Fifteen years old and completely jaded.
Being here still made me bitter.
I looked over and saw the Club President standing next to my uncle. His face was stoic as he looked over the body of another dead kid. As President, Eric – Bones - was responsible for each and every one of us.
He had his President’s patch stitched onto his cut, and he looked just how I remembered him. Same smooth face. Same bald head.
Old and rough, thin but in good shape, with just the hint of a beer belly. He was shrewd and far more dangerous that he looked. A true opponent. One you didn’t want to cross on pain of death.
To see him consoling my uncle, it was almost too much.
My brother had been his VP. I could only guess what was running through his mind right then. Part of my hoped my brother’s death bothered him. That it made him question this hateful place.
Walking over to them, I doubted it.
“Lala…” It was all my uncle could say. Just my name. He had always been a tough old bird, but he soft and squishy when it came to us, his kids.
Standing next to him, I felt like a little girl again, the child who ran into his arms for a big hugs. All these years, and he was still the closest thing I had to a father. He had raised me better than my father could.
And he’d done the one thing my father probably never would have. Uncle Mike had let me go. Let me out of the life.
“Uncle Mickey,” I said, fighting back tears as I clung to him. Eric, the Club President was watching me. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. I didn’t even have the energy to blame him for what had happened.
So I looked away. That was when I noticed the casket. It was closed.
They only closed the casket when the deceased wasn’t presentable.
What exactly had they done to him?
As if he read my thoughts, my Uncle hung his head. “I’m so sorry, little girl. I should have protected him better.”
“There was nothing you could do,” Bones insisted.
My Uncle nodded numbly. It was clear that he was beyond any relief right then. Bones just nodded at me and then moved away. I watched the old grunt move through the crowd. When he pulled Cullen in close, I couldn’t help but watch.
This was all so familiar. It was just like when our father died. Many of the same people. The same gestures. Same words. Same smells…
Here I was again, standing dutifully next to Uncle Mick, trying not to cry. And failing.
Uncle Mick put his arm around me, just like he had then. And I let him.
I stood there next to him until it was time for the burial.
The same fear gripped me, holding me down as the pallbearers came into the room to get his casket.
Uncle Mick and Cullen were at the front. Before he took ahold of the handle, Cullen looked right at me.
“Lala, come back to the club, after.” After the funeral. After I put my brother’s body into the earth. “We need to talk. The prez wants a word with you.”
I should have refused. Said, “No. Fuck you and all you assholes. You did this. You killed him.” I should have screamed it from the top of my lungs and punched him in the face.
But I just nodded and bit my lip. I turned toward the crowd of people exiting the building, finding my aunt and letting her usher me out.
Numb. That was all I was. Anything to be anything else took too much.
How much had I lost already?
How many more people had to die?
And for what?
Cullen
Vengeance. Justice.
These two words coursed through my blood, one after the other, like consecutive beats of my heart.
Vengeance. Justice.
I’d know them, feel them, deep in my blood, even if Sean hadn’t been murdered. Now I intended to embody them, even if it meant my own death.
Vengeance. Justice.
Blood, sweat, and broken bones.
Whoever had killed my brother was going to die.
I gripped the smooth metal handle of the casket and squeezed until my knuckles turned completely white. I wanted the pain. Wanted to feel something.
Something other than anger.
Eyes to the ground, I concentrated on my steps. A fake grass mat marked the path to the grave, preventing us from sinking into the soggy ground. It was fitting: the grim gray sky, the cloying drizzle, and the dirt like quicksand beneath my feet. Without the mat, I’d have sunk into the wet earth. Where I belonged.
Sean deserved that and more.
Father Brennan stood under the canopy meant to keep from getting him wet. How many of us had he buried over the years?
Layla appeared in the corner of my vision, stiff as she watched us carry her brother’s body to the burial site. We placed him onto the crank that would lower him into the ground. She had done this too many times in her life. We all had. But there was something about seeing her again that really drilled it home. She had left, had gotten out. She shouldn’t have had to come back. Not for this.