“So, you’re really leaving?” Heidi asks, tapping her nails on the steering wheel of her car. Her eyes shift to the note I asked her to pass on to Alec. It was risky asking her, and may never get in his hands, but that’s out of my control now.
“Yep. Thanks for the ride.”
“So I can hit on Alec?” she calls after me.
Lowering myself to look through the window at her, I snort. “Like it mattered whether I was here or not. You’ve been throwing yourself at him since puberty like a desperate slut.” I smile, give her a one-finger salute, and scamper off in the direction of the bank.
“Who’s that?” my aunt asks as I approach.
“Doesn’t matter.” I hold my hand out, and she squints her beady eyes at me.
“I went ahead and got the box. It was under my name anyway.”
“You mean you wanted to see what was in it.” I laugh without humor.
“I only took half the cash—nothing else. I didn’t even open the envelope.”
Unbelievable.
She rummages through her purse, handing me a large envelope, then leans in to whisper, “I moved half the money into your account. It should set you up for some time.”
I shove the envelope in my backpack, tracking our surroundings just in case.
“Where will you go that he won’t find you?”
“He?”
“Yeah, the guy on the bike who was parked outside my house all night. He knocked on the door this morning asking if you came home yet.”
That place was never my home…he was my home.
“He won’t find me.” I swallow past the stone caught in my throat.
“He had bloody knuckles and bruises on his face,” she rushes out.
“I don’t care,” I lie. Why the hell do I care? How do I turn this shit off?
“Drew, I’m sorry about Mitch,” my aunt finally says, looking at her feet.
I turn, heading for the bus station, whispering under my breath, “Yeah, me too.”
Thirteen
Alec “The ANIMAL” Walker
Twenty-six years old
Six years later…
“Damn, looking good.” Hog whistles as three bitches walk into the bar wiggling their asses like overexcited dogs.
“Dude, she’s your sister. This isn’t Alabama motherfucker.” Glen grimaces, swiping up his beer and taking a gulp.
Stealer jabs Glen in the arm, spilling the beer he’s holding all down his face, and growls, “I’m from Alabama, asshole.”
“Yeah, don’t we know it, you ugly imbred fuck. Look what you did. You don’t waste good beer, that’s some imbred shit for ya.”
“It’s inbred, you dumb fucks. Shut the hell up and go get another round in,” I snap, kicking his chair leg, sending Glen skidding backward.
“What’s eating you?”
“Your bitch if you don’t shut the fuck up,” I snap, sick of these motherfuckers. Why did I get lumbered with the new prospects? I earned my patch, and it cost me everything. Six years it’s been without Drew. She just poofed out of fucking existence, searched everywhere for that bitch. Nothing. Time hasn’t erased the ache from missing her.
My old man swears on his patch he didn’t do anything to her, and I think I’d know if he was lying. I’d feel it if she wasn’t living, breathing. I’d know.
“That bitch behind the bar has a juicy fucking ass so I told her to bring the drinks over.” Glen grins and then leans over to me. “You nervous about this or something?”
I’ve known Glen for four years, took him under my wing when he referred to the club as a gang and got the ever-loving hell kicked out of him by my old man. He spent eight weeks in a coma, and when he was released, he came straight back to the club. I respected him for having the balls to do that. He’s been a prospect longer than anyone else, but refuses to give up on becoming a brother. If your bike breaks down at four a.m., Glen’s the first one out the door coming to pick your ass up. First one in the club door in the morning, last to leave at night. This fucker would lick your boots clean if he thought it would help the club. I’m going to be putting in my nomination for him at the next club meeting.
I don’t answer him, because he shouldn’t be asking stupid fucking questions.
Jimmy finally comes out of the back room he disappeared into an hour ago with some suited motherfucker. This place is on the outskirts of town, used for meetings when high profile members of society need something from us but don’t want the world seeing them with outlaws. There’s a back entrance and room designed to camouflage what really goes on here. By the looks of the women conjugating, word had gotten out that we’ve been spending time here. I look over to Hog, then to his sister batting her eyelashes over at us from the bar.
If he’s the big mouth who ratted out that we were here, I’m going to break his jaw. I store this away for later as Jimmy approaches.