He scratched the back of his neck with his one good arm. The other was covered in plaster, and we were waiting to get the results back on if there had been any permanent nerve damage. At the moment he could barely grasp the handlebars of his bike, but it was still early days yet. For his sake I hoped everything healed up okay. A brother needed three things in his life: his bike, his brothers, and his old lady. Take away a man’s bike and you broke him, permanently. I’d seen it happen before.
“I should have known,” he growled out, his gaze holding mine. “I should have fucking known, Shooter. I’m the motherfuckin’ VP, it’s my job to know. I put the club and my brothers in danger. I got Butch killed.”
He sank into the chair behind him, the air leaving his body in one gust.
I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. “It wasn’t your fault—Butch’s death, that’s all on Hardy. He turned his back on his brothers, his club, and his sons.” I paused before continuing. “His son,” I corrected.
No one had a fucking clue who my real dad was. Hardy had called my mom a crack whore, and me a bastard, and well, he was right. She’d been a beautiful storm, my mom. But she’d had her problems. A chemical imbalance, a dark turn of fates, who the fuck really knew. The only thing we knew for certain was that Hardy had loved her despite the drug addictions, and the cheating. He’d moved out after my birth—apparently couldn’t stand looking at me and knowing I wasn’t his, but not wanting the shame of anyone else knowing.
The only man who had known was Rider. He’d helped set me and my brother up at the clubhouse and made sure we had everything we needed. He’d spent a long time trying to find out who my dad was—Hardy had wanted to drop me off on his doorstep when he eventually did find out—but it had never happened.
Now Mom was dead, and so was Hardy, and the truth had died with them. I’d never know who my real father was, but I was okay with that. I could live with the Hardy legacy. My mom was a Hardy and so was Butch, and I wouldn’t want to be anything less or more than them.
“He kept you out of the way,” I said to Rider, and he looked up at me, the guilt evident on his face. “I mean it when I say that it wasn’t your fault.”
A knock on the door sounded out and we looked up, seeing Charlie standing there, hands on her hips, eyes scorching through my soul.
Rider looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, brother, I ain’t got no control of that crazy bitch.” He stood up and walked toward her.
“Don’t,” she warned as he got closer. “Don’t even try that injured hero bullshit with me, Rider, not if you ever want your dick sucked again.”
Rider turned back to me with a wince and I nodded. He left the room and Charlie stormed over to me, sashaying those hips of hers with every determined step.
“You,” she said, pointing a finger right into my chest, so close her nail dug through my tee and into my skin. “You better go see my girl, you piece of shit, because if you don’t make love hearts and bunnies bounce around her like some dumb fucking cartoon then I’m going to make you suffer more than you’ve ever suffered before, Jesse fucking James!”
I took a deep breath, not happy with the way that crazy bitch was talking to me, but also knowing I damn well deserved every word of it. Still, I couldn’t have a woman talking to me like that.
“Firstly, you don’t talk to me like that again. Secondly—” I held up my hand when she tried to interrupt me. “—secondly, I’m going to make her see fucking unicorns and kittens by the time I’m done groveling to her and tearing so many orgasms out of her body that she can’t walk straight for a month. And if that don’t work, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she’s happy, with or without me.”
That last part was a lie and told purely for Charlie’s benefit. Because there was no way in hell that Laney was ever going to be with anyone but me. Every time she got with someone new, I’d put them in the ground, right up until she realized she had no choice but to be with me and she gave up.
Laney was mine, and I would spend the rest of my life making her see that, if that’s what it took.
Charlie’s scowl fell away and she threw her arms around my neck. When she pulled away she was grinning. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” She turned and left the room, leaving me alone finally.
We still didn’t know who was running the Razorbacks, and they would have to be dealt with, sooner rather than later. A war was on the horizon between us and the Reverend, and that shit was not going to be pretty. But Hardy had gone to Hades, we knew the truth about Butch’s death, and I was president of the Devil’s Highwaymen.
The day was fucked up.
But fucked up in a real good fucking way.
I pulled out my cigarettes and lit one, taking a deep pull on it. But shit didn’t taste as good as it did before. Laney hated me smoking; if I was going to win her back, that was the first thing that had to stop again. I leaned over and stubbed it out into the ashtray, and then I turned and walked out of the chapel.
Brothers stopped me as I walked through the clubhouse, patting me on the back and congratulating me on my presidency, and I thanked them right back. There’d be a party that night, no doubt—men drowning their sorrows, and cheering to the future. It would be fucked up for sure. But before anything else, I needed to go get my girl.
Casa stood by the door, leaning against the wall and waiting for me. He smiled as I got closer.
“Prez,” he said, tipping his head to me obnoxiously.
“Fuck off,” I laughed.
“Oh, you’re not too good to talk to a simple brother like me, then?”
I punched him in the stomach, hard enough to hurt but not so hard that he’d hate me, and he doubled up laughing and struggling to breathe.
“Motherfucker,” he called as I walked out the door.
“That’s President Motherfucker to you!” I called back with a laugh.
“Thought your name was Shooter now.”
I turned and looked back, pride blossoming in my chest. “Yeah, that as well.”
