Mountain Misfits MC: Complete Box Set

by Voss, Deja

  Now that I’ve started, I don’t want to stop. The knife that’s been lodged in my thigh for all these years has been ripped out, and I’m going to bleed until there’s nothing left to give.

  “Hmmm... what else can I offer you if we’re doing total honesty? This,” I say, lifting up the sleeve of my shirt, showing him my arm. “This was what did me in for good. I’m lucky I can even move my fingers on this hand. This is what got him locked up. The police were at the hospital, telling me they were going to arrest us, telling me all I had to do was roll over and be a good girl and all this would go away. Sure, I’d spoken with them in the past, but I never thought I’d actually go through with it. I trusted him so much that I figured he would make it all go away before it was even an issue, that somehow we’d both come out unscathed, but he trusted me so much that he didn’t even realize there was an issue to begin with.”

  He grabs my arm, tracing the deep scar barely concealed by the muddy floral tattoo and I jerk away from him, embittered by his touch.

  “I rolled over. I narked. And I’ve spent the past five years trying to get out from under that dark cloud. Buried myself in a career that I don’t even one hundred percent know if I want. Isolated myself from the world. Hated myself. Then you came along and I started feeling like I’m not that person anymore. But in your eyes, in the eyes of the club, in the eyes of your family, I always will be.”

  “Sloan, come on,” he growls. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think I would honestly hear everything you just told me and blame you for your actions? He was hurting you!”

  “Exactly. He hurt me. He broke me. I’m damaged fucking goods. Maybe you would’ve heard all that and been sympathetic for me, but do you really think you would’ve wanted to spend the rest of your life constantly worrying that you might trigger me or upset me to the point that I run to the police and do the same thing to you? I just wanted a clean slate.”

  I thought there would be tears by this point, but now I’m just mad. Mad at myself for even going down this path. Mad at him for taking me here. I’m mad that he doesn’t just wrap me in his arms and tell me everything is going to be ok.

  “You can’t tell me what I would or wouldn’t have done, Sloan. As much as I don’t know the first thing about you, you obviously don’t know anything about me.”

  “Gavin,” I say, reaching out for him. I’ve never seen him this way before. He doesn’t look angry and he doesn’t look sad. He is expressionless. His stoic eyes look chiseled in stone and it feels like he’s staring right through me.

  “You need to get out of here,” he says, his voice stern. He turns his back to me, walking away slowly.

  Esther reaches out and grabs his arm. “Gavin,” she pleads, “don’t do this. The poor girl just dumped her heart out to you.”

  “Yeah, well, I handed her mine from day one. If she couldn’t tell what kind of person I was by that, it’s not worth my time. I guess Dad was right. She is nothing but trouble.”

  She shakes her head sadly, squeezing his hand, and he makes his way back into the clubhouse. I stand paralyzed. I just want someone to say something to me, anything that will make me feel even remotely better.

  “You gotta go,” Esther says. “You don’t belong here, Sloan.”

  “What happened to girls like us stick together?”

  “You’re not like us. I’m sorry you had some tough breaks. Nobody deserves to go through what you’ve been through. But girls like me don’t use our pain to hurt other people. My brother might be rough around the edges, but he would’ve done anything in the world for you, no matter how shitty your past was. You really hurt his feelings. I thought you were different than the rest of the folks down there, Sloan. I thought you were better than making wild assumptions about who we are and what we do. You’re no better than the rest.”

  There’s nothing I can do but walk away.

  I can feel this huge mountain closing in around me. It doesn’t matter where I turn, which way I go, I’m the outcast here, the misfit. Nobody is going to take my side.

  Even though the sun is shining, I feel like a dark cloud is permanently affixed over my head. I realize that Arthur got exactly what he wanted for me all this time.

  He has his freedom, doing who knows what somewhere in South America, probably living the life of his dreams, and I’m stuck in a cage, forever trapped by my past mistakes, unable to escape from that person he turned me into. The wash of colors that have taken over the leaves on the trees over the past week normally make me feel exhilarated, but I just want them to hurry up and fall. Hurry up and fall so life can go back to sad and gray, and I don’t have to think about how beautiful things might have been.

  Chapter 30

  Sloan:

  “You look like death warmed over,” Carol says to me as I walk into the lobby of the emergency room. “What happened to you?”

  It’s been a lot of sleepless nights with my couch drug up against the door of my apartment. A lot of pacing around waiting for something to happen. A lot of trying to hold my shit together and showing up to work with a smile on my face and a skip in my step. Gallons of coffee and stale doughnuts and anything to take the edge off of how I feel. I even splurged on a couple of bottles of cheap vodka to try and numb whatever this feeling is inside of me, but the reality is, I am already numb. I’m just going through the motions.

  Apparently today was the day when everything hits me all at once and I can’t hold it in any longer. Everything in my life is just plain sad. Even this place, this place that I once wanted to revolve my life around just looks sad, gray, dismal. Where I used to see my role at giving people another chance at living, I feel like there’s just no point anymore.

  “Somebody dropped this off for you this morning,” she says, handing me my uncharged cellphone. “Not sure who; I wasn’t working yet when they stopped by.”

  I shrug and slip it in my pocket. I don’t want to talk to anyone anyway. Nobody who I care about wants to talk to me, either.

  “Sloan, what is your malfunction today?” she snaps.

  I feel like now is when I’m supposed to cry.

  But I don’t. I just stare at her like she’s an alien or something and I can’t comprehend the words coming out of her mouth.

  “There’s lasagna in the breakroom,” she says, trying to be kind.

  “Oh fuck off,” I yell, turning and running down the hall. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at pasta the same way again. I know I’m being completely irrational right now, but I am overwhelmed.

  “What? Did you just find out you’re allergic to gluten or something?” she calls after me. “Sloan! Come back here, honey. You need to talk to me.”

  I pull the stack of papers out of the office with the patients whose rehab plans I need to check in on for the afternoon. Mr. Patrick Hoffman. The ladder guy. Fell down and broke his hip and punctured his lung. I’m assuming he’s heavily sedated right now, according to his file. He sounds like the perfect patient for me to spend some time with today.

  I knock softly before stepping into his room. He’s an older gentleman, and his gray-haired wife sits next to his sleeping body, her hand on top of his.

  Ugh, I think. I don’t have the stomach for classic love stories right now.

  “Mrs. Hoffman?” I ask.

  “Are you the nice doctor who helped my husband yesterday?” She’s smiling at me, her thin lips stretched across perfectly white dentures.

  “Hold on a minute,” I say, staring up at the TV on the wall. The local news is on. Across the bottom of the screen reads “State Prison Escapee Apprehended in Tijuana.”

  I only catch bits and pieces, my mind racing so fast. I watch the photos of a man I barely recognize in handcuffs, the smiling faces of the Policia Federal standing outside of some shady-looking nightclub, words like extradition and evading sentences, drug trafficking, and Arthur Fenton.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I say to the woman. “I’ll be right back.”

  I
should be joyful. I should feel relieved, but I feel nothing at all. Once again, Arthur has ruined my life, and this time he didn’t even have to lay a finger on me. He took away everything important to me, took away everything good, and dragged me right back to where I belong. He might be behind bars, but I will always be trapped in this hell he helped me create for myself.

  Chapter 31

  Gavin

  “Well look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Brooks laughs, patting me on the shoulder. “Holy shit, you even showered.”

  “I’m just here to drop off liquor,” I say, slamming the box on the bar top.

  “Easy there, chief,” Olive shouts. “The fuck am I going to do with a box of broken glass?”

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” I snap at her. Just the sight of her makes my skin crawl. I have purposely avoided the bar for the last month because I honestly couldn’t stand to see her face. It’s just a reminder of how bad I’m hurting. I’ve managed to get my work done during hours we were closed, but today I had to face the music.

  I’ve spent the last month hiding in the basement. The farmhouse is too painful right now, and I don’t even care if I finish it. Sloan cut me to the core, made me realize that no matter what I do to make right by my life, I’ll just be another thug. Might as well let myself be just as miserable as the rest of my family.

  “Get in the office, right now,” she barks. She’s scowling at me as she turns and storms into the back room.

  “You’re in trouble now,” Brooks says jokingly. I shoot him the classic Boden ‘shut the fuck up or I’m going to kill you’ look that I’ve mastered so well thanks to my father.

  She slams the office door shut behind me, her cool blue eyes staring daggers right through me.

  “What’s your problem?” she asks, scowling at me.

  “Nothing, what’s your problem?” I say.

  “I can’t do this by myself. You’ve been straight-up absent for the last month while I’ve tried my hardest to keep shit together here. I don’t get paid enough for this shit. Especially if you’re going to walk in the door and just start being an asshole to me and our customers.”

  It takes everything in me not to just fire her right now. Get her out of my life and the whole bag of shit that she carries with her. It would be a dumb move, but a historically typical one in terms of how we operate.

  “You’re not taking this out on me. You pushed me and pushed me to hook you up with her, and I didn’t for a reason.”

  “That has nothing to do with this,” I lie. “Don’t be a bitch towards me in front of the customers. I write your paychecks.” I turn to walk out, but my blood is boiling. “You fucking knew. You should’ve told me so I could’ve at least kept my old man under control.”

  “Yeah well, I also knew that you put a gun in your mother’s hand so she could kill herself. I knew you burned down the bakery on Front Street with the guys because they didn’t pay you protection money. I knew you fucked your way through every dirty birdie in the tristate area. And I’ve known you less than a year. Do you think I told her any of that? Furthermore, do you think she still would’ve been happy to jump in bed with you after I told her any of that?”

  She wraps her arms around me and hugs me in a comforting embrace. I know she’s a real friend, willing to call me out on my bullshit, but I’m not trying to be a rational person right now. I’m trying to get back to my Misfits roots.

  “I’m sorry. You’re both good people who deserve to be happy. That’s the only information I was responsible for relaying. The rest was up to you.”

  I pull away from her, staring down at her with condescension.

  “You think I’m a good person? That’s where you’re wrong. I come from a long line of evil, Olive. I did a pretty good job of hiding it because I had that dumb friend of yours wrapped around my dick in no time flat. I’m not a nice guy. She got what she deserved and I got what I wanted.”

  At least that’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself for the last month. As many times as I say it out loud, I know it’s not true. The more I say it, the dumber it sounds. It’s not me, not my words, just a bunch of shit my father would spew without a second thought. But my mother was right all these years ago, this is who we are meant to be. Women like Sloan don’t belong anywhere near these Mountain Misfits.

  “You know I see right through that shit,” she says.

  “You want me to prove it?”

  “I want you to park your ass at this desk and get the bills caught up. I don’t want you to lose your liquor license because you’re trying to have some sort of pissing contest with me. I always win, Gavin. Now don’t come out of here until you’re done.”

  She slams the door behind her, before I can get in another word. She’s going to make some lucky guy really miserable someday. I thought I’d been doing ok keeping up with everything that I needed to do around here, but the stack of envelopes sitting on the desk tell me otherwise.

  Who cares if I don’t pay the bills? Who cares if we have to close this place up permanently? It would be a perfect excuse for me to go up on my mountain and never come down. I’d never have to see Olive again. I could just forget this part of my life even happened and go live out my destiny.

  I hunch down over the desk and pull up the bank account on the computer screen. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch that picture of my grandfather and the club, back in the day—these smiling bearded outlaws and their bikes, and me propped up on his shoulders.

  I don’t come from a line of evil. My dad is the anomaly, not the norm. Maybe it skips a generation. His smiling face staring back at me is enough to take the edge off, put me back in my right mind, push me back into that place where I need to do right by my club and my men and the people who rely on me. I can’t let this place close down. What would happen to Ollie? What would happen to our legacy?

  I tear through the envelopes and quickly get things caught up.

  When I walk out into the barroom all eyes turn to me. I walk up to Brooks and put my arms on his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry for being a huge dick,” I say.

  “Like today, or our whole lives?” he laughs.

  “Olive, listen,” I start.

  “Gavin, stop,” she says. “I don’t judge you for your friends’ actions, you don’t judge me for mine. We have a business to run here. I’m sorry that she hurt you. She’s obviously still got a lot of shit to unpack. Have you tried talking to her at all?”

  “No,” I tell her. Sometimes it’s easier just to let things go. As bad as it hurts not having her in my life, the sting of her words is even more. The person she thinks I am isn’t the person I want to be, and if she can’t see that, then it can never work out. “Girls like her and guys like me don’t have any business with each other. It was fun while it lasted.”

  All she offers me is a thin smile. She sighs and stares down at her feet.

  “Are you going to cry?” Brooks asks her, his face turning serious.

  “Nah,” she says. “But I know exactly how you feel, Gavin. It’s just fucking hard to admit it to myself.”

  Chapter 32

  Nine Months Later

  Sloan

  Olive walks into the 24-hour diner in sweatpants and a hoodie and makes her way over to the table. I’m already two cups of coffee deep.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she says as I stand up to give her a hug. “You look like shit. Are you eating?”

  “I’m fine,” I mutter. The bags under my eyes probably speak for themselves. The past few weeks have been rough. Finishing up my fellowship hasn’t been nearly as satisfying as I anticipated. While I used to relish my routine of work, eat, and sleep, now I just feel like it’s worn me down into basically just a walking talking shell of a corpse, with no real inspiration or motivation other than getting through the next day.

  “Did you order yet?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Three more days,” I tell her, a thin smile forming acr
oss my face. Three more days and I will officially be a trauma surgeon. My boards are passed and I just have to finish up my fellowship. I had always pictured my graduation celebration would be more champagne and stilettos than milkshakes and truckers, but I don’t have it in me right now. Nothing in my life feels like a celebration. More like an arranged marriage.

  “I know. I’m so proud of you. You think they’re gonna offer you a job?” she asks eagerly. “Or are you going to explore some other options?”

  I KNOW they’re going to offer me a job. It’s already been discussed in depth. Dr. Peterman started hinting at it a few months ago, and the board of directors seems to agree that we need two of us at the hospital. In three days, my life will be exactly the same as it has been for the last seven years, except now I will be getting paid.

  I thought I would be a lot more enthusiastic.

  “Maybe,” I lie through my teeth. I don’t want to have to tell her my actual thoughts on the situation. Not just yet.

  She flips through the menu and slides it to the end of the table.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve talked to you. You’re like impossible to get ahold of anymore. How are you doing with everything else?” she asks. Part of me was hoping she wouldn’t bring it up, the other part was really dying to hear if she knows anything.

  “I’m fine,” I shrug. “Nothing really to report here. Just trying to keep my head down and my nose clean. I’m sorry if I caused you drama at work or whatever, Ollie. You warned me and I fucked up. I hope it didn’t blow back on you.”