Misguided (Fallen Aces MC Book 5)

by Max Henry

  “Sure.” He nods as he picks it up. “You know I keep my word.”

  I eye him as he makes his way over to the cabinet, unlocks it, and slides the sheet of paper away. “Thanks, Pres.”

  “Hey, you aren’t completely off the hook.” He slams the drawer shut and relocks it. “I need you to keep your word about somethin’.”

  “What?” I cross my arms and widen my stance.

  “If this even sniffs of trouble, you give me a heads up. I know how family disputes can turn out, and if we can do somethin’ to help keep that shit separate from us here at the Aces, then let us have at it.”

  “You’ve got my word.” I stick my hand out for him to shake, and he pumps it twice.

  “Good. Now before you go, I’ve got one more thing I need you to do.”

  TEN

  Mel

  Laughter drifts across the vast expanse of the backyard as I sit with my back to the boundary fence and watch the illuminated shapes inside the clubhouse rejoice the end of another week.

  The Lincoln members and their families drifted in over the course of the afternoon, filling the place with the sounds of a tight-knit family. The banter and the laughter are the sounds of my youth. Fort Worth does the same thing every weekend. It’s a bonding exercise of sorts, a reminder of what we have to live for.

  What I had.

  Barely anyone paid mind as I slipped out the doors and tracked my way here to the relative quiet of the yard, away from the masses. Seeing the old ladies shepherd their kids around, the men playfully taunt each other, and the unity of the club? It hurt. It hurt because I don’t have even half of that anymore.

  All I want is to knock bottles with Daddy and listen to him recount tales I’ve heard a hundred times before. To watch my sister dance, the center of attention as she loses herself to the heavy beat that pumps from the speakers. To shake my head as my brother accepts yet another drunken bet he can’t win.

  To look across at Mom as she sits with the other women, happy and smiling while she watches those she loves.

  I want my family. And I’ll never have that again.

  Lights flick on upstairs, the pale orange glow like that of a child’s picture, faded and smudged at the edges. I pull the hooded sweater I pinched from Dog’s drawers over my legs and huddle in the dark, my chin resting on my knees.

  Living in solitude changed me. I used to crave the limelight, to be the center of attention, to feel the buzz as people sought me out. But the forced isolation pushed that urge aside and made way for a part of me I never gave time or space to—the philosophical side.

  There’s something deep about the silence of the world without our disruption in it, the space to take a deep breath and appreciate the gift of what is all around us.

  All those little miracles we take for granted when there’s a ready distraction before us: our phone, the pressures of keeping up with our peers, of ensuring our chores are taken care of. Push all that aside and you see things that remind you how small and insignificant your problems are in the grand scheme of things: the stars at night, and the sun as it crests the horizon in the morning. Even the plight of a mother bird trying to feed her babies. All things that remind me there’s so much to still be grateful for.

  Even if my heart is broken, it still beats, it still bears the gift of life, and that is something I should never stop being grateful for.

  I pull in a deep breath as a shadowy figure drops off the side of the deck. From the swagger, I know it’s male, yet the backlighting from the clubhouse hides their identity until the dull glow of the outdoor light on the shed to my right picks up on the ends of his blond hair: Dog.

  He strides straight for me; a beer in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. The pyramid studs on his belt reflect the glow of his smoke as he drops it to his side, the buckles on his boots noisy in the relative quiet of the yard.

  “Been lookin’ for you,” he mumbles.

  I tip my head back to take him in as he stops beside me, pulling a long draw of his smoke. His eyes squint a little as he points toward me with the neck of his bottle.

  “That my hoodie?”

  “Yeah.” I smile, tight-lipped and hopeful. “That okay?”

  He shrugs. “Guess so.”

  Dog sets his beer in the grass and then drops to the ground beside me. He stares over at the clubhouse as he takes another pull of the smoke, the end crackling, bright and hot.

  “Did you need me for something?” I slip my legs free of the sweatshirt and sit Indian style.

  He swings his gaze my way and smiles. “Hadn’t seen you for a while is all.” His eyes drop down to my body. “Got me a little worried.”

  “Yeah?”

  Those rich chocolate pools flick higher again. “Yeah.” He looks away as he stamps his smoke out under his boot. “Why did you come out here?”

  “It felt weird being inside,” I admit. “Like the loner of the party, you know?”

  “Not really.” He chuckles.

  True. He’s become the life of these things, loud and rowdy as he makes his way around the room.

  “You can go back inside,” I say. “I’ll be fine.” He’s probably got at least a dozen suitable girls lined up already.

  “Nope.” He leans back on the heels of his hands and kicks his legs out. “Think I’ll hang here for a while.”

  I tuck my chin down to try and hide my smile. It’s nice that he wants to hang out like old times, but that devil on my shoulder whispers in my ear, reminding me he’s probably been obligated with the job of watching me.

  “I don’t need babysitting if that’s what King has you doing.”

  He turns his head and just stares, his hooded eyes licking flames inside my chest.

  “What?” I resist the urge to tuck myself under the protection of his sweater again.

  “Just thinkin’.”

  “About?”

  “How if King had put me up to it, he probably wouldn’t want me to do this.” He leans toward me, bringing his far hand around to run a finger under my chin.

  I stiffen, enjoying the wave of anticipation the gentle touch brings, but also nervous of where this would lead. I don’t want to be one of his playthings, tossed aside and discarded when something newer comes along. I shut that down before it had a chance to happen once before—I can do it again.

  I’m worth more than being taken advantage of in my weakest hours.

  Dog closes the space between us, his breath hot as it skims my face. I brace for his advance, ready to push him off and tell him I’m not interested when he tries to kiss me—yet he doesn’t.

  He veers left and ghosts his lips across my ear as he whispers, “You look fuckable wearin’ my clothes.”

  He leans back on his hands again, watching me with a sly grin as I implode. My eyes are wide, my brain short-circuiting as I try to come up with an appropriate response to that.

  I’ve got nothing.

  Nothing.

  Dog chuckles, leaning forward to retrieve his beer. I sit in stunned silence as he downs the rest of the bottle, inspecting its label once finished.

  “Think I might go get another. You thirsty?”

  I utter a simple, “No,” as he pushes to his feet beside me. My ear still carries a tingle where his lips brushed the flesh.

  “Be back soon.” He reaches down and runs his fingers under the length of my ponytail, flicking it playfully. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  “Sure.” I don’t know if my legs would work all that great right now anyway.

  He strides off across the yard again, his silhouette nothing short of a masterpiece: all wide shoulders, tapered waist, and muscular legs. He was lankier when I last saw him, only just beginning to fill out the shape he is now. It was easier to ignore the way his words made me feel back then when his image didn’t drive me crazy on its own.

  I’m not shallow—far from it. I know looks aren’t everything. But damn, you’d have to be half-dead to not be affected by a guy like Dog. H
e belongs on the pages of a magazine, plastered across a billboard in Times Square, not here in the messy backyard of a motorcycle club.

  I drop my gaze to the simple navy sweatshirt shrouding my figure and frown. Sure, I scrounged a bit of makeup from Sonya, flicking mascara along the length of my lashes and trying out one of her dark pink lipsticks, but my hair is thrown in a messy pony, the cargo shorts I borrowed not doing a damn thing to make my legs look alluring in the slightest.

  He had to be teasing. Right? Fuckable? Hardly.

  I glance up at the empty yard in front of me, vacant except for a few distant outlines of people on the deck having a smoke while deep in conversation. A side of me knows it’s ridiculous, but the rest of my scrambled brain has my hands shuffling the legs of the shorts around so that they sit a little higher, a little less baggy over my thighs. I adjust the hoodie so it shows my collarbones a little, plumping the hood behind my head to accentuate the length of my neck and rearrange how I sit at least a dozen times to find the way that’s most flattering to my figure.

  A snide chuckle escapes my lips as he drops off the side of the deck once more and makes his way over. A moment ago I was ready to push him off and tell him I’m worth more than a cheap opportunity, and yet after one whispered suggestion I’ve played right into his game—I’m putty in his hands.

  Have a scrap of decency, Mel.

  My resolve to get my shit together vanishes the second he stops at my feet and lets out a satisfied grumble from deep in his chest.

  “Yep,” he states, tilting his head as though to agree with himself. “Fuckable.”

  “You’re crude,” I tease with a laugh.

  “But you love it,” he says, dropping to the ground again. “Admit it.”

  I don’t. Because that would mean admitting I’ve also packed away my standards for a night and let frisky Mel out of the cage she’s been locked away in for the past year and however many months.

  All for the chance at a little comfort with somebody who gives me nothing but.

  How desperate can I be? I came out here to find peace in nature, and instead I’m marveling the pout of his bottom lip and wondering how that would feel trapped between my teeth.

  “So when does the target practice start?” I ask, twisting to face him.

  He frowns, the mirth from mere seconds ago gone. “Not sure.”

  “You having second thoughts?” I nudge him lightly in the arm, resisting the urge to do it again just so I can feel that hard swell of muscle he’s built while I was away.

  Jesus—I’ve reduced myself to one of the bunnies who slips in here on a weekend looking to fulfill a fantasy. Way to honor your family’s memory there, Mel.

  “I’ve got to take you home tomorrow.”

  Home. My stomach pits. “Already? I thought they had to be sure the cops wouldn’t come around with questions and find me there?”

  “They won’t.” He stares across the yard. “Mighty’s taken care of that.”

  “That was quick.”

  “He’s useful for more than an extra tub of protein, you know,” he teases.

  “Will Hooch be there as well?” Surely if I’m in the clear, then Mighty’s pulled some miracle for Hooch too.

  Dog shakes his head, looping both arms around his raised knees. “Nope.”

  I straighten my back, trying to hide how gutted that single word made me. It would’ve happened sooner rather than later anyway; I need to go home and face the truth for what it is. I need to re-familiarize myself with the place, especially now that it holds two fewer faces.

  “We can do the target practice when we get down there, perhaps,” he says softly, mistaking my despondency for missing out on the shooting, not for what returning to Texas means.

  “I’m sure you’ve got things to get back to up here.”

  He shrugs. “Don’t know. It’s been real quiet lately.”

  Yeah, well it probably isn’t now they have to clean up after me and Hooch is on the run. I look toward my future and the vision is so murky, so muddied by everything that’s going down right now. I wish I could see what was in store, plan ahead, and have something to focus on. Yet here I am, sitting on the grass and wondering what I should do first when I get back to Fort Worth.

  How the hell do I start piecing my life back together when half the puzzle pieces are missing or broken?

  “Crackers know I’m coming?”

  “Yeah, he’s expectin’ us both.”

  “Good.” Because he’s going to have a lot of questions fired his way, and I can only hope he knows how to answer them.

  Because I sure as fuck don’t.

  ELEVEN

  Dog

  Mel excuses herself, saying she wants a good night’s sleep before we head out in the morning. It’s bullshit—her excuse—but I let it slide.

  She needs the time alone to string herself together well enough to survive another eye-opening day.

  If she thought it was hard being here at our clubhouse because of all the reminders, she’s going to be steamrolled when she walks in the doors of her home—Fort Worth. Everywhere that poor fucking bitch looks she’s going to be slapped with a reminder of what she’s lost, and what’s going to make it even harder for her, is she’s dealing with it alone. Everyone else down there has gone through the motions: they held a wake, the women wailed, and the men drank solemnly at the loss they experienced.

  Mel—she’s at least twelve months behind them all, trying to catch up and jam her grieving process into as short a time as possible so that she can get on with life and rejoin the masses.

  Fucking sucks.

  I shake out another cigarette as two of the local girls who drop in most weekends stumble out into the yard to share their regular spliff. They spot the glow of my lighter and beeline over, all wobbly legs and pinpoint heels sinking into the lawn.

  “Would you mind?” Busty asks, holding their shared roll between us.

  I always forget her name—never had much interest in it—but I’d never forget that rack. Her surgeon deserves a fucking annual bonus for that outstanding effort. Totally thought they were real until she let slip what it cost one night.

  “Sure.” I hold the flame out as she sparks up, her eyes on mine the whole time.

  I open my mouth, the words on the tip of my tongue, and yet I bite my lip instead to stifle the lame pick-up line that bubbles to the surface.

  It would be so easy to do, to pick her up for the night. Fuck, it would probably be easy to get both of them. I’ve had the set one at a time, but fuck, the two of them could do some damage.

  Yet when I think of the kinky shit these bitches could do together, I don’t get the usual rush that accompanies the challenge.

  I get some twisted fucking knot in my gut that I don’t really like all that much.

  Weird.

  “You want us to stick around?” her buddy asks. “Hate the thought of you all lonely out here.”

  “All good,” I mumble. “Kind of want to be alone.”

  Slut takes it as some sign that I need mothering, cooing as she wraps her manicured fingers around my chin. “That doesn’t sound good, baby.”

  I jerk my head back, ripping from her hold. “Enjoy your night, ladies.”

  They watch as I take my leave, resisting the urge to break into a run so I can get as far away from them as fucking possible. I don’t even know what has me so goddamn twisted inside out until I find myself at the top of the stairs, wondering which room Mel’s using.

  I jog back down the staircase, eyeing the common room as I go. Sonya lifts her head from the plates of food scraps she’d been clearing as I approach.

  “Hey, Dog. What can I do you for?”

  “You know which room Mel’s in?”

  She straightens up, placing a hand on her hip as she narrows her eyes on me. “Why?”

  “Said she wanted to borrow a couple of things,” I lie.

  “Like what? I can get them for her.”

  Nothing gets pas
t this woman.

  “Yeah, it’s all good. I got it covered. We’d been talkin’ about how much she’s missed new music, and I said she could listen to the playlists on my phone.” Lame, Dog. Fucking lame.

  Sonya eyes me a second too long, the suspicion clear in the crisp blue of her heavily made-up eyes. “To be honest, I’m not sure. She came and asked for a spare blanket, but I figured King had already hooked her up.” She points across the room to where our president drinks with Callum. “Go ask him; he should know.”

  “Thanks, love.” I lean in and give her a peck on the cheek.

  No way in fucking hell am I asking King where I’m likely to find Mel bedded down for the night. Asshole would castrate me in front of the brothers just to make a point.

  I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of Sonya as she disappears with the trash, and then make a wide berth around King as I make my way to the stairs again.

  I can’t fully explain why I’ve got this dire need to seek her out, what it is about this little mystery that grabs me even after all this time. But a niggle in the back of my mind points to the gap between who Mel was when I first knew her, and who she is now.

  Gone is the vibrant, outgoing girl that everybody knew at Fort Worth. Her smile’s faded, her spirit squashed down under the weight of her troubles. Instead, I find an unsure wreck of a woman who constantly over-analyzes everything around her. A delicate bundle of nerves that holds the real Mel captive.

  As I stand in the hallway, staring at the numerous closed doors to narrow down my choice, it strikes me hard what it is about her that draws me in.

  The familiarity.

  I’ve always found time with Mel is such an easy thing to spend. She sucks me in, pulling my focus completely on her so I don’t even give a second thought to what else I might be missing out on. She’s security, the safe place I can go where I know without a shadow of a doubt she wouldn’t judge me for my stupid decisions or dumb fucking behavior. She likes me as me, as I love her as she is too.

  The allure is her.

  But the old her.

  I want to fix her; strip back what’s worn and broken, and polish what lies beneath.