“You aren’t Goldie Locks and they are not the three bears. Leave them alone.”
“Leave who alone mommy?” Maxon asked. Amber and I both jumped not noticing that little ears had joined us.
“No one important Max. Are you having fun?” Number one tactic with my boys – divert their attention and they forgot whatever it was they were talking about.
“Yes,” they yelled in unison. Both started talking at once as Gunner approached us with Stella.
“I was getting ready to head out. Want me to take the boys?” Stella looked to Gunner and then me.
“I think so,” Gunner answered, drawing all of our attention.
“Oh man,” Mase complained as Max whined, “Not yet.”
“Come on boys. I got a treat for you to take in the car with you,” Amber said, cutting off their objections as she handed me her empty bottle and took both their hands. Stella followed behind, but not before giving me a big wink. Standing alone with Gunner all of a sudden had me feeling nervous and a little out of place.
“I . . . I better go say good night.”
“Come find me when you’re done so we can talk. Ok cher?”
The talk. It was a long time coming, so I nodded in agreement.
But now that the time had come I was afraid of what would happen next. Did I really want to know? What if I did not like the answers to my questions? Would I have the strength to let go?
Gunner
Emma was thinking hard. Way too hard for my liking. I could see the doubt and a little bit of fear each time I looked at her. She always returned my smile, but most of the time it looked forced. I needed her, but duty kept pulling me back to Baton Rouge. And I knew if I did not come clean and really soon, I was going to lose her.
A little over an hour later, Emma found me at the bar nursing my whiskey as Knox told one of his crazy ass stories like he always did. Ever since that night at the rundown safe house, Knox and I had formed a bond outside of the Reapers’ brotherhood. We became true brothers, looking out for each other and giving advice whether or not it was needed or asked for. It made for interesting conversations. Like the one we had at the wedding and then again a few days ago when he called me on my shit with Emma. It was needed and he was the only person who could deliver it without becoming target practice. I was already coming to see her, but now it with a greater urgency to solidify my place in her life.
Wesson was another brother who would offer advice even when it was not solicited. He was one hell of a President, nothing like my old man, but even he had his flaws. He was too much of a worrier and wanted everyone’s opinions before making a decision. Military taught me the benefits of a quick reaction time. But I respected the hell out of him. Which was why his opinion of me and what he had to stay about Baton Rouge was one reason I left to try and take care of shit.
Now, I was leading Emma to my execution as I took her to my room. She would not understand what I could not tell her because half the shit was club business and the other half would get her killed if anyone knew she knew. Plus how could I justify how I got messed up in such fucked-up club business that had no end in sight. She would want to get as far away from me as she could and I could not blame her.
“I thought you wanted to talk,” Emma said after several minutes of being in my room and me pacing back and forth.
“I do,” I agreed. “It’s just harder than I thought it would be.”
“Then just start at the beginning,” encouraged Emma as she stood in front of me and took my hands in hers. “And we will get there together.”
“Together,” I snorted. “I hope so cher.”
“Then tell me.”
“Ok, here it goes. T-Bone is the Baton Rouge President. There is a lot of shit going down right now that I need to be a part of. They need me down there more than Camden City needs me here.” Then I added the last part. “And I am their new VP.”
“But I thought you were a nomad?” Emma asked. Her eyes dropped to my cut. “But when you came to Camden City, you didn’t have that,” she said as she pointed to the Baton Rouge on my cut. “Yours said nomad, and it definitely didn’t say that,” she ended with her fingers running across the Vice President patch.
“Cher, I was nomad for a couple of years before finding a place in Camden City. But I had to go back.”
I knew what Emma was going to say before she even asked. “But why?”
“Because T-Bone is my father.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Emma
HOLY SHIT.
“I thought you joined straight out of the military.” Everything I knew about Gunner was about his service in the military. How he was a sniper for the army and how his knowledge of weapons, guns and battle tactics came in handy. All the Camden City brothers looked to him to set up the defenses and keep the guns stocked.
“I did, but only because I was born into the club. My grandfather was a founding member of the Baton Rouge chapter. My father was VP when I was born. It was a running joke that he would never have a boy. I was the first boy born even though I was number four. There are six of us in all.”
“Six kids. Wow.” Two were a handful. I could not imagine six.
“What was more amazing was the number of wives he had. I think he is on number four or five. I stopped keeping track after I left for boot camp.”
“That is crazy.”
“And now good ol’ T-Bone is bringing me in so deep I can never leave. I was hand picked the day I was born to follow in his footsteps and he is pulling out all the stops to make it happen. He turns sixty at the end of this year and I believe the gavel will be mine soon after.”
“You’ll be the President?”
“Yes,” he murmured as if he was ashamed of that fact. “It is a privilege or at least that is what I have been told ever since I could remember.”
“What do you mean . . . a privilege?”
“To T-Bone, the club and running it are the only things I should have ever wanted.”
“But you wanted more?”
“From you yes,” Gunner said, pulling me into him.
“I’m being serious.” I playfully hit him, feeling his hard body under my hand.
“So am I.” His voice turned deeper as he kissed along my jaw. How could he switch gears like that? One minute he was telling a story, next he was getting hard against my stomach as he groped me.
“I came in here,” I sighed, dropping my head back giving him better access, “to learn about where you have been and what is going on with you.”
“It’s a long story,” he breathed across my neck.
“Well I have a lot of time.” I slowly untangled myself from him and sat down on the bed. Patting the spot next to me, my eyes met his. Gunner took a deep breath before blowing it out. He looked at me and his baby blues lacked their normal intensity. They looked so sad. Almost as if he had already decided what telling me would mean. But he was wrong. I knew it from the deepest part within me that nothing he would say could scare me off. He just had to tell me. I could handle it. Hell, I had lived through the ugliest part of this life and came out stronger. When I patted the seat again, Gunner nodded and then sat next to me, taking one of my hands in his. He ran his thumb back and forth over the back of my hand as he began.
“The club is in my blood. My childhood consisted of the clubhouse, women trying to be or pretending to be my mom, and the shooting range. My grandfather took me when I was big enough to hold the gun myself. I think I was four or five. As I got older I needed the outlet, because I was so mad all the time. My home life sucked and the only relief I got was at the range. My grandfather gave that to me time and time again. He was an amazing man who was more of a father to me than my own.” Gunner chuckled as he lost himself to his memories. “He was GF; a nickname that only I was allowed to call him. And he smoked everything under the sun. Cigarettes, cigars, pot, filtered, unfiltered. If you could light it, he would smoke it. Always had something hanging out of the corner of his mouth
or tucked behind his ear. Always laughing and joking. Always a smile on his face.”
“He sounds amazing.”
“He was,” he said as his face grew serious. “My father and now my brother and I look just like him. My father so much so that his name is T-Bone, which in Cajun means Lil’ Bone.”
“Where does the Bone come from?”
“It’s our last name.”
“Really?” Then it hit me. Emma did not even know my full name.
“My real name is Trevor Bones. My family was one of the first in Baton Rouge many centuries ago. It is one of the longest standing families there.”
“That’s incredible.”
“Yeah, GF took all this shit so serious. He would tell story upon story of the old days in Baton Rouge. He was such a good man.”
“He passed away?”
“Yeah. GF got sick with lung cancer when I was in high school. He stepped down and my father became Prez. I was pulled into club business even against the wishes of my grandfather. Shit! I was doing runs in high school even though I was not even a prospect yet. The deeper I got in with the club, the more I knew what my life would look like as I watched my grandfather pass the gavel to T-Bone. There was no way out, so I did the only thing that would be acceptable to buy some time - I joined the army right out of high school. At first T-Bone was pissed, but GF was a veteran so any fallout was avoided. I left with talks of duty and honor in serving my country. Grandfather saw this as a way to become a man. It was an experience that T-Bone was lacking and it was always a huge point of contention between them.”
“Then you became a sniper,” I interjected when his pause stretched on, lost to past times.
Gunner nodded and then continued. “My time on the range showed and after basic I was sent to sniper school and then eventually I became a part of a team. It was my spotter and myself. Sometimes we were paired with another team in situations where you needed the extra guns or another 2-man team to keep each other alive. Four men were better than two in coming back alive in those types of missions.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Probably.” When I gave him a look he laughed and said, “Definitely, but I loved it. It got me out of here. I re-upped every single time.”
“Why?” What made him want to put himself back in those dangerous situations? What could have been so bad in Baton Rouge to make him want to stay there?
“I felt more at home there than here. The club changed as GF got worse. I hid for the longest time behind service to my country. Then I lost my spotter and GF in the same month. It was a shit show of a mission that got worse before it got better. Jerry took a hit that he couldn’t recover from. It was hell and then I got a call to come home. I made it just in time to see GF before he passed. On his deathbed he told me to come back and fix his legacy, to right the club. How could I say no? Loyalty to my grandfather had me retiring from the Army and prospecting for the club within six months.”
“But why did you go nomad?”
“There is no real brotherhood in Baton Rouge. Just a bunch of posers. T-Bone is smart. None of the prospects know what the club is really into before they are patched in and then . . . bam . . . you’re stuck with a Reaper on your back and shit you don’t even understand happening all around you. At least that is what it was like when I prospected with three others. I think GF knew all along that shit was sideways and asking me back would stop some of the shit. But at every turn T-Bone was throwing up roadblocks and pitting brothers against me until I had to leave. I was making no headway and knew I needed help. So I went nomad in hopes of finding a club, a Prez, someone who would have my back.”
“And you ended up here,” I pointed out. The goal was to keep him talking, because he was avoiding telling me the major details. He was sticking to facts, but there was more to the story. I just knew it.
“Pretty much,” he said, still rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand. “The way Wesson runs his club, and the brotherhood it creates reminds me of my time in the Army. It felt right being here. He runs the club for the brotherhood, not the money or women or other benefits that comes from the cut. Wesson took me in and helped me in ways I can never repay. I only planned to stay a short time, but then I saw you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You were coming back with Stella from the grocery store. You were loaded down with bags and Mase and Max were running circles around you, talking and laughing. I will never forget it. You were wearing a purple tank top and cut off jeans. Your hair was falling out of its ponytail so it fell just perfect around your face,” he said as he lifted his other hand, cupping my face. “The love you had for your boys showed in your eyes as you encouraged them to keep telling you their story.”
“I remember that day,” I admitted. “I remember struggling with the bags and the boys and then out of no where this sexy guy I had never seen before, but wearing a Reapers’ cut, was taking the bags from my arms, helping me take them into the kitchen and put them away.”
“The look in your eyes when I helped you was something I would never forget. From that day forward I did everything I could to have you look at me like that - a little surprise, a little awe, and lots of appreciation and respect. The more you looked at me like that, the more I craved it.” Gunner rested his forehead against mine. “I have wanted you since day one.”
“I wanted you for a long time too. But you have to answer one question.” When I felt his nod, I asked, “Why do you keep leaving?”
“You don’t want to know. And if you did you won’t want me anymore.” That would never happen.
“I will always want you, Gun.” He shook his head. “I will. Just trust me.” Gunner stared into my eyes for the longest time. I could see the doubt and the tiniest bit of fear that I would leave. Then resolve when he finally took a deep breath.
“I was told to come home again,” he explained. “I put it off as long as I could. Wesson helped, but then duty raised its ugly head and I had to go home. I was made VP the day I walked back in the door, trapping me there. The gavel is soon to follow. It infuriated my younger brother who was dutiful in his role. But he is as trapped by my father as I am, making Baton Rouge my home. No more Camden City!” Gunner jumped up and started pacing again.
“But you could change things, make them better,” I said. If that was what his grandfather wanted, why wasn’t he trying to make it happen?
“Are you really that naïve?” The anger in his tone had me sitting up straighter.
“Excuse me?” I questioned as I stood up to face him.
“Oh Emma, come on. You can’t be serious.”
“I don’t know. I am just trying to take this all in. You said that Wesson would help, but you never said with what. Just tell me.
“Club business cher.” A wall went up before my eyes.
“Don’t do that,” I warned through gritted teeth. “Don’t hide behind the cut. Tell me.”
“No.”
“Yes,” I demanded.
“Cher. Stop.”
“Then you stop.” I poked his chest as hard as I could.
“What?” The look of surprise on his face would have been funny if I was not so angry.
“Stop coming around,” I shouted. “Stop showing up when I need you most. Stop playing with my kids. Stop being perfect when we are together. Stop making me feel wanted when I’m really not. Stop acting like I am yours, when you are not mine. Just stop,” I yelled as I tried to storm past. “Please!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gunner
Emma!
I panicked. She was leaving. And she had every right to. I was avoiding the one topic that would have her running. Should I let her go or should I tell her the rest? On instinct I reached out and grabbed her as she tried to storm past. “Please,” Emma cried as I pulled her to me. Her body trembled in my arms as quiet sobs filled the room.
If I did not finish the story, I would lose her. I felt it in my bones.
“Drugs, Emma,” I w
hispered. Emma immediately became silent and still as she listened to me. “The club is a bunch of drug dealers. We have no other income besides the drugs. While I was in the Army, everything else got shut down. A club named Mass Mayhem out of New Orleans is challenging our turf. They deal in street drugs, everything from Smiles to E to Weed Candy.” It was the first time I ever told anyone other than Wesson. “It was going to take a while to change things without a war hanging over us. Now we are gearing up and focused on protecting what is ours, not looking at other ways to make money. It’s complicated cher.”
I hugged Emma tighter waiting for the fallout. When she did not respond I confessed the only secret I had left. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You sell drugs?” Her voice wavered ever-so-slightly.
“No . . . Yes . . . Fuck. I don’t physically sell the drugs. Travis, my younger brother oversees the operations. But I help move the stuff. I help with pick ups and drop offs. I have begun going with T-Bone to meet with the suppliers. He wants me to build a relationship with them.”
“Oh. My. God.” Emma’s trembling increased. “How could you be involved with that?” It was a question I asked myself every day.
“I don’t know,” I shouted as Emma turned to face me. “This is my club. My life. I want to be in Camden City, but I can’t.”
“What about Wesson?”
I cut her off before she could say anything else. “He asked, but I declined a patch here.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to do right by GF. I want to fix this. I just don’t know how,” I admitted. “But I want you too. Hell, I want you more than any of this bullshit, but I can’t walk away. The guilt would eat me alive. Duty is calling me back.” Throwing my head back, I yelled, “FUCK!”
I took to pacing again as Emma stood in the same spot with her head down and shoulders slumped forward. I felt like an ass. I unloaded my shit on her. Club business that could get her killed if T-Bone knew I told her.
Emma's Reaper: Soul Reapers #4 Page 5
