He moved in ways I don’t think he even knew he could, his hips hitting a rhythm as he led the way in our two-step dance, twirling me as requested, and then pulling me back to him with a snap that made my whole body ping to life in his grip. This was better than any foreplay. Happiness and freedom were more arousing than either of us could have expected.
Drew didn’t let me go for the rest of the night. We danced until we were kicked out and, even then, he never let me go. I hoped he never would.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DREW
I’d never wanted a normal life. The adrenaline of the MC had always been my drug of choice. I’d been addicted to it before I’d even taken my first breath. It was the way things were. I’d watched kids growing up around me dating high school sweethearts instead of losing their virginity to well-practiced Hound Whores. I’d seen the way some guys held their girl’s hand as they walked down the street, maybe carrying their backpack for them, too.
And I knew I’d never wanted any of it.
But then Ayda came along, and now here I was, lying behind her on the bed of our motel room, watching her as she slept peacefully with her back to me. The sheets had drifted off her body, allowing me to trail my fingers up and down the curves and valleys of her skin as she dreamed of things like our future, our wedding day, maybe more good times like the night we’d just had.
Dancing with her had been an experience I’d never forget. I thought I’d seen all the ways I could make her happy, but seeing her dancing with Big Tex, drinking the night away, playing pool, and laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world… it showed me what she’d be missing out on if I didn’t make more of an effort to do this more often with her.
She deserved the normal as well as the wild. Who said the two had to be kept separate?
We’d arrived back here in the early hours of the morning, too lost in the moment to care about sleep, and too high on life to admit the night was over so soon. Then we’d made love until the sun came up. Fucking made love. Who the hell was I? The guy who’d still been in prison this time last year wouldn’t recognize the man lying down beside the woman he was willing to hand the rest of his life over to.
Not wanting to disturb her, I brushed her hair away from her cheek, placed a kiss on her shoulder, and I rolled out of bed to get dressed. It didn’t take me long. A quick freshen up, and then I was pulling my jeans up and throwing on my T-shirt and hoodie, making sure I watched her sleeping peacefully as much as I could while I got ready. My hair was damp when I ran a hand through it, and I was just about to turn and grab my keys to go and get her some breakfast to bring back to bed when the phone on the nightstand lit up.
The moment I saw Deeks’ name lighting up the screen, the panic set in.
“You only call me if there’s an emergency, you get it? An emergency. And when I say that, I mean something better be under attack or someone better be dying.”
That’s what I’d told him. It’s what I’d told them all.
Swiping to accept the call, I pressed it to my ear and glanced down at Ayda.
“What’s wrong?” I answered as quietly as I could.
“Drew, I’m sorry, brother. I really am. But—”
“I asked what’s wrong, Deeks.”
There was a pause—one of those dramatic ones that make you want to reach out and strangle whoever the hell is holding out on you, but with one sigh, Deeks’ words came tumbling out. “Sutton’s here. He’s had a call from that woman on the inside of the hospital unit where Clint was being treated.”
Was…
Another groan and sigh from Deeks. “Tucker, Clint hasn’t made it.”
“W-wh…”
“He’s dead. They found him yesterday, unresponsive.”
My whole body turned cold, the goosebumps of grief rippling over every inch of my skin as I looked down at Ayda and watched her as she stirred to life, stretching out her sleepy limbs and smiling that satisfied smile I loved so much. Only I couldn’t appreciate anything about it as I watched her.
Clint hadn’t made it.
Deeks was rambling on in the background, and I could hear Sutton saying something else, reminding Deeks of what conversation they’d had, or whatever shit they had to break to me.
Clint hadn’t made it.
Ayda was waking.
The night before was already fading away into a memory box I’d have to lock away and protect forever.
I said nothing as Deeks continued to speak. Clint had been found dead the day before—the day we left Babylon to come up to Dallas to see his family and make sure they were safe, just like I’d promised they would be. Twenty-four hours he’d been gone, and I was only just finding out about it.
Cold didn’t describe the temperature of my blood as it struggled to flow through my body. My face paled, I knew that much, and so did Ayda, her smile slipping away as she began to rise and rest on her elbows, looking up at me in confusion. Her intuition on point, as always.
Clint hadn’t fucking made it.
“Tucker?” Deeks said down the phone, his voice full of concern. “You there?”
Swallowing hard, I nodded like he could see me. “Here.”
“You okay?”
I licked my lips to create some moisture and movement, clearing my throat, too, as I tried to act like the king and formulate a plan instead of thinking about another loss we’d have to add to the little book of death that was becoming a thicker and thicker work of non-fiction with every week that passed us by.
“All good,” I croaked, clearing my throat a second time. “Does his family know?”
“They were informed last night. Drew, there’s something not right about all of this. The nurses said that Clint was on his way to recovering. He should have been out in a few weeks if the treatment had continued. Sutton’s over here looking like he gone and seen a damn ghost, looking over his shoulder every minute to make sure that Winnie woman isn’t on his tail. If anyone finds out we know, ATF will know Sutton is still feeding us info. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Sure,” I answered flatly.
There was another one of those long motherfucking pauses again, followed by some whispering from Sutton I couldn’t make out before I heard Jedd and Slater saying something in the background. Deeks covered the speaker at his end, making all the background noise muffled like trying to see through thick fog or hear underwater. I was too numb to even fucking frown.
When he lifted his hand away, I heard Sutton say three words. “Tell him now.”
“Tell me what?” I asked, staring into Ayda’s eyes, devoid of emotion.
“Shit, I don’t know how to say this, Tucker. I wish you weren’t up in Dallas, but this can’t wait. Clint wasn’t the only one who didn’t make it.”
That time I did frown, my eyes falling to the floor. “Who else?”
His answer came out in one long stream of air. “Jon Taylor. He’s dead, too.”
My mouth fell open, all of me completely thrown off course, until the reality of those words sank in. All the injustice in the world burned within me until it boiled over, and I found my whole body scrunching up, my fist flying through the air at nothing, and my foot lashing out whatever piece of goddamn furniture it could find.
“FUCK!” I cried out, fury and frustration mingling to make me sound like I was being choked and set free all at once. “Fuck!”
“Drew,” Deeks said as calmly as he could, which wasn’t very calm considering he could hear me lashing the fuck out. “Take a breath, boy. Settle down.”
“How the fuck is Jon Taylor dead already? How? Who the fuck found him? What was his cause of death? Was he strangled? Fucking stabbed in the neck? How is he dead without being dead from our hands, Deeks? Tell me!”
I couldn’t even bring myself to turn to look at Ayda, not when I was in this headspace—gone again.
“Jon Taylor was meant to die when I said so,” I growled at them. “Me. I was the executioner of that motherfucker. No one
else.”
And Clint is still gone.
Dead on my watch.
Another one I let down in the end.
The silence on the other end was followed by more whispering before the phone clearly changed hands and a different voice was talking to me.
“Stop throwing a tantrum, Tucker.”
“Fuck you, Sutton.”
“I’ve told you, I like you, but you’re just not my type. Now calm the hell down, will ya, ya big goddamn baby.”
I stepped forward, my body confronting and challenging him even though he wasn’t there. My face twisted and snarled, and I dared him to continue. “You better watch your mouth, chief.”
“Or what? You’re going to kick another table?”
“I will…”
“End me. Finish me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before. Let’s play fight when you get back. Right now you need to get your head out of your ass and listen to me. ATF is all over this shit right now. The Mayor is sniffing around more and more. He seems real interested in sticking his nose in all our paperwork to find out why there’s so much hell breaking loose around here these days. People are drifting in and out of my unit all day long, asking questions, dragging out old files, trying to find something.”
“What kind of something?” I asked, my breaths hard to take in.
“Wish I knew, kid. Wish I knew. All I know is that I don’t like the smell of whatever they’re cooking, and now Harry’s man Clint is dead, as well as Jon Taylor, just as you go out of town. I can’t help but feeling that they’re either trying to clear some dead ends up somewhere or that they’re going to pin something on The Hounds. This is all me doing the math and getting it wrong because I don’t know who is adding four to what or taking two away, you hear me?” He took a breath, and that’s when I heard the slight quiver in his release, and I knew the chief was worried… about me.
“Who are they?” I asked calmly.
“What?”
“They. You said they’re trying to clear some dead ends up somewhere, or they’re trying to pin shit on my club. Who are they?”
“I don’t know. It could be someone on the inside. It could be The Navs seeking retaliation. I have no evidence of anything. All I have is this feeling in my gut. A feeling that says things ain’t over yet.”
I needed to pause. I needed to breathe. Turning back, I saw Ayda staring at me, her face full of worry and concern as she waited for me to drop even more bombs at her dancing feet.
“We’ll figure it out,” I told the chief, but really, I was telling Ayda, too. We’d figure all this out. We had to. We had a life to live together. One filled with more times like the night before. Whoever was coming for us, they wouldn’t win. They couldn’t. Not now I finally had something good to live for.
“Stay safe,” Sutton said with genuine concern.
“Always do.”
I ended the call, not needing to speak to anyone but her right now.
Ayda rolled to her knees without thought and shuffled closer to me, one arm reaching out in an invitation to join her. “What’s going on?”
I didn’t go to her, though. I couldn’t. Not while I felt this anger surging through me.
“Clint is dead. Jon Taylor, too.”
Ayda muttered a fuck under her breath and dropped her hand. She moved to the edge of the mattress and got to her feet, giving me the space I needed by heading to the window and peeking out of the blackout curtains.
“What does this mean for the club and us?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. There wasn’t one clear emotion in my whole body. Was I sad about Clint or was I pissed about Taylor? Looking around the room we’d spent one of our best nights in, I took an inventory of everything we’d brought with us. “How soon can we be ready to leave?”
Ayda dropped the curtain and turned to look at me. “Give me five in the bathroom. I’ll be ready. We need to see his family sooner rather than later, right?”
“Right.” I blinked and nodded once, and Ayda began to move, her strides calm yet quick as she made her way across the room. I grabbed her wrist before she went past me, pulling her back and staring down into her wide, love-filled, innocent eyes. “Last night was great. Whatever happens now, let’s not forget that. Okay?”
“Like I could forget,” she mused quietly, her hand touching my cheek before stepping back and heading to the bathroom again. She stopped just inside and turned to look at me again. “Can we make a stop before we get to their house? We can’t show up empty-handed, and no one can turn down donuts.”
Trust Ayda to think of something like that in a time of crisis. I couldn’t help the small flat smile that tugged at the edges of my mouth. “We can do that.”
She gave me a nod and moved, stopping again only two steps inside. She peeked out and hit me with deadly serious eyes. “I love you. We’re going to figure this shit out.”
“We always do,” I assured her. Sometimes I forgot how much she needed to hear the words I love you in return. Ayda said them ten times more than I ever did, but that didn’t mean my love for her was weaker, I knew that. I just picked my moments. Still, as I watched her drift away into the bathroom, I cursed myself and wished my I love yous didn’t always come when I was sorry, horny, or about to die. Sometimes she needed to hear me say it just for the sake of saying it, so even though I began to move around the room, collecting shit off the floor and tossing it on the bed, I found myself calling out to her anyway, despite the running water and the urgency in which we were both now moving.
“I love you, too, Hanagan. We’re going to be okay.”
And then I got us the hell out of there, wondering which battle it would be that called me out as a liar, and hoping like fuck it wasn’t going to be this one.
Or the next.
Or the one after that.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
AYDA
Clint’s family lived in a typical Texas neighborhood. It was an older subdivision, the trees lining the streets well developed and offering shade as they stretched to meet one another. There were some two-story homes speckled around, but most were ranch styles, which sat at the back of a short lawn. The house we were visiting was the latter and looked well loved. The windows had shutters nailed to the siding, the cheerful pale yellow a contrast to the building’s pale blue. The yard was also one of the few with flowers planted in the beds.
I was holding two large donut boxes like a shield between the door and myself as I leaned in to knock. Drew shuffled in discomfort. His guilt only visible to me when he kept adjusting the neck of his T-shirt like it was choking him.
There were plenty of voices inside the home, the loudest of them sorrowful, mixed with the sound of tears. I reached out to knock again, thinking they hadn’t heard me the first time when it cracked open, and a small face appeared on the other side. The little boy must have been all of seven, his big, red-rimmed, brown eyes staring up at the two of us in question.
“Hi,” I said, glancing at Drew for a second before crouching and resting the boxes on my knees. I held out a hand and smiled gently. “I’m Ayda, and this is Drew. Are your parents or grandparents home?”
The small face nodded somberly then disappeared.
I rose to my full height and shrugged at Drew only seconds before the door was pulled open fully. A woman with the same big brown eyes as the little boy studied us. Hers were swollen and red, her nose raw from her obvious grief.
“Can I help you?” she asked hoarsely.
“Hi, sorry to disturb you. My name is Ayda, and this is Drew. We are…” I stopped and shuffled. “We were friends of Clint.”
“Drew?” she asked, looking at Drew and down at the patch on his cut before dragging her eyes back to me. “Drew Tucker?”
“That’s him.”
“You’d better come in,” she said, stepping from the path of the door. “The whole family is here. It’s chaos. They won’t believe you, of all people, are here. Clint… he wrote us al
l letters, and—” She stopped and shook her head, her annoyance at herself for rambling obvious. “Please come in. I’m Elise. Clint’s wife.”
I stepped inside the house and offered her the boxes with a small, sad smile. She nodded in thanks and accepted them gracefully, waiting for Drew to be all the way inside before closing the door behind him.
Their neat, orderly home was full of people. There were dishes upon dishes spread out on all the surfaces. Casseroles, pies, and all kinds of snacks were out for consumption. It seemed to me that when people were unsure of how to express their absolute sorrow, they sent food. That was where my idea had come from. Mom had taken food to one of our neighbors who’d lost their father once. She said it would remove the burden of cooking from them.
I stayed close to Drew as we followed Elise through the crowd, ignoring the stray glances of curious eyes as we passed. Looking around, I could see why. These people were suburbanites, and we didn’t fit the bill. I couldn’t imagine what Clint had done to land himself in prison. I wasn’t going to ask, either. Not now. Not when they’d only just lost him.
“We can talk out back,” Elise said, pushing a sliding glass door aside as she waved at a small group sat around a cast iron fire pit on the other side of a small pool. Once we were outside, she stuck her head back inside and told someone to keep an eye on her grandsons before waving us over to the small group.
Three people looked up at us as we approached, an older woman smiling directly at me. Her hand found the older gentleman’s beside her, and she squeezed his fingers when he accepted her embrace gratefully. The younger man there must have been in his late twenties, and he was the one to stand once he saw me.
“These are Clint's parents, Martha and Jerry, and this is our oldest son, Paul.” She turned to the small group. “This is Drew and Ayda Tucker.”
WITHOUT SHAME: Babylon MC Book 4 Page 23
