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“Come on in, then,” Mom tries to sound sweet even though it doesn’t ring true. “I just made some sandwiches for lunch.” She eyes me, the judgement there feeling like a spotlight on all my flaws. “I’m sure you didn’t come by first thing because you were up far too late at that place,” she sneers before trying to pull it back, “and I’m sure you missed breakfast.”
I narrow my eyes as I push down the words I want to spit at the woman in front of me. Every time I see her it becomes more difficult to look at her like my mom. She wasn’t always like this. Is this what death does to someone? Dad and Mom were in love, and it ran deep, but the way she’s changed since he passed is something he would hate.
Does she ever think about that?
Does she even care?
I give a curt nod before throwing my arm around Emma’s shoulder as Mom turns and practically stomps back into the kitchen. I kiss the side of my sister’s head and whisper, “I’m damn proud of you Emma. Dad would be too.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. The way she wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes is enough.
After lunch I need to figure out how to track down Emery. Then I’ll work on how I’m going to break it to Mom that I’m not going back out to the rig. She’s not going to be happy, but I can’t do it anymore.
I’ve missed too much time by being out there. I can’t keep living my life with only glimpses of the way the world has moved forward when I’m on shore leave.
CHAPTER 5
EMERY
Do those cheesy disguises people put on in movies—like a hat, trench coat, and sunglasses—work? It would be too late for me to use one now, all things considered, but I really wish I knew if they worked and then could produce them out of my ass if the answer is yes. Since I don’t know and don’t have those things, the only thing I can do is scrunch my shoulders closer to my ears, as if that will help, and hunch down into the chair I’m sitting in.
Because we’re not in an office meeting with a PI. Nope. Aunt Dot, in her infinite wisdom, brought me to the Devil’s Saints MC clubhouse.
I was shocked as hell when she picked me up from the shop after work and then drove to the clubhouse like it’s fucking normal for her. As she gave a wide smile to the man watching the gate, I have no doubt that my jaw was hanging so far open you could see my still intact tonsils.
There was not a hint of trepidation in her voice when she told the guy, “I’m friends with Apostle and I work with his old lady, Sioux.”
Then he let us in. Without any more questions being asked.
I hissed, “What the fuck, Aunt Dot?”
“Language,” she admonished me with a click of her tongue added in for good measure. Then she shook her little shoulders like she was hot shit and informed me, “Just like I told the nice young man at the gate, I know one of the brothers here. His road name is Apostle,” she informed me as an aside like it was perfectly understandable that she just used the term ‘road name’. Then she chirped, “He’s one of the club’s enforcers.”
I made a strangled sound in the back of my throat that had her looking at me like I was the one who wasn’t right in the head. Yeah, I was clearly not the problem and I’m definitely not the problem now.
Because Aunt Dot is sitting at a table in the large common room of the warehouse which has been renovated for the purposes of the DSMC without a care in the world. Did something happen to me this morning and I’m dreaming? Or someone uploaded the wrong program for the virtual reality simulator I’m stuck in?
Both feel like much more plausible explanations as to why I’m sitting in the DSMC clubhouse right now while waiting for Apostle, his woman, or someone else to show up and talk to us. Let’s not even touch on the fact that I know Loot, who is probably around here somewhere. Nope, I’m too busy sending up little prayers that I don’t see Kade.
That’s the very last fucking thing I need.
I lean toward my aunt while still trying to keep myself as small as possible and hiss, “Who are you right now?”
Aunt Dot looks at me, a quizzical expression on her face as she takes in my posture and shifty eyes. She doesn’t look uncomfortable at all. In fact, she looks like she’s happier than a pig in shit. Her shoulders are back, and she’s taken more than one drink from the beer sitting in front of her.
A beer which was delivered by a very young man wearing a cut with ‘Prospect’ on the front. Oh, and he winked at her. Fucking winked.
What did my Aunt hussy do? She tittered like a schoolgirl and chided him, “I’m far too much woman for you, young man.”
That little quip was followed up with a wink of her own. A wink!
As if I wasn’t wishing for the ground to swallow me up before that little display because of the fear of seeing Kade. Then I had to witness that little display.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Aunt Dot waves off my question with a twist of her wrist in the air like she’s simply swatting away an annoying fly.
I keep my voice low, disbelief coloring the question, “Have you been here before?”
“No,” she admits and looks around at a few of the men who are hanging out in the bar area, “but if I had realized there were more men who look just as good, if not better, than Apostle, you better believe that I would have insisted on coming by sooner.”
