Lucky Bastards (Grim Bastards MC)

by Emily Minton

  “Have you seen the portrait gallery yet?” Joyce asks, drawing my attention away from the bitch that birthed my old man.

  Shaking my head, I take in a deep breath and answer, “No, I haven’t.”

  “Let me show it to you,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the formal sitting room.

  I scan the room until my eyes meet Brew and I motion to his aunt, letting him know that I am going with her. Of course, he is standing near Logan, allowing the young kid to talk his ears off. For the last three hours, Logan has followed my old man around, much to his mother’s disapproval. He has peppered Brew with a million questions and told him dozens of stories about his own life. It took Brew awhile, but the boy’s presence has finally put him at ease.

  “I can’t stand this house, never could, but I love the portrait gallery,” Joyce states as she leads me down the hallway. “I love looking at all the old pictures.”

  It takes a few minutes to make our way through the monstrosity that Brew’s mother calls home, but it is worth it as soon as we step into the huge room full of pictures. My mouth drops open the minute I look around. I can hardly believe my eyes. When I was a kid, my parents took my sister and me to England. It is one of the few good memories I have of my whole family. We saw all the tourist spots, visiting five different castles. Each castle had a portrait room, and they all looked similar to this one.

  “This is my great-great, something or another,” Joyce says, pointing to a painting hanging above a massive fireplace. “He bought this Annaglade not long after the Civil War ended.”

  I stare at the scowling man in the painting, looking for some resemblance to Brew but finding none. To me, the man looks cold, and that is the last word I would use to describe my husband. Brew has a temper and has no problem unleashing it when needed, but he is normally a friendly guy. He smiles a hell of a lot more than he scowls, that’s for sure.

  Joyce points to a painting at the opposite end of the room. “That was my grandfather, Jerimiah Decker. He lived to be eighty-three, and I swear he lived every one of those years to the fullest.”

  I walk closer to the painting, a smile growing on my face with every step. Just by looking, I can tell this man is nothing like his ancestor. This is a man I would have liked to have met. His smile is huge, and there is a twinkle in his eyes that reminds me of his great-grandson.

  “This is my brother Michael. He was a year older than me and two years younger than Isaac’s father,” Joyce says, pointing to a picture of a handsome man that looks a lot like Brew. “He was always Grandfather’s favorite. They were like two peas in a pod. He didn’t mind working hard and couldn’t stand sucking up to the social elite. After Grandpa died, he cut all ties with the rest of the family. Sadly, he died a few years later, only a year after our father died. Our mother passed away two years after that.”

  Joyce has tears in her eyes as she reaches up and runs a hand over her brother’s picture. She touches it with so much love that it makes my own eyes start to sting. Seeing her loss reminds me of my own. I know the feeling of losing a sibling you love with all your heart. It leaves a hole in your soul that even time cannot heal.

  “Grampa died when Isaac was only twelve, but before his death you never saw one without the other,” she says, wiping the tears away. “Isaac reminds me a lot of Grampa, him and Michael both actually.”

  “Oh,” I mumble, not really knowing what to say. “I’m sure they were both wonderful men. I wish I could have met them.”

  She looks directly at me before stating, “Isaac got more of his personality from Grampa. I think that’s the reason he didn’t get along with his dad.”

  “I think it probably has more to do with the fact his father was an asshole,” I reply, immediately becoming defensive.

  Joyce’s smile grows, and she mumbles, “You are probably right.”

  We stay quiet for a while, just looking at all the paintings and pictures. When I first lay eyes on a picture of Brew as a baby, I feel my eyes mist. He looks so much like our little Kaylee; it’s almost like they are twins. I scan each photo closer, taking in the way he changed as he grew. When I finally see a picture of him as a teenager, I am surprised to see the similarities between him and Cam. Granted, they look nothing alike since they share no genetics. Still, there is just something about the way Brew carried himself that reminds me of Cam.

  “They sat for this painting a few weeks before the incident happened,” Joyce says, pointing to a painting a few feet to my right.

  I don’t have to ask her what incident she is speaking of. Obviously, the family doesn’t talk about Trina being raped or Brew going to prison for defending her. They would consider that uncouth. Not to mention, if the truth came out, that would throw a wrench into the beautiful marriage Trina and her rapist portray to the world.

  I avoid the painting, not wanting to be reminded of what happened to my old man and move on to the more recent images. There are dozens of photos of Trina, her husband, and their children. There is even a large painting of the whole family, including both her parents. I stare at it, realizing that each person looks unhappy.

  “Isaac and his family should have been in that painting too,” Joyce mumbles with just a bit of anger in her voice.

  “They have never wanted him to be a part of their family, and Brew doesn’t want them to be a part of ours,” I reply with a shrug.

  Before she can say anything else, Brew steps into the room and calls my name. I look over to my man, seeing the strain of being here written over his handsome face. I wish I could do something to help ease his pain, but there is nothing that will help. As soon as that thought hits my brain, it’s followed by another, one that is more than just a bit naughty. I may not be able to say anything to relieve his worry, but I can use my mouth in another way that will surely ease a bit of the tension.

  I walk over to him, a saucy smile on my face. “I’ve seen most of the house, but you still haven’t shown me your childhood bedroom. I’m kinda wanting to take a little nap.”

  His lips tip up, obviously knowing what is going on in my mind. “I’m feeling a bit tired myself.”

  A laugh hits my ears and I turn to see Joyce grinning my way. Like her nephew, she understands what my words meant. I shoot her a wink and grab Brew’s hand. We say a quick goodbye to his aunt and then he leads me through the house and up the stairs. It only takes a minute or two before he opens a door and leads me into a bedroom. The second the door shuts, he locks it and pulls me into his arms. Our lips meet with a tangle of tongues and breathless moans. Brew runs his hands down to the hem of my shirt and starts to lift it up. Pushing his hands away, I pull my lips from his, giving my head a slow shake.

  Taking a step back, I reach down and start to unbutton his jeans. “I figure you need something to help you relax, so I thought I could help with that.”

  “I’d be much obliged, Red,” he mumbles, using the nickname the club gave me after we first met, while his lips tip up in a cocky grin.

  Even after all these years, I love when he calls me Red; it makes me even more eager to get his cock in my mouth. Pleasing my man always makes me happy. Giving him a smile in return, I drop to my knees in front of him. Sliding his zipper down, I give his jeans a tug until they are around his knees. Then, I edge his boxers down just a bit and wrap my hand around his girth and place a kiss right on the tip.

  “I love the way you feel in my hand, but I like how you feel in my mouth even better,” I tell him, sucking him between my lips.

  I swirl my tongue around the head before sucking him into my mouth. Keeping one hand around his hard cock, the other cups his balls, giving them a gentle caress. Brew lets out a moan, letting me know he likes what I’m doing, so I take him even deeper, massaging his balls with a bit more strength.

  “Squeeze them tighter and take me deep, baby,” he orders, fisting my hair and giving it a gentle tug.

  I do as he asks, taking him as deep as possible. He uses my hair to force himself
even further, causing his cock to hit the back of my throat. With years of experience in pleasing him, I swallow around the tip, causing him to groan even louder.

  “I used to lie in this room when I was a kid, imagining having some chick do this to me. I’d shoot my load just thinking about it,” he says, his voice thick with passion. “I never imagined it would feel this fucking good.”

  I smile around his cock, not missing a beat. His hips start involuntarily jerking, forcing his cock in and out of my mouth at a faster pace. My grip tightens on his balls, dragging my fingernails lightly against the sensitive skin. Within seconds, I can feel his sack tighten as his breath starts coming out in harsh pants.

  “Yes, baby, do it just like that,” he growls, forcing me to take him a little deeper and do it even faster.

  I do as he says, and the room goes quiet. The only sounds reaching my ears are his labored breaths and the suction of my lips surrounding his hard length. His hand on my head starts doing most of the work for me, moving my head just the way he likes it. I swallow each time the tip of his long cock touches the back of my throat.

  He jerks my hair back, forcing me to look up at him. “I’m getting ready to come down your throat, and I want you swallowing every fucking drop.”

  Not waiting for my approval, he forces himself into my mouth again. Now, he is in complete control, going as deep and as fast as he wants. No more than a minute passes before his cock jerks against my throat. A second later, his salty cum fills my mouth, and he lets out a pleasure filled moan.

  Swallowing every last drop, I release his cock and ask, “Feeling better?”

  Brew reaches down, pulling me to my feet, and places a kiss on my forehead. “Fuck, yeah.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Brew

  Feeling much calmer, I follow my mother into Dad’s study. His lawyer is already sitting at the desk, looking over what I can only assume is Dad’s will. The fucking thing is as thick as a book, a long book at that. There is no doubt in my mind the old man had a lot to say, and I’m not going to like a fucking word of it.

  “Good, we’re all here.” The lawyer stands up, motioning for my mother and sister to take a seat on the couch.

  I drag Addy along, taking a seat in front of the desk and pulling her into my lap. This probably isn’t the time to have my old lady sitting in my lap, but I need her close. Without her, I won’t ever make it through the next few minutes.

  My brother-in-law, James, takes the seat beside me, looks at me, and snarls, “She has no reason to be here. Your father never even met her, so there is no way she is mentioned in the will.”

  “I don’t mind waiting outside,” Addy whispers, just for my ears.

  I shake my head, squeezing her tight, and then look back to James. “She goes, then I go too. It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

  He starts to open his mouth but the lawyer speaks up, cutting him off. “Without Isaac, I will not be able to read the will today, so you may want to consider your response carefully.”

  Dad has had the same lawyer since I was a kid. They were friends in college and that friendship led to a lifelong business relationship. I never quite understood how they were friends though. Where my dad was an uptight prick, Mr. Reed has always been easygoing and friendly. Still, they made it work somehow.

  The dickhead narrows his eyes at the lawyer and says, “He can stay, but there is no reason for his wife to be here since she isn’t in the will.”

  Mr. Reed leans forward, obviously tired of Trina’s husband’s mouth. “As far as Mrs. Decker not being mentioned in the will, neither are you, so it would probably be best if we cut the theatrics and just get started.”

  My lips curve into a smile when shock fills my brother-in-law’s face. The asshole obviously thought he was getting something. Knowing my dad, he probably kept this fucker on a short leash with promises of his bite of the family fortune. With all the years he has been in this family, he should have realized my father has never been good at keeping promises.

  “I believe that would be wise because I am ready for this to be over,” Aunt Joyce states, taking a seat across the room from my mother.

  It takes a second for Mr. Reed to sit back down and grab the will. He drones on and on, listing the donations my father left to charities. Of course, each charity was local and none of the donations were unanimous, so the people of our hometown would remember him in the brightest of lights. He then moves on to the trust set up to care for Annaglade. Just listening to it, I realize he loved this place more than he ever loved any of us.

  “To my sister, Joyce,” Mr. Reed says, still looking at the paper. “I leave fifty percent ownership of Annaglade and Decker Creamery, as provided in father and grandfather’s will. I also give you complete ownership of the peach orchard in Decatur.”

  I have to blink in surprise when I hear about the peach orchard. That was my father’s pride and joy, the thing that originally brought our family its fortune. Money from that orchard is how my ancestors bought Annaglade and later to start the Decker Creamery.

  Finally, the lawyer clears his throat and looks toward my mother. “To my wife, I leave a monthly allowance of six-thousand dollars and the right to live out her final days at Annaglade or in the guest house, if the new occupant prefers. You will be given a one-time lump sum of three-hundred thousand dollars and use of the country house in Macon. If, at any time, you decide to remarry, the allowance will stop, and you will have thirty days to vacate Annaglade.”

  “What?” my mother screeches, jumping up from her seat. “That can’t be right.”

  Mr. Reed and Mom go back and forth for a minute, but she finally plops back down on the couch with a very unladylike pout on her face. With most women, an allowance of six-thousand dollars a month would be way more than enough. Mom, on the other hand, could blow that much on a pair of shoes. Not to mention, the three-hundred thousand dollar pay off. She would run through that in a month.

  “To my only daughter, Christina,” Mr. Reed says, looking my sister’s way. “I leave one dollar and the hope she will finally learn to do more than look pretty.”

  The sounds of shouts hit my ears, but I am too stunned to pay attention. My mind is running a million miles a minute, trying to comprehend what I just heard. I’ve always assumed Trina was Dad’s favorite. Guess, I was wrong. The old man must have been disappointed with both of his children.

  A fist slamming on the desk draws my attention back to my surroundings. I’m not surprised at all to see my brother-in-law losing his shit. I guess, in his eyes, for him to not receive anything is one thing, but for my sister to receive nothing, is unheard of. He is screaming so loud that his face is red and spittle is flying from his lips. For a minute, it’s almost comical but when he stands up and raises his hand to Mr. Reed, I decide it is time for the fun to come to an end.

  Moving Addy from my lap, I stand up and grab James’s collar and force him back into his seat. “Settle your ass down.”

  “Get your hands off me!” he shouts, but I can see the fear in his eyes.

  Deciding to push that fear, I place my face inches from his and whisper, “Open your mouth one more time, and I’ll finish the job I started when I was sixteen.”

  When he seals his lips, I sit back down and pull Addy into my lap again. The whole time, my eyes never leave his. I nearly killed this man once before, and I have no problem finishing him off now. In fact, watching the life drain from his eyes would be a fucking pleasure. As a kid, I had no damn idea what I was doing, and that lack of knowledge led me to prison. This time, I know what I’m doing, and his body would never be found.

  “To my grandchildren,” Mr. Reed starts, as if the whole room hadn’t just erupted. “Each of the six will receive funds to cover their further education and three-hundred and fifty thousand dollars on their twenty-fifth birthday.”

  Again, I blink, shocked as shit. Six, he actually said six. That means the old man remembered Cam. After coming here, I discovered that my
parents knew all about my life, including Addy and my kids. I’m not sure how. It could have been Aunt Joyce keeping him up to date, but I’m guessing Dad hired a private investigator. He always liked to keep tabs on what he considered his property. To him, my sister and I were never anything more than property.

  Addy grabs my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “He included Cam.”

  I look over at her, seeing the astonishment in her eyes. “Yeah, baby, he did.”

  I can see the hope in her face, hope that my father wasn’t nearly as much of an ass as we thought he was. I wish I could tell her that he was a good man, but the truth is he was the worst kind of a man. The kind of man that used his money to play with people’s lives. I’m not sure how, but this money is no different.

  “To my only son, Isaac,” the lawyer says, drawing my attention to him. “I leave the rest of my earthly possessions, including stocks, bonds, savings, which were worth five point two million at the time this was written. You will also receive fifty-percent ownership of Decker Creamery and Annaglade, as was ordered in my father’s will.”

  I’m shocked, so shocked that I can’t keep my mouth from dropping open. The old man left all that to me, the child he threw away years ago. It makes no fucking sense. When I was alone, scared, not sure if I was going to make it another day, I wanted nothing more than my father to save me. Of course, he did nothing. Now, when I don’t want a damn thing to do with his money, he leaves it all to me. It makes no damn sense.

  “No!” Trina screeches, running over and grabbing the will from Mr. Reed’s hand. “I was supposed to get it all, the money, the creamery, all of it. That’s what was promised to me, not my brother that hasn’t even been around in years.”

  I ignore her and look at my old lady and whisper, “I don’t want his money.”

  She immediately nods and says, “Then give it away.”

  She makes it sound so simple, but it’s not. Sure, we can give any money away; there are a ton of charities that could use the funds. Hell, I could just put it into the club. As soon as that thought takes root, a smile spreads across my face. Our problems are solved. That kind of cash will keep our club solvent for years, make my brothers’ lives a hell of a lot easier, and Trix’s medical bills will be completely covered.