THIRTY-ONE

Dog

Mel dips her shoulder to help get the gun bag off, her dark hair slipping over her face as she untangles herself from it. We’ve stopped back at the clubhouse to get what things I can from upstairs, thanks to the old man banning me from his fucking place. Figured we may as well trade the bike for the truck, too, making it easier to bring anything back if we score a kill. It won’t feel right going out in my everyday clothes, but now that I’m determined to take her out for her first experience at hunting, I don’t want to give up on the idea.

Things have been hard lately, and losing myself—ourselves—in the wild for a few days sounds like heaven.

“Do you want me to do anything?” Mel asks, using the backs of her hand to flick her hair over her shoulders again.

“Nope.” Not other than stand there a while longer, looking pretty.

She’s a stunner—the best parts of her momma, and whatever her daddy filled the bucket with. I’ve never seen her mother, only heard stories about her, but I can guess just by looking at the woman before me what it was that stole Judas’ breath.

“Well, I might see if I can find Hooch, then. Make sure he knows I’m not riding back with them.”

“Sounds like a plan.” And like certain death for me.

All I can hope, now that Hooch has Dagne, is he can take one look at me and see I have the same good intentions for his sister.

Mel picks up her bag of clothes and tips her lips up in a smile when she realizes I’m still frozen, watching her. The rose of her cheeks grows slightly as she drops her gaze to the floor.

My next breath cements in my throat as the full force of how I feel about this little lady dawns on me in that moment. I struck up a conversation with her years ago, on a chance, not knowing it would lead to this.

Not knowing she’d be on my mind constantly ever since.

Not knowing a part of me would die when I thought she was lost forever.

And definitely not knowing that I’d be standing here, now, looking at her as she sucks in a deep breath, and realizing that I love her.

I fucking love Mel.

Her smile spreads as I step forward and wrap my free hand around her neck, the gun bag still in my other, and pull her closer. Mel’s breath hitches, eyes wide as I tug her body flush against mine and place a kiss to her parted lips.

“I’m lookin’ forward to this,” I admit as I let her go. So many things I’m going to tell her when the time is right.

She cocks her head and smiles. “Me too.”

I swing the bag to my shoulder and head for the clubhouse before I let my urges get the better of me. She’s so accepting of me, passing no judgment on any part of who I am. Yeah, she gave it to me straight when I was a cocky shit back at the barn, but never once did she put me down for who I am; just told me it didn’t impress her at all.

Truth is, I’m not trying to impress her. Even then. I’d pegged her as unobtainable given her status on the club, so I accepted the fact we’d probably always be friends. I didn’t want her to be amazed by me; I just wanted her to like me. Acceptance meant way more than accolades—still does.

I chance a look across the common room as I start up the stairs. Mel approaches King’s open office door, her shoulders rising with the deep breath she takes. I catch a glimpse of Hooch beyond, sitting in the seat before King’s desk. My gut twists at the thought of him telling her to stay away from me. What if he really doesn’t approve? Those two have only got each other left, and there’s no way, no matter how I feel about Mel, I’m denying her that.

To be the cause of her losing everything? Nope. Never.

I drop the guns on my bed, scowling as I look at the bag. Several grand worth of hunting equipment sits up in that fucking room at my old man’s place. I should have brought it across with me at the end of last season, but for some fucked up reason, I thought it’d be safer there; less people looking for shit to hock off to fund their drug habits.

Yes, the Aces are a good bunch, but there are still the few that ruin our name for the rest. Still a few that are stuck in the old belief that living an outlaw life means checking your morals and dignity at the door. Modern times call for a modern attitude, and with King at the head of the table, I’ve got confidence he can seamlessly blend the two: a life of crime and self-respect.

“Hey.”

I turn to see Callum leaning against my door. “What’s up?”

He jerks his head toward the stairs. “King’s in if you wanted to square that stuff away with him.”

Fuck’s sake. “Yeah, I saw him. We’ve already done it.” I cross to the closet; sure I’ve got a pack in here somewhere.

“Where you goin’?” Callum pushes off the doorframe and walks over to where I’ve laid the gun bag down. “Hunting?”

“Uh-huh.” Fifty-fucking-million pairs of boots, but no goddamn pack. “You wouldn’t have a gear bag I could use?”

He chuckles. “Please tell me you’re not one of those idiots who has no idea what he’s doin’?”

“I’m not one of those idiots,” I deadpan as I stand and face him. “Which is why I’m asking to borrow a bag to pack the necessary supplies in. Mine’s … misplaced.”

His eyes narrow, the suspicion evident. But he nods. “Yeah, I got something. Give me ten.”

He leaves in search of the pack, and I let out a sigh. Clearly, King’s kept his word and said nothing about the information I gave him. Being the VP, Callum’s bound to find out eventually, but I’m not ready to have that conversation yet. I’m still on a high from the thought of taking Mel hunting and picking the right time to tell her how deep I’m into her. I kind of want to save popping that balloon until we get back.

I just need this break, this getaway to put everything in perspective, and then I’m good to go.

I think.

Callum returns a few minutes later and drops a black duffle down next to the pile of clothes I’ve accumulated. “You need anything else, just ask.”

He doesn’t need to say it: he knows I need this time to myself as well. Except it’s not just me, is it?

“I’m takin’ Mel, too.”

He stares at me a moment, and for a fleeting second, I feel like a green prospect all over again.

“You’re what?”

“Takin’ Mel.”

He drags in a deep breath, scrubbing his palm from his nose to his chin. “Dude, she’s just got Hooch back, only begun to deal with the news about Judas and Dana. You really think taking her away to nothing again is a good idea?”

“She does,” I protest, stuffing clothes haphazardly into the bag. “She said herself she likes the quiet, gives her time to think.”

He huffs beside me, crossing thick forearms across his chest. “And what exactly do you imagine she’s goin’ to be thinkin’ about? Huh? How her old man and sister are gone. How her momma left her? How Hooch is all she has left?”

“Exactly,” I snap, shoving items into the bag harder than I need to. “He’s all she has left and he won’t even give her the time of day between the club bullshit we’ve got goin’ on and his new piece of ass.”

“She say that? Or is that your fuckin’ brilliant observation?” He narrows his gaze on me, head tipped back.

“She said that.” I stop my packing and sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll look after her, C. You don’t need to worry about anythin’, okay?”

“It’s not just her I’m worried about,” he admits. “You remember what I said to you the night you asked me to be a part of this club?”

Yeah, I do. I remember the night as though it was yesterday, despite the fact I was fast-tracking myself to one hell of a hangover the next day. “You said that the MC life is no place to make up for your shortcomings elsewhere. That if I was joinin’ to run from my problems, I should square my shit away before I made a huge mistake.”

“Did you?”

Fucking hell. He could see through me back then and he still can now. I’m as transparent as a sheet of cling film when it comes to Callum.

“Not entirely.”

I tried. Explained to the old man years ago why I didn’t want a part of his fucking enterprise, why I wanted to carve my own unconventional path through life. Only problem is, we didn’t exactly sit down and talk about it like a couple of adults. The conversation was shouted between the sound of him crashing whatever he could lay his hands on to the floor, and me punching holes in the wall.

I definitely got one thing from my old man: a violent temper when provoked.

“Why won’t you talk to us about your background, Dog?” Callum presses. “Don’t you trust us?”

“Of course I do,” I answer him without hesitation, my trust in these men one of the only steadfast things in my life. “It’s just … things are complicated.”

“Aren’t we all?” He huffs out his nose, eyeing the half-packed bag. “I’ll give you this, but if anything feels out of place, if you get that niggle that things aren’t right, I want contact, you hear?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t try to be the hero and sort it out yourself.”

What kind of risk is there, really? “I kept her safe while we were lookin’ for Hooch, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“So what’s there to worry about?” I search his eyes for a hint of true doubt in my ability to hold my own, but he shows only conviction when he answers.

“You’ve never done a thing for me to doubt you, brother.” He sighs. “But still, any sign of trouble.”

“I’ll call.” He takes a step toward the door, yet stalls when I continue. “You think she really is happy she’s back?” I frown, looking to Callum for the answer.

He slams a hand down on my shoulder with a smug smile. “You’re askin’ the wrong person, brother.”