“Jesus fucking Christ.” Fury stared at the screen, watching the video Myron had queued up. They’d allowed only officers in the room, and other than Myron, it was the first time any of them were seeing what had gone down in Florida three days ago. Fury jolted as he watched Bones fall, neck twisting involuntarily to flinch away from what he was seeing. Even knowing Bones was okay, pissed as fuck but recovering temporarily at the clubhouse in Little Rock, this was hard to watch.

Fury flexed his fists, every bone, knuckle, and muscle in his hands and arms complaining. Things had moved at warp speed over the past few days, and he was still coming to terms with everything.

He’d spent nearly a week in California, trying and failing to get in to see Shooter. The intent had been for him to deliver a message in the clearest possible fashion, while assuring the club that one of their greatest enemies was still securely behind bars. That visit to a prison wasn’t anything he’d wish on anyone, and just making the walk up to the visitor intake building had nearly sucked his courage dry. Then, when things went sideways, and he’d been detained for three full days, Fury had nearly lost his mind. Not in a cell, things never went quite that far, but just knowing he wasn’t free to leave had played havoc on him. He’d been allowed no calls, so he didn’t know if anyone even knew what was going on. In the end it was for nothing, because not only didn’t he get to see Shooter, the man hadn’t even been in Cali, as evidenced by subsequent events.

On the screen, the pixels that represented Mason stood over Morgan for a moment. Words were spoken, the sounds indistinct, speakers in the coffee shop blown out by the concussions of the earlier shots. Morgan made a motion towards where Shooter lay on his back, head tilted at an unnatural angle, eyes already turning cloudy. Bones lifted his gun at the same time Mason did, both men reacting to whatever it was Morgan had said, and the speakers clearly picked up the sounds of four shots. Morgan’s body jerked and he fell backwards off his chair, elbow catching and turning over the table where he’d been sitting. Stillness on the screen for a moment, then the speakers picked up the shrill screams of a girl. Fury knew that was the barista, barricaded in the bathroom, at that point already on the phone with the police.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he repeated, shaking his head. “We know what was said?”

Myron nodded. “Mason wants to wait to brief everyone on that when he and Bones are back in Chicago. We’ll be calling a national meet for officers, and he’ll go over everything there.” He stopped fiddling with the laptop in front of him. “I’ve got to get back to Chicago tonight. Ester is with Road Runner, but I promised her I’d be back in a few hours.” Ester was Bones’ old lady, a quirky, flighty woman that Fury found himself liking for the man. Bones’ stick-up-his-ass attitude melted clean away when Ester was in the room, and seeing him like that humanized the myth somewhat. Who knew I’d wind up liking the asshole? Myron got his attention again when he said, “Now we need to hear about St. Louis.”

Fury clenched his fists again, the ache returning and blooming into a more acute pain.

“St. Louis,” he repeated Myron’s words with a sigh. “Fuckin’ nuts, man. I was leaving Taft, fuckin’ finally, after they’d jacked with me for too long, and you—” He angled his head, nodding at Myron. “—had me head there instead of back to Mother.” Pain shot through his hands, and he realized he’d been clenching his fists again. “I found a situation I still don’t rightly understand. Pike—” He glanced around the room to see recognition on every face, so they at least knew who he was talking about. “—had crossed over to the deep end of crazy, and made threats to national officers and the club. I investigated,”—he’d searched rooms and pockets, talked to a dozen men, consulted with key Rebel players—“and found the local officers’ concerns were warranted. They’d secured him.” Pike had been held in the basement, in a small room, dark and smelling of old piss and bleach, lights buzzing from behind their cages. “Pike had already removed his patches, tossed them on the floor, and demanded a beatout.” Fury shrugged. “I’d already talked to officers who had indicated that might be expected. So I delivered. Dyno moved from SAA to President, and they’re filling the hole with another local member Mason sanctioned. That’s”—he shook his hands out, tucking one thumb into a back pocket to try and stop himself from the compulsive movement—“what went down in St. Louis.”

“Did you know about Pike before you went there? What he’d done?” Bear’s distinctive New Jersey accent didn’t show its face often, but it was there now, signifying the tension surrounding this question.

“What he’d done to his sister’s husband? I think everyone knows about Harddrive, brother.” Fury shook his head. “That’s family, not club. Did not factor.”

“What he fuckin’ did to you, man. Did you fuckin’ know?” Slate was behind Fury, and he twisted in place, turning to face the man, shaking his head.

“Pike never did anything to me. I didn’t like him, but that was more his attitude than anything.”

“Entitled asshole, through and through.” Gunny threw his opinion in the ring and Fury nodded. “We’ve all seen how he’d wander in, lording himself over the members and prospects, trying to wow the women. He’s a fucktard, no doubt, but the question on the floor”—with that, Fury realized this had turned from a witness conversation about what had happened on the screen to their national president, and into something else, a niggling trickle of fear curling around his balls, drawing them up tight to his body as he remembered the beating he’d taken in the basement of this building. Will I never move past that? Gunny continued—“is did you know what Pike did to you?” Fury shook his head. “Nothing? Not a clue?”

“Asked and answered, brother.” Fury squared his shoulders, turning to face the big man. “Spit out what you got to say. You’re wasting my fucking time.”

“He don’t know.” Slate leaned back in his chair. “Fuck me runnin’, he really don’t know.”

“Already said that, more than once. You a fan of makin’ me repeat myself?” Now Fury was pissed, crossing over the line from annoyed to angry. “Not sure what you’re talking about, and I do not appreciate the way you’re trying to put me off balance. Spit—” He leaned forwards at the waist. “—it out.”

“Pike is the one who called Mason. Told him you were a Fed plant. Told him he had papers from Ling in Memphis that named you. Pike twisted shit and twisted shit, and played it out until Mason didn’t have any choice but to call you in.” Myron closed the laptop with a snap, turning it upside down and removing the battery before putting it in a messenger bag. “Pike coulda gotten you killed with what he played. They…we were wondering if you’d put that together before you hit St. Louis.” Myron looked around the room, fingers working to fasten the buckles on the bag. “Pretty clear to me that wasn’t the case. Which I already told all of you. Only six of us knew who had made that call. Damn sure I didn’t talk about it after Mason gagged us. Pretty sure you were the same.” He turned back to Fury. “With it not proving true, it wouldn’t do for there to be division in the club.” He shrugged. “You get it, and Mason knew you would if it ever came out.”

“Oh, I get it,” Fury gritted out between clenched teeth. “Don’t mean I like it.” He swung his gaze around the room, pausing on each man, forcing them to meet his eyes. “This has me thinking Mason was wrong. Slate was wrong. And me? I for sure was fucking wrong.” He shook his head. “This isn’t the first time you’ve called me to the floor.” Slate sat up, twisting to face him, mouth open to argue but Fury cut him off. “Don’t mince words, man.” He deliberately withheld the word he would normally use, considering this was beyond the pale and he was infuriated. “What you orchestrated just now? Same as, don’t deny it. You don’t trust me, because I came in from Diamante and you’re warring with them. You don’t trust me, because I got tangled up with what went down with Gunny. And now, you don’t trust me because some of you beat the fuck out of me on the say-so of a man who’s turned into a goddamned cut.” Angry, he was so angry he could feel the blood pounding in his temples, hear every beat in his ears. “So you’ve called me out, questioned me in ways you would never have dared do with Slate, Bones, Tater, fuck—anyone. You want me out, you’ll have to take my patch, but it won’t kill me to explain to Mason why I’m handing back the office plate. Fuck you.” He pounded his chest with a closed fist, knowing his anger was misplaced, but not willing to put a halt to his words. “I know the kind of brother I am. You don’t, then that’s your goddamned, fucking loss.” He turned to walk out only to pull up short, Myron standing in his way. “Move, man.”

“Nope. You’re stuck here. I know you. You won’t turn your back on the club, this chapter, or a single brother in this room.” Shaking his head, Myron lifted his arms to the side, palms forward. “They went about it wrong, but they meant well.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.” Myron shrugged. “What you said means there’s a void in St. Louis, and we have a mouth on the loose that we might not want to leave that way. I say we set a hunter on Pike, bring him back into the fold.” He glanced at Fury. “I can’t make that call, though.”

Pike. Fucking Pike. He hadn’t recognized the man until St. Louis, but he’d been one of Dion’s cronies. That meant he might know what Fury’s gig had been back before the MC life. If he knew and flapped his lips, it could bring everything down. A life built on lies. Fuck. “I don’t think there’s a man in here wants me to make that fucking call.”

“You’re wrong.” That was Gunny, and what must be his footsteps sounded until he stood behind Fury.

“I agree.” Bear’s twang had subsided, but his voice was still distinctive. “Your call, boss.”

Myron held his gaze unflinching, waiting.

Fury sighed. “He’s been playing alongside the boys who don’t hesitate to pull in family.” Fury was thinking aloud at this point, wanting every man to follow his reasoning so there wouldn’t be any questions. If they were determined to make him do this in spite of a demonstrated lack of confidence, he’d give them the demanded show. “We know how Diamante and the Outrider holdouts are.” When Shooter went to prison, some of the Outrider chapter folded, some of them shifted away from the things he’d driven them towards, but a few chapters had held the line, maintaining they were the loyal ones who would be rewarded when Shooter got out. Ain’t no rewards comin’ their way now.

“They’ll bring blood right back to a man’s doorstep, putting it in the way of everything we have. If he winds up in the wrong place, wrong time, he knows a fuck of a lot of info about all of us.” Pike had been a Rebel for years, made regular visits to some of the clubhouses. That meant he had friends or at least acquaintances he might reach out to. “With everything that’s happened, we didn’t do a general notification about him being out bad. I think we need to do that now, see what it stirs up.” Beth’s forgiven me, even if I can’t forgive myself. If it comes out, it comes out. I won’t kill a man to save my ass like this. “He betrays us in word or deed, if we heard even a breath of him talking out of turn, we hunt him down. Until then…” He looked at the faces of the men, seeing agreement written there. “…we let him dig his own holes.”

***

“But I dun wanna.” The slurred words caught his attention and Fury glanced to his right where Bethy leaned against his shoulder. Eyes closed, her lips were pursed in irritation. Mikey was sprawled in the backseat, head against one door, feet stretched out towards the other side, earbuds in place a silent protest to Fury’s commandeering of the radio. Windows down, they were on their way from Nashville to Adken, Florida, where Mason would meet them and facilitate the introduction of the two sisters. With the windows down, the moving air had teased strands of Bethy’s hair free from her attempts to tame it. Fury smiled as it moved across his skin, as if even in her sleep Bethy was caressing him. She shifted, and he glanced at her again, seeing her nose wrinkle and her lips pull to the side. Whatever she was dreaming, it wasn’t making her the happiest camper on the block.

There had been a lot happening, and not all of it good. In fact, this trip might be the best thing in a couple of months, since Mason and Bones came home from this town that Fury was willingly driving towards now.

Myron had worked his magic on the video the Feds had of the coffeehouse, inside and out, and in the end, the only thing that said there’d been more than Morgan and Shooter on the premises was the eye-witness account from the terrified teenaged employee. Well, and Bones’ blood. He smirked.

The man was pissed he had a hole put in him, and in his unique way of communicating had said as much. “When four men of varying skill are battling as we were in a closed environment, it is no wonder when three of the four have the bad luck to step in front of a bullet. What I do not appreciate is that it was Shooter, already dead on his feet, who had the audacity to be aiming at me at the moment his hand clutched the gun like a lover’s breast. The only thing worse would be to have been injured by a ricochet from Mason’s weapon.”

Engaged as he’d been with things within the club, and then with the burgeoning relationship with Bethy, Fury had somehow missed the memo about what Mason had found in Florida. Not just a sister, which was trippy enough when you thought about it, but his and Bethy’s mother. The story as Mason told it was convoluted. Shooter had always been unstable, his moods written off as edginess in a world where men made up their own rules. Morgan had recognized it for what it was, and when Shooter made threats against his own mother, Crystal, Morgan had taken steps to make her safe. He’d faked her death, displaying a mutilated body that somewhat resembled her in order to convince Shooter. It worked, and he’d moved both Crystal and Justine’s mother, Lori, to Florida.

According to Justine, something had happened about ten years ago to break both Lori and Crystal’s hold on reality. She had suspected Morgan because he visited the women regularly. Mason didn’t disagree with her. That lined up with the troubles Morgan’s original club was having with the cops, and both women would have had a wealth of knowledge about a variety of his crimes. Myron was researching what compounds would have been available, pairing the information with knowledge about the other things that Morgan might have had going at the same time. Mason had said he wasn’t holding out much hope, but it was easy to see he had some.

Mason and Willa had brought their three kids down a couple of weeks ago to meet Crystal, and it had gone well. So well he’d agreed it was time for Bethy to make a visit. Bethy had immediately petitioned to bring Mikey, and that brought Fury back full circle to the car full of sleeping people. He smiled, reaching out a hand and placing his palm on Bethy’s thigh. Just the feel of her leg under his hand was enough to have his cock fattening, and he shifted in the seat, fingers tightening. Jesus.

He’d stopped at a rest area, rolling up the windows and locking the doors, leaving his sleeping charges in the vehicle. It was winter, but the chill wouldn’t creep in too quickly, not with the sun out like it was. Flipping his shades back into place, he started down the walk to the car, seeing Bethy standing beside it, arms over her head as she stretched. She saw him and waved with one hand, looking adorably ridiculous, and he swept her into his arms, holding tightly as he pressed his mouth to hers. Pulling back, he watched as she blinked up at him, the movement slow and sleepy. “Hey, baby. You need to pee?”

She nodded and covered her mouth with one hand, yawning wide. “Yeah. Should we wake up Michael?” He didn’t release his hold, just reached out with one hand and rapped on the window next to Mikey’s head, grinning as the boy sat bolt upright, looking confused. A moment later he was on the receiving end of a Mason specialty, this being one of the darkest scowls he’d seen in a while. “Guessing that’s a yes,” Bethy said with a giggle.

“Yeah, baby. Go, take care of business, let’s get back on the road.” He kissed her nose.

“Where are we?” Mikey shoved his phone in Bethy’s face and her eyes crossed, then focused as she tried to look at what he was showing her. “Map shows us in a swamp.”

Fury reached out and gripped Mikey’s shoulder, shaking him back and forth. “Swamps are good for a lotta things.” Bethy moved to Fury’s side, wrapping one arm around his waist. “Like hiding a teenaged boy’s body if he doesn’t get a move on and go pee.”

Mikey rolled his eyes and grabbed Bethy’s hand. “Come on, Mom. Before he leaves us behind.”

This had been happening more often than not, but every time Mikey called her that seemed to hit Bethy hard. This was no exception and her eyes closed for a moment, a soft smile on her face. “Okay, okay. I’m right behind you.” Tipping her chin up she stared at Fury. “Back in a minute.”

“I’ll be here.”

The rest of the drive was unremarkable, except for Mikey’s choice in music. Even Chase’s influence hadn’t shifted the boy from his love of all things country music. If it wasn’t boot stompin’ with a twang, he had no interest. Fury found himself hiding a smile from Bethy as she lectured the boy in a way that sounded practiced, and he was certain he was listening to a conversation they’d had many times before. This, he thought, this is what it means to be with someone. Not the hot-as-hell fucking they did every night, although that was part of it. Lives together were built on this warm sense of comfort felt when someone you loved wanted to share themselves with you.

Fury changed lanes, seeing the hotel sign ahead and both Bethy and Mikey clammed up, their nervousness coming to the fore again. Fury rested his hand on Bethy’s knee, squeezed once to get her attention and told her, “She’s excited to meet you.”

Grinning at him, eyes bright, she whispered, “I have a sister.”

“That—” He turned into the parking lot. “—you do.” Myron had made the arrangements, booking the hotel and reserving a private dining room for the meeting. The plan was for Fury to check them in while Bethy and Michael went to meet Mason and Justine. He’d give them a few minutes of privacy, then join them, thinking it would be easier on Justine that way. “I’ll get the bags, y’all go on inside.” He thumbed the button to open the trunk and leaned close, cupping his hand around the back of her neck. Pulling her in for a kiss, he told her, “You’re going to do great. You have a sister.”

She smiled and repeated his words back to him. “That I do.”

Several hours later they’d moved their party poolside. The adults watched Michael as he did his suave best to impress a couple of girls about his age, swimming side to side across the pool underwater, and treading water beside the girls, his mouth never ceasing its movement.

“Did you know where they were keeping him?”

The sound of the kids playing mixed with the manmade waterfall at one end of the pool, working to obscure their words from casual eavesdroppers. Fury had used Myron’s tool to sweep the area before they all sat down, ensuring there were no electronic devices in play, just in case.

Even with the noise and assurances of privacy, Justine still looked over her shoulder before answering Mason’s question, the long-time habit kicking in. Him, in this case at least, meant Christopher Camp. The heartbreaking story she’d told over dinner had curdled Fury’s stomach, and the look Mason and Bethy shared told the tale. They were both pleased for once that Morgan’s paternity claim meant they weren’t any kin to old man Mason.

“Irving told Daddy”—Mason grimaced, making it clear hearing about the two men who had ruled his life for so long wasn’t his favorite thing. Justine continued—“that as long as Daddy left you two alone, my son would be unharmed. He gave Daddy back Luke, my nephew, and then said it would be the last thing Daddy would ever get from him.” She shook her head.

“I didn’t know where he was, and Daddy exhausted all his contacts unsuccessfully. Chris was just…gone.” Her neck twisted and she glanced at the pool, eyes on Mikey. “After I joined the DEA, I kept quietly searching. I never found anything. As far as anyone knew, he had disappeared off the face of the earth, gone.”

“How’d they get their hands on him?” Mason’s question was quiet, respectful, but filled with a hard edge of anger. Fury eyed him, gauging his reaction. He suspected if old man Mason wasn’t already dead, his breaths would be numbered on the smaller side of the ledger.

Justine sniffed, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “I was stupid. So stupid.” She shook her head. “Jimmy wasn’t the sticking around kind of guy. I should have known, but when we started things we were both so young. Young, stupid kids. Things got bad in California. John’s wife left him. She took their daughter.”

Mason supplied the name with a nod. “Eddie. Moved her girl away from the club, trying to give her a normal life.”

“Yeah. Made things difficult for me and Mom, because John was always a little crazy, but after that happened, he really fell off the edge of the earth.” Mason nodded again, and Fury remembered some of the stories he’d heard about those times. Death and destruction following John around, him earning his club name of Shooter by killing a friend of Mason’s. Blood and pain were the watchwords for those days. “Mom knew Crystal, liked her.” Justine shrugged. “The club was a different kind of life. I didn’t realize how different until after I got to college and found out that not everyone had a second mother figure, both sharing a bed with your father.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Bethy flinch and put that reaction aside, deciding to follow up on it later.

“Crystal had talked about Kentucky, talked about the two of you. When Jimmy and I decided to leave with Chris, we didn’t have anywhere else to go. I didn’t expect to find trouble waiting.” Justine shivered, picking up her cardboard container of coffee and cupping her hands around it. “Crystal had been gone for a couple of years, and Mom was…she saw where things were going. Every night, it was the same thing. I’d sit nursing Chris, and she’d come in and talk, telling me I needed to go before Daddy had a need for me. Everyone is always just a tool for him, he's—” She interrupted herself and looked at Mason, bleakness bleeding from her eyes. “He’s dead, right? Really, really dead?”

As an active federal agent, she hadn’t claimed a relationship with Morgan, and he wasn’t listed anywhere in her personnel file. Since the shooting was still at the local level, it hadn’t hit her radar for a couple of days other than a ten-second blurb on the news. That meant with a little influence from a few Benjamins, Morgan’s autopsy had been completed and his body released to family before she knew about his death. Mason had arranged for a quick cremation of Shooter’s body, and with Myron’s assistance, Morgan’s as well. Justine hadn’t seen the body. After watching over her shoulder for decades, it was natural for her to not trust the news.

“Yeah, honey, he is.” Mason laid a hand on her shoulder, thumb and fingers digging in, holding on. “Very much dead.” Fury didn’t know what kind of details Justine had been given, but he doubted very much that she’d ever know Mason’s had been the finger on the trigger.

“It’s just hard to wrap my head around.” She sounded apologetic, and Mason shook his head.

“Nothing to worry about. If you want the ashes, I’m happy to hand the urn over, honey.” His gaze landed on Fury as he said, “I got no love for the man. Got no need to have anything around to remind me of him.” He looked at Bethy, then at Mikey, and finally at Justine. “I got only to look at the two of you, and my boy or yours”—he nodded at Bethy—“to see the mark he left on us. None of us are hard on the eyes, ‘cept me.” Everyone laughed. “Let that be his only legacy.” Fury saw the fabric of her shirt move and knew Mason had squeezed her shoulder again. “How’d they get Chris?”

Her chin dropped. “Jimmy missed…pretty much everything to do with the club. He fell into a group of friends in Lexington who wanted to start one. He reached out to Daddy, who granted whatever approvals were needed. It wasn’t long before Ezra—” She stopped talking and stared at Fury when he reacted to his father’s name. “You know him?”

He nodded, glancing at Mason and Bethy. “We all do.” He hoped they wouldn’t make him claim the man, not until she got everything out without filtering anything.

She stared at him for a moment longer, then picked up her story. “Ezra and Irving came to the house. I didn’t have anything to do with the club. Had no desire after what I’d seen in California. I’d just passed my GED and was starting to work on college applications. Chris was in his high chair in the kitchen and I went to answer the door. They stood on the stoop and wanted to talk religion. I didn’t know who they were, didn’t know that was the man Daddy would rage about for days on end. Had no idea. There was a noise, so small I nearly missed it, but I turned to look in time to see the back of a man walking out my kitchen door. I had the high chair where I could see it from where I stood.” The coffee in her hands trembled, threatening to splash out, and Fury plucked it from her grip with one hand, the other closing around her frozen fingers. She didn’t seem to notice, continuing with her story.

“The high chair was empty. I screamed and started running, but they grabbed me. Irving put his hand over my mouth and told me if I knew what was good for me, I’d shut up and listen.” She paused, breaths coming fast, mouth open as she panted through the pain of the memory. “‘You want your boy to live, you say nothing.’ His mouth was by my ear, on it. His breath smelled like a septic tank. I smell that in my dreams, sometimes. Foul and dank. Like death. I always thought Irving smelled like death. I didn’t know who he was then. Not then. But I learned, oh yeah, I learned. ‘You want your boy to live? You’re a good momma? Tell Justice this evens the scales. You go to the cops, your boy dies. You do what I tell you to do, and you’ll do it without him in your arms, but knowing he’s warm and breathing somewhere. Tell Justice this evens the scales.’ I didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t know why he’d want me to give Daddy a message. Why he’d even know Daddy.” Her posture had changed as she’d spoken, back rounding so she was hunched over in the chair, protecting herself from a danger decades in the past.

“I knew, though. Knew better than to call the cops. He didn’t even have to tell me, I just knew. I called Daddy and told him. Told him everything. Told him how my baby boy was crying as they took him away. Crying out for me, wanting his mother. All my daddy told me was to stick tight, stay close to the phone, and not tell anyone anything. I did that. Not sleeping, not eating, even when Jimmy tried to force me, I stayed with my hand on the phone, waiting for his call. Five days later he called. Five days.” She looked up into Mason’s eyes. “Do you know what it’s like to lose part of your soul for five days? For twenty-five years? He called, and all my daddy had for me was sorry.” Her voice changed, pitching lower in register. “He said, ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. He’s alive, that’s all I can tell you.’ I asked him, what can I do? How do I get my boy back, my son? He didn’t have any answers for me. I did everything I could think of, short of going to the cops. Jimmy left. He told me I was obsessed and he needed a wife, not a scarecrow mourning something that never should have been born. He said that to me. Chris is our son. How could a father say that to the mother of his child?” She took a deep breath, mouth covered by one shaking hand.

“I didn’t find him. You know that much. Never found him. After a while I told myself he was dead. That was better than wondering what was happening to him. I’d looked for a long time, asked all kinds of questions. So I knew, better than most, what kind of outfit Irving had on his mountain. His kingdom, where he thought he could do anything he wanted and no one could touch him. Better dead than there, that’s what I told myself.” She leaned away from the table, taking long moments straightening her body out, shoving her shoulders against the seatback.

“In college I focused on criminal justice. Everyone always laughed, Justine studying justice. I wanted to make a difference, to help some young mother who had her child stolen, help a child find their way home. Those were the worst dreams, you know? When I’d dream of a five-year-old or ten-year-old Chris crying, screaming out for me, looking for me as desperately as I was trying to find him. I got assigned to the Florida office after I graduated Quantico. About three years later was the first time Daddy showed up. I thought I was clear of him. I thought we were clear. The next time he came, Jimmy’s dad was with him. I learned Jimmy had a wife and three kids. He’d moved on from his failure with me. Mr. Camp’s words meant to hurt, and they did. That’s the last time I saw Daddy.”

“Why did you let Suches go?” Fury asked his question slowly, taking time to formulate the right words to hit the tone he wanted. “We’ve heard from his associates that you had him on house arrest at one point, and then arrested him again, several weeks later. Both times he was released, and when I look for the papers on the actions, I not only can’t find a warrant, but I can’t find any kind of record of his arrests.”

Justine’s gaze landed on him, heavy with anger. Not at him, but at something in the past. Suches? Morgan? Fury waited.

“I have a good team.” Her mouth drew sideways, the smile as familiar as anything because it was one he’d seen on Bethy’s face more than once. Wry and crooked, with Bethy it meant she was being self-deprecating. “My team had word that Suches was teamed up with another man, Gordon Tucker—” Once again she interrupted herself to stare at Fury, his reaction unmistakable. He carefully unclenched his fist from around the crumpled cup, shaking drops of liquid from his fingers. “You know him, too, don’t you?” He nodded.

“We’ll talk about that later.” With that promise, she continued, “So Suches and Tucker were teamed up and seemed to be set to stir trouble all across the south. Suches connections in Mexico were tightly associated with one of the Mexican drug cartels, and he was bringing in all kinds of drug components that were then processed into one of a dozen designer drugs. They’d sell to US dealers, who would in turn sell to the local addicts. Tucker had different connections. He was in tight with Camp and his ilk, including my father. The two men together were building a business that threatened the stability of communities all across Florida’s panhandle.”

She made a noise, and he caught the tail end of an eye roll. “We federal types know we can’t kill the drug trade. So we try to unofficially regulate it in lots of ways. Tucker was disrupting everything we’d worked out with the locals about safety and quantities. I wanted to see if there were vulnerabilities I hadn’t considered, but I knew pulling Tucker in would get people involved I didn’t want to see. Namely Daddy and Camp. So, I picked Suches to discuss things with. It was a waste. He didn’t know anything of note. Tucker, however, had all the connections we needed to break. I never did get my hands on him. Last I heard he’d retreated to Mexico, but relations between the countries has deteriorated to the point I can’t even pick up the phone and call folks I used to work with weekly.”

“You think Tucker’s in Mexico?” Mason’s question sounded offhand, but Fury was looking at him and could see the tension in his face.

“I know he is. Border agents on this side of the line are all primed to tell me when he moves back across to US soil. I’ve not heard anything.” She shrugged. “So, he’s still in Mexico.”

***

“It’s just so weird.”

Fury was toweling off after a shower when Bethy’s comment came from the master bedroom of the suite they’d booked at a local hotel. Michael was in the adjoining bedroom, talking on his phone and doing whatever it was teenaged kids did these days. These days. He snorted. I sound like an old man. Staring into the mirror over the sink he focused on his face in a way he normally didn’t take time to do. Tanned and weathered skin; wrinkles at the corners of his eyes because he didn’t like sunglasses, preferring to squint into the sun instead. Reaching up, he ran his fingers through his hair. No gray. He snorted. Not yet. Smoothing his beard down, he examined it and found only the same deep red color he’d borne all his life.

“I look at Justine—and man, that name’s a mouthful, don’t you think—and she looks just like Davy. Different mothers, but you’d never know it. I always wanted a sister, and now I have one full grown. So weird.”

“Mmhmm.” He picked up the shaving cream and stared at his face again. What’ll she think when I’m old and gray? There were only four years between them, which amounted to a drop in the bucket. Tipping his chin up, he squirted lather in his hand, then smoothed it on his neck. He was just starting to work it into the skin when his hand was slapped away. Backing up quickly, he turned to face Bethy and saw she was scowling at him, razor in hand.

“You,” she leaned closer as she shoved the razor behind her back, “are not shaving—” With every word her voice increased in volume until by the end she was shouting. “Your beard!”

“Baby, no.” He shook his head, laughing. “I’m just cleanin’ up my neck. I’m not shaving.”

“You’re not?” She looked abashed, then pushed, “Promise?”

“Promise.” He reached around her and plucked the razor from her fingers. “I like it too much. It makes me look…like me.”

It was there and gone before he could isolate the expression, but he saw it. A fleeting change in her face that told of pain and anger, betrayal and hopelessness. I put that there. In that moment, he knew she was remembering him as Derek, scruffy and bald, and playing her in a way that had left a deep and lasting scar. Written in that short-lived expression was the story he most feared for their future and he knew. Down to his bones, he knew. She wasn’t over it, hadn’t forgiven him. No redemption.

I can work for it, he promised himself. I will work for it. He was willing to do whatever it took to earn her trust.

She was worth it.

***

Bethany

Absently threading fingers through her hair, Bethy encountered a snag and flinched, uttering a soft, “Ow.”

“What’s wrong, baby?” Gabe’s question coincided with a flexing squeeze of her knee, covered for the last hundred miles by his large hand.

Once they’d gotten together, there were two things she’d realized about Gabe. More than two, she mused, working the knot free as she smiled at him, saying, “Hit a tangle.” His return smile was so tender if she’d been standing, it would have weakened her knees. One of the soul-deep truths she’d come to believe was that he loved her. Devotion was present in his every action, each gesture or word reinforced her decision to take a chance on them. His love was both emotional and tactile in equal measures. If she were near, she would find him touching her, holding her hand or stroking her skin with his fingertips. She wondered at times if it were as much to assure himself they were real, as if he still couldn’t believe his luck.

The other thing that stood out was how he watched her every move. More than a focus on her comfort, the level of attention could be intimidating. Like today, she thought. She knew he saw everything, even reactions she’d rather hide. Same as Davy. She turned to the window. It wasn’t constant, wasn’t even every day, but things still tripped her up. Between life in the holler and what had happened in Utah, she had her share of demons. Between Gabe and Davy, I’ll be confronting them until every fear is slain. She had been at breakfast this morning when Davy cornered her with questions.

“Hey, sis.” Bethy looked up, fork finishing its path to her mouth as Davy’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Sleep okay?”

“Mmhmm.” She smiled at him as he angled himself into a chair at her table. “You?”

“Yeah, decent. Your boys bein’ lag-a-beds this morning?” She smiled at this statement, more evidence that the changes in her life were the new normal. My boys. He turned a coffee cup over, setting it upright as the waitress showed up with a half-full carafe. “Just the coffee, honey, thanks.” He waited until she’d moved away. “What was your deal yesterday? You had a turn when Jussy was talking about livin’ in the MC clubhouse out west.”

“Jussy?” Bethy grinned. “I like it. She know you renamed her?”

“She ain’t complained.” He sipped his coffee with a slight smile.

“Fits better than Justine.” Bethy wielded her knife and fork, cutting the waffle on her plate into bite-size pieces.

“Yeah, that’s a mouthful.”

“That’s what I told Gabe.” She ate in silence for a moment. “It’s good she’s so cool with everything.” He made a soft sound of agreement. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, honey. Anything.”

“Did you know John well?” She’d never gotten to meet him, something she’d realized yesterday as Jussy—Bethy gave an internal snort at her easy adoption of that name—talked to Davy about their father. Never met either man. But I was entirely too acquainted with Judge. If those men had been the same, maybe her lack of knowledge was a blessing. “Yesterday, it sounded like you were friends once.”

“Not really, not ever.” He set his cup down.

“Do you think Mom was happier out there? If Justice was our father, why would she leave us with…in Kentucky?” Bethy’s emotions were tangled when she thought about the things revealed over the past few weeks. Jussy was her sister because they shared a father, but John was her full brother. Like Davy.

“What’d you ask her, Mason? Baby, what was that thought?”

Bethy looked up, startled by the questions. Gabe stood beside her chair, glowering down at Davy. She’d left him dozing in bed a half an hour ago, expecting to take him a cup of coffee back to the room. “Morning.”

He cupped the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair. She tipped her lips up and he bent to brush a kiss, pressing his mouth to hers. “Morning, Beth.” He kissed her again. “Now, what was that thought?”

“We were talking about Jussy and John.” Gabe nodded as he settled into the chair next to Bethy. Davy reached out and clasped his hand in a warrior’s grip. Davy said, “I was just asking what bugged her yesterday.”

“Yeah, I saw that one, too.”

Of course you did. Bethy rolled her eyes. “You’re both imagining things.”

“Not fuckin’ likely.” Davy finished his coffee, pushing back from the table. “I’m out. Got an early meeting. Leavin’ her in your capable hands, brother.”

“I got this.”

Lips brushed the crown of her head. “Y’all travel safe, yeah?”

“We will.” Gabe turned over the coffee cup at his setting as Davy walked towards the exit. “Baby, tell me what’s bothering you.”

The waitress came and left and they sat in silence for a few moments. Bethy knew it was only a matter of time and Gabe would be back questioning her. Dog with a bone. “Jussy,” he made a noise of amusement and she grinned, “was raised a world away from where I grew up, but in some ways our lives were a lot alike. It’s just weird to realize. We share a father, which means the man I thought of as my daddy all my life…wasn’t. Her mother was friends with my mother, while both were with the same man.” She tipped her head, watching his expression for any sense of censure. “Did you know Daddy had a series of women when I was little?” He shook his head, lips pursing. “Yeah. I remember this time when there were three in the house at once. They were all best friends, no lie. Like they had to band together to survive the kind of hell the compound was back then.”

“Does it bother you about old man Mason not bein’ your daddy?”

She shook her head. “I think it makes it better, actually. For me, at least. Davy said he didn’t think Irving ever knew. I’d like to believe he did. That would put things into a better perspective, you know? I always wondered how someone who said they loved me could cause so much pain. Like, intentionally set out to hurt me. Makes a body wonder how true their love was. If there was love at all.” Appetite gone, she pushed her plate towards him. “You know what? I’m done.” The look of confusion, fear, and sorrow that crawled across his features froze her for a moment. “Oh, Gabe. No, honey. I’m talking about Daddy.” The breath he released held so much fear. She reached across and grabbed his hand, felt it turn in her grip, Gabe holding on with all his strength. “Baby, I will never leave you. I love you.”

“I did things, Beth. Hurt you.”

“We’re past that, promise.” His gaze held hers, steady and patient. “I know what it cost you. You’ve paid in spades, so much. I know who’s in my bed, Gabe. I know that man, and I trust him with my heart. With everything I am, I trust him. I wish you could trust me.”

Beth glanced over to watch Gabe driving. His command of the car was confident, easy. He must have felt her gaze because he tipped his head, looking at her for a moment. “Baby?”

She smiled broadly, leaning close as she covered his hand with one of hers, pressing his fingers into her knee, sliding their joined hands higher on her leg. She kissed the corner of his mouth, nibbling gently. Then, keeping her voice quiet and soft out of deference for her sleeping son, she reminded him of something he already knew, but she’d be willing to help reinforce every day for the rest of their lives if necessary. “I love you, Gabriel Ledbetter. I wanna laugh along with you as our children play, and live with you until I’m old and gray. I love you, that’s all.”

“Oh, is that all?” He met her lip brush with his mouth, kissing her softly while his fingertips stroked the tender flesh inside her thigh, raising goose bumps on her arms. When she pulled back there was such a look of peace and relief on his face she buried her face against his shoulder to hide her tears.

“Yeah, that’s everything,” she choked out as he chuckled. God, I love this man. He was worth everything they’d gone through to be together. “Everything.”