A Ruthless Christmas by K.L. Savage
Everyone is giving Boomer hugs and pats on the back for his surprise Christmas visit. At this rate, I expect everyone we know to show up, like the NOLA chapter, which I kind of hope happens. I want to see Tool creeped out by Seer.
“Doc, how are you, man?” Boomer comes in for a hug. Damn, I can’t believe this is the same brat who used to set trash can fires at school. He’s really grown up. His hair is longer, and it looks like he has a few more tattoos. His cut is still blank, but that doesn’t seem to matter to the guys who follow him. After what a few members have been through, they’re probably relieved to be able to breathe for a minute.
“I’m alright. It’s good to see you, Boomer. I’m happy you came. Where’s Scarlett?”
“Ah, she stayed back with Homer. He isn’t feeling too well lately, and since he’s older than dirt, she didn’t feel right leaving him alone.”
“Scarlett’s sweet like that,” I say, leaning against the porch beam and casting a glance at Boomer’s VP, Wolf, as he traipses around outside. Right as I was about to tell Sarah and Reaper their results, Boomer interrupted us. “What’s your boy doing, Boomer?”
“I don’t know. He thinks he saw someone up in the tree. He’s going to check it out, but he’s a paranoid motherfucker. I doubt someone is going to climb up that tree to look over the wall. That’s a bit much,” Boomer says. He pulls out a flask, and I snag his wrist, stopping him before he can even think about taking a swig of it. “What?” he asks.
“You better put that shit away. Patrick is around. Have some respect.”
“Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot that. I’m sorry.” Boomer tucks the flask in his cut pocket and catches a glimpse of Wolf headed back to us. “I know that look,” he says, pushing off the wall with his boot. He jumps off the porch instead of taking the steps.
I know that tone of voice he used, and it isn’t a good one.
Not wanting him to walk by himself, I’m at his side, ready to take on the news Wolf is about to deliver. “So is Sarah pregnant? Have you told her?”
“I can’t talk about that with you. You know that.”
“I know. I hope she is. They deserve it after everything that’s happened.” Boomer eyes where Skirt’s house used to be. It’s nothing but flat land now, covered in sand.
“Yeah, I think all of us needs a break, don’t you?”
“You guys should come to Jersey. Clubhouse is being built, no cut-slut drama—”
“Yet,” I finish for him.
“Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. I don’t miss cut-sluts, man.”
“Neither do we. See any of them here? After Candy and Jasmine died, the rest of the sluts skipped town.”
“Becks too? I mean, she isn’t a slut, but she’s usually hanging around.”
“She’s off pursuing her dream or whatever,” I say just as we come face-to-face with Wolf. His nose ring catches the light of the sun, and he holds out a few pieces of glass.
“Someone was here. I know I saw them.”
“Fucking hell, does this shit ever stop?” I flip the glass in my hand, noticing the curve of the lens. It’s thick and has a bit of weight to it.
“You guys have bad omens,” Wolf says, glancing around the clubhouse as if he can see the evil encasing us.
“Not you too! Do not bring that voodoo shit here!” Tool yells from where he’s propped up against his bike.
Nothing ever gets better than hearing Tool get freaked out about the supernatural.
“We need to call a meeting,” Boomer informs me as he lifts a piece of glass toward the sun.
“We call a meeting for everything these days.” I just want to sit on my ass with my pregnant ol’ lady with my hand on her belly as we watch B-rated movies on Netflix. People ask me what I want for the holidays? I say, ‘nothing.’ The truth, though? I want silence.
Quiet.
I want a day where, for once, things aren’t complete chaos here at the clubhouse. I don’t want danger surrounding us. I don’t want another family member showing up out of the blue, and I don’t want to find fucking glass littering the property. I don’t want Poodle’s dog to die of cancer.
One day. All I’m asking is one day for us to fucking be.
No threats. No medical emergencies. No panic.
Just happiness. I want us to sit around our Christmas cactus and open gifts. I want bad Christmas music on, and I want to hear all of us laugh at the dumb gifts we get each other.
There’s always something going on, and I just want there to be nothing. I want our only worry to be cleaning up wrapping paper.
But that would be too easy.
Just like it would be easy to tell Sarah her tests came back, and it’s positive—
she’s pregnant—but that isn’t the Ruthless way, is it?
How do I tell a woman who has been wanting nothing more than to get pregnant, that her tests are inconclusive? What I do know is I’m telling Reaper and Sarah away from knowing eyes. This has to be done in private.
It’s going to be a hopeless Christmas if these pieces of glass have any say in it.
