Hurt flickered across her face but she covered it well and nodded. “Okay,” she whispered and pushed her chair back to stand. Looking down at me, she said, “But if you need me, all you have to do is call.”
As relief filled me that she’d listened, I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder and gave me one last smile. “I’m always here for you, Evie. I just wish I could take away all the bad shit for you.”
I gave her a weak smile and nodded. “I know, babe. I know.”
When the front door closed shut a couple of moments later, I took a deep breath and then pushed it back out. My heart sat heavy in my chest. Over the years, so many people had stomped on it, but this felt the worst.
Maybe it had finally taken one too many beatings.
Maybe the patches I’d given it were no longer enough to hold it together.
Maybe it needed more than bandages to put it back together.
And if that was the case, I was screwed.
Love had packed up and walked out of my life a long time ago.
Chapter Two
Kick
“You ready to fuck some assholes up?” King asked me as he passed me a beer.
I took the drink and drank some before asking him, “Who?”
He shifted forward in his seat to speak which was a good thing. Even though it was only eleven in the morning, it was busy in the clubhouse bar and the noise, combined with the deafness in my left ear, made it hard for me to hear what he was saying.
“Someone who fucked with someone I love. And whoever is with him when we get to him.” He took a swig of his beer and sat patiently waiting for my answer.
I didn’t ask him any further questions. I never did. When King had a job for me, I did it without hesitation. Looking at my President now, I thought back to the first day I’d met him. Thirteen years ago. I’d been twenty-two and he’d only been a couple of years older, but, even back then, he’d been a law unto himself. He wasn’t our President at the time, but all the boys knew he’d be the next one.
“You in on this or do you want me to go alone?” I asked.
He grinned his wicked fucking grin that told me he wouldn’t miss this for the world. King was a bloodthirsty motherfucker and liked to be hands-on whenever he could. “I’m in and we do this tonight. Meet me at the clubhouse at midnight.”
I nodded and silently drank more of my beer. Drinking with King was easy. He was a man of few words – one of his best traits as far as I was concerned. I’d never had a problem or disagreement with him, unlike a lot of the club members. He was a hard man and expected a lot, but if you kept your head down and got the shit done he needed you to, then you were all good. King and I were good.
After a couple of silent moments, he said, “Heard you were heading out to a funeral today. Were you close to him?”
Regret punched me in the gut.
Was I close to him?
I should have been fucking closer and that shit was on me, not Jeremy.
It was my fault that, when he’d died, he hadn’t known how fucking sorry I was that we’d spent the last five years not having each other’s backs. “Yeah, brother. We grew up together and he helped me through a lot of shit. But we kinda lost track of each other for a while there. Only just got back in touch three months ago.”
“Fuck,” he muttered. The emotion that momentarily crossed his face was more than I’d seen on it in months. That surprised the hell out of me; the only emotions King tended to exhibit were anger or a manic-like excitement. King wasn’t full of deep emotions. Well, not that I’d ever seen.
“He died in a car accident. Drunk driver took him out.”
“Motherfucker,” he snarled as he abruptly stood up. Looking down at me with a feral look, he said, “You find the cunt that did it, bring that name to me, and I will make fucking sure he never does it again.”
I stared up at him, unsure where his sudden outburst had come from, and simply nodded.
He leant his hand on the table and dipped his head towards mine. “We clear, Kick? I want that fucking name.”