Jessie made it most of the way up the stairs before she sank down, her knees weak, cradling her aching hand. She’d thought at the last minute that if she hit the wall with an open palm, it wouldn’t hurt like it would if she punched it. She’d been incredibly, painfully wrong about that. The heel of her hand burned like it was on fire, and the fleshy pads under each finger were already swelling.

 

She could hear the angry voices snapping back and forth down in the living room. The house wasn’t so big that she’d be able to get away from them, no matter where she went. She’d thought about storming out of the house, but what was she going to do then, call a cab? Walk back to her apartment? There wasn’t a good solution.

 

So she sat on the stairs, leaned her head back on the wall, and closed her eyes again. She wasn’t going to go to sleep; her heart was clenched far too tightly for that. But she could just try and let it all go for a little while. That would be enough.

 

Goddamn Tex Brewer for ever bringing her father back into her life. Nothing, nothing that came after this could possibly be worth it.

 

***

 

Tex stepped away from the brutalized man and swallowed hard against the sick bile that tried to rise up his throat. John “Smokey” Hendricks was lax in the chair that Sergeant Eduardo Pedroza had strapped him to. He wasn’t unconscious, but he wasn’t far from it. His blood coated Tex’s knuckles, dried and sticky. Between his career in the military and his life, working up through the ranks of the Sons of Chaos motorcycle club to be the president, he’d earned a reputation for being willing to perpetuate extreme violence. He’d never cared for it, though. It was why he’d gotten out of the military instead of re-upping and going back for another tour. He believed the peace work he did was good work, that it helped people. He was able to sleep at night after the violence happened. But he hated it, all the same.

 

He’d never intended to put his fist to another person’s face after he walked away from his fatigues, but Hendricks hadn’t left him much choice. He’d insisted, over and over, that he had no idea who had come after his family almost fifteen years ago, running his teenaged son and Tex’s childhood best friend down in the street. But there had been a sneer to his lip and a weasel-like look in his eyes when he’d sworn everything, over and over again. Tex didn’t believe him. He was impressed at Hendricks’s ability to hold back the information. He’d seen firsthand that torture didn’t reveal accurate information, but at the same time, most men would have started spouting anything by now, just to get the pain to stop.

 

The truth, shitty as it might be, was that he didn’t mind hitting Smokey as much as he’d disliked hitting other men. Maybe it was because he’d seen the flinch in Jessie’s eyes every now and again when her father had come up in conversation, or when their plans had glanced too close to mention of the man. Maybe it was because if the bastard had just been able to run his business properly without dipping in to his own product, his best friend, Jessie’s brother, might still be alive.

 

But he also knew there was only so much he could say about all of it. The truth was that if Danny hadn’t died that day, he had no idea what his life would have been like. They might have grown apart in high school, or college, or after, and he and Jessie might have been way too young to make their relationship work.

 

But he would have liked the chance to try, the experience of going through all of those things with his friend next to him, instead of dead in the ground.

 

He needed to step away. His knuckle had split when he’d misjudged and hit Hendricks in the jaw. It rattled his brain a little too much, and had left him limp with pain and disorientation. He needed to clean up, offer the man some water, and then see where they were. Maybe he’d finally be ready to talk, ready to own what he’d done, and what he’d put everyone through. Tex nodded to Eddie, and Eddie stepped between the two of them. Tex retreated to the kitchen, pressing his cut hand against his shirt so blood wouldn’t drip down onto the floor. He wasn’t worried about forensics so much as he was trying to keep Janis from needing to take care of a mess. He’d call the guys later, actually, ask them to come out and make sure everything was shipshape.

 

Once the rest of this was done.

 

In the kitchen, he carefully lifted the faucet handle with his elbow, tapping it towards the warmer side, and running his hands under the flow. The water stung where his skin had broken, and his breath hissed out with the pain.

 

“He always did have a hard head,” he heard behind him. For one moment, he wanted to believe it was Jessie, but God wasn’t that good to him. Her voice sounded very much like her mother’s, now that he wasn’t looking right at the older woman.

 

He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a small smile. “Sorry about the mess.”

 

She shrugged. “Blood washes out.”

 

“That’s not exactly what I meant. I didn’t intend to bring this to your doorstep at all. I didn’t even really mean for Jessie to find out what was going on.”

 

“But here we are.”

 

“Here we are.” He let the water run as he scrubbed. Janis came past him and squirted some soap into his palms, and the suds foamed up in a reddish brown slurry between his hands. He hoped to hell the hepatitis vaccine the military had given him worked. Who knew what Hendricks had picked up over the years. “Is she okay?” He pointed with his chin up the stairs. He’d heard Jessie stomp away. The fact that she’d stayed in the house instead of slamming away gave him hope, but not enough.

 

“She will be,” Janis said. “She always is, in the end.”

 

“Did you know he was in town?” He pulled the lever back down to shut off the flow of water, and Janis was already there with a towel.

 

She shrugged as she carefully patted his hands dry, paying extra attention to his knuckles. She reached for a gauze pad and some medical tape, but he waved her off. The bleeding had nearly stopped already. He pressed the towel down to staunch the last of the flow. “I’d heard a few things. Conversations that ended when I got too close, especially near people that John and I used to run with in high school. But I wasn’t sure.” She heaved a sigh. “I didn’t want to think that he might be back. I know Jessie was hurt when Danny died, but I think her father not showing up to help her feel better was the part she couldn’t ever forgive.”

 

“Not—” he cut the words off before he could get them out. They weren’t fair.

 

She understood them anyway. “Not that you weren’t there? No. She understood. Later on, she was angry about that, angry that your parents had taken you away when you were the one person who understood what she’d lost. But she got that you were a kid, and probably hadn’t had a choice in the matter. Her father, though…”

 

“Not so generous.”

 

“Do you think she should be?” There was a dare in her question, almost too easy to recognize.

 

He shook his head. “No, of course not. I think it’s a miracle she’s willing to have me in her life. I can’t imagine how I could forgive him either, if he were my parent.”

 

“And what about your parents? How are they these days?”

 

The question poked an old wound that he didn’t think about when he could help it. “Last I knew, they were doing well.”

 

When they’d all been kids, they’d considered Janis nearly psychic for the way she could cut to the heart of any conversation easily. She’d noticed any evasion, even the slightest prevarication, and heaven help all of them if they dared to lie. She hadn’t lost her touch. “Last you knew? When did you last talk to them?”

 

“Before I shipped for basic when I was 18.”

 

She winced a little, shaking her head.

 

“Don’t give me the speech about how I’ll miss them when they’re gone. I know all that.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” she said. “I was always of the opinion that parents need to earn their children’s respect, just as much as the other way around. I’m sad they’re not seeing what a fine young man you’re growing up to be, but that’s their loss.”

 

It was a refreshing thing to hear. Granted, he didn’t get a lot of ‘call your mother’ when hanging around with a gang of misfits, outlaws, and social rejects, but it wasn’t like none of his patched members had dear old mothers and fathers that they loved and missed. He didn’t miss his parents. He didn’t think about going back to them and having some kind of grand reunion with tears and apologies. If they wanted him, they knew where to find him. He’d sent the occasional message on holidays and birthdays. Never any kind of response.

 

“Are you going to get Danny some justice, finally, after all these years?”

 

He nodded. “Or die trying.”

 

“And you’ll keep my girl safe?”

 

“I will.” Whether it was by his side or away from it, he would keep Jessie safe if it was the last thing he did. He owed that to all of them.

 

“Okay,” she said.

 

There was a sharp rap on the wooden doorframe. He looked up to see Eddie standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes serious. “He’s talking,” he said. “He’s got names.”