Own the Wind(86)

“No, I don’t. I just… I don’t know, man, I just, since then, I got my act together. I got family. I got a reason to stay clean. They need me and I’m just sayin’, I get you, do what you have to do but I don’t wanna die.”

“Right now, you want that gift from me. You wanna keep breathin’.”

“Yes,” the man whispered.

“And you think,” Shy leaned forward, “you think, you shot my mother in the back of her f*ckin’ head, you took that gift from her, you think you should get that gift from me?”

“No,” the man was still whispering. “I don’t deserve that. I know it. I just hope you have it in you to show mercy.”

Shy changed the subject. “Too young, cops didn’t tell that shit to kids and my aunt and uncle didn’t share f*ckin’ anything. So you tell me. Where’d you shoot my dad?”

“Man, don’t do this to yourself.”

“Tell me,” Shy pushed, leaning further in, moving the hilt of the knife into his palm, his fingers curling around the shaft, movements the man didn’t miss. “Where… did… you… shoot my Dad?” he ended his question on a roar.

“Tell him,” Tack rumbled and Shy’s head jerked around.

Jesus, he didn’t hear him.

The brothers moved in behind Tack.

Fuck, he didn’t hear any of them.

“Oh God, oh f*ck, oh God,” the man chanted, scooting fearfully away but he stopped when Boz, Hound, and High rounded him at the back and the rest of the brothers circled around him.

Shy pushed up to his feet to stand by Tack.

“I said,” Shy stated, his eyes on Tack, “private party.”

“See you don’t get this, brother, but we’re crashing,” Tack replied.

“Answer his question, motherf*cker,” Hop growled, nudging the man on the ground hard with his boot. “He wants to know where you shot his dad.”

“In the aisle,” the man said hurriedly.

“That the info you were lookin’ for, Shy?” Tack asked, his eyes pointed down at the man.

“No,” Shy answered.

The man shook his head.

“Uh… you’re not gettin’ this, dude, but you were in a world of hurt,” Boz spoke up then leaned down toward the man and clipped, “Now you’re in a world of pain. Tell my brother where you shot his f*ckin’ dad.”

“Face,” he whispered.

“Jesus, f*ck, once we kill him, can I keep stabbing him?” Hound asked.

The man let out a terrified squeak.

Shy stared at Hound then he looked at Tack.

“You been out there awhile,” he guessed.

“Brothers don’t go it alone,” Tack replied, and Shy held his eyes.

Then Shy drew in a deep breath.

Finally, he told Tack, “He’s got family.”

“I heard. Do you care?” Tack returned.

“I been the survivin’ part of a family,” Shy reminded him.

“Vengeance,” Tack shook his head. “Brother, that shit is messy. This f*ck we got here doesn’t mean shit but his family, you’re lookin’ at two things. They learn who he was, what he did and know he paid, or they live to have you where he is right now. Difference is, you got your brothers. That kind of shit”—he swung a hand toward the man in the dirt—“unlikely to happen to you. Way it’s goin’, my guess, you’ll have a new family soon. You carry through, suddenly, they’re vulnerable. Vengeance is a circle. There’s no corners to turn, there’s no end of the line. You feel lucky, we’ll deal accordingly. You want this to end here, we get creative in taking his penance and the circle is broken. Your choice. Whatever you choose, your brothers stand with you.”

Shy looked down at the man but felt a presence get close.

“This is not a case for mercy,” Big Petey rumbled.

Shy turned his head and looked into the man’s eyes.

Big Petey kept talking. “But, boy, you make this decision, you get on your bike, you go home, you lie down by your woman. So, right now, ask yourself, next time you touch her, how you gonna feel doin’ it with blood on your hands?”

Shy’s mind filled with all things Tabby. This meant it filled really f*cking full.

He drew in another deep breath and looked down at the man in the dirt.

Then he declared, “I’m feelin’ creative.”

The vibe in the room shifted, Shy’s head lifted, he looked to Tack and he found him smiling.

* * *

Shy rode hard, his mind blank except for one thing.

Or pairs of them but they were all the same.

All the same.

He hadn’t thought of them for years. They’d been lost a long time. So long, he almost forgot about them.

Tonight, he was getting them back.

He drove his bike up into a driveway he hadn’t seen in years. He didn’t even drive down this street. He got nowhere near this f*cking place.

He walked to the door, pressed the doorbell and didn’t let go.

It was late, dark, it had to be well past midnight so he knocked. Loud. Hard. And he didn’t stop.

He saw a light go on in the window high in the door, the locks turned and the door was thrown open.