Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
JOHNNY “HAWK” MANN
As soon as I hear Jo turn the water on in the shower, I swipe a hand over my face and mutter a curse. A million fucking thoughts crowd my head, making it impossible for me to think straight. It’s like I’m back in the fucking sand with blood on my hands, only this time it’s Andrew’s blood that stains them and taking his sister in for the night won’t fucking ease my conscience.
I pull my hands away from my face and my eyes land on Chestnut who lays next to the closed door. Moving away from the bathroom, I make my way toward him. He doesn’t lift his head or anything as I crouch down beside him.
Poor dog.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I whisper hoarsely. He lifts his head, his dark eyes finding mine. The thing about animals, especially service dogs, they’re perceptive as fuck. They have the uncanny ability to see through a person’s bullshit and right now, Chestnut looks at me like I’m full of shit.
He ain’t wrong.
I rub behind his ears, glancing over my shoulder, at the bed where I laid out a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweats for Jo to wear once she’s finished with her shower. Since I took her number out of Andrew’s phone, there have been many times where I’ve wanted to pick up the phone to call her, and not only because Andrew was suffering, and I was worried about him.
No, my motives were mostly selfish.
I wanted to hear her voice.
I wanted to apologize for running out on her.
For ignoring her after I did.
But I stopped myself every time my fingers itched to call her. Our relationship—if you could even call it—wasn’t like that. All we had were letters and care packages that stopped once my boots touched America’s soil.
I had one shot at keeping the lines of communication open between us, but I botched it when I let her brother get in my head and I left her aunt’s house without so much as a goodbye. If I had called her to tell her about her brother, she’d probably would’ve hung up on me. Maybe even told me to mind my fucking business.
I thought they were tight, that she knew about the PTSD and the nightmares. But I’m sensing that ain’t the case, and now she’s here in my room and I haven’t a clue what to do with her, and just like that Thanksgiving, I can’t quell the incessant need to touch her.
I shake my head and bring my focus back to the dog.
“Come, let’s get you some water,” I say, urging him away from the door. Obediently, Chestnut pulls himself up on all fours and rounds my legs. A sense of pride stabs at me, but it quickly fades. It’s hard to be proud of successfully training a service dog when the man you trained it for has taken his own life.
Fucking Andrew.
Why?
Dragging in a breath, I open the door and force myself out of the room. Chestnut follows as I lead him into the common area. I head straight for the bar, ignoring my brothers as they silently assess me.
Are you okay?
What happened?
What can we do?
I grab the dog bowl from under the bar and fill it with water. When Maverick’s kid asked me for a dog, it didn’t take me long to find the perfect one for the Burnside family. Holly wasn’t all too keen on having a pet, but she eventually gave in. There ain’t nothing that woman won’t do to keep her kids happy. Coco Puffs soon became a permanent fixture around here, and I think she might actually be more attached to the dog than her kids are.
I set the bowl on the floor in front of Chestnut, silently encouraging him to drink with another pat on the head. When he finally decides to lap at the water, I straighten up and turn my attention to the bar, pulling a full bottle of Hennessey from the shelf.
“Brother,” Maverick calls as I pop the pourer off the top and take a swig straight from the bottle. All the booze in all the land can’t help me now, but I’m willing to give it a shot. I take another gulp before lowering the bottle and meeting my president’s gaze.
I didn’t get a chance to tell him what happened, by the time I got off the phone with the detective, he and Capone were fully immersed in all things Tara. I briefed Leftie, though, and he was the one who ordered Ink to ride with me.
“Who’s the girl?” Maverick questions.
I stare at him quietly for a moment, my mind immediately recalling the moment I spotted Jo in the police station. She didn’t have to be facing me for me to know it was her. I’d know those long brown locks anywhere. I spent many a night imagining how it would feel to thread my fingers through them and when I let myself get carried away, I pictured how all that luscious hair would look wrapped around my fist.
Yeah, I wanted Jo.
From the first picture she attached to one of her letters, to the moment she opened the front door of her Aunt Barbara’s house. Even now, in the middle of a fucking tragedy, I want her.
Shaking the thought from my head, I force myself to focus.
“Andrew’s sister,” I answer, taking another swig.
Maverick knew Andrew and I served together and that I had approached him to be a partner in Booker & Mann. I didn’t divulge Andrew’s struggles to him, though, and I certainly never mentioned his sister or my unwavering attraction toward her.
“She found him?” Leftie questions.
I shake my head.
Thank God.
That might be the only thing that could’ve made this nightmare worse than what it already is.
“No, the landlady did.” I pause to glance down at the dog who has abandoned the water to stand beside me. Lifting my eyes back to Leftie, I shrug my shoulders and take another shot of Henny. “The detective called Jo,” I continue, jutting my thumb over my shoulder. “It’s just the two of them. Their parents died years ago in a fire and their Aunt Barbara took them in.”
That’s another thing we’re gonna have to figure out. I don’t even know if Aunt Barbara is well enough to deal with losing her only nephew. Do we even tell her?
“So what’s the plan?” Maverick asks, jarring me from my thoughts. I meet his brown eyes and it’s easy to spot the concern radiating from them. “What do you need from us?”
The moment I took the colors of the Satan’s Knights I became theirs and they became mine. In the short time since, I’ve asked that same question a couple of times myself. Our brotherhood rallies around each other in times of need, but especially in death.
Andrew wasn’t my brother in a motorcycle club, but he was my brother in the field. The men around me now haven’t had to stand in front of a bullet meant for me, but Andrew did. After a fifty-minute firefight that ended with three of our commandos being killed, it was Andrew who carried me out of that terrorist compound.
That mission changed us.
It broke us.
But where I pushed through, Andrew got stuck.
I thought Booker & Mann would’ve been an ideal way for him to heal, that the business and its mission would serve as an outlet for his demons as it did mine. But our demons were not the same, and I was a fool to think they were. He declined my offer and called me out on the blatant interest I possessed for his sister.
Andrew didn’t want to be my partner and he sure as fuck didn’t want me anywhere near Jo. I left his aunt’s house with my pride wounded. It took me a week after that to contact Jo, and when I did, I learned her number was disconnected. Told myself it was just as well. I didn’t like what Andrew had said, but we never like hearing the truth about ourselves, do we? I wasn’t good for her. Our lives were too different. I’d ruin her.
Take all that goodness and turn it ugly.
So I pushed her out of my head. Tossed every letter, trinket, and photo in the trash except for one.
I buried myself in Booker & Mann and the club. I’d touch base with Andrew whenever I could but with all my new responsibilities, it became harder for me to carve out time for him. When I did visit, I noticed the decline, but I did shit to fix it. Sure, I somehow convinced him to take Chestnut, but it wasn’t enough. I turned my back on the man who carried me on his and told him to seek professional help.
“Hawk,” Ink calls, pulling me away from my thoughts. My brows pinch together as his eyes dart over my shoulder. I follow his line of sight and my eyes lock with Jo’s. Standing in the doorway, wearing my Satan’s Knights tee and the sweatpants I left for her on the bed, her wet hair pulled back into a ponytail and her feet are bare. She looks exhausted and yet I’m almost certain she’s never looked prettier.
Her brown eyes dart around the room as she nervously chews on her bottom lip, taking in the scene much like she did when we first arrived.
Curious.
Apprehensive.
Defeated.
Before I can pull my head out of my ass and actually introduce her—something I should’ve done before I ushered her inside the clubhouse like I was smuggling fentanyl—Maverick steps forward, breaking the silence.
“I’m sorry for your loss, sweetheart.”
Chestnut reaches Jo before Maverick, and the dog assesses him. It’s like he knows his service has moved from one Booker to the other and he’s trying to decide if Maverick is a threat.
“Looks like you got yourself an admirer,” Maverick marvels as Jo bends at the waist to gently pat the top of Chestnut’s head. She lifts her gaze to Maverick and offers him a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
A smile you force when everything inside you feels like its dying.
“Thank you,” she says, her gaze darting from him to me. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
I clear my throat and shake my head.
“No,” I reply, then look toward my president. “Maverick, this is Jo. Jo, Maverick.”
“Wish we could’ve met under different circumstances, but like I was just telling Hawk, anything you need, just let us know and we’ll make it happen.”
She needs her brother alive and well.
Can you pull that one out of your saddle bags?
“That’s very nice of you,” she says, still staring at me. “I um…I wouldn’t mind a drink,” she says, tipping her chin toward the bottle sitting on top of the bar.
Swallowing, I force my gaze away from her and look at the bottle.
“You drink Hennessy?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I don’t know why that surprises me. If she’s anything like her brother, she could probably down a bottle of moonshine and still walk a straight line.
“I drink anything,” she replies, staring at me with those big doe eyes of hers.
Spent many a night dreaming about those eyes.
Too many.
I clear my throat, and mutter, “Didn’t know that.”
She cocks her head to the side. “There’s lots you don’t know about me, Johnny.”
She’s right. Her letters were just a small glimpse of who she is, and I declined the right to know more.
“You’ve come to the right place,” Maverick says. “We keep the shelves stocked around here.” He turns to me, his eyes narrowing slightly as he swipes the bottle of Hennessey from the bar. “Where are your manners, Hawk? Get the girl a shot glass.”
I do as I’m told, grabbing a shot glass for Jo, and another for Maverick. As for me—I claimed that bottle, and I ain’t trying to dirty another glass.
Jo comes to stand right beside me as Maverick fills the shot glasses. Ink, Ghost, Leftie, and Shady all crowd around the bar, but my eyes don’t leave Jo.
I should be beating myself up over Andrew’s death, grieving the brother we both lost, not staring at his sister, loving everything from the way my shirt falls to her knees to the scent of my soap on her skin. She must sense I’m gawking at her because she turns her head and stares at me under the long fringe of her lashes.
“Is this okay?” she whispers. “Me, being out here?”
I don’t answer right away, I’m too enthralled by her presence.
She’s not a signature on a letter or a face in a photograph.
Nor is she a dirty little secret I can only touch when no one’s looking.
She’s made of flesh and bone.
A beautiful tragedy at my fingertips.
Without giving myself a chance to change my mind, I drape an arm around her shoulders and bring her closer.
“It’s all good, Jo,” I tell her, fighting the urge to press my lips to the top of her head. I turn my attention back to Maverick, taking the shot glass he extends, and I hand it to Jo. When everyone has a drink in their hands, I reclaim the bottle, raising it in the air.
“To Andrew,” I toast.
If he was buried and not sitting on some slab in the morgue, he’d be rolling in his grave at my proximity to his sister.
My brothers are quick to join in, but it takes Jo a second to lift her glass. When she finally does, her eyes that are full of unshed tears, dart around the small circle encompassing her. It hits me how foreign this might be for her. I like to think she’s made a nice life for herself, that she’s got a tribe of people of her own who rally around her in times of need, but that’s probably not the case if she called me.
Makes me wonder if that means she’s single.
“To Andrew,” she whispers, then she knocks back the shot like its water.
Maverick doesn’t let her glass stay empty for long and soon we’re taking shot after shot. By the third round, we start sharing stories of Andrew with the club.
Jo slides into one of the stools and Maverick pours her yet another refill as she continues to tell us about the time he stole Aunt Barbara’s Buick and side-swiped a bus.
“Now, to really appreciate this story, you should know Aunt Barbara was notorious for being on top of us. I mean, if we snuck out of the house, she was sitting on the grass waiting for us to fall out the window.”
“Sounds like my kind of woman,” Leftie praises, winking at Jo as he pushes a bowl of nuts toward her. A loaf of bread would probably be a better option. The girl needs something to absorb the bottle of Hennessey she’s close to polishing off.
“Thanks, but I’m allergic to nuts.”
The bottle pauses at my lips, and I raise an eyebrow. That is news to me. I’m fairly certain the banana bread she used to send me had walnuts in it.
“Since when?”
“Well, I’m not really allergic. I have diverticulitis. Nuts and seeds are the main cause of my flare ups. Oh, and rice.” She scrunches her nose. “Rice really does me in, but my gastrologist thinks that’s in my head.”
“Holly and Birdie are going food shopping tomorrow,” Maverick says, pointing a finger at Ghost. “Remind me to tell them to steer clear of those things.”
“I’m their ride to Costco,” Leftie says. “I’ll make sure.”
Jo’s cheeks flush slightly. “Oh, no. Please don’t make any special arrangements on my behalf. I probably won’t even be here tomorrow.”
Carefully lowering the bottle onto the bar, I turn to face her. The anger surging through my veins is completely irrational, but the alcohol induced fog I’m suffering from doesn’t seem to give a fuck. She’s not getting rid of me so easily.
“Hate to break it to you, darlin’ but you ain’t going anywhere anytime soon. They haven’t released the apartment, and we can’t pull a funeral together in a couple of hours.”
Her eyes narrow into tiny slits as she peers back at me.
“I’m aware, Johnny, but I can’t just stay here while I sort through all that.” She sets the shot glass on top of the bar, nudging it toward Maverick. He takes that as his cue to keep the booze flowing. “Thank you, Mr. President.” Maverick’s lips quirk and I shoot him a glare, silently communicating that’s she’s had enough. The man does not heed my warning and downs another shot.
“She sure can hold her own for an in itty bitty thing,” Leftie marvels.
He ain’t kidding.
I take the shot glass from her, and hand it to the old man in awe of her. He can keep it as a souvenir.
“Hey,” she argues, poking her finger against my chest. “I wasn’t finished with that.” She turns to Maverick. “Tell him to give that back to me.”
Leftie slides the shot glass into the inside pocket of his kutte. Flashing her a smile, he tries to switch gears. “Sweetheart, why don’t you finish your story. I want to hear more about this Aunt Barbara character and the case of the Buick.”
Her eyes flit back to Leftie, and her brows pinch together. “I don’t remember where I was.”
“Well, I reckon you were telling us what a badass she was, and about to share how your brother managed to pull the wool over her eyes.”
She brushes a few stray hairs away from her face. “Right, um…once Andrew realized the bus had taken the side-view mirror off the Buick, he panicked. He called the local Buick dealership and tried to have a replacement installed without Aunt Barbara finding out, but they needed to order the mirror which meant he wouldn’t be able to have it fixed until the next day.”
“So what did he do?” Leftie asks. “Did Barbara find out?” His eyes meet mine from over Jo’s head and he winks at me. I know the old geezer well enough to recognize he’s doing me a solid, keeping Jo engaged so I can pull my head out of my ass and get my shit together.
Maverick leans over the bar, speaking low enough that only I can hear him.
“Thread lightly, brother.”
My gaze meets his, and I nod. It’s solid advice. Emotions are high and paired with alcohol things are bound to get messy. I need to reel myself in. Tomorrow, when we’re both sober, she’ll realize it doesn’t make sense for her to leave—at least not until everything with Andrew is settled.
“She ain’t looking for a hero.”
That gives me pause and I raise an eyebrow, silently challenging the notion. “Then why’d she call me?”