Hawk was reclining in bed, reading one of Tegen’s many publisher-rejected manuscripts that she’d forced on him, when Cage slipped his head inside the partially open bedroom door.

“You got a visitor, old man,” he said, giving Hawk a grim smile.

Grateful, Hawk tossed aside the thick folder of printed pages. As far as he could tell it was a love story; at least, it was Tegen’s attempt at a love story. In actuality it was more of a long-winded, hate-filled, rambling mess of words that she was trying to pass off as a love story. By two hours into it, Hawk’s brain began to feel like a game of ping-pong was being played inside it.

He guessed in a way the story reflected the woman who wrote it, which made sense considering he often thought Tegen could do with a heavy dose of medication to calm her the fuck down. How Cage dealt with that . . . yeah, Hawk didn’t have a clue. If he were Cage, he would have shot out of town as fast as possible to get as far away from her as he could.

But he supposed you couldn’t help who you fell in love with. He had fallen in love with a married woman, who had a boyfriend to boot. Although he couldn’t help but feel like he’d gotten a better deal than Cage, seeing as the mother was a whole shitload less volatile than the daughter.

Not that Dorothy didn’t have her moments, and sometimes her emotional outbursts made him want to stab himself in the eye, but Tegen . . .

Holy shit.

The walls in this house were thin, too thin, forcing Hawk to have to listen to fight after fight. They either ended in something breaking or what sounded like sex—did rabid animals have sex?—and left him contemplating smothering himself to death with his own pillow.

“Havin’ fun yet?”

The bedroom door pushed open, revealing Deuce. He took a quick visual sweep of the room before walking inside. He was followed by Ripper, who immediately closed the door behind him. As Deuce crossed the room, the floor creaking heavily under the sound of his hard, booted steps, Ripper remained by the door, looking anywhere but at Hawk.

It was the first time he’d seen any of his brothers other than Cage since they’d picked his sorry ass up from the Russians, and Hawk had felt the sting of that rejection. Although he didn’t blame them, how could he? In a way he’d betrayed them by lying to them all these years. Yet, he’d held out hope that once Deuce had explained everything to them, they’d forgive him. But judging by the look on Ripper’s face, that wasn’t the case.

Shoving his feelings on the matter aside, Hawk turned to face Deuce. There were far more important things to discuss than hurt feelings.

He’d been waiting for Deuce to show up, both dreading this moment and anticipating it. Half of him wanted this to be the outcome, but the other half desperately wanted things to be different. More so for Dorothy and Christopher than himself. Because he couldn’t give two shits about what happened to him, only it wasn’t just him anymore.

Funny how having a kid could change your entire perspective on life.

“Been listenin’ to Tegen and Cage fuck each other up,” Hawk said, looking again toward Ripper, who still hadn’t so much as glanced his way. “I’m thinkin’ I had more fun with the Russians.”

“Yeah,” Deuce muttered, giving his head a small shake. “I don’t get those two, but somehow she keeps him in line, focused on the game, and that’s about all that really fuckin’ matters.

“And speaking of the game,” Deuce continued. “Saw D at the club. She said you’re feelin’ better, figured it was time for us to talk.”

“Two weeks, Prez,” Hawk said, ensuring that every word he spoke sounded as devoid of emotion as he wished he’d felt. “I know what I gotta do. Just gimme two weeks with her, that’s all I’m askin’ for.”

Deuce unfolded his arms and dropped his head into his rising hands. Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed heavily. “Brother,” he started, but Hawk didn’t let him finish.

“Prez, please,” he said, struggling to sit up straighter. “I gotta see my boy. I gotta spend some time with them both . . . before . . .”

Realizing he’d let the very emotion he was hoping to keep in check seep into his words and body language, he trailed off.

When Deuce didn’t respond, just continued to stand there, his gaze on the floor, Hawk let out a ragged sigh.

“I’ll do whatever I gotta do,” he said quietly. “Just promise me you’re gonna take care of ’em. Look after ’em. I’ve been tryin’ to give Dorothy money for years, but she never uses it, just keeps puttin’ it into an account for Christopher. I don’t want her livin’ like that anymore, I want her here, near her daughter, near you. I want her in a damn house, her own place, for once.”

Deuce’s head raised, those cold blue eyes staring Hawk down. “You ain’t gotta worry about that fuckin’ shit, you know we always take care of our own. And you want two weeks, you got ’em. Hell, you want three weeks, you got ’em. I know you know what you gotta do, and I know you’re gonna do it. That ain’t why I’m here.”

Deuce stopped talking and took a deep breath, one that caused his chest to visibly rise, then fall and rise again. It was a rare display of emotion from his prez, one that surprised the shit out of Hawk. Other than anger, Deuce didn’t put his feelings out there for just anyone to see. None of the boys did, other than Cox, and even Cox kept his under the guise of humor most times.

“I shoulda never sent you to Vegas,” Deuce said. “I shoulda been smart enough to realize you coulda been made. Fact, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner and that’s on me. I shoulda been more careful.”

Hawk shook his head. “It wasn’t the Russians who made me. Meant to tell you before, but I figured you had enough shit to deal with.”

He had Deuce’s full attention now.

“Who?” the man growled, the look on his face telling Hawk he already knew who, but wanted to hear him say it.

“ZZ,” Hawk said. “It was ZZ who set this shit up. Shot me, beat the fuckin’ crap outta me. He’s workin’ for Yenny. Fightin’ for him.”

The tension that gripped the room at the sound of ZZ’s name grew even thicker as several silent seconds ticked uncomfortably by. Even Ripper, who’d been feigning indifference to Hawk this entire time, had jerked his head up, his expression a mixture of shock and rage.

“Prez,” Hawk continued. “I wasn’t so sure before that takin’ him out was the best way to go, but . . . he ain’t ZZ no more. The man is cold, Prez, through and through, and a walkin’ fuckin’ time bomb.”

Ripper stepped forward while Deuce remained frozen. But even in his stillness the man was literally vibrating with rage, his nostrils flaring as the exposed skin on his forearms rippled, his muscles twitching with barely restrained fury.

“Did he say anything?” Ripper asked, and Hawk could hear the unspoken words. After all, ZZ had assumed Ripper had stolen Danny from him. And Ripper was now married to her.

“Don’t think you gotta worry about Danny,” Hawk said. “He’s hung up on this shit, that much I could tell, but he ain’t stupid enough to come anywhere near Miles City. Not with the club and the law gunnin’ for him.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” Ripper said darkly.

Deuce’s head swung around, Ripper’s words breaking his trance-like state. “I will fuckin’ kill him,” Deuce gritted out. “You hear me? Me. I will fuckin’ kill him.”

Each of Deuce’s words was fiercely punctuated with a verbal venom that Hawk had only ever heard twice before. The first, when Eva had been taken by her now-dead first husband, Frankie, and the last, when Danny had been kidnapped by Mama V, a notorious hit woman from one of the Cali gangs the Horsemen had some trouble with a while back.

But even more surprising than Deuce’s unholy anger was Ripper. Having never before openly defied Deuce’s orders, Ripper was staring his prez down, silently refusing to give up this kill.

“You wanna go runnin’ after the fuckin’ Russians?” Deuce ground out. “You wanna end up shark meat and leave my baby girl and granddaughter without you? ’Cause that’s what’s gonna happen if you take off, guns blazin’, trying to take out an asshole protected by one of the biggest cartels in the fuckin’ world.”

“If I’m protectin’ my family and the club,” Ripper said, “I don’t give a fuck if I gotta die doin’ it.”

All at once the anger that had taken root in Deuce seemed to evaporate. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, sighing as he turned away from Ripper. “But I ain’t gonna let you, so reel your fuckin’ shit in before I reel it in for you.”

Ripper’s face gave Hawk the impression that shit was about to go south real quick. In order to avoid watching Ripper get a beat down from Deuce, Hawk cleared his throat, gaining the attention of both men, and addressed Deuce.

“You got your shit in place with the Russians?”

Deuce nodded briskly. “Got two clubs lined up, eager for the business. All we can do now is hope they ain’t too mad when Yenny goes down, and take what we’re offering.”

Hawk didn’t think there was going to be a problem. The Bratva might be greedy, but just like every other criminal organization out there, they didn’t like going to war. War meant losing bodies, and losing bodies meant losing money and resources. War was a lose-lose for everyone involved.

“I think for once the law is gonna be on our side,” Hawk said, feeling the weight of those words fall heavily upon him. His chest tightened, his breathing quickened, and he gripped the blanket beneath him hard enough that the soft fabric began to tear.

Get it together, he commanded himself. Get your shit together.

Only he didn’t see how he could. If Deuce’s actions were anything to go by, once the rest of the boys found out their plans and once Dorothy knew what he had to do, the next few weeks were going to be hell on his emotions.

Goddamn, he didn’t want to hurt that woman, not again. She’d been hurt her entire life by nearly everyone in it.

“I’m sorry,” Deuce said quietly.

Still gripping the blanket, Hawk swallowed hard and shook his head. “No,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. If it weren’t for you, I never would’ve made it this long.” Looking Deuce directly in the eye, he stared hard at the man. “Never would’ve met Dorothy, and never would’ve had my boy. Never woulda had nothin’ worth havin’.”

Deuce’s eyes narrowed, and his face contorted with angry lines. “I didn’t do it for you,” he spat, suddenly sounding as angry as he looked. “Didn’t do it for Cox or for Ripper.” He turned, pinning Ripper with a glare before turning back to Hawk.

“Didn’t do it for Dirty either, didn’t do it for any of you. Picked your sorry asses up off the street, gave you a place to stay, put food in your bellies and clothes on your backs . . . I did all that fuckin’ shit for me.

“I did that shit for me,” he repeated forcefully, slapping his hand onto his chest. “My old man had a club full of mean old bastards just like him, that’s what that motherfucker left me with. I had to clean fuckin’ house, bring in boys I knew would be loyal to me and only to me, and who better to be loyal than a piece of shit like you, eatin’ out of the fuckin’ garbage can, wanted by the fuckin’ law. I knew if I saved you . . .”

Deuce glared at him through red-rimmed eyes flashing with emotion. Behind him, Ripper was staring at their prez, looking shocked. That made two of them. Never before had anyone seen this sort of show of emotion from Deuce. But at the same time, Hawk was grateful for the unexpected outburst, as it caused his own emotions to even out somewhat, allowing him to loosen his death grip on the poor, mutilated blanket and unclench his teeth. For some reason, he’d always been more apt to remain calm while others unraveled, and this was no different.

“I knew if I saved you,” Deuce continued, “you piece of shit, that you’d be willin’ to lay down and die for me and this fuckin’ club! This shit is my fault, you fuckin’ feel me? My fault!”

“Prez,” Hawk said quietly. “This ain’t your burden to bear. It’s mine, always has been. Fact is, no matter your reasons, you gave me a life I never woulda had, and whether you want to accept it or not, I’m thankin’ you for that. Now, the club comes before anything else, always has, always will, and I’ll do my part because I’m a Horseman first, and we do what we gotta do to keep the club goin’. No matter what.”

His words didn’t have the calming effect on Deuce that he hoped they would have; if anything, they seemed to agitate him further. No longer still, Deuce was shifting from foot to foot, his brow furrowed, his features pinched.

Hawk didn’t know what to do, what to say, so he did and said nothing at all, planning to just wait out the tumultuous storm that was Deuce West. But no storm came, and surprisingly enough Deuce seemed to be able to get himself under control before the impending explosion could happen. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his leathers, Deuce schooled his expression. Although his body remained rigid, not a trace of anger could be found in his features.

Odd, Hawk thought, that so much had changed in such a short period of time. Looked like he wasn’t the only one who had done some growing up recently.

“I’ll get Christopher here,” Deuce said shortly. “I’ll send Tegen and Cage tomorrow. Ain’t like they got shit better to do than slap each other around anyway.”

And with that, he left. Just turned and marched across the room, shoving Ripper out of his way, and then he was gone, leaving Hawk staring after him.

As Ripper and Hawk turned to look at each other, Hawk found the man looking him over, his expression rather sad.

“Prez told you?”

Ripper nodded. “Cornered him, made him tell me what the fuck was goin’ on with you.”

“You still pissed?” Hawk asked.

Ripper shrugged. “No.” A couple of silent seconds followed, then, “Wanna play video games?”

“Brother,” Hawk said. “If you can get the TV up here, I’m fuckin’ down. I’ve been stuck readin’ Tegen’s damn books.”

“Say no more,” Ripper said, grimacing.

When Ripper disappeared into the hallway, Hawk sank back down into his pillows and closed his eyes. Blowing out a deep, noisy breath, he willed himself not to be a pussy. After all, he’d spent the second half of his life expecting this day to someday come, waiting for it even.

He just hadn’t expected it to come after he’d finally gotten everything he’d always wanted. That, more than anything else, really fucking sucked.