Dutch (BLP Motorcycle Clubs #4)

26. Makari

Days later, Dutch invited me to lunch so we could talk. He sat across from me, his broad shoulder filling out that damn leather jacket even in this heat. He watched me with those hazel eyes, the tension sharp enough to cut this half-eaten sandwich in front of me.

"I need to apologize," he began.

Here we go. I arched an eyebrow. "For what? Because the list is hella long at this point."

"Everything. Not being here when you needed me, the lies, choosing the club over you. Should I keep going?"

Damn, he wasn't joking . My chest tightened at his sincerity as I struggled to find words.

"I know I made a lot of mistakes, big ones, and unfortunately, I can't take them back. Still, I want you to know I understand how much I hurt you in certain situations when I thought I was protecting you.

I fiddled with my straw, not sure how I would respond. Though his eyes were vulnerable, part of me wanted to throw lemonade in his face and keep it moving. Still, I loved this man, and I heard the rawness in his voice.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. I just need you to know I'm sorry, and I'm willing to do anything to make things right between us."

I watched him, wondering if he was still the smooth-talking nigga I met years ago, but all I saw was Dutch stripped bare with his heart on the table.

"That was a lot to process," I managed to say.

Dutch nodded. "I know. I'm not going anywhere, so take your time."

Despite everything, I believed him. I took a deep breath, trying to process my emotions. "I appreciate your honesty, but you need to understand it's not just about the past. It's the future. The MC life is so unstable."

"That's another thing I wanted to talk about. I'm ready to leave that behind. I'm choosing you."

My eyes widened. "What?"

He nodded. "Yeah, Sons of Shadows, I'm done. I want a fresh start."

"That's your world, Dutch, your family," I insisted.

"You're my family, not the club. The power, none of it, means anything if I don't have you."

His words hit me like a freight train. I knew what the MC meant to Dutch. It had been deeply ingrained into his life after he lost his career.

"Are you serious?" I asked, allowing his words to sink in.

The anger I'd been wearing like a second skin loosened its grip on me. I looked at Dutch for the first time, seeing past the worry lines around his eyes and the scar over his left eyebrow, seeing the man underneath.

"I get it now. Malakai, Jahlil, and even you were all trying to survive in a world that didn't give you many options. It was like you all were in a fucked-up machine, and yeah, you made choices, but it was rigged from the beginning."

The rumbling of motorcycles caught our attention and grew louder. Two cops on motorcycles escorting a hearse followed by a procession. It was the Red Scorpions, rolling through like a dark cloud.

The server approached, filling our water glasses. "I heard their President passed. This must be his funeral," he stated before walking away.

We watched as they took a final ride for one of their own. They wore their cuts and their patches as an allegiance of loss.

"Jahlil's funeral looks like the whole charter showed up," Dutch commented.

I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away. I never got to bury Malakai. I couldn't afford a funeral and had to opt for cremation. I turned back to Dutch as the last of the procession faded into the distance.

We sat in silence for a moment, processing, maybe even paying our last respects.

I broke the silence first. "Seeing the hearse, hit differently."

Dutch nodded. "I know. It's fucked up."

I stared into my lemonade. Jahlil's face flashed in my mind, not as the hardened man but as the goofy kid who would sneak me candy when Malakai wasn't looking.

"Jahlil wasn't always what he became. When we were younger, he always tried to keep me out of Malakai's bullshit."

"How so?"

I didn't know it then, but in hindsight, he would sometimes tell Malakai to leave me behind. "I guess he was protecting me."

"Sounded like he cared," Dutch replied.

"Lot of good it did in the end," I snapped. "I'm sorry, it's complicated."

"I understand, but you can totally mourn someone and still be pissed at them."

Dutch's words hit home, and suddenly, I was telling everything. "You should've seen him that day, Dutch. He was broken and desperate. He begged me to burn the ledger to save my life. He even gave me a lighter. Like I said earlier, in hindsight, he'd always tried to warn me without full-on telling me. I just never caught the hints. He wanted me to make things right, even if it meant burning it up.”

"That's deep, like when he popped up at your shop that day," Dutch replied.

"Exactly," I confirmed.

Dutch reached across the table. The gesture surprised me, but I didn't pull away. "I'm sorry, baby, for my part in this mess."

I looked at our hands. "We all have blood on our hands. Maybe it's time to wash them."

He smiled. "Are you suggesting we go straight?"

"I don't know. I kind of like you in leather." I laughed.

I sipped my lemonade, mind steel-reeling that Jahlil had died.

"Hey, can I take you to dinner if you aren't sick of me yet?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fool, we just ate lunch, but dinner sounds nice."

Dutch and I sat in our own little bubble as the cafe was busy around us. I found myself tracing his palm with my fingertip.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

I shrugged. "I just wondered if your bloodline was as messed up as mine."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Knowing my track record, probably worse."

"I don't know. We've been through some shit." I laughed.

"Not anymore, if I can help it."

I couldn't argue with that. Instead, I nodded a smile, tugging at my lips. Dutch threw some bills on the table and stood up, offering me his hand, and I allowed him to pull me to my feet.

"Come on, let's do some old people shit and go take a nap." He laughed.