Existential (Fallen Aces MC Book 4)

by Max Henry

  “You heard all that, huh?”

  “Guilty.” Her baby blues creep open, and she props herself up slowly on the pillows, throwing one my way.

  I place it behind my back against the footboard, and face her. “I don’t understand him, Beth.”

  “No one does. It’s why he’s been alone for so long. Only Mel and Dana ever got his quirks and mood swings—family and all.”

  “I’m torn, you know?” I fidget with a speck of something under my nail. “I’ve got nothing to go to if I leave, but staying only hurts more.”

  “He won’t always be like this.” She shrugs one shoulder. “The guys always get real distant when they’re tied up in club business.”

  “How do you put up with it, though? The constant push and pull?”

  Beth fusses with the blanket over her legs, yawning. “I make the routine mine. He pulls me close, I relish it, make memories for the quiet times. And when he pushes me away, I enjoy the time to myself, the break from it all.”

  “Crackers, right?” I caught the panic on his face when he spotted her bleeding downstairs.

  She nods, the evidence of her altercation clear as day in the swelling and bruising around her nose and eyes. “We aren’t exclusive, but I haven’t been with another man for over a year.”

  “What’s stopping you being a couple?”

  She shrugs. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t look at me that way.”

  “He sleeps with other women?”

  She nods, the pain as clear to read as a printed page. “Like I said, we aren’t exclusive.”

  Still … how does she put up with it? How does he not see what it does to her? I don’t understand the rules around members and property, but damn it all if it doesn’t seem a little one-sided.

  “Does …” I can’t even voice the thought. “Does Hooch sleep with other women?”

  “I don’t think so.” Beth frowns, leaning forward to take my hand. “He’s not the same as Crackers, so don’t go gettin’ it in your sweet head that he’s heading off to spend time with another woman. They’re away on business, that’s all.”

  It may as well be another woman though for the amount of time he spends away from me. I could count the hours we’ve had together on one hand.

  Why do I stay?

  I swing my legs around and sit on the side of the bed as Beth studies me quietly. There’s no denying I feel something for the big moron, but I can’t be a part of this pantomime. He wants me, he ignores me, he pleads with me to understand, and yet he won’t give me anything to help me do exactly that.

  I can’t waste my days because this might be the best I get.

  “When are they back?” I hang my head as I ask the question, unable to look Beth in the eye in case she can read my intentions clear as day.

  “Crackers said at least three days.”

  Plenty of time to get distance between us before he even realizes I’m missing. A small pang of regret grows in my gut at the thought of cutting and running, but surely he’ll understand? He’s blinded by his fantasy of what he thinks we have, when I’m around. Maybe if I go, maybe these days on the road away from me, will show him that he doesn’t need me after all.

  Hooch isn’t the man who came looking for solace in the laundry room anymore. He hasn’t said a thing about stepping down since he got back to Fort Worth—if anything, he dove in to the role deeper. He’s got everything he needs to get better here already. He doesn’t need me anymore.

  Everybody comes into your life for a reason, and maybe, just maybe, this is my sign that our time for each other has passed.

  Neither of us needs somebody else to hold up us like we thought we did. Both of us are stronger than we realized. Two independent souls who simply needed to meet another the same, to see what was right in front of us the whole time.

  That some people are destined to walk alone, whether they like it or not.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Hooch

  Six patched Harley riders cruising into the parking lot would make any motel owner nervous, but when we’re miles from somewhere friendly to layover our options are limited. Money talks, and before the hour is out the guys have crammed themselves into one of the four rooms we rented for the night, playing caps.

  I hang around in the covered walkway, enjoying the laughter that drifts from the open door. Murphy steps out, joining me in the cool night air, his eyes immediately honing in on the same thing I look at.

  Digits sits astride his bike on the far side of the lot, talking on the phone.

  “Who does he need to dial up this time of night?”

  “Fucked if I’d know, considerin’ he shot the only piece of ass he’s got to check in with back home.”

  “Kind of what I was gettin’ at, brother.”

  We’re somewhere around three hours from our destination—a house in the suburbs, that’s all I know. The snake’s kept his cards close, and to say that pisses me off would be an understatement.

  “I want this to be one big fuckin’ misunderstanding, you know?”

  Murphy nods, plucking a smoke from his pack. “Aye. You know it won’t be though.”

  “Yeah, I know.” My gun’s loaded and on me at all times, and it’s not from risk of enemies stumbling over our whereabouts.

  It’s friendly fire I’m ready for.

  “None of this is your fault, you realize that?”

  I glance at Murphy as he lights his stick, eyeballing me to make sure I understand. “All I want is for our club to get back to basics. For the guys to fuckin’ get along.” I turn my head and watch Digits as he pockets the phone. “But it seems like such a goddamn pipedream these days.”

  “It won’t always be like this.”

  “Won’t it?”

  The day King sat me down and detailed his dream to steer our clubs away from the illegal business we’re wrapped up in, and streamline our profits from above board, moral avenues, I was so goddamn proud of him. Everything he said made sense, and although it would mean a huge hit to earnings, I could see it working.

  Cut the drug supply out of our cities, work with youth to deter beginner crimes and steer them in the right direction, encourage growth within local businesses so that the young and restless had legitimate ways to earn.

  Do the fucking things we’ve always pretended to do to keep the heat off our clubs. Be the men we say we are.

  And it worked for a while. Coke and ice usage dropped within the first months. Youth crime rates dropped by seven percent, and the Fallen Aces hired a lawyer to look over some legitimate investment options for when our debt to the Koreans is paid off.

  We had a five-year plan that looked like it would be done in three. And now I look across a cracked and rutted fucking parking lot at the man I used to trust with these kinds of ideas, and wonder how many others in the room behind me are fucking me over without my knowledge?

  Who the hell can I trust? You know who. Yeah, I do, but what’s the point in fighting for Dagne if I don’t have any way to provide for her? I’m male—it’s in my DNA. I provide for and protect those I care about. It’s just what I do.

  Murphy stamps his cigarette out and pats me on the shoulder as he turns for the motel room. “Don’t think too hard on it, son.” His gaze flits to Digits as he climbs off his bike. “We go to this address tomorrow and see what we find. Maybe we shut down whoever is using the Wingmen, maybe we don’t. Either way we’re ridin’ back one lighter.” His dark eyes find mine, the wisdom and experience in them almost tangible. “Best you remember that.”

  I pull out a cigarette of my own as he disappears inside and Digits crosses the lot to where I stand. The fucking snake has the audacity to smile as he approaches.

  “Everything good, pres?”

  “Don’t know.” I light the stick, sucking hard. “You tell me.”

  “Look,” he says, leaning against an upright for the walkway roof. “I get you can’t trust me at the moment.”

  “Oh, it’s not just now,” I sco
ff. “I don’t think I will ever again.”

  His eyes narrow, his jaw hardening. “Anyway.”

  I smirk, lifting the cigarette to my lips again.

  “I took care of Heather so you didn’t have to. I was doin’ you a favor.” Fucking asshole believes his own bullshit.

  I lean in close and cock my head a little. “Do I look like a fuckin’ idiot to you?”

  “No.” He straightens against the pole.

  “Then why you talkin’ to me like I am one?” I blow the smoke from my lungs into his face and back up, turning to step away when he opens his goddamn trap.

  “You’re not an idiot, pres.” I stop dead in my tracks. “You’re fuckin’ weak.”

  I turn slowly, checking as I do to see if anyone inside has picked up on the conversation out here. Negative. “Come again?”

  “You’re weak.” Jerk puffs his chest out and tips his chin up, daring me to say otherwise. “You fuckin’ fall apart and everyone pats your back like you’re a goddamn hero. You’re nothing but a fuckin’ name. If your old man didn’t have that job before you, you wouldn’t have stood a goddamn chance at gettin’ the gavel.”

  I hit him so hard that his head snaps back against the pole. The metal rings like a tuning fork as he shakes the fog in his brain away.

  “You think you’d make a better president?” I ask as Murphy and Jo Jo squeeze themselves through the doorway as one.

  “What the fuck is goin’ on?” Murphy asks, stepping between us.

  Crackers appears behind Jo Jo, giving me a silent nod of solidarity. He gets this.

  “Tell them what you just told me,” I say to Digits, jerking my head to the men crowded in the doorway.

  He looks them over, scowling. “Can’t tell me none of you don’t feel the same.” Digits jerks his head my way, eyeballing the men. “Only reason Hooch sits at the head of the table is because his old man put him there.” He turns, looking me up and down with disgust. “Why else would we vote in a junkie drunk to lead our club?”

  Jo Jo steps back inside the room, as does Timmy-boy who’s along on the trip for experience. I don’t take offense to it; they’re not the kind to get involved in disputes. Jo Jo is the best soldier a man could ask for. He doesn’t have to like you to respect you, and if your name is attached to the top billing, he’ll work for you until he can’t physically move to lift a hand anymore.

  “You’re makin’ some pretty hefty accusations there, boy,” Murphy warns.

  “I’m tellin’ the truth,” Digits challenges. “When this trip is over, I’m callin’ for a vote of non-confidence.”

  “You fuckin’ serious?” Crackers exclaims. “On what grounds?”

  “He’s been dealing with feds behind our backs, gettin’ wasted and leavin’ you to take charge, endangering the club by getting sloppy with his fuckin’ executions.”

  “Sloppy?” I half laugh.

  “Yeah. You buried that body properly, Jessup would never have found it.”

  “Maybe I wanted it found?” Just not by the law. The grave was obvious to anyone actively searching so that Carlos would see the job had been done. “How else would Carlos believe his idiots had topped Mel?”

  “How fuckin’ stupid is that?” Digits shakes his head. “I’m done keeping quiet on your shit, Hooch. You put this club at risk.”

  “And what do you fuckin’ care about the club, you conniving, abusive fuckin’ asshole?”

  “More than you.”

  “That why you’re blatantly breaking bylaws so you can try and get your dick wet where it ain’t welcome?”

  “What?” Digits feigns shock as the other men stand in silence, watching on.

  “I know what you were doin’ with Dagne, asshole. I saw the messages you sent her, blackmailing her, threatening her to try and get her to submit to you.” I step forward, thrusting my finger in his chest with each final word. “She. Doesn’t. Like. You.”

  “Even if it’s unwanted,” he sneers, “the attention I would have given her is more than you have.”

  My hand slips to his throat, Murphy’s arm wrapped around my shoulders in response as he tries to coax me off.

  “Easy, brother.”

  “That how you broke Heather?” I ask, hand still on Digits’ throat. “Abuse and rape her until she gave in?”

  “Bitch liked it in the end, didn’t she?”

  I push hard against his windpipe as I lift my other hand to join the first, yet Crackers latches on to my wrist and twists me off Digits with Murphy’s help. Blood rushes past my ears as I stare down my VP and SA in turn, settling on Murphy as he mutters. “Either way, remember?”

  Right. Now isn’t the time, as much as I’d love to choke the life right out of this no-good traitor. Tomorrow his number is up. Tomorrow he deals the hand he’s been given.

  And I hold all the aces.

  FORTY

  Dagne

  My hand lingers over the phone as I set it down on the nightstand. The screen is lit, a message from Hooch sitting in the center. With a sigh, I give in to curiosity and swipe it open to read the whole thing.

  You don’t want to talk, okay. But let me know you’re all right.

  He tried ringing last night, several times, and each call I sent straight to voicemail—which incidentally isn’t set up so he can’t leave one. It’s petty and childish, burying my head in the sand and pretending the problem doesn’t exist. But talking with him would mean a messy exit, and if I’m going to do this and uphold the belief I’m doing the right thing, I need a clean break.

  I ignore the message, putting the phone back to sleep, and pick up my bag off the floor. The ringtone sounds as I reach the end of the hallway, but I don’t turn back. He’ll find the phone beside his bed when he returns, and by then the reason why I didn’t answer will be crystal clear.

  Beth sits curled in one of the armchairs near the parlor fireplace, a magazine in her hands as she idly flicks the pages. A smile crosses her bruised face as she catches me walk in, and she sets the gossip mag aside to stand and greet me with a hug.

  I told her what I was doing when she caught me packing my things in the bathroom early this morning. She might not be pleased, but she understands … I think.

  “You keep in touch, okay? Send me letters from my Aunt Celia, and then nobody will know it’s you.”

  I laugh, squeezing her a little tighter. She’s grown on me in the time we’ve spent together. “I’ll do my best.” I pull back, holding her shoulders still. “But you have to promise to talk to Crackers for me, okay? Don’t make my mistake by keeping it all inside.”

  “You know,” she says, dropping out of my hold to the edge of her seat. “It’s not too late for you to do the same.”

  “I don’t think it’d have the same outcome,” I tell her truthfully.

  Even if I laid my heart out on the line and gave Hooch and I a real go, I get the feeling he wouldn’t be all that fast at reciprocating. Our thing, whatever it would be, would always be one-sided. I know it.

  “At least join me for breakfast before you go.” Beth reaches up, playfully poking me in my ribs. “Need to fatten you up before you’re slummin’ it again.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Hooch isn’t due back until tomorrow, so what’s the harm?

  The morning warms as Beth and I sit in the dining area, the sun shining most of the way across the floor by the time she stacks our empty bowls and glasses. I’ll miss these moments, but then they were never mine to begin with and the memories I’ve made while I’ve been at Fort Worth were always borrowed.

  This isn’t my home. It can’t be when I’m still missing the one thing I need to make it complete: love.

  I’m wanted. I’m appreciated. And I’d even go as far as to say I’m accepted now.

  But I’m not loved, adored, and desired by the one person who brought me here for that.

  And those are the things I can’t just pretend to have. I need it to be real.

  “Have you tried callin’ your mom again
?” Beth asks as we walk through to the kitchen.

  I take the glasses from her, rinsing them first as she sets the bowls down on the counter. “No. I’m going to leave it for a while. Maybe head that way and try again when I’m settled.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  I confided in her and told her a little about my history. Just enough that she knows Mom and I are estranged, but not why.

  “The more time that passes,” I admit, “the more I’m at peace with how it is.”

  She passes the first bowl over, leaning her hip into the edge of the counter. “That’s kind of sad, Dagne.”

  “I know.” I hesitate, feeling the ridges of the ceramic under my thumb. “All I can do is hope that one day it’ll change, right?”

  “I guess.”

  We tidy away the rest of our mess, chatting about pointless topics to fill the time. I know why she does it; to delay the inevitable, and I appreciate it, especially when reality sinks in as I stand at the front steps an hour later, giving her a weak smile.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Beth crosses her arms, rubbing her sides as she sighs. “It’s not you I’m most worried about.”

  “Hooch will be fine, too.” I have to believe he will, otherwise I’ll forever live with the guilt if I hear he does something rash because I left.

  All indicators are that he’s better. He’s alert, interested in his work, and he commands the men around this place with confidence. The only problem he has … is me.

  I can’t help but feel that if I uncomplicated things for him, he’ll find it easier to get back to the man he was before I knew him.

  “If he retreats into his shell,” I tell Beth, “then promise me you’ll nag him until he talks to someone.” I look at her, tapping my fingertips against my bottom lip. “His biggest problem is that he won’t ask for help because it looks weak.”

  She nods, reaching out to run a hand over my upper arm. “Take care, okay?”

  I smile and turn away before I can change my mind. Hooch will be fine. Beth will be fine. Nobody actually needs me—nobody ever has. All I’ve ever been is a catalyst to their change. Still, as I walk down the long drive and see all the work I put in to tidy up the place, something stirs in my gut. I close my eyes, blindly walking over the messed up dirt for a few steps while I gather myself.