Mountain Misfits MC: Complete Box Set

by Voss, Deja

  “I told you to stay out of Esther’s stuff,” he barks. Josie swivels in her steps, and when she sees the look on his face, she bursts into tears. He slams his beer bottle down on the countertop and storms out the back door.

  “Lena, I’m sorry,” she cries. “I know I’m not supposed to touch her stuff. I don’t know why I used her perfume. It just smelled good. He’s a nice man. I don’t want to make him sad.”

  He’s a man on the verge of a psychotic breakdown. Hell, maybe he’s a man living in the aftermath of a psychotic breakdown. Part of me feels heartbroken for him. How overwhelming to have this little redhead running around looking and smelling like your dead wife. Part of me feels like this is exactly why I need to get her out of here.

  We’ve spent our whole lives walking around on eggshells, surrounded by unpredictable men who always made us feel like we were doing something wrong. Brooks might be an upgrade on many levels, but she’s just a kid. She shouldn’t have to worry about doing the wrong thing and setting him off. She isn’t old enough to help him through his emotional baggage.

  “It does smell good,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. She is so much taller than me, it’s almost laughable that I’m the one trying to do the comforting. “I think maybe we overstayed our welcome here, though.” I’m as confused as she is about what the next best move for us is, but we don’t have to decide tonight. Tonight we can just get a hotel and decompress.

  “Probably. We can’t just leave him, though. He needs us,” she says.

  “I don’t think he needs us, Jo,” I assure her. A motorcycle club needs a seventeen-year-old girl and an ex-cop like they need a hole in their helmetless heads, but her kindheartedness and innocence makes me beam with pride. No matter how fucked-up of a life this girl has had, she still has empathy for others. Even the kind of people that might not deserve such empathy. Scary people. Outsiders. She cared for them all.

  “He really does, Lena,” she says. “He’s only being crazy because they never found out who killed Esther. The local police just brushed it under the rug, you know. They didn’t care about her because of who she was.”

  “She was murdered?” I stammer. I had no idea. I can’t believe Desmond didn’t bring that up in any of the times I talked to him. Our town is so small, a murder, especially of someone we knew in high school, seemed like something that he’d tell me. Then again, Desmond hasn’t been completely straightforward with me in who knows how long. I need to have a talk to that slimy liar soon.

  “She was full of bullets,” Josie says, tearing up, like Esther’s pain is her pain. “I don’t know much else. Someone shot her a bunch of times and left her for dead in the middle of the road.”

  “Holy shit,” I whisper.

  “He needs me to take care of her cat,” she says, “and maybe you can help, too. You’re better than us. People take you seriously.”

  “You need to stop saying that,” I tell her. “You have your whole life ahead of you. We both came from the same trailer park. Only difference between us is that my mom was a crack head and your mom was a meth head.”

  At least she’s laughing now. I glance over at the pot of water on the stovetop just as it starts to boil over.

  “We should probably at least help him finish dinner. No sense in burning the house down,” I say, turning the burner down and peeking in the oven at the chicken breasts.

  “He’s a really good cook,” Josie says. “You’d never think it to look at him. I don’t know what it is about him, Lena. Maybe it’s that he is the president of a motorcycle club, I know they do bad stuff, but they take care of their family. It makes me realize that there’s different kinds of bad people in the world. You can still be a good person and a bad person, ya know? Dad’s just a bad person.”

  Brooks walks back in the back door, looking more composed than he did a minute ago.

  “I stirred your pot,” I say. “I don’t know what else you have going on here.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Josie,” he says. “I haven’t smelled that perfume in over a year. It hit me hard.” He pulls the pan of chicken breasts out of the oven, going back to his mindless stirring and cooking like we’re right back where we started. “You guys are staying for dinner at least?”

  “That would be nice,” I say.

  Maybe Josie’s right. Maybe he does really need us. I know she’s crazy about him in a bizarre adopted father kind of way. He fixes her a plate and pours her a glass of milk. The way they interact is like nothing I’d ever experienced. It’s as if these two were meant to be together in some capacity. I’ve studied criminals my entire life, and this is nothing like textbook kidnappings go. It’s bizarre, but weirdly touching. I can’t deny the fact that I would’ve given anything back when I was her age to be in her shoes. I would’ve given anything to hop on the back of Brooks’s bike and be ‘kidnap rescued.’ Maybe this was what wanting better for your kids feels like, even though she’s not my child, but my sister.

  We sit around the kitchen island, eating the awesome meal that Brooks prepared. I’m sure it’s a lot healthier than anything she was eating before, even though she smothered her entire plate of chicken and vegetables in ranch dressing. She definitely has the better metabolism genes out of the two of us.

  I can’t stop thinking about Esther’s death, and how odd it is that nobody is advocating for her, no one is trying to find out what happened. I have so many questions I want to ask him, but he seems content eating in silence, and I’m half-afraid to pry. I don’t want to set him off. Maybe he’ll come around eventually.

  “So what’s your plan?” he asks, as Josie clears plates from the table, rinsing them before putting them in the dishwasher. “Are you guys going to stick around town?”

  “Honestly, Brooks, I have no plan,” I confess. “My life is kind of a wreck right now. I figured I’d let Josie decide once I came back for her. We could get a fresh start together wherever she wanted.”

  “I want to be here,” she says, “but I want you here, too.”

  “Why don’t we sleep on it,” I suggest. “I’ll go get a room for the night, and tomorrow we can have a girls’ day.”

  “After I do my schoolwork,” she says, raising her eyebrows. Who is this kid? Going from dropout to teacher’s pet thanks to a burly bearded biker sounds like we’re living in some surreal fucked-up opposite world. I don’t hate it, though.

  “You can crash here tonight if you want,” Brooks says. “It’s no big deal.”

  Teenage me would’ve died at the suggestion. An invitation to spend the night at Brooks Harrison’s house? That was like my ultimate goal. We’re not teenagers anymore, though. We are two adults wrapped up in a weird situation. He might still be just as good-looking as he was when we were growing up, but he’s got twenty years of baggage that I don’t even know how to even start unpacking.

  “Come on!” Josie says. “Sister slumber party! I’ll take the little couch.”

  I guess it can’t hurt. Maybe a good night’s sleep will give me the clarity that I need to figure out our next move.

  “You’re like a foot taller than me,” I tease. “I can take the little couch.”

  Brooks disappears upstairs and comes down with some pillows and blankets. For a hardened biker, he is really a thoughtful host. Growing up, he was always polite, though, from what I remembered. As he walks around and checks the locks on the doors, Josie grabs the remote and flips through the channels on the TV.

  He turns out the lights and mumbles a goodnight as he walks up the steps. We both call back at him in unison and burst into giggles.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Josie says. “I really missed you.”

  “I’m sorry that I ever left you,” I say. “This is all my fault.”

  She lobs a pillow at me and laughs. “You liked him, didn’t you?”

  “What’s it matter?”

  “I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend, just so you know.” The way she says boyfriend is so dramatic, taunting,
just plain silly. “I just like it here.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say.

  “So I can steal him? I mean, when I turn eighteen?”

  “Hell no,” I laugh. “And not because of me. Because I would be a terrible sister if I married you off to the president of a motorcycle club.”

  “Better than a vice president, though, right?”

  “Shoot for the stars, I guess. It’s good to have big goals.”

  “I’m kidding,” she says. Oh to be a boy crazy teenager again, back when things were that much easier. As long as a guy was cute, nice to you, and had a decent vehicle, you could overlook the fact that he had blood on his hands, a dead wife, and was in charge of a gang. Priorities were definitely different back then, and everything seemed so simple.

  For a moment, I wish I could see through her lens again as I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness. Her knight in shining armor is a stranger in black leather. Her dream job is being a bartender. She wants a husband and a baby. And no matter what horrors she’s seen, she’s perfectly happy wherever she lands.

  Where did I go wrong in my life that I lost that dream for myself? How did things get so complicated? Where did that teenage dreamer go?

  Chapter 9

  Brooks:

  “Ladies,” I say, standing in the corner of the living room while the two of them snore and drool all over my couches. If I had any doubt in my mind these two were related, the way they both sleep like they are dead, undisturbed by my purposeful banging around the kitchen and stomping up and down the steps, would convince me.

  I even turned up the volume on the TV, and these two still aren’t moving. Part of me is insanely jealous. I haven’t slept like that in over a year, my nights just a series of short naps punctuated with nightmares and regrets. Having Josie around to check on every few hours gives me a good excuse to get out of bed. My need to keep her safe makes me feel a lot saner than my inability to shut up Esther’s voice in my head or my desire to kill everyone that had ever even looked at her sideways.

  “Oh shit,” Helena says, flailing around on the big down comforter. “Did I fall asleep? What time is it?”

  Helena Anderson had grown up nicely, I have to admit. In high school, I barely heard her speak more than a word or two here and there. She was always a cute girl, but she mostly kept to herself. She definitely changed over the years, and not just because she was fitter than before. I could tell she found her voice. She seemed so much more confident. Maybe it was because she’s a cop, and was used to bossing around guys like me. Something inside me made me think there was more to it than that.

  “You drink coffee?” I ask. She looks confused, still trying to feel out her surroundings in her freshly woken up stupor. It’s kind of cute the way she’s rubbing her eyes and smoothing her hair, like I didn’t just see her passed out, snoring louder than the exhaust on my bike.

  “That sounds really good,” she says. She follows me into the kitchen, still wearing her clothes from the day before. “Feels like something died in my mouth,” she says.

  “Well, the way you snore with your mouth wide open, I’d be surprised if something didn’t,” I laugh.

  She slaps her hand over her face and giggles. Her make-up is smeared and her eyes are sleepy. Something about her is just so attractive in the morning light shining through the kitchen window, just in her natural state. She’s so different than Jasmine, who’s always done up and dressed to a certain aesthetic. Jasmine knows she’s hot, and uses that to her advantage. I wonder if Helena knows how pretty she is.

  She takes her coffee black, cradling her head in her hands like she’s nursing a bad hangover or something. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m really not a morning person. I’ve been on second shift for the last five years at least.”

  Second shift as a police officer.

  I don’t personally have anything against law enforcement, and our relationship with the local police in terms of the club is a delicate balance of bribery and blind eyes, but ever since Esther’s death and the way it was handled, my distrust has gotten a lot more intense.

  “Can you tell me something?” she asks. “Do you remember Nick Desmond that we graduated with?”

  “What, are you looking to hook up with him or something?” I ask. “That kid was, and still is, a total douchebag.” I don’t know why I’m so offended at the suggestion, but even the idea of her wanting to hang out with him completely turns me off.

  “Oh trust me, no,” she says. “He’s a creep. It’s just, he was supposed to be looking after Josie. Dropping in every once in a while while I was out of town. He told me he was. It’s the only way I could feel okay about leaving her with my dad.”

  “I have no idea where he is,” I say. “Last I heard, he got hurt or something and left the police. I really don’t know. My timeline is kind of blurry.” What a shit bag Desmond is, though. He probably thought he was going to get into Helena’s pants if he kept stringing her along. Any man with any amount of decency would’ve done the same thing I did if he walked into that trailer and saw the conditions Josie was living in.

  “I feel like such a piece of shit sister,” she says. “I thought everything was under control. Everyone had me convinced everything was alright. She wanted to finish out school with her friends. My dad seemed like he was keeping his nose clean. Desmond was stopping by weekly. I talked to Josie on the phone every night. I thought I was doing everything right.”

  “I don’t know if anything I say will make you feel better,” I say, staring into my coffee. I don’t have much energy left for commiserating these days. “She’s fine now.”

  “How are you though?” she asks. “I mean, I know we were never close or anything, and I don’t have the right to pry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  I hear a lot of that. I don’t know if people want the honest truth when they ask, or some dumbed-down version that will make them feel better about themselves for being so considerate to think about my feelings. If she really wants to know, I’m pissed. I’m lost. I’m nuts. I’m bloodthirsty.

  “I’m okay,” I say. That’ll be good enough to hold her off, or at least shut her up. She doesn’t know the first thing about me or Esther. She doesn’t need to be a party to my misery, especially not if she’s a cop. Ex or otherwise.

  “Please don’t be offended, but you’re not a very good actor,” she says, smiling with only half of her mouth. “Josie said the police never figured out who did it.”

  “Guess it comes with the territory. We’re not exactly good people. Cops automatically assumed it was a rival gang. Nobody around here wants to get tangled up in that shit. I guess that’s what you get when you live like an outlaw. The law doesn’t want to help you.”

  Which is why I’m taking matters into my own hands, I think.

  “That’s not right,” she says. “You deserve closure as much as anyone. Hell, Esther deserves the dignity of having whoever killed her prosecuted. Who you guys aren’t doesn’t make you any lesser.”

  She definitely doesn’t get it. Maybe she’s brainwashed into thinking that she equally served every single human being in her jurisdiction when she was on the force. The truth is, I probably could’ve broken her father’s neck and left him for dead, and you’d read in the paper the next day about how he died of natural causes, because he’s dirt like me. Nobody’s looking for her little sister, even though she dropped out of school before the legal age, because she’s dirt like me. Helena got away. She’s not like us. I’m not going to spell it out for her, though.

  “You have any idea who did it?” she asks. “Was there a rivalry or something?”

  I shrug. She doesn’t need to know what I know. I’m sure anything I say is just going to incriminate me. Sure, she looks harmless, but we’re on opposite ends of the spectrum.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” she says. “It’s none of my business. I just figure if I’m going to be in town for a while, maybe I can help?”


  “What do you mean?” I ask. I don’t think she really wants to be a part of the hit list gang, even though I have a feeling she could probably hang. Maybe she’s gone full-blown bad cop.

  “I mean, nobody here knows I got fired from the force. Maybe I can poke around a little bit, use some of my old connections. There’s gotta be somebody who know something.”

  “Why would you do that for me?”

  “Not just for you. For Esther.” She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. I resist the urge to pull away. I’m not too keen on being touched these days. Something about her fingers on top of mine doesn’t repulse me though. Maybe it’s because I know she doesn’t want anything from me. “I’m gonna go pay Desmond a visit today anyway. I think he’s about due for a piece of my mind. He was still working when Esther was… you know?”

  Her voice gets softer. It’s hard to say ‘murdered’ when you’re talking about someone you know. I get it.

  I guess if she’s going to help me out, I should probably show her the cards I’m holding. Maybe not all of them, but at least enough to give her somewhere to start poking around.

  I pull the green notebook out of my back pocket and show it to her.

  “Before Esther died, she was apparently collecting old debts from customers who used to come to the ranch.”

  “Why is it all bloody?” she asks, opening it up, wrinkling her nose at the pages smeared with dried blood.

  “Well, I took up where she left off, and I’m a lot less polite than she was. Sometimes I forget to wash my hands before I check stuff off the list.”

  “You think it could be someone on here?” she asks. “Like my dad?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. Obviously, I knew it wasn’t her dad. Or the nerdy old banker who was just trying to figure out how to hide his addiction from his wife. Or the high school teacher who threw a bachelor party for his best friend. In cases like those, it wasn’t even about collecting the money. Esther left us in a really good place.