by A Parker
Beside Mason stood Grant, aka Toke, our Enforcer, who smiled smugly at me. “You’re going to have to tell me how you broke into my shop last night. I don’t like knowing all my precious babies are vulnerable in there.”
Brody, otherwise known as Chips, chuckled and lifted his beer to me. “Good to see you on your feet, boss.”
I nodded at the pair of them.
Next came the club’s secretary, Abel, or Snake Eyes as we called him, who tipped his head back and drained the remnants of his beer can while still managing to smirk at me. The man was hell on wheels—a tough bastard with a chip on his shoulder and an itch to brawl at the sight of even the smallest fight. “Kind of pissed you started the fight without me,” he grated.
He’d get his chance to get in on the action.
Jameson, also called Tex for his uncanny skills whenever he played Texas Hold Em’, moved forward and clasped my left hand—the hand that wasn’t bruised and swollen from last night. He was our Treasurer. Before he came to Reno, he was a Texas Ranger in a small town somewhere outside of Austin. He’d never talked much about where he came from or why he left, and none of us pushed him to. He released my hand. “Glad you’re back, boss.”
“Too bad you look like shit,” Gabriel, or Joker as we liked to call him, said from where he stood near the steps down into Brody’s yard. The doctor had a nice house. The grass was green and well kept, but the place had a sterile look to it. No flowers, no shrubs, not even any furniture out on the deck.
Knox nudged Gabriel in the ribs and chuckled. “He always looks like shit. That fat fucker Jim gave him a run for his money.”
“I heard it the other way around,” Mason said.
Grant nodded. “Word on the street is Black Jack nearly strangled him with his own fucking belt.”
Knox arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
I rubbed the back of my neck while Suzie rolled her eyes at the antics and muttered a dejected, “Men.”
Mason turned to the railing on the balcony, where he picked a folded-up leather-something up and held it up, letting it unfold. I recognized the worn and faded black immediately, as well as the devil’s skull and shamrocks. Mason held out the jacket to me. “It’s time to come back officially, Black Jack.”
“The club needs you, man,” Brody added.
Above the patch on the back was my last name, Black. When I left, I’d given it to William to wear as the President. I noticed the new patch on the chest, right below the heart, and knew immediately that was where my brother had been shot. The patch likely covered the bullet hole in the leather.
Suzie reached out and put her hand over the new patch. “You should wear it tomorrow. He’d want you to.”
With their eyes on me, I shrugged into the jacket and found it fit just a tad tighter than it used to. I rolled my shoulders and reveled in the way the leather felt like home even though the sun was scorching and sweat had already begun to bead at the nape of my neck.
“What’s the plan, boss?” Abel asked.
With a hand on my chest over the new patch, I met their eyes. “We bury William tomorrow. Then we figure out what to do about Bates.”
Chapter 9
Samantha
Amber pulled the visor down and used the mirror to apply a fresh coat of lip gloss. She rubbed her lips together and twisted around in the passenger’s seat to face me sitting in the back. “You ready?”
I sat in the back behind the driver, Morgan, who looked out across the green manicured lawn of the cemetery at the gathering of people in black. There were already well over a hundred people out there, and based on how many people showed up at the ceremony at the church, I could only wager there were another two hundred on their way.
Everyone knew William Black—or rather, used to know him. Everyone also knew that his death had come too early and that it had been unjust, and part of me really believed that everyone who showed their faces today was making a quiet but defiant stand against Walter Bates and the Wolverines.
“I think so,” I said finally.
Morgan opened her door and slid out. Amber and I followed, and the three of us moved to the curb and linked elbows.
There was strength in numbers when it came to despairing days like today.
We crossed the grass gingerly, the heels of our shoes occasionally sinking into the dirt.
My body felt tired today. My mind, too. I’d tried to put a finger on why I felt this way, because in my entire life I’d said maybe twenty whole words to William Black. Perhaps my sorrow wasn’t for him. The dead were never the ones who suffered. Everything for William was over now. Gone. But all he’d left in his wake was still here for his brother to bear.
My heart hurt for Jackson, not his dead brother.
The girls and I didn’t vie for a spot near the front where we could see the casket get lowered into the ground. Instead, we moved off to the edges, took seats in the back row, and kept our heads down as more and more people arrived.
Jackson and the others had not yet made it to the graveyard.
Women wore black dresses and lace veils over their eyes. Men wore tailored black suits and flashed chrome cufflinks in the sun while sweat beaded on their brows. People itched to get a spot in the shade under one of the many surrounding trees while others turned their faces to the sun as if searching for a reprieve from the sadness that was today.
A picture of William was propped up near the empty grave and surrounded by flowers. He looked so very much like Jackson with his big brown eyes, thick dark lashes, and crooked but charming smile. He had one dimple, just like Jackson. His hair was messy and brown, and he wore his leathers in the picture, which must have been taken less than three years ago during his Presidency of the Devil’s Luck. A gold chain hung around his throat, but whatever hung from it was hidden under the neckline of a black T-shirt.
“He was terribly handsome.” Morgan sighed beside me. “A shame.”
“It’d be a shame regardless of whether or not he was handsome, Morgan,” Amber said, crossing one leg over the other and tugging at the hem of her short black skirt.
The girls had shown up dressed to impress today. I’d called them out on it when Morgan picked me up at the bar in her little yellow Volkswagen Beetle. She and Amber had denied my accusations, claiming that their makeup and outfits were what they normally wore. As their boss who saw them damn near every day of the week, I could testify to the fact that it was a flat-out lie.
They wanted the bikers to pay them attention.
I’d dressed with the desire to blend in. I wore a simple black dress made of a light rayon fabric for the heat, with capped sleeves and a modest neckline. It had a sash around the waist that I didn’t tie too tight and buttons from the neckline to the hem of the skirt. This hardly seemed like the right occasion to show off my figure.
I wore simple black two-inch heels and plain jewelry while the girls wore six-inch pumps, low-cut tops, and vampy makeup looks.
I had to admire their grit and commitment to their cause, but I doubted any of the Devil’s Luck men would pay them any mind today. Yes, those boys liked tits and ass more than anyone in this town, but they were also burying a friend and a brother. On top of all that, Amber was only nineteen years old and looked fourteen with her braces, freckles, and somewhat frizzy hair. She steadfastly loathed summer months because her hair couldn’t take the heat.
In the distance, a dozen motorcycle engines rumbled.
My stomach fluttered.
Amber and Morgan jerked around in their chairs to look in the direction of the main road, which gave way to a narrow and winding street that snaked through the cemetery. In the spring, the cherry blossom trees that lined the road would bloom in whites and pinks, making the place look much cheerier than it was. Today, everything was lush and green and beautiful in its own right.
The first bike came around the corner, and we all knew it was Jackson.
Everyone settled into their seats to observe the ceremonial ride.
Jackson brought up the lead, and behind him came more bikes followed by a glossy black hearse. He pulled his bike up to the curb and the others followed suit, pointing their headlights in our direction. They killed their engines and a hush fell as the hearse parallel parked against the curb and the driver got out to open the back doors.
Jackson and all the others fell into two lines, lowered their shoulders, and lifted the coffin. A young woman with brown hair stepped up beside Jackson. I knew immediately this was his little sister, Susan Black. The last time I’d seen her was probably a good three or so months ago when she, William, and a few other MC members popped into my bar to play darts and share pitchers of beers and baskets of wings. She’d kicked all their asses in darts and made sure to rub it in their faces, especially Mason’s, who was almost as bad at hitting the board as William.
The men walked in unison, dressed in their leathers and black jeans, across the grass toward the grave. Susan walked alongside her brother.
Amber shifted anxiously beside me. Her chair creaked and she brushed her hair over her shoulder while pushing her boobs out.
Morgan rolled her eyes before doing the very same thing.
I watched Jackson walk with his head held high. On the other front corner of the coffin walked Mason, William’s best friend, and as they approached, I could see his eyes were red and his jaw was tight. Jackson kept his composure as he was relieved of the weight of the coffin, and it was set down to be lowered into the grave.
Into the earth.
The Devil’s Luck men stepped back, stood in a line, clasped their hands together, and bowed their heads. Susan shouldered up to her brother, reached out, and took one of his hands. She held on tight, and I was pretty sure I saw him give her hand a squeeze when she started to sniffle.
The officiant began speaking about William’s life, but I didn’t hear any of it. My attention remained glued on the man who looked like he’d been to hell and back. And maybe he had.
Jackson’s face was covered in bruises. His right cheekbone had a deep gash in it and both of his eyes were bruised. The knuckles on his right hand were split but scabbed over.
So the rumors must be true.
He’d gone head to head with Jim, one of Bates’s boys. The thought conjured frightening images of the men fighting in my mind. I’d seen Jim in person before. He wasn’t a small man. He wasn’t a kind man, either. If they’d fought, there was no doubt in my mind Jim would be looking to spill enough blood to kill.
And yet here Jackson stood.
My stomach fluttered again and I resented the feeling. A man who fought with no regard for his own life should not have made me feel like this—like I wanted a little piece of him for myself. Like he was someone I should invite deeper into my life.
It should make me run the other way.
Susan’s composure shattered halfway through. A sob broke free of her and several of the men grimaced at the sound. Mason, standing on Jackson’s other side, leaned forward to look at her as she buried her face in her hands and started to cry in earnest.
My chest ached and my throat tightened.
Jackson wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her in close. She wrapped her arms around him and muffled her sobs in his chest. Through it all, Jackson remained rigid and composed with a flexed jaw, tense shoulders, and a permanent furrow in his brow.
What had he been through overseas? What sort of fresh hell had he seen? And what did he expect when he came back home? I doubted it was the burial of his little brother. He probably thought he’d be coming home to Sunday afternoon BBQs and backroad motorcycle rides.
And some organized crime on the side, of course.
While the officiant spoke and Morgan and Amber flexed their calves and pushed their shoulders back, I watched Black Jack and silently willed him to look at me. In all this mess, I couldn’t believe I was just as shallow as the girls on either side of me. I was just too much of a coward to admit it. They wanted his attention and so did I. I could tell myself it was because I wanted to offer him comfort—because I wanted to smile at him in a sympathetic but not pitying way.
But who was I kidding? That would be to make myself feel better, not him.
And I wanted more than the sympathetic look. Deep down, I knew the truth of that. I wanted the comfort that came with being around him. I remembered how safe I felt with him in my bar even when he was shitfaced and broken. That feeling had been such a blessing compared to the terror I experienced when Caroline came into my bar. With Jack around, I didn’t have to feel that way.
He never looked at me once during the burial.
Even when it was done, he kept his head down and spoke amongst his MC while his sister stayed close to him. Eventually, the crowd dispersed until there were hardly any of us left, and while the girls and I said hello and goodbye to some friendly faces from the bar, I lost track of Jackson altogether.
His sister stood with Mason, who spoke quietly to the officiant while the other members wandered over to their bikes parked by the hearse. Eventually, the pair of them joined the others, got on their bikes, and drove away amongst the thinning crowd. Now only me, the two girls, and about a dozen others lingered at the grave site. Some people tossed single-stem roses onto the casket. Others crossed themselves and muttered their blessings.
“Ready to go?” Morgan asked, coming up beside me and nodding toward the yellow car parked at the curb. It looked unnaturally cheerful.
I turned in a full circle, looking for him. The bike was still here, so where was its rider?
“Sam?” Amber asked.
There he was.
He had his back to me with his hands in his pockets. He was far away, over a rise in the terrain and standing in shadow under a leafy tree.
“I’m going to stay a bit longer,” I said.
Amber cocked her head to the side. “Why?”
“You guys go ahead,” I said, breaking away from them. “I’ll find a ride home.”
“Why?” Amber asked again.
Chuckling softly, I shook my head at her. “Because I’m not ready to leave yet, and there are people here I want to say hello to.”
Amber opened her mouth to most likely ask why one more time, but Morgan shut her up with a dark look, took her hand, and began pulling her toward the car. “Mind your own business, Amber. We’re at a cemetery. Who do you think she wants to say hello to?”
Amber’s cheeks turned pink, and I let the pair of them assume I was going to go to my parents’ plots. I waited for them to drive away before turning back to Jackson, who had now crouched down. Over the rise of grassy grave sites and headstones, I could hardly see him, and had I not spotted him earlier when he was standing, I probably would have missed him altogether.
Not knowing whether or not he would receive me well, I moved through the headstones, flowers, picture frames, and candles left at graves until I reached him. I stood one row of plots behind and hesitated. He was speaking.
“I’m sorry,” I heard him whisper as he hung his head. “I should have been here to protect him.”
I shifted my weight to my other foot, and he must have heard the rustle of my dress or sensed my presence because he straightened abruptly and looked over his shoulder at me with hard eyes. His expression softened as soon as he recognized me.
“Hi,” I said softly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just…”
Just what?
I licked my lips. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”
Jackson stepped back, and I got a glimpse of the two headstones he’d been crouched down in front of, Marjorie and Kent Black.
His and William’s parents.
Jackson tucked his hands in the pockets of his well-worn Devil’s Luck jacket and glanced down at their tombstones before walking toward me. “You didn’t interrupt. I was just leaving.”
There were so many things I wanted to say to him.
I don’t think your parents would blame you. I think they would be sorry, too.
And I don’t think William would hold any of this against you, either. He knew the price of taking your position. You’re not alone.
None of those words came out. Instead, I said, “I closed the bar down for the day so my staff could be here. It’s empty and quiet, and if you want a place to be where nobody can ask you any questions or look at you like they’re waiting for you to fall apart, I’d love to make you a burger.”
Chapter 10
Jackson
Sam walked around the bar with two red baskets in her hands. She sat down across from me as she placed the baskets on the table. A burger smothered in barbeque sauce and caramelized onions sat on a bed of crispy fries and my mouth immediately began to water.
I couldn’t remember when I’d eaten last. I certainly hadn’t had the stomach for it this morning when I woke up knowing today was the day I would put my baby brother in the ground.
Sam popped a fry in her mouth and leaned back in her chair. She looked pretty today. The black dress was a big change from her usual blue jeans and white T-shirts, and she’d traded her white sneakers for black heels.
Sam nodded at my basket. “Eat while it’s hot.”
I picked up the burger and took a bite. It was criminal how the meat practically melted on my tongue and the flavors mixed. Like her father before her, she knew what she was doing with the bar’s menu.
Sam must have been able to tell I was enjoying myself because she smiled knowingly. “Good, right? It’s my dad’s old burger recipe. He never put it on the menu for some reason, but when I took over the bar, I thought it would make a good addition. It’s called the Big Ritch Burger.”
With a mouth full of food, I said, “The man knew his way around a grill.”
Her knowing smile brightened with pride. She took a bite of her burger and barbeque sauce gathered in the corner of her mouth. She licked it away, unbothered by the mess she was making, and licked her fingers clean.