Unbreakable: Unrequited Part Two (Fallen Aces MC Book 2)

by Max Henry

  Yet every time my thoughts drift to the only man I’ve loved, the last man to have had his lips on mine, I can’t deny the ache of regret that buries another thorn deep in the chambers of my heart. Each glimpse of King, each whisper of the man who gave me this precious child that I see in the simple gestures and habits Dante exhibits, I slip a little further toward the thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late to say sorry and make our trio a family somehow, even if what I had with King is beyond repair.

  Maybe . . .

  THIRTY-ONE

  King

  Am I okay to drive? Looking down at my hands, I carefully trace the outline of my fingers, checking for any blurriness, any shakiness. All good here. The call came in that I needed to get across to Apex’s residence before it was too late.

  The years of drinking, smoking, and stressing over a life lived on borrowed time has taken its toll on him. The man is going to be lucky to survive the night.

  I shoulder between a group of brothers drinking and having fun with their women, to get to the garage. The clubhouse is in full swing, the members celebrating the end of another working week. They’re happy and that’s all I can ask for.

  I’d join in, but I know what it costs for us to put on an evening of alcohol and food to keep their bellies full. I also know that our options to keep the bank account fat are growing thin. The club is in debt, and bad.

  I throw a leg over my bike and flick the key. My phone buzzes in my chest pocket, and I stop short of firing the engine to life to answer it. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s too late, King.” Apex’s old lady sniffs down the line. “He’s gone.”

  I lean over the tank and rest my forearm on the handlebars. “I’m sorry.”

  “We knew it was coming,” she says shakily. “Beefy made it here before he went, and Apex told him what he wanted you to know. He’ll come back and see you now.” She pauses, drawing in a deep breath. “I only wanted to call to save you the ride.”

  Fuck me. “Thanks, darl. I’ll come around tomorrow, okay?”

  “That would be lovely.” She sighs and then disconnects the call.

  Fuck. I slide the phone back in my pocket and get off my bike grudgingly. Can my job get any fuckin’ worse? The walk to the common room is long, held up by how slow my feet move toward my duty as the VP.

  Members sing badly to the music blaring over the speakers as I re-enter the chaos. One of our more recent acquisitions, a six-foot goliath of a man called Vince, stands facing me with his beer in his hand. He frowns when he takes in the look on my face and steps through the groups of people to come up beside me.

  “You good, King?”

  “Got bad news, brother.” I look around at the people filling every corner of the room and long for the seclusion of my bed. I’m too tired for this shit.

  “Want me to get everyone’s attention?”

  I nod. The guy’s been invaluable as a new member. I’ll never forget the day we picked him up, not all that long ago, trying to kill himself in a bar fight . . . with me.

  Vince heads off across the room and within seconds the music is shut off and the main overhead lights flick on with a buzz and a hum. I give Vince a nod of thanks and take center stage.

  Cries of “What’s goin’ on?” and “Where’d the fuckin’ music go?” carry across the room.

  I hoist myself up on to the bar and stand, towering over the crowd. Curious eyes train on me, and my skin sears under the pressure. Until now, I’ve managed to get by without any need to be the center of attention like this. The horde of eyes watching my every move sends my anxiety into overdrive. I like my space, my privacy, and to blend into the background when not in times of crisis. I guess this could be a time of crisis, though.

  “What’s the story, King?” one of the more recent members calls out.

  I lift a palm to the curious brother down front and clear my throat. “I’ve got some sad news.”

  A hum ripples through the room and I raise my hand again, bringing peace to what was mere seconds ago a hive of activity.

  “Apex has passed away, peacefully, at home. I’ll give you news on the funeral and that when I have it, but for now lets all give thought to his family and what we can do to help them in this tough time.”

  A roar of disbelief and sadness fills the void as I climb down and make my way through the chatting groups to find solace in the sanctuary of the office. I turn to shut the door behind me and find Vince in the way.

  “I just need a moment alone, brother.” I keep my hand on the door to push my point across.

  He stares at me for a beat before he nods and turns away, melting back into the crowd as somebody turns the music back on, albeit to something a little slower and quieter. The club will celebrate for an entirely different reason now, and most likely for a lot longer. Stories will be shared, respect given, and men will sit in companionable silence as they lift their bottles to their lips in toast to a man they only half knew.

  I close the door and take a seat at the clear desk. Months after I was put in charge at the clubhouse, I finally made heads and tails of the mess. Abbey’s a huge help, picking up the mail and sorting it before I get my hands on what comes in. She’s the only person other than myself who knows what financial shit the club is in—and I intend to keep it that way. Nobody out there needs to know that we’re struggling to meet the bills. Nobody out there needs to be worried about a thing.

  The club is a place for members to unwind, to let go of their stresses and find solace with people of like minds. That safe haven slipped when Carlos came knocking on our door six years ago, and I’m never letting it happen again. We lost a lot of young blood, and we lost something worse along the way—the respect of the older members.

  I’ve strived to bring it back. I’ve pushed and tugged Apex in all the right ways to get him to agree to necessary repairs, to get the old bastard to give the people what they deserve.

  And now he’s gone, and here I am with a huge fucking problem to try and sort out.

  A swift rap at the door pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. I straighten up in my seat and call for them to come in.

  Callum and Beefy edge inside the office and shut the door behind them.

  “Hey man,” Callum greets. “Bumped into this ugly fucker on my way in, and he broke the news.” He jerks his head toward the common room. “Looks like they already know too.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I let them all know.”

  Beefy pulls the single seat out from the far side of my desk and lifts his eyebrows at Callum.

  “No, you have it.” Callum leans a shoulder into the wall by the door and jerks his chin at the chair. “Take a load off.”

  The past three years have been kind to Beefy. He had a health scare that placed him in hospital for a solid six weeks, and when he came out he was two-stone lighter, thanks to their restricted diet. Either the big guy decided that was one scare too many, or he figured he’d keep on with what the hospital had started—whatever it was, he’s now a third of the man he was, and if a stranger were to see some before and after pictures, they’d struggle to believe they were of the same guy.

  “What did Apex have to tell you?” I ask as he takes the seat.

  Beefy sighs and leans forward, his elbows on knees. “He more or less gave me an instruction.”

  “Which was?”

  “To make sure you become the president in his place. As much as it pained him to say, he has nothin’ but respect for what you’ve been doin’.” He shakes his head, laughing quietly. “Don’t think he had anything to worry about, though. I’d be surprised if anyone contested it.”

  “I don’t want it,” I blurt.

  “Hey?” Callum asks, pushing off the wall. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I don’t want the role.” Both men stare at me as though I’ve grown an extra ear on my forehead. “I did my piece fillin’ in while he was sick. I want a break.”

  “Why?” Beefy asks, his brow furrowed. �
�You’re good at what you do.”

  “Maybe so, but I don’t want to be doin’ what I’m doin’ anymore,” I snap.

  They sit and stand in silence as I run both hands over my head in an attempt to gather my shit before I go right off at them. What can I say without coming off as moody and whiny as a premenstrual woman? I’m tired, the stress of the job eats at what small amount of sanity I have left, and I’m ready to storm out my office door and tell the club that they can all get fucked and learn to look after themselves.

  I thought my purpose in life was to help others, and at first it was. I got a thrill seeing the efforts of my hard work pay off; I got a buzz each time somebody thanked me for a good change around here that I was directly responsible for, but now? Now I wonder when the hell it’s going to be my turn. When the fuck is anyone going to help me?

  “Who else do you propose?” Callum asks. “Name one other officer on that board who the majority are goin’ to vote for over you.” He flashes a grin at Beefy. “No offense there, big fella.”

  “None taken.” Beefy narrows his gaze on me. “You put somebody else in the role and we have to wait another six months for them to get a hang of the ropes around here.” He shakes his head, scowling. “You’ve finally got this club to a better place, King. Why take us off this path when it’s doin’ so much good for the people around here?”

  A good place. If only he knew. I’m juggling fire, and quite frankly, I’m sick and tired of being the only one burnt. All I can do to reply is shake my head and look to the desk between my hands.

  “Come on,” Callum urges. “You a man of the club, or what?”

  I snap my gaze to his, daring him to question my loyalty again. “What do you fuckin’ think?” I’d die for the Aces. Fuck, I’ve already given up my fucking family for these bastards and let the only woman I’d have as my old lady walk away with my kid so that they could get a nice peaceful existence.

  The truce between the Fallen Aces and Carlos is intact, and I’d be an idiot not to realize that it’s a direct result of keeping Elena out of it all. He’s the kind of guy to get a sick thrill out of seeing that he’s not the only one who’s lost her. He’ll be enjoying the fact I’m suffering without her, and if I brought her back into the mix I could guarantee our agreement would be out the window. Carlos isn’t a man to uphold a gentleman’s agreement out of honor if it doesn’t favor his interests.

  I’ve given it all up for these assholes, and what do I get in return? Pressured into a leadership role I’m not so sure I’m cut out for anymore.

  “I need a break. This shit is killin’ me, guys.”

  “So pack your fuckin’ saddlebags and fuck off for a week, a month, whatever,” Beefy snaps. “Go sing Kumbaya with a bunch of freakin’ hippies if you must, just come back refreshed and ready to do what you were fuckin’ born for.”

  I stand with a growl and push my chair back. “I’m out. This conversation’s goin’ nowhere.”

  Both men watch me as I step past them and cut a path through the grieving club members to get to my bike. I need out. I need fresh air. I need a change of scenery.

  Fuck, I do need a holiday.

  I just need to get away.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Elena

  My joints pop and creak as I stretch out in my position on the sofa. Dante is curled up at my feet, glued to the television. We finished his homework without me losing myself to my thoughts again, and after dinner I decided to reward him with his choice of movie.

  I should have known it would involve a ton of gun fights and car chases . . . if only the kid knew who his mother had been in another life, we wouldn’t have to spend part of the grocery money to rent him a dramatized version of the things I’ve seen and done. I could entertain him with these kinds of stories for free.

  He tips his head to the side and rests it on his palm, his elbow propped on the arm of the sofa. His bright eyes track the movements on the screen, absorbing every last detail of the story to tell me again in two days from now on our way home from school. Being so young, his mind is a sponge; he remembers everything. Except his father.

  I draw a sigh and uncurl my legs, ready to stand, when there’s a knock at the door. Who on earth is visiting us? I make my way over and check Dante as I go. He’s still lost in another world, oblivious to the fact we have a visitor.

  The chain makes a light rattle against the wood as I secure it into the slide. I crack the door open and peer out at the man who stands on our stoop.

  “Evening.” Our stalker fidgets with his hands, turning side-on to check the street behind him.

  “What do you want?”

  “Pleasant wee thing, aren’t you?” He laughs forcibly. “Got some news for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your lost lover phoned me tonight.” He pauses to lean forward and check both ways again.

  I find myself looking down the street also, put off by his nerves. “And?”

  “He asked for your address.”

  Damn it. “Did you give it to him?”

  The man lifts an eyebrow. “Of course. Thought you might like to know.”

  I don’t get a chance to thank him. He leaps the two low steps in one long stride and drops onto our front path, hustling to the side of the road and straight into his waiting car.

  I shut the door and turn around to rest my back against it, my palms flat to the cool wood. Why? After all this time, after tracking me for as long as he has, why now? I close my eyes and shake away the paranoia that builds. What if Carlos knows? What if our lucky streak has run out?

  “Hey Mom?”

  “Yeah?” I drag a palm over my face and suck in a deep breath.

  “Could you grab some more popcorn while you’re up?”

  “Sure,” I say with a laugh, loving how easily Dante can ground me, give me purpose and pull me out of my thoughts.

  I’m worrying about things that have passed. If Carlos wanted to come after me, it wouldn’t have taken him six years to do it. Logic tells me he’s moved on to his next gullible woman, found another thing to play with.

  If we were to cross paths, however, I know it’d be a completely different story.

  I leave Dante on the sofa and retreat to the privacy of my bedroom. With my legs crossed, I sit on the bed and scroll through Facebook, looking for any trace of the only people besides King I’ve ever trusted: Sully and Maria. The same profile as always comes to the top of the search list. It looks as though it could belong to Maria, but the details are private and all her photos are blocked. I’ve never been brave enough to send a request or a message through in case it’s not her, in case it’s a honey pot left by Carlos to lure me in my own sweet time.

  Sully is untraceable as usual—nothing resembling the man exists. I Google both names, for what end I don’t know. They’d hardly be advertising under a website where they were.

  I toss the phone aside and flop back on the comforter to stare at the ceiling. I’ve thought about them so many times since I left Carlos’s house. Wondered where they are, what they’re doing, if they even got out.

  Patting the bed beside me, I find the phone and bring it back up over my head. King’s profile isn’t so hard to find. He keeps it under his given name, but has his road name in parenthesis as well. I hover over each familiar image, sighing at my own ridiculous weakness. I’ve resisted the urge all this time, stayed away and never gone as far as to type a singular letter of his name into the search bar. But one tip-off that he knows where I am and the curiosity has killed the cat.

  What does he look like now? Has he changed much? The albums are filled with Harleys, images shot at rallies, people tagging him in their Instagram pictures of empty bottles on a table after a hard night out—random things that explain his life, but not how he is.

  Why am I torturing myself with this? Because you’re curious. Why has King asked for my address now? Six years I’ve stayed away; I think it’s fairly clear that I don’t intend to change my mind on keepin
g Dante away from club life. Dante is safe. Dante is happy. I’m not about to risk that.

  But Dante also needs to make up his mind for himself on whether he wants King as a part of his life or not. The only way I’d let it happen is if King cut all ties to the shady world he lives in—the world I fought to get away from. But perhaps that’s not my decision to make anymore?

  King belongs where he is. The Fallen Aces are so much a part of his makeup that I don’t think he’d be half the man I know if I took that away from him. Likewise, what if I’m restricting the man Dante is growing to be by not allowing him to know his father? I’m so damn confused on what’s right.

  I set the phone down and lie back to stare at the ceiling. I try to doze off, but my mind has trouble letting the PI’s visit go. One simple warning, one little bit of information, and the unanswered questions flow thick and fast. God help King if he does show up, because there’s a hell of a lot I have to ask him.

  Dante watches the movie through to the end and then stops in for a cuddle before he takes himself to bed. He never asks who our visitor was, seemingly not picking up on my unsettled behavior. I tuck him in—a habit I can’t break—and then load up the clothes washer for a distraction. I set to cleaning up our dishes from the evening next when a low resonance catches my attention. Paused in the middle of the kitchen with a dish towel hovering over a plastic bowl, I still my breathing and listen intently as the rumble grows.

  Oh, hell.

  It can’t be—not this soon. Convinced he wouldn’t have ridden all the way here straight after contacting the P.I., I slip into a state of denial, busying myself with the last of the dishes that need to be dried. My ignorance lasts all of twenty seconds before the rumble is a chest-shaking growl that I can’t deny.

  Damn it all, I’m going to be sick.