“You wouldn’t be smiling if you looked at these fucking numbers,” Catfish said, sparing him a small, annoyed glance. “We’re bleeding money like a gunshot wound. How the hell did things get this bad? Dammit, Dave, you’re supposed to be bringing in cash.”
“It’s not my fault Monty blew up his house making meth,” Dave said. Whined, more like. “It’s going to take time to find a new supplier. We’ll just have to make it up with weed, but it’s not the same kind of money.”
“What about car parts?”
“My best car thief took off for Vegas.” Dave shook his head, scowling. “And a few others who showed promise are joining other clubs. No loyalty.”
Catfish grimaced. “That brings up our other problem. We’re losing members. Too many of them. Drill, where the hell are my new recruits?”
Now it was Drill’s turn to frown. “Hey, I’m muscle, not hospitality,” he protested. “What do I look like, the welcome wagon? I’m not on a recruitment drive.”
“We’re all on a recruitment drive from here on out,” Dave countered. “We keep this up, we’re going to lose turf to other clubs. We’re going to fucking disappear at this rate.”
“Is it better if we keep recruiting assholes like Pete Lundy and Dwight what’s-his-nuts?” Drill pointed out.
“We make do with what we’ve got,” Catfish said, sounding like he was saying it through gritted teeth. “Hell, you were just a sixteen-year-old farm boy when we picked your ass up, remember? I brought you in myself.”
“You might be older,” Drill said, “but you’d only patched in a few years before.”
“You were both useless,” Dirty Dave added, with a laugh. “But look at you now. Arguing over how to run the club.”
Drill shook his head. “Nah. I’m not running anything,” he said, with a low sigh. “That’s all Catfish.”
Frankly, he didn’t want to run the club. He’d been a valued member of it for a long time. It had been his family, his safe place. It had given him purpose and a place to belong. That was why he’d done so much for the club — why he’d fought so hard, and why he’d spent the past six months wrestling with assholes to make sure that Catfish took over. At least he knew Catfish had some principles. Not many, but a few. And Catfish had signed him up and mentored him. He felt loyalty there, and there was precious little in this world that he felt he owed loyalty to.
Catfish rubbed a hand over his face. “We gotta get numbers up,” he said. “Dave, start hitting up those high schoolers. If they’re old enough to ride, they’re old enough to join.”
Drill winced a little at the thought. Yeah, he’d been sixteen. But he’d had a damned good reason to want to get out of the house. He needed a place to escape, and the club had provided it.
Maybe there will be kids out there who need an escape, too.
He tried comforting himself with that thought, and was so engrossed that he missed what Catfish had said. He looked up. “Sorry, what?”
“I said, where were you last night?”
Drill froze. He’d left the Dragon after his talk with Pete, and after he’d had a talk about loan collections with Catfish. Catfish had then disappeared into a room with one of the dancers, probably to get a quick blowie or something. That’s when Drill had gone back to the farmhouse. He hadn’t been followed, he knew that — it would’ve been easy to tell on those old back roads. Still, ever since becoming president, Catfish was developing a fine sense of paranoia.
“I went home,” Drill lied easily.
“At nine-thirty?” Dave looked skeptical. “What are you, eighty? Need to take out your dentures and go nighty-night?”
Catfish’s eyes narrowed. “Pete was shooting his mouth off about your sister.”
“Don’t have a sister,” Drill said. “Remember? The Wraiths are my family.”
“Oh, I remember fine,” Catfish drawled, his brown eyes glaring at Drill with intent. “Just wanted to make sure you remember.”
“There was bad blood between you and your Daddy, as I recall,” Dirty Dave said. “Surprised you didn’t go over to piss on his grave.”
Drill recoiled. He had hated his father, that was true. But it had been years. And the thought of disrespecting the grave — the one that was right next to his mother’s, one he hadn’t seen in years — made his stomach roil.
Catfish looked down at the papers again, then tilted his head. “Rumor has it Old Man Blount grew weed. Any truth to that?”
“No,” Drill said. “He’d sooner stab himself than break the law, and besides, he thought weed was immoral. He had greenhouses, and I know he was growing specialty plants for fancy nurseries on the side of hay farming or cattle ranching. But weed?” Drill shook his head. “Not even if it was legal.”
“Damn it.” Catfish sighed. “Well, at least we’ve got the loans coming up, and the gambling is doing okay. Gonna need you to get some stragglers pretty soon.”
“Got it,” Drill said.
“Remember: we need more cash, and more recruits,” Catfish told both of them, standing up and giving an obvious gesture of dismissal. “Dave, get me some more goddamn money.”
“Doin’ my best, boss.” Dave’s laugh was guttural, and he headed out the door.
Catfish put a hand on Drill’s arm, stopping him from following. He shut the door. “You sure there’s no weed at your Daddy’s place?” he asked.
“I’m positive. I don’t know how that rumor even got started.”
Catfish sighed. “Probably because of you,” he said. “Must’ve thought that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. That, and your Daddy had a talent for pissing people off.”
“That he did,” Drill admitted. His father had been an Old Testament man, with little patience for idiots. He counted his son, the thug, as one of those idiots. He’d disowned Drill, kicking him out of the house when he found out that he’d signed up as a prospect for the Wraiths. Literally kicking the shit out of him and sending him down the dirt road, until he’d made his way to the clubhouse. He’d spent the night on a dirty mattress. He hadn’t gone back to the farmhouse until he’d seen Maddy last night. And he hadn’t spoken a word to his father since.
I seriously doubt the old man left me anything.
Still, he promised Maddy he’d at least try to go to the will reading, if for no other reason than to see Maddy again.
And maybe that sexy little friend of hers. Thuy.
He took a breath. “Listen, I, um, got this thing tomorrow.”
Catfish’s eyes narrowed. “What thing?”
“Will reading,” he said. “Um, my dad’s lawyer contacted me. I need to be there.”
“Your sister gonna be there?”
Drill hesitated, then nodded. He knew that Catfish could — and probably would — double-check his story.
Catfish looked lost in thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “You should go to that. Who knows, maybe you’ll get something valuable.”
“I still know who my real family is,” Drill emphasized.
Catfish smiled, but it was a tired smile. “Damned straight,” he said. “But even Darrell Winston knew when to use blood family. When it comes to money or getting shit, am I right?”
Drill thought about Maddy. He didn’t want to use her. He just wanted to make sure she was all right.
“Right,” he agreed weakly. And wondered, absently, when his “true family” had started to feel so damned exhausting.
Chapter Seven
“Damned GPS,” Thuy muttered, as she found a place to pull a U-turn and catch the turn she’d missed. “I think reception’s a little spotty.”
Thuy was driving their rental car, headed to the lawyer, with Maddy strapped in the passenger seat. Maddy probably could’ve driven herself, but since the news of her father’s death, she’d been sleeping like crap. She had dark circles under her eyes, and kept yawning. Thuy decided to make herself useful and act as chauffeur. Considering Maddy’s size at only seven months, odds were good
she’d probably need to stop driving herself during the later months, so Thuy figured she’d better get used to it.
“Aren’t the trees beautiful?” Maddy asked, not caring that they might be late. She was staring at the multicolor foliage with a small smile on her face. “I always loved autumn. It’s my favorite season. And there’s nothing quite like fall in the Smoky Mountains.”
“It is pretty,” Thuy agreed, although she paid more attention to the roads than the trees. She was a decent driver, but she was more used to Oakland’s bustle and even the chaos of San Francisco’s one-way streets than she was these poorly marked country roads. Not to mention she usually took the BART train to work and was a big fan of public transit.
The forty-acre farm was hardly public-transit friendly. She wondered absently if Green Valley even had Uber or Lyft.
“My mom used to make apple pies around now, with apple pie filling she’d put up from our little orchard,” Maddy enthused, sounding wistful. “I’d come home from school and the house would smell incredible.”
Thuy felt a tiny pang of envy. When she got home from school, it was… well, radically different. Although sometimes she’d stay at her aunt and uncle’s house, before they moved away, and sometimes they’d make pho broth overnight. She’d wake up, and the house always smelled delicious, rich with oxtail and cinnamon and star anise.
“I don’t suppose there’s a pho restaurant out here,” she said offhandedly, smiling at the memory. “I could totally go for a bowl for dinner tonight. And maybe apple pie afterward.” Her mouth watered at the thought.
“I don’t think so,” Maddy said. “This is more of a barbecue and steak sort of town. Oh! Speaking of barbecue… someone at the memorial told me about the Green Valley Community Center. They have jam sessions on Friday nights, and they have barbecue and a bunch of different kinds of salads — potato and macaroni, not just green — and coleslaw and things.”
“Jam sessions? What kind of music?”
“Lots of different kinds,” Maddy said. “Bluegrass, and blues. And country. And, um, folk, I think.”
“Any EDM?” Thuy teased, then mimicked the electronic dance sounds. “Umm-tss! Umm-tss! Umm-tss! Umm-umm-UMM-tss!”
Maddy shook her head, laughing. “Yeah. There’s a wicked club scene in room five. Total rave.”
Thuy laughed with her. “Sorry. It’s just… it’s so different than anywhere I’ve ever lived.”
“You’ve only lived in Oakland and Berkeley,” Maddy pointed out.
“Well, it’s different than there, that’s for damned sure.” Thuy sighed. “You can drive for miles and not see anybody. There isn’t a rush hour. No buskers, no homeless people panhandling. No graffiti. You know the names of everyone on the police force around here. Which is, what, four guys or something?”
“Not exactly,” Maddy said indulgently.
“There are literally, literally, white picket fences around houses.” Thuy’s mind boggled.
“It’s not perfect,” Maddy said. “It’s just a town. There are plenty just like it all around Tennessee. But I have to admit, it’s a pretty great place.”
“I never touched a cow before I came to your dad’s house.” Thuy shuddered. “I think I saw one in a petting zoo, but the damned thing seemed really big.”
Maddy burst out in a peal of laughter. “They’re just cows. They’re not even carnivores.”
“Hippos aren’t carnivores either, but they kill more people every year than lions,” Thuy said, then ignored Maddy’s increased hilarity. “Hey. I saw that on the Discovery Channel.”
“Afraid of cows,” Maddy said, shaking her head. “When I was a kid, we used to take care of fifty head. I fed ‘em myself.”
“Berkeley must’ve been a real shock for you,” Thuy said, just now realizing how much of a culture shift Maddy had gone through. “I mean, it was a big change for me, but for you, it must’ve been like going to a whole different world.”
Maddy’s smile was tired. “It was,” she admitted. “If it weren’t for being so busy with softball, and you being my roommate, I might’ve tucked tail and headed home. It was all so overwhelming. So many people I didn’t know, and the sheer crowds of people, just headed to class and back. Nothing in Green Valley could’ve prepared me for it.”
“Well, you’re a pro at big city living now,” Thuy reassured her.
“Now, I can also see some of the benefits of living here that I couldn’t see before,” Maddy said. “Someday, I’m going to own a farm.”
Thuy knew that this had been a dream of Maddy’s for years. She’d talked about it a little after they’d graduated, even though her degree was in Sociology rather than anything agricultural. When Thuy had gotten her advanced degree in library science, Maddy had gotten a job with the farmer’s markets in Oakland. That was how Maddy had met, and fallen in love with, her ex David. David had been working on an organic farm, saving up to get his own, one the two of them had planned on buying and running together when the time was right. He had a one-year research trip to Australia planned, to learn new farming methods, and then when he got back, they’d start looking at locations for their agricultural utopia.
Of course, having an accidental baby had thrown a wrench in that plan. David hadn’t been ready, freaking right out. And Maddy had cut him loose rather than have him just propose to her because they’d had a birth control malfunction.
Thuy gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. She wondered if Maddy’s sleeplessness and melancholy were because she was thinking of David. Thuy knew Maddy wasn’t over him, even though she’d done her best to talk about David in cool, logical terms. Personally, Thuy wanted to kick his ass. Even though she knew that Maddy had all but shoved the guy on a plane, if you love someone, you do whatever you have to, to be with them.
The fact that he got on that plane and left made him an asshole as far as she was concerned.
“You’ll have a farm someday,” Thuy finally said to Maddy, trying to sound comforting. “In the meantime, you’ve got a great job, and you’re going to have a baby that loves you to pieces. And you’ll have me, Auntie Thuy, ready to help out.”
“You are a godsend, Thuy,” Maddy said, wiping at her lashes with her fingertips.
“Whoa, whoa! It’s nothing,” Thuy said. “Come on, now. It’s okay, it’s fine.”
The GPS voice came on. “Your destination is on the right.”
Thuy looked over. There was a Victorian-styled house, not very big, with a wooden sign out front. Walter Graham, attorney at law.
“Looks like we’re here.” Thuy pulled into the drive.
Before she’d even turned the engine off, she heard the rumbling growl of a motorcycle engine. She looked in the mirror to see Drill pulling up behind them.
“Teddy!” Maddy hopped — well, as best she could — out of the car. “You made it!” she called out.
Drill shut down the bike and stepped off, peeling off his helmet and putting it on the bike. He had Maddy’s eyes, Thuy realized — that same startling blue. But everything else on him was the complete opposite. Where Maddy was rounded and soft and gentle, everything about him seemed to be rippling muscles and hard, corded flesh. He was wearing his beat-up leather jacket with DRILL emblazoned on it, as well as his club insignia.
That should have turned her off. God knows, she’d seen enough club patches in her day. But she had to admit, the way he filled that pair of black jeans, as well as the Doc Martens he was rocking…
The guy was a total yum. She hated to acknowledge it, but it was true. He looked better than apple pie, and had a helluva lot more kick.
Thuy watched as he gave Maddy a careful hug with a small, almost sheepish smile.
“I’m so glad,” Maddy said, rubbing at her eyes again. He looked taken aback.
“Told you I’d be here,” he said. “Jeez. Why are you crying?”
“Hormones,” Maddy replied. “I’m a soda bottle full of ‘em, and it’s like I keep getting shaken up.”
<
br /> “You get used to it,” Thuy said.
He released his sister and smiled at Thuy, this time wider and much, much hotter. “Miss Thuy,” he said, his words a slow, honey-drizzled drawl. “Just like you said. I hoped I’d see you again.”
What the hell was it about accents? The guy was hot enough without that slow, dreamy cadence in his low rumble of a voice. Thuy felt her pulse pick up and dance a little bit. She cleared her throat.
“Maddy’s been a little tired. I figured it’s better if I drive.”
He immediately looked at his sister with concern. “You need to take care of yourself,” he said, with just an edge of sternness, mixed liberally with a sort of gentle warmth that made Thuy’s heart melt a little. “Especially with the baby and all.”
“Yes, big brother,” Maddy said, rolling her eyes.
The three of them trooped into the house/office. There was an elderly woman sitting at a small desk in a large foyer that acted as a lobby. “I’ll let Mr. Graham know you’re here,” she said, after giving Drill a baleful glare. Drill looked supremely unmoved by her scrutiny.
“I’m guessing she doesn’t get men like you in here very often,” Thuy murmured. The place was so quiet, she felt like she might as well have been yelling.
Drill’s grin was wicked. “Maybe because there aren’t many men like me.” He gave her a wink.
She couldn’t help it. She grinned back. “I meant bikers,” she clarified.
“Did you, though?”
Maddy looked at Drill with some surprise. “Stop hitting on my friend. Trust me, she’s not your type.”
“All women are my type, Mads.”
“And that’s appealing,” Thuy said, shaking her head.
“All right. You’re not her type,” Maddy said.
Drill looked at her, and it was like his blue eyes were boring into her soul. Thuy felt her mouth go dry.
“You sure about that?” He was answering Maddy, but the question felt directed at her.
Prose Before Bros Page 4
