Grams and Goddess for the Main Event

Savannah

They want to be on some bullshit?

I’ll show them some bullshit.

“Hey Grams, are you ready?”

I walk through the front of her store with my bike parked right outside.

The jingle of the bell getting hit by the opening of the door announces my arrival.

Finding the attachable side seater was actually a lot of work, but thankfully Percy took care of it while I tended to Damon, worked on Luna’s Idol, finished both of our school work, and my daily activities.

Damon getting punished for standing up for me has struck a chord that hasn’t been tuned in quite some time.

I had to let it go, that’s club business. I will not forget, but I let it go.

For now.

~No promises.~

I’m fucking livid at the pain my Angel was put through. I’m trying really hard not to make each and every one of them feel my wrath. I have had a lot of time to think about what exactly I will do.

The degree of justice I am going for.

I have a plan now.

Finding out that Darrion and Daxon not only participated but left him.

~THEY LEFT HIM!~

LEFT. HIM.

That I will not let go. That, they will be sentenced for.

I can’t let it go.

My Angel could have crashed, could have died. Could have died.

Dead.

Death.

Gone.

~No.~

I can’t think of it anymore.

I’ve been up for the last week thinking about what could have happened.

I am not a ~what if~ person and yet, I can’t stop thinking about how close I was to losing him.

He had so many gashes and cuts.

He had ribs broken, his shoulder dislocated, so much blood.

I know I’m probably, most likely, being a little more worried than was necessary, since he has no major arteries cut or damaged, no organ problems, he woke from his concussion.

He is okay now.

But what if he had crashed?

What if he had lost consciousness and crashed on his bike?

What if he was hurt worse than what Uncle Jonah and I could do?

I shake my head and rid myself of these thoughts. I can’t keep doing this.

I’ll make myself sick again.

I cried so hard when Damon passed out, Percy sedated me.

Uncle Jonah and Percy are the ones who did most of the work with Damon that first night.

They are the ones who stitched my Angel back together and kept him alive.

I know they did it for me but I can’t freak out like that anymore.

Even if he got hurt, I have to be able to handle it and then freak.

Not before.

I can’t stop thinking about how they just left him to go on his own.

So what if they didn’t want him to come to me? If that’s what he was already going to do then they should have helped!

How fucking dare they not only raise a hand to my Angel, then have the audacity to turn their backs on him?

~No.~

~It’s a wrap for those two.~

I do not care Darrion has been harassing me for information about Damon’s recovery.

Nor do I give one single iota of a leather-clad fuck that Daxon has felt guilty.

~Good!~

~Hope it eats you the fuck up inside!~

~Hope you can’t sleep!~

~Hope you two are so consumed with guilt that you can’t get hard!~

~I hope you can’t eat from the regret.~

No matter what, you stick with your family.

I don’t give an inkling of a shit that the club doesn’t like me, if Damon chose me, which he did. They should have respected his decision.

Lucien is getting it too.

~Not to worry.~

~Just desserts are on the way.~

I doubt the club would hate me as much if he wasn’t feeding them punk-ass propaganda from a vendetta he didn’t get to enact before my dad died.

I don’t know what happened exactly, but Uncle Jonah told me what it looked like and what Damon let slip, I know him and Digger bitch-ass Sam got into a fight that had been caused by disrespect thrown at me.

Because I’m not a Luna yet or blood into the club, Damon by law wasn’t allowed to take action. But he did anyways, and his punishment was getting stomped on by the entire club.

Moonpie and Sunshine haven’t come back yet, I could have used them this last week.

The only one I’ve talked to is Dane since he had nothing to do with it.

Damon’s phone goes off and I answer with, “Hello, thank you for calling the Angel prince, he is busy at the moment, may I take a message?”

And it’s always Darrion or Daxon.

~Tough tits!~

They helped cause the damage then threw a fit when he wanted to come to me.

~Fuck them!~

Lucien, like the piece of shit that he is, hasn’t called in or texted to check on his son at all.

That’s why I’m bringing some help.

I can take the two elder Henleys, Grams can take the assclown himself.

I know I have a lot of shit I could get Luci with, like shredding my dad’s jacket and all the shit he keeps throwing from his monkey cage, but I need to become a Luna first.

~So, who better to get some Savannah-style justice with than Grams?~

“I’m ready. I’m locked and loaded. I’ve been waiting a lifetime to knock the stupid out of that man. Let’s hit it, I’m ready.”

Grams has her blue jean purse hanging from her shoulder, her glasses on her face, peach capris and the matching top.

Some white loafers and—no lie—a bundle of wooden spoons poking out her white jacket pocket.

The excitement in her eyes matches my determination.

~How dare these assholes hurt our bunny?~

“Alright, I got you a helmet just in case. I’m not the greatest driver as of yet.”

I hand her the round black cap-style from my hand. She doesn’t seem too keen on the idea but agrees anyways.

Locking up her store and holding my hand, she climbs into the side cart.

I put on mine, check on her and start us up.

When we hit the road, Grams whoops and cheers. She looks so happy out on the open road and the wind in her short white hair.

It makes me want to know more about Nina.

~Was she like this?~

~Did my mom act like this with her?~

My mom was never a wilding out, balls-to-the-wall type.

She was easygoing, and could handle whatever came her way.

I don’t think I can remember her ever getting really angry or sad.

Or happy for that matter.

I never saw her giddy or super pumped.

I drive the speed limit and find us pulling into the end of biker country in no time.

I park us behind Luna’s Idol, hiding Grams from any onlookers.

I’ve heard how the boys are not allowed to see her and how Luci isn’t allowed at her cowboy store.

Helping her out of the seat, I get to work.

My slot of the building is under construction and a lot of movement is going on.

Workers ignore us as we move around them.

The three walls I needed down have been demolished, the door Damon broke has been replaced, and the security system.

The roof has been redone, and work is being done everywhere.

It’s coming along so well already.

I’m so proud.

Grams and I blend in, going unnoticed as I unpack and ready myself for the battle I will be issuing.

The strap of the duffle bag is tight against my back and strapped down.

I have my go-to in here.

I’m ready for them to feel some pain at my hands.

Grams has her jacket off and the rubber band off the spoons.

~It’s go time.~

I take the red and black pressure washer from the side of the building and get it hooked up to the water line.

The ridiculously long extension hose unravels as I wheel it across the street.

With Grams going to take a seat at the bench stationed right beside the doors, I have the stage to myself.

The first part of our plan is starting.

My Angel’s bike has scratches and a flat tire.

A branch was stuck in the wheel and Uncle Jonah says they broke something that keeps the tire on it.

He says Damon must have been kicked off his bike when it happened—that would explain the concussion and road rash on his hip and down his right leg.

I have to say, I have never met anyone who was as down with my justice as Grams is.

Percy always tried talking me out of it, Uncle Jonah says it’s against the laws. ~Mostly everything is though, isn’t it?~

My mom and dad never condoned it.

Grams though, is straight up down with whatever I told her I wanted to do.

I didn’t even have to tell her why this was happening, she was already good to go.

When I told on the boys, and snitched Luci out for being a shitty dad, Grams was as fired up as I was.

Talking about how Teddy and Ducky were lucky I was getting to them.

Darrion’s and Daxon’s bikes parked side by side, making this all the more easier.

The parking lot is pretty empty this morning.

Only a few bikes litter the space but parked enough away I won’t get them.

~How unfortunate.~

I take my powerful stance and lock into my goddess-like glory. I hit the switch and squeeze the lever back to start.

The handle in my hand, I start blasting the high-powered water to drown their bikes and peel the paint off.

The glossy black fades, chips, and peels off under the heavy-duty pressure.

The water knocks them off their kickstands and makes them fall over. I flood their engines, paying close attention to every part of their top-dollar bikes. I make sure a steady stream goes up the tailpipe and pop the cap for the gas tanks and spray inside.

~Want to hurt my Angel?~

~Leave him?~

~I’ll hurt everything in your lives.~

I have now got somewhat of a crowd gathering around me.

The workers across the street have tried to hide their curiosity. The garage across the street has opened its doors and the man is cussing but also laughing with his pot belly.

Some of the other workers have come out of their stores to look and watch what I’m doing.

Grams’s handheld camera is going off with a flash cube. She is rolling laughing, encouraging me to get a certain spot more, clapping and cheering like a proud grandmother would at a dance recital or something.

I move around and take my wheel cart with me, and I wait.

Repositioned at the front of their bikes and no longer at the sides, I know the boys have been informed of my playtime with their toys.

They will be out here any minute.

~I’m ready.~

Spraying the bikes, I waste time.

Counting down till they come to stop me.

Spraying the heavy metal horses when the doors bust open from the bar and two livid red-face biker princes run out to inspect the damage.

I spray a few more seconds while they watch to see if this is a dream in their reality.

Shock soon fades as their anger bites them in the ass.

When they open their mouths to yell at me to stop, I turn the hose on them.

In a flash they are now at the receiving end of my amazing water gun.

I turn up the pressure with the help of my sneaker on the knob and send them sprawling backwards through the bar doors and I follow, walking with the stream as I enter the bar, Grams right behind me.

They tried to stand tall, to fight the blast of the water by putting their hands out as a shield.

It wouldn’t help.

They couldn’t be saved.

Daxon fell first, crashing to his knees and bringing Darrion down with him.

They tumbled back, flipping like black leather wet tumbleweeds into the bar.

The boys are pushed back, crawling on the floor to get some type of control back, clawing at the floor.

I don’t care if their fingers bleed before I stop.

The floor is puddling as the water pounds against their bodies. Drenching them from head to toe, getting everywhere. Knocking over tables and chairs as they try to get away from me.

They won’t.

~How could two princes ever hide from a goddess?~

A pissed-off one at that.

The rest of the bar moves away. It’s still really early, so the bar itself isn’t packed.

A few stragglers, maybe five, move out of the way as I douse the boys in my fury.

Grams steps out of the pond I have formed to take a seat at the back corner booth and waits.

I keep up my attack.

~Four days, my Angel has been hurting.~

~They get to hurt too.~

When my water gets the majority of the bar floor ankle-deep in punishment, I call a pause.

The boys sputter and gasp for air.

They look like they were just sprayed by a pressure washer for a good five minutes of constant spray.

~Oh, that’s because they were.~

Their skin is red and welting from the hit of the water.

I’m sure it’s tender and stings.

~Good.~

Their black hair sticking all over their faces, their clothes now a second skin, water raining off their bodies like they are still stuck out in a raging downpour.

I have hit them with hurricane-like pelts of water.

“You fucked up, boys. Big time.”

Another flash of the camera.

They wipe their faces and breathe out of their mouths. If they could breathe out their nose, their mouths would still be opened, seeing as how they are gaping at me.

Maybe in confusion, maybe in shock, maybe in anger.

It’s not like I care which one.

It doesn’t affect me, they will still get the same punishment either way.

“Clean the water out of your ears, I got something to say and I will not be repeating myself.”

They pant, knocking the hair back and using each other as a way to stay from laying down in the lake I’ve created.

Their chests heave and their eyes are so wide I can’t wait for the pictures to be developed.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?” Lucien roars, coming into the bar from somewhere down the hallway.

I offer him a snarky little smile full of venom and attitude as Grams gets up and starts walking towards him.

“I’m kinda busy, Luci, but my second-in-command is in today, she can handle your discrepancies.”

Luci was so pissed, so stuck on what I had done, he hadn’t noticed the momma wolf heading straight for him.

My words seem to hit him slowly, not like the wooden spoon that breaks when it whacks into the side of his head.

Collectively, the three Henley men pale and shirk as if they are all linked as one.

The ~oh shit~ that reads out clear as day is one for the record books.

I haven’t seen Luci look genuinely scared.

Pissed, surprised, emotionless, and cocky—but never this.

Talk about a money shot.

Grams pulls out a second spoon and fires off before Lucien has brought a hand to the site of his first hit.

“You left my grandson in the dead of night?!”

~Whack!~

~Whack!~

“You keep them away from me for three years!”

~Whack!~

Lucien turns so fast he trips and falls into the water.

Grams doesn’t give up, bending and breaking another two spoons before he has gotten up and takes off down the hallway.

The biker king, the devil, the mean Lucien Henley, runs away from his mother-in-law.

A little old lady packing wooden spoons.

She goes after him. Knowing he is in good hands, I turn the water back on to bring the show back on me.

Or more accurately, the two boys I have in my web.

They had managed to stand while watching their dad get his karma, so my surprise blast makes them fall back down.

“I said shut your mouths and open your ears!”

The pressure washer gets turned off, and I drop the nozzle on the top of the bar.

My duffle bag is slung around, and I unzip it.

“Now that I have your attention. Let’s get this party started.”

I pull the pin out of my glitter bombs and toss them at the soaking boys on the floor.

The bombs go off with a smoking bang, caking the bikers in pink and purple sparkly glitter.

It goes everywhere. Darrion has to spit some of it out from it managing to get in his mouth.

They look like two human disco balls.

“I have three rules, boys. Just the three.”

I grab the party-popper-like dye packs and pull the string to send a cloud of blue dye to stain them in a smog of powdered color that will stick and stain everything it touches.

“One: do not fuck with the people I love.”

I pull the paintball cartridge out and rattle it. They look at the bag and back at me.

Gauging what will come next.

They know, I can see it.

They way they stiffen and try to figure out a plan of escape.

“Two: don’t fuck with my things.”

I peel the lid off and let it drop into the water with a splash and float away.

“Three: don’t fuck with me.”

I grab the barrel of the paint gun and pull it free from my bag.

“And you two checked all three boxes.”

I fake a pout while twisting the cartridge into place.

My duffle bag going to the bar stool, I turn to give the boys my full attention.

“Damon could have died, and it would have been one hundred percent your fault. While I can’t go after justice for a club decision, I can go after you for turning your backs on your brother and leaving him for dead.”

Darrion tries to puff out his chest. Not used to answering for his actions, not at my hands at least.

“He wanted to leave, if he is dumb enough to walk to his death, who are we to stop him.”

Darrion tries to act tough.

I lose my temper, sending my first round of paintballs to hit the dickhead in front of me.

Tripping, stumbling, fighting each other to take cover before I pull the trigger again, the boys fall and bang more of their bodies up, getting nowhere fast.

They don’t get away.

My trigger finger itches and I scratch it again, hitting Daxon next.

His back spasms out when the four paint bullets claim him as their new owner.

“You should have gone with him! He could have died, Darrion! Dead!”

I take a breath and tighten my hold on the gun.

The boys have fallen and tangled themselves in a table and chairs.

I move closer, wading through the water to get to their sides.

“You never turn your back on family. If you disagree, that’s one thing. But to leave them, to walk away, to let what you want overshadow the bond you share, that, I can’t…”

I close my eyes when I hear Morgan crying out for mom.

~Screaming as I hold him and wait for rescue.~

~I can feel the chill in the air.~

~The cold water all over me.~

~The agony in my leg.~

~The tiny million paper-like cuts from the glass shattering.~

“My baby brother is dead.”

I bite my tongue to taste blood instead of the words that fester from my lips.

“My brother is dead,” I repeat it.

I let it sink into their numb skulls and anchor deep.

“Morgan is dead. And you two willingly…”

My voice breaks.

The anger isn’t enough.

“You...you have no idea what it’s like to see you, big brothers, and having your siblings.”

I open my eyes to stare them down.

“And to see you turn your backs on them because they didn’t choose the path YOU think is best. It’s fucking sickening.”

They share a look between them, as solemn and as understanding as they could be.

I spit at their feet.

My blood adding to the stains I’ve marked them with.

Having all living brothers.

They couldn’t understand how deep that loss goes.

How badly it hurts.

“You.” I bite my cheek.

How badly it will always hurt.

How I learned to live with him, then without again.

Pulling myself back together.

I focus my words and step away from the muddy clay bank of that creek bed.

I silence my baby brother so I can warn these two.

“I don’t know who my brother would have turned out to be. What choices he may have made or how it would have gone. I do know, I wouldn’t have left his side. Ever.

“As family, approval means jack shit. It’s who shows up, day in and day out. Through the thick and the thin. The good, the bad, the bloody, and everything else. You may not like me, but Damon does.

“So when he chooses me, you choose him. His happiness. That’s how love works. Do you have any idea how many times Percy loathed my reckless lifestyle?

“And yet when my Angel came falling through my bedroom window at three in the morning needing help, he didn’t think twice about coming to my aid.

“My Uncle Jonah, the deputy chief, stitched Damon’s cuts, cleaned away the dirt. Not because he owes anything to Damon, he did it for me. His niece. That’s what family does! They show up!”

The two boys look at me, their lips parted and staring up from their huddled mess on the floor.

Sparkling, stained, dripping wet, hair coated in colored blue dye, their faces like Smurfs—glittery, shiny Smurfs.

“Damon is owed an apology. And two older brothers who actually have his back. Do you understand me?”

Daxon is the first one to nod.

Darrion holding my stare like he could make me relent.

I fire off another round of paintballs.

“If my brother was drowning, I would have ripped my lungs from my chest, gave him my very last breath. If he needed the beat in my heart, anything. If Morgan…”

I gulp the tears down.

He had pneumonia. While I laid in a coma, he died.

“The last time I saw my nine-year-old brother was in the back of an ambulance, he looked fine. A bloody nose but otherwise okay. My leg was a skin flute with bone shards.

“I was busted, bleeding, cut open, broken and I still held his hand and told him everything was going to be okay. I pinky swore…

“I never saw him again. When I woke up he was dead and buried.”

I move closer. Standing between his legs, I crouch down and take his face in my hands.

“You fucked up, Darrion. You did that. You should have been there and you weren’t. Own up to it and never let it happen again.

“Or, I promise you, on the memory of my baby brother, I will end you. I will smite you from this green earth with a smile on my face and glass of whiskey in my hand. Do not. Test me.”

I let him go. Standing back up, I walk to my duffle bag and holster my paintball gun.

Zipping it up, I toss the strap over my shoulder.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself. That’s my granddaughter.”

Grams smiles and claps from the doorway of the hallway.

My heart explodes with pride.

“You okay to hold down the fort while I go check on how we are doing with the renovation across the street?”

I rehook the nozzle from the pressure washer and pull the handle to wheel it away.

“I got them, Bambi, you go handle your business. I’ll get this place cleaned up. Lunch is in an hour.”

Grams wades through the water with one wooden spoon left and no sign of Lucien.

When she gets to her grandsons she smiles and puts her hands on their cheeks.

“My Teddy, my Ducky babies.”

The smiles soon vanish when Grams twists their ears and goes off.

Shouts of how she is already in her late sixties and is sick of being ignored by her grandsons.

How she hopes they get Lunas like me before she gives up the ghost.

How pissed she is at them for leaving Damon and looking like their father.

Grams is a gangster.