CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Find what you love and let it kill you.

— Charles Bukowski

One year later…

Time passes differently when you’re stuck in emotional limbo. It’s slower. Hours go by at a snail’s pace, your feet drag through the days, the weeks; years take forever to come and go. You don’t see things as they are but instead you see them as the way you feel. Things are dark, heavy, even the air feels weighted down. People aren’t smiling at you, they’re whispering about you, they’re laughing.

Not even the sunniest day can overcome the shield of gray skies you’ve built around yourself.

I spent nearly all my life stuck inside an emotional limbo of my own making, constantly waiting for my life to begin, yet completely unaware that with each passing year, I’d remained cemented in the same frame of mind, unable to break free from my own binds.

But once you’ve broken free, the world speeds back up, the days fly by too fast and the nights even faster. You see things differently, in color as opposed to Technicolor. The sun begins to peek out from behind the clouds and suddenly you can see again; you notice people, places, and things you’ve never noticed before. Even the stupid stuff, unimportant in the bigger scheme yet utterly important in that one single, solitary moment, but only because you noticed it and it affected you in a way that made you feel something.

You see a smile for what it really is.

You see people for who they really are.

You know love for the first time.

But most importantly, you can see yourself through the eyes of an unbiased mind and you realized that all that self-loathing, that wishing and wanting, the years spent trying to become someone, anyone else than who you were, was never necessary because there had been nothing wrong with you in the first place. All you’d ended up doing by running and hiding was hurting yourself and everyone else around you.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that, Tegen?” Christopher asked.

My smile grew. “I’m so proud of you,” I told him as I rolled over on our picnic blanket and reached out to tickle his belly.

Giggling, he swatted my hand away. “Mommy’s proud of me too,” he said.

“Everyone is proud of you,” I teased. “Mister, I started kindergarten this week.”

“I miss being home with Mommy.”

“Aww,” I cooed, lifting my hand to ruffle through his long red hair. “I miss being home with her too. I was little once too, you know.”

“You lived inside her tummy, too?”

I nodded. “I did.”

Christopher wrinkled up his little button nose. “But you’re so big!”

I burst out laughing. “Watch it,” I said. “Girls don’t like it when boys say stuff like that.”

I wasn’t big, not at all, but I had put on quite a bit of weight in the last year, thanks to my mother’s round-the-clock cooking.

Christopher went back to playing with his Legos and, knowing I’d been dismissed, with a sigh I rolled back over and squinted up at the sunny California sky.

This was how life should have been from the get-go for my mother and me. Not that I would trade my brother for all the time travel in the world, but even at my age, living with my mother again, I knew peace for what it truly was.

We had a small apartment in downtown San Francisco with only two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchenette. We were living off only my salary and my mother’s disability checks, but we made it work.

And it did.

In fact, the first few months aside, the past year had been one of the most peaceful ones I’d ever had. The three of us did everything together; my mother and Christopher even walked with me to work most days. We always had something to do—trips to the farmer’s market, walks around the city, movies at night, picnics in the park.

And once a month Hawk would ride into town to see Christopher. He’d sleep on the living room couch, spend a week, sometimes less, and then just as quickly was gone. He never spoke of the club, of Deuce or Cage, and neither of us ever asked. Things were quiet and, after everything that had happened, I wanted to keep it that way.

The first few days after Cage had gotten shot were a painful blur to me. My apartment was a crime scene; I was questioned repeatedly by police detectives, and then later by the FBI and the ATF. Everyone wanted to get in on the action; apparently when one brick fell within the confines of a criminal organization, it was expected that all four walls would eventually crumble.

But the Hell’s Horsemen’s walls stood strong, despite it all. Mouths stayed shut, secrets stayed hidden, and the club stayed as strong as ever.

Even so, the entire disaster had made national news, and slowly but surely Hell’s Horsemen and Silver Demons from all over the country began invading San Francisco. The city was crawling with bikers, small riots broke out, and many arrests were made.

They’d come from all corners to show their support for Deuce’s son, a fellow brother. They sat vigils outside the hospital, they revved their engines in unison, a chrome and leather prayer for one of their own.

Cage made it through surgery, but not yet able to breathe on his own, was immediately placed on a ventilator. For a few weeks it was touch and go, and no one knew if he were going to live or die.

And he did die. Twice, actually. Both times doctors were able to restart his heart, and both times Deuce was arrested for assault on hospital staff.

I knew very little of this firsthand as I hadn’t done much but sleep and try to eat for those first few weeks, wishing I could go to the hospital to see Cage, just to touch him, to tell him I loved him…to tell him how sorry I was.

To just be by his side.

It never happened.

When he was well enough to be flown home, that was the last I knew of Cage. My mother eventually asked Eva to stop calling, and Eva respected her wishes.

As far as I knew, ZZ had never been found. Every so often I would get a phone call from the government asking if he’d made contact with me. I’d say no, they’d give me a number to call in case he ever did, and that was that.

Was I happy? No, not really. But I was at peace.

I could honestly say that despite the guilt, the regret, and the space of emptiness inside me that would always be reserved for Cage, I was at peace. I was with my mother again. She’d come clean to me, informing me that most of her memories had been restored, and I had a happy, healthy, beautiful little brother. Life, for the first time ever, was simple.

I’d even started writing again in my free time, something I hadn’t done since I was a teenager.

“Hayley!” Christopher shouted and I used my hand to shade my eyes from the sun. Hayley and Joe stood above us, smiling.

“Damn, Hayley,” I said smiling. “Your boobs are enormous. Imagine what they’re going to look like after you pop that kid out.”

With a groan and a helping hand from Joe, she lowered herself beside me and scowled. “You got jokes, huh? Well, you’re no Kate Moss anymore, so shut it, Teg.”

“Hey,” I scoffed. “I like that I actually have a butt! I don’t have to be jealous of all you lucky bitches with body fat anymore!”

Hayley snorted. “You do realize how utterly ridiculous you just sounded, right? And how many women would beat your small but now existent ass for saying that?”

“If I keep eating like this, I might be a C-cup someday,” I said hopefully, peering down the top of my T-shirt.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Shut up.”

“Ladies,” Joe said as he took a seat beside Christopher. “Don’t subject the little dude to your absurd female issues.

“And by the way, Teg,” he continued. “I’m digging the hair.”

“Me too,” Hayley said, reaching out to run her fingers through my short locks. “It’s really growing fast too.”

Nine months ago I’d cut off my dreads, took out most of my piercings, and threw out every last one of my toe rings. Whoever that girl looking back at me in the mirror had been, she wasn’t me. She was the mask I’d been hiding behind and I was done hiding.

My hair hit my chin now. I’d recently had it cut into a pixie style, short in the back, longer in the front. I hardly wore my contacts anymore and found I actually preferred wearing my glasses. It was sort of like reuniting with an old friend, only this time an old friend who was infinitely more fashionable than before.

“Where’s your mom?” Hayley asked. “Are we eating without her today?”

Yawning, I stretched out my arms and legs before scooting up some and placing my head in Hayley’s lap. “She’ll be here,” I said. “She’s just running late. Said she wanted fresh cold cuts or something. But really, I think she has a crush on Rich.”

“Rich?” Joe asked. “The butcher on Stockton?”

I nodded. “Yeah, they flirt all the time and it makes me ill.”

“But he’s so much older than her.”

I glanced up at Hayley and shrugged. “But he’s a nice man with a good job.”

She smiled down at me. “And he doesn’t ride a motorcycle.”

I smiled back. “There is that.”

“Daddy rides a motorcycle,” Christopher said. “Someday I wanna ride one too.”

“How about a pickup truck?” I suggested. “Or a muscle car? How about your very own fire truck?”

“Nope.” He shook his head exaggeratedly. “I want to be just like Daddy.”

“Well,” I said, sighing. “I tried.”

“There’s a Phish concert next week,” Joe said. “I could always take him with me, introduce him to the other side of the tracks. Where the real men are.”

I snorted. “By real, you mean men who like to wear Crocs, get high, and sing along to Tom Petty while reminiscing about the high school crush that never was?”

“Yep,” Joe said proudly and thumped his fist on his chest. “Real men.”

Hayley started laughing and I smiled along with her. They were so perfect for each other, so in tune to the other. Joe might not be what I would consider aesthetically pleasing, he might play video games more than he helped out around the house, he would probably never stop getting high, but even so he loved his wife. And despite his shortcomings, she loved him.

But people didn’t need to change to suit each other. They just needed to accept their differences. You could love someone just the way they were and still live in harmony together.

I’d realized this too late; because when I had, ZZ had already taken the man I loved away from me.

• • •

Grabbing the head of thick brown hair between his thighs, Cage punched his hips up. “Faster,” he growled. Although gagging, the stupid bitch complied, probably because he was holding her head right where he wanted her and she had no choice but to do whatever the fuck he told her to.

They were all whores. Every last one of them. They deserved to be treated like the fucked-up bitches they truly were.

And yet, still he felt nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.

Cursing, he yanked her head up and used his grip on her hair to toss her beside him. Straddling her chest, he gripped the sides of her face, forcing her mouth open. Holding himself above her, he thrust his dick into her open mouth and began fucking her face. Fast and hard. She was gagging prolifically now and her eyes were wide and watering and finally, motherfucking finally, he felt something. Some twisted sliver of satisfaction.

He came hard in her throat and immediately pulled out. She started gasping, coughing, and tried to turn her head. Slapping his hand over the girl’s mouth, he leaned down. “Swallow it,” he demanded, grinning down at her.

She tried but she couldn’t. She was choking, coughing too hard, and spit and semen erupted from her lips and between his fingers.

Disgusted, he climbed off her and wiped his hand clean on her hair.

“S-s-sorry,” she choked out, rolling away from him, still coughing.

“Yeah,” he muttered as he swung his legs out of bed. “You are sorry.”

Bending down beside his nightstand table, he grabbed his credit card, dumped out the last of his eight-ball, and started cutting.

“This shit is choppy as fuck,” he hissed.

“Do you know where we live?” she asked. “It’s hard to come by grade-A shit in the middle of nowhere. Don’t see why you didn’t just dip into your old man’s stash.”

Cage positioned his rolled-up twenty over the first line and inhaled every last granule before glancing back at her.

“Am I fuckin’ stupid?” he said, sniffing. “That shit is for sale, locked, stocked, and accounted for. Not for personal fuckin’ use. I tap into it and they’ll know.”

“I was just sayin’,” she muttered.

Cage shot her a dirty look before bending over to blow another line.

“Don’t fuckin’ speak then,” he shot back, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger and inhaling hard. The tingling burn hit the back of his throat and he swallowed that shit.

Wetting his middle finger, he swiped it across the wooden platform, picking up the last of it. Then, sucking his finger into his mouth, he rubbed it across his gums.

Ah, chemically induced energy. The only way he could find the will to get out of bed anymore. Grabbing his smokes, he lit one up and coughed through the first few drags, cursing as his lungs began to burn something fierce. Sitting down on the floor, he leaned against his bed and left his head fall back.

His left lung hurt all the damn time. Motherfucking constantly. And he’d been told, by several specialists in no uncertain terms, that it was going to hurt for the rest of his life. Apparently when one of your lungs was nothing but scar tissue or some such shit, living out the rest of your days in pain 24/7 was just one of the many perks.

He wasn’t supposed to be smoking. He wasn’t supposed to be doing anything that caused damage to his lungs, not that he gave two fucks about what happened to his lungs. In fact, he didn’t give two fucks about what happened to him or anyone else.

“You want me to see if Bucket’s got any of that China White left?”

Cage glanced over at her. “Bucket’s dippin’?”

She shrugged. “Fucked him a few months back, and he paid me in smack.”

“You fucked Bucket?” he asked, disgusted. She couldn’t have been any more than nineteen or twenty and Bucket was nearly as old as his old man.

She started laughing. “I’ve been fucking Bucket since I was fifteen,” she said. “Since my parents first moved me to this dump of a town.”

Nice. Really fucking nice. She looked proud of it too.

Fucking whore. They were all motherfucking whores. But the biggest of whore of them all, the one who’d fucked him so hard he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back up…

Tegen.

He’d been heavily drugged after he’d come out of surgery. He didn’t remember much, but as the pain had become more bearable and they’d begun weaning him off the heavy dosage, he clearly remembered Tegen not being there. At first he’d panicked, thinking something had happened to her, that ZZ had shot her, that she was just as fucked-up as he was or worse, dead.

Then he’d made the mistake of asking about her and his old man had filled in the blanks. She was fine. Unharmed. And not here.

Not once did she come to check on him. He was laid up in her fucking city, for shit’s sake, and yet…nothing.

He wasn’t going to lie; that shit fucking hurt. Nearly as bad as the holes in his body. He’d faked more pain than he was actually in and went back to being too dosed up to care.

And he’d been dipping ever since. Because when he wasn’t fucked-up, that shit hurt. The burning inside his lungs…

Yeah, he take that over the ache inside his heart, any day.

He’d told that bitch he loved her. And she’d run out on him.

Stupidly he gone after her, gotten himself shot, and he’d motherfucking died. Twice.

And she’d run out on him.

If she’d been seeking payback for what he’d done to her, she’d fucking succeeded. And then some. And yet he was still thinking about her. He still fucking wanted her.

He was stupid. A first-class moron. He’d gone his entire life jumping beds, not giving a fuck, only to end up in love with the one bitch who’d, once upon a time, actually cared about him and he’d burned her. Fitting.

Grabbing the bottle off his nightstand, he took a long, deep swallow and washed away the burn of humiliation with a different kind.

He was on his fourth chug when his bedroom door swung wide open and hit the wall with a loud crack. He didn’t bother turning.

“You know what fuckin’ time it is?” a loud, angry, familiar voice demanded.

Cage didn’t turn his head. “Do I fuckin’ care?”

“Bitch,” Deuce said. “Get your clothes on and get the fuck out.”

Behind him, Cage heard the girl scrambling to get off the bed. A few moments later his door slammed closed and heavy footsteps crossed the room. His father’s face came into view, far too close and a little blurry. Cage wrinkled up his nose. “Back the fuck up, old man.”

Deuce’s eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t know what you been doin’? Half the time you ain’t even smart enough to clean off your fuckin’ nose.”

Cage snorted and Deuce’s nostrils flared. “Somethin’ funny?”

“Yeah. It’s funny that you think I give two fucks if you know or not.”

“My boys don’t fuckin’ use,” he growled. “You know this.”

“Yeah?” Cage shot back. “Tell that to Bucket.”

Deuce stood up straight and glared down at him. “Bucket’s got side business goin’ on, he ain’t usin’ shit. You’d know this if you picked your fuckin’ head up outta the powder for a fuckin’ minute.”

Cage took another long swallow of Jack before looking up at his father. “No, asshole, I’d know it if you actually told me somethin’ once in a while instead of treatin’ me like shit on your fuckin’ shoe.”

“You a little fuckin’ girl?” Deuce demanded. “You need me to wipe your goddamn ass for you too?”

Cage’s temper flared to life and before he knew what he was doing, he was whipping the bottle of Jack across the room. He shot to his feet, eye to eye with his father, just as it hit the wall and shattered.

“You’re a shit father, you know that?” he yelled. “You’re a shit person too! Yet you get handed every fuckin’ thing, none of it deserved!”

Moments later Cage was pinned up against the wall by his throat, his father up in his face. “You think I don’t fuckin’ know it?” Deuce spat. “You think I ain’t grateful, you’re motherfuckin’ wrong! I’ve been where the fuck you are, you little shit. I’ve been pissed off at the whole motherfuckin’ world, I’ve been fuckin’ shot a fuck of a lot more than you, and unlike you, I had an old man who didn’t give a motherfuck if I lived or died.”

Cage smirked. His old man thought he gave a fuck that he’d gotten shot. He didn’t. In fact, his old man could shoot him right the fuck now and he still wouldn’t give a fuck.

“So what you’re sayin’,” Cage drawled, “is that I should be followin’ in your fuckin’ footsteps, get you shanked in the showers like you did to your old man?”

Deuce’s nostrils flared.

“Shit’s been goin’ on long enough,” he growled, squeezing Cage’s throat. “Time for you to flush your fuckin’ bullshit and get back to livin’.”

Living? Fucking living?

Rage boiled up inside of him and he found himself gripping his father’s wrist and yanking the man’s hands off his throat.

“FUCK YOU!” he roared, shoving Deuce backward and immediately advancing on him. “You call my life living? I ain’t livin’! I’ve just been followin’ you around, pickin’ up your fuckin’ messes! I ain’t never had anything that was mine!”

He shoved Deuce again. “It’s all been yours! All of it! The club, the boys, Eva and the kids! They’re all fuckin’ yours! I got nothin’! Fuckin’ nothin’!”

Cage would have known it was coming but as it was he was too pumped up on drug-fueled adrenaline and didn’t see his father’s fist until after it had collided with his face.

Lying on the floor, rubbing his jaw, he blinked up at his father’s towering form.

“You really are fuckin’ stupid,” Deuce said roughly. “You’re my fuckin’ kid, my son, and everything I have, it’s always been yours. Who you think I’m passin’ that gavel to?”

“Fuck your gavel,” Cage sneered. “Fuck your club and fuck you.”

Deuce stared down at him for a heartbeat and then he turned away.

Cage continued to lie on the floor long after his bedroom door had slammed shut.

Fuck his old man. Fuck this club. And fuck himself.

But most of all…

Fuck Tegen.

• • •

His head a mess, Deuce stormed out of Cage’s room, slammed the door closed behind him, and took off down the hall.

His kid was going to die if he kept this shit up. Barely a year after ZZ had blown two holes through his lung and he was not only still smoking but blowing lines and who knew what else. Fucking dirty whores too.

Sighing angrily, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Where the fuck did he keep going wrong? No matter what he fucking did, it was never enough, not for any of them. Except Eva. She was the lone person on this earth he’d ever been enough for.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered. “I’d be fuckin’ screwed without her.”

One thing was true: In this fucking life, the dirty business he ran, you needed a good woman backing you. A strong one. One who knew her place; one who would be there for you no matter what. A woman a man could count on to give him what he needed when he fucking needed it.

“How’s the boy?” Mick asked as Deuce slid onto the barstool beside him. Reaching over the bar, Deuce slapped the back of Blue’s head, but the drunk old fucker didn’t so much as twitch.

“Fucked.”

“Reminds me a lot of his old man,” Mick said.

Deuce gave him a sideways glance. “Yeah? How fuckin’ so? I ain’t never used.”

Grabbing the glass in front of him, Mick downed the last of his whiskey. “Didn’t say it was the exact same. Said he reminded me of you. After Eva ran out on ya. Difference was, you had too many responsibilities to be fuckin’ up so bad. Cage don’t have jack shit to do but fuck up.”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about?” Deuce asked, grabbing for the bottle in front of Mick. “Ain’t nobody run out on Cage. Idiot got himself shot because of…”

Deuce trailed off and his chest began to tighten.

He glanced over at Mick and Mick gave him a grim smile.

“Tegen,” Deuce finished.

“Tegen,” Mick repeated, nodding his agreement.

“You tryin’ to tell me he loves her?”

“Think about it,” Mick said as he shoved off his barstool. “He was all up on her during lockdown last year, every damn second, and I ain’t never seen him pay a female any more attention than it took to get his dick sucked until her. Then she’s sneakin’ out on him in the middle of the night and he’s actin’ like a damn fool because of it. Next thing you know, he’s haulin’ ass to Cali and instead of goin’ to Oakland, he heads straight to her.”

Deuce closed his eyes. Fuck. Tegen hadn’t snuck out. He’d pushed her out the damn door.

“I gotta get home, Prez. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

He watched as Mick headed out and when he was alone, other than Blue passed out on the bar, he placed his elbows on the counter and dropped his head in his hands.

He’d fucked up. Again. In the midst of his rage, thinking he was about to lose his son, he’d placed all that blame on Tegen, told her to get the fuck out, and stay the fuck away.

Except none of that shit had been her fault. It was ZZ’s fault for pulling the trigger, it was Cage’s fault for pulling his piece in the first place, and it was his own fault for not realizing that whatever was between his son and Tegen went deeper than he’d thought.

Now what?

Dorothy had told Eva she wanted nothing to do with the club, Tegen hadn’t even tried to see Cage, and Cage was a fucking wreck.

So, yeah, now fucking what?

“Old man,” he barked, tossing a coaster in Blue’s direction. It hit the top of the man’s head and bounced off. “Could use some of that wiseass wisdom of yours right about now.”

Nothing.

“BLUE!” Deuce bellowed. “Wake the fuck up!”

Nothing.

Cursing, Deuce got up out of his seat and walked the few feet between them. Grabbing Blue’s arm, he pulled and shook. “Motherfucker,” he growled. “How much did you have today?”

Nothing.

When he let go of Blue’s arm, the limb fell limp and heavy at his side, and all at once the old man’s body began to slump. Deuce grabbed him before he could slide to the floor and heaved him up in his seat. As Blue’s head rolled back, panic rose in Deuce’s gut.

The fucker’s eyes were wide open.

“Blue!” he yelled, hauling him off the seat and laying him out flat on the floor. He bent his head over Blue’s mouth and nose and went still. He wasn’t breathing.

Panic turned to fear and Deuce’s chest locked up like a vice.

“Blue! Dammit, Blue!”

Pinching the man’s nose closed, Deuce covered Blue’s mouth with his own and breathed into it. Chest compressions were next. More breathing.

And, nothing.

“Blue!” he bellowed, his fists clenching. “Wake the motherfuck up!”

Tears pricked his eyes and his clenched fists came crashing down on Blue’s chest. “Wake up, you stupid old fuck! Wake the fuck up!”

Breathing hard, his chest aching, Deuce staggered to his feet. With shaking hands, he reached inside his cut for his cell phone when suddenly sharp pain sliced up his left arm and straight into his chest. His cell phone dropped to the floor and both his hands flew to his chest.

More pain followed and his throat tightened.

“Jesus,” he gasped, clawing at the center of his chest. The pain was so great, dizzying, that his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees.

Desperate, he reached out, searching blindly for his phone, but the pain was everywhere now. In his chest and neck, in both of his arms. It felt like he was being squeezed from the inside out with a rope made of razor blades.

Unable to find his phone, he called out to his son but his words were garbled and heavy with pain.

Quickly weakening and light-headed, he slumped to his side. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be fucking dying. Not yet. At least, not now. Not when he had kids who still needed him, Ivy and Damon, his eight-month-old son. He had a grandbaby he adored, and a wife, goddammit, a wife he hadn’t had nearly enough time with on this earth to fucking satisfy him. He couldn’t go yet. He couldn’t leave them yet, not when his oldest son was in the middle of throwing his whole damn life away.

“Cage,” he choked out, the word barely a whisper.