by Jayne Blue
His vacant eyes stared up at the ceiling. The kill shot had taken him through the forehead. That’s not what got my attention though. There were two letters carved in his cheek. It was done after he died. No blood rimmed the slash marks.
“Son of a bitch,” Josh muttered. “D ... H. The fucking Devil’s Hawks did this!”
Chapter Five
Brenna
My palms were sweating. My palms were actually sweating. I’d gotten in and out of my car maybe ten times before finally turning the key and driving into town. I came late. Gunn said he’d meet me at ten. It was ten fifteen before I pulled into a spot one block over from the town square water fountain.
Gunn was already there.
I gripped the steering wheel and thought about just turning around and driving the other way. The sun glinted off the chrome handlebars of his Harley. He’d parked it at an angle beside the fountain. Gunn himself stood a few feet away, chatting up some girl who’d happened to walk by.
That’s not fair. It was more her chatting him up. She batted her eyelashes and pressed a hand to his leather vest three times in the span of a minute. She was blonde, pretty, big tits. She looked like a dozen other women I’d seen in the Wolf Den the other night. Biker chicks. Gunn was pleasant, polite, but he wasn’t really looking at her. Instead, he scanned the street, looking for me. When he finally turned in my direction, my heart did a little flip. God. He was so big. So intimidating in that leather, those boots, that patch. Part of me could almost understand the allure of the Great Wolves to my then fifteen-year-old brother. Gunn had a “don’t fuck with me” air about him, like some sort of apex predator. No one would hurt him. God help the poor bastard who even tried.
He saw me. Gunn’s shoulders went back and his lips curved into a little half-smile. The girl beside him was still talking. Gunn took a step away from her and she reached for him, catching his arm. He said something. Her face fell but she plastered on a smile quick enough. She ran a hand through her hair and her smile dropped when she tracked Gunn’s line of sight.
I stepped out of the car and closed the door. He was watching me. She was watching me. I don’t know why it mattered, but the glow of Gunn’s gaze made me walk a little straighter. The woman let out a fake laugh then turned and walked away.
I met Gunn halfway, in front of one of the benches facing the fountain. He flashed a thousand-kilowatt smile at me and those old, familiar butterflies took flight in my stomach. Lord help me, I’d had such a crush on this guy when I was just a kid. I tried to tell myself now that hadn’t been real. At least, no more real than idolizing some poster of a boy-band member. And yet somehow, the real Gunn had a way of squeezing my heart all over again.
“Brenna,” he said, his voice deep and commanding. He spread his arms and pulled me into a tight hug. A real hug. He was strong, solid, and warm. I hugged him back but my grip was tentative. He felt it and pulled away but kept a light hand on my upper arm.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “Look at you. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. You’re just supposed to be a kid.”
I tucked a hair behind my ear and took a seat on the bench. Gunn joined me but turned so he faced me full on. I had his undivided attention and it made me a little weak in the knees.
“It’s been a really long time,” I said. “Almost seven years.”
I couldn’t finish the rest of that sentence. Seven years since Scotty’s funeral and the last time I saw Brandon “Gunn” Thompson until the other night.
“Right,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out my little red leather wallet and handed it to me. “Nice picture.”
I took it from him; our fingers brushed and it sent a little spark of heat through me. I knew I probably should have just gotten up right then and there, thanked him, and gone back to my life. If someone saw us together, it could complicate my life more than I needed.
“It’s good to see you,” I said. “I mean ... you look good. Are you?”
Gunn ran a hand over the two-day-old stubble on his chin. He looked the same for the most part. But the last seven years had deepened the lines around his eyes and his mouth. He was twenty-eight, just like Scotty would have been. All traces of his boyish youth were gone, leaving the hardened, rugged face of a real man.
“Yeah,” he said. “Real good, actually. I run a shop out on Culver Road. Actually, it’s Benny Hurley’s old place. Except it’s mine now. Custom rebuilds are my specialty but my bread and butter is basic maintenance and repairs.”
“Wow. That’s great, that’s really great.” I wanted to say more. Scotty would have loved working in a place like that. He’d always been good with his hands and knew his way around small engines. It’s the one good thing our father had ever taught him.
“So you’re a college girl now, huh?” Gunn shot me a wink that I figured would have melted the biker groupie he’d just been talking to.
“I am. Junior year. I’m studying business. It’s not as glamorous as bike rebuilds, but I like it. I think I’m good at it.”
“Wow.” Gunn leaned back. His eyes flicked over me and I could almost see him peeling back the years. To him, I had probably only ever been Scotty Rose’s annoying little sister. The tag-along.
Gunn’s face fell a little and he took in a breath like he was working up to something. Then he asked the question that I knew must be hard for him. “How’s your mom?”
“Susan is Susan,” I said, giving him a little shoulder shrug. “Ornery and opinionated as ever. If she knew I was sitting here talking to you, she’d probably murder one of us.”
He let out that breath and the set of his shoulders dropped as if he were either relieved or at least resigned to my answer. There was really another question embedded inside of it and I wouldn’t go there. The answer would be yes. My mother still wholeheartedly blamed Gunn for what happened to her son. It wasn’t fair. I knew that. And I could only imagine how hurtful her judgment had been for him. No matter what else happened, Gunn had been like family to her once upon a time.
“Nah,” he said. “I mean, maybe about the murdering part. But your Ma, she looks out for you. That’s not nothing.”
Gunn’s tone held a hollowness to it. He still carried pain in his heart and it touched me. I didn’t know his whole story. Scotty had told me some, but I had been a self-absorbed kid. Plus, my brother had always tried to shield me from ugly things. I knew enough. What Scotty didn’t say, I often overheard from my parents, usually in the throes of another one of their blowouts. More than once, my father had objected to Scotty’s friendship with him.
That kid is nothing but a thug. His old man was a thug. His mother was a junkie. He’s trash. Worthless!
In her soft, passive-aggressive tones, my mother would try and defend him. He’s just a kid, Tim. He’s got a good heart.
The memory hurt. I felt tears threatening to spring. There was so much more. My father had done so much worse than yell. Until Scotty was gone, I never knew how awful he could really be. The night of Scotty’s funeral was also the last time he slept under our roof.
“I know,” I said. “And I also know how much you tried to help her over the years. She hasn’t always been fair to you.”
Gunn’s face went hard. I felt guilty for dredging up memories that hurt him as much as they did me. But for all the vile things my parents said about this man, I knew how my brother felt about him. I also knew how much Scotty would hate it if Gunn blamed himself for what happened.
“Scotty made his own choices,” I said. I reached for Gunn, putting a hand on his knee. He tensed beneath my touch, quad muscles turning to granite. “He wasn’t a kid anymore by the time he committed to the Great Wolves full time.”
I don’t know what made me so bold. Maybe it was Scotty’s ghost. But I lifted my hand from Gunn’s knee and traced the patch on his cut.
“Tail gunner,” I said. “It sounds impressive. When did you get this?”
Gunn’s face softened. “A little ov
er five years ago. Proudest day of my life, Brenna. But ... it wasn’t complete. I wished to God Scotty had been there. I wished to God he could have earned one of his own.”
His eyes reddened and the hardness came back into his expression. He took my wrists, circling them with his fingers. He said his next words through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t my fault. Not directly. But I’m still so fucking sorry for what happened to Scotty. If I’d walked out of that building just a few seconds earlier, it would have been me. I’ve spent a lot of years wishing it had been. I know what you lost. I know what your mother lost. I know what we all lost.”
I blinked hard, refusing to let myself cry in front of him. “It’s good to see you, Gunn. I’m glad you’re okay. I can’t sit here and tell you I don’t wish Scotty had chosen a different path. If he’d wanted to be a truck driver like my dad, maybe his life would have turned out different. Maybe he’d still be here. Maybe he wouldn’t. But I do know he was his happiest when he was with you and that club. And nobody could ever get Scotty Rose to do something he didn’t want to. He was like our dad in that respect.”
Gunn let me go. “He was nothing like his old man.” His words dripped with the heat of hatred. Once again, I felt Scotty’s ghost rising up to protect me. He’d always taken the worst of what my father had to dish out as soon as he was old enough to stand up to him.
“I haven’t seen him around lately,” Gunn said. “You know if that changes, if you or your mom ever need anything, I’m a phone call away. I told you that when Scotty died. It’s still true.”
“My dad is my dad. But no, he doesn’t come around much. And my mom has been good about enforcing her restraining order against him. She’s had to call the cops a couple of times over the years, but I think my dad finally got the message. He lives over on Baker Drive with some waitress he met last year. I haven’t seen him in months.”
“Good.” I couldn’t read him. I didn’t claim to know the man before me like I did when I was a kid. But there was something about the way he said the word that made me feel like he was keeping another secret.
“So.” Gunn’s face brightened. I was glad for it. Talking about Scotty was still too intense for me. Especially with him. “College girl. You wanna tell me where you got that fake ID you used at the Den the other night?”
My blood turned to lava. Of all the things he might have asked me, I hadn’t expected that. “I ... uh ... my roommate set it up. I’m really sorry. I was just trying to be a good friend. Christine’s a great girl. Honest.”
Gunn laughed. “Relax, I’m not planning on turning you in, Brenna. And I don’t want to lecture you. But it wasn’t the smartest plan to go to the Den. I mean, it’s great to see you. It’s just no place for you.”
I don’t know why, but this got my back up. Feminist indignation, maybe. But I didn’t like being told what to do. And I really didn’t like the look that crossed his face. For a moment, it was like he was seeing me as the gap-toothed twelve-year-old girl he used to know. I checked myself though, knowing belligerence wouldn’t really disabuse him of that image.
“Thanks,” I said. “But I can take care of myself now, Gunn. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
His face fell. Damn. It was the wrong thing to say, even if it was true. I think he sensed an undertone I hadn’t really meant to bring up. I’d been taking care of myself because my main protector died in his arms seven years ago.
“All the same, despite what your old man and a bunch of people in this town think, my club wants to keep this town safe and clean. It’s in my interest to know who’s selling fake IDs good enough to fool one of my crew at our own front door, Brenna.”
“Sorry. I get it. But really, I don’t know who did them. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to say anything to you that might come back to bite Christine.”
He put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave it alone for now.”
I had other things to say. Another protest to lodge, but my phone rang to interrupt me. I pulled it out of my purse, intending to send the call to voicemail but the number was one I couldn’t ignore.
“Give me one second,” I said, rising from the bench. I walked a few steps away and answered. “Hello?”
“Miss Rose?” the caller said. The ID came up as the Harrington College registrar’s office. My heart pounded in my ears. This had to be bad news.
“Yes.”
“This is Therese Shelby at the registrar’s office. We’ve tried reaching you for a couple of days now. Did you get the letter we sent?”
“What letter?” Gunn was watching me. I turned my back to him but he could hear every word I said.
“Miss Rose, I’m sorry but your tuition check for this semester bounced. We’ve sent three notices. The deadline to cure payment is next week. After that, you’ll be disenrolled for the semester.”
“You can’t ... I wasn’t ... that’s not enough time! I told you, I never got any letter.”
“It was sent to your address on file. Is that still 2352 Baker Drive?”
This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t breathe. “No,” I said. “Baker Drive is my father’s address. Not mine. And I’ve never filled out any paperwork to change that. There’s been a mistake.” I know it was ludicrous, but I felt like I’d conjured some evil spirit just talking about my father. He’d stayed away. My mother told me she hadn’t had any contact with him all year. She had to be wrong.
“Well, like I said, you have until the end of the week to cure this. At this point, you’ll have to come down to the office in person though. We can’t take another check, but a credit card, cash, or money order is acceptable.”
“I’ll handle it,” I said. I didn’t want to piss this woman off, but I also didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Gunn a second longer. None of it made sense. Why on earth would they be sending tuition bills to my father’s address?
I hung up the phone and tried to find a smile as I turned to Gunn.
“Everything okay?” he said. I had a sinking feeling that he’d heard every word Therese Shelby had to say. Her voice had been so loud in my ear I checked twice to make sure she wasn’t on speaker. Even if he’d only heard my end of the conversation, it was probably enough to earn that hard stare again. He knew whatever was happening had to do with my dad. Not two minutes ago I’d just sworn to him the man was out of our lives.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just a little mix-up with my tuition. Some pencil pusher pushed the wrong pencil. It was great seeing you, Gunn. I’ve got to go though. And I’ll remember what you said about the IDs. I’ll warn Christine.”
Things grew quickly awkward between us. I lunged forward and gave Gunn a quick hug. He was stiff as a board and those deep, dark eyes of his flashed with anger I knew he didn’t mean for me.
“Brenna …” he called out, but I’d already turned my back and started running down the hill toward my car.
Chapter Six
Gunn
Sly was pissed. I don’t think I’d ever really seen him get mad like this. It was usually Marcus or Angel who threw shit and punched holes in the wall when things got heavy. Dex sat in his usual spot at Sly’s right hand. He kept his cool as always, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as Sly finished his tear. Charlie once told me Dex had been the worst hothead you’d ever wanna meet. But all those years in prison for something he didn’t do had tempered him, made him more cautious. Marrying Ava had mellowed him too.
“We’ve got nothing? No leads? You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Sly had already flipped his chair. He took the news of Toby’s murder harder than the rest of us. I knew they went way back. It was more than just that. Nobody wanted to say it, but Sly was superstitious. Toby’s death coming on the heels of him proposing to Scarlett didn’t bode well.
“It’s not no leads, Sly,” Switch said. “I mean, the guy had the Hawks’ initials carved in his face.”
Sly shook his head. He righted his chair and sat down hard. “I’m no
t buying it. It’s not their style. It’s too obvious. That’s the kind of shit the Red Brigands do. Not the Hawks.” Sly should know. Scarlett’s brother had been taken out by the Brigands over ten years ago. They’d branded him with their mark and threw him on her front lawn. Sick shit.
“Maybe,” Dex said. “But the Hawks know more than anyone how crucial Toby’s business is to ours. If they’re trying to rattle the cage, you gotta admit, this is the way to do it. Make our other suppliers think we can’t protect our own people. They get antsy and start pulling out, then we got a whole world of problems.”
“I still don’t buy it,” Sly said. “The Hawks don’t have the muscle to come at us head on like that. They’re still rebuilding after Kagan’s days. They’d never survive a war with us right now. Not unless they’ve got help.”
“You think the Brigands are teaming up with them?” I asked. It made a certain degree of sense, at least as an M.O.
Sly sat back hard and dropped his hand to the table top. “Fuck if I know right now. I mean, those two clubs have been at war with each other over the years. Neither of them has super strong leadership at the moment. I just can’t fucking believe they’d have their shit together enough to join forces against us.”
“If they do,” Dex offered, “it won’t last long. They’ll end up eating each other alive.”
“For the time being,” Sly said, “I think we need to operate under the assumption this really is the Hawks trying to stir shit up. If that’s the case, they’re not doing it alone. I need everyone to just watch their shit extra careful for the next little while. Nothing risky. Watch each other’s backs. Anyone hears anything out of the ordinary, you bring it to the table. Understood?”
Sly got agreement and promises all around the table. I hoped to God this was just a one-off kind of thing. Toby had a reputation around town as a player. It was just as likely he fucked the wrong desperate housewife and finally got his comeuppance. The initials might be a coincidence. Or more likely they were some ham-handed attempt by his real killer to make it look like a club problem.
