THIRTY-FIVE

Hooch

Don’t get me wrong—I love my northern brothers, but there’s nothing like walking in the door and feeling home. Yeah, the Fort Worth clubhouse has seen it’s fair share of arguments, carnage, and loss of late … but it’s still where my heart lies.

I spent my adolescence here. I fixed up my first pan-head here. I first brought a girl home to meet the family here. And I was first introduced to how shallow others’ opinions of our lifestyle can be, here.

And now?

Now, I look at Dagne as she shares a drink with Crackers, a wide smile on her face, and for the first time I see a future here.

I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face as I remember how that body looked this morning over the top of me, naked. She might be on the shy side day-to-day, but get that woman blinded by lust and she loses all her inhibitions.

Her taste, her smell, the way her hips felt grinding against mine … I need a bucket of ice.

“Can I get a word with you, boy?” Murphy leans in from my left, his gaze drifting to the same spot I’m stuck on as I discretely adjust myself. “If you think she’ll be okay on her own.”

“She’ll be fine. Pretty sure everyone knows if they put a single hand on her, I’ll castrate them.”

Murphy chuckles, raising the drink in his hand in toast.

“You seen Digits this morning?” I ask.

The jackass hauled ass out of Lincoln before the rest of us even rolled out of bed. Either that fucker is as guilty as they come, or he’s got something pressing to attend to that I’m guessing we should know about.

“Nope. He was gone before I got up.”

“Anyone here see him?”

He shakes his head, turning his focus to me. “No. Asked about, but even Heather had no idea he should have rolled in already.”

“Great,” I mutter, jerking my head in the general direction of my office. “Let’s go give you that minute.”

Murphy follows me through the house to my refuge, waiting patiently as I punch in the code on the door. Yeah, that was how bad it got for a while there. Neither my old man, nor myself could trust the members to keep their noses out of things that didn’t concern them. Trust doesn’t come easy in our chapter, and loyalty has only started showing its face again after we almost disbanded.

Ask me a year ago if I thought Fort Worth would have still been here now, and I would have laughed in your face.

“You said you could use my help with something,” Murphy starts as he shuts the door behind us.

“That I did.” I wait until he’s seated opposite me before I continue. “You notice anything odd around here while I was gone?”

“A few things.” He crosses one ankle over the opposite knee. “What in particular are you fishin’ for?”

“Members acting out of sorts.”

He laughs, full and hearty. “Oh, boy-o. Just come out and say it. Everyone knows you’ve got some beef with Digits over that girl.”

“That’s just it,” I say. “I don’t think it’s just about her. I think he’s using that as a smoke screen for somethin’ else.”

“Aye. I’m listenin’.” He places both hands on his shin; his face grows stern.

“Was anyone aware the week before Crackers and him went south, that I asked him to hack the phone we stole off one of the Wingmen? I asked him to strip it of details, find anything that might have been of use.”

“No. Nobody’s said a thing.” His brow creases further.

“He claims he lost it. That he mustn’t have put it in his pocket properly and it fell out while he was ridin’.”

Murphy cocks an eyebrow.

“Sound like something he’d do?”

“No way. That kid’s as meticulous as they come.”

“Exactly. I brushed it off, thought nothin’ of it, but then his attitude at the table flares up and I find out some other shit he’s been doing behind our backs, and I wonder—”

“Can he be trusted anymore,” Murphy finishes with a knowing nod. “I’ve got to admit, I felt a bit off when we were questionin’ Jessup. Right about the time he was swearin’ black an’ blue that he knew nothing about stoppin’ the gypsy girl, Digits stepped in and hit him one square across the jaw. Made the fucker black out.”

“Think he was about to let too much out?” King’s suspicion about Digits setting the cops on Dagne suddenly feels a lot more solid.

“I get that itch about it, yeah.” He regards me with hard eyes that have seen their fair share of trouble over the years. “What do you want to do about it?”

I sigh, leaning back in my seat and tapping my fingertips together. “I don’t know. I was hoping for some aged advice.”

“Watch what you’re callin’ me,” he teases. “I may be old …”

I chuckle. “You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do.” He leans on one elbow, resting his head in his hand. “What’s your concern about confronting him?”

“We’ve got no bulletproof evidence. Just hearsay and gut feelings.”

“What kind of evidence would prove it, though?”

I twist in my chair, kicking my boots up on the desk. “Written. However it comes: emails, messenger, texts, phone records … whatever.”

“You want me to organize a tail for him?”

“How much will that cost?” Tails are always independent contractors. We don’t turn club members against club members on a suspicion.

“What about those guys King has in his pocket, those Butcher Boys?”

I shake my head. “Malice is out of the game. He’s talking about babies and shit with Jane. Bronx is too involved havin’ the trade in Kansas now. And Ty …” Actually. “I could ask him, I guess. Makes sense; he’s also a whiz with that kind of shit.”

“Sounds like you didn’t need my help after all.” Murphy straightens in his seat with a smile.

“I guess.” I lean forward on the desk, and put my head in my hands. “I don’t know, brother. I doubt myself too much these days; I needed someone to confirm I was doin’ the right thing, and you know I respect your advice.”

“I do.” He raps his knuckles on the front of my desk to get my attention. “Now tell me what the fuck you were thinkin’ trying to get in touch with your crazy fuckin’ mother.”

I laugh, leaning back in my seat and wonder where to start.

If I thought the club was a mess before, I could guarantee she would have made it look like nothing in comparison to what she would have stirred up.

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know about her,” I ask. “You knew Mom and Dad better then I did at that age. Give me a story about them.”

“Jesus, boy. Where do I start?”