As Lucy reached me, I looped my arm through hers and led her out of the room. “I want to tell you a story,” I said, my voice hushed. “It’s about a young woman who fell in love with a married man, and the many years of misery that followed.”
Lucy stopped walking, forcing me to stop as well.
Looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes full of naïveté, she smiled sadly. “Am I that obvious?” she whispered.
“No,” I lied. “Sadly, I’m just an expert on this sort of thing.”
Chapter Fifteen
Hawk was reclining in bed, reading one of Tegen’s many publisher-rejected manuscripts that she’d forced on him, when Cage slipped his head inside the partially open bedroom door.
“You got a visitor, old man,” he said, giving Hawk a grim smile.
Grateful, Hawk tossed aside the thick folder of printed pages. As far as he could tell it was a love story; at least, it was Tegen’s attempt at a love story. In actuality it was more of a long-winded, hate-filled, rambling mess of words that she was trying to pass off as a love story. By two hours into it, Hawk’s brain began to feel like a game of ping-pong was being played inside it.
He guessed in a way the story reflected the woman who wrote it, which made sense considering he often thought Tegen could do with a heavy dose of medication to calm her the fuck down. How Cage dealt with that . . . yeah, Hawk didn’t have a clue. If he were Cage, he would have shot out of town as fast as possible to get as far away from her as he could.
But he supposed you couldn’t help who you fell in love with. He had fallen in love with a married woman, who had a boyfriend to boot. Although he couldn’t help but feel like he’d gotten a better deal than Cage, seeing as the mother was a whole shitload less volatile than the daughter.
Not that Dorothy didn’t have her moments, and sometimes her emotional outbursts made him want to stab himself in the eye, but Tegen . . .
Holy shit.
The walls in this house were thin, too thin, forcing Hawk to have to listen to fight after fight. They either ended in something breaking or what sounded like sex—did rabid animals have sex?—and left him contemplating smothering himself to death with his own pillow.
“Havin’ fun yet?”
The bedroom door pushed open, revealing Deuce. He took a quick visual sweep of the room before walking inside. He was followed by Ripper, who immediately closed the door behind him. As Deuce crossed the room, the floor creaking heavily under the sound of his hard, booted steps, Ripper remained by the door, looking anywhere but at Hawk.
It was the first time he’d seen any of his brothers other than Cage since they’d picked his sorry ass up from the Russians, and Hawk had felt the sting of that rejection. Although he didn’t blame them, how could he? In a way he’d betrayed them by lying to them all these years. Yet, he’d held out hope that once Deuce had explained everything to them, they’d forgive him. But judging by the look on Ripper’s face, that wasn’t the case.
Shoving his feelings on the matter aside, Hawk turned to face Deuce. There were far more important things to discuss than hurt feelings.
He’d been waiting for Deuce to show up, both dreading this moment and anticipating it. Half of him wanted this to be the outcome, but the other half desperately wanted things to be different. More so for Dorothy and Christopher than himself. Because he couldn’t give two shits about what happened to him, only it wasn’t just him anymore.
Funny how having a kid could change your entire perspective on life.
“Been listenin’ to Tegen and Cage fuck each other up,” Hawk said, looking again toward Ripper, who still hadn’t so much as glanced his way. “I’m thinkin’ I had more fun with the Russians.”
“Yeah,” Deuce muttered, giving his head a small shake. “I don’t get those two, but somehow she keeps him in line, focused on the game, and that’s about all that really fuckin’ matters.
“And speaking of the game,” Deuce continued. “Saw D at the club. She said you’re feelin’ better, figured it was time for us to talk.”
“Two weeks, Prez,” Hawk said, ensuring that every word he spoke sounded as devoid of emotion as he wished he’d felt. “I know what I gotta do. Just gimme two weeks with her, that’s all I’m askin’ for.”
Deuce unfolded his arms and dropped his head into his rising hands. Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed heavily. “Brother,” he started, but Hawk didn’t let him finish.
“Prez, please,” he said, struggling to sit up straighter. “I gotta see my boy. I gotta spend some time with them both . . . before . . .”
Realizing he’d let the very emotion he was hoping to keep in check seep into his words and body language, he trailed off.
When Deuce didn’t respond, just continued to stand there, his gaze on the floor, Hawk let out a ragged sigh.
“I’ll do whatever I gotta do,” he said quietly. “Just promise me you’re gonna take care of ’em. Look after ’em. I’ve been tryin’ to give Dorothy money for years, but she never uses it, just keeps puttin’ it into an account for Christopher. I don’t want her livin’ like that anymore, I want her here, near her daughter, near you. I want her in a damn house, her own place, for once.”
Deuce’s head raised, those cold blue eyes staring Hawk down. “You ain’t gotta worry about that fuckin’ shit, you know we always take care of our own. And you want two weeks, you got ’em. Hell, you want three weeks, you got ’em. I know you know what you gotta do, and I know you’re gonna do it. That ain’t why I’m here.”
Deuce stopped talking and took a deep breath, one that caused his chest to visibly rise, then fall and rise again. It was a rare display of emotion from his prez, one that surprised the shit out of Hawk. Other than anger, Deuce didn’t put his feelings out there for just anyone to see. None of the boys did, other than Cox, and even Cox kept his under the guise of humor most times.
“I shoulda never sent you to Vegas,” Deuce said. “I shoulda been smart enough to realize you coulda been made. Fact, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner and that’s on me. I shoulda been more careful.”
Hawk shook his head. “It wasn’t the Russians who made me. Meant to tell you before, but I figured you had enough shit to deal with.”
He had Deuce’s full attention now.
“Who?” the man growled, the look on his face telling Hawk he already knew who, but wanted to hear him say it.
“ZZ,” Hawk said. “It was ZZ who set this shit up. Shot me, beat the fuckin’ crap outta me. He’s workin’ for Yenny. Fightin’ for him.”
The tension that gripped the room at the sound of ZZ’s name grew even thicker as several silent seconds ticked uncomfortably by. Even Ripper, who’d been feigning indifference to Hawk this entire time, had jerked his head up, his expression a mixture of shock and rage.
“Prez,” Hawk continued. “I wasn’t so sure before that takin’ him out was the best way to go, but . . . he ain’t ZZ no more. The man is cold, Prez, through and through, and a walkin’ fuckin’ time bomb.”
Ripper stepped forward while Deuce remained frozen. But even in his stillness the man was literally vibrating with rage, his nostrils flaring as the exposed skin on his forearms rippled, his muscles twitching with barely restrained fury.
“Did he say anything?” Ripper asked, and Hawk could hear the unspoken words. After all, ZZ had assumed Ripper had stolen Danny from him. And Ripper was now married to her.
“Don’t think you gotta worry about Danny,” Hawk said. “He’s hung up on this shit, that much I could tell, but he ain’t stupid enough to come anywhere near Miles City. Not with the club and the law gunnin’ for him.”