Undeniable Read Free

pissed Frankie off.   
    His poor fifteen-year-old body was already covered in scars from street fights.  Since he had come to live with us he'd been hospitalized sixteen times for various broken bones, knife wounds and numerous concussions. 
    Frankie also had serious abandonment issues.
    When he had first moved in with my father and me, he had violent nightmares.  He would wake up terrified , covered in sweat and screaming at the top of his lungs .  The nightmares turned into night terrors and Frankie began thrash ing in his sleep, beat ing his head with his fists while screaming and crying uncontrollably.  My father had to hold him down until he either calmed or regained full consciousness. 
    One night, when my father was out on a run, Frankie snuck into my room and slipped in bed with me.  He slept soundly for the first time since he'd moved in with us and he’s been in my bed ever since.
    And life moved on.
    Two weeks after my twelfth birthday my father decided it was time for Frankie to tag along on an MC run.  When he found out I wouldn’t be going he threw a violent fit until my father caved.  When it came to Frankie, my father was a total pushover.
    On the back of Frankie’s bike I left Manhattan , Northern Illinois destined, our first stop: A pumpkin farm.  When your father and his cohorts were involved in illegal dealings and needed to meet privately , criminal gatherings at pumpkin farms were more frequent than one would think.
    These sorts of meets usually lasted a couple of days; the adults stayed inside and the kids outside.  There was always a lot of yelling, a lot of fighting and a lot of drinking.  And a lot of slutty women. 
    I'd started developing early and looked rather awkward being as skinny and as tall as I was, all elbows and knees with a pair of C cups. Several boys who had accompanied their father’s to the meet had been following me around, snapping my bra strap, and calling me “stuffer”.  Which was how I found myself hiding in a tree, my headphones on, listening to the Rolling Stones, swinging my legs, bobbing my head and singing along.
    I felt a tug on the toe of my chu cks and I jerked my foot away.
    "Go away Frankie!" I yelled. 
    Frankie tugged my toe again and I ripped my headphones off my head and glared down at him.
    It wasn't Frankie. 
    Except for his hair, which was now thick and sandy blonde and hung down to his shoulders, he looked exactly the same.  Still devastatingly beautiful.
    He grinned his multi dimpled grin. 
    "Heard you were around here somewhere, darlin'.  You remember me?"
    "Deuce," I whispered, staring at him.  "From Riker's."
    He burst out laughing.  "I'm not actually from there.  Home sweet home is in Montana.  I was just visitin' my old man, same as you.  Remember?"
    I nodded.  "Reaper.  I liked him."
    His smile slipped.  "He's gone now.”
    I never knew what to say to people who had lost their loved ones.  Nothing ever sounded right.
    But seeing the faraway look in Deuce’s icy blue eyes, I had to say something.
    "He had a great smile," I said softly.  "Just like yours."
    His eyes shot to mine and he smiled. 
    And I smiled.
    "You know," He said as he pulled a thin gold chain out of his dirty white tee shirt and lifted it over his head.  "You should have this."
    He grabbed my hand and placed the chain in it.
    "It was my old man's," He said.  "Ain't no one ever said nothin' nice ‘bout that bastard.  Ever.  Not even his own mother.  Not until right now.  Figure that makes it yours."
    I held the chain up and studied the small, round medallion hanging on it.  The Hell's Horsemen's insignia was on the front.  The words, “Hell’s Horsemen”, encircled a hooded grim reaper straddling a Harley and holding a scythe. 
    On the back it read, "Reaper".
    "That day seven years ago was the first time I'd seen that asshole smile.  It was also the last."
    I didn't know what to say.  So I didn't say anything, just slipped the chain over