Can't Stop Fate (Ronacks MC #4)

by Debra Kayn

Carl shrugged and moaned. Mel stood and walked a few feet away, motioning Rod to join him where he could talk without Carl around.

  "What do you think?" asked Mel.

  "There's no gang activity in Haugan." Rod squinted into the distance. "At his age, it could be a girl, putting down someone's truck, tripping on the fucking curb and too embarrassed to admit he's a dumbass."

  "Do you think he's okay to ride?" Mel removed his phone, read the four messages Raelyn had sent him asking about her brother and put his cell back in the pocket of his vest without answering.

  "It doesn't look like he's going to pass out anytime soon. He's only hurting." Rod lowered his voice. "It might be enough to keep the kid inside for a week, instead of running around."

  Mel nodded. "I'll get him on the bike."

  "We'll follow and then take off once you've got him inside the bar. I don't think he needs the club tonight. It looks like any trouble has left." Rod walked away to inform Swiss and JayJay.

  Mel stepped back over to the curb, stood behind Carl, and heaved him to his feet by his armpits. "I'm taking you to your sister. If you remember who beat the fuck out of you, you come to me. If I hear you confiding in Raelyn and she decides to go looking for the person who beat you, I'll kill you myself. Understood?"

  "Yeah." Carl's walk to the motorcycle included a limp and several moans.

  Mel let Carl go and watched him sway on his feet. "Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?"

  Carl wiped his nose with the shirt and then tucked the material into the waistband of his jeans. "No, but I can hang on."

  The kid stumbled. Mel grabbed him by his shirt to catch him before he planted his face on the asphalt and caught sight of a white package in his back pocket.

  "What's that?" he asked.

  "Huh?" Carl tilted his head and squinted up at him.

  Mel grabbed the package out of Carl's pocket. He opened the flap and thumbed through a stack of twenty dollar bills. There had to be at least two grand in the envelope.

  "I asked you a question," said Mel.

  Carl lifted his chin in silence, challenging him. Mel's irritation rose. He'd get answers eventually. Right now, he needed to get Carl back to the bar and let Raelyn deal with his injuries.

  Mel slipped the cash into the inside pocket on his leather vest. "Be sure you hold on to me when I go because I'm not stopping and picking you up if you fall off."

  Mel sat the motorcycle, toed the kickstand up, and started the engine. The motorcycle leaned under Carl's weight. Mel righted the bike and took off for the bar the moment Carl's hands landed on his sides. He wasn't feeling too charitable.

  He'd lost his woman, and it looked like shit was going to blow as soon as he figured out how an unemployed eighteen-year-old had dirty money in his back pocket.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Soft snoring came from the couch in Raelyn's apartment. She carried a plate of pancakes into the living room. It was her last day off from the bar before she had to work tomorrow and between breaking up with Mel, breaking her heart, and breaking down when she looked at her brother's unrecognizable face, she'd barely slept.

  "Carl, get up and eat." She set the plate on the coffee table. "You have ten minutes before Mom walks in and demands answers. You'll need your strength to deal with her."

  He groaned, covering his face, and then gently probing his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes, before sitting up. A heaviness settled on Raelyn, and she sank down to the edge of the chair across from the couch.

  Throughout the years, she had never figured out if trouble happened around Ronacks Motorcycle Club or Ronacks found the trouble. Maybe the answer wasn't important.

  Her brother was hurt last night, and that's something she had to stop.

  "Who beat you up? And, don't tell me you don't know. You've been running around since you arrived in Haugan. I want to know who is responsible and what kind of trouble you've got yourself into." She leaned forward and clasped her hands to keep from shaking him for answers and hurting him more.

  "I told you. It's no big deal. I popped off to the wrong guy, and he decided to kick my ass." Carl picked up the plate and shoveled a pancake in his mouth without cutting it first.

  "Who?"

  Carl swallowed. "How the hell am I supposed to know the guy's name. He was just someone hanging out at the park. Probably a tweaker."

  "You were at the park in the dark?" She shook her head. "Come on, Carl. You know better than that."

  "Right." Carl dragged another pancake through the syrup threatening to run off his plate. "Lesson learned. You don't have to worry about me. I'll stay away from there."

  She sighed. "What are you going to tell mom?"

  "I got my ass kicked." Carl glanced at her. "It's not like I'm happy it happened."

  Silence fell between them. She watched him carefully. They'd always been open and honest with each other. When she lived at home, she practically raised him because of their age difference and the fact that their mom wasn't always home.

  "Mom?" shouted Dukie. "Can I have one more pancake?"

  "Yes, Dukie." She stood up and stroked Carl's hair off his forehead. "I love you, you know."

  "Love you, too, sis." He handed Raelyn the empty plate. "Thanks for breakfast."

  "Hm." She wasn't sure if she was played or not. "I need to make sure Dukie isn't making a mess in the kitchen."

  She left the living room and sighed at the sight of her son with syrup on his face. "Are you eating your pancakes or wearing them?"

  Licking her thumb, she scrubbed at the sticky substance on his chin making him squirm in his chair at the table. Someday, when Dukie was able to sit longer without kicking dents in everything, she'd buy a new table with no scars from an active child.

  "What's wrong with Uncle Carl?" Dukie rubbed his sticky hand on his nose. "He looks funny, and he's hurt. Did he fall down the stairs?"

  "Nope." She sat down in the empty chair and plopped her chin on her fist. "Only you have the talent of falling down the steps...three times."

  "Not no more. I can take two steps now." Dukie trailed his fork over the table and left a line of syrup behind. "Is that what Uncle Carl tried to do? It's hard."

  She softened her voice. "Uncle Carl got beat up by a bully."

  "He's not supposed to hit people."

  "That's true, and I don't think he did going by the look of him," she muttered. "He's going to be more careful now and tell someone when others are mean. Just like you, right?"

  Dukie nodded and pushed his hands against the edge of the table, tottering his chair. "I’m done."

  "Good job." She stood and grabbed his plate, needing to get the wet towel before the syrup hardened and became permanent.

  "Can I go see Uncle Mel?" Dukie spun on one foot.

  "No!" She turned around and softened her voice. "No. He's busy. You need to go to the bathroom and scrub your face and hands. Then, I'll be in and put cartoons on in your room. How about that?"

  "My room?" Dukie's eyes rounded.

  She rarely let him watch in his room unless he had a cold and she wanted him to rest in bed. "Yes. Now, march to it, little man. There are a lot of things to do today, and Grandma and Grandma June will be here any minute to stay with you while I run a fast errand."

  Dukie ran off, his socked feet skidding as he turned down the hallway.

  The front door opened.

  Twenty questions filled the apartment in her mother's voice, while Grandma June threw five questions of her own at Carl. Raelyn almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  She had bigger problems. This morning, she'd drive to the Ronacks clubhouse and stand beside Mel and explain to the club how there was no future for her and Mel.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The conversations inside the Ronacks clubhouse quieted. Mel shut the front door and walked to the pool table. He'd called an early meeting to update the club on the latest happening with Carl and to have an excuse to leave the bar before running into Raelyn.

  A
s if sleeping the night in his apartment knowing she was right across the hall wasn't bad enough, the realization he'd never be a bigger part of Raelyn's life than one of the members of Ronacks pissed him off.

  He was angry at Raelyn, the club, himself. In a few minutes, Raelyn would arrive after he talked to his MC brothers and go in front of them all to undo the claim he had on her. Everything they had together would be over.

  "Thanks for meeting early." Mel stood at the end of the pool table and faced every member of Ronacks. "Last night, Raelyn's brother texted her that he was hurt. I sent an alert to Battery, and with Rod, Swiss, and JayJay went and picked up Carl. He'd had his shit handed to him twice. At his age, a beating isn't something to raise alarms, but it's what I found on him that I believe needs to be addressed by the club."

  He reached behind him, removed the envelope of money from his pocket, and tossed it down on the surface of the pool table. "I counted, and there's two thousand, one hundred, and twenty dollars in there. Knowing the financial status of Raelyn's family who is currently staying above the bar, rent free, and Carl doesn't have a job, I think we need to know where the money came from."

  Battery picked up the package, removed one of the bills, and held it up in front of the light hanging from the ceiling over the pool table. "Where did the kid tell you it came from?"

  "He refused to give the information up or the names of the men who beat him." Mel looked across the table, focusing on Battery. "I think the coincidence of the break-in and attempted break-in at Peggy's apartment coming after Raelyn's family arrived in Haugan needs to be looked at. Carl seems to have an agenda that keeps him away from the bar most days and nights."

  He'd given the kid the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn't ignore the signs. Without answers, Carl had the opportunity to stake out the apartment and even get a copy of the key if he was smart enough. Raelyn had an extra one her desk in the office as Peggy's emergency contact. Carl had access to the bar where Peggy worked. As the cook, Peggy worked her ass off, and he had no idea where she kept her purse during working hours, but it wouldn't take a genius to snatch the key, get a copy, and return later.

  The front door whooshed open. Mel's gaze swung across the room and found Raelyn stepping inside. Her shocked expression confused him. She understood what to expect when dissolving their marriage. Her declaration needed to be done in front of every member.

  "I'm sorry to interrupt, but something happened." She raised her hand and pointed over her shoulder. "Someone vandalized the bar. Th-there's spray paint on the front of the building."

  Mel walked toward her. The reason for her coming had changed.

  "Dukie? Your family?" he asked, hooking her neck and pulling her toward him.

  "They're fine." She leaned into him. "I only noticed the message when I pulled out onto Main Street. I called them and told them to stay inside until I get back."

  "Where's Carl?" asked Battery.

  Mel clenched his teeth. Any trouble centered around Raelyn brought out the worst in Ronacks members. She'd been through enough. They were all protective of her.

  "In my apartment. He was beaten up and..." Raelyn glanced up at Mel. "I guess they'd already know that."

  He nodded. "I left an hour after I texted you to come to the clubhouse. There was no message on the building when I left. It had to have happened in-between me leaving and when you noticed it."

  "What was the message?" asked Battery.

  Raelyn trembled, and only Mel could feel her reaction. "You're dead."

  Mel held her tighter. "I'll run security at the bar as soon as I leave here. I'll stay visible to everyone on the outside. Until we find out who is responsible, they won't make it through the doors."

  "Unless they're already in," muttered Rod.

  Mel dipped his chin in acknowledgment that Carl was their only person of interest. "I'll deal with that problem, too."

  By the end of the day, he would make Carl talk and put a stop to whoever was after him. He had a feeling once that was done, Peggy would be safe at her apartment, and the break-ins would come to a stop. Hitting the bar was too close for comfort.

  "If that's all, the meeting is over." Battery pointed at LeWorth. "Go with Mel back to the Bar. I want the cameras on the outside checked. It shouldn't be too hard to find the person or persons responsible."

  "I'll change the work roster." Rod returned to the pool table. "Prospects, I need two people to take over LeWorth's job running security at O'Leary's."

  Mel put his hand on Raelyn's back. "Let's go back. I'll ride behind you."

  Raelyn's feet refused to move. "But, I need to talk in front of the club and let them know we're not together."

  "Not now." Mel guided her out the front door.

  She hurried to keep up with him. "Mel, what's going on?"

  "You know as much as I do."

  "That's not what I'm talking about. Why can't I speak in front of the club?" she asked.

  He stopped beside her car. "Soon as we figure out who vandalized the bar, we'll deal with us. Until then, you have nothing to worry about. I won't touch you."

  She rocked back and braced herself from his anger. He couldn't budge. He couldn't soften the changes. He couldn't change his mind. She'd made her choice.

  "Get in the car." He walked away and got on his motorcycle.

  When she backed her vehicle up and drove out of the driveway, he followed. Loving her felt a lot like some kind of fucking punishment. As long as he remained a Ronacks member, he'd be in Raelyn's life, unable to touch her.

  In town, he stopped in front of the building and parked at the curb. Studying the message, his hope the vandalism was a random juvenile act disappeared. The letters were done in white paint, no style, no tag, no resemblance to any of the gang signs he was used to seeing. It was an adult getting a message across. No flair. Plain and simple.

  He walked around the building and motioned for Raelyn to leave her car. While he escorted her inside, he said, "Keep Dukie, your mom, and Grandma June inside today. If they ask why, you can tell them it's part of listening to the owners of the bar and remind them they're staying here rent free. If you have trouble, let me know, and I'll deal with them. I'll be outside, and if I leave, another member will be here."

  She hesitated. "What does the club think is going on?"

  "That's club business," he said.

  "Come on, Mel. It's me who is asking. I'm not going to say anything."

  He raised his brows. If she wanted out of the relationship and he had no claims to her, she wasn't allowed to know anything the club was involved in.

  Her back straightened. "Okay, I get it. You're mad at me, but if something is going on at the bar, I need to know."

  "Only members and women belonging to the club are kept informed of any activities." He stepped back and put his hand on the handle of the door. "When and if anything involves you, we'll let you know."

  She shook her head slowly in disbelieve. He'd hurt her feelings because she expected more from him. Welcome to his fucking world.

  If the building hadn't been vandalized, she would've stood before the club and told everyone that she didn't love him.

  That was her reality, and she'd need to accept it.

  He pushed the door open. "Send Carl down to talk to me. I'll be out front."

  "He's hurt," she snapped.

  "He can walk." He let the door swing shut and waited for her to set the lock. When she continued to stare at him without moving, he pulled out his keys and locked the door from the outside. Then, he pointed toward the wall for her to set the alarm.

  She stuck up her chin and punched in the code with extra oomph. Regardless of her feelings, she understood the rules.

  He walked around the building. Rubbing his thumb on the paint, he looked down at his hand. The message had already dried.

  Emily from the consignment shop across the street hurried across the road. "Did you catch the losers who vandalized the wall?"

  He wiped his hand on
his thigh. "No."

  "Little creeps." Emily huffed, out of breath from the exertion of crossing the street. "They hit us last summer. I have some paint remover over at the store. I'll go back and have Paige bring it over. It'll make clean-up easier for you."

  "Appreciate it," he said.

  Emily groaned. "What a depressing thing to write, but at least it's all white. They painted circles and some kind of swastika with letters—probably their initials or street names – in all primary colors on our building, and it was harder than heck to remove. I swear, every year the tourists get weirder and destruct more buildings in town. There's no sense of pride for them because they don't have to live here."

  She walked off without him agreeing to her theory. It wasn't kids who decided to tag the bar. The message was personal.

  The front door swung open, and Carl walked out with his hands stuffed deep in his front pockets. He looked at the building and paled beneath the bruises and cuts on his face. "What's up?"

  "Looks like your friends left you a message." He stepped back to the curb. "The business across the street is going to bring you some supplies. You need to go into the kitchen, fill up a bucket, and find a brush. Harder bristles will make the job easier for you."

  "You expect me to clean the wall?" Carl scoffed. "I'm hurting, man. I can barely see out of my right eye."

  "You'll survive," said Mel.

  Carl looked away and then pushed through the front door again to go inside. He'd need to remind Carl to lock the door behind him every time he left or went inside when the bar was closed to the public.

  Paige carried a bag across the street and handed the supplies to Mel. "There's two and a half bottles of cleaner in there. We found that if you spray the area first and let it set on the wall for twenty minutes it takes less scrubbing."

  Mel set the sack near the brick wall and removed his wallet, taking out a fifty-dollar bill.

  Paige waved away the offer. "We haven't needed to use it for a year, so cross fingers, we won't need it again. If we do, we'll hit you up."

  "That'll work. Thanks." He put his billfold back in his pocket, running his fingers over the chain hooked to his belt.