“Maybe it was good enough for her,” Missy said, “but that was her and this is me, and I'm telling you I'm bored to the tits with this routine.”
“So what do you wanna do?” Hunter asked. He was looking at her with genuine curiosity now.
“More,” Missy said. “I want to do more, that's all.”
“Right, but what would that look like to you?” Hunter continued. “I mean, pretty much everything else that gets done by the Eagles gets done by fully-patched members. It's not like I'm gonna send my sister to collect from people or kill 'em.”
“You could do a lot worse,” Missy snickered.
“Yeah, I probably could,” Hunter admitted, “but my name would be mud if I did that. And besides, if some bad shit happened to you...”
“What? You'll lose it? Blame yourself? It's fine for you to feel that way about your sister, but I'm supposed to be cool with puttering around the house while my brother takes those same risks? What a bunch of sexist horseshit.”
Hunter sighed heavily. “Well, you ain't wrong,” he conceded. “But it's the way it is an’ it's the way I feel, an’ ain't neither of those changin' anytime soon. A guy's supposed to take care of his mother, his sister, an' his girl, an' that's all there is to it. Maybe the next prez will feel different about it, but 'til then...”
“Right,” Missy said. “Until then, I'm stuck weighing and bagging eighths of weed for the next thirty years until I have a stroke in my fifties like Mom did. What a rewarding fucking life that'll be.”
As soon as she said it, Missy wished she could take it back. Maybe their mother had felt unfulfilled, but her death wasn't Hunter's fault and there was no good reason to make it sound like it was except to hurt him.
And she could see that it had.
Hunter chewed his mouthful of eggs, swallowed, and pushed the half-finished plate away. He wasn't angry, but his eyes looked cloudy and distant. He'd taken their parents' deaths exceptionally hard, especially since they'd died just a couple of months apart. Even though it had been almost four years since they'd passed, sometimes the mention of it was still enough to send him into a days-long depression.
He'd never been good at handling loss. It was one of the reasons he was such a fiercely-protective leader to the other Eagles. The idea of any of them losing their lives under his command was almost more than he could bear.
“Look, I love you, an’ I value the fuck out of you,” Hunter said, still not making eye contact. These kinds of declarations were difficult for him. “I don't want you to be bored or unhappy, okay? You know I'd do just about anything for you. But I'm askin' specifically what you've got in mind, but it don't sound like you really know either. So how 'bout we head over to the Knife an' do what we gotta do, and while we do that, we can both think it over some. That way, we can talk it out an' come up with somethin' solid together, either tonight or tomorrow. Sound good?”
Missy nodded. “Yeah. That works. And thank you.”
“Don't mention it,” Hunter said. He picked up his plate, fork, and coffee mug, taking them to the sink. But instead of leaving them there for Missy as he always did, he squirted some dish soap on them and started scrubbing them with the kitchen sponge. Missy saw this for what it was—a quiet apology for his own sexism, and for the inability to really change it, for the most part.
It was a small gesture, and Missy knew that she'd probably have to re-wash them anyway. Hunter's cleaning skills were roughly on par with his coffee-making ones.
Still, she appreciated it.
Chapter 3
Cain
Cain knocked on the door of the motel room again, and a moment later, it opened to reveal a short, skinny guy in his thirties with a green mohawk and yellow teeth. His watery blue eyes bulged briefly as they took in the matching black leather vests worn by Cain and Keith, and he broke into a wide grin.
“Hey, I was wondering when you guys would come around,” he exclaimed. “I'm damn glad to see ya!”
“If that's true, then I doubt you actually know who we are,” Cain replied.
“No, come on, of course I do, ha,” the skinny man insisted. “Blood Eagles, right? You heard I was dealin' and you're here to collect your cut, I bet. Come in, come in, ha!” He stood aside, gesturing grandly for them to enter.
Cain and Keith stepped into the cramped, filthy room. The sheets on the bed were crusted with stains, and there were small baggies of meth and 'shrooms arranged on the blanket. The place smelled like piss and mildew.
“Pleased to meet you both,” the skinny man continued. “Folks call me Nostril. Prob'ly 'cause I snort so much crystal, ha.”