Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
JOHNNY “HAWK” MANN
It didn’t take long for Jo to pull herself together, and as soon as she did, she resurrected those carefully structured walls around herself, killing the moment between us. The girl had a real problem showing vulnerability. She didn’t do emotions. Expressing her feelings and opening up to another person—it just wasn’t her thing.
I understood that, and part of me even respected it.
I’m not a guy who makes a habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve, and since I’ve been discharged, I’ve learned to mask the torment that comes with war pretty fucking well. Just ask my brothers. They have no fucking idea I struggle.
But just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean it’s the right way to be.
Some of us aren’t wired to keep all our shit bottled up.
Andrew is a perfect example of that.
Jo excused herself and disappeared to the bathroom. When she came back, it was back to asking questions about the dogs and keeping a good twelve feet of space between us. We left the service dogs in their kennel, and I showed her the dogs I was working to put a scent on. She was completely intrigued, especially when I explained the process.
“It’s crazy that you teach them how to detect a bomb,” she marveled. “Is it harder to teach them that, then it is to teach them how to hunt for remains?”
I didn’t expect her to be so interested—no one ever really is. Even when I presented my business plan to the club, none of them asked as many questions as Jo did. As long as I brought them a steady income that made us look like law-abiding citizens, they didn’t care about much else.
I liked that she cared enough to ask. I liked it a fuck of a whole lot.
Occasionally, she’d bring up Andrew again, asking if he had ever been to the facility and what he thought about me naming it after him, even after he turned down my request to be my partner.
We spent another hour there before Jo turned to me rather abruptly, concern etched across her face.
“We left Chestnut alone all day.”
“Chestnut is living his best life right now,” I assured her, revealing that I had called Leftie earlier to see the status of my bike, and he was grilling him a steak.
Now, I’m just pulling up to the clubhouse, and my exhaustion is hitting me hard as I stare at the convoy of bikes that fill the lot, half of them sport New York license plates.
“There weren’t this many motorcycles here last night,” Jo says as she stares out the passenger window at the sea of chrome.
“It’s a packed house tonight. The New York charter is in.”
“That’s right,” she says, bring her attention back to me as I kill the engine on her car. “I remember Ink saying that when we were at Sally’s.” She sighs. “God, that feels like it was four days ago.”
I laugh. “We’ve had a day.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs.
I hand her the keys to her car and open the driver’s side door, pausing and turning to her before I climb out.
“I’ll grab your stuff from the trunk.”
Once we’ve got everything, we start for the clubhouse, and I groan. The music blaring from the building is obnoxious. Our charter doesn’t get down all that often, but when we do, we go all out. I normally wouldn’t mind. I can party with the best of them. But this more than I can handle tonight. I’m dead on my feet and wound tight.
The front door swings open and Ink, Torque, and Wiz all step out, followed by Bishop, Riggs, and Bas of the New York charter.
“There he is,” Bishop greets, tipping up is chin as he offers me a pound.
Since we got ourselves tangled with New York, Bishop has made a few trips down here—some with his club and some without. His woman has been itching to move out of New York, and a couple of months back they purchased land in Garner. Not sure if they plan on building a house or what, but it keeps his visits frequent and whenever he’s in town, him and I always link up for a beer.
“You’re just in time, Wiz, here was going to let us sample some of the herb he’s been growing.”
I raise an eyebrow at Wiz.
“You’ve been growing weed?”
“Just call me Old McDonald.”
My brows pinch together. “How the fuck didn’t I know that?”
“You’re too busy playing Dr. Doolittle,” Torque quips, his eyes flitting to Jo. The motherfucker doesn’t even try to hide his blatant interest in her. “Well, hello there, sweetheart.”
My jaw clenches as he offers her his hand. With a weary look, Jo slides her hand into his.
“I’m Jo.”
“Torque,” he says, raising her hand to brush his lips across her knuckles. The sight makes me see red. “So you’re the pretty face everyone is talking about.”
Unable to help myself, I smack her hand out of his, and step around her, my body acting as a shield between her and him. The exhaustion that was plaguing me moments ago quickly evaporates, and my adrenaline spikes.
“She’s off limits, Torque,” I grind out.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, a grin stretching across his smug face. “Easy, brother. I’m just admiring the view.”
“Don’t,” I growl. “Don’t even fucking look at her.”
“Johnny…” Jo calls, and I inwardly cringe, knowing very well, she’s just opened the door for this fucker to haze me.
“Johnny, huh?” Torque taunts.
“Leave it be,” I warn.
I tend to ignore half the shit that comes out of his mouth, but Jo is a no-fly zone and my patience for his brand of bullshit is thin. Besides, I’m sure someone briefed him on why she’s even here. You’d think he’d have a little more common sense and show some compassion. But Torque is a selfish motherfucker.
I turn to Jo and take her hand in mine. Without another word to Torque, I tell the others I’ll catch up with them later and lead her inside the clubhouse. As soon as we cross the threshold, Jo’s hand tightens around mine, and I know she’s overwhelmed.
The scene is much different than the night before.
Between our charter, and New York, the place is packed. Music plays on the surround sound system, and the distinct scent of Maverick’s cigars fill the air. He doesn’t usually make a habit of sharing, but he makes an exception for the president of the New York charter. They sit together, huddled around a table, puffing on cigars as Maverick fills Wolf’s glass with the good stuff he keeps on reserve for nights like this. Also at their table is the man who brought our charters together, Jack Parrish. Like Leftie, the man is a legend. A crazy motherfucker and a rare fucking breed. The devil downstairs broke the mold when he made him.
Next to them, crowding another table, is Ghost and his woman, Birdie, and they’re joined by New York’s Blackie, and his wife, Lacey. Not sure what made him bring a plus one, but as my eyes do a quick sweep around the room, I realize he isn’t the only one who brought his better half with him. Riggs’s wife, Lauren sits at the bar with Bishop’s wife Charlotte, and they’re accompanied by Holly, Shady, and his fiancé, Bianca.
Leftie’s eyes meet mine from behind the bar, and he lifts his beer in salute. Then his gaze drifts downward, and I watch as his lips move. A second later Chestnut comes into view as he rounds the bar and makes a beeline straight for Jo. She releases my hand and bends to pet Chestnut who loves on her, licking her hand and winding his body between her legs.
“Hi, boy,” she murmurs. “Did you miss me? You did, didn’t you?”
I touch a hand to her shoulder, and she lifts her eyes to mine. “Let’s get you situated in my room.”
She straightens up, her eyes darting around, taking everything in. “Yeah, sure.” Then she leans into me. “Is it a party or something?”
“Or something,” I say, over the music. My hand drops to her lower back, and I guide her through the busy room, stopping at every table to say hello and briefly introduce Jo. Chestnut follows obediently, and I notice Jo pets him every chance she gets.
We finally make it to my room, and I drop her bags on the chair in the corner as she plops down on the foot of the bed, immediately kicking off her shoes.
“That was a lot of people,” she says, pulling off her socks. “Is it always like that when another charter comes in?”
I lean against the wall and cross my arms against my chest. “It’s very rare that they ever bring their old ladies with them.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Old ladies? I wouldn’t call any of those women old at all.” She balls the socks in her fist, and stands, making her way toward the chair where her bags are. “One was more pretty than the other.” She shoves the socks into one of the bags, and unzips another compartment, taking out some her clothes. She tosses them onto the bed, then goes back to the bag, removing makeup case after makeup case. “Holly was nice—that’s Maverick’s wife, right?”
“Mmm.”
“I think she’s the prettiest of them all.” Channeling her inner Mary Poppins, she continues to pull shit from the bag before moving to the other one and repeating the process. Dead ass—I would not be shocked if she pulled out a fucking lamp or a giant fern next. “I didn’t see Capone there.”
That snaps me out of my fucking trance, and I divert my attention away from the never-ending supply of beauty products.
“You got a thing for Capone?”
Her gaze cuts back to me and she laughs. “Are you serious with that question?”
Kind of.
I don’t see her paying that much mind to Leftie or Ink.
“You know, y’all should have more patience with him. He’s been through a lot with his girlfriend being sick and all. I mean, can you imagine?”
She turns her back to me, collecting all her beauty products. Once her arms are full, she carries them into the bathroom. For someone who gave me so much shit about staying here, she has no problem making herself at home. I’m not complaining, though. I’ll gladly take an agreeable Jo over the stubborn version. I’m just trying to get a read on what sparked the sudden change.
“Do you think they’ll get back together?” she calls from the bathroom.
Someone seems to have gotten their second wind. Me—not so much. I’m bone tired, and really not in the mood to discuss Capone and Tara’s relationship. Never mind I told Maverick I’d join everyone once I got Jo settled for the night. I know he would’ve given me a pass given the circumstances and that he plans on holding off until tomorrow to call us into the chapel to discuss the matters that have New York crashing at our clubhouse, but it doesn’t hurt to show my face—at least for a little while.
That five o’clock hour is gonna come quick, and tomorrow is shaping up to be just as long as today. Maybe even longer if we get word from Detective Reynolds.
Jo pops her head out from the bathroom. “Hello? Earth to Johnny.”
I stare at her blankly.
“I asked you whether or not you think Capone and Tara will get back together.”
I uncross my arms and let them hang at my sides. “I have no idea. She’s a lot younger than him, and long distance can be difficult.”
She hums thoughtfully then turns and disappears from the doorway. The shower turns on, and I take that as my cue to let her know I’m dipping out. Too bad my feet don’t get the memo; they seem perfectly content staying right where they are. My voice goes on strike too because when I open my mouth to tell her I’m leaving, nothing comes out.
Silently cursing myself, I swipe a hand over my face, and through the cracks of my fingers, my eyes land on the bed. I quickly dismiss the thoughts creeping into my head and divert my attention to the dog that lays sprawled out on the floor. Chestnut doesn’t pay me any mind. He doesn’t even look at me. He’s picked a favorite, and I’m not it.
Sighing, I shrug my kutte off and drape it over the back of the chair before padding toward the bed. Chestnut lifts his head, his brown eyes assessing me like I’m a threat.
“Easy, boy, I’m not lookin to take your girl.”
Except I am.
Now just isn’t the time.
I take a seat on the edge and make quick work of removing my boots.
There’s no harm in resting my eyes while she showers.
I just need five minutes.
Then I’ll join my brothers and find a fucking couch to sleep on.