Coletrane (Bad Boys of Retribution MC Book 4)

by Warren, Rie

  The crowd only quieted when Tail hopped onto the edge of the pool table. He stood, balanced there with his cue held out to steady him. He was the jester in the middle of the court of road dudes and biker babes, and loving every minute of it.

  I, however, was not, especially when he asked, “Where’s your broad?”

  Chuckle-chuckle.

  He was Brodie’s evil twin despite the fact they weren’t even related by blood and were polar opposites in terms of looks.

  “There is no more Sin and me.”

  I expected the usual round of teasing AKA good-humored character assassination, but the place immediately hushed, like maybe they’d actually thought I had a chance with Sin. Maybe they’d been rooting for me.

  Tail jumped down. “Sorry, man.”

  He racked the pool stick then came over to pat me on the back.

  Sadie gave me a pitiful look. Kinkaid made eye contact with a sorry, bro shrug.

  Somehow everyone’s reactions made it a hundred times worse. I didn’t even feel like I was worthy of their sympathy.

  The damn commiseration continued, folks shaking their heads, men fist bumping me, chicks coming up for brief hugs.

  Worst of all . . . Hunter. He sat at the bar, slowly sipping his whiskey. He watched me through those unwavering gold eyes.

  It was easy for some of these guys. JB had just found out she was pregnant. The night Hunter burst into the bar to say they were going to have a baby, he looked like he couldn’t believe his friggin’ luck. He almost started crying at one point as he broadcast the good news, JB next to him, all smiles and shiny eyes.

  Sadie and Kaid had moved into the house they’d bought after selling the old cottage. Businesses were booming, among them HardCorps Gym and Hardcore Strippers. Hell, even Bo and Doc Ronnie had started construction on their own little slice of paradise.

  Meanwhile my life was in the crapper. I’d just had my first real breakup with a woman I definitely didn’t want to break up with. And my past kept creep-creep-creeping up on me.

  After the busybodies went back to their own business, Hunter oh-so-subtly asked me to join him for a drink at the table pushed far away from the others that always seemed to be reserved for important conversations.

  Great.

  I knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I just wanted to get it over with.

  I plunked my ass down and took a deep drink of cold beer.

  He leaned his elbows on the table. “Look. I kind of expected something about your . . . uhh . . . sexuality.”

  “Whatever,” I scoffed.

  “So, is that the hang up with Sin?”

  “No.” I popped my knuckles one by one. “I like to take charge in the sack. She liked it too.”

  Hunter eased back with a low whistle. “So you are a Dom.”

  “No.” Spearing him with a glare, I took another swig of beer. “I’m not having a fucking sex talk with you. Get to the goddamn point already.”

  “Alright.” He considered me for a moment. “The other thing is I heard about the police being called to settle a disruption at Sinclair’s event.”

  ’Course he had. He was the motherfuckin’ police.

  “Hang on. If you knew about the shit hitting the fan at the benefit, why’d you lead into all this with the comment about my sex life?”

  “Gotta get my info somehow.”

  “Ass.” I started to rise to my feet.

  “Those dudes who crashed it, they used to be your associates?”

  I plopped back down. “Stop being so freakin’ diplomatic about something you probably already know all about.”

  “Fine.” He raked his fingers through his hair while I felt like pulling mine out by the roots.

  This whole swami business he had going on was entertaining when he pulled that shit on other people, but not when he tried to go Zen on me.

  “I did some digging. Last summer, as you know, when I got placed here undercover for the investigation.” He winced. “I know about your sister. The drugs. Those dudes. And you.”

  “Shit.” My head dropped. “If you know all that, then how the hell can you possibly still think I’m cop material? Unless that’s just a fucking joke, like the rest of my life?”

  Reaching over, he grasped my shoulder. “Because the past is not what defines you, my man. Your actions do, the way you live your life now, the people you’ve looked out for, cared for . . . helped, Cole.” He squeezed me before resting his hand on the table. “I want you to listen real closely. This is not something I just go around telling people. Jessica knows, and Walker.”

  “You’re a Dom?” My head shot up. My eyes almost shot out of my head.

  Hunter’s laugh blasted out. “Shit, no. That’s funny.” He laughed until he had to backhand across his eyes to gather leaking tears. “No. I mean I can get a little rou—” He stopped. “Hang on. You’re right. We’re not talking about sex. That’s just too weird.”

  I couldn’t agree more. We could leave that stuff to the chicks.

  “I know about you being placed in the system after your sister died and your mom checked out.” He peered at me, and his face resumed its serious expression. “I was in foster care too. That’s how I grew up.” He grimaced.

  I wondered how much it pained him, putting something so personal out there when he’d spent his entire adult life with one alias after another, hiding his past from prying eyes.

  “How old were you?” I asked.

  “Three. It was a home run by the Sisters of Mercy in Boston.”

  “That sucks, Hunter.”

  “Yeah. It did. Probably wasn’t a joyride for you either.”

  After Brooke died, after my mom lost it, I’d had no choice but to go into care. It was either that or keep taking my chances with my gang of so-called friends who really couldn’t give two shits about me.

  It’d been a no-brainer to take the hand that was offered. To start trying to make something better of myself.

  “I appreciate you telling me, Hunter, but why? Why now?”

  “Well, it’s like this: life is shitty. You roll with the punches. You’ve taken a lot of hits. You got back up on your feet every time, Cole. Know what that makes you?” His mouth curved into a faint smile.

  “Stubborn?”

  He chuckled. “No doubt about that. A survivor. And a really fucking smart one at that. So do I think you’re cop material? Fuck yeah I do. I also think Miss Sinclair Chatham would be a damn lucky lady to have you, and vice versa.”

  “Dude. I’m no good for her.” I sipped my beer. “I should chalk it up to one big mistake and be grateful she’s out of my life. Safer for her. I’m not cut out to be a high society husband—”

  His eyebrows arched when I said the H word, but I hurried on. “Can’t even go to an event without it being crashed by assholes I just can’t shake.”

  “Yeah. You keep believing that. It’ll get you nowhere fast.”

  I ignored him. “Besides, Daddy Chatham has all the proof he needs now to think I was just after Sin for the payout.”

  Hunter sat there frowning, like I was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Then he rapped his knuckles on the table and announced, “You should talk to Brodie. You’ve got a lot in common with him and Boomer.”

  I knew Brodie’s parents had died in a car accident, and he and his brother and sister had had a rough time of it. Not exactly the same thing.

  “How so?”

  “Not my story to tell. However”—standing up, he shouted—“yo, Brodie!”

  Fuck me.

  Brodie strolled toward us. “’Z’up?”

  “Cole wants to talk to you.”

  Jesus Christ. No pressure or anything.

  And then Hunter up and ditched me.

  Brodie looked at me, stroking his goatee. “You want to take this to the Church?”

  He jerked his chin to the hallway that led to the Retribution Church, the place where MC business was hammered out with all the officers sat around t
he table.

  “What? No! I don’t want to spill my guts to everyone.”

  “Relax.” He patted me on the head like I was a cute little puppy dog.

  I snarled in response. Maybe Hunter thought Brodie could belittle me until I forgot about everything else that was bothering me? If that was the goal, I was so not into it.

  “I just meant take it someplace private. Not for nothin’ but you look a little heavy.” He turned and headed off.

  Following more slowly, I made it to the meeting room after snagging a new beer from the bar. Kinkaid stared at me, probably wondering just what the hell was going on.

  I was asking myself the same fucking thing.

  When I entered, Brodie nodded at me to shut the door and sit down at the long table. The room looked the same—dark blue walls and black and white photos taken from around the compound, or at biker rallies, some from next door at Chrome and Steele. Last time I’d been in here, we’d all been trying to convince Hunter to accept our help against the Cubans out to get him.

  Now it was my turn for the Come to Jesus meeting, badass style.

  I took a seat and cradled my beer.

  “Sorry to hear about your girl. She seemed like a real class act.” Brodie’s chunky silver rings rap-rapped, rap-rapped on the table.

  The thick chains rattled on my wrists as I jiggled the beer bottle. “I appreciate that.”

  “So, what’s this about?”

  “Hunter seemed to think we have something in common?” I shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

  “All right. You need to narrow it down for me. I ain’t a mindreader.” Sitting back, he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I broke it off with Sin because I was into some really stupid shit when I was a teenager.”

  That sparked his attention. He lifted two fingers for me to continue.

  Suddenly it all boiled over, and no matter how horrified I was about confessing to Brodie like he was a Catholic freakin’ priest, I couldn’t stop. The stealing. The getting high. Mom’s accident. The asshole dudes I used to hang with. I ran out of steam about the time I got to Brooke’s OD, only coming back to the present when Brodie stuffed a tissue in my hand.

  Shit.

  I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

  I felt like an even bigger schmuck until I noticed Brodie looking off to the side, blinking fast and swallowing hard.

  I felt like such an imposter. A fucking loser.

  “Sorry ’bout that.” Clearing my throat, I folded the tissue into triangles.

  “Happens to the best of us.”

  “So. It’s nothing I’m proud of. It’s why I can’t be with Sin, and if you want me out of the club, I get it.”

  “Hell, son. You think that’s the worst I’ve heard? Shee-it. You’re like a freakin’ choirboy compared to some of these dudes.” He kicked out his chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I think I know what Hunter was getting at now. It’s about my sister.”

  “Cat?”

  “The one and only,” he said with a grin. “You know her hubby calls her Wildcat? Used to make her crazy. Damn, those two nearly made my head explode with the make-ups and break-ups. So yeah, it’s about her. I don’t talk about it to other people because it’s her business.”

  “That’s cool. I respect that.” I pushed my chair back, prepared to leave.

  “Buuut, since you are Probie 1.0, and you’re hurtin’, I’ll shed some light. Just promise to keep it to yourself.”

  “You have my word.”

  “I almost lost my sister. Boomer and I, we couldn’t stop her. There are other things I won’t tell you, but yeah, she was on a downward spiral because of drugs.” He rubbed his fingers over his face and came up bleary-eyed. “Not good times. Not at all.

  “It has to do with how my folks died too.”

  “You don’t have to tell me—”

  “I don’t have to, but I’m going to. And then you’ll know about me and Ashe too. Why we got off to such a rocky start.” A grin curled his lips for a brief moment before it got lost in some serious pain. “Probably a good thing we finally invested in a box of fucking tissues for this room though.”

  I sat there, drinking it all in. His story, his words. His hurt. Like the ink that covered my skin, the tragedies of his life seeped inside my flesh.

  He owned it all, showing no shame, no fear. Just gut-deep grief he hid inside so well.

  I had to give him props for that, as I swiped my eyes again.

  Afterward, we sat in silence for a few moments, both remembering, both coming to grips with the ghosts that could never fully be laid to rest.

  Brodie finally scooted forward and hit me with his icy blue stare. “Sorry about your sis.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry about your folks.”

  “Sometimes life just shits all over you.” He twiddled one of the big rings around his finger.

  “I hear that. So you get why Sin’s too good for me?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  I snorted. “Loser ex-junkie with a wealthy, incredibly smart socialite. Right.”

  “You got a degree. You’ve a got a paying full-time job you’re good at and you love. What the fuck man?” Brodie laid it on the line. “Did you ever go back to the drugs?”

  “Got cured of it pretty quick when Brooke died.”

  “Take Cat. She almost ruined her life. You think she doesn't live with guilt and shame every day? Think she had it easy?” He rose from his chair, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “She got it together though. Even landed Mr. Moneybags Romance Author of the Lowcountry.”

  I relaxed with my first real laugh of the night. “Yeah. I guess.”

  Brodie smacked me on the back of the head. “Shut up and put up. That’s what I say. Works for all occasions. Hell, that could even be a greeting card.” He headed toward the door then halted in his tracks. “Oh, and just so you know, I'm still gonna give you shit.”

  “Wouldn't expect anything less.”

  “Now, let’s say we pack up the ovaries, go back out there, and pretend we still got some balls between our legs.”

  If folks would’ve told me an hour ago Brodie hard-as-Steele would end up giving me a pep talk—and making me fucking weep like a baby—I’d have told them to get their heads examined.

  No shit? He’d done the trick.

  My resolve was in place.

  Then, just because he was Brodie, he stopped short and I almost banged into him. “You just need to own the whole loser past. Make it yours. I mean, obviously Sinclair don’t care.” He smiled, apparently pleased with himself.

  “Dude, promise me you’ll never go into motivational speaking?” Or the greeting cards gig for that matter.

  “I don’t think there’s any chance of that.” His chuckle was dark and wicked, pretty much trademark badass Brodie.

  No shit.

  In the main room, nothing had changed. The volume on the chatter and music still ran high. Hunter was rubbing JB’s flat belly as if it was already swelling with his baby. Brodie found Ashe, and they started to groove to the music. Tail was busy making chicks form a line, deciding who’d get the first dance with him.

  Nothing had changed, except me.

  Kinkaid beefed up beside me as I joined him behind the bar. “What’s with all the powwows?”

  I reached for a glass, a long line in many more to clean. “I think I gotta try to make it up to Sin.”

  “You’re really into her.” He took the polished glass from my hand and lined it up on the shelf.

  “Understatement.”

  “Then I wish you the best.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I WAS ALREADY SWEATING it when I rode up to Sin’s office building the next afternoon. Uptown downtown Charleston and I did not mix well, as had been evidenced. It didn’t help it was about a million degrees and even one minute outside felt like I was trapped on the face of the sun. The second week of September and the weather hadn’t cooled down on
e little bit.

  And I was nervous as fuck.

  The building stood on the corner of Wealthy and Wealthier. No shit? I was surprised they didn’t have engraved plaques announcing that loud and proud.

  The office building rose up to the highest pinnacle allowed—what I liked to call the Church Ordinance meant no skyscrapers could top the tallest peak of the tallest church steeple downtown in order to preserve the historic skyline.

  The place was all white granite, pineapple sculptures that were a symbol of Charleston’s hospitality, shiny windows, and, in small block letters on an understated plaque—Fairley-Chatham Family Foundation—because I guessed when you were this rich you actually didn’t have to boast about it.

  I motored in and parked the Harley into the slip of space next to what was apparently one of Sin’s other cars. A Land Rover with the forest green tag and a big grill on the glossy black front. The Rover was closest to the door, backed into the spot reserved for the Executive Director.

  Sweating it some more.

  I swept through the carousel doors, and almost walked straight back out again.

  Man up. Balls out.

  Get your woman back.

  Inside, the lobby was a hushed. White marble. More granite. Quiet and calm as a mother’s womb except for the classical music pumped in from unseen speakers. Plants, paintings, recessed lighting.

  I felt so out of place.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, wiped my palms on my jeans, and strode to the high, horseshoe-shaped console. The man sitting behind it in a sleek black suit glanced at me with an interested smile.

  Hell, if he was checking me out, maybe I could use that to my advantage. He was definitely metrosexual, and judging by the way his eyes walked all over my face, chest, and arms, chances were he definitely wasn’t heterosexual.

  “Hey.” With a wink, I braced my elbows on the semi-circular desk that separated us. “My name’s Cole.”

  “Preston.” He held out his hand and I shook it with an extra squeeze.

  “Preston,” I drawled with another wink.

  When I withdrew from his grasp, I made sure my triceps, biceps and pecs flexed extra hard.