“Aww, Hads, don’t try that bullshit on me, it doesn’t work.”
“Bullshit?”
“That listening thing you do, like you actually give a crap.” I’m offended, and it must show on my face. “Sorry, it’s just, talking don’t do shit. My problems don’t melt away because I’ve said them out loud.”
“How would you know?” I ask patiently as he stares at me blankly. “How would you know if it works or not? Have you ever tried talking about things?”
“I don’t need to try it to know it doesn’t work. Are you gonna save my mum?”
I frown. He didn’t mean to mention her and his face shows it instantly. I decide to tread lightly. “Parents can be hard work, especially if they don’t want the help.” I remember my mum talking about Grim’s mum, Carol, in the past. She’s an addict, and Grim’s dad took custody of him when he was young. “I can’t believe she’s still around,” I add, then wince at how that sounds. “I mean, in your life.”
“She isn’t,” he mutters, handing me the now empty coffee cup and standing. “Don’t tell anyone about her, Hads. I like my life to stay private.”
“Even from the club?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Especially from the club.”
He stomps away and disappears back inside. He’s troubled, and I know his mum is the cause of it.
CHAPTER TWO
GRIM
My head is pounding almost as loud as Ghost is banging on this customer’s door. “I thought they called you Ghost on account you’re quiet, no one sees you coming.”
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging.
“I don’t know when you’re ever fucking stealthy,” I mutter, rubbing my tired eyes with irritation. “Everything about you is loud. Even the steps you take are like fucking elephants.”
Ghost laughs. “Someone got out the wrong side of the bed. Whose bed is the real question.”
I glare at him, my thoughts turning to Meli and what we did last night. “Let’s not talk for a while, you’re getting on my nerves.”
The door opens and the guy behind it sighs heavily. “I don’t have it.”
I groan. “I gave you a week, man.”
“It’s not long enough.”
“I can’t go back and tell Mr. Taylor that,” I snap. “He’ll send me back here to cut your throat.”
The guy pales, and I feel for him. He’s got small kids and a wife to take care of, and the loan was to help with living costs. Apparently, raising kids isn’t cheap these days. “How long do you need?” I ask on a sigh, and he looks hopeful.
“Another week?”
I nod once and turn to leave. Ghost rushes after me. “Are you joking? Arthur will have our nuts.”
“Fuck Arthur. I’m not in the mood for this shit today.”
Mav is waiting by the bikes, and he looks up as we exit the building. “That was quick. You get the money?”
I shake my head, and his mouth falls open in shock. “Arthur’s gonna explode. This guy’s taking liberties.”
“It makes no sense to me how we help vulnerable women in the community yet we’re gonna beat this guy, which will only upset his woman,” I argue. “He doesn’t have the money, so what the fuck can I do about it? I’m not Arthur’s henchman, so if he wants to dish out a beating, let him do it.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mav asks. “You’ve been a moody bastard all day. You know that guy isn’t innocent. He used the cash to buy drugs to sell. He should have the cash to pay his debts off.”
I throw my leg over my bike. “Then go get it, Mav.”
“Pres!” he reminds me. “Go home. You’re no fucking use to me today,” he mutters.
I ride off without responding. I’ve got too much on my mind and collecting debts for Arthur fucking Taylor isn’t my priority.
Stopping my bike outside the cemetery, I get off and head straight for my old man’s grave. Coming here helps—I like the peace it offers. There’re fresh roses, no doubt laid by one of the ol’ ladies. I know Mama B comes here a lot to sit with Eagle and always lays flowers for him, even though he was a dick. Then, she secretly visits Viper, the club’s Vice President back when Mav and I were still kids. When Mav was just ten years old, he was ordered to put a bullet in Viper, after it came to light that he and Brea were having an affair. She also lays flowers for Crow, her and Viper’s son. He isn’t buried here, instead resting in hell under a fuck load of concrete, but I guess she needs somewhere to pay her respects.
I lower to the damp grass, resting my back against my dad’s headstone. “How’s it going, old man?” I ask aloud. “I’m having the week from hell, but I guess you already know that, right?” An elderly couple passes, nodding their heads to me in greeting. Once they’re out of earshot, I lean my head back and stare up at the blue sky. “If she’s gonna die, I wish she’d just go already. I feel like it’s a waiting game. Every week, I turn up there and see the same shit. I hold my damn breath when I touch her, expecting to feel her cold and stiff. And if she ain’t gonna die, why won’t she accept help and get better?”
A magpie calls out as it swoops over and lands on a nearby gravestone. “If that’s your sign, it’s not enough. I know what you’re trying to say. You think I should wash my hands of her, but how can I, Pops?” It was my nickname for him as I got older. “If you were still here, you’d be checking in on her too. She was your ol’ lady at one point, and you committed to watching her even when she fucked up. And now, that’s passed to me.” I sigh heavily. “I hate this worry. It never leaves my chest, Pops.”
HADLEY
Faith gives me a worried look as I grab hold of her hand and carefully push the front door open. It was my idea to come here and see if I could talk to Grim’s mum, but I’m having doubts now I’m here. I also dragged poor Faith along for the ride because she hardly ever leaves the clubhouse since we helped her through a traumatic time in her life.
Going inside, we find her apartment door open too, and as I step farther in, I pinch my nose. The place stinks and there’s discarded belongings everywhere. “I bet there’s rats in here,” whispers Faith.
“Probably,” I agree, noticing food waste littered around the place. There’s a guy lying face-down on the kitchen table with a used needle in his hand. “Oh Christ,” I mutter.
The next room has a door half hanging from its hinges. Inside is Grim’s mum, slumped in a chair, strung out. She looks thinner and more tired than I remember, but I was a little girl last time she was around. She hasn’t aged well and her hair is hanging in her face in straggly, greasy clumps. As I step into the room, I notice a guy standing in the corner, emptying dresser drawers onto the floor. He stops, staring wide eyed at me. “I need cash,” he snaps, and Faith squeezes my arm in panic.
“I don’t have—”
“Now!” he screams, dropping the drawer and moving towards me. I fumble in my bag, pulling out a crumpled banknote. He snatches it without checking the amount and runs out.