“Sons of Templar has a connection with Russians,” Hades explained patiently. “They ship the guns to us in pieces. Club picks up the containers, each chapter receives their quota, assembles the guns then we deliver them to our contacts.”
I digested that. “So you sell and distribute black market guns?” I clarified.
“We do.”
“And you do other things too?” I asked.
He paused, looking pointedly at me. Just briefly. “You don’t have more to say about the gun shit?”
I considered that. “No.” I adjusted so I could fully look at his face, finding that it was carefully blank. “What more do you think I should ask?”
“Thought you’d have somethin’ to say about criminals using those guns to do evil shit.”
“Criminals can buy their guns at Walmart to do evil shit,” I shrugged. “You’re not responsible for the sins of others.”
“I’m responsible for my own, though,” he muttered.
I frowned at him. “What else? What else does the club do?”
“Security,” he stated after another pause. “Work as muscle if needed. Don’t tangle ourselves in drugs often since it gets messy, but there has been an occasion or two. We don’t fuck with women, with children, but that’s about it. That’s where our line is. Anything else, anyone else, is fair fuckin’ game.”
There was no shame in his voice, no regret. He wasn’t trying to scare me off with the truth. He was just telling the truth. No sugarcoating, which I was happy about.
I thought about everything he’d said. About the guns. About the violence. It was probably a lot more complicated than what he’d just condensed into a handful of sentences. I then thought about Macy. Hansen. Jagger. Caroline. Their kids. Gwen and Amy. Swiss. Elden. Anderson. The brotherhood. The family. The home for the misfits that society looked down on. Yeah, I could relate to that a whole fucking bunch.
There were a lot of things I could’ve said right then. I could have asked a bunch more questions, demanded to know every detail. But that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change how I felt about Hades. Wouldn’t change what I felt about everyone I’d met connected to the club.
“Okay,” I said finally.
“Okay? Hades asked. “That’s it?”
I settled back into his chest, sighing. “Yeah, that’s it.”
I got the feeling he was going to say something else since his body was still taut and tense. But after a few seconds, he settled back into the mattress and his arms tightened around me.
“Okay, he murmured, his lips in my hair.
Then I fell into a dreamless sleep.
“You’re here!” I screamed, running down the driveway and damn near yanking my Aunt V out of her car.
“I’m here!” she screamed back.
We hugged for a long time. I relaxed into her smell, Chanel No.5, the only perfume she’d ever worn. Her grip was tight, firm and soothing. I realized that it was the very first hug we’d shared where I was completely relaxed, where I wasn’t waiting for it to be over.
She let me go and something shifted behind her glassy eyes, making me wonder if she’d noticed it too.
“You look amazing,” I told my aunt honestly, my eyes running over her petite frame. She was shorter than me, even wearing heels. Which she always wore. No matter what.
Her auburn hair was hair sprayed within an inch of its life and pulled back off her face so it tumbled down her back. Her makeup was immaculate and subtle, her skin glowing thanks to a lifetime of SPF and a religious skin care routine. There were lines on her face, though shallow and only adding to her beauty.
She was trim because she exercised daily and followed a strict diet. Every one of her slender and manicured fingers held a gold ring, glittering with one gemstone or another. She wore all black today, which is what she always wore when traveling. Said it was effortless, comfortable and classy. She definitely looked that.
“Me?” she scoffed, her eyes running over me. “Look at you. You’re glowing, honey!” Her shrewd gaze then found its way to the man who hadn’t sprinted out of the house like a madman the second her car pulled into the driveway.
“Holy fuck,” Aunt V murmured under her breath.
Aunt V, as a rule, didn’t swear. There were exceptions, and Hades was the ultimate exception.
He was wearing black, as always, and his Sons of Templar cut. I hadn’t asked him not to wear it because I’d sooner have him peel off his skin or remove his tattoos. His cut was a part of him. I’d wanted him to meet my aunt exactly as he was. Aunt V was a smart woman; she’d see exactly who he was which was completely wonderful.
“Aunt V, this is Hades,” I gestured to my man, suddenly nervous.
“Hades,” she parroted.
He nodded once.
“No, God didn’t have a hand in this,” she waved her hand up and down his body. “Only the Devil himself is smart and wicked enough to craft something so succulent.”