Chapter 4
Gravedigger
Looking around my house, because it is that, even if I signed it over to my son before walking away, I know I made more than my share of mistakes but living here surrounded by ghosts for as long as I did ranks pretty fucking high on that list.
Bull has made a lot of upgrades around here, which tells me he planned to stay long before meeting Margo. I smile at the thought of the spitfire he’s claimed and wonder how long it’ll be before I’m a grandpa.
Like my father, I was born and raised in this house, taking over his funeral business when he retired in his mid-fifties. His big plan was to move down Florida to live out his days, but God’s twisted sense of humor struck and my father died the day he and Mom were moving into their new apartment.
I had long since been using our funeral business to cremate bodies for the Kings, which was a huge point of contention between us, but it’s not like he was ever going to turn me in. Living at the clubhouse in my late teens and early twenties was probably the highlight of my early life.
God, the pussy, the drugs, and the shit we pulled off. I grin thinking about those days and the men by my side. My younger brother, Damien, wasn’t wired the same as me and although he was also a King, he spent most of that time as a nomad.
Ending my tour in the master bedroom, my eyes fall on one of my ex-wife’s paintings. I loved that woman from the moment I saw her.
She was barely eighteen and competing in the rodeo down in Deadwood. Lacy’s whole family were competitors and entertainers, roaming from town to town, following the prize money wherever it took them.
I made my life as a biker sound like just the adventure she craved, only it came with a homebase attached. I was pussy-whipped from the first time I fucked her and started punching holes in my condoms, desperate to get her pregnant so she’d feel like she had to hang up her spurs and stay.
It worked for a time. I’d like to think she did love me, but never as much as she loved our boy. In the end, after one broken promise too many, not even Stryker was enough to make her stay.
Looking up at the trap door leading to the attic, I smile thinking about the rest of the things she left, surprised that Stryker never bothered to look up there. Maybe he’ll get around to it as he continues renovating this place.
My phone rings and I answer it even though I don’t recognize the number.
“Welcome back,” Frost says.
“How’s life?” I ask my oldest friend.
“Oh, you know, just living the dream, following your son and his buddies around,” he answers, sounding more than little annoyed.
“It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t be voted in as president,” I tell him, knowing that while Frost can be a hard ass, he’s a solid earner and loyal brother.
“Yeah, that was a kick in the ass. Or a knife in the back. You pick.” His heavy exhale tells me that he’s ready to change the subject. “I would have appreciated a heads up that Balo was free.”
“I came as soon as I found out. Unfortunately, he’s had a head start.”
“Too big of one,” Frost responds. “Sounds like he sunk his claws into Kent County and now is holding Rage.”
“When the fuck did that happen?” I nearly yell as my heart freezes for a moment before I force myself to continue moving for my SUV. Christ. Not Rage.
“We just found out, but it’s probably been two or three days,” he tells me, continuing to fill me in even as I grab the file I was looking for and head over to the clubhouse.
It’s time to ride with the Kings again.
*
“Not now,” Bull snarls when I walk into the clubhouse.
“I heard about Rage. What are you still doing here?”
“We have a plan. One that doesn’t involve riding into Kent and turning it into the O.K. Corral.”
“This is my fight,” I growl out the words, ignoring the whispers and shocked looks from the others in the room, not to mention the anger on my son’s face. I take a deep breath, knowing I’d have knocked the lights out of any man who came barreling in here and questioning me when I was president. “As much as it is yours. Balo’s out for my blood, mine and Damien’s.”
“Well, he’s a bit late on that count, isn’t he?”
Despite his words, I see a flash of pain pass across his face at the mention of my younger brother. To say that he adored his uncle is an understatement.
