BEAR

A few hours of sleep are all the reprieve I get before my guilt and resentment yank me awake. Though I consider hanging out at home, I recall what Aunt Fred used to tell Indigo when my brother would hide.

"You shouldn't face the world alone," she would say in her soft voice. "With your family and friends, you have power. Don't shut us out."

So even though I want to hide away this morning, I head to Sync O'Malley's storybook-style ranch not far from my place. My usual crew is chilling out on the long driveway.

Every one of us changed our surname to O'Malley when we turned eighteen. My legal name is actually Bear now. No one's called me anything different in more than fifteen years. Some guys went "respectable" with their new legal names. Like Pork Chop is P.C. O'Malley. Other guys kept their original first names while changing their surnames, even if everyone just calls them by their road names.

Taking the O'Malley name wasn't a requirement to stay at the farm or join the club. Yet, most of us couldn't get rid of our old names fast enough. I've been Bear since a few months after I arrived at the farm. I've never wanted to be anyone else.

Bear has a surrogate mom and dad who give a shit. He has dozens of foster brothers who have his back. He has two little sisters who razz him when he's an asshole and baby him when he's sad. Bear O'Malley has a real family like the old me never did.

Soon, I'm stretched out on a patio lounger in the sun. Nearby, Tack and Golden doze. Toward the street, Indigo paces like a caged animal. Near the garage, Sync rebuilds his newest project—a 1957 Ford Thunderbird.

I watch through half-open eyes as his and Siobhan's twins—Deirdre and Kiera—help him work. He patiently shows them different tools and parts. When their long, dark hair keeps getting in the way, he stops working, wipes his hands, and gives them ponytails.

The six-year-olds watch Sync like he's their hero. I never felt that way about my parents. One of my first memories was realizing my parents were losers. I didn't even need to see anyone else's family to know mine was no good.

Maybe that's why I was a little shit at the girls' age. I wouldn't have been able to settle down long enough to help my dad restore a car. I also wouldn't want to listen to him sing "When You Close Your Eyes."

I find myself doubting I'd be a decent dad like Sync. I tend to keep my younger brothers in line by smacking them upside the head. I lose my patience a lot with their bullshit. Would I be the same jerk to a kid?

Of course, Sync was never particularly patient or kind as a young man. He also doesn't treat anyone as well as he does his girls. I guess he just likes being a dad. If I liked fatherhood, could I be a better man?

Aneta sometimes talks about having a kid. She wants a real life, even if half of her heart is locked up for the next twenty years. I get the feeling Aneta wants me to knock her up. I've considered it. She'd be a good mom. But then, maybe she would think we were real in a way we can never be. Aneta and I are together because our true choices are gone.

Occasionally, I'll find myself wishing Aneta were mine. If I could feel about her like I do about Natasha, I could have everything what I want. She could live in my too-large house, and I'd give her the kid she wants.

But I don't love Aneta, and she'll never love me. I'll always be the guy she settled for because the man she loved didn't replace his getaway car's battery.

Breaking free of my negative thoughts, I glance at the identical twins who carry beers to everyone. I take mine and thank them. The pretty girls curtsy like their mom taught them. I don't know why that move cracks me up, but I always fucking laugh.

"Any news about the cleaning crew?" I ask no one in particular.

"I think Aunt Fred got confirmation," Tack replies. "I came here from the farm. When I saw Zoot walking to breakfast, he wasn't yelling at anyone. Seems like they're cool with whatever the Kovak Syndicate is keeping under wraps."

"We should know what's happening," Golden insists, obsessing over imaginary slights as usual. "I'm not looking to be sacrificed in a secret war."

"I don't like when you act paranoid," Sync tells Golden. "It makes me sad."

Golden sneers, "I knew you cared."

Sync smirks under the hood of the Thunderbird. "Girls, tell your uncle where to stick it."

The twins flip off Golden who cracks up like I did when they curtsied. Yet, as soon as the twins lose interest in tormenting him, Golden is back to paranoid bitching.

"I feel the city shifting under our feet," he insists, and Indigo nods. "After last night, how can you assholes not feel the same way?"

Golden might not be wrong to worry. My brain getting tangled up in memories of Natasha could be my way of avoiding how the world is about to change.

Right now, Aunt Fred and Katja Kovak could be plotting together or making plans to battle each other. The two women put shit in motion years ago. Everyone knows they're the brains behind all this brawn. Viktor is a scary motherfucker, but Katja is the playmaker.

Helping orchestrate the plan to take Banta City from Sly Dardenne, Aunt Fred wielded the Backcountry Kings as weapons to claim territory from every player in town. It's no coincidence how nearly every boy to stay at her group home now wears the club's patch and claims the O'Malley last name. Aunt Fred's pulling all our strings.

Yet, I like wearing my patch. I certainly enjoy the money I've made from being a part of the club. Aunt Fred also offered me a family. I've never doubted she loves me. When I felt weak, she consoled me like my mother never did.

If Aunt Fred is plotting to take down someone—whether it be the Kovak Syndicate or the Brennan family-controlled police force—I'll be ready to ride.

Nearby, Indigo stands halfway down the driveway, sucking on a beer and nursing bad feelings. He keeps tugging at his short brown ponytail and rubbing at his scarred and stubbled jaw. As soon as he glances at Sync over his shoulder, I know he's about to talk shit about Siobhan.

"The one who shall not be named is pissed because I scared off another loser sniffing around her."

"Let her be, and she won't bust your balls," Sync replies from under the hood.

"Yeah, man," Golden adds before hesitating when he considers how to edit himself around the twins. "Just because you don't like to plow the fields, doesn't mean she doesn't want to have her field plowed. Let our little sister fly free."

Indigo glares at Golden who just smiles. The men have a fundamental difference when it comes to fucking. Indigo's got a romantic heart while Golden owns an insatiable dick. They'll never agree when it comes to women.

"Why are you such an asshole?" I ask Golden, refusing to side with him since he gets overly cocky when I'm too supportive.

Shrugging, he mumbles, "I think my dad hugged me too much."

I share his smile, even if I'd rather smack him.

"I thought it was our job to keep our sister from getting hurt again," Indigo mutters, still riled up over how the world refuses to adjust to his whims. "Everywhere we go, men start hitting her up. It's nasty as fuck."

Sync doesn't reply. He can't exactly view Siobhan as our sister since he banged her. She'd been so crazy about him. I remember how she'd climb on the back of his motorcycle and wrap her arms tight around him. I didn't think she'd ever let go. But women have their limits.

Just then, the hellion speeds down the street and hits her brakes. Aunt Fred's youngest daughter loves to make noise.

Siobhan rolls down her window, so The Chicks fight against Night Ranger in a battle of the bands.

She inherited Elvis's straight brown hair, which currently hangs loose and looks damp from a recent shower. Her blue eyes are just like Aunt Fred's. Siobhan smiles at her daughters, revealing that little gap between her front middle teeth.

The exes watch each other, both expecting the other to turn down their music first. Indigo downs his beer and rolls his eyes when their music duel goes on for too long.

"I'm so damn mature," Siobhan announces and turns off The Chicks. "Hey, boys." Though Siobhan acts like she's talking to us all, she only really looks at me. "How are you doing, buddy?"

"I'm fine. What do you want?"

Snorting at my annoyance, she waves off my question and snaps for the girls. "Time to go, my darling French fries. Mama's plans changed."

"I have them this week," Sync grumbles and rests his hands on their heads, so the girls won't run to their mother. "What are your new plans?"

"I need them to distract someone."

Sync wears a pout on his bearded face and whines, "But we were planning to watch a movie and talk shit about you."

Siobhan flips him off and waves for the girls to come to her shiny, black truck. "We're going to do fun stuff with fun people. Let's bail on these undercooked tater tots."

The girls look at their father and then at their mother. They clearly want to join Siobhan's fun wagon, but Sync strokes their ponytails to keep them from ditching his ass.

"What's the big deal about today?" he asks.

"I've got a chance to hang out with quality people, but I need the little ones to distract from my low-class behavior. Now, hand them over. I'll bring them back later if you're that hard up for company."

Sync looks down at the girls who glance up at him with their matching brown eyes.

"But we were going to eat macaroni and cheese casserole."

Siobhan rolls her eyes. "You don't use the good cheese, so it tastes boring."

"Girls, explain to your mother how I'm a great cook."

"He's really good, Mom," Kiera insists. "Like Gordon Ramsay."

Siobhan narrows her eyes and asks, "Who taught you to say that?"

When Kiera only grins at her sister and shrugs, Sync squats between the girls and hugs them. "Your mom has fish breath."

"Girls, explain to your father how his drunken mumbles don't impress you."

Deirdre pats Sync's face and quotes her mother's favorite song. "You're drunk, Daddy. Go home."

"But I am home."

Kiera laughs and runs off. Deirdre keeps patting her father's face, seeming really sympathetic to his sad expression. Then, like her mom after too many Jello shots, the child flashes him a devious look and runs away.

"Ladies are complicated," Tack says as the girls climb in the back seat of the four-door truck. "Just when you think you can bribe them with bland casseroles and bad rock songs, they leave you in the dust."

Sync points at Tack and growls, "Don't talk shit about Night Ranger."

Before Siobhan leaves, I expect her to say something snide to her ex. Instead, she looks at me and smiles softly.

"You have a good day, Bear."

The five of us frown at her, winning a middle finger for our efforts. Siobhan speeds off, driving like shit as usual.

"She knows something," Golden says, wearing a conspiratorial look as his blue eyes narrow. "Aunt Fred told her what she hasn't told us."

Shrugging, I mumble, "Probably."

"It's bullshit," Golden bitches before falling silent and closing his eyes. "Fucking bullshit."

Not too long after he makes this wise announcement, I receive a cryptic message from Zoot.

"Come to the office. I want to speak to you."

My mind fills with possible bad news. Ready to feed my paranoia, Golden chooses to come along. A restless Indigo decides to join us. Tack decides he doesn't want to listen to Night Ranger and ditches Sync.

During the ride across town, I'm overly aware of every cop car we pass. I feel eyes on us. I'm certain we're about to get hit.

I only settle down when I speed past our clubhouse. Above Snakes Bar Grill is where I first saw Natasha Kovak's belly button. No matter how much I try to distract myself, I feel that woman's claws digging deep in me today.