Unbreakable: Unrequited Part Two (Fallen Aces MC Book 2)

by Max Henry

  My jaw drops, my tongue poised to give him a dressing down for daring to tell me what to do, but I halt. Over his shoulder stands my sergeant at arms, Mighty, and the single look he gives me speaks volumes.

  My men depend on me to keep this ship tight, and right now, they can’t trust me to keep my shit together.

  I can’t trust me to keep my shit together.

  “Let’s do this then, but let’s also get something straight—you don’t fuckin’ pull this kind of stunt on me again.” I punctuate my words with a pointed finger in Callum’s face.

  He glares me down, shepherding me toward my office as I stand. “Ditto.”

  Casting a glance around the common room, I recognize concern in no less than a dozen faces that all stare intently back at me. I’m the fuckin’ main attraction at the circus, the laughing stock, and I’m the fuckin’ president. Some leader, huh?

  “I’m losin’ respect, man,” I whine to Callum. “If they find out what you want me to tell you, then I’m done. I might as well toss the fuckin’ gavel out to them like a bride’s bouquet.” Would that be so bad?

  “Get over yourself,” Callum snaps back, guiding me with a firm hand to the shoulder when I start to stray toward the bar. “If they had that little faith in you, you’d be out already.”

  I stare him dead in the eye, bringing us both to a halt. “Somethin’ you want to share?”

  The asshole has the audacity to laugh at me. Actually laugh in my face. “Settle down, tiger. I haven’t got any plans to take over just yet. You can keep this bunch of crazy kids for yourself.”

  “You sure about that?” My gaze darts between his eyes, searching, but I come up empty.

  With a shunt, he has me walking toward the office again. “I’m sure.”

  “Seems like the opportune time for a mutiny if there ever was going to be one,” I mumble, crossing the threshold to my second home. I might not be happy about my title as president, but fucked if I’m going to let them take it from me like that. I kind of want to be remembered in a good light if I can help it.

  Callum shakes his head, his hands on his hips like a right little bitch as I round my desk. “Just let it go, King.”

  The masses of paperwork spread across my desk stare at me like jaded employees waiting on resolution for their grievances: debts, threats, and loose ends left behind by Apex that I’m struggling to square away. The enormity of the task still ahead of me hits me square in the face yet again. “You don’t get it,” I try to explain, staring at the mountains of grief before me.

  The door clicks behind Vince as he joins our little pity party. Great. Callum had the whole fuckin’ thing planned from the get-go. “Get what?” Vince asks, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re talking to yourself, playing fuckin’ origami games with napkins. You’re going to snap soon if you don’t take a step back.”

  The asshole isn’t exactly telling me anything I don’t already know. Doesn’t fix my problem, though. “You. Don’t. Get. It,” I grind out through a clenched jaw.

  Vince’s eyes flare, his fists flexing at his sides. As do mine. If the fucker’s after a smack down, he’ll damn well get one. He might have a few inches height on me, and ten or so pounds in weight, but I’ll be fucked if I’m letting the moody asshole think he can get one up on me.

  I might be near breaking point, but I’m still the boss around here.

  Callum lifts a hand to urge Vince to back off. “How about you explain it to us. Maybe if you talk it through we can help you figure out where you’re stuck.”

  The bastard’s talking down to me, trying to reason with me like a child, and fuck it all if the respect I have for the man doesn’t make it work. The corner of the sheet of paper that holds my biggest problem peeks out at me like a beacon in the darkness that my life has become of late. Perhaps they could help? Although I don’t know how. Elena’s the stubbornest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

  Both men startle when I lunge for the letter, taking action toward accepting their help before my inflexible ass wins out again and reasons that I can find a way to do this alone. “There’s something I haven’t told you guys about me.” For good reason, too.

  Callum looks to Vince. The confusion between them is palpable.

  “I have a kid.”

  “What?” Callum cries out. “When?”

  The familiar shame at having to explain how washes over me from head to toe. I place a steadying hand on the edge of the desk. “He’s seven. Product of a fucked-up love triangle that never should have happened.” The soothing darkness behind my closed lids brings me some respite while I wait on their questions.

  “And how does this affect what’s going on now?” Callum asks from my left.

  I open my eyes, but still avoid looking at either of them. “Carlos knows about him.” The admission sends a sharp pang straight through my heart, the familiar ache in my chest following close behind. Shoving the photograph in my hand at Callum, I explain. “I’ve had a P.I. following him and his mother—Elena. She won’t let me near him—and the guy gave me those.”

  All I want is to protect them, and because of petty arguments that don’t seem so important now, Elena won’t give me access. She’s shutting me out, shutting me out at the worst time. I never should have left her to raise him alone. I never should have walked away . . .

  “Is this because of the deal we made?” Callum asks, referring to the recent pact we arranged to get Carlos off the Butcher Boys’ backs—save Vince’s son from trouble.

  “No.” I shake my head, wishing it were that simple.

  “Then why?”

  Because I fucked up, and my past is coming back to haunt me. Because no matter what I do I can’t escape my mistakes. Threading my overgrown hair between my fingers, I give it a good tug to dish out a bit of penance for my sins. “Past grievances.”

  “What did you do?” Vince utters, propping himself up against the wall.

  How can I tell them what I’ve done without losing trust? If this is how I shit in my own backyard, how are they supposed to trust me to take care of their houses? I needn’t say a thing though—the lament must be clear on my face.

  “You fuckin’ sly dog.” Callum laughs at my expense. “You fucked Carlos’s missus!”

  I shush the moron, scowling at him. “Don’t tell the whole fuckin’ club.”

  “How did he not know about it until now?” Vince asks, moving to stand before my desk, his fists leaned on the top. “Did she run?”

  I nod. “When he found out about the affair, I helped her start afresh, bank-rolled her to begin a new life away from him. He never knew she was pregnant.” At least I think he didn’t. These days I can’t be so sure.

  “So what changed?” Callum asks. “How did he find out?”

  The ridiculousness of the situation can’t be avoided. I laugh before explaining it to them. “Would you believe it if I said his kid—the one he has with his current woman—goes to the same school as Dante? He did the math.”

  “You fucked up that relocation, man.” Callum walks the perimeter of the office, staring at the stuff on the walls as he shakes his head in clear disbelief.

  Did I what. Should have left them in Denver.

  “I didn’t want her too far from me. I didn’t want to miss out on my boy growing up.” I look at Vince, knowing he’ll understand my reasoning given his history with his kid. “Carlos has been sending Elena messages,” I explain. “Started with vandalizing her car, moved on to killing the family cat, and now he sends her artwork of bent and mangled bodies.” I scrub both hands over my face, trying to erase the images of those sketches from my brain. “I think the guy doesn’t take to infidelity well.”

  I fucking know he doesn’t. But one story at a time, huh?

  “Fuck,” Vince hisses.

  “Mm-hmm.” What else does he want me to say? That the whole damn thing is my fault for letting her go, for holding on too long to start with? I push the scattered papers on my desk in to
some semblance of order while I wait for the news to sink in fully with the boys.

  “Elena—is she safe?” Callum asks. He reaches across me to pick up one of my favorite pictures of her—a candid shot taken by the P.I. of her carrying the groceries into her house.

  “She won’t listen,” I say. “She doesn’t want to leave the house in case it startles Dante . . . my kid. The woman’s as stubborn as a mule, and then some. She thinks she can settle this with Carlos without Dante having to know.”

  “Yeah, right,” Vince mutters.

  “What if somebody else talked to her?” Callum asks. “Would that work?”

  “Another biker?” I look between the two of them, hoping for some sign they’re joking. “Hardly.” Why would she listen to one of these guys if she won’t give me, the father of her child, the time of day?

  “Another woman then,” Vince interjects. “What if we sent Ramona, Sonya, both of them even?”

  I shrug, unsure if I want to deal with the fallout if Sonya was hurt trying to help. “I guess, maybe . . . look, I’m not doing anything that jeopardizes anyone else. I’ve had enough of sending lambs in for the slaughter.”

  The men glance at one another, and then at nothing in particular as we all think it over. Could it work? Getting somebody else to talk to her? Surely the anger she harbors toward me has a lot to do with why she’s refusing to budge on this. I can’t screw up again—I can’t lose them both before I ever really had them.

  “Be back in a minute,” Vince says, ducking out the door.

  Callum wanders over to the single chair in front of my desk and leans both hands on the back. “Is this the same woman that caused all that shit back when we were just patched in?”

  I stare at my fingers splayed on the top of the oak desk. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me back then?” he asks quietly.

  I’ve hurt his feelings—I know it. Just another disappointment to add to the list. “I didn’t know how.”

  “I would have helped, you know. Done what I could.”

  “I know.” I lift my gaze to his and frown. “That’s the problem, man, I’m sick of involving everyone in my shit. They all end up gettin’ hurt because of it.”

  He shakes his head and stares at me in silence until Vince returns a moment later with Ramona and Sonya.

  I look at Vince’s newly named old lady, Sonya, and at the mother of Sawyer’s little boy, Ramona, and pale. “No, Lynch,” I protest, using Vince’s road name. I can’t put them in harm’s way; two hearts as large as theirs are better used elsewhere. They’re good women, and I’m not sanctioning putting them at risk.

  Vince holds up a finger, warning me off with his glare. “You can’t handle this on your own—that’s abundantly clear. Tell them.”

  “Tell us what?” Sonya asks, looking to Vince.

  I’m drowning in lies. I roll a pen under my palm, focusing on the movement to try and quell my unease at having to share this all over again. “I made a mistake several years ago that’s put someone I care a great deal about in danger.” Love. Someone I love.

  “Layman’s terms?” Ramona asks.

  “I had a child with a woman . . . Carlos’s woman.” I flinch, closing my eyes to avoid their reactions.

  “No way,” Ramona cries out. “Why haven’t you said anything until now?”

  “It’s not exactly something I’m proud of.” I don’t regret having Dante, and I sure as fuck don’t regret that time Elena and I had before it all fell apart, but telling people how I handled it after? Uh, nope.

  “What do you need to tell us this for?” Sonya asks, concern clear in her eyes.

  “Elena—the woman—won’t leave her house. Carlos has been threatening her, and I want her safe.”

  “You want us to try and convince her?”

  “Exactly.” I drop into the seat, out of fucks to give. They want to get involved, then whatever. The stubborn bastards probably wouldn’t listen to me anyway.

  “Sure. I’m in.” Ramona nods determinedly.

  Sonya hesitates, looking to Vince. What they have is new, and he’s fiercely protective of her.

  “You do what you feel comfortable with,” he says.

  She nods and turns her gaze to mine. “I’ll do it.”

  FORTY

  Elena

  With my eyes closed, I drop my head back onto the chair and take a deep breath. Dante’s gone to bed for a quick sleep—something he hasn’t done for years. But we were out last night with friends I’ve made through my new job, and he stayed up well past his usual bedtime to enjoy the company of other kids his age.

  It was nice—normal and relaxing. All until we arrived home, and I saw the Escalade parked down the street. They first showed up a little more than a month ago, unassuming and stealthy in their surveillance of us. An untrained eye wouldn’t have picked anything out of the ordinary, but the logo of Carlos’s empire isn’t something I’d hoped to ever see again.

  I thought when King had walked away on Dante’s seventh birthday that that was it, we were done with the trouble. And we were for a while. Life resumed. My heart froze. And we continued with our daily routine as if nothing had ever been amiss.

  How naïve I can still be.

  I sigh and toss my arms beside my head, stretching my tired body out. I’ve started running again when Dante’s at school, and the years its been since I last exercised regularly has done nothing good for my limbs. Afternoon sun warms the living room, and for a moment I contemplate nodding off as well. Dante will wake me when he’s ready for dinner. Lord knows I need the rest as well. Time spent watching every street corner, and forever keeping my eyes open for danger when Dante and I are awake, is draining. Carlos could strike any time, anywhere, and with no reason whatsoever—it’s just how he works.

  The threats have been childish, constant, and frustrating. And they’ve been getting closer and closer to home. I found evidence somebody had been on our property, and what worries me the most is I don’t know if it was when we were out during the day or if I have to worry about creepers at night now.

  A girl has to wonder if fighting for an existence on the straight and narrow is worth it some days. Clearly the phrase “if you can’t beat them, join them” grew from somewhere. Probably situations much like this.

  My troubles ease away, the thoughts fewer and further apart as I begin to drift into a welcome slumber.

  The first time, I ignore the sound. But when the knock comes a little louder, a little harder, my eyes snap open and I stand with such abruptness I’m left fighting one hell of a dizzy spell.

  Ensuring the chain is secure, I edge the door open and find two women hawking for donations on my doorstep. “Can I help you?” I’m itching to tell them to fuck off, to leave me the hell alone, that snarky part of me that hates being woken up in full force.

  The older of the two points to her charity vest. “King sent us to speak with you. This is a guise for our friends down the way.”

  I glance across at the Escalade, quiet and unmoving, and sigh. They wait for an answer when I shut the door on them to take the chain off. I seriously contemplate walking away and leaving them hanging, but there’s a niggle in my gut that says I should at least hear them out.

  King’s left us alone since he walked that day: no visits, no mail, and no phone calls. Nothing . . . until he rung yesterday. So for him to send two of his club bitches across after I hung up on him, whatever he needs me to understand about why I can’t stay here while Carlos sends idle threats has to be important. What’s a quick five minutes?

  I slide the chain free and open the door wide, nodding for them to step inside. “Please, take a seat.” Gesturing toward the sofa, I look them over while they’re distracted. They’re both pretty, but not the overly fake girls I remember hanging about the place the couple of times I dropped by all those years ago. The older of the two is familiar, and I stare at her she takes a seat. She could be the woman I met at the bookstore with Maria, but there’s
something different about her that has me second-guessing my gut instinct.

  I take the long way to my seat, checking Carlos’s men haven’t moved. The Escalade sits where I last saw it, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s running, let alone what the people inside are doing, given the black tints.

  The younger one speaks first after I take a seat opposite them. “Thank you for allowing us to talk with you.” She seems uncomfortable, fidgeting with her hair a lot. “We weren’t sure if you’d even let us in.” I narrow my gaze as I focus on her hairline. Is that a wig?

  “I would have preferred not,” I reply in answer to her admission. “But Dante was up late last night, and he’s having a quick sleep before dinner. I’d rather avoid the drama if it means he gets to stay resting.” The longer I left them at the door, the more suspicion it would have drawn from our spies down the road.

  “How long have Carlos’s men been watching you?” the woman I’m certain has to be the bookstore lady asks.

  I glance across to the front windows. “I don’t think that’s the reason you’re here, is it?” King wouldn’t have sent them over to ask what he already knows.

  “King hasn’t told us much of what is going on at present,” she answers, “but enough for us to understand the urgency of the matter. I don’t want you to think your privacy has been compromised; we’re the only ones in the club besides King who know of you and Dante.”

  I roll my eyes to the ceiling at the thought of what King said about not wanting to talk about us. “Typical. He wouldn’t want to be shamed in front of his men. How would that look, huh? Fathering a child to the enemy’s ex?”

  “I don’t think that’s the case at all,” she bites back. Oooh, defensive. Maybe she’s King’s new piece? “King simply respects your privacy, and given the situation with Carlos, he probably assumes the less people that know what’s going on, the better. Would I be right, Elena?”

  Perhaps—it does sound like the way he thinks. I nod and shove a frustrated hand through my hair.