Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(60)

Now I was watching him blackmail Allred into leaving us alone—and perhaps even giving him the entire mine—and I was saying the end justified the means. This was a new way of thinking, letting me know that we form our own reality. I may have been mapped to be the fortieth wife of a charlatan “prophet,” but I alone had the power to alter that map by rubbing out the blueprint.

Gideon went back to work at the mine with Dust Bunny and was unmolested by any goons. But he really worried about his Papa Ewey, the “Prez” of his club. He worried that the guy hadn’t called him yet, and then he did call.

“He wants me to start a new chapter here in Avalanche,” Gideon explained.

We were sitting on the back deck having coffee before he went to work. The sun hadn’t peeked over the red bluffs, but the reflection from the orange bowl cast a holy look to his face. Not that he needed it. He was above all reproach in my book.

“You figured as much. But who will you have? You’ll be the only patched member with a dozen Prospects.”

“That’s the catch. I want to ask that Maximus, the older guy from the riding club.”

“The Lazzat Un Nisa club? You know that means ‘the pleasure of woman’ in Arabic. It’s an old erotic manuscript from the fifteenth century.”

Gideon cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Don’t worry,” I explained. “I googled it. I didn’t automatically know that.”

He smiled. He was always saying what a brainiac I was when I just read a lot of books. “Well, a brother from a club that wants to pleasure women is okay in my book. Then there’s Dust Bunny, who’s been around for a hundred years but has never patched into any club. I guess he’ll have to start at Prospect level, too.”

“And Dingo’s already a Prospect.”

“And Dingo, of course. Oh, and I’m going to ask Papa Ewey if I can take Sledgehammer and Yosemite Sam.”

I chuckled. “Yosemite Sam? Seriously?”

“He’s called that because he likes to carry a Smith and Wesson fifty cal. And he’s a short, scruffy, scrappy guy that no one wants to mess with. Those are my two true brothers from the Assassins in Bullhead. I think they’d make excellent Avalanche charter members.”

“Sledgehammer is a true blue friend.” As we spoke, Sledge was already at the mine. He’d taken over the thankless job of unearthing and cataloging dead bodies. He’d found ol’ Reed Smoot, and was pretty sure he’d dug up Monte Brough. He’d just texted Gideon a side-by-side comparison of a gruesomely decomposed man next to a photo of the old mine manager, Immanuel Zabriskie. That could’ve been Gideon, I thought. It still could be, if we don’t play our cards right. “And I’m sure Yosemite Sam is too.”

“I came up with Sam since the short pants days. We were together during some…well, some pretty f*cked-up times as teenagers.”

This was the first time I’d heard about his rough childhood. I wasn’t one to pry, but I had a burning need to know everything about Gideon. This part of his life was one enormous blank. His mention of it seemed like an opening he wanted to give me. “Yes, in Bullhead City, right?”

“Right. You know I had a horrible son of a bitch for a father. A major alcoholic who took all his frustrations out on me and my brother.”

Yes. The brother in the photo at the Temple. “Right. I take it he was abusive?”

“Oh, when wasn’t he abusive?” Gideon snorted. “He could hold it together sometimes for Sunday pancakes, and that was it. He’d race out the door for his bar. Anyway, that’s why I was on the streets at a young age. It seemed better than sitting around waiting for the next beating.”

“Yes, but how’d you provide for yourself? Minimum wage doesn’t pay much more than rent.”

“Minimum wage? Hell, I didn’t need no McDonald’s job. Not a looker like me.” He stabbed out his cigarette angrily. I had no idea what he was driving at, so I kept quiet. He finally added, “There’s plenty of easy money to be made if you’re willing to inhale the oyster.”

I was confused. “Is that some kind of drug?”

I could tell by his cynical look that it wasn’t. “Give a piston job, swallow the sword, slob the knob. Or let them do it to you.”

My heart nearly stopped. This explained a lot about why Gideon felt such a camaraderie with poor Dingo and his compatriots. They’d all come from the streets, from a hustling lifestyle. I didn’t know what to say.

“That’s where I met Sam. We joined the Marines together, but he was assigned stateside while I was shipped in country to Afghanistan. When we got out, we looked around for something meaningful. We wanted to have muscle behind us, so we’d never be taken advantage of again.”

I nodded, serious. “And your brother Chad? He was…living with you and Sam?”

Gideon couldn’t even look at me now. “No,” he said tightly. “Chad was stuck at home. Dad said he’d kill him if he didn’t get his high school diploma. So one day he beat Chad to death.”

I sucked in air loudly. Holding my hand to my chest, I was overcome with emotion. Lamely, I put my other hand over Gideon’s. “Oh my squash,” I whispered. “Was he charged with murder?”

I could tell Gideon was holding back tears, looking at the warm scarlet red mesas. He gulped, and gulped again, keeping it down. “No,” he finally said. “He claimed Chad fell off the balcony of our apartment. My mom was equally to blame, because she covered for him. She…she sold herself to strange men, too.”