Regret widened the crack in the wall around my heart and I steeled myself against it. I’d made my choices and there was no going back now.
I stared at the old building, the rough plank walls that had seen better days, and contemplated leaving. Just putting the old Blazer in reverse and driving until I’d left the memories and the town as far in the rearview as I could. My hand went to the gear shift, when there was a thump and the door flew open.
“Ho-ly shit, as I live and breathe, I ain’t seen this damn old thing in this lot for fifteen damn years. It’s about damn time.” A massive body pinned me in the Blazer, the bushy beard brushing the top of a well fed belly and my hand dropped from gear shift. “I swear, for a minute, boy –” He shook his head and I only knew that because of the motion of his beard since that was all I could see. “I thought it was your Daddy sitting here and I was gonna have to call Mary and tell her it was time to put me out to pasture.”
“Like that would ever happen, old man. You’re gonna outlive us all,” I declared, happier than I cared to admit at seeing Hank. “You gonna let me out?”
“You gonna run away?”
“Not today.”
Hank must have decided that was good enough because he stepped back so I could climb out. My leg held me and for that I said a grateful prayer to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in.
“I am gonna outlive you all if you keep trying to get yourself killed,” he told me, his ham sized hands holding me in place as he cast a critical glance over me. “Not as pretty as you were. That leg gonna let you ride?”
I gave a brief shake of my head and sympathy flickered across his face, but thankfully he let it go.
“Well, you’re alive, that’s what matters.”
“Heaven didn’t want me and hell couldn’t hold me,” I retorted good naturedly, the remark one I’d heard a thousand times growing up.
“He’s not here. Ain’t seen him all morning,” Hank replied, glancing over my shoulder. “You might as well go inside. Mary’s as anxious as an old hen to see you and make sure you really did come back in one piece.” He slapped my shoulder and I managed to stay upright only because he still a hand on my other shoulder. “You better not do that shit again, ya hear me boy?” I swallowed, not looking at him or answering. “I get you needed to leave, go, heal, what have you, but you were gone too long. Don’t make me hogtie a rope around your ass.” A reluctant chuckle escaped me and he engulfed me in a massive bear hug.
“He didn’t survive getting shot down to be smothered by your beard, Hank,” a dry voice called, coming closer from the sound of it.
“You’re just jealous,” Hank scoffed. “You wish you could grow one this nice.”
“I wish for a lot of things, but your beard is not one of them,” Clutch answered, ducking as Hank swung a meaty fist toward him. “I like the fact that he’s been gone damn near a decade and he gets a hug, and I get greeted with a fist.”
“You want a hug?” Hank rumbled, stretching his arms out and I leaned out of the way, almost busting my ass laughing, as Clutch tried to evade Hank’s reach. “Come on, let old Hank give you a hug.”
Clutch grunted as Hank hauled him in for a bone crushing hug and I laughed, at least until Hank pulled me in with them.
“Uncle,” I eventually cried, echoed by Clutch, but it wasn’t until Mary shouted from the club’s porch that he released us.
“Are you keeping that boy from coming to see me, Hank Brown?” She bristled, her rotund body almost vibrating as she stood with her hands on her hips. “I’ve waited a lot of years to beat his ass.”
“Mary,” I cried, holding out my arms. “You wouldn’t beat a wounded man.”
“Normally, no, but you sure might be the exception, Cord Hayes,” she shouted, wagging a finger at me. “Now get over here so I can get a look at you.”
I hustled over, not bothering to hide my limp since I needed all the sympathy I could get before she did decide to take a switch to me.
She grabbed my chin, turning my head side to side, and letting out a sigh when she saw the scar. “Rakish,” she decided and I barely hid my grin. We all knew she kept a stash of those bodice ripper romance novels in her crochet bag, along with the crochet project she’d been working on since I was seven. “Stand up straight,” she chided and I clicked my heels together, my stance enough to make my drill sergeant proud. She let go of my chin long enough to pat my cheek and I saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I missed you,” she said and I nodded as her pats got a little harder. “Don’t you ever do something like that again.”
I shook my head, “No, ma’am.”
She let out sigh. “Give me a hug.”
I leaned down, gently squeezing the tiny woman who barely reached her husband’s belly button. “I missed you too, Mary Brown.”
“Get yourself inside now,” she sniffed, waving me off. “Plenty more who want to see you.”
I straightened up as Clutch gave me a sympathetic nod. “Word got out you were coming by,” he informed me. “All that’s missing are the ballons.”
“Jesus,” I muttered and got a swat on my butt for it. “Sorry, Mary.”
“It’s not me you should be apologizing too,” she chided and I sent my gaze heavenward.
“Forgive me, Jesus.”
“That’s better,” she nodded at the door, “Now go.”
“You didn’t cook, did you?” I asked Clutch, hesitating at the door, exhaling when he didn’t answer. “You did.”
“Jailbait asked me too,” he defended himself, hands up. “I think she wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be a bloodbath.”
“What’d you make?” I asked curiously and he shrugged like it was obvious.
“Your favorite.”
“Tell me you made cornbread with them red beans?” I heard my drawl thicken as I sank further into the life I’d left behind, and it fit like an old shoe, familiar even if it didn’t fit quite right anymore.
“What kind of question is that?” Clutch asked scornfully. “Did I make cornbread?” He mocked. “Is the fucking Pope Catholic?” He jumped, scooting forward, “Sorry, Mary.”
I opened the door, getting us inside before Mary took a bar of soap to both our mouths. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior but when they did a dozen pairs of eyes stared back at me.
I took a deep breath and forced a smile. “What the hell kind of welcome is this?” I yelled, raising my arms and the room left out a deafening roar. Hands clapped me on the back as I shuffled through the room, greeting old timers and meeting new faces. Finally, I made it to the bar where a woman met me with a bottle of whiskey and a glass.
“You’re Fat Willy’s replacement?” I asked, hiding my surprise at seeing a female bartender wearing a Rebel kutte. She was several years older than me, and I was starting to think Johnny had gotten soft in his old age.
She shot me an insulted stare, “Replacement? You mean upgrade.” She poured me a double, pushing the drink toward me. “This one is on the house.” She eyed me. “I figure you’re going to need it.”
I lifted the glass, throwing back the drink as my leg cramped. She wasn’t wrong.
“You met my aunt,” Sloan piped up next to me and my gaze went from her to the bartender, who gave me an amused nod.
“She’s your…” I trailed off, not really sure what to make of this information.
“Yep, I didn’t know about her until a year ago. She was a Flying Eagle like my Dad,” Sloan explained and my mouth fell open.
“A Flying Eagle, like Johnny’s Dad?” I questioned in disbelief. I thought all of them had died years ago, the club considered cursed, which was why Johnny’s father had refused to initiate him3. After his older brother died, then several more club members they’d stopped taking prospects. It had lead Johnny and my Dad to start the Southern Rebels, but Johnny didn’t talk about the past. I eyed the two women who seemed to be the exception to that rule.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I wanted to find
out about my dad and Johnny pointed me in the direction of Micah.”
“How helpful of him,” I mentioned cynically and Micah’s eyes glittered in amusement. “And here you are.”
“Here I am,” Micah agreed, watching me. “I lost a lot of years but I’m making up for it now.”
Her words hit a little too close to home and I decided it was time to leave. “Thanks for the drink,” I said, sliding the glass back toward her. “Sloan,” I added with a nod, as I stood up.
“Don’t –” she paused, her eyes closed, as she squeezed her fingers together. “I don’t know if you realize how…important this is to Creed and Crew.” Her eyes popped open, the earnestness in them going straight to my soul as she said, “They love you.”
I swallowed back the harsh words that wanted to rip into her, to tell her they were my brothers. Only the fact that she was trying to protect them stopped me. “Duly noted.” I tipped my head, not meeting either of their eyes as I left the bar.
Old habits led me to the back room, the worn lettering still the same, as I opened the office door. My nose twitched at the sour odor of cigarette smoke and rank sweat. Some things never changed, I mused, my limp more pronounced as I headed for the chair directly across from the head of the table, my old spot. I sank into the leather chair and it welcomed me like an old friend.
The walls were lined with the same posters and the wall of mug shots had a new addition, I noticed, as Creed’s scowling face looked down on me. A jacket hanging on the wall caught my attention, the rank of Chaplain stitched on it, and I realized it belonged to Deacon.
“What the goddamn hell do you think you’re doing?” Johnny roared and I slowly spun the chair back around to face the club president. “Are you seriously sitting at the fucking table? Like you belong?” He stomped into the room, ready to haul my ass out the chair so I hurriedly stood, catching myself on the edge of the table.
Johnny’s chest heaved as he stabbed a finger into my chest. “You either got the biggest damn balls on a man I’ve ever met or a death wish.”
“Ashley never complained,” I quipped, not even bothering to duck when his fist came flying at my face. The punch jerked me back but by some miracle I didn’t go down.
“That’s because you fucking know better,” he growled, panting as he shook his fist out. “Your daddy would be ashamed.” He paused. “I know I am.”
I closed my eyes, the throbbing in my cheek doing nothing to alleviate the guilt clawing at my chest. “I deserve worse,” I admitted hollowly and he shook his head in disgust.
“Quit making it about you,” he muttered, going to his seat. When I went to sit down, he made a noise. “I’ll fucking jerk that chair out from under your ass. You earn the right to sit at this table,” he barked, his face livid. “You walked away from your brothers, your club, and you think I’m going to let you waltz back in?”
“I’d hoped,” I mumbled, bracing both hands on the table. “I don’t expect your forgiveness for what happened with Ashley,” I started and he snapped.
“Ashley?” He stared at me incredulously. “You think I’m angry about Ashley?” He shook his head. “You’re outcast because you abandoned the club, the brotherhood.” He flung his hand toward the door where the rest of the club waited. “Those are the ones that you need to ask forgiveness from, the men you turned your back on.”
I shook my head in an effort to clear it. “But you’re not mad at me about Ashley? You don’t blame me for her death?” I had to force the next words out as they threatened to choke me. “The baby dying?”
Some of the anger dissipated from Johnny’s face. “I never blamed you, Cord. Not for one second. Not for their deaths. That wasn’t on you. That was never on you.”
I swayed at his words, some of the weight lifting from my shoulders. “I thought….”
“You’re a fool.” An unhappy laugh escaped him. “Crew might have inherited your Dad’s looks but you are just like him.”
I tugged on my lower lip as Johnny tapped a cigarette out, offering it to me. I shook my head and he lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply as he propped it between his fingers. “Why are you back here now?” He asked, taking a drag on the cigarette and blowing a perfect smoke ring. “Hmm? Military sent you home, but that don’t mean shit.” He squinted at me. “You got one foot out the door already.”
I looked down at the table, unwilling to lie, not to Johnny. If there was one thing he hated more than drugs, it was a liar, and I could respect that. “Six months,” I mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.
“And then what?” He mocked. “Poof, you’re gone?” His fingers drummed restlessly on the table. “Why are you here?” He pointed at the table. “Right here, why? You don’t plan to stay so why in the hell would you want to come to the club you turned your back on?”
“Crew,” I muttered, clearing my throat. “Crew wants me at his initiation.”
“Oh, so that’s the reason. Not because you’re a Rebel or think you owe this club anything, but for your brother. Your blood brother,” he corrected.
“God damn it, Johnny, that’s not the reason and you know it,” I blasted, lifting my gaze to meet his and he leaned forward, eyes burning into mine. “I never stopped being a Rebel.” He gave me a doubtful stare. “I didn’t, not in here,” I said, thumping my chest. “Not gonna lie, I’m not staying, but I’m here and the club needs me.”
He sat back, his laugh disbelieving. “You don’t get to dictate the terms of what it means to be a Rebel. We’re ride or die, boy,” he barked. “You don’t walk away and expect to be able to come back whenever, for however long. That’s not the way we operate.”
“I had a place at this table,” I argued, bringing my hand down with a thud. “That hasn’t changed.”
“It’s been 8 fucking years, Cord. You’d be surprised at what’s changed,” he replied scornfully. “Life didn’t stop because you left. You have been replaced, and I’ll tell you right now she’s got more heart and loyalty in her little pinkie than you ever had.”
I blinked, staring at him in shock. “Who?”
“Your little sister in law. You know, Jailbait?” He answered, smirking in amusement at my dumbfounded expression. “Come to find out she has a way with the members of the club, male and female.to the surface.
“Female,” I echoed, feeling like I’d entered the Twilight Zone.
“The girls, they needed a champion, a voice, you might say, to represent their needs. Jailbait stepped in,” Johnny said proudly and I had the incredible urge to knock that smile right off his face.
“Drugs are being distributed in Friendly and rumor has it the club is taking a cut,” I spat, wiping the pride right off Johnny’s face as he rocketed out of his chair.
“Don’t come in here thinking you have to the right –” he blustered and I leaned in, cutting him off.
“To what? Tell you what no one else will? Rip the fucking blinders off? What happened, Johnny? You got too old for the job?” I snarled, rage bubbling to the surface as I faced him down. “They’re selling drugs in Friendly, hell they’re making drugs in Friendly, and you’re doing nothing. It sure as hell looks like you need me.”
Fury radiated from him and if it wasn’t for the knock on the door, we would have come to blows. “You’re lucky we’re behind closed doors,” he warned me before shouting, “Come in.”
Weasel peered around the door, shuffling in when Johnny waved impatiently. “What do you want?” he barked as Weasel twitched.
“There’s a woman here to see Cord,” he offered hesitantly, glancing at me.
“I don’t know any women who would come here looking for me,” I said dismissively, anger clouding my thoughts.
“She sure seems to know you,” Weasel continued, persistent. “She described you, even down to your scar.”
“Been busy,” Johnny commented pointedly. “Maybe she’s here to tell you you’re going to be a daddy,” he added, not bothering to hide a vicious grin.
My head s
hot up as I clenched my fist, ready to pound the shit out of him, when Weasel spoke again.
“She’s a tall drink of water, long black braid going down her back.” His words clicked and I suddenly knew exactly who was at the door asking for me.
“She wouldn’t,” I hissed inaudibly, already knowing she absolutely would. “I’ll talk to her,” I said loudly, desperate to keep her from colliding with Johnny, afraid she would throw oil on an already raging fire.
“Who is she?” He asked sharply, his keen nose scenting blood in the water.
“No one you need to worry about,” I said sharply, bumping Weasel as I hurried out the door.
“She’s carrying a crowbar,” Weasel added belatedly and I heard Johnny snort.
“Next time, start with the crowbar,” he told him before I was out of earshot. I scanned the room but didn’t spot her lean frame. I hitched my way across the room, each step shooting pain through me.
When I stepped outside, she whirled around, crowbar at the ready and I snapped, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“What part of I’ll hunt you down, didn’t you understand,” she snapped right back, not backing down an inch.
“I was going to call you back,” I answered quietly, trying to control the situation. “Now isn’t a good time.”
“You need to see this,” she persisted. “Maybe you’ll believe me.” She thrust something in my hand and I took it automatically, glancing down as I did.
“It’s the Rebel logo,” I stated, glancing at her in irritation. “Why the hell was it so important to show me this? To come here now to show it to me?”
“What is your deal with me being here?” She questioned, turning it around on me. “It’s almost like you don’t want me here.”
“I don’t,” I gripped, clenching my hand around the little plastic baggie she’d handed me. “I thought I’d made that clear on multiple occasions.”
“And yet, we continue to run into one another.”
“I don’t think you can pass this off as accidental,” I informed her impatiently. “Now, who’s the stalker?” I inquired silkily as she made a face.
Outcast (Southern Rebels MC Book 2) Page 8
