TWENTY-FIVE

Hooch

“You stupid motherfucker.”

Make the noise stop. I grimace as something wet and ice-cold slaps me in the face.

“Come on, asshole.”

The damp cloth moves over my eyes and drags down over my dry and chapped lips. Acid swims in my stomach, and I feel as though I’ve climbed a mountain my limbs are so fatigued.

“He done this before?” a male voice asks.

“Not this bad,” one I recognize answers. What the hell is she doing here? “I’ll start cleaning up.”

The crash of glass on glass is a cacophony from hell on my precious senses. I wince again, and this time manage to emit a strange groan.

“That’s it, dumbass. Time to come around.”

I open my eyes, my gut winding up into a type of whirlpool as light hits my retinas. Oh, Jesus. I roll onto my side and Dog jams a trashcan under my chin just in time, catching the vile acid that erupts from my mouth.

“Did a right number on yourself, didn’t you?”

“You’re one to fuckin’ talk,” I manage to croak as my stomach still convulses.

Fuck me, the room stinks. I twist my head to find Mel sliding a tray of old food remnants into an empty shopping bag, doing her best to touch it as little as she can. No wonder.

I push the bin away, and slide my legs around. The room swims, and it takes a few long blinks to get my bearings, but I eventually spot what I’m after.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Dog dives across the room to snag the half-full bottle of Jack before I can.

“And you aren’t getting any more of this, either.” Mel bags the leftover crack I hustled for days to score.

I lose my shit.

“You get that the fuck outta there!”

She steps back, wide-eyed, as Dog steps in to protect her. Deal with what that implies later.

“No, Josiah.” Her voice wavers and tears fill her eyes. “You would do this for me.”

She’s right, I would. But she means something. I don’t. There’s the difference.

“Hand it over, Mel.”

“No.” Her chin dimples as she raises it in defiance. “I won’t see you kill off the only thing I have left.”

The fact she’s my sister is the only thing stopping me from throttling her until she drops the bag.

“Don’t you get it?” I roar, causing Dog to tense up. “What does it matter if I die?”

Shock turns her beautiful face ugly as she stares me down. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” God, I do. “I screw it up, Mel. That’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done.”

“Mom leaving Dad wasn’t your fault.”

“No? Then what about Dana dying? Don’t tell me that I did the right thing there by standin’ around waiting like Dad told me to. I should have listened to this,” I holler, tapping a closed fist to my stomach. “I should have gone in there to get her.”

“And what?” she yells in return. “Got shot to hell, as well?”

“Maybe this isn’t the time to discuss this,” Dog interjects, placing a hand to my chest.

His calming action makes me realize I’ve now got Mel crowded against the wall, threatening, overbearing. Everything I’m not with my sisters … sister.

“I’m sorry.” I force myself to turn away before I blindly do something I regret. “How did you find me?”

Three weeks I’ve been on the run, paying for everything in cash, keeping my phone off unless I need it, and never staying anywhere more than two nights until now. Fuck, I can’t even remember how long I’ve been here.

“What day is it?” I ask before they get a chance to answer my first question.

“Thursday,” Dog says.

I drop to the side of the bed, eyes closed, forefinger and thumb pressed to my forehead. “What day did that tanker roll over on the I-70?” Seeing the news story play on the tiny TV in the upper corner of the liquor store is the last thing I remember.

“Monday.”

I’ve lost three and a half days. No wonder they caught up to me. But, if they’re here … Jessup can’t be too far behind. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

I shoot off the bed, taking both of them by surprise. Mel clutches the bag of rubbish tighter to her chest, assuming I’m going for the drugs. Dog reaches behind to grip his piece. I lift my hands to placate both of them.

“We gotta get the hell out of here.” I search frantically for my clothes. Splitting a scene isn’t all that nondescript in just your boxer briefs.

“We’ve got time,” Dog says. “It’s”—he checks his watch—“a bit after four. We’ll hang around until it’s dark and head off then.”

“Nope.” I hop on the spot, tugging my jeans on. “Gotta go before then. If you’re here, then that asshole’s probably already got eyes on the place.”

“What asshole?” Mel tosses the contents of an overflowing ashtray in the bag.

“Damn it.” I hadn’t told anyone about Jessup. “I’ve got some explainin’ to do, but first we need to—” I spin and lunge for the trashcan as round two makes its exit.

“Fuck man,” Dog complains with his forearm to his nose. “I hope you ain’t gonna do this the whole way home. I’m not stoppin’ if you are.”

“Thanks,” I sass from my position on the floor, a wave of cramp washing through the marrow of my bones.

“Any time.”

Mel ties off the bag that’s bulging to capacity, and sets it down by the door. I eyeball it; sure I can spot the crack inside if I look long enough. Fuck, that was a hard score. It seems such a waste …

“Donovan Jessup,” she says quietly as she takes a seat in the armchair beside me. “That’s what you’re goin’ to explain, right?”

What the hell? “How do you know his name?”

“Idiot stalked the clubhouse couple of weeks after you split. Crackers returned the favor and put eyes on him.”

I snort a laugh, stretching my legs out with my back against the side of the bed. “Sounds like him.”

“They noticed he was cycling through your usual haunts. So they put two and two together and dragged him in.”

The smile fades from my face. “What did Jessup say?”

“That he’d been blackmailing you, but you refused to fess up what he wanted, and as a consequence he got dragged over the coals by his bosses.” She smirks. “From what I hear, he was pretty damn pissed at you, big brother.”

I bet. If only I could have been there to see the look on the bastard’s face. “What did the guys say to that?”

“Crackers wants to know why you never brought it to them, as does Murphy. And Digits …” She glances over at Dog.

“What?”

Dog takes a seat on the end of the bed, his hands hanging between his knees as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs. “He was more concerned with why you involved Dagne.”

“Shit.” What’s the bet that jealous little fucker has some vendetta against me over it. “She was neutral, man. I saw an opportunity to use somebody with no ties to the club, so I took it.”

“He was spitting tacks, dude.”

“Yeah?” I say, an urge to get to Dagne taking root deep in my gut. “So why isn’t he here then?”

“Sheriffs are watching the Fort Worth brothers close,” Dog explains. “Jessup killed your APB. Said he didn’t want you gettin’ dragged in before he finished usin’ you for himself. But the sheriffs know something’s up—they ain’t stupid.”

Of course. “If the guys roughed up Jessup, then I guess that would still be enough to leave them suspicious.” I bring my knees up, looping my arms over top and dropping my head between them. “Reinforces my guilt, doesn’t it?”

“Dude …”

I turn my head and frown at Dog. “What?”

“They didn’t just rough up the agent. Digits killed him.”