NINETEEN

Dog

 

Coming home seems empty without her there to warm my back. I never saw Mel again after she walked out on me—whether that was on purpose, or entirely a fluke, I don’t know.

Crackers got a hold of me the moment I showed my face in the kitchen for a coffee and ripped me a new one for the state I’d got in. I don’t know what possessed me last night, other than I was searching for anything and everything to preoccupy my mind with while I waited on Mel to decide if she was coming down to join us or not.

Showing the prospects how I could handle anything they threw at me seemed like a good idea at the time. The fuckers tend to forget us fully patched members, even the newer ones like me, have been there, done that. We’ve showed our grit, proved our worth, know how it goes.

Didn’t think how it would look doing those body shots until Mel walked in. The whore they laid out on the table was nothing more than a vessel for the drink; I didn’t once think of her that way.

But the look on Mel’s face, the way her eyes went some place else. Fuck—I knew I’d screwed up.

Wish I could remember what happened after. She was mad, I remember that much, but as soon as that fresh air struck me outside the house, I was gone. People say the cold air sobers you up some. I think it just proves to remind you how drunk you really are when the bubble of alcohol-induced warmth is ripped from around you.

I said something to her. I know that much. Something that meant she watched over me all night, cared for me, despite the fact she clearly wants nothing to do with me now.

“Home already?” King greets as I back the bike into my spot.

“Yeah.”

“Thought you’d be sleepin’ it off still.”

Word travels fast. I look over at Pres as he packs his saddlebag with a smug smirk.

“What you not tellin’ me?”

He chuckles, cinching the strap tight. “You checked your Facebook this morning?”

Oh, shit. “Fuck. Really?” I drag a hand over my face, aware what the hell Mel’s probably already seen too.

The bold reality of it all played out over and over and over …

“Can’t believe you stayed on your feet as long as you did.” King throws a leg over and then leans back with his hands on his thighs to look at me.

I pull my key out and dismount. “I can’t even remember what they gave me.”

“Bourbon, vodka, whiskey,” he counts off on his fingers. “And then they started mixin’ in absinthe from what I’ve heard.”

Fuck me. No wonder Mel was as worried as she was. No wonder I can’t remember much either.

“Shitheads,” I mutter, unstrapping my bag from the back.

“Worth a laugh,” King says before starting his bike. He idles out of his spot and level with the front of mine. “I’m headin’ out for a few hours to catch up with a friend. If Elena shows up, tell her I won’t be long.”

“Sure.”

He rides out into the yard, leaving me wondering why his old lady might turn up here at the clubhouse. She makes it her life’s mission not to step foot in here if she doesn’t have to.

I head inside and soon see why. King’s left his boy, Dante, here with Callum.

“Here he is!”

I cringe as Vince sweeps across the room and slaps me one on the back. “How you feelin’?” he asks louder than necessary.

I glare at the tall motherfucker. “Seedier than the used end of a condom, but hey, it’s to be expected.”

Dante turns to Callum who glares over the top of the boy’s head as he no doubt deflects questions about what I said. Oops.

“I’m goin’ to lie down.” I thumb toward the stairs and then make a hasty exit before I do something else stupid.

The sweatshirt of mine that Mel wore still sits on the end of my bed as I step in the room. Takes me a good minute to stop eyeballing it as though I can wish her back inside it, and shut the door.

My gut churns, acidic and vile, but I can’t stomach the thought of food just yet. Maybe a dry cracker later, but for now I really do just want to sleep off the worst of it.

I strip off, dumping everything in a pile at the foot of the bed, and then bundle the sweater in one hand, my phone in the other as I climb under the sheet. Using the sweater like an extra pillow, I turn my head and inhale, certain if I breathe deep enough I’ll catch a whiff of her. My body wash overpowers most of what’s left, but there, right at the tail end is a definite soft edge—the un-nameable scent that follows her everywhere.

Fresh, like the forest.

Doesn’t take me long to find the incriminating video of my antics. One of the knuckleheads streamed the whole thing live on his profile. At least the assholes are required to set their social media to private when they’re given the prospect patch, so it’s not visible to the whole fucking world.

What sucks most, though, is that the fucker filmed right to the end, cutting it off when I stormed past to chase down Mel. I tap the video and pause it on my face, on the expression that without a hint of doubt shows how I feel about this girl.

I guess, even if I have screwed any chance I had up, I’ve succeeded in my first objective—she’s the old Mel again, smart-mouthed and confident.

***

“Dog, wake up.”

I recoil from the hand hitting my shoulder. “What the …”

King sits on the edge of my bed, angry as a fucking bear with a bee sting. “Wanna tell me why there’s some guy in a suit downstairs lookin’ for you?” He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “We goin’ to be trying to find some cash to pay for another lawsuit or somethin’?”

I pull my head back, squinting a little as though that’s going to clear him up in my sleep-fogged haze. I know what he said; I just can’t make sense of why. “In a suit?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “In a fuckin’ suit: pinstripe gray, with a fancy-ass matching vest. He looks like a goddamn gangster straight outta prohibition, or somethin’.”

Only one asshole I know who wears a three piece. I bolt upright, damn near clocking King with my knee in the process, and swing around so my feet hit the floor. “What did he say?”

“Just that he needs to see you.”

“What time is it?” I rub my eyes, trying to make heads or tails of how long I’ve been down.

“More like, what day is it?”

I hit him with a hard stare. “Don’t fuck with me.”

Asshole finally smirks. “I ain’t. You’ve been asleep since yesterday afternoon. Check it.” He tosses my phone at me.

I scramble to catch it, realizing if I have been asleep that long it would explain why my bladder’s fit to burst. Sure enough, the phone lights up showing it’s a little after ten in the morning the next day. Hell.

“Did the guy ask for me by name?” I yank yesterday’s dirty denim up my legs.

King chuckles. “Yeah. He asked for ‘Dog.’ Looked like he damn near choked on the name, too.”

“Fuck.” There’s no denying who it is downstairs now.

I snatch a clean T-shirt on my way out the door and yank it on over my head as I hotfoot it to the bathroom to relieve myself. King’s gone by the time I re-emerge and descend the stairs.

The scene in the common room would be comical if it weren’t so damn critical. On one side sit my brothers, some with a drink in hand, as they blatantly eyeball my guest. On the other sits my brother, Derek.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” I whisper-yell as soon as I’m close enough.

He stretches his arms along the back of the sofa; smug with the knowledge he’s put me out. I don’t mix my families, and he knows that.

“Must say, the place is a step up from what I imagined.”

“I’m sure King will be touched with your sentiments,” I sass. “What do you want?”

He leans forward, his hair so impeccably styled that not a single strand shifts as he repositions his elbows on his knees. “He didn’t want to say anything about it the other night, but Dad’s not well.”

“So?” Why would I give a fuck?

“So, I thought you should know.”

I shake my head at the asshole, refusing to sit and make this seem cozier than it is. “A phone call would have sufficed.”

“Your guest want a drink?” King calls out as he makes his way toward the rest of the brothers at the bar.

“Nope. He’s leavin’ soon,” I shout back without breaking my brother’s gaze.

Derek looks across at the men who still watch him like some rare zoo animal, and then back to me. “You have anywhere more private we can talk?”

“Plenty of places,” I say with raised eyebrows. “None that are here.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. His unnecessarily expensive watch catches the overhead light. “Why must you always be so difficult?”

“Why must you always be such a cunt?”

He drops his hand and glares up at me. A lesser man would be intimidated by that kind of look. Me, I want to rip it off his face.

“I’ve got a request,” Derek says with a sigh. “Something I need you to do.”

Fuck, here it comes. Bets on his request being for me to sell my gifted shares of the company to him. Don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner; I want nothing to do with the fuckheads that run it so he can have them for free for all I care.

Derek glances at the guys again, clearly uncomfortable with talking about things in the same room as them.

I sigh and jerk my head toward the back yard. “Come on.”

He follows me out, down to the far end of the deck. The morning sun spills through the few clouds that dot the sky, warming the wood beneath my feet. I set out a chair for him, and then take one for myself.

“You really upset Dad the other night, you know,” Derek starts as he readjusts his chair before he sits.

“That was kind of the intention.” I pat the pockets of my jeans, thankful my pack of smokes is still in there.

He watches as I light one, sending the puff of smoke drifting straight into his face.

“You remember that boxcar we made?” he asks. “Had the blue crate that Dad used to keep the firewood in as the seat.”

“Reminiscing about our childhood won’t erase the shit that’s gone down since,” I say. “So how about you stop butterin’ me up and cut to the chase?”

Derek leans back in his seat with a sigh, palms rubbing a path back and forth over his thighs. “Fine. Dad’s sick—didn’t want to tell you—but he finally accepted he needs to plan for the future, ensure things will transition as smoothly as possible once he’s gone.”

Once he’s gone. “It’s terminal?” I try to hide the excitement that bleeds through my words.

“Yeah.” Derek assesses me; his eyes cold and calculated as he watches my every twitch.

“Shame.” That I didn’t have a father I gave enough of a shit to care about, mostly.

“The obvious answer for when he passes is that I take over his position as CEO of the company.”

Bet that last rung is looking gold and shiny to Derek now.

“But that leaves a definite gap on the board,” he continues.

I frown, put off by the fact this conversation doesn’t seem to be steering toward the sale of shares like I thought it would.

“I want you there.”

I lift an eyebrow in disbelief, waiting for him to crack out the punch line. Yet he stares at me with nothing short of utter conviction.

“You fuckin’ serious?”

Derek nods. “This” —he waves his hand around at the club— “has only been the past four years of your life, Koen. Before that, you were just like me.”

“I was never like you.” I tap angrily at the cigarette in my hand, watching the ash as it flutters onto the deck.

“You know more about that business than half the old boys at the table already.”

“Only because our father forwent bedtime stories in favor of research papers and strategic planning notes.” What kind of upbringing does Derek think we had? Good?

“He prepared us for the privilege we inherit from him.”

“There’s no privilege to be found from cheating people out of the money they should be able to leave their families when they’re gone.” I pause, sucking on the cancer stick that might someday put me in a position to be one of the consumers Leidend Industries exploits. “There isn’t a damn thing on that company’s agenda that I want to be a part of.”

“So get on the board, change it,” Derek urges.

I snap my eyes to my brother’s; sure he’s playing me for a fool. The board would never implement any of the ideas I have, especially when it would cut their profit margins from seven figures to low sixes at most.

“Not goin’ to happen, D.”

He sighs, tapping a hand on his leg. “I thought you might have some compassion left in you for the old man, brother. Especially after all he’s done for us.”

“You believe that bullshit?” I ask. “Does the shit you spew taste bad on your tongue, or are you so used to toutin’ off his rhetoric without a second thought that you can’t tell the difference anymore?”

“What rhetoric?” he snaps, his voice rising. “If you can’t see the sacrifices he’s made for us, then you’re as blind as Mom was.”

He’s crossed the line. Fucking painted it blinding white and then pole-vaulted clean to the other side. I lunge out of my chair, lifting a foot as I step forward, and shunt his backward with my boot placed between his legs.

“Say it again, asshole. Disrespect our mother and see where it lands you.”

He scoffs, pushing out of his chair and straight into my chest. “You don’t scare me, little brother.”

“Maybe not.” I point to King and our biggest prospect, Digger, who stand watching from the door that leads inside. “But you ain’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. You might get away with slingin’ insults around when you’re in that goddamn glass tower of yours, but this is my house, my world you’ve stepped inside of.”

“Makes you feel big, doesn’t it?” He reaches out and plucks at the shoulder of my cut. “One pretty little picture and you suddenly think you’re a man.”

“Fuckin’ know I’m one.”

“Yeah?” Derek lifts an eyebrow, head jerking back. “How so?”

“Because real men don’t profit off other people’s bad luck.”

“Rich coming from the asshole who is other people’s bad luck.” He shoots a scathing glare at King. “You pigs going to tell me that you earn all your money legally? That you don’t profit from pain?” He grunts a laugh when none of us answer. “Exactly. We might be from different worlds, Koen, but we play by the same rules.”

He chooses the right time to take his leave, considering I’m currently mapping out where the nearest loaded gun might be. Who the fuck does he think he is to come in here and make out I’m the one doing wrong?

King lifts a hand and shakes his head to tell me to let it go as Derek disappears inside the clubhouse. He turns and follows my brother, presumably to make sure the jackass actually leaves the property.

Digger stares at me, eyebrows raised and mouth turned down.

“What?” I snap.

“Never heard anyone call you anythin’ but Dog, man.” He shrugs his beefy shoulders.

I sigh, pointing a finger his way. “Make sure it stays that way.”

“Yes, boss.” He throws me a lazy salute and heads indoors, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

A month ago I was content leaving anything and everything “Koen” behind to be the guy I thought was more fun, “Dog.” But if anything, these past weeks have just fucked me up further, making me question which road I should be taking.

On the one hand, being Dog has its obvious benefits. I do as I’m told, fill in the hours between by doing what I want and not caring about a thing. But then on the other hand, being Koen brings opportunities that I’d be too selfish to pass up.

One—have a stab at shaking up Leidend Industries. Fuck, I might not be able to completely fix the moral compass of the place, but I could at least make a conscious dent in the figure-driven mantra they operate by.

And two—Mel.

I’ve never had a chick interested in Koen like she is. Even the women—scratch that, girls—I had in high school were after Dog before I even knew myself who I was pretending to be.

That alone makes me want to hold on to the lifeline anchoring me to Koen a little longer.

“Wanna talk about it?” King asks as he re-emerges.

I shake my head, reaching with even shakier hands to pluck out another smoke. Fuck it. Derek’s got me all kinds of twisted up, the adrenaline spiking through my body. It’s exactly what he wanted, and that alone makes me angry that I’m still so easily manipulated by the fucker.

“So much for never showing up, huh?”

I give King an unamused stare and then focus on lighting my cigarette. “I said my old man wouldn’t show up, if I recall right. Never said a thing about my brother.”

He chuckles, restacking the shitty plastic chairs. “Family, huh?”

“Yeah. Family.” Although I’m pretty sure if you looked up the definition of one in the dictionary, ours wouldn’t fit the description in the slightest.

“What turned it sour?” He crosses his arms, widening his stance. “Anything we need to worry about?”

“Don’t think so.” I take a drag of my smoke and slump back against the outside wall of the clubhouse. “Asshole just wants me to play happy families.”

“Think on it.”

“Huh?” I frown at the guy.

“Think on it,” King repeats. “Family: they may drive you nuts, but you only get one.”

I know where he’s coming from, but the raw truth of it is that our disjointed unit is too far past that. When the thought of my old man dying doesn’t evoke any emotion inside of me except relief, what does that say for our chances of a happy reunion?

As far as I’m concerned, it wasn’t just my mother that slipped away on our dining room floor that day.

My sense of home died right along with her.