FIFTEEN

Hooch

Ten years ago, my old man woke me up on my birthday with the biggest smile I’d ever seen on the fool’s face. I remember that day as though it were yesterday: the smells, the feel of the carpet under my feet as I got out of bed, and the matching grins on his brothers’ faces as I walked out into the living room to find half the Fallen Aces Fort Worth chapter seated on our lounge.

“Happy birthday, son.” My old man had proclaimed as he tossed something small and shiny my way.

The keys to my first bike.

I turn the worn key ring over in my palm as I sit at my desk and wonder where in the fuck it all took a sharp turn off course. Almost a year since I lost my old man to the drug lord Carlos Redmond’s greed. Almost a year since my baby sister was fatally shot trying to get away as well.

Almost a year since I wiped the smeared makeup from under my oldest sister’s eyes and told her I’d sort everything out before she rode away on the back of a nomad’s bike.

Twelve months of nothing and no one. Of battling it alone, and feeling as though despite the fact I made the best decisions based on my circumstances at the time, that all I’ve done since then is fuck everything up.

Our chapter is in turmoil. The more our brothers up north get their shit together, the more ours seems to fall apart. I guess that’s what you call balance.

It feels more like suicide.

My old man bought me that bike twelve years ago, using the pittance I’d saved at after school jobs as the deposit to secure it and paying the balance himself. He knew I couldn’t prospect for the Aces without a ride, and there was nothing that he wanted more than to have me follow in his footsteps.

Easy enough when he was there to leave the imprints for me to follow, but now I’m staring down unblemished virgin dirt, wondering which direction I’m supposed to go.

Business will never be legit—I know that. But the thing that kills me inside is that the deeper we fall into the illegal rabbit hole of drugs, the deeper the lies run between the brothers. Lies to keep the peace, to appease consciences, and to harbor guilt.

We’re all as guilty as the rest for thinking we’ve made too many mistakes to be allowed forgiveness, but the thing is, we’re all as bad as each other. Just none of us want to admit it for fear of the repercussions.

For fear of losing all respect.

My phone dances across the top of my desk, announcing the call I’ve been waiting for. Downing the last of my whiskey, I set the tumbler down and retrieve the call.

“King, brother.”

“Hey, Hooch.”

“How are things in the star city?”

He lets out a short, callous laugh. “Organized chaos. How about you?”

“Not so organized. Plenty of chaos.” I pause while we both chuckle. “I need to speak with you. Was hopin’ you could come down for a visit sometime in the next couple of days.”

I catch the distinct sound of paper being moved about in the background. “I might be able to squeeze in a trip tomorrow. Got a couple of things to tie up with Bronx, but Callum could probably sort that out for me.”

“How are sales in Kansas?”

“Odd.” King pauses, a gentle sigh coming down the line. “Demand has dropped, as we wanted it to, but the epidemic is worse than ever. They’ve got to be gettin’ it from the same guys as you’re havin’ trouble with.”

“That’s pretty much the sum of what I wanted to talk to you about.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “Any ideas?”

“None. All leads have turned up empty. Elena’s even pitching in with what she knows history-wise, but we can talk about that when I’m down.”

“Yeah.” I reach out with my free hand and pour another drink. “How is the family doin’?”

“Settling in.” As though to punctuate the point, a child’s laugh sounds in the background. “They’ve just shown up to drag me out for a late lunch, so I’ll call you tomorrow when I head out, yeah?”

“Sure thing.”

I end the call, well aware that the ache in my chest isn’t just from the need to down my next hit of the white stuff; it’s jealousy. King may have gone through hell and back to get where he is today, but damn it all if the future he’s created isn’t what I want.

A woman who loves you through thick and thin.

A kid who adores you.

A family who’d miss you if you were gone.

I down the fresh whiskey in one gulp as I rise to my feet. A ride will do me good; a chance to get away from the bullshit and appreciate nature for a while. Making a mental note to let Crackers know King is coming down, I snag my keys and head for the door when a shrill tone sounds from my desk. It takes me a second to remember what the hell it is, but once I do, I whip around the timber desk and retrieve the burner from the drawer before it goes to voicemail. Forgot to pocket the damn thing when I got back from seeing Dagne off.

Distracted much?

“Go ahead.”

“Hooch?”

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s going on?” Traffic burns past in the background.

“I’ve got a bit of a problem.” Her voice wavers, and damn it all if that doesn’t make me feel the need to be there in person rather than sorting this over the phone.

“What’s the issue?”

“I got pulled over.”

“What the fuck for?” I pace to the door and lift my cut off the hook, awkwardly looping it over my arms as I shuffle the phone between my hands.

“I don’t know,” Dagne cries. “I wasn’t speeding, I obeyed all the road rules. They just stripped the truck and then told me to pass on a message.”

“What did they say?”

She hesitates, her breath shuddering. “They said to tell the biker bitches they’re watching you,” she repeats quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, baby girl.” It’s fucking Donovan’s. Asshole. “It was meant to shake me up. Are you okay to carry on?”

“That wasn’t all, Hooch.”

Damn it. What now? “They hurt you?”

“Not really.” I don’t miss the curiosity in her tone. Yeah, I would have delivered a healthy serving of retribution if they had. “They took your message.”

Fuck. I back up two steps and drop my ass to the front of the desk. “How long ago?”

“They just left, like ten minutes ago. I put all the stuff back in the truck before I rang you so it didn’t blow away or anything.”

“Sure, that’s fine. You did the right thing, Dagne.” Shit, shit, shit. “Where are you?”

“I’m not sure. Hold on.”

Scratches come through the line, the sound of the truck door opening, and then the muted traffic that indicates she’s inside the cab now. I pace the whole time, the seconds feeling like eons.

“The GPS says I’m just outside Gainesville. I’m not real familiar with this part of the country.”

“All good. I’ll be there shortly.” Thank fuck for small miracles, huh? Any further up the road and this could have got inconvenient fast. “Just sit tight.”

“I’ll pull off the next exit and message you the number.”

“Perfect.” Girl’s thinking. “I’m sorry this happened.”

“Hey, it’s not like you sent them after me, is it?” she tries to joke.

“Yeah.”

But I may as well have.