Stay Vertical (The Bare Bones MC #2)(12)

That was when my heart broke for him. He was tormented, stomped into the mud by shitty parents, too.

I stepped up to Lytton and laid a calming hand on his upper arm. He looked down at me as though I was a piece of already-chewed gum. I was arrogant enough to think that maybe I could help, having mediated many a tense situation or argument in Africa. Those things usually involved a dead goat or a calabash, but some of those arguments got pretty heated, too. Africans had Uzis.

I said, “Lytton, why don’t we get to the bottom of this in a calm manner? Ford isn’t someone you want to piss off. Maddy here’s a nurse, but I don’t think she has her doctor bag with her.”

That did seem to calm Lytton down. At least, instead of whaling on me, his nostrils flared, and he asked, “And who the f*ck are you?”

That was a start.





CHAPTER FOUR




LYTTON


Lytton had gone down to Fort Apache personally to confront Kino Driving Hawk, the guy he’d imagined was his father for the first twenty-five years of his life.

Kino was manning the cash register at the Apache Office of Tourism inside General Crook’s stupid-ass cabin. It had always irritated Lytton that even an upstanding member of the community like Kino had to hawk dream catchers for a living. There was really nothing else for anyone to do, besides work at the casino. It had never irritated him more than now, as he shoved aside some Birkenstock-wearing hippie to gain access to Kino behind the counter.

“Listen.” Lytton was on a slow boil now. He had ridden his Harley for almost four hours through Snowflake and Show Low, and never had the scenery seemed more monotonous. “We’re having a talk. Now.”

Polite and measured as always, Kino had gotten some ranger-type chick to man the counter for him, and they went into his back office. Lytton had had many long hours to plan what he was going to say to Kino. The words came out as though in an Oscar-winning movie when he stated flatly,

“Why didn’t you tell me Cropper Illuminati was my father?”

Lytton instantly saw in Kino’s face that it was true. His face fell like a soufflé and he couldn’t meet his stepson’s eyes. He diddled his thumbs that were laced together on top of his belt buckle—sterling silver encrusted with turquoise of course, the badge of the blanket-asses who derided yet made money off whites.

Now Lytton had to take a chair too, having seen Kino’s confirmation. “So it’s f*cking true. Cropper f*cking Illuminati f*cked my mother. It was no f*cking gangbang. Why the f*ck did she make that up?” It was easier to ask Kino than it was to get a straight answer out of Sadie. She had been languishing in a rundown alcohol treatment center with degenerative dementia since Lytton had graduated from MIT.

Kino finally looked at him. “Language, son.”

Language! Language, my ass! “Why did she lie, Kino? And why did you f*cking cover up for her?”

Kino sighed deeply. Lytton could tell he was getting ready for a long, lecturing harangue. “Son, thirty years ago was a different time. Our tribe has come a long way since the days—”

Lytton slammed a fist against the metal desktop. “Tell me, Kino! Fucking tell me why my mother lied about some f*cking rape that never happened!”

There was genuine fear in Kino’s face now. Lytton had always been a problem child, though not any worse than any other boy on the res. Yet he probably hadn’t struck any real fear into anyone’s heart until that day five years ago when he’d discovered Kino wasn’t his father. Lytton and Sadie had lived in Kino’s house, for f*ck’s sake. Kino had bought him a bicycle, had helped him purchase his first motorcycle, had walked him through all the ins and outs of applying for scholarships. But there had never, ever been fear in Kino’s eyes until Lytton had gone off the rails five years ago.

And now. Kino rolled his chair closer to the desk, using it as a sort of breastwork in case Lytton should explode. He clutched the edge of the desk. “Son. It was a lot easier to claim it was an entire biker gang than it would be to admit she willingly slept with a hoodlum!”

Now Lytton was aghast. Easier? “Easier for f*cking who, Kino? Easier for her f*cking image, her f*cking pristine reputation? Her f*cking blackout, apple ass? She’s afraid anyone might know she gave some good loving to a North American?”

“Not to a North American!” Kino spat. Now fire was in his eyes, and he sat erect. “Not because she slept with a pilgrim! Because she slept with a biker!”

What the f*ck? For the tenth time in an hour, Lytton was completely thrown for a loop. So it wasn’t even shame at having f*cked a “non” that made Sadie concoct this elaborate lie—it was the fact that he rode a motorcycle? “What the f*ck, Kino? So just to get out of telling me she willingly f*cked some motorcycle club guy, she lies that she doesn’t know who my real dad is? This is some seriously f*cked-up shit. I can’t believe this. I just can’t believe this.”

Lurching to his feet, Lytton paced the small office. He was beyond incredulous. He had just discovered that his birth father was much more like him than Kino ever was. Lytton rode a Harley. Lytton acted out. Lytton liked to be top dog. Lytton got into a lot of fights.

“Son, you have to understand. The times were different. We didn’t want you to start idolizing Cropper Illuminati, to think that his lifestyle was glamorous, to start following that way of life like his other children did. We wanted you to focus on your Apache roots.”