Page 18 of Goose

Give Tito my laptop and tell him to wipe the hard drive clean before he sets it on fire. Make sure Baker gets my music collection, although it’s not much. Give that crazy-assed Reno my guns, because you’ve got too many of ‘em as it is. And Cash? Just give that big dumb prick a hug and then slap him in the nuts.

Give Kim and Andy and whoever else might be around a hug and tell them I love ‘em like sisters. Don’t know how often I’ll update this letter, but knowing me, it won’t be very often.

Tell the fellas I love ‘em, and live your life knowing I love you, too, Brother.

Abby and I will see you on the other side whenever you show up. Until then, I’ll keep an eye on you and the fellas the best I’m able.

Ghost (A real one now, I guess)”

I’d practiced reading it enough times throughout the night that I was able to do so without becoming too emotional. I folded the letter, laid it in my lap, and looked up.

Baker laughed and cried at the same time. “Fucker called you Gordon. If anyone knows how much you hate that name, he does.”

I coughed out a laugh and almost joined Baker in shedding tears. Almost. “Broke his fucking wrist with an axe handle over it.”

He wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm. “And he’s making you deliver the car? That’s funnier than hell.”

“It wasn’t that funny,” I said dryly. “Already delivered it.”

“He must have thought highly of George. I hope he takes care of it.”

“I’m sure he will.” I leaned over the edge of the desk and handed him the letter. “That’s a copy I made. You can keep it.”

He unfolded the letter and studied it.

“Did you know Ghost built a car for that guy?” I asked.

He set the letter aside. “What guy?”

“George.”

“He never mentioned it, no.”

“He did. A Mercury Marauder. Saw pictures of it. Bad ass motherfucker, as far as cars go.”

“I’ll be damned,” he said.

“You ever meet Him?” I asked. “That George fella?”

“Ghost mentioned him a few times, but I never met him, no.”

“In case you didn’t catch it in that letter, he left him half of his money. Let me tell you what. Half’s a whole hell of a lot.”

“If Abby left him that house, I’m guessing she left him a sizeable sum of money, too. She made millions. Maybe tens of millions.”

I raised my brows.

He raised his. “More?”

“Yep.”

“Good for her,” he said. “Good for you, too. I guess.”

His gaze went blank for a moment. He looked up. “Don’t know that I’d tell the rest of the fellas that you got any money. Definitely don’t say how much. Might cause some—”

“Hadn’t planned on it,” I said. “Knew you wouldn’t give a fuck, though.”

Baker didn’t care about money. He gave away most of what he earned. He was a modern-day Robin Hood, of sorts. Some of the other fellas weren’t as disconnected from their earnings. Cash, for instance, had one concern with the club’s business: when am I going to get my money? The rest of the fellas landed somewhere between Baker and Cash.