I’d have remembered running into Scythe before. He looks even better than he did last week when he came in for a massage and I can only hope that I’m not drooling right now. Outside of his initial glance at me, he’s been solely focused on my son, moving closer as he issues words of praise at how well Chance ishandling himself as he finally reels in a decent sized trout that I can already taste.
“Good job, Chance,” I say as he deftly removes the hook from the fish’s mouth and drops it into the cooler we brought. We already have another trout, as well as a largemouth bass. Definitely will be eating good later on today.
“Who are you?” my son curiously asks Scythe now that he has his fish taken care of. He’s already rebaiting the hook but hasn’t cast it yet.
“I’m a friend of your mom’s,” Scythe replies, grinning at me. “My name’s Scythe and I used to fish down here a lot when I was younger, not so much these days because of work, but it’s the best spot to catch what you’re looking for.”
“We’re going to have a fish fry at Memaw’s house later,” Chance tells him. “She said if we caught the fish, she’d fry them up, and make hush puppies plus French fries!”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Scythe says, crouching so he’s more level with Chance. “Do you wanna know what works best for bait?”
Chance warily eyes him but nods. “We usually use worms,” he admits.
“Mud bugs,” Scythe announces. “Or chicken livers.”
“Mommy! Chickens havelivers?” Chance asks. I giggle a little remembering his traumatic conversation with Amara a few days ago.
“Yeah, buddy, they do.” Looking at Scythe I tell him, “Never used anything other than worms, to be honest.”
“Then it’s a good thing I showed up so y’all will have enough fish to feed everyone,” Scythe teases. “Let me go see if I can scare up some mud bugs.”
Great. Just great. He’s speaking my son’s language. Mud. Visions of using the spot treatment to get stains out of his clothes dance in my head, then I realize he’s wearing stuff that’s so old, it has tears and holes, so worst case scenario, I’ll just throw them away. Problem now solved, I watch as my boy walks next to Scythe as they look around for where mud bugs hide. Personally, I’m not much of a bug fan, but I enjoy fishing and when I was little, Amara’s grandpa insisted that if I was going to learn about the best sport there was, I was going to have to learn how to bait a hook, so I push through my aversion each time I have to perform that grisly task.
Watching the man who’s larger than life and who has starred in many of my evening dreams help my son sends longing coursing through my body. While I had hoped Tim was the one, his actions proved differently, and outside of Amara’s family, Chance has had little to no male influence. Granted, he’s young, but there’s going to come a time when he’s going to need a man around to answer questions that I’m unable to, and I hope that when it happens, someone like Scythe is in the picture.
And why can’t it be Scythe?my mind murmurs.He’s single, you’re single… what’s the issue?
I guess the biggest issue is, of course, he hasn’t really indicated any interest in me outside of our professional relationship. I’m not worried about him being a biker whatsoever. The ones I’ve met in town have always been kind and courteous, and my interactions with Scythe to date have been the same. I briefly wonder if Timmy… no,Tim,has a family now. Then I think about the fact that if he does, any kids he has are Chance’s half-siblings. Yeah… no. I’m not playing happy families with that son-of-a-bitch. He can sit and spin, which may be an old saying, but it sure as hell fits the occasion as far as I’m concerned.
“What has you so deep in thought, Tamara?” Scythe asks as he and Chance come back with a handful of mud bugs that they’ve got in their shirts. Granted, they’re rolled up to create a pouch, but still, seeing Chance’s shirt moving has me shuddering in disgust. When Scythe notices, he chuckles and says, “Your mom’s not a huge fan of bugs, buddy.”
“No, she doesn’t like them all that much,” Chance replies, his tone matter of fact. “But she let me have an ant farm, until they escaped that is, and I got to keep the classroom’s Mexican hissing cockroaches over Christmas break when I was in PreK.”
“Mommy sure is brave,” Scythe whispers, so close to me now that I can feel his warm breath as it caresses my cheek.
“Mommy doesn’t want to be called a wimp,” I retort. “So, Mommy sucks it up and cringes in private.”
At that, Scythe lets loose a laugh that comes from his belly, bending over double as he slaps his knees. Once he manages to calm himself, he stands and squeezes my shoulder then leans in closer to say, “I don’t mind handling bugs, Tamara. Not one bit. Now, you sit back over there and me and your boy are gonna show you how it’s done, okay?”
