He recommended hiring someone to do a sketch of the men Penny had seen so that we and Hailstorm, at the very fucking least, had some faces to watch out for.
Malcolm sat down with everyone and formulated some plans, all being useless until there was a location, but it was good to have an idea of what we would be doing regardless.
Sometime around dinner time, the women coming back in because the kids were getting whiny for food, Malcolm and L took off back to Hailstorm, Lo hanging back to spend the night with Cash.
And Mina was still missing.
She had come in from outside about half an hour before the food finished and disappeared again
"She likes quiet," Lo supplied as we both piled food onto plates. "It's hard to come by here."
"She likes it," I agreed, putting one plate down and grabbing another, "but it's the last fucking thing she needs."
Lo turned back to me, head ducked to the side, looking at me like she had never seen me before. "You scare her, Renny," she surprised me by saying. I knew for damn sure that Mina would never be okay with her divulging that kind of information, even though it was something I already knew.
"Good," I said, making her brows raise as I grabbed two bottles of beer and tucked them into my pockets so my hands were free to grab the plates. "Know she's your girl and you love her, but she needs to be scared. She needs to be frazzled. She needs to have someone shake up her perfect little world a bit."
"And you're the person to do that?" she asked, lips quirked up slightly.
"Might be the only person capable. Besides," I added with a grin, "I mean... just look at me..."
She laughed at that, her face lighting up. "Alright," she said, nodding. "I'm not really the 'don't hurt my girl or I'll chop off your balls' kind of friend, but you know how they supposedly pickled Rasputin's cock..."
It was my turn to laugh. "Got it, Lo," I said, saluting her with a plate as I made my way toward the hallway and down the stairs.
Fact of the matter was, the clubhouse was pretty empty these days. Even with the women and kids around, it was quieter. It was eerie. I wasn't sure I would ever get used to it. Most of the doors in the hallway, the doors that used to house our fallen brothers, were closed, were a constant reminder of what we had lost. And thanks to the constant threat, we hadn't even been able to have a proper mother fucking memorial for any of them. For the men who didn't have family, we had the remains buried or cremated according to their wishes. And we had talked Shooter and Breaker into going to the services when we couldn't so they wouldn't be fucking empty.
It wasn't right.
They were our brothers.
We should have been there to say words, spill liquor, toss dirt, show them the respect they deserved for their loyalty and ultimate sacrifice.
There was a part of me, albeit an absolutely minuscule part of me, that almost felt bad for what was going to happen to those sorry sons of bitches who came in and killed our men.
An image flashed into my head, the clubhouse completely fucking saturated in blood- on the walls, the floor, the table, TV, couch, on the fucking liquor bottles, some of the beds, the bathrooms.
I closed my eyes tight, taking a slow, deep breath, pushing it away. That was all I had been doing too- pushing it away. I hadn't faced it yet. I hadn't worked through the feelings I had been denying myself. I knew it wasn't healthy, it wasn't good. It would make me even more unpredictable than usual. It was eating away at my sleep. It was keeping me on edge.
But I couldn't bring myself to relive it yet.
So it went back into the box inside to be dealt with at a better time.
I moved down the stairs to the basement that Duke had done the bulk of the remodel on, turning it into a damn fine fallout shelter. Coming from his background, it made sense. Those doomsday racist fucks.
"Feels like home down here, huh?" I asked her as I walked down, finding her on a bottom bunk, flat on her back, staring numbly at the bunk above her.
Her head turned to me, her face blank. "I came down here to be alone."
I shrugged, putting her plate down next to her hip, pulling out the beers and tossing them on the mattress then sitting down next to her feet, leaning back against the footboard so I could face her.
"In what way was that an invitation?" she asked, scooting up, careful to not touch me. She always was. It was like she knew that if we touched, shit was going to escalate.
"Your mouth might be saying 'go fuck yourself', but your eyes are saying 'please fuck me until I can't see straight anymore'. I'm fluent in eye-language," I added with a smirk as she rolled those gorgeous hazel eyes of hers and reached for her plate.
"Did you guys make a plan?"
"Not much of a plan to make until we have a number or, at the very least, a location."
"Oh my God," she groaned suddenly, pulling the fork out of her mouth and closing her eyes for a second.
I suddenly wished I could cook like fucking Repo.
"Yeah, sweetheart. Do that again, but maybe arch your back and..." I started and cut off on a chuckle when she kicked me with her sock-clad foot.
"Shut up," she said, shaking her head as she stabbed a piece of broccoli. "The cooks up at Hailstorm are, ah, adequate. But it's glorified military food. This, this," she said, pointing her fork toward the apple-stuffing stuffed pork loin, "is practically gourmet."
I nodded at that, acknowledging it. Repo could fine-tune an engine and do some real damage with a gun, but his cooking skills were legendary in our circle.
"So are we really not going to discuss the Pokémon socks? Like, are we going to sit here and pretend they're not right here, staring me in the face? Fucking Pokémon," I added with a smile as I looked over at her feet, realizing how fucking small they actually were without her clunky combat boots on them. And the socks were Pokémon- electric blue background with red and white Poké Ball on them.
To my surprise, she didn't snap that it was none of my business or tell me to get lost or claim it was some gag gift. She shrugged a shoulder slightly and looked down at her plate for a second. "We traveled a lot when I was a kid. I became really attached to my Gameboy. Flight after flight or train or car ride after train or car ride, I always had Charmander or Bulbasaur to keep me occupied."
"You don't fidget," I said and her head snapped up, brows drawn together. "Kids who grow up gaming all the time, they tend to fidget. They're used to their hands always being active so when they're still, they tap their fingers or pull their jewelry or mess with their hair. You don't fidget."
"You know how in poker, everyone has a tell?" she asked, but went on without an answer. "When you fidget, people read into it."
"And heaven fucking forbid someone gets to crack open your cover, huh?"
"Hey, Kettle, it's Pot," she said, shaking her head. "You're black."
"Alright," I said, nodding, accepting that. I couldn't expect her to spill if I didn't give her something too. "Quid pro quo, Agent Starling..."
"So in this little scenario, you're a face-eating cannibal?" she asked, brow raised.
"Play along, you pain in the ass."
She snorted at that, not able to hold back the smile. She fucking liked me. If she would just stop being so goddamn chicken shit all the time.
"Alright, is Renny your real name?"
"Yeah," I agreed, already uncomfortable with the line of questioning. But if I expected her to peel back a layer, I needed to as well. "It's my mother's maiden name. Renny Renolds West." That was more than I gave anyone save for Reign and the other higher-up guys. It was more than I wanted anyone to know. Because there was only one Renny Renolds West and a search of Renny Renolds West would produce the name of two doctors named Katherine Renny-West and Roland West. From there, there would be a lot of speculation about how the son of two extremely prominent and respected shrinks from up in Maine ended up with a biker for a son. And Mina, yeah, she was every damn bit as good as she thought she was. She would dig up my dirt eventually.
Somehow, it wasn't as fucking terrifying as it usually seemed.
"Renny Renolds West," she rolled my name around on her tongue, sounding way too fucking good in that odd accent of hers. "How... distinguished. What no third or fourth attached to that?"
"My parents were a bit pretentious. They liked their appearances. It was bad enough I had copper fucking hair. They couldn't have a kid running around named Billy or Bobby or some shit like that."
"Were?"
"Are." She caught fucking everything. It was oddly sexy. Which probably said a lot about me and my odd proclivities. "Alright, you're up," I said and noticed how hard she tried to not stiffen, but she did. "Joey or Chandler?"
She jerked back at that, her perfect goddamn lips parting. "I'm sorry... what?"
"Joey or Chandler. From Friends."
"I'm not sure I understand the question," she said, brows drawing together, creasing a small line between them.
"Which one do you like better?"
"You can't be serious," she said, shaking her head. "You're given a free pass to ask me anything, but you want to know my preferences on some sitcom?"
"You can tell a lot about a girl if you know her preferences on fictional sitcom characters. Pick one."
She looked up at the top bunk for a second, her head shaking. "I guess... Chandler."
"Why?"
"That's two questions."
"Yeah, but mine is trivial. Trivial questions get to have a follow up question to keep it fair."
"Are these rules written down somewhere?" she shot back. "Can I have a copy of this rule book?"
"No need, I have it all up here," I said, tapping my temple. "Answer."
She licked her lips. "His sarcasm is used to mask his deep-rooted insecurity and vulnerability brought on by a confusing and non-traditional upbringing."
"Why not Joey then? He's a simpler character."
"Who wants simple?" she shot back and it was the right fucking response. "Okay. You joined The Henchmen when you were about twenty. But you had been kicking around Navesink Bank for years before then. Why did you run away from home?"
"Why does a rat chew off his feet to escape the sticky tape?"
"Oh," she said, clearly surprised at the bluntness. Frankly, I was a little surprised myself.
"Why didn't your mother love you?" I asked, catching her off guard and her eyes went huge for a short second. "She didn't, that much is clear. But why?"
She swallowed a little hard at that and then exhaled slowly. "Because I wasn't a boy and because I couldn't make my father love her."
"Babies never save a bad marriage," I agreed.
"Did your parents beat you?"
"Nah," I said, clicking my tongue. That wasn't their style. "When was the last time you had an orgasm?"
"What?" she shrieked, clearly thrown off her game.
"Orgasm," I repeated, trying like fuck to not grin. "You know... when your breathing catches and your body tightens and your pussy..."
"I know what an orgasm is," she cut me off.
"I was just checking. You know, in case it's been so long that you've forgotten."
She lifted her chin a little, not wanting to seem prudish about the line of questioning. "Self-inflicted or from a partner?"
"Both."
"This wasn't trivial, you don't get a backup question. Pick one."
"Fine. Self," I said, not really giving a fuck what her sexual history was, but genuinely curious how often she diddled the skittle when between partners.
"I don't know... a month..."
"A month?" I asked, brow raising.
"I live at Hailstorm!" she defended. "I sleep in a barracks."
"Not for nothing, sweetheart, but I don't think a goddamn man in that room would have a problem with you taking care of business right then and there."
She laughed at that, giving me a small smile and not asking me to not call her that. I had called her it earlier without her objecting to it. So sweetheart it was. And, somehow, that was a really telling little thing.
"Why do you and Duke hate each other?"
Now there was an interesting question with no simple answer. I didn't hate Duke. I actually had a lot of respect for him until I figured out he was hiding a neo-nazi upbringing. You can't help what you're born into. I knew that better than anyone. But when I pushed that button to make sure it didn't create a spark, it set off what had been a ticking time bomb.
"We all have our things," I started, grabbing the beer and popping the top off. "I push buttons to see what they do. It's not exactly a habit that makes friends. Especially when you push a man like Duke's buttons and he fucking blows up. It's not a habit I can or even want to break and it's not something Duke can look over or forgive. We fight and we piss each other off, but he's my brother. That means something to me. Especially now."
"For what it's worth, Penny likes you. I think she'll bring him around eventually if you could maybe try to stop being a dick."
"Yeah, but what are the chances of that?" I asked with a smirk. "Why are you fighting this so hard?" I asked since it was my turn.
"Fighting what?" she asked, knowing damn well what I meant.
I took my plate, still mostly-full, and reached up to put it on the top bunk and put my beer on the floor, scooting forward on the mattress until our hips were lined up. My hand rose, gliding across her jaw until it cupped the side of her face. "This," I clarified. "And don't insult both of us by saying there isn't a this, because we both fucking know there is."
"Renny, it's..."
"Not complicated," I cut in. "So it's what? Scary? I scare you." Her eyes fell from mine, unable to admit that that was the truth. "Because you don't get the luxury of hiding from me. Because I can see past the shields."
"It's not that..."
"You do see that it's the same for me, right? You and me, we're two sides of the same fucking coin. No one gets to pull me apart and see how I tick. But I am letting you. It's not any easier for me to do it than it is for you to do it. But I'm willing to take the chance and see what happens. I'm just asking you to give it the same shot here. Not asking you to do something that I'm not willing to."
I had her with that.
Her eyes rose to mine, a little less guarded, a little more vulnerable. She had just given me more in ten minutes than she had given me in weeks.
The thing was, I wanted more. I wanted it all.
And judging by the fact that her eyelids were getting heavier as my finger traced up her cheek, yeah, she wanted more too.
My face lowered toward hers, watching for any sign of pulling away. Finding none, my lips pressed down to hers.
"There's someone at the gate," Cash called down the stairs. "Get your asses up here."
Mina shocked away from me, her lips parted, her eyes wide, realizing what we had been about to do.
"Move," she demanded, pressing a hand into my chest and when I didn't immediately go to comply, she shot off the other side of the bed, rushing around and slamming her feet into her shoes, obviously eager for a chance to create some distance again.
But she was really fucking underestimating me if she thought we were going to take steps back now that we had finally taken some forward.
I got off the bed, grabbing my beer, and heading upstairs to find everyone standing around save for Summer and Maze and the kids, likely all relegated to one of the rooms.
"Who is it?"
"My guys at the gate said they don't know him. Introduced himself as Laz," Lo supplied, shrugging. "He wants to talk to Reign. They patted him down and are bringing him in."
Repo pulled the door open and in walked Lo's heavily armed guys who were on loan from Hailstorm until we could man our own gates again. Between them was a tall guy with short dark hair, dark eyes that seemed to hold a lot of depth, and a swimmer's-type body in jeans and a black tee.
He seemed completely at ease between the two armed escorts to his sides too.
Which was interesting.
"Who the hell are you?" Reign asked, brow raised, body tense, ready to react if need be.
"Lazarus Alexander," he said, his voice deeper than you'd expect.
"Alright, Lazarus Alexander," Reign said, nodding slightly. It was proof of how on-edge he was that he didn't take a second to rib him on a name like that. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Just figured I would give you all a heads-up that some guys were breaking into your gym."
"The fuck?" Reign asked, head jerking back. "When?"
"Literally right now," Lazarus said, shrugging casually. "Know you guys have been having some, ah, issues lately. Figured you might want to know about that. I was taking a walk, saw them down the side entrance in the alley so I made my way this way."
"Didn't think maybe it'd be faster to call?" Duke suggested, shaking his head. It was a good ten minute walk from the gym to the compound.
"Wow, fucking stupid on me, huh? I should have picked up the yellow pages and looked under, what? Arms dealers? Bikers? Unappreciative assholes?" he added, smirking a little.
It wasn't every day a man walked into a biker compound and insulted the men who lived there. The fact that this guy would do it was interesting. And maybe a little bit impressive.
I could tell Reign felt the same way judging by the smirk pulling on his lips. "Alright, smartass. How many?"
"I only saw two but there could be more."
"Alright. Duke, take our new friend here down to the basement until we get this sorted out. Renny, Mina, you," he said, pointing to one of the guys from the gate. They changed daily. It was impossible to learn names. "Will come with me."
"Reign," Lo tried to cut in, her voice reasoning.
"Tired of sitting behind reinforced walls while our fucking lives go to shit, Lo. I'm going. And I'll take Renny. The rest can stay behind and keep an eye on things here. And I want someone with him," he said, jerking his chin toward Lazarus, "until we get back. Let's move," he declared and we all jumped to action.
Duke led Lazarus toward the hall and basement, the man seeming completely unaffected by becoming, at least temporarily, prisoner in a biker compound. Reign and I grabbed guns from behind the bar. Mina took one off of Lo. Then, as a unit, we all made our way toward the car.
Renny (The Henchmen MC #6) Page 4
