Existential (Fallen Aces MC Book 4)

by Max Henry

  “You’re our pres, man,” Crackers states softly.

  “Exactly. Even more reason why I need to keep my shit in line. You rely on me to lead, not cry into my teacup.”

  He shakes his head, scuffing a boot against the worn timber. “You’re just as stubborn as your old man, you know that?”

  “I’ve been told it a time or two.” I can’t keep the smirk off my face. We may have butt heads over the years, and we may have lost time to wounded prides, but I loved the old fool more than he’d ever have known.

  He was my father; what else do I need to say? He was my hero, no matter what sins he committed.

  “What can we do to help?”

  I swing my head his way, unsure if I heard him right. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Whatever gets that smartass fuckin’ asshole back in your shoes, man. A few of the young guys are gettin’ a bit too big for their boots without you around to cut them down to size.” He digs me with his elbow, smiling as he takes another drag of his smoke.

  “I wish I knew,” I say honestly.

  How many nights have I lain awake wondering the same question? I’ve been like this, for so long that I don’t think I even know what it’s like to be “okay” again. What does normal feel like? Was I ever normal? Or did I simply not recognize the predator lurking below the surface until it was too late?

  “I know what’s first, though.” I drop the remnants of the smoke and scrub it out under my toe. “I got to kick the habits.”

  “Good.”

  I scoff, folding my arms as I turn to face my VP. “As if you’re one to talk.”

  “Occasional use has nothing on your dependency.” He points a finger my way. “How many times a day were you dippin’ into that box of yours?”

  I look over his shoulder at the ghostly outline of the trees, trying to work out a typical day in my head. “I don’t know. A lot.”

  “Damn straight it was a lot.” Crackers stamps out the last of his cigarette and then matches my pose. “The last time I spent a full day around you, I lost count at eleven.”

  “No way,” I half laugh. “Just a few times a day to take the edge of was all it was.”

  “Eleven.” He raises one eyebrow, daring me to challenge it. “How many days you been clean so far?”

  “Coke? A couple of weeks.”

  “What do you mean ‘coke’? What else is there?”

  “H.”

  He shakes his head, bringing one hand to his forehead. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot, you know that?” He reaches out, slapping both sides of my head in unison before I can duck away. “I swear there’s nothin’ in between here, sometimes.”

  “Two days,” I relent. “I’m almost two days off the heroin.”

  “Feel like you’re in purgatory?”

  “Should that be any different than normal?”

  He smirks, slapping me on the shoulder. “Lock down that gypsy bird, brother, because you’re gonna need yourself a nurse.”

  THIRTY

  Dagne

  I don’t know why I thought this time would be any different. I stare down at the phone in my lap, my legs folded as I lean back into the sofa. The receptionist must be the same one I got last time; she didn’t even try to put the call through before giving me some bullshit excuse on why Mom wasn’t there. “Perhaps you should try her at home?” she’d kindly offered.

  I would if I knew where that was now, let alone what the number is.

  She’s unlisted other than her name appearing on her work’s website. At least I’ve got some idea where she lives, given it can’t be any more than a one hour radius from her office. But that’s still a big area filled with lots of houses, plenty of apartments, and the kind of motivation required that I don’t possess yet.

  I only want to talk, to clear the air. I’m not asking for friendship, just a truce. Is it really such a stretch to put this to rest?

  “Thought you mustn’t have that anymore.” I look up and catch Digits gesturing with his chin to my phone. “Figured you’d lost it since you never answered me.”

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Nope. Just been busy.”

  “Bein’ a housekeeper’s asshole?” he asks with more snark than necessary. “Yeah, whatever.”

  “What do you want?” I glance around at the rest of the room, desperately searching for somebody, anybody who might be watching what’s going on.

  Nothing. It’s as though I’m invisible, even when I’m sitting smack dab in the center of the room.

  “Bit ungrateful, don’t you think?” Digits asks, slipping onto the sofa beside me despite the fact there isn’t enough room for him to do so. “I help you out, and you cut me off like this?”

  “I don’t know what you expected.” I aim for nonchalant and naïve as I shimmy away. “I thought it was best if I laid low after everything that happened.”

  “Cut the shit, Dagne. Everyone knows that the cops were never lookin’ for you.” His eyes rove the length of me the same as a farmer assessing livestock for sale. “What you been doin’ up here?”

  “Waiting.”

  His eye twitches, yet he schools his expression, forcing a smile. “I missed you.”

  “We don’t know each other.”

  “Didn’t stop you from gettin’ on the back of my bike.”

  What the hell do I say to that? No, it didn’t stop me from accepting his offer of help, but what else is he expecting me to admit to? That I purposefully used him? That I’m an opportunistic bitch?

  “I’m sorry if you feel like I didn’t thank you for what you did,” I say, trying to appease his ego. “I really am grateful for your help.”

  He shrugs, sliding an arm along the back of the sofa behind me. “Still time.”

  I lean forward. “For what?” The crawling sensation over my flesh tells me I don’t want to know.

  “To make things right. Come back to Fort Worth with me.”

  “Thank you, but no.” I inch away, yet he slams a heavy hand on my thigh, pulling me back with a painfully tight grip. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Yeah? Well maybe you feel an ounce of what you’ve put me through these last few weeks?”

  Abort, abort. “I should go che—”

  “Ain’t nothing you need to be doin’ but packing your shit to take with you. I leave in the morning.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Yeah?” His hand slips higher. “Why? You stayin’ here because you think there’s somethin’ between you and my pres?” His eyes lose that boyish charm which suckered me in at the start of all this, and grow dark, promising the worst kinds of sins. “Bet if he asked you to head south you’d have your slut-pack ready to go in no time.”

  I’ve got nothing, because I would. I’d go anywhere Hooch asked me to.

  “You know he admitted in our meeting that the only reason you’re here is because he used you for his own benefit. He just needed you to deliver that message, sweetheart, and now that didn’t work out, you’re free game.”

  “Get your hand off me.”

  “Or what?”

  “I scream.” Fuck knows if that’d help, but about now I’m down to try anything.

  “Go ahead. Bitches scream all the time around here. It’s nothing new.”

  I glance over his shoulder and find King watching us with interest. At last! I plead to him with my eyes to intervene, pushing my hands in my lap to stop Digits’ creeping one. My quickened heart eases as King rises from the stool he’d occupied and crosses over to where I sit.

  “Everything okay here?”

  “Just catchin’ up with Dagne,” Digits says in a sickly sweet tone unlike the way he’d just spoken to me. He wraps his arm behind me around my shoulders and pulls me in. “Ain’t that right?”

  “I need to hang out some washing.” I pull free of his hold, thankful for the intervention.

  King catches my elbow as I pass him, halting my exit. “When you’re finished up in the laundry, I need the gl
assware in my office changed over for clean ones. Could you do that?”

  “Sure.”

  He gives me the smallest nod, releasing my elbow so I can leave. I beeline it straight to the laundry, managing to hold off the tears until I reach the confines of the skinny room.

  This whole deal is my teenage years all over again. The manipulation, being made to feel the perpetrator when I’m the victim, and double guessing myself, wondering if I’m in fact at fault, is the reason I left home. What is it about me that calls to these fucked up people? Do I have a goddamn sign on my head that flashes “Use her. She’s no good for anything else?” What the hell?

  I slam the wet clothes into the basket, aware that it’s now night outside, but so what? Five minutes pegging soggy denim to a line might be all I need to get my shit together and face this asshole head on. It can dry in the morning.

  The night air has the desired effect, and by the time I’ve successfully hung the washing—a feat given my short stature—my mindset has done a one-eighty. I should have punched the asshole in the junk; I’m sure that’s not unusual around here either. I could have gouged his arm with my nails until he took his hands off me. I could have slapped the bully.

  Why is it I always cave under pressure when it comes to men?

  The questions cycle through my mind as I set the empty basket back in the laundry room, and then hook around to the kitchen to collect clean tumblers for King’s office. Sonya sits on the counter beside where her old man, Vince, makes them both a cup of coffee. She’s laughing at something he said, carefree and relaxed—everything I want to be. Whatever she sees in that guy, it makes her happy, and I’m glad for her.

  “Hey, Dag. You want one? I can get Vinnie here to make another for you.”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I freeze, as though Sonya will somehow know who it is, what’s going on, just from looking at me. Chill, Dagne.

  “I’ll pass. Thank you.”

  Her man turns to check me out, his expression hard and, if I’m honest here, damn well scary. He’s tall, dark, and massively intimidating with his bodybuilder’s physique. Whatever she saw in him that made her fall in love, it’s something he seems to reserve just for her.

  I collect the stack of glassware and bid them both goodnight as I head through to King’s office. My heart is in my throat, the glasses clinking incessantly thanks to my shaky hands. I hesitate as I round the last corner where the hallway opens out to the common room. A few of the men still linger near the bar, and I search each face, hoping like hell I’m not going to find Digits.

  Safe.

  Slightly reassured, I make my way across the vast space to King’s door, which sits open. I step inside, releasing the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

  “Set them down on the cabinet here.”

  I scramble to catch the stack with my free hand, startled by King standing out of view in the corner by the door.

  “Can’t say I usually have that effect on people.” He chuckles, dropping a file onto his desk.

  I place the glassware on a tray beside his assortment of liquor and search for the dirty ones. “Where are the glasses you want cleaned?”

  “Ain’t any,” he states matter of fact as he takes a seat. “Just wanted an excuse to get you in here without Digits cottoning on.”

  “Oh.” I linger beside the filing cabinet, my fingers resting on the edge.

  “I won’t hold you up long,” he says, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Gotta get home to the woman soon anyway. She’s already rancid at me for missin’ bedtime third night runnin’.”

  “You’ve got kids?”

  “One. Dante, my son.”

  I didn’t pick him for the family type given he seems so invested in the club, but I suppose it makes sense now. “I didn’t realize; I’ve never seen them here.”

  “She likes it that way.” He nods to the chair. “Shut the door and sit.”

  I do as I’m told. Despite the fact he seems like a cuddly big brother most of the time, there’s a veiled anger lurking beneath the surface. I get the impression his devotion and dedication works both ways, good and bad.

  “What was that out there?” He lifts a hand to gesture to the common room.

  “Nothing I can’t sort out.” Liar.

  “You sure?”

  “I think so?”

  He gives me an unimpressed flat-lipped smile. “Spill.”

  “He was the one who brought me back to your southern clubhouse.”

  King nods. “I’m aware.”

  “He thinks I owe him something because of that.” I stare down at my hands, fidgeting with the edge of the seat cushion.

  “Digits has always been a quiet one, only been with us a few years, so we don’t have much bearing on what he’s like when there’s trouble.”

  I glance up at King, surprised he’s being so open with me.

  “If he’s giving you hell, you let us know. Don’t worry about the fact you’re new here, don’t get it in your head we’ll side with him over you if there is somethin’ to sort out.” He drops his feet and leans forward, elbows on the desk. “We have firm rules around respectin’ boundaries and our women.”

  “I don’t want to cause any trouble. You’ve all been so great to me, and to be honest, it’ll blow over after I leave.”

  “Where you goin’?” he asks as though daring me to try.

  “You didn’t think I’d be here forever?” I frown. “I’m not the kind to outstay my welcome.”

  “Our hospitality is a lifetime deal.” He smiles. “You respect our rules, the way we live, and we’ve always got an open door.”

  I just stare at the guy as he strokes his beard, tugging on the end before restarting the whole action. What do I have to offer? The way my world works, is people only offer you favors when you have something you can trade in payment.

  “With all due respect, I don’t think there’s anything here for me.”

  He snorts a laugh, rising out of his seat. I track him as he walks to the small window beside the door and beckons me over. I join him, standing beside King as he sticks his fingers between the closed blinds and stares out the gap for a second, before indicating where I should look.

  Hooch leans over the pool table and takes a shot, smiling at his opponent as he sinks one.

  “There’s your reason.”

  I step back, appreciating where he’s coming from. “I know you mean well, but—”

  “What? You’re not alike? He’s got too many issues?” He ducks his head to level our gazes. “You hardly know him?”

  “All of that.”

  “I know where he went when he left the meeting earlier.” King crosses back to his seat, dropping into it as he gestures for me to do the same. “He hasn’t actively sought out anybody to talk to since Carlos murdered his father, and sister.”

  I swallow hard, not liking where this is headed.

  “Maybe you don’t know him well enough to see it, but that, my girl, was a huge step for him. I love that man like blood. He’s my brother, and I’ll do anything to get him back in the right headspace. That includes givin’ you whatever it is you need to stick around long enough to help him out.” He sighs as he steeples his fingers before him. “I get you’ve got issues of your own, but I’m beggin’ you as a human being, just help my friend out before you break his heart and run.”

  Life would be so much simpler if the fear of making connections was the only thing making me want to run.

  “I care about him, a lot, and I don’t know why.”

  Silence stretches for an age before King finally speaks. “Perhaps he’s doing you a favor, too?”

  He is. But do I want him to? I crafted my cold and distant heart with hours of pain and hard work. Giving it up seems such a waste of the past three and a half years.

  “I want to stay,” I admit, “but I can’t if I’m going to cause trouble.”

  “You’re the only one who thinks you are.”

  I meet h
is stare, silently reminding him of why I was in here to begin with.

  “Digits.”

  “Me sticking around will just cause trouble between him and Hooch. I can’t do that; come in here and divide you all.”

  King tips his head to the side, and sighs. “They have beef brewin’ between them anyway. The whole Fort Worth clubhouse is coming out of a turbulent time, and there are unresolved grudges that have yet to work their way to the surface. You have no influence on that other than speeding up what was bound to happen anyway.”

  “It still feels uncomfortable, being between them like that. Even if I get Digits to back off, he’s going to hold a grudge if I’m in front of him with Hooch all the time.”

  “So let’s sort it now.”

  “Pardon?”

  “What’s Digits been doin’ to you?”

  “Nothing physical until now.”

  King nods. “Threats? Tellin’ you to do shit you’re not comfortable with? What?”

  He’s not going to let up on this. What have I got to lose, really? I keep quiet, and the tension between the three of us would drive me away anyway. So what if I just tell King and get kicked out all the same? What difference does it make?

  I lean to one side and pull the phone from the pocket of my jeans. King watches as I open the text thread, scroll to the top, and hand it over.

  My heart is a living thing in my throat as I watch him read the messages, his frown deepening and the color creeping into his face as he does. The silence is eerily ominous, the anger palpable. I consider snatching it away and bolting for the gates, avoiding the fallout entirely.

  But then I think of Hooch, and how leaving means Digits won. Even if the sleazy asshole doesn’t get me, he’s made sure Hooch misses out too. The exact kind of games my father would play.

  I let terror reign over me once before. We aren’t afforded second chances in life to do things right, just to spit it in the eye.

  Nope. Not this time.

  I grip the edges of the seat to physically force myself to stay. King is terrifyingly quiet as he rises in smooth, measured movements and walks to the office door. I stay frozen to the chair, facing forward, while behind me I hear him call out across the common room.