Existential (Fallen Aces MC Book 4) Read online

  Judas and I never saw eye to eye. He was my pops, the man I idolized from a young age only to realize what a false God he was when Momma left us as near-babies. He broke the strongest old lady the Fort Worth chapter’s ever had, and drove her to leave the things she loved the most—her children—in order to save us from the destruction that was their volatile marriage.

  Things were never the same since then, and I think in a way the disappearance and death of my sisters only dragged those repressed regrets back to the surface.

  “What you puttin’ in there?” Jo Jo steps forward, raising his hands to the glass to peer inside the dusty windows.

  “Saddlery.”

  “What?” His voice rises an octave as he steps back, eyebrows raised. “I thought you mighta said parts or somethin’, brother. But horses? When you last ride?”

  “Never. But it doesn’t take a rider to know leather.” I’ve tooled hides since I was a teen. I know how to work it, care for it, and keep the leather conditioned. “Besides, there’s a rancher who’s interested in starting somethin’ for his retirement, but he doesn’t have the capital upfront to get it off the ground.”

  “Sounds like you got it all worked out, man.”

  “I hope so.” I’ve jotted down the theory, got Digits to do the figures for me so I could get it set up above board and legal, but the feeling I’m still in over my head hasn’t gone away yet.

  I flip the lid open on the tinderbox and set a bump in the crook of my hand. Jo Jo lights a smoke while I snort back the only thing keeping my legs moving these days. I tried to drop the habit after the shit went down with Carlos, but waking up sober carries ghosts I’d rather forget. The ache in my chest is better dealt with by walking alone.

  “Heard anything from Crackers?” Jo Jo’s smoke crackles as he pinches it to his lips and takes a long drag.

  “Almost home. Said they got a few scraps of information, but nothing definite.”

  “What’s your plan B, Holmes?”

  I shrug, and pocket the box. “I really don’t know yet. Hindsight is a grand thing, my friend, and if we’d stopped to think about it we might have realized that taking out both Carlos and Eddie within months of each other wouldn’t do much toward keeping contacts alive behind the scenes.”

  “Yeah, I feel you.”

  “We’ve lost a lot, cut ourselves off. The takeovers might have given us the lion’s share of the trade, but it also drew a definite line in the sand between us—the new guys—and the men who’ve been at it for decades.”

  “When you got so many enemies, how do you know which one is knockin’ on your door, right?”

  “Right. And how the fuck do you find out when they’re all standing on the same side of that goddamn door anyway?”

  Jo Jo tosses his spent cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot. “The brothers are going to need somethin’, man.”

  “I know.” The glass is cool against my face as I press my nose to the window, peering at the stripped interior to the shop. “I’ll work somethin’ out. Just need some space to breathe.”

  “You got all the space in the world, man. What you don’t got, is time.”

  “Thanks for remindin’ me of that.” Although I know the time he speaks of isn’t the same as what I’m worried about. He’s alluding to how long we have before one of these opportunistic fuckers makes a move. I’m alluding to how long I have before the club ain’t the only one gunning for my ass.

  “We done here?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Jo Jo throws a leg over his bike, leaning back in the seat to regard me as he straps his helmet on. “You need to be anywhere for the next hour?”

  “Nope. Crackers and Digits are due back in at about two. I’ll make sure I’m at the clubhouse before then, but otherwise I’m free. Why?”

  “We need to take a ride, blow out the cobwebs.” He presses the ignition and fires his bike to life. “You, my man, need to let it go at ninety miles and hour and remember why it is you chose this life. Why you make the hard decisions. Why you’re goin’ to find a way out of this shit.”

  “I’m in it, because I was born in it,” I grumble, strapping on my helmet and wishing for my dark, quiet bedroom.

  “Maybe so, but that ain’t why you stayed.”

  He takes off down the street, leaving me on the side of the road to mull his words over as I start my bike and pull out after him.

  Fucker’s right: I might have come kicking and screaming into the world on a clubhouse pool table, but I had every chance to leave before I turned eighteen and patched in.

  And I chose not to.

  Because you can’t escape what’s in your blood, and leather and fuel are in mine.

  FOUR

  Dagne

  Jesus, my ass is killing me. I gave up trying to hang on without placing my hands on Digits somewhere around Austin. Whoever said riding a motorbike is an amazing experience had to be high on drugs. My back aches, my legs are half numb, and I swear to God I have twenty bugs plastered somewhere in my hair and ears.

  “You all right, babe?”

  We slow and turn right through a set of ornate gates. The driveway is long and tree-lined, heading toward what appears to be an old plantation home. Not what I expected at all.

  “Bit sore,” I say, letting go of his chest with one arm to lean out and look around him.

  Crackers rides ahead, his tires kicking up fallen leaves on the dirt road.

  “You’ll be off in a minute.”

  We idle around front of the huge two-story house, and I take in the massive flags bearing the club’s insignia that cover each window on the lower level. Guess they like their privacy. A couple of girls, who can’t be a day over twenty at most, sit out on the covered porch, watching us pull up.

  Digits kicks his stand out, and then extends his arm to give me stability as I climb off. I wrap my hands around his hard forearm and dismount, somewhat unladylike, and wobble a few steps like a newborn deer toward the house.

  Crackers’ deep throaty laugh follows me as he crunches his way over the dirt to where I’ve collapsed on the porch steps. “Takes gettin’ used to.”

  “You could’ve given me some warning.”

  “What’d be the fun in that?” He marches past me, a smile still in place, and heads indoors. One of the girls gets up and follows.

  The other eyeballs me as though I’m a sea of filth creeping toward her stilettoed feet.

  “Come on.” Digits holds out a hand. “I’ll get you a drink and then you can work out where you’re goin’ from here.”

  I take his outstretched hand—and his subtle hint that my stay is welcome short-term only—and stand unsteadily. He guides me indoors, and what I find quite literally steals my breath.

  I expected trashed doors, holes in the wall, drunk and wasted bodies lying about, and possibly vomit or spilled food over the floor. I guess my preconceptions about the biker lifestyle need to be reassessed.

  Polished timber floors invite you deeper into the beautifully restored house. The walls are painted black, which is probably the exact opposite of their original color, but the darkness is offset with hauntingly beautiful black and white photographs hung in intervals down the walls, either side of the grand staircase that sits front and center in the entrance. I look right and take in dark gray carpets, and heavy black drapes over the windows. A bank of bookcases lines one wall of what appears to be the formal sitting room, filled with an assortment of books that extend from leather bound novels to what appear to be motorcycle manuals.

  “This way.”

  Digits guides me left into another sitting room, filled to capacity with leather sofas, plush faux fur throws, and a beautiful fireplace on the far wall that has an enormous carved Fallen Aces insignia hanging overhead.

  The house invites luxury, comfort, and a sense of worth. These people are proud of what they have, and it shows.

  “This place is beautiful.”

  Digits chuc
kles, shaking his head as he swings right to a bar set up on the far end of the rectangular room. “You should have seen it six months ago.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm. Had a bit of a long overdue remodel.”

  Maybe my first assumptions weren’t so far off then? Just a little late? “Well, whoever did the design, they have a great eye.”

  “You’ve got Sidey’s old lady to thank for that.”

  “Who the fuck is this?”

  All previous ideas of this stopover being one of luxury and refinement vanish at the sound of the angry question bellowed behind me. I spin around and come face to face with a damn mountain of a man who stands a clear head and shoulders above me. His brown eyes are dark and hard, his frown firm, and the thick beard he sports doing nothing to soften his look.

  “A stray,” Digits answers, firmly putting me in my place. “She needs somewhere to freshen up before she carries on.”

  “We aren’t a fuckin’ hotel.”

  I slide my gaze down this burly guy to his vest and read the stitched badges: “1%”, “G.F.O.D.”, “13”, a skull and crossbones, and most importantly, “President”.

  Well, that last one explains a lot.

  “I’ll honestly be gone within the hour. I won’t cause any trouble.”

  “You already have.” He leans a shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his legs at the shin as he kicks out a heavy boot.

  I frown, and then readjust my focus to the slip of a woman who stands behind this guy’s right shoulder—the girl from out front. Great, just what I need, somebody running to daddy when they’re upset. Oh, poor wee princess. I scowl at the bitch, and turn to Digits.

  “If you can show me the way to the shower, I’ll be fifteen minutes tops and then I’ll be gone. You can see me out if you want to be sure I’ve left empty handed.”

  “Yeah,” Princess bitches, “show her the shower, Digits. Give her a guided tour.”

  “Stay out of it, Heather.” He pinches his brow as the man mountain in front of me sighs.

  “Meeting in thirty,” the president announces over my head. “Make sure she’s gone by then.”

  He scowls down at me, his nostrils flaring, and then does the strangest thing of all. His hand lifts, and I still my breath as he reaches out and tips my chin up with two fingers, twisting my face left and right, before dropping it with a “hmph”.

  His dis-satisfaction hurts me for reasons I can’t explain. The guy’s been nothing but rude, but for some reason I wanted this ruggedly handsome man to approve of me. He simply commands that kind of challenge of wanting to be enough to make such a hard ass impressed.

  Heather drags a dramatic finger across her throat and marches toward the back of the house. I can’t hold back anymore—I stick my tongue out at her retreating form and garner a chuckle from Digits as well as a curious raised eyebrow from their president.

  “What?” I say with a half-hearted smile. “I was invited here by your guy, it’s not as though I even knew she existed, so why would I have come here to piss on her territory? She’s got nothing to worry about.”

  “Doesn’t matter who you are or what you’re here for,” the man mountain grumbles. “She’d hate you simply because you’re female.”

  “Great, just great.” One of those types. I swing my tote around in front of me and turn to Digits. “I’m ready for my shower now.”

  Sooner I get it done, sooner I can get the fuck outta here.

  FIVE

  Hooch

  “What the fuck were you thinkin’?” I crowd Digits against the wall before he can follow that sweet butt out of the parlor. “Bringin’ a stray back here when we’re in the middle of tryin’ to find out who’s dickin’ us?”

  “She’s legit.”

  “How do you know?”

  He swallows, eyes flicking to his left to where she’s presumably waiting out in the entrance.

  “Yeah,” I scoff, backing up. “You don’t, do you?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “Fuckin’ better, my man. Too much at stake for us to have let a snitch wander right through our front doors.”

  He nods, the sullen look on his face saying he gets it; he knows he fucked up. I feel shitty for grilling him when he’s just got back from running errands for the club. Fuck knows—the guy probably needed the pussy. Not that he has to look far for willing flesh.

  “Make sure you sort your shit with Heather, too, man. That gripe of hers is gettin’ a bit old.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  I nod as he leaves, the solid thud of his boots on the stairs telling me he’s taking the stray upstairs to the bathroom. My ass hits the nearest chair with a whoosh, the cushion compressing under my weight. I’ve been on a knife’s edge since that fucker Donovan showed his face in our city. Taking it out on the men won’t score me any points, and if I want them to understand that everything I did, I did for the club when it all comes to light, then I need them to believe that I’m leading with confidence. Not acting out of fear like I am currently.

  Get your shit together, boy. The old man would have squashed that DEA asshole the moment he started laying threats at our feet. But then the old man’s shit was so damn watertight the guy probably couldn’t have got anything to leverage Dad with if he’d tried.

  Keeping your skeletons hidden gets pretty damn hard when everyone’s got a key to your closet.

  “Meeting goin’ ahead?” Murphy tips his chin up in greeting as he walks in.

  “Yeah, man. Everyone’s been told.”

  “Good. Let’s hope they’ve returned bearing gifts.” He smirks and crosses to the bar. “Talk to King?”

  “Not yet.” I should. He’s the president of our mother chapter; everything should go through him.

  “Better call him tonight after we’ve wrapped up, eh brother?”

  “Sounds like a solid plan.”

  Murphy pours himself a scotch in silence, his gaze flicking up to assess me every so often. I stretch out, legs wide and arms braced on the sides of the seat. All I gotta do is remind myself I’m in charge here. This is my show. My bloodline started this fucking chapter, and my bloodline belongs at the head of the table.

  What would you have done, old man?

  More so, would he still do it now? Times are changing. Back in the day the worst they had to worry about was some scrap over an old lady. Maybe a disagreement over where to hand-off boosted goods. Times were simpler, drugs weren’t rampant in our country, and the youth still upheld the morals of their elders, understanding they had to work to earn what they wanted. Nowadays? Fuck, everyone wants something for nothing, thinks they’re entitled to it just for fucking breathing. Nobody works to earn their status, or their position in the food chain. Loyalty is hard to come by, honor even more so. Most of the reason why Murphy and the old man recruited from where they did; soldiers hold honor, live loyalty. It’s as much a part of them as the club is to second-generation kids like me.

  “Havin’ a drink?”

  I shake my head at Murphy, my thoughts already back on that earth child who Digits took upstairs. She seemed genuine enough, but I wouldn’t put it past the Wingmen to take everyone by surprise and try the softly, softly approach. It’s not their style; bashing in your door while you sleep is, but who’s to say that won’t come later anyway?

  If I want to wonder what my old man would have done, I don’t have to think hard. Fuck, I saw him do it plenty over the years: keep the enemies close. Only one way to know for sure if that woman with hair the color of leaves in fall is here to spy—keep her around for a while.

  I’ve got time for that. Can’t be too much of a hassle when she’s so easy on the eye. A nice distraction while this shit comes to a head with Donovan.

  “Something else troublin’ you?” Murphy leans both elbows on the bar, watching me carefully as he takes a swig of his drink.

  I shake my head, painting that fake-as-fuck smile on my face once more. “Nothin’, Murph. All good h
ere.”

  “Right-o.”

  He hardens his gaze to the point I can’t stand it anymore, and I rise from the chair. “See you in twenty.”

  “Aye.” He lifts his glass and dips his chin. “Here’s to finding our snake in the grass.”

  “Here’s to it.”

  SIX

  Dagne

  Seated atop the closed toilet, I stare at the brass claw-foot bath. I don’t belong here. They may be bikers; they’re probably as crooked as they come, but this lavishness? This opulence?

  Whoever Sidey is, he’s got one hell of an old lady. More to the point, she must have had one hell of a budget. Suppose funds aren’t so hard to come by when your trade is illegal.

  “Here.” Digits edges the door open, walking in with a towel and face cloth once he’s satisfied I’m still decent.

  “Thanks.”

  “I think there might be some toiletries under the basin; just help yourself.”

  “Okay.”

  He smiles shyly, and then turns to leave.

  “Why did you help me if you knew it would make your president mad?”

  He stops in the doorway, one hand on the frame and his back to me as he stares down at the floor. “Don’t worry about Hooch. He’s just got a sore head over somethin’ else.”

  “Maybe, but I know you guys aren’t the sort that like people getting involved in your business. I meant it when I said I’ll be gone the minute I’m done.”

  “Who cares what he said?” He shrugs. “Stay as long as you like. You wouldn’t hear much that isn’t public where you’re allowed anyway, so nobody’s going to think you’re imposing.” He turns slightly and runs his gaze head to toe. “Heather gives you any trouble, let me know. We’ll probably be in the chapel when you’re done, so hang around in the parlor again until I come find you.” He swallows, and sighs. Something clearly troubles him. “I’ll give you a lift into town if you still want to leave.”

  “Thanks again.”