by Max Henry
My chin dimples, and yet I refuse to shed another tear over this fucked up situation. That’s what Carlos would have wanted: my misery. Dead or not, he doesn’t deserve that from me. He doesn’t deserve to make me suffer, even from the grave.
I bunch Daddy’s jacket in my arms and carry it across to the bed where I lay it out on the foot of the mattress. Two photo frames sit on Dana’s nightstand, and I smile as I look at the left one. It’s a shot of us three kids out on one of the club rallies. Mom is barely visible in the background, seated around a campfire. Daddy probably somewhere with his brothers. But what warms me most is the way the image captures how close we were as siblings. Hooch stands in the middle, his arms thrown around our shoulders as he rubs a loose fist on top of our heads. Dana’s face is screwed up as she leans forward to escape him. I’m turned to the side to try and tickle Hooch so that he’ll stop.
I remember everything about the day: the look on Murphy’s face as he snapped the shot, the smell of the wood burning on the fire, the rumble of a bike as it started in the distance, and the squeal of kids playing on the monkey bars that are out of shot.
We might not have had the most traditional of holidays, but they were memories worth making all the same. Daddy pushed us kids hard, forced us to make choices based on what it meant for the club. But I guess in retrospect I can see why.
He wanted to make sure that ideal life we had would continue into the future. He wanted the same security for us as he had for himself. Yet in reality, I think he was probably scared.
The Fallen Aces were so much of his life that I don’t think he would have known how to function as anything else. Like a long-term inmate re-entering the world, he would have felt lost if he didn’t have us.
I drop to the side of the bed, my hands hanging loosely between my knees and stare out the window at the breaking day beyond. My chest rises, slow and measured. Try as I might, I can’t stop the gradual slide my thoughts make as they slip back to Dog.
I’m convinced his words last night were spoken in the heat of the moment, in a weakened state of alcohol-induced lust. But I can’t shake how those deeper moments felt with him—the past few days, and back when he was a prospect. He was there when I didn’t ask him to be. He was there to comfort and keep me company. He cares, whether he says he does or not.
I don’t want to lose that friendship by rushing into something that might be doomed before it’s begun.
Crackers already seemed unsure when he helped me get Dog inside last night, and if Hooch were here … well, I know how that would go down. For Dog’s sake, it’s probably a good thing he’s on the run. My father might no longer be here, but that attitude that only the best is good for me certainly seems to lurk under the surface in my brother.
I gather Daddy’s jacket in my hand and rise, shutting Dana’s door as I leave the room. I could do with another coffee to keep me running thanks to no sleep, but knowing Dog is probably in the kitchen getting breakfast is enough to steer me toward the front door instead. The satin on the inside of the jacket is cool over my bare arms as I shrug it on and step outside.
I startle as a deep voice greets me from the right.
“Well, I never …”
“Hey, Johnny.” I head over and take a seat opposite our nomad, the same one who patted me on the leg as we rode away over a year ago and told me everything would be okay.
“It’s real good to see you, Mel.” He smiles, packing his cigarette paper with tobacco.
“Thank you, for what you did.” I pull the sleeves of the jacket lower over my hands. “I’ll always appreciate it.”
“Just doin’ my job,” he says with a tip of his head.
We both know it was more than that, though. He did his job, sure, but he put a hell of a lot more effort into it than some of the other guys around here would have.
“We’re still tied,” I remind him, pulling a smile from his lips as he licks the cigarette paper.
“You want a rematch now?”
“Why not?”
It was near on dusk when Johnny and I arrived at the rendezvous point all those months ago. We had to sit on the side of the highway, tucked behind a bank of scrubby bushes, and wait for over an hour before the guy showed up late to take me on to what I subsequently learned would be a trailer in the woods.
So we passed the time playing Tic-Tac-Toe in the dust. We were six apiece when the guy rolled up in his weathered gold Cadillac.
I grin as Johnny stands and dusts the crumbs of tobacco from his hands. He lights his cigarette, letting it bob between his lips as he talks. “Flip a coin to see who has the first move.”
“Heads,” I call as he tosses a quarter in the air.
The slap of his hand echoes off the front wall of the house as he peels the edge of his palm back. “Tails.”
“Shoot.” He usually wins when he starts.
And this time is no different. I laugh as he scrubs our game into the dust, his chains rattling as he sweeps his thick leg left and right.
“What’s on the cards for you, Mel, now that you’re home?” He heads up the porch steps and retakes his seat.
I lean against the railing and shrug. “Not sure, to be honest.”
I never had to think too much on what I’d do, always directed by Daddy or Hooch. But without my brother here, Crackers doesn’t have the same tendency to give me a task to complete or even some direction on what needs to be done around the place.
The picture upstairs sticks in my mind. “When was the last time the Aces held a rally?”
Johnny snorts, running the heel of his boot over a knot in the wood. “Not since way before you went away, girl. There’s been too much goin’ down for anyone to even think of having the club together in one place like sittin’ ducks.”
A smile creeps across my lips. “But that’s all over now, right? Now that Carlos is gone?”
“It’s not as bad, nope.” He narrows his eyes on me, chin tipped high. “What you thinkin’, girl?”
“That it’s about time this place did something to lift everyone’s spirits.”
I know I’m not alone in feeling beaten down and oppressed by recent events. One look at the people around me when I walked in the door yesterday told me everything I needed to know about what a toll this past year has taken on the club.
It’s about time we remembered what it was that drew each of us to this life.
It’s about time we held our middle fingers high and said fuck you to the things that want to keep us miserable and in the dark.
We are what we make of ourselves—a lesson I could take stock of too.
“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Johnny says with an amused smirk.
“What one would that be?” I duck my chin coyly at him.
“The kind a woman gets before she’s about to go stir shit up.”
I chuckle. “You might be right, there, Johnny boy.”
He smiles, leaning back in the wicker chair he occupies. “That your dad’s jacket?” He jerks his chin toward the beaten old leather.
“Yeah.” I look down at it, my palms hot against the cool hide as I clutch the hem in my hands. “I don’t know why I put it on really.”
He winks at me, his weathered and tanned skin crinkling at the corner of his eye. “Because you miss him, darlin’.”
Yeah. As much as the stubborn old fool drove me crazy, I do miss him and his meddling ways. We butt heads, had some dust-ups over the course of our time together, but there was one thing our differences could never take away: he was my daddy.
And I’m always gonna be my daddy’s little girl.
NINETEEN
Dog
Coming home seems empty without her there to warm my back. I never saw Mel again after she walked out on me—whether that was on purpose, or entirely a fluke, I don’t know.
Crackers got a hold of me the moment I showed my face in the kitchen for a coffee and ripped me a new one for the state I’d got in. I don’t know what possessed m
e last night, other than I was searching for anything and everything to preoccupy my mind with while I waited on Mel to decide if she was coming down to join us or not.
Showing the prospects how I could handle anything they threw at me seemed like a good idea at the time. The fuckers tend to forget us fully patched members, even the newer ones like me, have been there, done that. We’ve showed our grit, proved our worth, know how it goes.
Didn’t think how it would look doing those body shots until Mel walked in. The whore they laid out on the table was nothing more than a vessel for the drink; I didn’t once think of her that way.
But the look on Mel’s face, the way her eyes went some place else. Fuck—I knew I’d screwed up.
Wish I could remember what happened after. She was mad, I remember that much, but as soon as that fresh air struck me outside the house, I was gone. People say the cold air sobers you up some. I think it just proves to remind you how drunk you really are when the bubble of alcohol-induced warmth is ripped from around you.
I said something to her. I know that much. Something that meant she watched over me all night, cared for me, despite the fact she clearly wants nothing to do with me now.
“Home already?” King greets as I back the bike into my spot.
“Yeah.”
“Thought you’d be sleepin’ it off still.”
Word travels fast. I look over at Pres as he packs his saddlebag with a smug smirk.
“What you not tellin’ me?”
He chuckles, cinching the strap tight. “You checked your Facebook this morning?”
Oh, shit. “Fuck. Really?” I drag a hand over my face, aware what the hell Mel’s probably already seen too.
The bold reality of it all played out over and over and over …
“Can’t believe you stayed on your feet as long as you did.” King throws a leg over and then leans back with his hands on his thighs to look at me.
I pull my key out and dismount. “I can’t even remember what they gave me.”
“Bourbon, vodka, whiskey,” he counts off on his fingers. “And then they started mixin’ in absinthe from what I’ve heard.”
Fuck me. No wonder Mel was as worried as she was. No wonder I can’t remember much either.
“Shitheads,” I mutter, unstrapping my bag from the back.
“Worth a laugh,” King says before starting his bike. He idles out of his spot and level with the front of mine. “I’m headin’ out for a few hours to catch up with a friend. If Elena shows up, tell her I won’t be long.”
“Sure.”
He rides out into the yard, leaving me wondering why his old lady might turn up here at the clubhouse. She makes it her life’s mission not to step foot in here if she doesn’t have to.
I head inside and soon see why. King’s left his boy, Dante, here with Callum.
“Here he is!”
I cringe as Vince sweeps across the room and slaps me one on the back. “How you feelin’?” he asks louder than necessary.
I glare at the tall motherfucker. “Seedier than the used end of a condom, but hey, it’s to be expected.”
Dante turns to Callum who glares over the top of the boy’s head as he no doubt deflects questions about what I said. Oops.
“I’m goin’ to lie down.” I thumb toward the stairs and then make a hasty exit before I do something else stupid.
The sweatshirt of mine that Mel wore still sits on the end of my bed as I step in the room. Takes me a good minute to stop eyeballing it as though I can wish her back inside it, and shut the door.
My gut churns, acidic and vile, but I can’t stomach the thought of food just yet. Maybe a dry cracker later, but for now I really do just want to sleep off the worst of it.
I strip off, dumping everything in a pile at the foot of the bed, and then bundle the sweater in one hand, my phone in the other as I climb under the sheet. Using the sweater like an extra pillow, I turn my head and inhale, certain if I breathe deep enough I’ll catch a whiff of her. My body wash overpowers most of what’s left, but there, right at the tail end is a definite soft edge—the un-nameable scent that follows her everywhere.
Fresh, like the forest.
Doesn’t take me long to find the incriminating video of my antics. One of the knuckleheads streamed the whole thing live on his profile. At least the assholes are required to set their social media to private when they’re given the prospect patch, so it’s not visible to the whole fucking world.
What sucks most, though, is that the fucker filmed right to the end, cutting it off when I stormed past to chase down Mel. I tap the video and pause it on my face, on the expression that without a hint of doubt shows how I feel about this girl.
I guess, even if I have screwed any chance I had up, I’ve succeeded in my first objective—she’s the old Mel again, smart-mouthed and confident.
***
“Dog, wake up.”
I recoil from the hand hitting my shoulder. “What the …”
King sits on the edge of my bed, angry as a fucking bear with a bee sting. “Wanna tell me why there’s some guy in a suit downstairs lookin’ for you?” He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “We goin’ to be trying to find some cash to pay for another lawsuit or somethin’?”
I pull my head back, squinting a little as though that’s going to clear him up in my sleep-fogged haze. I know what he said; I just can’t make sense of why. “In a suit?”
“Yes,” he snaps. “In a fuckin’ suit: pinstripe gray, with a fancy-ass matching vest. He looks like a goddamn gangster straight outta prohibition, or somethin’.”
Only one asshole I know who wears a three piece. I bolt upright, damn near clocking King with my knee in the process, and swing around so my feet hit the floor. “What did he say?”
“Just that he needs to see you.”
“What time is it?” I rub my eyes, trying to make heads or tails of how long I’ve been down.
“More like, what day is it?”
I hit him with a hard stare. “Don’t fuck with me.”
Asshole finally smirks. “I ain’t. You’ve been asleep since yesterday afternoon. Check it.” He tosses my phone at me.
I scramble to catch it, realizing if I have been asleep that long it would explain why my bladder’s fit to burst. Sure enough, the phone lights up showing it’s a little after ten in the morning the next day. Hell.
“Did the guy ask for me by name?” I yank yesterday’s dirty denim up my legs.
King chuckles. “Yeah. He asked for ‘Dog.’ Looked like he damn near choked on the name, too.”
“Fuck.” There’s no denying who it is downstairs now.
I snatch a clean T-shirt on my way out the door and yank it on over my head as I hotfoot it to the bathroom to relieve myself. King’s gone by the time I re-emerge and descend the stairs.
The scene in the common room would be comical if it weren’t so damn critical. On one side sit my brothers, some with a drink in hand, as they blatantly eyeball my guest. On the other sits my brother, Derek.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” I whisper-yell as soon as I’m close enough.
He stretches his arms along the back of the sofa; smug with the knowledge he’s put me out. I don’t mix my families, and he knows that.
“Must say, the place is a step up from what I imagined.”
“I’m sure King will be touched with your sentiments,” I sass. “What do you want?”
He leans forward, his hair so impeccably styled that not a single strand shifts as he repositions his elbows on his knees. “He didn’t want to say anything about it the other night, but Dad’s not well.”
“So?” Why would I give a fuck?
“So, I thought you should know.”
I shake my head at the asshole, refusing to sit and make this seem cozier than it is. “A phone call would have sufficed.”
“Your guest want a drink?” King calls out as he makes his way toward the rest of the brothers at the bar.<
br />
“Nope. He’s leavin’ soon,” I shout back without breaking my brother’s gaze.
Derek looks across at the men who still watch him like some rare zoo animal, and then back to me. “You have anywhere more private we can talk?”
“Plenty of places,” I say with raised eyebrows. “None that are here.”
He sighs, running a hand over his face. His unnecessarily expensive watch catches the overhead light. “Why must you always be so difficult?”
“Why must you always be such a cunt?”
He drops his hand and glares up at me. A lesser man would be intimidated by that kind of look. Me, I want to rip it off his face.
“I’ve got a request,” Derek says with a sigh. “Something I need you to do.”
Fuck, here it comes. Bets on his request being for me to sell my gifted shares of the company to him. Don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner; I want nothing to do with the fuckheads that run it so he can have them for free for all I care.
Derek glances at the guys again, clearly uncomfortable with talking about things in the same room as them.
I sigh and jerk my head toward the back yard. “Come on.”
He follows me out, down to the far end of the deck. The morning sun spills through the few clouds that dot the sky, warming the wood beneath my feet. I set out a chair for him, and then take one for myself.
“You really upset Dad the other night, you know,” Derek starts as he readjusts his chair before he sits.
“That was kind of the intention.” I pat the pockets of my jeans, thankful my pack of smokes is still in there.
He watches as I light one, sending the puff of smoke drifting straight into his face.
“You remember that boxcar we made?” he asks. “Had the blue crate that Dad used to keep the firewood in as the seat.”