Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(20)
“Let’s go to my office,” he continued, turning away, “and I’ll tell you what I know.”
For a moment I only stood there, watching as he walked off, still holding up my suitcase with those pillars of strength he called shoulders.
Family. He’d called me family. True, our children had married each other, would probably someday have children of their own, but still I’d never thought of myself as part of Deuce’s family.
Not only that, but he’d referred to me as an old lady.
Hawk’s old lady. It made sense, being that I was the mother of his child, and resided in the only other place aside from this clubhouse that he’d put down any sort of roots.
But still . . . I’d never realized . . .
A warm tear slipped out from the corner of my eye and slid down my cold cheek.
Home.
Chapter Six
Jase was glad he was drunk. If he wasn’t drunk and had to listen to Deuce explain that Hawk wasn’t actually Hawk, but instead Luca Fuckachev or some such shit, the son of the head of one of the most dangerous drug and weapons cartels in the history of cartels, he might have actually been pissed off that Deuce had kept this a secret for so goddamn long, like everyone else appeared to be.
Instead, he found the entire thing pretty f*cking amusing. Especially the part about Hawk having been shot. But according to the Russians holding him hostage, he was still alive and would continue to stay alive, as long as Deuce and Preacher both agreed to their terms.
Terms that Jase wasn’t entirely aware of since he wasn’t paying much attention to Deuce. Something about guns and the East Coast, something about Preacher and his club, the Silver Demons, something about Hawk being killed if Deuce didn’t get Preacher on board, and something else about going to war with the cartel, blah, blah, f*cking blah.
It wasn’t that he wanted Hawk to die, not really. Once upon a time, when the shit had first hit the fan and he’d found out the baby he’d thought was his was actually Hawk’s, and that Hawk and Dorothy had been having an ongoing affair right under his goddamn nose, yeah, he might have wished death upon the guy once or twice.
But that was then and this was now. Now he was freshly divorced, without his kids, having spent another Christmas drunker than shit at the clubhouse, watching Bucket and his girlfriend f*ck like rabbits on the couch beside him. Good times.
So, no, he really didn’t give a f*ck if Hawk lived or died. In his opinion, if it came down to the club or Hawk, Hawk could go straight to hell. Personal feelings aside, the * wasn’t even one of them; instead, he’d been using the clubhouse to hide from the law.
“Preacher’s on his way here,” Mick announced. “He’s on board with the plan and bringing his VP and three of his boys with ’im as a show of good faith to the Russians.”
Deuce nodded his thanks in Mick’s direction, and in turn, Mick averted his eyes.
“What?” Deuce demanded. “What the f*ck is your f*ckin’ problem?”
Mick shrugged. “I’m your VP, have been since day f*ckin’ one, and even though we’ve butted heads a few time, I’ve always stood by your side. Fuck, Prez, I did time in lockup for you and you couldn’t trust me with this?” Mick shook his head. “I don’t know what to think now.”
“I never asked you to take that rap for me!” Deuce shouted. “You need to reel your f*ckin’ bullshit in, right the f*ck now!”
Mick jumped up out of his seat and slammed his clenched fists down upon the tabletop. “But I f*ckin’ did! Because your old man had just kicked the bucket and this f*ckin’ club needed some stability for f*ckin’ once, not another prez who was locked up!”
“That was almost forty f*ckin’ years ago,” Deuce said, purposely punctuating each word. Gripping the edge of the meeting table, he leaned forward, bringing him nearly nose to nose with Mick. “Why are you bringin’ this shit up now? You want me to suck your dick or somethin’?”
Normally, a comment like that would have sent the rest of the boys into a fit of laughter, followed by more lewd comments or gestures, but not today. Tension was high, and even the most lighthearted of the brothers were sitting stone faced in their seats.
“He never f*ckin’ told me,” Ripper suddenly muttered. “What the f*ck . . .”
Out of everyone crammed inside Deuce’s office, Ripper looked the most put out, even more so than Mick. Probably because he’d been the closest to Hawk, more than anyone else associated with the club.
Except for Dorothy, Jase thought bitterly. Obviously she’d been a hell of a lot closer to Hawk than Ripper had.
Deuce tore his angry stare away from Mick and pinned it on Ripper. “He was under my f*ckin’ orders not to tell a damn one of you! Do you do shit I tell you not to f*ckin’ do . . .”
Deuce trailed off and closed his eyes. “Never mind,” he said, sighing. “Of course you f*ckin’ do.”
Seated beside Ripper, Cox elbowed him in the ribs. “He’s talkin’ ’bout you f*ckin’ his daughter,” he whispered loudly. “We weren’t supposed to do that, dude, and you didn’t listen.”
Ripper shoved Cox and in turn Cox shoved Ripper, and as the two of them proceeded to shove and slap at each other like the two little girls they often acted like, the rest of the room burst into a fit of laughter. The thick tension that had been holding the entire room hostage for well over an hour seemed to evaporate. Even Deuce and Mick, who—other than Jase—were the only two club members not laughing, looked more at ease than they had only moments ago.