by Ryan Michele
“Why? I mean, I’m already in with Schade as it is.”
“Yeah, I know. Just don’t want you in any deeper than you are. Know you can hack it. Just want good for you.”
My heart warms. He’s always seen more to me than I ever have. He needs to give that up, though I’m really not ready for him to.
Hope is a powerful thing. Me, I love my life. If I didn’t, I’d change it. But it’s nice that he cares.
“This is my life, Charlie, and I’m good at it. Plus, Princess is paying me double what I make with Schade and is working around my schedule there.”
His face softens. “Damn, she really wants ya.”
“It appears so. That being said”—I rise from my seat—“need to practice, old man, or do you need a potty break?” I chide, seeing him smirk.
“Get your smartass out there. Let’s do this.”
Mind in the game, we work out.
9
Deke
Here we go.
We walk down the hall, with Cruz in front of me, and my father, Cooper, and Nox behind me. I’m not sure yet if this is a family meet and greet, or club shit. Either way, it just needs to get over and done with so I can put miles between us.
All this pomp and circumstance. If they want to beat the hell out of me, I won’t go down without a fight. But look how many there are. Along with the shit-ton of them that stared at us the entire way in here. They could take me out. That’s a risk I took bringing Austyn here. I knew it, but I’m not sure it really sank in for her. Hell, maybe she doesn’t give a shit. That’s fine, too. Not saying I would have if she hadn’t shown up on my doorstep.
Entering the room that was once Pops’ office and now is obviously Cruz’s feels strange. Like I don’t belong. It’s a feeling I know all too well.
“Sit,” Cruz barks as I stand behind the chair.
I’m not one of his men he can order around. At one point in my life, that’s all I wanted—to be part of this club, fit in, be a brother. Then that all blew up in my face.
Cruz shakes his head and plops in the chair, leaning back in it casually. When my dad and Nox take a seat, I do, too. No need to make this worse than it already is. I already proved my point.
“Good to have you home,” Cruz starts, and my brow quirks. Good to have me home? These fuckers wanted me so far gone before, and they got their wish. Now he’s happy I’m here? Right …
“See you don’t talk much, boy,” my father says, elbows resting on his knees and head down, staring at the floor. “You clean?”
I’d have much preferred a punch to the temple than for my father to ask that question. I’ve been fucking clean since I left Sumner. Was I fucked up? Hell yeah. But the second stint in rehab did me in. The fact my father can’t look at me and know I’m not high as a damn kite just proves he didn’t know me then, and he sure as hell doesn’t know me now.
Our relationship took hit after hit as the years went on. Sad, but it hasn’t changed and never will.
Instead of answering my father, I look at Cruz. “She showed up at my place with her face a mess. I let her crash for the night and brought her here. She didn’t tell me shit. Now, I need to go.”
Cruz looks up at the ceiling, then slowly looks back down, eyes blazing at me. This is the man I remember. The ruthless, take no prisoners uncle who did the dirty work for Ravage. Looking up to him growing up was a mistake. It did nothing but make me want my place here more. It was all an illusion, this world and me.
“Answer the question,” my father says from next to me while Cooper just eyes me, no doubt trying to read my expression. Good luck with that one, buddy. I learned a long time ago how to mask all that shit.
I don’t owe these people a damn thing. I don’t owe anyone anything. It pisses me off that I feel the damn need to answer. What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to just get up and walk the fuck out of here. And not look back.
“She’s upset, so go easy on her,” I say instead of answering again, turning to Coop. There’s so much I need to say to him. I fucked up royally with him, not that it matters. I can admit when I’m a dick, though. “Sorry about the shit I said when I was a kid. Not gonna make excuses. It was shit, and I own it.”
Staring at him, I wait for some sort of signal that he heard what I said, but he gives me nothing, so I move on.
“Alright, I’m out of here.” I move to stand up, and my father rises with me, standing toe to toe with me.
“You’re just going to leave again and let me pick up all the pieces that is my wife off the ground? Your mother, Deke! She fuckin’ cries all the time … still! Do you not give a shit about that?”
“There’s nothing for me here. My life is in Grayson. You go on with your life. I go on with mine. She’ll get over it, just like she did before.”
He steps closer, anger pouring off him. Something else is working behind his eyes. If I had to guess, it’d be hurt, but that couldn’t be.
“You fuckin’ little shit. Get over it? She hasn’t gotten over it for a single fuckin’ day. Holidays are the worst. We don’t even like celebrating them because she turns into a pile of fucking tears. And I can’t stop them. Why? Because it’s all you. You’re not around, Deke.”
He thinks I want this? That I want to hurt my mother? He doesn’t have the least bit of a clue. I’m not sure if that or his words piss me off more.
“Then man up and fix your wife, Dad,” I bark back as he throws his fist at me. I block and hold his hand firmly in mine. “Don’t.” I release him and push him back. Getting in a fight here is the least of my concerns.
My truck is calling for me to get the fuck out.
“You’re worthless!” he yells, giving a direct hit. But, like the others, nothing makes me fall.
“Good to see your opinion of me hasn’t changed.”
“Stop bein’ a dick,” Cooper says from the chair across from his father. “It’s time you come home.”
Oh, so Cooper suddenly wants me around? When he turned eighteen, he couldn’t be seen with me since I was younger. What the fuck ever! Always in his shadow and then tossed aside like yesterday’s newspaper. No thank you, Cooper Cruz. I am fine in life where I am.
Inside, I laugh. My family. Yeah. No, wait. Emery isn’t here; she’s the only one I consider family. Maybe my mother a bit. Okay, and Austyn. Fuck …
“I’m not comin’ back here. None of you think any different of me than when I left. I’m not livin’ like that.” Every damn one of them turned their backs on me.
“You’re missin’ out on all the shit you need to be a part of,” Coop continues. “Let the past go.”
“Bud, I already let it go a long damn time ago. I’m leavin’.” I turn to the door, reach for the handle, and turn it.
“Your mom’s sick,” my father says, making me still.
I turn around to find all eyes on my father. Some are in shocked horror. They’re damn good actors.
“Bullshit. Emery would’ve told me.”
He smirks. “Good to see you at least talk to her.”
“Don’t act like you don’t know.”
“Emery doesn’t know. Angel didn’t want to tell anyone until her appointment next week.”
Cruz rises from his seat as Cooper and Nox get closer. “Brother, don’t you think you should have told me?” Cruz accuses.
Either my father is pulling a scam on all of us to get me to stay, or he’s telling the truth. I hope to Christ he’s lying.
“It’s new, alright. Like I said, she didn’t want anyone to know. She hasn’t even told Princess.”
“Fuck. What is it?” Cooper asks.
My father falls into the chair, threading his fingers through his hair then pulling hard. The tension is there, but it’s not directed at me this time.
“Found a lump. Doctor had her do a mammogram. Tests didn’t come back good. Now, she’s doing chemo trying to get the shit out of her body. We’re all hoping for the best here.”
He’s not shitting me. I
t’s the truth.
The anger begins to bubble. I’m not sure if it’s at the situation, or if I’m pissed at myself. Nevertheless, it hits in a heated rush.
My fists clench, and my body gets tight. The urge to hit something comes hard and fast. I turn toward the paneled walls and crash my fist through the wood. Pulling out, I see the blood drip. I don’t give a fuck if I bleed. This is so fucked up. Between my mother and Austyn … fucking hell.
A hand comes to my shoulder, and I turn in a rush, fist up to make contact. Any reason to fight, just give it to me.
Cooper holds his hands up. “Calm your shit. We got kids out there who don’t need to hear this.”
My body heaves for air as the carefully constructed walls of my life begin to bend. No, that can’t happen. No bending. No swaying. None of that.
Air. I need it.
Darting to the door, I get the fuck out of there, my father, uncle, and cousins yelling my name. Down the hall and into the clubhouse, the need to hit something grows. I need to get this anger out, and I need to do it now.
“Deke?” I hear my mother’s voice.
I can barely shove down the lump in my throat. Trying to ease a bit, I take her in my arms and kiss her cheek. “I need to get out of here for a bit, but I’ll be back.”
“Promise?” she asks, pulling back and looking into my eyes.
“Promise. But you gotta let me go right now, okay?”
Tears fall from her eyes. “Okay,” she whispers as my father rounds the corner.
“Deacon Alexander!” he roars.
I pay him no mind. I kiss my mother on top of her head then exit the building, not stopping to talk to anyone. Not bothering to even blink.
I hop in the truck, peel out as quickly as I can, and drive. That’s all I can do—drive.
Even after an hour on the road, the anger still burns inside of me. Nothing like the stench of death to put things in perspective. Fuck, but I don’t want to be here. However, it’s not looking like I have a damn choice. Motherfucker.
I need to punch something hard and for a long time. The tension inside me needs to come out. I know exactly who to go to.
Steering the truck that way, thoughts run rampant of my mother being sick. Sick?
An ache grows in my cold chest, feeling like a thousand knives stabbing me at the same time. She’s a good woman. Always has been. She did a great job raising Emery and me. Too bad I had to go fuck shit up.
The notion that she’ll have to do radiation, chemo, or lose parts of her body is the coldest fucking douse of water I’ve ever felt in my life. Yet, I hate it here. Okay, maybe not here, but I do hate the thoughts of being here in this town. Hell, the way I was flat-out accused of hitting Austyn was a punch to the gut. Like I’d ever hit her. It pisses me off they think so little of me. Then, to ask if I’m still using. They have no fucking clue. Not one clue. Staying here will be a problem. I just know it. Not just family shit, either.
The anger builds as I turn into the gym I came to four years ago when I needed to get away from my family and let the rage that burned inside escape.
Parking and hopping out of the truck, I make my way to the door and swing it open. The sounds of grunts and strains echo throughout the space as I move to the front desk where a tiny little girl, who can’t be more than eighteen, sits. Her eyes gleam as I step forward. Considering the anger coming off me, this is surprising. Most would want to get as far away from me as possible.
“Can I help you?” She rises as she asks the question, her tight as hell bra stretched thin over her tits. So much so her nipples point directly at me. Not to mention the flat abdomen that leads to shorts that I’m pretty positive are underwear. No matter where I go, this is the shit that comes along—women eager enough to fuck me here on the desk if I’d let them.
“Charlie here?”
“Yeah, he’s training someone. Let me get him.” She gives me a wink as she strides around the desk, making sure to sway her hips a bit more than she needs to. She’s super thin, which is fine, but a big man like me likes to have something to grab on to. She’d do for an after-fight fuck, but nothing else.
I follow her as she moves, seeing Charlie sparring with a very attractive female. Blonde hair pulled back into a knot on top of her head, and I swear I see some blue in there. Her back is to me, and what a fine ass she has. Round and full, giving my hands something to grip.
Charlie holds up his arms as the woman strikes each of them, going back and forth. They both have sweat glistening their bodies, but damn hers is sexy as all hell.
She turns, still swinging away, and it takes me a moment, but … that’s the woman from the clubhouse. What the hell is a club momma doing here fighting? A woman like her could hold her own to just about anyone. Most of the time, the mommas in the clubhouse are there for protection of some sort. This woman doesn’t need that.
The woman from the counter calls into the ring. Charlie holds up both of his hands, and the bombshell stops. There’s conversation I can’t hear going on. Then, when the petite woman points in my direction and Charlie sees me, a wide smile comes across his face.
Bombshell woman’s eyes grow round at seeing me, so she must have been paying attention at the clubhouse.
Charlie holds up one finger and starts to come my way, taking the paddles off his hands as he moves. The old man still looks the same as when I came here regularly. He used to tell me that he let me come free because it was better than me going out and fighting on the streets.
“Deke?” he asks with a wide smile on his face, holding his hand out to me, which I take.
“Charlie, good to see ya.”
“Shit, boy. What, four years?”
“Lookin’ like that. I need to let off some steam. Can I use one of your bags.”
His eyes turn curious. He knows about me, my family, the Ravage MC. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if he knew about my time in Grayson, as well. The man knows his shit.
“Sure thing. You in town for long?”
“No clue yet. Just family shit.”
“Damn, you’ve grown up, boy. Never thought I’d see the day that the scrawny kid would come in here a full-grown man.”
“I wasn’t scrawny, old man.”
“And I’m not old,” he fires back, then tilts his head to the bags. “Go on. We’ll talk after.”
I nod then make my way over to the bag. My gaze falls on the woman with blue hair again, and I lift my chin.
She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her plump lips. Fuck, those lips …
I break away, go to the bag, strip my shirt, and begin to lay it all out. The anger, not being good enough, the never being what my father wanted—nothing else exists except for those thoughts and my fists connecting with the bag repeatedly.
Taping up would’ve been the smart thing to do, considering I feel the blood from my hands from last night’s fight. It doesn’t stop me from laying it all out there, though.
I feel the eyes on me, but block it all out and let the pain come through each of the strikes.
10
Rylie
Me, like everyone else in the place, can’t keep my eyes off Deke as he lays into the bag. Each of his movements is calculated and precise. I’ve been around enough fighters to know that Deke’s form is one of someone well-trained. His cut body also tells me that he works out regularly.
With each thrust into the bag, his back muscles contort and move. Not to mention the sexy as hell angel on his back. It’s almost like she’s dancing with each movement.
I can’t deny the man is hot. He has a temper, obviously, but if my family would have accused me of hitting a relative, I’d be pissed, too. Yeah, I overheard that. Wish I hadn’t.
This, though, the way he’s striking the bag, moving his feet, his drawn down eyes, seems to be more.
Not your business.
“You gonna stare at him or finish?” Charlie asks.
“Can’t help it. He’s nice to look at.”
Charlie finishes putting his paddles back on. “That boy has so much potential. Knew it when he left. Still know it now. Wish he’d live up to it.”
“What do ya mean?”
He sighs. “Came here five or so years ago. Got into some trouble with drugs. Bad ones. His folks put him in rehab. First time didn’t stick. The second time, he got out and left town. Left everyone behind.”
“Don’t ya think there was a reason?”
“Said he needed to get clean.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, indicating Deke. “He look like an addict to you?” I shake my head. “My guess is he cleaned up his shit when he left, but still don’t know exactly why he took off, and definitely don’t know why he’s home now. Bet his momma’s happy, though. She misses him like you wouldn’t believe.”
“You seem to know him well.” Charlie’s never mentioned him. Really, why would he? There was no reason in any of our time together to do so.
“Nah, there’s more to that boy than anyone will ever crack. He’s deeper than he leads on. More going on in that head. But he won’t let it out. Punching shit gives him the out.” He turns back to me. “You gonna put up or shut up?”
“Put up, old man.”
“Ya know, I’m gettin’ tired of you youngins sayin’ that shit.”
“Fits you. Ready?”
For the next twenty minutes, we finish my workout. I’m wringing wet with sweat. Luckily, my focus is on each throw and not the many grunts off in the distance.
I sit on the bench, chugging a water, towel around my neck that I just used to wipe off all the sweat pouring out of me. My breathing is starting to calm down, and my body feels damn good. Well used.
