Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(67)

Because that’s where she’d want it.

It wasn’t shocking to me that the few sitting in the scant seats did not seem to have much reaction to what made the congregation for Jean Gruenberg the “semi” part of semi-sparse.

This being the wall of bikers wearing Chaos cuts that were standing at Hound’s (who was standing at the head of the casket) back.

Those others knew Hound was hers.

The only people standing close to him, right at his back, were my boys.

They both looked to me as I approached. Jag gave me a small sad smile. Dutch watched me closely.

I gave them both my own small sad smile then turned my attention to Hound.

He only glanced at me when I arrived.

I drank him in.

“If it wasn’t you, it’d be him,” I’d teased Black long ago after the first time I’d seen Hound, then a recruit.

“Shut your mouth,” Black had said back, amusement laced in his rich voice, not having a problem with what came out of my mouth, knowing he had me.

“He’s a looker,” I’d said.

“He’s a dawg,” Black had said.

“So were you,” I reminded him.

He’d clamped a hand on my ass, open to him to do that since I was lying on him on a couch in the Compound. “Until you.”

This was very true.

I tried not to be smug but it was hard.

Black had grinned up at me.

“He’s still something,” I’d muttered, turning my head again, looking over Hound’s tall, brawny length, disheveled dark-blond hair and his intense stare with those unusual lapis blue eyes that were aimed at the pool table.

“Woman,” Black called, and I looked down at him. “He’s a good guy. Before we voted him in, coulda stuck a knife in his vein and seen his blood ran Chaos.” His hand at my ass squeezed and it was his gorgeous face that had turned smug. “He’s also smart like his brother. So don’t worry. He’ll get himself a hella good old lady.”

Black had been wrong.

But I’d tried.

I tore my gaze from the haggard but hard face Hound wore and moved to stand with Chaos. I came to a stop next to one of the brothers, who came after Black, who was standing at the end of the line whose name I wasn’t sure about, but I thought it was Roscoe.

Boz reached across him and pulled me in until I was standing between him and High, who I was happy to see had his arm around Millie’s shoulders.

Back in the day, she and I had been tight.

Then I, like everyone else, had felt the betrayal when she’d got shot of High.

Now, through Bev, my Chaos grapevine, I knew why she’d done that, and it was the right reason even if it was unbelievably heartbreaking.

I gave her a trembling smile.

For a second, she looked relieved.

Then she returned it.

Boz took my hand.

I tried really hard not to start crying.

Fortunately, I succeeded.

I saw Dog, Brick and Arlo there, and that surprised me. Bev had told me they’d moved to the western slope to expand business operations.

But it shouldn’t surprise me.

Hound had lost family.

And they were Hound’s family.

They probably rode all night to get here for this.

Bev was there too, far away from Boz. Arlo’s arm was slung around her shoulders.

She gave me a look.

I pressed my lips together, sucking them in.

Hers were trembling before she did the same but they curled up a bit, a grimace of a smile.

Bev and I both looked at the casket as someone started talking.

We stood as family for Hound.

But I stood also for Jean.

And I kept standing as they laid her to rest.

After it was over, everyone moved to Hound.

Except me.

I knew some would question it, but those ties were cut.

I definitely came there for him.

But that was the last he was getting from me.

It took a lot to do it.

But Jean would have wanted it that way.

Now it was over.

So after I went to my boys (as close as I was going to get to Hound) and kissed both their cheeks, I walked away.

I felt eyes following me, and when I got in my car, I looked back and knew which ones.

They were not Hound’s.

They were Dutch’s, which didn’t surprise me. He always had an eye on his momma.

They were also Tack’s.

And they were his beautiful, redheaded wife’s. Tyra.

I lifted my chin to them standing there, Tack’s arm around his old lady, her body twisted, front to his side, both her arms around his middle.

Tack’s first wife had been a cunt. I’d hated her.

But Tack got his name because he was sharp as a tack. He’d not make the same mistake twice.

From the look of them, I knew that still ran true.

Then I looked to the space where Jean’s casket was before they put it in the ground.

“Good-bye, sweet lady,” I whispered to my window. “Thanks for taking care of him for so long.”

With that, I started my car and drove away.





Fuck You

Keely

I didn’t see it coming.

It was unlike my boys to play it like that.

But after it was done, I’d realize why.