by Jen Davis
Chuckling, Brick rolled his eyes and sat next to Robby. “More like you know the furniture couldn’t support both of us at once.”
He tried to look innocent, but who was he kidding? “You’re looking good, brother.”
“I’m feeling good. I put in a bid on the house we wrapped up on Burgundy Street. We close in two weeks.”
“I’ll be damned. You took my advice.”
As Brick raised his eyebrow, he couldn’t help but preen.
“Don’t pat yourself too hard on the back. You might pull a muscle.” With a grin still on his face, Brick turned to Robby. “I’m sure you already knew. Everything seems to go by you first.”
Pink flooded Robby’s cheeks. “I did. Once I heard, I figured you must be doing better.” His knuckles whitened as he squeezed the cream-colored pillow. A moment later, he released it, balancing it on his knees. “I want you to know I…I prayed for you. Every day. I know it probably sounds stupid—”
“No.”
“—but I used to go to church all the time when I—before I moved to Atlanta. I always felt really close to God, even when, well, even when my church didn’t have a place for me anymore. So, yeah. I prayed for you, and I really wanted to come sooner, but I didn’t want to intrude.” His eyes dropped to the fingers he’d laced on top of the pillow. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me here.”
“Look at me, Robby.”
His eyes shot up at Brick’s command.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve your friendship or your loyalty, but I want you to hear me. You are always welcome.” Brick’s gaze was unflinching. “You don’t have any family, right?”
Robby opened his mouth, then closed it. He was silent a moment before he answered softly, “On paper somewhere, but no, not the way you mean.”
Kane locked his legs against the urge to squirm in his chair. No matter how fucked up his family was, he never doubted they would go to bat for him. He felt like an intruder, witnessing the stark look on Robby’s face and the answering gentleness from his normally ball-busting best friend.
“No family for me either.” Brick rubbed at the scruff on his chin, and a grin broke out on his face. “Now I’m making one. A family. Olivia’s going to be my wife. And you two jokers,” he said, gesturing between Robby and Kane, “you’re my brothers.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “If you’ll have me.”
Robby swiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’d like that a lot.”
Please, God, don’t let the kid cry.
The mood hung heavy. Somebody had to break the tension. He snorted. “Are we gonna hug it out, ladies?”
“Fuck off.” Laughing, Brick snatched the pillow from Robby’s lap and beamed it directly at his face.
Ha. Too slow. He dodged it at the last second, and it thumped to the floor behind him.
“It was never like this with my real family,” Robby murmured.
“Like it or not, we are your real family.” He was surprised to find that he meant it. “Get used to it. You’re stuck with us now.”
Robby vibrated with energy as they said their goodbyes. The kid damn near glowed after Brick’s promise of family.
Kane hadn’t been the object of hero-worship from the young man that Brick was, but he’d be damned if he’d go back on his buddy’s word. His family had helped him through some of the worst moments in his life. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if he’d had to face it all alone.
How long had Robby been on his own?
He shook off the question as his Harley roared to life. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t alone now, and he wouldn’t be again.
Family. Fuck. He was still pissed as hell at the shit his father and brother had pulled the night before, but it wasn’t like anger was going to help anything now. He’d been outplayed, and the club had voted. Even if he would’ve had the chance to cast his vote, it would’ve been overruled. He’d have to live with it. At least for now.
Clearing his mind, he allowed himself the simple joy of the road. He’d had a lot of issues with the MC over the years, but riding had never been anything but a pleasure.
All too soon, they arrived back in Decatur, their lunch hour having stretched well past the ninety-minute mark. It was just as well. No one else appeared to be around either.
His eyes tracked over the house and the curb where the crew usually parked. “Did everybody make a break for it?”
“Nah. I think the new guy is starting today. He’s a friend of Cy’s. They served together in Afghanistan. I’m pretty sure Cyrus and Xander are picking him up from the main office where he’s finishing up his paperwork and taking him for his drug test. All the H.R. stuff.”
“A new guy? They’re not replacing Brick and Will.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.
“Oh no.” Robby swiped his clipboard from the pile of sheetrock still in the garage. He carried the thing around the site like a security blanket. “He’s an add-on. And I think we can thank Brick he’s here. It’s a big deal he’s buying the house on Burgundy. The company really needed the cash.”
The information didn’t surprise him. He’d heard Amanda ripped Xander a new asshole a few weeks ago about delays and how much it was affecting the bottom line.
“Between you and me,” Robby said quietly, “there was talk we might not even make payroll next week. But there is something in the works. I’m not in the loop yet, but I get the impression it’s something big.”
To take the company from not paying their employees to hiring an extra man. Yes, it would have to be something big. Maybe he should pay the visit to Mike he’d promised and get the low down. He really did need to go see his old friend.
He pulled his attention back to Robby. “That explains Xander and Cy. Where’s Matt?”
Robby flinched.
“Listen, I know you have a big-ass crush on the guy, but you have got to be able to keep it together when someone mentions his name.”
The kid’s face turned crimson. “Wow. Am I so obvious?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “You are. But you’re not the only one who feels this way.”
Robby’s eyes grew as round as saucers. “You have a thing for Matt too?”
He buried his face in his hands and waited a moment. Two.
Aw, fuck it.
His shoulders shook, unable to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside him. It came up from deep in his belly and echoed in the unfinished garage.
He chanced a glance at Robby, but the guy’s befuddled expression only made him laugh harder until, eventually, tears streamed down his face. Pulling off the bandana he had wrapped around his hair, he wiped his cheeks with one last chuckle. “Thanks, brother. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.”
Robby scowled. Kind of like a tiger cub, he was all growly but without a threatening bone in his body. “I take it you do not have a thing for Matt.”
“No. I don’t.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to unsnarl the knots from the road. “What I meant is, we all have someone who makes us embarrass ourselves. For you, it’s Matt. For Brick, it’s Olivia. For me—”
“For you, it’s Ms. Griffin,” Robby finished.
Now it was his turn to scowl, though he doubted there was anything cub-like about it. Most people would’ve taken a step back, but Robby stayed cool as a cucumber.
“That won’t work on me now.” The kid had the nerve to smirk. “We’re family.”
“It’s not the protection you think it is. My brother Scott kicked my ass growing up more than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Robby ignored the warning. “Everyone heard the two of you the day she came and yelled at Xander. And you were fit to be tied the whole rest of the day. So, what’s the story? Did you break her heart? Did she break yours?” His words sped up with each question. “How long were you together? Did you love her?”
“Enough!” he roared, and this time Robby did take a small step back. “Stop. Please.” He rubbed circles into his templ
es.
“I’m sorry.” Robby’s voice was small, and he hated himself a little for making it happen.
He took a deep breath. “No. I’m sorry. Obviously, I’m still kind of fucked up about it. But I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’m sorry.”
Robby nodded, but he kept his distance.
He leaned against the wall and slid down to rest on the concrete slab. The kid needed to feel safe. Maybe he’d be less threatening on his ass. “Yes, I loved her.” He gently banged the back of his head twice against the drywall behind him. “I’ll probably always love her.”
Cautiously, Robby lowered himself to the ground and sat cross-legged a few feet away.
“We dated in college.”
The kid’s jaw dropped, but he quickly closed his mouth.
“Yes, Robby, I went to college. But I dropped out after we broke up. Not because of her, or at least, not entirely.” He sighed. “We were together about six months, and I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with her, get married, have kids, the whole bit.”
Robby squinted his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. The poor guy was probably afraid to speak.
“If you’ve got a question, it’s okay. I won’t bite your head off this time.”
“I thought bikers didn’t get married.”
He laughed, but there was no joy in it this time. “They don’t. I wasn’t in the club back then; I wasn’t gonna join. I never wanted my dad’s life.”
Robby inched closer. “Why not?”
To really answer his question would take hours…and several beers. His hand flexed, trying to conjure a longneck. “A hundred reasons.” None he should be discussing with an outsider, but he owed Robby some kind of answer. “It’s very insular. It’s got its own code, which isn’t always very evolved. Plus, as you said, it’s not much of a life for women and families.”
“But you grew up there,” Robby pressed.
“Exactly, kid.” He closed his eyes. “Exactly.”
***
15 years ago
December
The shelves at Wal-Mart were stocked haphazardly as shoppers pawed through the After-Christmas Sale items. Strings of lights spilled out of torn cardboard boxes next to footie-pajamas and tins of fruitcake, which apparently had no expiration date. Kane’s mom dug through the unsteady piles of almost-garbage, searching for bits of treasure beneath.
This trip was an annual event designed to find the perfect sale-priced gift for his dad. Malcolm’s birthday was December 26th, and Mama V prided herself on spoiling her man while keeping to a razor-sharp budget. They had no money for the family to exchange gifts, but she pulled five dollars from her budget every month to put in her man’s birthday fund. She didn’t do it for her sons, but they never knew any different.
She inspected a grooming kit, then put it back on the shelf. The same treatment followed for a three-pack of DVDs and a bundle of barbeque supplies that would have really made Kane’s attempts to cook for himself much easier. He knew better than to argue, though. It’s not like his father ever cooked a meal in his life.
Malcolm was a simple man. He liked beer, cigarettes, sex, and his bike. The problem was, there was nothing on an After-Christmas rack likely to support his hobbies. He would have been happiest with a carton of Marlboros and a case of Bud, but those things weren’t special enough for his old lady.
In the end, she settled for an American flag with slightly battered packaging and an insulated cup with a label promising to keep hot things hot and cold things cold. She used her remaining three dollars to buy a fancy cupcake at the store bakery because God forbid there be enough of a treat for everyone to share.
She intended this celebration for Malcolm and Malcolm alone.
When they got back to the clubhouse, which doubled as their home, she carefully wrapped the presents in the ninety-nine cent, shiny red paper with silver bells. Then, she sat down at the kitchen table and waited. And waited.
He made two grilled cheese sandwiches and set one down in front of her. As he scarfed down his dinner, hers grew cold on her plate. She was sitting vigil for her man. Of course, she wouldn’t eat.
Shortly after eight o’clock, the rumble of engines sounded outside. A handful of brothers trickled in. Case, Bender, Scott…but no sign of Malcolm.
“You gonna eat that, Mama?” Scott didn’t wait for an answer; he scooped the cold sandwich off her plate and stuffed it in his mouth.
Fifteen minutes later, a crash sounded from the carport out back. Mama V jumped to her feet to investigate, Kane trailing at her heels. He almost ran her over when she stopped short a few feet outside the door.
He craned his neck to see what caused her strangled cry.
Malcolm’s body draped over the back of a woman Kane had never seen before. Or maybe girl would be more accurate. She couldn’t have been much older than he was. Her thin arms gripped the metal column supporting the structure, her exposed breasts bouncing over the top of her skin-tight tank-top.
His first thought was she must be cold, so close to nude on a winter night. Then, his father’s loud grunt shook him back to the bigger picture. Malcolm’s hand on her back forced her to bend over further as he drove into her from behind. The wet slap of his body against hers echoed into the awful silence.
Mama stood frozen, watching him fuck the girl, his eyes closed and his features slack.
Kane couldn’t think of anything more awful until his father opened his eyes and met her gaze. He didn’t even break his rhythm. “Get back in the house, Viv. You can join in later tonight.”
His mother didn’t hesitate. She turned on her heel and went back into the house as instructed.
The next morning, he spied the dark-haired girl leaving his parents’ bedroom. Her eye makeup smudged and smeared, she looked like a raccoon or a heroin addict. She walked slowly out of the house, gaze locked on the ground, carrying her chunky heels in her hand.
Mama left the bedroom moments later, her long, silky red robe cinched around her waist, an unlit cigarette between her fingers. Face drawn. Eyes empty. She, too, moved slowly.
He assumed she didn’t see him, but she spoke before stepping into the backyard. “Start the coffee, baby, would you?” She didn’t wait for his answer, and within seconds, he heard the snick of her lighter right outside the door.
In a small blessing, Malcolm didn’t show his face. He wasn’t ready to face his father after the spectacle he’d made last night. Sadly, it wasn’t anything new. The man did what he wanted when he wanted. Always had. The twenty-something years his mother had devoted to him meant little to nothing. She was expected to be faithful, of course, but Malcolm could stick his dick anywhere wet and warm.
With a sigh, he pulled the filters out of the cabinet and got the pot ready to brew. Despite its age, the 1970s Mr. Coffee model worked fast. The kitchen filled with the aroma of coffee right as the ding of the toaster announced his Pop Tart was ready to burn the tips of his fingers.
He had his cup of caffeine in one hand and his breakfast in the other when something red and shiny caught the corner of his eye. His father’s birthday presents still sat untouched on the kitchen table. He paused, thinking about the effort his mom had put in to select the right gifts, and dollars to donuts, Malcolm wouldn’t give a shit one way or another.
This was club life. And he wanted no part of it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amanda
Nerves fluttered in Amanda’s stomach as she ran her hands over the darts of her Dior business dress. It was the best she owned, and still, she had to remind herself she wasn’t a little girl playing dress up.
Her gaze swept over the building in front of her. The outside of the Berringer Group’s main office resembled a scaled down version of an old-money mansion. It stood two stories high, with thick white columns on either side of the dark oak front door. The entrance was decorated with a tasteful evergreen holiday wreath. Wide red ribbons wrapped the cylinders all the way to the top. Tasteful Sout
hern Christmas elegance.
She had an appointment with Jared Berringer, the biggest name in Atlanta development—one of the biggest in the Southeast region—but he was still only a person. She knew how to handle people, and she knew how to handle her business.
She refused to be felled by her own insecurities.
Lifting her chin, she opened the door and walked confidently to the front desk. “Amanda Griffin for Mr. Berringer, please.”
The slight man behind the counter glanced up from his computer and tapped the side of his headset. “Yes, ma’am. He’s expecting you. Please come this way.”
The inside of the building looked even more impressive than the façade. Her heels clicked on the high-grade marble floors, polished to a near-blinding shine, as they headed toward a wrought-iron double staircase that curled up around either side of the reception desk—a desk which, if she was not mistaken, featured her favorite sarsaparilla stain and a white Silestone countertop veined in black.
She followed the young man up the stairs, down a deserted hall to the corner office. He opened the door and gestured her through before nodding his farewell.
The photos she’d seen of Berringer hadn’t done him justice. Even a casual observer wouldn’t miss those George Clooney good looks. But anyone paying close attention would realize, in him, they’d found the whole package. He broadcasted it subtly. In the quality of his suit, the shine of his shoes. In the way he held himself, poised, serene and with nothing to prove. This was a man at the top of his game.
He greeted her with a congenial smile and a handshake just firm enough to tell her he wouldn’t judge her worth on the fact she was a woman.
“Ms. Griffin.” He gestured for her to sit in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Surprisingly, he took the seat next to her, rather than the position of power behind the heavy furniture.
