I turn my eyes to Jack, pretend like I’m waiting for his approval but the second he throws down his meat mallet I’m paying Rocco a visit.
He’s going to tell me everything he fucking knows.
Every fucking thing.
Chapter Twenty-five
The offensive mansion, all lit up like the fucking white house, comes into my line of sight the moment my bike turns onto Circle Road. Anger floods my veins as I throttle my bike in a hurry to wring pretty boy’s neck. I don’t give a flying fuck what kind of problems the mobster has, he can have every gangster from here to California gunning for his ass, but if I find out this shit bleeds into Gina’s life, I’ll make every fucking enemy he has look like a choir boy.
The moment Yankovich’s name was brought up, Cobra turned white as a sheet. Watching him relive the disappearance of his sister, seeing his eyes change from blue to slate gray as he pinned the whole fucking thing on the Russian—it fucked me up. Listening to him say the motherfucker tortures girls and only the ones who survive are sold; well, I kept picturing Gina’s face.
If this guy is after Rocco and he knows about Gina then of course the motherfucker will go after her. It’s nothing short of a miracle that he hasn’t already.
My bike comes to a halt as I pull up to the gated mansion and stare at the iron bars blocking my path to Rocco’s front door. Turning my head, I notice the intercom and lean forward to press the button. I slam my thumb against the button and wait for pretty boy’s voice to filter through the system, but it never comes and I turn into a six-year-old, repeatedly pressing my finger against the intercom.
“I know you’re in there pretty boy!”
I don’t really know if he’s in there.
His fucking car is at Pipe’s garage and the cobblestone driveway is clear. For all I know, the son of a bitch keeps his lights on so his enemies think he’s home. I press the button a final time before backing out and making a U-turn. Rolling up to the stop sign on the corner, I plant my boots on the street and pull out my phone, dialing Rocco’s cell.
The fuck doesn’t answer the phone.
“Answer your phone, douchebag, it’s important,” I say after the beep, and pocket my phone before taking off down Todt Hill.
Trying to clear my head I ride with no destination. I should go to Gina, I should fucking take her ass, put it on the back of my bike and drive her out to the middle of nowhere, a place where no one can find her.
Jesus fuck, listen to me.
I sound like a desperate man trying to keep the woman he loves in his life safe and away from harm. I don’t sound like a soldier wishing to be someone’s hero but the man who needs to be hers.
I’ve seen torture, delivered it at times.
Witnessed death, and been the one to deliver that too.
I’ve also been the man standing when it’s all over, the man surrounded by nothing but carnage.
I can’t be the man who stares at my pretty girl’s carnage.
I won’t be that man.
Cobra thinks we’re no match for Yankovich, but I swear on everything holy he’ll be no match for me if he tries to hurt Gina.
I think I love her.
If I don’t love her, then fuck me, I’m almost there.
That should scare me. Another time, another place, I’d be riding my ass to Jack and handing in my patch declaring myself a nomad again. I don’t know when the switch happened, when she became the thing in my life that kept me going, a man who wanted to stick—someone who was content sitting in a chair watching her sleep night after night. A guy who looked forward to going home and eating bologna sandwiches off her fancy plates.
Home.
I didn’t have one.
Until I looked into those green eyes.
Wherever those green eyes go, that is home, and right now I’m feeling kind of homesick, missing my pretty girl.
Still, I don’t go home.
I don’t go to her.
I park my bike at the hospital, stare up at the building and think of the man who brought me here.
He couldn’t have known by looking at me that I was as fucked as I am. He doesn’t know about the PTSD and he sure as hell doesn’t know I’m a statistic. A veteran who survived war to live in hell and tried to escape it with a gun pointed at his temple. He couldn’t have known that. He couldn’t have known I was too much of a pussy to take my own life or else I wouldn’t be here.
The men who ride with Brooklyn aren’t pussies. They are men who have no fear in the eyes of the devil.
I make my way to Wolf’s room, rap my knuckles on the door twice before pushing it open and stepping inside. His eyes are glued to the flat screen perched on the wall of his hospital room and he’s shoving potato chips in his mouth.
“I’m no doctor or anything, but should you be eating potato chips?” I ask, walking further into the room.
He ignores my question and waves his hand toward the television.
“Are you watching this shit? I mean out of all the people in this country this is our best shot? Fuck that shit, put me up there, I’ll make America great again.”
“Yeah,” I agree, swiping a hand over my head. “I bet you could.”
“Damn straight I could,” he mutters, muting the television and turning his gaze to me. “You come here to talk about my political campaign?”
“No,” I say, pulling the chair over to the side of his bed. “Pipe left.”
He stares at me for a moment before rolling up the top of the potato chip bag.
“I know, the Bulldog came by and told me,” he mutters. “The son of a bitch didn’t even say goodbye.”
“I guess he had enough.”
“The fuck that mean?” he sneers. “We’re still his brothers. We’re his fucking family.”
“You really believe that with all your heart, huh?”
“You bet your ass I do, boy. You should believe that too.”
“What else did Jack tell you?”
“Let’s cut through the bullshit, yeah? Tell me why you’re here, boy. Tell Uncle Wolf what’s on your mind,” he coos sarcastically.
I never needed anyone’s guidance, never wanted it, yet here I am seeking out advice from the craziest motherfucker I’ve ever known. I really should get myself evaluated.
“Why me?”
“Why you what?”
“Why’d you ask me to come back here with you?”
He draws in a deep breath and positions himself on his bed so he’s sitting upright.
“You thinking about running?” he asks as he glares at me.
“No,” I say with conviction, surprising myself. I don’t want to run, I don’t want to pack my saddlebags and ride my tank of gas out until I reach the next clubhouse. I want to stay here, right here and fight for what I’m a part of. I want to fight for what I have, but every battle I fight I lose and losing isn’t an option for me anymore. The next fight I lose will be my last one, and for the first time since I touched American soil, I don’t want to be the man staring in the mirror with a gun to his head.
I want to be the man who puts the gun down and turns to green eyes.
“I fucked up,” I admit. “I’ve been lying to the club.”
Wolf narrows his eyes at me, leaning forward to grab the pitcher of water propped on the rolling table in front of him. Figuring he’s going to throw it at me, I inch back and watch as he pours himself a glass of water.
“You going to finish there or you going to tell me what the fuck you lied about?”
“Remember the homecoming party you planned for me?”
“Of course I do, it’s the last time I got laid.”
“I met a girl that night,” I start.
“Good, you got pussy too, mission accomplished.” He raises his water glass in salute.
“Yeah, well, it didn’t end there.”
“You dirty dog!”
“Wolf! Focus, man, I’m telling yo
u something,” I growl, watching as he rolls his eyes and nods for me to continue. “I meant for it to be one night, I did. I’m not the guy that attaches himself to anything or anyone. Then I saw her again and I couldn’t walk away. I don’t know what the fuck it is about her, but whenever I’m around her, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.”
“Sounds like a keeper, but then they all do at first. I kept three of them and pay alimony to each of them.”
“She’s Rocco Spinelli’s sister.”
I question my decision to confide in him as his eyes bulge out of his head and he grabs his chest.
“Fuck! Are you alright?”
“You fucking that mobbed up pussy too?”
I snap my attention back to him, grab the arms of the chair and narrow my eyes at him.
“What do you mean? Who the fuck else is?”
“Relax, boy, I don’t mean someone else is tapping your pussy. Riggs’ married to the mob.”
“He hasn’t married her yet.”
“Has one kid and another on the way…he’s as good as married,” he acknowledges, scratching the top of his head. “I should give it a go, apparently it’s all the rage,” he says thoughtfully before dropping his hand to the side and turning his gaze back to me. “Wait a minute, I didn’t know Rocco had a sister. Does Jack know?”
“Nobody in the club knows. Linc met her, but I never told him who she was. The thing is Rocco showed up at her apartment when I was there with some fucking stiff he was going to assign to protect her and—”
“And you didn’t want dick sniffing around your girl,” he interrupts.
I glare at him.
“Go ahead, deny it, I can use the laugh,” he adds.
“He was concerned for her safety,” I ground out. “And I offered to watch out for her. I told him to lose the guard; that I’d stay with her and make sure no one harmed a hair on her head.”
“You watch that Whitney Houston flick?”
“Wolf, I swear to Jesus Christ—”
“Fine, fine, continue…” he laughs.
“You’re right; I didn’t want another guy around her. I didn’t think Rocco really had a leg to stand on with his bullshit. If no one knows Gina exists, she can’t be a threat, but in reality it is only a matter of time before they find her. Now, Rocco told Jack he doesn’t think the Corrupt Bastards were behind the bomb.”
“Come again?”
“You heard me,” I reiterate with a nod. “He’s pointing the finger to a guy named Vladimir Yankovich as the one who blew our shit up.”
Wolf’s hands ball into fists as he stares at me silently.
“Jack told us today, but I already knew the name because Rocco had mentioned it to me. I found his card in the Corrupt Bastards' clubhouse.”
“Where’s the card?”
“I gave it to Rocco,” I cringe. “I know I fucked up.”
“You’re fucking thinking with your dick is what you’re doing,” he hollers at me, pointing an accusing finger. “Jack knows all this now?”
“He knows about the card but doesn’t know I gave it to Rocco,” I pause. “There’s more.”
“Fuck me,” he growls.
“Cobra knows Yankovich, the motherfucker kidnapped his sister when they were fourteen-years-old. They never found her body but Cobra is sure she’s dead. He tortures girls, Wolf, and I’m not real keen on finding out what kind of torture that might be. Cobra says whoever survives is sold overseas. I mean this is some serious fucked up shit we’re getting wrapped up in. Jack’s hell bent on not getting involved with Rocco, but I told him I’d get the goods and find out whatever intel Rocco’s got on Yankovich.”
“If Jack don’t know about the sister how did you convince him Rocco would give you anything?”
“I told him I’m seeing the girl who crashed Rocco’s car,” I mutter, realizing what a fucking mess this whole thing is as I say the words.
“Explain!”
“Gina stole Rocco’s car and I brought it to the shop to fix after she crashed it.”
“Gina’s your girl I’m assuming.”
Gina one hundred percent is my girl but I don’t answer Wolf because I know what comes next and before he says it I try to mentally prepare myself.
“You better get used to that, boy, because if this is going the path I think it is then you’re going to have to grab your balls and claim Spinelli’s sister if you want the club to back you. Especially since the Bulldog doesn’t want anything to do with the mob anymore. Ain’t no way in hell he will drag the club into this unless that pussy is property of a Knight.”
“Even if Rocco is right and Yankovich is the guy who fucking blew up the clubhouse; if he’s the guy who killed our prospects and Pipe’s wife—this guy took Cobra’s sister…”
“Old news,” he seethes. “I don’t like it, it tastes foul on my tongue but it’s the truth. We’re not in a position to be dredging up old vendettas. If this fuck sent Ronan in there with the bomb, he had to have beef with the Corrupt Bastards to pin this shit on them. We did our part, took out their whole fucking club and that should be enough to keep Yankovich at bay. He set us up to do his dirty work, but this threat on Rocco’s sister, that’s a different story. The club will feel that because you’ll feel it. You gotta tell Jack.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt her.”
“Then say the words, boy, claim her and the club will have your back.”
“Having my back means having Rocco’s back,” I remind him.
“No, having your back is having your girls back. Rocco just gets to benefit from the bonds of brotherhood. I bet he knows that too. If Pastore trained him well, he knows how we work. He probably staged that whole fucking thing with the guard to get you in his corner because that’s all he needs. Pastore had Jack, and we all followed. You carried the man to his grave because Jack took to that man. Not all of us agreed with the alliance, most of us vetoed that shit at church, but in the end we take care of what is ours. Jack made Victor ours and you, you’re making Rocco and his sister ours now too.”
“Jack’s going to kill me.”
“He’ll probably fuck you up. Hell, I might fuck you up for this shit, but your girl…ain’t nobody gonna touch her. You gotta tell Jack. You need to bring this shit to the table.”
He refills his cup of water, takes a swig before placing it back on the table and looks back at me.
“Get the goods from Rocco, find out everything he knows and bring that to the table. Then drop your truth on Jack’s lap.” He pauses for a moment, “What you're feeling right now is the exact reason I chose you. I was desperate to save my club just like you’re desperate to save your girl. I’m no savior but I salvaged what was broken by giving it what it needed to be fixed.”
Desperate.
I’ve been desperate many times in my life. I was desperate to save my mother, desperate to save my country, and desperate to save the men who stood with me every day defending freedom.
I’ve been desperate before.
But never have I been the savior.
“Nobody can be a hero by themselves in this world. You know that shit better than anyone. Every man who fights a good fight has a band of brothers standing alongside him. Some may fall, but those who stand, stand together. You got your army you just need to take it.”
Take it.
And hang onto it.
Chapter Twenty-six
Glancing out the window, I spot the sun creeping up the horizon ready to rise and hand us all a new day. It’s the time of day I look forward too because it’s when I’m the most at peace. It’s when my body relaxes because I made it through another night without the ghost of war haunting me. It’s the time when I watch Gina sleep peacefully, knowing she will wake up soon and give me her eyes. I crave to be next to her, to have her in my arms, against my body, but I’m not selfish enough to take what I want.
At least not now.
I gave her one final nig
ht of peace, one night before I dump all the ugly bottled inside of me onto her. Claiming her to the entire free world isn’t such a hardship for me as it will be for her. I get her, all of her and she gets all of me—the nightmares, the times when reality fades and I’m transcended back in time. I get the pretty girl and she gets the wounded soldier.
Crap deal.
At least she’ll be safe.
The club will keep her safe.
After calling Rocco several times, I gave up for the night and came home to the eyes waiting for me. At this point Rocco might be lying in a ditch somewhere because I can’t get a fucking hold of him, but every minute I don’t get in touch with him is a minute too long. I need whatever he’s got on Yankovich so I can deliver that shit to Jack and tell him that Gina’s my old lady.
She’s going to hate being called that.
She can hate it all she wants but if being my old lady keeps her safe, then she will wear the fucking title like it’s one of those fancy name plates she displays on her desk.
“Morning,” she whispers, stretching her arms over her head. She hides the frown I’ve come to expect and turns down the sheet beside her and pats the space I should be lying in. Robotically I rise from the chair and slip into bed beside her. The frown is replaced with a lazy smile as she rolls her body into the crook of mine and props her chin on my chest.
I thread my fingers through her hair and lean forward to kiss her forehead.
“Good morning, pretty girl,” I murmur.
“Now it is,” she whispers, throwing her leg over mine. “Do you know what today is?”
“What’s today?”
“Football Sunday,” she declares, running her fingers up my chest and twisting my nipple between them.
“Ouch,” I tease.
“You love it,” she accuses.
Yeah, I do. Every time she plays with my piercings I think she’s the reason I did it. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know her when I had them done, I’m sure I got them because subconsciously she was across the country waiting to play with them.
“So,” she starts, pushing herself up before crawling over me until she’s straddling me. “Are you ready?”
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