Sinking back into the bench seat, I tilted my head so I could watch Keys who, in one hand had his cell, and in the other, his ever present key ring—he was like my Daddy Flame who was always flickering a lighter on and off. I often wondered if, in the years he’d spent living with us after Rodeo had gone to prison, he’d picked up on the habit then.
As I watched him jangle the keys, his knee bobbing up and down constantly, I wondered if I had him forever like this or if it was just for a short while.
Deciding that wasn’t something within my control, and that they’d have to come to me if they weren’t happy with the kind of relationship I wanted, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind to take my thoughts off that horrible track:
“Why would my dad question if Kenzie was pregnant or not?”
Keys frowned down at his phone. “What do you mean?”
“Ink was talking to him earlier. I heard Dad say that the bruises were makeup and that she was actually pregnant. What’s going on?”
Keys’ eyes flared wide. “The bruises were painted on?”
I shrugged. “Apparently.”
“Fuck. What the hell is her game?”
“Explain,” I grumbled, aware that I was in the dark and hating it.
“The second we made it into Corpus Christi, Kenzie was like a different girl. She got off the bike, Saint helped her, and she flinched. Like you’d expect really. She’d just been beaten, after all.
“Then I texted you for a little while, went into the diner, and Long John and Crocker were hanging out with her and Saint. When I sat down, it was like nothing had changed. She was bitchy and mean.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Then, when we made it back to the clubhouse, she was ragging on me because she knew I was going to come visit you.”
I’d never liked Kenzie, but she was Keys’ sister. It wasn’t like you could pick who your blood was, but I’d always just stayed out of her way.
Not that it had been too hard, considering she was Saint’s age and avoided me too because she hated me. I mean, I’d never done anything to her, but you’d never know from the cruel shit she’d throw at me. I thought it was because I got a lot of attention in the MC—most of it unwanted. All the brothers knew my backstory, and had been told to guard me on pain of death. Most of them veered around me with a ten-foot bargepole, and if they cursed around me? Jesus, it was like God himself would smack them down.
For whatever reason, she’d always been jealous, and I’d never understood it, but hell, hatred was never rational, was it? Not really.
“So, she went from being meek and mild to queen bitch within a handful of minutes,” he concluded, shaking his head. “The whole shit with the bruises though? That’s beyond messed up.”
“Yeah. My mom’s dealing with her apparently.”
Keys hissed, “Fuck. I wouldn’t wish your ma on my worst enemy.”
My lips twitched. “Me neither. Are you upset?”
“No. Mostly just that she might have fucked up. Although, why the hell she’d pretend to have been beaten, and why Hex—he’s her old man—wouldn’t have called her on it, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I swear, that girl always did attract trouble like shit attracts flies.”
I grimaced because he wasn’t wrong. Kenzie had an attitude problem, but she was also just plain mean. I’d been glad when she’d run off, and yeah, I knew that sounded nasty but damn, it was just nice not to run into her at the clubhouse.
He reached over and grabbed my hand. “You okay? Saint told me about the raid.”
“Dad said they wrecked my room.” I winced. “I mean, I’m not too bothered about the stuff, you know? It’s not like it can’t be replaced. Just… do you think they’ll have looked at my drawings?”
“Maybe.” He blew out a breath. “But if you’re worried about that causing trouble for the club…”
I dipped my chin. “Yeah.”
“Then I doubt it. To them, it’s just art, you know? Not like it can be used as evidence.”
I swallowed back my fears, relieved that the way I expressed myself couldn’t be used against my family. It was silly to fret, really. In those private notebooks, I didn’t sketch in my usual way. It was more sharp colors, slashing strokes, less of a portrait and more emotive. Not hyperreal but surreal.
Wanting to forget about those pictures that depicted things that my soul endured, I asked, “Do you know what’s happening there?”
He shot me a knowing look. “You and I both know they tell prospects shit. I don’t think Saint knows all that much either, so they’re keeping it at council level until they call church.”
Nodding, I watched as Seamus and Matty made a mess in the neat expanse of lawn that was Ink’s front yard. Momma had brought a crap ton of toys with her, knowing what the two hellions were like, and at the moment, Twister, of all things, seemed to be holding their attention.
I had to admit, it was funny. Watching their small bodies contort, then, unable to hit the dots, fall into the mat with a squeal of giggles. I loved my brothers, truly, I did. They were little nightmares, and we weren’t as close as we could have been thanks to the age gap, but I’d kill for them. Kill to keep them safe.
Normal people said that all the time. But they didn’t expect to be held to that promise.
Me?
I made that promise knowing I might have to do something terrible to keep the ones I loved safe.
We’d had no wars come to our door for a long time. Maybe we were due for this issue with the cops, and maybe this was just the cycle of things. You couldn’t do what my family did for long without coming to the attention of someone, be it the good or the bad guys.
Take Aaron’s father, for example. When my daddies had snuffed out his life, it had wiped out a debt that my mother’s stepfather had placed on her shoulders. The cartel who’d been hunting my momma down, wanted Ramon dead, and he’d been living on borrowed time. To the Guerrera Cartel, getting rid of Ramon was a favor of all things.
Yeah, that was the world I lived in.
A blood debt canceled out by another blood debt.
Although, that was with the Mexicans, and they definitely tended to do things their own distinctly unique way.
“You’re thinking.”
My lips twitched as I cut him a look. “I tend to do that a lot.”
He shivered. “Dangerous.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
My ass was aching from the chair we were sitting on. It was a simple bench seat, but the planks of wood had definitely made a pattern for themselves on my butt cheeks. Still, it was worth it to sit out here.
The fact that Ink had given this up for me was pretty mind-blowing. The silence here was just phenomenal. I hadn’t truly realized how noisy the clubhouse was until last night.
The first night I’d spent off the compound in over six years.
God, I needed to broaden my horizons, and sleeping in a house about twenty minutes away from my parents’ place wasn’t the way to do it.
Itchy feet. That’s what my granddad would call it, and maybe he was right. My blood was forged from biker royalty, after all, and my line had spent a quarter of their lives on the open road, yet me? I was stuck in a two-town area. But I wasn’t questioning anything else, just my presence here.