My brother’s bottom half of his face is covered by a skull bandana, his hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and his Hell’s March cut displayed with pride. Maybe there is some sort of twin connection between us because we did both end up in MCs, even if they are rivals. Little Varga has her hair in a french braid, the tail hanging over her shoulder, and she’s wearing a pair of dark, skinny jeans with a white, long-sleeved Henley. Her boots are rugged and adorned with chains so when she swings her leg over the chopper, they jingle with the movement.
I wonder if she misses her yellow bike, I know it’s still parked in the driveway of her family home and the oil spot still looks fresh underneath it. If my brother and Diego Montez really love her, how do they not know she rides for speed and not leisure? Why would they get her a chopper?
Seeing them both put on their helmets and start the bikes has me aching for my own. Jaeger says in a few more days, we’ll all be able to ride out as a club again, and I’ve been counting down the hours. I hate driving a car.
They pull out of the driveway and head up the street, on their way to the warehouse and I shake my head as I open the car door. There are too many looming questions over this whole situation, and if I want answers, I’ll need to hit up the weakest link.
Quinton Chino.
My bare feet pounds into the dirt as I run from my house to my cousins’, the heat from the sun hitting my skin in a wave of fire. It’s sweltering today and I don’t want to wear shoes or a top. All I want to do is swim in the lake with my cousins, but they’re taking too long to come out.
The closer I get to their house, the louder the screams become, and I skid to a stop, looking at the reservation around me. I sneak between my cousins’ house and their next-door neighbor and press myself against the wall to hear what’s happening inside. The brick scratches my back as I pant heavily from running, the coarse surface digging into my skin.
The screaming has stopped and I try to reach up to grasp the window about a foot over my head, hoping I can pull myself up to see inside. That’s when a scorching pain rips through my scalp as something grabs onto my hair and throws me to the ground. My ass hits the earth and I whimper through the pain as I look up into the angry eyes of my uncle.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to go to the lake—”
“Get away from here,” he cuts me off and points toward the road. “You’re as sneaky as your father.”
I get up quickly, not wanting to stick around too long with my uncle. He’s mean and large and always angry. I rush out to the road and continue back to my house, my heart squeezing up into my throat.
I didn’t know it then, but that would be the last day I saw my Uncle Tazo.
The memory fades from my mind as I lay on my cot, looking at the high ceilings of the warehouse. It’s been a while since I’ve thought of my uncle and his family. The screaming I heard that day was because he had been exiled for shooting Vic, even though the bullet was meant for my father. The skin of his stomach was flayed away to remove the branding every member has, and then he was told to never set foot in Arizona again.
We all have a kill-on-sight order even to this very day.
Tazo has left a stain on the legacy of the Chino men who have ridden with the Steel Dragons, but maybe it’s a defect that runs in our genes because I’ve done something just as despicable. If Tazo is still alive, I would love to ask him just how he manages to sleep at night because I am either awake in torture or passed out from alcohol.
I obviously prefer the alcoholic option.
“Chino!” Laith’s booming voice sounds ten times louder inside this warehouse which only serves to make my head pound harder. Thankfully, most of the brothers are out, and only a few of the older ones are lingering around Chip’s makeshift bar, their eyes discreetly watching us. “Get the fuck up. We need to have a chat.”
I groan and throw an arm over my face, hoping he’ll leave me the fuck alone, but I should know better than that. Laith is like a dog after a bone. The cot dips at the end of the bed, making me moan as my equilibrium is thrown off its axis.
“What do you want?” I snarl, my arm still firmly covering my face.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.” The serious tone of his voice has me finally removing my arm to squint at his face. Two of him swim in front of me and my stomach tightens with the urge to heave. “You look like trash, brother.”
“I feel it,” I admit as I push myself up to sit against the wall and stretch my legs out in front of me. “What’s going on?” My heart accelerates as I imagine something terrible happening to Genni. More terrible than what’s already been done.
“I told Jaeger something a few days before Hell’s March killed Claire and took Genni. It’s been playing heavily on my mind and I can’t seem to connect the missing pieces, but maybe you can.” His eyes narrow on me and I feel my throat constrict as I try to swallow through its sandpaper-like texture.
“What is it?” My words are spoken in a coarse whisper which has nothing to do with my dehydration. I’m suddenly scared that Laith knows exactly what happened that night, and my involvement.
Or lack thereof.
“Genni saw me in town at the pub with Kennedy and Cash the night she showed up here and confronted you.”
I hear what he’s saying but none of it makes sense. I remember that night with stunning clarity, everything is fresh as if it happened yesterday. It was the night I had Genni for the first time… and second. So I know Kennedy and Cash weren’t in Arizona because Jaeger sent them to look into Junior and who could be shaking down our dealers for their product.
“They weren’t even in Arizona.” My brows fall together as my jaw clenches. “Is this something else she was hiding?”
“I think she was telling the truth, but only for one detail.” He leans in close, his eyes boring into mine when he says, “She saw me with them.”
“You were with Kennedy and Cash? At a pub? You hardly drink.” I shake my head, trying to clear the last remnants of alcohol so I can think clearly. Nothing he’s saying is making sense.
