ELEVEN

Hooch

Days pass without any new leads on who our new underdog is. The calendar mounted to the kitchen wall mocks me every morning as I pour my coffee, reminding me how close I am to losing everything that makes me who I am.

When you live and breathe the life twenty-four seven, the little things easily get lost on you. The smell of two stroke as a couple of the younger guys race pit bikes around the back yard. The feel of leather as it warms to your body, softening and molding to your shape. The weight of your colors on your back, a burden you wear with pride because it tells the world who you are and what you stand for.

The simple things.

Murphy swearing at his bike as his thick hands struggle to manipulate the tools. Jo Jo starting yet another fight by looking at somebody the wrong way. Even Heather stirring shit amongst the men.

The basics of life at the Fallen Aces, Fort Worth.

Donovan Jessup doesn’t give a shit about brotherhood. His job requires him to do whatever the hell it takes to get the end result. Morals and emotions don’t come into play. A sense of family isn’t something the DEA hold high on their priority list. They operate on results, and results only. Whereas the Aces have always blended the two seamlessly: business and pleasure. When you live your job, it’s easy to keep balances and checks in place.

We do what we do because of our family. The club was founded on the theory that a man shouldn’t have to commit eighty percent of his life to another man’s dream simply to put food in the mouths of his children. A man should be able to provide for those he loves without having to sacrifice his role as a father.

Something my own forgot along the way.

But would I be any different if I had children? I guess I might never know. The realization that a stint on death row eliminates any chance at finding the one, at having children of my own, stabs painfully in my gut. Family may be a simple dream, but it’s something I took for granted until now.

I always had time. But time, like any other resource, is destined to run dry. Before you know it you’re staring at the dregs of what you have left, wondering what exactly you wasted the rest on.

Which is why it’s up to me to make the most of what I’ve got left, put that ten per cent to good use.

I pour a cup of black coffee and shake out a cigarette, having already snorted my first hit for the day. Drugs, be they legal or otherwise, are my salvation these days. I guess I’m no better than those bionic people you see in movies prolonging death with science and technology. Only I’m prolonging the inevitable by also speeding it up—how skewed is that?

I settle into one of the porch chairs and set my brew down on the deck between my feet. As I lift the flame of my lighter to the end of the cigarette, movement down the driveway catches my eye. Our transient walks in the opposite direction, wheeling the barrow with some tools stacked on top. Her hips sway seductively between the handles as she makes her way toward the gates, my hands stilled as I lose myself to the mesmerizing sight of her pert ass rolling one side to the other as she walks.

It dawns on me that I still don’t even know her name. I’ve avoided her mostly this past week, and when she has been around everybody refers to her as “that gypsy”, or “the stray.”

I snap myself out of the daze, and bring the flame to my smoke, setting it alight with a satisfying crackle and that first stale pull into my lungs. She’s done a good job over the last week; I’ve been too busy wrapped up in the club’s business to really stop and take a look. The garden beds are neat, the dirt between the plants freshly turned. She’s trimmed the edges of the lawns when she mowed them, and the array of fallen twigs and branches have been cleared from under the trees.

It looks … inviting. Like a home. How it should.

I blindly reach down and pick up my mug of Joe, lifting it to my lips as I look down the drive again to her shrinking form. The girl’s a ten out of ten, for sure. I thought it was a given that she’d get hit on by at least one of the young bloods around here after I coaxed her to stay, but strangely everyone’s kept a respective distance. Maybe it’s the unease over the drug supply, or perhaps Digits has put the shits up the lot of them.

I’m going with the latter, considering the asshole’s been a possessive little fuck since he brought her back here. Caught him gifting the girl her own set of toiletries and makeup the other day. He seems smitten, and for some reason it angers the fuck out of me. Jealous? Can’t be. Has to be something else.

I drag the ember down the cigarette and drink the rest of my coffee in record time before leaving the mug on the porch. Maybe she was only meant to be a temporary distraction, but with the threat Jessup has over my head I’ve had plenty to think about—mostly to do with tying up lose ends before I go inside. Without a doubt the stray’s going to cut and run as soon as she’s finished up here, yet now that I’m pretty damn well convinced she’s trustworthy I won’t let her go without getting something more than well manicured grounds out of her.

I’ve got a backup plan for if I get thrown inside, and it involves her.

I rise from my seat and jog down the steps, striding down our private road to catch up to the girl as she vanishes into the distance.

Maybe I was a bit harsh at the start? But, if I’m to trust her I needed more than just her word to assure me. I need to know she’s willing to do as I ask, even when she can’t stand me. And so far, our little fairy has definitely proved herself willing.

I adjust myself as I walk, ignoring the semi I’ve just given myself thinking about other ways to apply that submissiveness. Really need to get laid.

“What you up to?” I call out.

She scowls at me as I slow to walk beside her. “What do you think?” Her expression softens. “I was going to clear the driveway of debris. You’ve got a few big sticks that’ve fallen from the trees, and I overheard some of the guys complaining about them flicking up into their legs when they ride down here.”

“Figure you’d start at the gates?”

She walks in silence for a moment, the dull squeak of the barrow wheel and our feet crunching the dirt the only sounds between us. “Yeah. Kind of thought if I’m dog tired at the end of this I’d rather be closer to food and water than a quarter mile away.”

“Smart girl.”

“Surprise you, does it?”

I suck back on my smoke, eyeing her through the clouds I then puff out. “Not in the slightest.”

She seems pleased with my answer, wheeling in silence for a bit more.

“Why the transient lifestyle?”

“Why the interest?” She frowns.

“Call it mutual benefits.”

Her brow pinches harder and she stops walking, placing the barrow on its feet. “What else could I have that you’d need?”

“Separation from my club.”

Realization dawns on her features as her brow smoothes out and her eyes widen. “No. No way. I’m not getting involved in anything you—”

“I haven’t told you what I want yet.”

“You don’t have to.” She snatches the barrow up and starts marching at twice the speed as before. “I’m doing this job for you, and then I’m gone.”

“Who’s to say the favor I need is a bad one?” I call after her.

She stills, dumping the barrow again, and spins around. “This whole place does.” Her feet are light as she moves toward me at speed, tapping my one percenter badge when she gets close enough. “As does this. I know what it means.”

“Yeah? What do you think it means, fairy?”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Give me a name then.”

Her nose crinkles adorably, making her even more like a wee forest creature. “Ugh. I can’t believe you’re that ignorant that after a week you don’t know it.”

Not ignorant—busy. Still hits me like a sucker punch to the gut that I really am that fucking rude.

I track her back to the barrow, not ready to let up on her yet. The fire’s just started in this petite package; she’s got a while to go yet before it burns out and leaves her hurt. She sucks in a sharp breath as I duck around her and stand between where she stops and the handles of the barrow.

“Hi,” I say, jutting my hand out. “I’m Hooch.”

“But is that your real name?” She folds her arms, head cocked to the side. Funny girl.

“Clearly not.”

“Then, hi, I’m Fairy.” She thrusts her hand in mine.

Got to love her. “Touché, darlin’.”

Her lips quirk up on one side, her eyes alight. “Fair’s fair, Hooch.”

She steps around me, squeezing in to grab the barrow, and starts down the driveway again. I spin around, watching her go, the sass in her step, and fold.

“Josiah. My real name is Josiah.”

She pauses, looks over her shoulder, and smiles. “I can see why you’d adopt another name then.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t quite have that badass ring to it, does it?” I smile as I approach, sure that we’ve passed the first hurdle.

“No. Not really.” She jerks her head toward the gates. “Let’s walk, Josiah.”

My hand twitches over the box in my pocket as we cover the last yards to the start of the driveway, eager for a hit to ease this sense of change that’s stirring within me. I feel relaxed, almost content in the moment, and that’s a sensation I haven’t had the pleasure of knowing for months.

“Horizontal, or diagonal?” Our traveller sets the barrow down a few yards from the start.

“You propositionin’ me gorgeous?” I suppress a chuckle.

“The rake lines,” she drawls. “Which way do you prefer them?”

“Whatever tickles your fancy. They’ll be messed up within days.” I ease onto one of the huge rocks that sit behind the gates, and watch her eye up the job ahead of her. “The prospects usually just flick the dirt back over the top from where it piles up at the sides.”

“Ah. So I’m giving the prospects a break then?” She bends to pick up a few decent sized sticks out of the tracks, and tosses them into the barrow with a smirk. “Why not just leave the driveway how it is?”

“The smooth surface gets pretty damn slippery in the rain, even after a dewy morning. The dirt spread over the top gives it grip.”

“You should seal the damn thing if that’s the case.”

I rub my forefinger and thumb at her.

“You telling me that a bunch of men who operate on the wrong side of the law like you do, don’t have some magical stash of laundered money somewhere?”

“Did you see the inside of that place?” I gesture to the house. “It wasn’t cheap.”

“Yeah,” she utters, starting with the rake. “I did.”

I watch her for a while, how she struggles to use the tool that’s too large for her tiny frame. She battles on, swearing under her breath when the tines catch the dirt, or snags a hidden stone. Damn it. My father raised me better than to sit idle while somebody struggles with a task I could handle. Her eyes widen as I step up and gesture for the rake.

“Hand it over. You pick up the debris, I’ll rake.”

“Are you sure?”

“Would I offer if I wasn’t?” Her cute hesitation forces a smile from God only knows where. This girl …

“Dagne.” Her tiny hand is thrust toward me.

I take it. “Nice to meet you.” Winning. “Origin?”

“My grandfather was Norwegian. My mother wanted to carry our ancestry, mostly to impress him, so she gave me a traditional Norse name.” She holds the handle of the rake out, and I take it.

“It’s different; I like it.”

“Yeah, well, so is Josiah.”

“More common than you’d think.” I begin to rake, focusing on the line rather than the unmistakably quickened beat of my heart. I don’t want to be reminded how alive I am, not when people I love aren’t.

“So …” Her word lingers between us, testing the waters. “What is it you need from me?”

Straight into business. “Where did you plan on going when you left?”

“I hadn’t decided.”

“You have a preference?”

She dumps the handful of leaves and twigs into the barrow and eyes me carefully. “Not really.”

“What if I offered to pay expenses as long as you went where I needed you to?”

“I’d say you’d piqued my interest.”

“I’ve got a message I need to get out.” I hesitate in my work, dragging my grip around the handle. “Think you can deliver it?”

“Why not use one of your own?” She moves in front of me, forcing me to stop and look up at her. “Why not courier it? Put it in a drop box and mail the key, or something?”

“Watch a few movies, do you?”

“Can’t tell me they aren’t loosely based on reality.”

My chest tightens, the swirl in my gut reminding me I’m laying a lot of trust on a woman I’ve known for all of a week. But, it’s the only way.

“It won’t put you in harm’s way,” I reassure her. “It’s … the message is for my mom.”

Her silence speaks volumes.

“I haven’t spoken to her in … shit … I don’t know, twenty years?”

“Can I ask what’s prompted this? I mean, is she going to welcome a stranger turning up with a damn telegraph from her son, or am I likely to be staring down the barrel of a twelve gauge?”

“I couldn’t say for sure.”

She huffs, placing her hands on her hips as she walks away to drop down underneath a maple tree. “I don’t know, Hooch. I mean, I just turned up here last week, and as it is I don’t feel very welcome.”

“I realize that.”

She looks up as I approach, conflict clear in her eyes. “I want to help, I really do, but I’ve worked hard to keep independent and free of anything that could come back around to bite me on the ass.”

“Five grand.”

She snorts as she splutters out a laugh. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“You said you have no money.”

“I said the club doesn’t.” I fold my arms. “I do.”

“You’ll pay me five grand to deliver a note?”

I nod. “You get how important this is now?”

“I think so,” she mumbles. “Yeah.”

“Good.” I offer her my hand, and she takes it, pulling herself up. “Now let’s get this driveway finished while you think about it, huh?”