Misguided (Fallen Aces MC Book 5)

by Max Henry

  He chuckles, patting me on the knee before he stands and crosses to his bureau. “You tell ’em what you want, sweetheart. I’ll prove it wrong one noisy, heartless fuck at a time.”

  And there he is; the Dog everyone knows and loves in a contractual kind of way.

  “Thanks for this.” I gesture around his room. “It’s appreciated.”

  He smirks, choosing to stare at the top of his furniture as he shoves a few coins around with his fingertip. “Pays not to judge a book by its cover, Mel.”

  “I know that.” After all, the Dog I remember is exactly this: kind, thoughtful, and a shoulder to lean on.

  He steps back abruptly, patting himself down as though checking for something. “Anyway. If you’d like a few more moments alone, feel free to make yourself at home.” He wiggles a finger at the bed. “I gotta shoot out, so the room’s yours.”

  “Thank you.” It doesn’t feel right; we haven’t seen each other in so long and the time and distance only served to prove with greater clarity how different we always were. But I’ll take it if only to give my puffy eyes time to shake the redness before I show my face downstairs.

  He drops his jaw as though to speak, and then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

  I sit on the edge of his bed and watch him go, wondering how in the hell my life got so turned upside down in the span of a day.

  Where are you, Hooch?

  SEVEN

  Dog

  Jesus fuck, I had to get out of there. She’s always been an entitled bitch, but this past year has definitely erased that attitude right out of her. She’s every part the Mel I remember, yet a totally new person at the same time. Inch by inch, hour by hour, she’s showing just how human she is.

  She’s hurt, and fuck it all if that feeling didn’t resonate throughout me as I picked her up off the landing. I know how it burns, the twist of injustice as the reality sets in.

  Someone you love is gone. Every last thing you said to them plays through your mind. The way you treated them over the years: the times you weren’t as grateful as you perhaps should have been, the times you didn’t give them the last donut in the box, the times you argued until they relented and let you watch the channel you chose—pathetic shit like that.

  It burns, all of it. Because no matter what you do, there’s no going back and fixing things now.

  At least with Mom, I had the chance to tell her I loved her as she slipped away. Mel didn’t even get that. She got nothing.

  It sucks.

  “Where you headed?” Fingers, our mechanic, asks as I mount my bike.

  I know he doesn’t inquire to be nosey; he simply wants to make conversation.

  “Not sure yet.” Might go get something to eat. Might keep on going until I find myself on the doorstep of one of our offsite members. Maybe even stretch it as far as our associate, Bronx, down in Kansas City.

  I just need away from here until I work out why the need to impress that princess upstairs burns at me like a smoldering ember stuck against my skin.

  What does she matter to a clown like me? I joined this club as a way to stick it to my old man, to show the fucker his glass towers and business suits mean nothing to me. To show him I’m not my brother—I want to be free to live my life how I choose.

  I need to remember that.

  I didn’t come here looking for anything other than a bit of fun, and that woman up there? Well shit, she commands something that’s on a whole other plane than what I usually offer to the muffler bunnies that tumble through our gates on a weekend. It was that exact realization that got me in the shit the first time she friend-zoned me, and it’s that realization that reminds me my fantasies of snaring a president’s daughter were nothing but that—dreams.

  I made my peace with getting what I could as her friend years ago. No need to fuck it all up now because my dick’s as hard as steel from the thrill of seeing her alive and kicking.

  “Well,” Fingers says, breaking my daze. “Let me know when you’re next in for a while because you’re overdue a service.”

  “Sure thing.” I spark the engine to life to cut off any further conversation and idle out into the yard.

  The prospects already wheel the gate open as I approach, which is unusual—I soon see why.

  Callum rides in, rolling to a stop beside me after he spots me heading the opposite way.

  “Where you headed?” he shouts over the thump of his engine.

  Do I need to start posting bulletins or some shit? “Out.”

  “Yeah, but where?”

  I roll my eyes and answer. “I don’t know.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Sure.”

  I scowl into my side mirror as he turns around behind me, and then gestures for me to follow. The whole eight miles to the diner we frequent, I spend plotting ways to shake him the minute we arrive.

  What the fuck is his deal? He wanted something from me, he could have waited until I got back.

  Locals eye us disinterestedly as we back the bikes to the curb, and switch off. They’re used to us coming here; our members as much of a fixture as the worn red vinyl seats around the tables.

  “Can I ask what the buddy-up is for?” I set my helmet on the handlebars, winking at a cute brunette who blatantly eyes me through the window of the diner.

  “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you for a few days,” Callum says, sparking up a smoke. “Want one?” He offers his pack my way, and I take a stick.

  His flame licks the end of my cigarette. “What about?”

  “King said you still haven’t detailed your next of kin.”

  Bingo. There it is. The integral missing piece that’ll ruin the entire puzzle. “So?”

  “So, square that shit up, brother.”

  I know why he’s been tasked with it; I’ve danced around the subject with King since I was patched in almost a year ago. He holds records on all of us, just in case.

  All of us, except me: Koen von Essen.

  “Why are you worried about it?” Callum asks, smoke curling around his fingers as he takes a drag.

  He shows no sign of emotion as I catch his eye, my frown giving away everything he needs to know. How long did I think I could hide this for?

  “If anything happened to me,” I explain, “there’s nobody who would care.”

  “Hey,” Callum says with a twist of his lips. “You’re not the first orphan we’ve had. If that’s the case, just let him know.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Why didn’t I think of that as an excuse? Easy enough.

  “He needs your social security, too.”

  “Why?” That I can’t explain away so easily.

  “If you want a steady income, he has to put you through the books, man.”

  Shit. I forgot about that. I asked King a few months back, when work started getting quiet after Sawyer took out Carlos, if there was any chance of above-the-board employment. I’m not averse to breaking the law, but when the cash jobs are few and far between, a man needs something else to fund his lifestyle choices.

  “Yeah, okay.” I flick the cigarette more times than necessary, staring down at my boots.

  “What’s up, man?”

  I don’t need to look at Callum to know how he currently eyeballs me.

  “Nothing. I literally just forgot.” I suck hard on the smoke a few times to finish it off and then stomp it out under my boot. “We gonna eat or what?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he grumbles, stamping out his own cigarette.

  I blitz into the diner first, narrowly missing bowling over a mom and her little boy in my haste.

  “Shit. I’m sorry.” I lift both hands and back up a couple of steps, showing I mean no harm.

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  Holy shit. Didn’t pick the tidy brunette as a mom. “If you’re sure.”

  Callum clips me around the head on his way past. “Watch where you’re goin’, dipshit.”

  The mom eyes him as he glides past between us toward the count
er. “He always that rude to you?”

  “It’s how he shows love,” I tease, giving her a wink. Better calm that shit down before she thinks you’ve got Tourette’s.

  “Catch you around then.” She looks down to her boy, tugging on his hand a little. “Come on, buddy.”

  I appreciate the view as she leaves, her ass encased in a nice pair of tight black shorts. Yet, there’s no drive to chase her down, attempt to get a number. I’m curious, but I’m not keen.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  A downtrodden club princess, is what.

  “What you havin’?” Callum asks as I come to a stop beside him.

  “Usual.”

  He orders for the both of us while I pick a table. A young girl eyeballs me while her parents engage in a heated debate across the booth from each other. I give her a mock salute, earning a smile as Callum sits down to my right.

  “Makin’ friends again already?”

  “I can’t help my naturally magnetic charm,” I tease.

  He shakes his head, choosing to focus on the phone in his hand. “One day you’re gonna grow up, brother, and you won’t know what the fuck to do with yourself.”

  I laugh, although on the inside it’s the exact opposite. He’s hit the nail on the head; everyone thinks I clown around because I’m some juvenile punk looking for attention. Maybe I am aiming for the limelight, but only because when you blind people with your outlandish behavior they tend to overlook the truth that’s right in front of their eyes.

  I grew up a long time ago—way before any kid should have to.

  “What does this one tell you, Koen?” My father jabs his finger at the table on the bottom of the stock market pages in the newspaper.

  I study the graphs, the worm, and the historic figures detailed below. “Average price?”

  “But for what?”

  The longer I look at the table, the less sense it makes.

  “Answer, boy. Time is precious.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He sighs, snapping the paper shut with such force the gust of wind it creates shifts the hair out of my eyes. “If you want to be of any use to me, you need to know this, Koen. No more Nintendo until you can explain every table on the page to me.”

  How could I learn something I never had a passion for? Analyzing figures, working out patterns—it bored me. My hands itched to be used for something more tangible. My lungs ached for the crisp scent of pine on a damp spring morning. All I wanted to do was run through the fields between home and school, losing myself in the forest beyond until the sun shrank behind the hills.

  I wanted to be a kid.

  Yet he wanted a protégé.

  EIGHT

  Mel

  “Can I do anything?”

  Sonya sticks a hand to her hip and chews her bottom lip in thought. “I’m not sure.” Her soft eyes find mine. “It’s honestly okay if you just stick your feet up for a while.”

  “I’m not tired,” I snap back a little too harshly. She widens her eyes, and I instantly feel terrible. “I’m sorry, it’s just I’m over people telling me to take it easy when that won’t fix the problem.”

  I spent enough alone time grabbing a shower after Dog left. There’s only so long you can stare at the tiled wall like a zombie before the morbid reflections start to smother you. The silence only serves to give my mind the free roam it needs to drag me back to the recurrent thoughts I’d rather block for a while.

  Daddy’s dead.

  Dana’s dead.

  Hooch is AWOL.

  Just you on your own, girl.

  Sonya nods, circling the large stainless counter in the center of the kitchen to reach my side. She tips her head and stares at me in a lovingly maternal way. “I know you’re tired of it, honey. But that’s the only way people know how to help.”

  She’s been a part of my life since I was a baby, coming to our Fort Worth club with her first old man, Mike, before she moved up here after his death. In some ways, Sonya was more of a mother to me than my own after the woman who birthed me upped and left her kids behind.

  “I feel idle, standing around doing nothing,” I admit. “I feel as though I should be doing something. I need to keep moving, keep busy.”

  “I get that.” She loops an arm around my shoulders and pulls me to her side, careful not to touch her doughy hands to me. “I felt the same after Mike, got fed up with being waited on.” Sonya places a kiss to my head and then lets go, returning to the dinner rolls she was part way through kneading. “Have you spoken to anyone from home?”

  I shake my head and lean back against the counter behind me. “Not yet.” There isn’t anyone who can’t wait until it’s clear for me to head down south.

  I never had any real friends. Daddy did his best to keep Dana and I away from the Friday night shindigs, telling us we needed to maintain a dignified appearance. Fat load of use it did when I rebelled with first Sawyer, and then almost Dog as well. All my father managed to do was cut us kids off from any chance at building our own support network outside of family.

  “If you think of anything, let me know,” I say, pushing off the counter.

  Sonya nods, her hands buried in the flour-dusted dough. “To be honest, Abbey still covers most of it, so there’s not much chance of finding anything. Perhaps you could ask King if he has any projects for you?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  I saw Abbey on my way downstairs from Dog’s room. She’s one of those women who rocks a permanent resting bitch face as though her skin would crack if she smiled. I don’t know a lot about her, other than she was a homeless kid Apex picked up off the street a long time ago. She’s been a fixture in this club for as long as I can remember—one of the few lucky ladies who get to stay onsite when they’re aren’t a property girl or an old lady.

  I hang a left out of the kitchen and wander down the hall toward the common room, and King’s office. If he’s still here, guaranteed that’s where he’ll be. Callum sits at the bar with a couple of hangarounds, lifting his hand in greeting as I pass by. He twists on his stool as I head for King’s door.

  “He’s not in, sweetheart. Can I help?”

  I sigh and turn to face him. “I’m looking for something to do.”

  “Why?”

  I swear to God. If he tells me to relax …

  “Come.” He pats the empty stool to his right. “Have a seat.”

  As much as I’d rather not, I oblige. Callum’s always been a nice guy. He deserves at least a partial effort on my behalf.

  He jerks his fingers at one of the hangarounds as I take my seat, and gestures to the space behind the bar. “Step up, son.”

  The guy slips from his seat without a word and rounds the bar to the serving side. “What would you like?”

  “A Sprite, thanks.”

  He pulls out a tall glass and sets to work filling it, complete with a couple of cubes of ice.

  “Tell me about your time in the middle of nowhere,” Callum asks. “You learn any Robinson Crusoe shit, like how to fashion your own spear and hunt yourself a deer?”

  I can’t help but chuckle at the smirk on his lips as he lifts his beer bottle to his mouth.

  “As cool as that would be, nope.”

  He makes a mock sad face. “What did you do, then?”

  I know he expects some funny anecdote about how I counted and named all the daisies in the grass beside my trailer, but there’s nothing funny about being cut off from your loved ones for over a year, not knowing if you’d ever see them again.

  Especially when you won’t.

  “Fuck it.” I jam the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to force the unwanted tears back in. I spent enough time in Dog’s room letting go of my grief; now it’s time to pull my socks up and soldier on.

  Time to be the role model my father always wanted.

  “Hey,” Callum says as he rests a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s okay.�
� I smile, still wiping my cheeks. “You meant well.”

  The hangarounds stare at me like I’m some anomaly. Callum’s gaze follows mine, and he frowns at the two young guys.

  “Respect, boys.” He sighs.

  The hangaround to Callum’s left shrugs. “Sorry man. I’m just trying to figure out what the deal is.”

  “This,” Callum says, thumbing my way, “is Mel, daughter of the late Judas.”

  At least one of them gets the reference. Guy’s been doing his homework on the club. The other one, the guy behind the bar, looks as blank as a clean slate.

  “He was the southern president before Hooch,” I explain. “Hooch is my brother.”

  “Oh.” He raises both eyebrows, and then promptly checks his appearance.

  The reaction is normal and totally expected. People hear the connection, and they immediately act as though the Duchess of York has walked in. Lincoln may be our mother chapter, but there’s always been this air of regal pride that surrounded our family and Fort Worth.

  I never knew why. I still don’t.

  “It’s all good,” I say dismissively. “Don’t feel the need to clean up your act or anything.” I chuckle. “I swear like a sailor when I’m angry and I could probably drink the both of you under the table. No need to treat me like a lady.”

  “You joining us this weekend, then?” Callum asks.

  “What’s this weekend?”

  “Sawyer’s birthday.”

  Shit. “Right.” I smile sheepishly. “I forget the dates a lot now.”

  “I bet.” Callum winks, picking up his bottle. “We’re setting up the grills out back, getting a couple of those giant hamster ball things for a laugh.”

  “Sounds like fun.” And nothing I want to be involved in.

  Before I went away, I used to crave the rowdy nights the boys would host. Dana and I would sneak in, the old ladies doing a great job as lookouts and hiding us from Daddy when he got too close. It was the thrill I lived for, but now, since being on my own for so long, even this interaction I’m having right now is draining the life from me.

  “You know he’s with Abbey now, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”