by Ivy Black
“But surely, he’s got a supervisor. Somebody he answers to,” she says. “I bet if you called and told them what this creep is doing, they’ll make him back off. The last thing a federal agency wants is that kind of publicity.”
“Well, I’m hoping that he’ll back off after today,” I say.
“We can hope,” she replies. “I mean, you did say he apologized, right?”
I nod. “He did,” I tell her. “But he still acted like I owed him something. Like I owed him my attention. He acted like I should roll over and thank my lucky stars he’s paying attention to me. He acts like he’s God’s gift.”
“Ugh. I know that type,” she says. “They’re horrible to deal with.”
“They really are,” I reply. “Anyway, how are Aaron and the kids?”
She rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, but a small smile touches her lips. She and Aaron are what the kids these days call, “relationship goals”. She feigns exasperation, but they’re deeply in love and a real team. I love watching them together and love watching them with their kids even more.
There are days I wish I could have what they have. But given the implosion of my relationship with Milo, I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me. It makes me sad for me but that doesn’t diminish the happiness I feel for Robin. She’s a good person and deserves all the joy she can handle.
“They’re good. The kids are as spastic as ever,” she says. “But they’re growing so fast and our place is just getting to be too small. We’re all tripping over each other. We really need to find a new place soon.”
“Are you guys looking?”
“Not yet. We can’t really afford it,” she replies. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to start looking in the next year or so. Until then, we’re going to have to get used to being crammed into a cracker box.”
I laugh softly. “I wish I had the money to buy you a house,” I say. “I would. In a heartbeat.”
“I know you would,” she replies with a gentle smile. “And I appreciate that about you. You’re the sweetest.”
“That depends on who you ask,” I say with a grin.
“Well, anybody who doesn’t think so is a flat-out idiot.”
We sit in silence for a moment, each of us sipping our coffee, lost in our thoughts. But then she sets her cup down and smiles wide, giving me a mischievous grin—a grin that, because I know her so well, tells me I’m not going to like what she’s about to say.
“So I met one of Aaron’s coworkers the other day and—”
“Oh, heck no,” I say with another laugh. “I’m so totally not letting you set me up with somebody again.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because the last one was an unmitigated disaster maybe?”
“Hey, it’s not my fault,” she replies. “How was I supposed to know he had some serious issues?”
“If you’re going to set me up with somebody, I expect that you’ll have vetted them first!” I cry out, chuckling.
“Okay, fine, lesson learned,” she replies. “But Aaron’s coworker—”
“Hard pass. But thank you for looking out for my social calendar.”
She looks at me. “I just want to see you happy and in love, Hadley.”
“I’ve got a lot going on right now. School and work keep me plenty busy,” I reply. “I don’t have time for a relationship right now.”
“Is that the only reason you don’t want to meet somebody?” she asks, an eyebrow arched suspiciously.
“What other reason would there be?”
“That you’re still hung up on a certain big, burly biker?”
I scoff and wave her off then take a drink of my coffee. But Robin continues to stare holes through me, her expression earnest. I set my cup down and sigh.
“It has nothing to do with him,” I say. “I’m over it.”
“Yeah, I doubt that’s the case. Don’t forget that I know you better than anybody. You can’t lie to me, baby.”
I laugh softly. The truth is, no, I’m not fully over Milo. But I doubt I’m ever going to be fully over him. It’s just the way I am. He claimed a special place in my heart and it will always be his. There’s nothing to be done about that other than learn to cope with the pain his absence causes me and move forward. It’s one reason I’ve buried myself in my work and my education—having less idle time and an occupied mind means less time and less brain space with which to dwell.
“I’m just not looking for anything right now, Robin,” I say softly. “I’m not in a place where I can deal with any kind of emotional entanglement.”
Robin frowns but her eyes shine with sympathy. “I get it,” she says. “And I’ll do my best to stop pressing so hard.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
“Have you thought about calling him? Seeing if you can talk it out?”
I shake my head. “No, I feel like it’s all kind of toxic. I just don’t think we’re good together—or for each other—right now. The truth is, I don’t think I’m good for anybody at all right now.”
“Well, I know that’s not true. I happen to be of the opinion that you would add amazing things to anybody’s life.”
I grin. “I think you’re biased.”
“Maybe. Probably,” she replies “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I want to see you happy, content, and living your best life, Had.”
A smile flickers across my lips. I’d love to see all of that too. I really would. But like a loving partner, beautiful home, and incredible children, I don’t know that’s in the cards for me either.
Chapter Five
Nitro
I sit at a table in the clubhouse, jotting down some notes in my notebook. Most of the night before had been spent trying to learn how to run a proper investigation. After spending most of the night Googling it and watching episodes of Law & Order, as well as Criminal Minds, I’m fairly confident in saying I can probably find a murderer. But a mole within our MC? Not so much.
The one thing everything I saw and read agreed on is that the first thing I need to figure out is motive. Finding out the why is going to lead me to the who. Or so they say. It’s times like these I wish I’d gone to college. I’m not stupid. Far from it, actually. It sounds arrogant to say, I know, but I’m a very smart guy. There are some practical things though I could have really stood to learn. While there are some things I missed out on for not having a proper and formal education, I still don’t regret forgoing college in favor of what I did.
“Beer?”
I look up and see our prospect, Blake, standing behind the bar. I’d never even heard him come in.
“Jesus, kid. Wear a fuckin’ bell,” I gripe. “Don’t be sneakin’ up on people like that. Good way to get yourself shot.”
He grins at me. “Sorry.”
The bruises on his face stand out and he’s still moving around a little gingerly. The beating he took out on that road was pretty savage. But he seems to be recovering well enough.
“Yeah, I’ll take a beer,” I say. “Thanks.”
Blake limps over and sets one down in front of me then takes a seat across the table without invitation. For a prospect, he’s got balls. I’ve got to give him that. He looks at me as he takes a pull from his own bottle, his eyes studying me closely. He’s got questions, I can tell. The kid’s inquisitive.
He’s about a decade younger than my thirty-six years, but I swear to God, I sometimes feel like I’m twice my age. He’s got sandy blond hair that hangs to his shoulders, a neatly trimmed beard, and green eyes. He’s a tall, fit kid who works out a lot and takes care of himself. But like most of the rest of us, the kid has demons. I recognize the look in his eyes.
“Corps, right?” I ask.
He nods. “Intelligence.”
“How many tours did you do?”
A rueful laugh escapes him. “Feels like a thousand,” he mutters. “Sometimes, it feels like I never left. Like I’m still stuck in the
shit over there.”
I nod. “That’s pretty common around here. Most of us feel like we left some piece of ourselves in the shit. And I suppose we did.”
“Nightmares?” he asks. “Uncontrolled fits of rage?”
I nod. “We’ve all been there, brother. Have you talked to any of the shrinks down at the VA?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m not big on the whole touchy-feely therapy crap. Not really my bag. Don’t need somebody telling me to embrace my inner child and shit. I’ll get through it on my own.”
I slam my bottle down on the table harder than was necessary, mostly just to get his attention. It works as he looks up at me, his eye twitching like he’s nervous.
“No, you won’t get through it on your own. You’ll probably end up drinking a lot. And when that doesn’t work, maybe you’ll turn to drugs,” I say. “You’ll find yourself doing just about anything to keep a lid on your shit. Or at least, try to. But eventually, you’re going to snap and do something you’ll regret. Trust me on that. Seen it too many fuckin’ times already.”
Blake frowns as he looks at me. “Where’d you serve?”
“Afghanistan. Did four tours,” I say. “Served in Prophet’s unit.”
He looks down at his bottle and tears small strips off the label. I can see his mind working and know that he’s flashing back to some of the shit he saw and did over there. He’s got that pained, haunted look on his face I know so well.
“Do yourself and everybody else around you a favor and try one of the shrinks at the VA. You’ve got to start working through some of your shit, kid,” I tell him. “It’s like cancer. The longer you don’t treat it, the more it’ll spread and rot everything inside of you. Everything good in your life until you’re nothin’ but a hollowed-out shell of a human being, alone and miserable. At that point, you might as well eat a bullet. Don’t let it get to that point.”
He nods and actually seems to be considering my words. It tells me his issues must run real deep. He finally looks up and takes a long swallow of his beer then sets the bottle back down on top of the ring on the table.
“Is it true you lied about your age to get into the Corps?” he asks.
A rueful grin touches my lips and I nod. “Sure did. Had a fake ID made and everything—they needed bodies and weren’t checkin’ backgrounds too hard when I signed my papers.”
“Why?” he asks, shaking his head.
It’s sometimes hard for me to remember that Blake was just a little kid when those planes flew into the Towers. Too young to really remember it. But I do. I remember it like it happened just yesterday.
“A lot of us rushed to enlist after 9/11,” I say. “I remember being so pissed off that our country was attacked that I tested out, got my GED, and enlisted. A lot of people did. I mean, people were flockin’ to sign up, all of us ready to go over there and kick some terrorist ass.”
“Looking at it in hindsight… do you regret it?” Blake asks.
“Not for a second.”
“Not even with all of the baggage you brought back with you?”
I take a pull off my bottle and shake my head. “I’d do it all again,” I reply. “What about you? Regret enlisting?”
He purses his lips. “Sometimes, yeah.”
“So why’d you enlist?”
He smirks. “For the college money. Figured since I couldn’t afford to put myself through school, I’d let Uncle Sam do it.”
I chuckle and nod. “Smart.”
“Yeah, fat lot of good it’s doing me now.”
I lean forward and pin him to his seat with my gaze. “Then you need to make it do some good for you. You put in the work. Reap the benefit,” I tell him. “Get your ass into school, kid. Don’t make the same mistakes some of us have. Find yourself a career and do that.”
I sit back and stare at him. Blake is fidgeting in his seat, clutching his bottle in his hand hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
“I don’t know, man,” Blake says. “I like what we’ve got here in the club.”
“The club is great. I love it too,” I tell him. “But there’s nothing saying you can’t have more. Get into therapy. Get your head on straight, and get your ass into school.”
Blake drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle down. “What do you think you’d be doing? I mean, if you hadn’t enlisted and all. Where do you think your life would’ve gone?”
I shrug. “Honestly, I think I could’ve been happy being a cop,” I reply. “Strange to say it now, but I thought about majoring in something like Criminal Justice.”
Blake chuckles as he looks at me pointedly. “Can’t see you being a cop.”
“Yeah well, that was another lifetime,” I tell him.
I’ll never regret doing what I did. I’ll never regret fighting for my country. Not for a minute. But there’s no denying that I came home from the war a different man than the one who enlisted. And I can’t say it’s for the better. Deep down, I want to be the guy I was before I went to boot camp. Back then, before all that, I was a free spirit. I laughed a lot. Joked a lot. I played hard and loved harder. I remember having a lightness in my heart that I haven’t felt in a really long time. I miss that. I miss the person I used to be.
“You ever married?” Blake asks.
“Jesus, what’s with all the questions?” I ask. “For somebody who’s avoiding shrinks like the plague, you sure ask enough questions to be one.”
He chuckles. “I’m going to assume by your dodging the question that you were. Or maybe are, although I don’t see a ring.”
“No. Never married. But I was in love once,” I say and look at him pointedly. “But because I didn’t get help for my shit, I blew that relationship up.”
He looks at me blankly, as if he’s not connecting the dots and all I can do is roll my eyes. Jesus, this kid is young.
“What I’m saying is that until you get your shit squared away, you’re going to push people away and blow up every meaningful relationship in your life,” I spell it out for him. “Like I said, get some help. Now. Get working on yourself and don’t do the stupid shit some of us have. We’re a cautionary tale, kid. Not role models.”
The door to the clubhouse opens. “Hey, prospect,” Spyder calls. “Get your ass out here. My bike needs to be washed.”
Blake gives me a lopsided grin as he gets to his feet and heads out. Spyder gives me a wave so I raise my bottle to him in return. When the door closes, leaving me alone in the clubhouse again, I lean back in my chair and let my mind wander. Blake’s questioning brings the memories of her floating to the surface. Like an old ghost rising from the grave, I can see her face in my mind’s eye. Even just the memory of her blue eyes, so piercing and beautiful, can still set my soul on fire. Fucking things up with her is the one thing I truly regret in my life.
Before we called it quits, my ex, Hadley, said I was broken. It really pissed me off at the time and led to a huge fight between us. But looking back at it now, with the benefit of hindsight, I’d have to say she’s right. I’m broken. There are definitely some pieces missing—pieces I’m probably never going to get back. But I still go to my groups. Still try to collect as many of those pieces as I can and try to put them back together in some semblance of order.
After my issues ruined what had been the best relationship I’ve ever had, I started seeing the shrink down at the Veteran’s Administration hospital, Dr. Porter. She turned me on to some support and therapy groups. I’ve been going to Dr. Porter and the groups for years now and yeah, they’ve helped some. If nothing else, it makes me realize that I’m not alone. That I’m not the only one struggling with shit stirred up by my time over in Afghanistan and Iraq. It’s helped some.
Pushing all of that out of my mind, I turn back to the notebook in front of me and try to focus on the task at hand. The first thing I need to figure out is motive. Why would somebody have hit our convoy? The obvious answer is for our weed and guns
—which makes the suspect pool ridiculously large.
But figuring out who knew we were ferrying the weed and guns to the clubhouse makes our suspect pool a lot smaller and more manageable—everybody in the MC, as well as Cort and his guys. That’s it. And my first instinct is, of course, to think Cort was behind it. He gets our money as well as the weed and guns back, double-dipping when he resells the shipment.
It’s a solid theory. Except that, as I’ve been giving it more thought and trying to be fair in my investigation, I realize it’s got a big flaw in it. The flaw being that Cort knows that if we ever found out it was him, not only would he be losing his biggest customer, we’d also kill him. Not only that but it would also destroy his reputation. And in the business he’s in, his reputation is critical. If word gets out that he’s clipping his customers, nobody’s going to want to work with him—which would kill his business.
That blows a big hole in my theory. That’s not saying I’m ruling Cort out, but I’m putting him on the back burner for now. So that leaves me back at square one. All questions, no answers. I cycle back to the basic question I’ve been asking myself this whole time—what’s the motive? Who stands to benefit from jacking our shipment? And maybe more importantly, who has the balls to take shots at us and jack our shipment?
Being out there, in the thick of it, I didn’t get the feeling that it was a targeted attack. I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain it wasn’t a hit. I can say with almost absolute certainty that, given that they were white, it wasn’t Zavala’s guys looking for some payback.
So, for me, that boils it down to money. Whoever hit us, they did it for the money—which, according to the things I read and watched, is one of the biggest motives for murder. Or, in this case, attempted murder. Money is a powerful motivator for people to do some evil shit.
But if it’s not Cort or one of his guys, that means it’s somebody in the MC—which is problematic for a million different reasons. I can’t even begin to fathom that. The idea that one of our guys would turn against us, would go against his brothers, is something that doesn’t make sense to me. Something that I don’t understand. All of us were in the service, and we all know what it means to be a brotherhood. The idea that one of us would turn against the brotherhood—our brotherhood—turns my stomach. It sickens me.