While pregnant.
And my honorary uncle . . . is really my father.
Wow.
ROOM TO MOVE
Bronx
Shocked doesn’t even come halfway close to describing the look on Ryan’s face. Or should I say Ryanna? You learn something new every day.
“What do you need me to do?” I test the water by reaching for her hand.
“Nothing.” She takes my fingers in her grasp, rubbing her thumb over the tips. “I’m sorry I snapped just before.”
“Forgiven.”
“Truth is, I’m not sure what I need. I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”
“It might take a while to sink in.” The woman’s had a mountain of shit to deal with during the last day. She’s probably at breaking point. First Tommy, then me revealing the truth, followed by breaking it off with Gunter, and now Harris. Busy times.
“She was pregnant, Bronx. There’s a whole other person that died that night I never knew about.”
What can I say? That shit happens? I think she knows that already. Nothing comes close to justifying the loss.
Ryan turns to face me, placing a hand on my jaw. “Thank you, for everything. Without you, I would probably have never had this—a chance to talk to Harris.”
“At least I got something right, huh?”
“You did.” Her thumb rubs gently under my lips, and she leans in, placing a chaste kiss to them. “I’m dog tired, and this, it’s just worn me out. Is there somewhere I can get a few hours sleep?”
“Sure. I could do with a few Zs of my own.” Nothing sounds more right than lying down beside this woman and pulling her against me. I might not be able to comfort her with words, but I can give doing it with my actions a damn good go.
“Actually,” she says, dropping her gaze from mine, “I was hoping for some time alone, to just think about things. Is that okay? I don’t want to offend you or anything.”
My balloon of anticipation deflates with a hiss. “Whatever you need. I’ll go track Sonya down, and she can tell you which room is free.”
“Thank you.”
I give her a pat on the leg and stand, heading to hunt out Sonya. I’ll admit it; it burns. She’d rather be alone than take whatever my company offers her. Again, I’m not enough. I’m not what somebody needs. Will I ever be? What’s so damn wrong with me that people push me to the outer? Am I that useless at being a friend, a lover? Am I that unimportant?
As I predicted, I find Sonya in the kitchen. But instead of cooking, she’s tucked up on the steel counter, reading a book in the sunshine that flows in through the windows overlooking the back yard. She places the book down in her lap, turning to look at me as I approach. “Everything okay? I heard that we’ve got a visitor from the Breed to see your girl.”
“Yeah.” I stop beside her, placing my hands on the edge of the counter. “She’s tired—we’ve both been up all night—so I was hopin’ you could help her out with somewhere to get some sleep.”
“Sure.” Sonya closes her book, slipping a marker into place. I take a step back and allow her to swing her legs off the counter and drop to the floor. “How you doing? You want me to make you up a bed somewhere?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ve got some stuff of my own to think on. Might go for a ride, get some fresh air, and hit the gym.”
She places a hand on my arm, giving it a gentle rub. “You’re doing a good thing, Bronx. You probably feel out of your depth, but whatever those bullies out there say, just focus on you. Do what you need to do to be happy.”
“If only it were that simple,” I say with a laugh. “It’s not like I messed up some drop-off or somethin’, Sonya. I fucked up somethin’ pretty damn important.”
“You’re human,” she says, “not perfect.”
“Doesn’t stop people expectin’ me to be.”
“Then you don’t need those people in your life, do you?”
“What if those people are my life?”
She holds my gaze with a gentle frown. “Then you need a change, sweetheart. Go, take your ride. I’ll see Ryan’s sorted out.”
“Thanks, Sonya.”
She gives my arm a pat and heads for the door before pausing and turning back to face me. “I know it’s not my place to know exactly what you boys are up to, but I’m not silly. I have ears and eyes, and Vince lets on more than he realizes. All I’ll say is I hope you lot know what you’re doing, stirring up the pot. I get King’s doing what he thinks is best for this club, but I worry. This isn’t the schoolyard anymore, and you’re not little boys playing with toy guns. People can get hurt—bad. Some of us already have.”
“I know. Trust me, I know.”
Sonya offers a sad smile, and then disappears through the door. When does it end? Does it ever? I’m sure we’ll figure out a new plan, go back and take down Eddie, get the cash flow King needs, but what then? One battle ends, and another begins. Power creates an insatiable hunger, and the hungry need to feed. The kinds of people who drive these empires aren’t the type to settle. They fight, undercut, and deceive each other to get more, greater returns for themselves. This isn’t a world where people lie idle, content with what they have. No matter how much money, power, or control these kingpins acquire, they’re always after something they don’t have.
Because isn’t that basic human nature? To want what you don’t have?
MORAL GUILT
King
The morning sun is a slight reprieve on what’s shaping up to be an otherwise dark day. I sit on the back deck of the clubhouse, my legs stretched out over the lawn, and soak up the warmth it offers. The wood creaks behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see Harris—or as he’d have his men call him, Tuck—approach, a bottle of Jack held tightly in his hand.
“Didn’t you bring me a beer?” I tease, turning back to watch a bird hop over the playhouse we made for the kids a few weeks back.
“Brought you something better.” Harris drops down beside me with the protests you’d expect from a man his age. He’s a little shy of fifteen years my senior, but the trials he’s put that body through make him physically closer to thirty years older.
I take the offered shot glass he pulls from inside his cut and hold it out as he pours us a first round from the bottle.
“To daughters,” he says, clinking the glasses. “May you never have one.”
I laugh and throw the whiskey back, taking up the bottle to give us a refill. “And to Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson,” I say, lifting my glass to his. “The men who created the beast that ruined us all.”
Harris chuckles, and throws back the second shot. We each take one more before setting the bottle aside and giving it a rest for now. Harris lifts his legs up, tucking his knees inside his arms and stares out over the back yard. “Been a long ride, brother. I ain’t said it to no one else, but this body’s gettin’ tired.”
“I’m hearin’ you.” I watch a couple of birds fight over a scrap of bread Sonya’s tossed on the grass after breakfast.
“Having this opportunity to sort things out with Ryan?” He fiddles with the ring her mother gave him. “It’s the last thing I was holdin’ on for.”
I turn my gaze back to him, a frown letting him know the last admission has me a little confused. “Holdin’ on? What do you mean?”
“I have stage three liver cancer, King. Had an appointment last week. They told me it’s spread to nearby organs.”
“You supposed to be drinking?” I straighten up and narrow my gaze on the man.
“No point trying to flog a dead horse, my boy. I’ve already had a good part of it cut out, and the cancer still came back. I got less than a seven percent chance at survivin’, King. You tell me that this worn-out body’s capable of that kind of fuckin’ fight.”