by Max Henry
“Reminiscing about our childhood won’t erase the shit that’s gone down since,” I say. “So how about you stop butterin’ me up and cut to the chase?”
Derek leans back in his seat with a sigh, palms rubbing a path back and forth over his thighs. “Fine. Dad’s sick—didn’t want to tell you—but he finally accepted he needs to plan for the future, ensure things will transition as smoothly as possible once he’s gone.”
Once he’s gone. “It’s terminal?” I try to hide the excitement that bleeds through my words.
“Yeah.” Derek assesses me; his eyes cold and calculated as he watches my every twitch.
“Shame.” That I didn’t have a father I gave enough of a shit to care about, mostly.
“The obvious answer for when he passes is that I take over his position as CEO of the company.”
Bet that last rung is looking gold and shiny to Derek now.
“But that leaves a definite gap on the board,” he continues.
I frown, put off by the fact this conversation doesn’t seem to be steering toward the sale of shares like I thought it would.
“I want you there.”
I lift an eyebrow in disbelief, waiting for him to crack out the punch line. Yet he stares at me with nothing short of utter conviction.
“You fuckin’ serious?”
Derek nods. “This” —he waves his hand around at the club— “has only been the past four years of your life, Koen. Before that, you were just like me.”
“I was never like you.” I tap angrily at the cigarette in my hand, watching the ash as it flutters onto the deck.
“You know more about that business than half the old boys at the table already.”
“Only because our father forwent bedtime stories in favor of research papers and strategic planning notes.” What kind of upbringing does Derek think we had? Good?
“He prepared us for the privilege we inherit from him.”
“There’s no privilege to be found from cheating people out of the money they should be able to leave their families when they’re gone.” I pause, sucking on the cancer stick that might someday put me in a position to be one of the consumers Leidend Industries exploits. “There isn’t a damn thing on that company’s agenda that I want to be a part of.”
“So get on the board, change it,” Derek urges.
I snap my eyes to my brother’s; sure he’s playing me for a fool. The board would never implement any of the ideas I have, especially when it would cut their profit margins from seven figures to low sixes at most.
“Not goin’ to happen, D.”
He sighs, tapping a hand on his leg. “I thought you might have some compassion left in you for the old man, brother. Especially after all he’s done for us.”
“You believe that bullshit?” I ask. “Does the shit you spew taste bad on your tongue, or are you so used to toutin’ off his rhetoric without a second thought that you can’t tell the difference anymore?”
“What rhetoric?” he snaps, his voice rising. “If you can’t see the sacrifices he’s made for us, then you’re as blind as Mom was.”
He’s crossed the line. Fucking painted it blinding white and then pole-vaulted clean to the other side. I lunge out of my chair, lifting a foot as I step forward, and shunt his backward with my boot placed between his legs.
“Say it again, asshole. Disrespect our mother and see where it lands you.”
He scoffs, pushing out of his chair and straight into my chest. “You don’t scare me, little brother.”
“Maybe not.” I point to King and our biggest prospect, Digger, who stand watching from the door that leads inside. “But you ain’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. You might get away with slingin’ insults around when you’re in that goddamn glass tower of yours, but this is my house, my world you’ve stepped inside of.”
“Makes you feel big, doesn’t it?” He reaches out and plucks at the shoulder of my cut. “One pretty little picture and you suddenly think you’re a man.”
“Fuckin’ know I’m one.”
“Yeah?” Derek lifts an eyebrow, head jerking back. “How so?”
“Because real men don’t profit off other people’s bad luck.”
“Rich coming from the asshole who is other people’s bad luck.” He shoots a scathing glare at King. “You pigs going to tell me that you earn all your money legally? That you don’t profit from pain?” He grunts a laugh when none of us answer. “Exactly. We might be from different worlds, Koen, but we play by the same rules.”
He chooses the right time to take his leave, considering I’m currently mapping out where the nearest loaded gun might be. Who the fuck does he think he is to come in here and make out I’m the one doing wrong?
King lifts a hand and shakes his head to tell me to let it go as Derek disappears inside the clubhouse. He turns and follows my brother, presumably to make sure the jackass actually leaves the property.
Digger stares at me, eyebrows raised and mouth turned down.
“What?” I snap.
“Never heard anyone call you anythin’ but Dog, man.” He shrugs his beefy shoulders.
I sigh, pointing a finger his way. “Make sure it stays that way.”
“Yes, boss.” He throws me a lazy salute and heads indoors, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
A month ago I was content leaving anything and everything “Koen” behind to be the guy I thought was more fun, “Dog.” But if anything, these past weeks have just fucked me up further, making me question which road I should be taking.
On the one hand, being Dog has its obvious benefits. I do as I’m told, fill in the hours between by doing what I want and not caring about a thing. But then on the other hand, being Koen brings opportunities that I’d be too selfish to pass up.
One—have a stab at shaking up Leidend Industries. Fuck, I might not be able to completely fix the moral compass of the place, but I could at least make a conscious dent in the figure-driven mantra they operate by.
And two—Mel.
I’ve never had a chick interested in Koen like she is. Even the women—scratch that, girls—I had in high school were after Dog before I even knew myself who I was pretending to be.
That alone makes me want to hold on to the lifeline anchoring me to Koen a little longer.
“Wanna talk about it?” King asks as he re-emerges.
I shake my head, reaching with even shakier hands to pluck out another smoke. Fuck it. Derek’s got me all kinds of twisted up, the adrenaline spiking through my body. It’s exactly what he wanted, and that alone makes me angry that I’m still so easily manipulated by the fucker.
“So much for never showing up, huh?”
I give King an unamused stare and then focus on lighting my cigarette. “I said my old man wouldn’t show up, if I recall right. Never said a thing about my brother.”
He chuckles, restacking the shitty plastic chairs. “Family, huh?”
“Yeah. Family.” Although I’m pretty sure if you looked up the definition of one in the dictionary, ours wouldn’t fit the description in the slightest.
“What turned it sour?” He crosses his arms, widening his stance. “Anything we need to worry about?”
“Don’t think so.” I take a drag of my smoke and slump back against the outside wall of the clubhouse. “Asshole just wants me to play happy families.”
“Think on it.”
“Huh?” I frown at the guy.
“Think on it,” King repeats. “Family: they may drive you nuts, but you only get one.”
I know where he’s coming from, but the raw truth of it is that our disjointed unit is too far past that. When the thought of my old man dying doesn’t evoke any emotion inside of me except relief, what does that say for our chances of a happy reunion?
As far as I’m concerned, it wasn’t just my mother that slipped away on our dining room floor that day.
My sense of home died right along with her.
TWENTY
Mel
Who would have thought there’s so much involved when it comes to planning a rally? Dates that coincide with school holidays so the families can all go together, booking campsites, ensuring the crash van is stocked with the spare parts that are most likely to be needed when fifty or more bikes are traveling two thousand miles, and of course food. So much food.
I kneel on the tall chair beside the breakfast bar in the kitchen, a can of Red Bull to my right and a mountain of sticky notes and scribbled place names on my left. I’m hunched over my phone, finger scrolling my way around Google maps when Beth walks in and stops at the fridge.
“What you doin’?”
I haven’t told anyone about my plan; I wanted to have it all mapped out and ready to go so I could announce it as a surprise once all the details were finalized. Kind of like a thank you gift to the club.
“Research,” I answer simply.
She pulls a carton of juice out and then crosses the kitchen to get a cup. “Anythin’ I can help with?”
I glance up at her. She really is gorgeous with her naturally blonde hair and big blue eyes. She’d scrub up well as a pageant queen but I get the feeling she isn’t that kind of girl.
“Not sure. Can you keep a secret?”
“I’ve kept so many, I’m sure I’ve forgotten most of them,” she says with a chuckle.
“I’m planning a rally.”
“Yeah?” Her eyes go wide, the excitement clear. “When?”
“Not sure yet. I’m trying to nut out the details first.”
“You lodged a request for a permit with the local council?”
I blink a couple of times at her. “Huh?”
“You’d find that most places”—she points to my mud maps—“want you to let them know if you plan on staging an event over a certain number of people. Crowd control, you know, that kind of thing. So they can plan around havin' us all on the roads and let the public know in the town notices.”
“I never thought of that.” I slump my head on my arms.
“Hey.” She taps me on the shoulder. “It’s easy-peasy. Show me what you got.”
We spend the next hour and a half mapping out a route that has a decent size campground outside the city limits for us to stop at each night. By the time we’re done, there’s so many sticky notes everywhere the counter is invisible beneath our project.
“All we need to do is settle on a date,” Beth says re-writing our layovers in a list with their contact numbers.
I sigh and stare out the windows to the back yard. “Yeah.”
“Problem?”
“I guess I wanted to wait until Hooch is back, of course, but I don’t know how long he’ll be gone for.”
A week has passed since I returned home and nobody’s said a thing to me about where my brother is. I get the impression they don’t know, but of course, if that’s the case they don’t let on either.
“Well,” Beth says as she stacks some of the notes up. “We have a plan. It’s all laid out so as soon as we know when he’s back, we can get right on with phoning up these campgrounds and lockin’ it in.”
I smile over at her, resting my head on one hand. “Thank you.”
“Lord, it’s been my pleasure.” She pats me gently on the arm. “Anything to change my days up from cleaning and cookin’.”
“You’re too good to these guys,” I muse. “Crackers especially.”
She flinches, yet doesn’t say anything further. I know I’ve struck a chord when she looks away and swallows before dragging in a deep sigh.
“You know what?” Beth says. “I reckon you should go catch Crackers now, while he’s around, and ask him about Hooch. We all miss the big ole troublemaker. I’d sure like to know if they’ve heard anything.”
“He’d tell me if he knew anything.”
“You sure about that?” She lifts both eyebrows and then slips away to put her empty cup in the sink. “You know how these boys like to play the martyr and keep their cards close to their chest.”
That, I do. I nod, sliding off my stool. “Yeah, okay. I think I might.”
She leaves with a smile and crosses over the hallway to the adjacent dining room. The messy pigs around here eat and run, leaving all their dishes piled up for somebody else to clear—Beth. I don’t know how she does it day in and day out without losing her cool with the idiots.
I stretch my back out with a yawn, eyeballing the notes before tearing my gaze away to my phone, which sits at the end of the counter. Twice last night, I almost dialed Hooch’s number, if not to talk to him just to hear his voice on the message service. Times like this I’d lean on him for his opinion. Without him around it seems empty: in the clubhouse, and in my mind.
I wonder if anyone’s told my mother about Dana and Daddy? If anybody even knows where she is these days?
Stashing the notes to collect later, I snatch up my phone and head across the house to Hooch’s office—Daddy’s old office. The door sits ajar.
“Heya.” I push it open and step in to greet Crackers.
He lifts his head from his focus on the laptop before him, a thick finger poised over a bill.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to find us some cheaper power.” He pushes the paper bill aside and leans back. “What can I do for you, sugar?”
“Do you know if anyone told Mom about Dana? About Daddy, even?”
He shrugs. “You’d need to ask Hooch about that when he’s back. I haven’t heard anything, and he doesn’t really talk about her much anyway.”
“Yeah, I know.” Hooch has it in his head that if Mom had stayed, things would have worked out better.
I guess he was young enough to forget the real reason Mom up and left: Daddy gave her no other choice.
“You heard anything from him?”
Crackers’ chest rises and falls before he answers. “Not for a couple of days.”
Nine days have passed since I left my brother in a cold barn, not knowing how long it would be for this time. Nine days of torturous hell.
“How are things in Lincoln?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Why do you ask, Mel?”
I intend to shrug, but the nervous movement comes out more as some sort of jerky twitch. “Curious.”
“Everything’s fine,” Crackers says slowly. “You know, I’m sure Dog would be okay if you just called.”
Damnit. Am I that transparent? “I don’t know. We left things kind of … strained.”
“You don’t say,” he deadpans. “Can I ask what the sudden curiosity about our beloved playboy is about?”
“He said something about taking me hunting, and to be honest the idea seems better by the day.”
“Hunting?” Crackers snorts.
“Yeah. Why not?”
He shrugs, eyebrows raised. “Nothin’ at all. Just didn’t see you as that kind of girl.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. What you see ain’t always what you get, you know.”
He smiles, ducking his chin. “Yep. I know.” A beat passes before he continues. “What makes it so appealing now, then? Need to let off some steam?”
“Need to get away, really. Find some space to breathe.” I shrug one shoulder. “When you’re legally dead and supposed to keep a low profile, assimilating into everyday life is sort of hard.”
He nods, huffing out a heavy breath. “Yeah, I get that.” I eye the cuff on his wrist as he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m just not sure Dog’s the best choice for a getaway partner.”
“Because of his reputation?”
Crackers levels me with a take-no-shit stare. “Because of his proclivities.”
“Big word,” I tease, trying to break the tension.
“Topic calls for it,” he drawls. “If you think that’s what you need, though, I’m not going to stop you.” He lifts both hands. “I’m just urgin’ you to be careful, is all.”
“I’ve got to get out of here,” I say, imploring Crackers with
my eyes. “I managed to keep busy this morning with a project, but staring at the same walls every day is taking its toll. Cabin fever, you know?”
“You spent a whole year in one spot,” he says with a chuckle. “I would have thought you had that whole starin’ at the same shit thing squared away by now.”
“Ahh, but there’s a difference.” I cock one eyebrow. “Out there, I had no choice but to stay where I was. Here, the whole world is at the end of that driveway, teasing me.”
“Big change, coming back here from the woods, ain’t it?”
“Huge.” I sigh, sliding down in the seat. “I miss how peaceful it was out there, nature and all that, but at the same time I don’t miss being cut off from everyone and everything.”
“A lot less drama, though, I bet.”
I tip my head to agree. “Yeah. That’s true. But I think what struck me the most is how much things can change in fourteen months, you know? The club’s not what it was when I left. It’s sad.”
“Hey.” Crackers leans forward, reaching out over the desk. I sit up and let him take my hand in his. “Everyone needs time to heal, Mel. And that includes the Fallen Aces. Our people have been through hell and back these past two years, and they need time to adjust to the changes as much as you and I do.” He sighs, sinking back in his chair again. “In some ways, I’m glad your old man ain’t here to see it. He had his set habits, ideals, and the way things are shapin’ up now, the future of our club isn’t what he had in mind.”
“I know.” I completely agree with what he’s saying—Daddy would be turning in his grave, wherever that may be, if he knew what King’s done with the Lincoln chapter, how that’s influenced our own.
I sat down with Murphy a few nights ago and had a long conversation about the club. He didn’t delve into specifics, but he gave me the general premise: the future isn’t in strong-arm tactics and drugs anymore. If we want to survive long-term, we need to make ourselves less of a target, and that means seeking out legitimate ways to build income. It means stepping away from the pull of fast and easy cash, tipping the scales in the favor of above board investments.
The money might not be as great with roots in small business, but the repercussions are less.