NINE

Dog

Inappropriate? Totally. Fair warning? Most definitely.

This girl makes me laugh. She smiles at me as though I bring light to her day, and best of all she makes me just want to hang with her.

I need to wife the woman, now.

She shakes her head at my suggestion; probably assuming I’m just fucking with her to get a rise as always. But I’m not. I totally meant it. I’d put a hundred on it right now, that by the end of the month she’ll know what it’s like to have me make her forget her own name.

“When do we start then?” she asks, palming that glass of Sprite.

“Fuckin’ or shooting?”

Yeah, I test the boundaries a lot.

All I get in response is narrowed eyes and a tight little smirk.

“Shooting, right? Aww.” I make a show out of pouting, my shoulders sagging as I return to my seat. “Tomorrow, I guess. Gotta go to the old man’s and get my rifle if you want to use the same gun we’ll hunt with.”

And after the fucking grilling he gave me last night, I’m going to need one on the sauce here to get me in the mood for another altercation with the asshole.

“Can I come?”

“To my old man’s?” Sure as fuck aren’t acting when I look at her confused out of my goddamn mind. Why would she want to do that?

“Yeah. I just …” She shrugs. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me,” I urge, struck with the need to know what’s on her mind.

“I thought it might be nice to get away from the place for a bit of fresh air.” She fidgets with the coaster under her glass. “I know I only just got here, but the place has too many memories right now.” She stares wistfully at the fucking sofas as though her old man is there giving her a smile right back.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll think about it.” What the fuck am I doing?

“Thanks, Dog.”

The bitch slides off her seat and wraps those scrawny arms around my neck, snuggling in close and reminding me I’m nothing more than her best friend.

I trap her right arm to me by lifting my hand to it, breathing in deep and relishing how fucked up it is that she smells sexy as sin wearing my body wash.

Is that how good I smell to chicks? Figures …

“You gonna be okay with how noisy it’ll be here later?” If she’s already twitchy about the place, the weekend wind down might be too much all at once.

“I’ll probably just hide out upstairs.” She pulls free and jams her hands in the pockets of the cargo shorts somebody’s given her to wear.

“Alone?”

Mel shrugs. “Used to it, ain’t I?”

I guess. Still doesn’t sit right with me that she’d be on her own after the two hell on wheels days she’s had since Hooch picked her up. “I’ll keep you company.” I smile.

“Dog.” She frowns. “Just give the pick-up lines a rest would you?”

Only I wasn’t saying it like that. Kind of fucks me off that she took it that way, but I’ve only got myself to blame, don’t I?

“Yeah, right. Sorry about that.” I slip off the stool and take two steps away before hesitating and turning back to her. “You’re really cool, Mel. I mean it when I say I’m fuckin’ glad you’re back.”

She smiles, seeming as lost for anything else to say as I am. The sentiment was awkward as fuck, and it’s no wonder; I don’t say shit like that much. Especially not to a girl. And especially not to one I really am scared of screwing things up with a second time.

I picked my moment wrong the first time she shut me down, trying to make the most of the fact her old man had sent Sawyer away and then screwed things up by matching her with a guy she had no interest in whatsoever. I thought I could slide right into the dust cloud left by Crackers and remind her why it is we’re so perfectly matched, but instead, Mel shut me down and damn near cut all contact before she left.

I want to believe it’s because she was denying the truth to herself, but I also know it has a hell of a lot more to do with how sleazy that was of me to try and catch her on the rebound, as lame of a one as it was considering she never had feelings for Crackers.

Well, none she told me about.

I step away before I say something even more heartfelt and head for the back deck when King intercepts me near the pool table.

“Got a minute?”

Can a guy get a head start? It was inevitable, though. I had fair warning from Callum, and I knew if King had sent his second in command after me, then he must be getting frustrated.

“Sure.”

He gestures toward his office—or should I say his second home—and I lead the way. The click of the door as he follows me in is deafening to my guilty conscience, my ability to sit and act nonchalant scratched.

“Thought I’d grab you while we’re both here so I can get those next of kin details off you,” he says casually as he rounds his desk.

I watch Pres dig around on the surface for the blank form, and then swallow back the need to profess my innocence as he hands it over.

I’m not guilty of anything serious—lots of people pass themselves off as another person if they’re unhappy with who they are … don’t they? Fuck it.

“Only take you a minute.” King holds a pen out, the smirk on his face saying he knows he may as well be handing me a noose.

“What do you want me to say?” I mumble, tossing the sheet of paper on the front edge of his desk.

“The truth,” he counters, setting the pen down on the discarded form. “That’s all I ever expect from our members.”

The truth.

Fuck, even I don’t know how to make head or tails of it. The way I feel about who I am, and how that relates to who my father is, is complicated. I can’t deny the pride at what our name carries, but I also can’t ignore the anger I have at what he’s made it.

“The truth,” I murmur, rolling the concept around in my mind while he patiently watches. “The truth is, if I didn’t have this place as a second home, I think I’d be gettin’ around in an orange jumpsuit, awaitin’ my turn in the chair.”

“Everybody here has personal issues,” King says, “but you keepin’ them to yourself only puts us all in danger if something were to come knockin’ on our door looking for you.”

“Trust me,” I say with a bitter snort. “He won’t come here.” Rollan von Essen wouldn’t be seen dead around a place like this for fear of what it could be misconstrued as.

God forbid any of his precious cronies thought he was in fucking cahoots with a motorcycle club. The fact half of them know I’m in one is enough of an embarrassment for the asshole.

“Yeah, well that’s what everyone says right before it does,” King muses. He taps the form. “Just fill it out, Dog. It’s kept under lock.” He gestures to his filing cabinet. “Only me that needs to know.”

He’s right, yet it doesn’t stop me panicking at that slim chance somebody else finds out. I’m not ashamed of who I am, I just don’t want it swaying my brothers’ opinion of me. I’ve had that happen before, the whole “what are you even doing here” speech, and I’d like to avoid losing friends because of it again.

“You’ve got the only key, right?” I narrow my gaze on Pres.

He nods, patting the chain on his hip.

Fuck this shit. Why didn’t I think of this eventuality when I strutted in the door with some bright idea to reinvent myself ‘Total Recall’ style? I honestly thought that I could use this club to erase any memory of who I was, have them make me a new person.

Reality is, the heart of who you are never changes, and the fears that drove you to run from yourself continue to influence every decision you make.

I slump into the chair beside me and snatch up the pen and paper. Using my leg as a table, I fill out the form, feeling physically ill as the undeniable truths of who I really am are inked onto paper embellished with the Aces name.

I slide the completed questions across to King, setting the pen down on his desk also and wait.

He strokes his beard absently as he reads, his expression firm but otherwise not giving a thing away. “Why is your surname familiar? Other than it’s kind of unique …” he muses.

I’m not entirely sure he’s ready for an answer, so I sit a while longer as he keeps reading.

King sets the paper aside and rests his elbows on the desk. “I don’t see much else that would have me worried, Dog.” I could kiss the guy for his decision to keep using my road name, and not rub my birth name in my face. “So,” he continues, “you wanna tell me what it is I should be concerned about?”

“You’re right,” I say, staring down at my hands. “My surname is familiar.”

“Why?” He leans back, crossing his arms.

“Heard of a little company called Leidend Industries?”

He scoffs. “Heard of it? They only stamp their name on most of the medical research that’s carried out in this country. There’s articles all over the web about the shit they do.”

“Yeah. That one.” I toss my head back with a sigh. “My old man heads it up.”

“Why the fuck would you be so ashamed of that?” King asks. “They do amazing work towards new treatments and cures for common disease.”

“They also hike the price up on medications so they can turn a fat profit,” I snap. “Fucker could make sure every goddamn kid in this country had access to basic care, but instead he auctions off the medicines they develop to the big five pharmaceuticals for whoever wants to pay the most.”

King frowns, his fingers tapping on his stomach. “Yeah, I feel your anger there.”

“I don’t want anything to do with him or what my name makes people think.” I push out of the seat and point to the form. “So I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us like you promised.”

“Sure.” He nods as he picks it up. “You know I keep my word.”

I eye him as he makes his way over to the cabinet, unlocks it, and slides the sheet of paper away. “Thanks, Pres.”

“Hey, you aren’t completely off the hook.” He slams the drawer shut and relocks it. “I need you to keep your word about somethin’.”

“What?” I cross my arms and widen my stance.

“If this even sniffs of trouble, you give me a heads up. I know how family disputes can turn out, and if we can do somethin’ to help keep that shit separate from us here at the Aces, then let us have at it.”

“You’ve got my word.” I stick my hand out for him to shake, and he pumps it twice.

“Good. Now before you go, I’ve got one more thing I need you to do.”