Crossing the Line (Royal Bastards MC Durango, CO #7)

PROLOGUE

Twelve years earlier

Maggie—

“Maggie…” My mother’s voice was barely a rasp now.

I moved to sit on the bed with her and leaned close.

The sun was just beginning to rise and light the skies through the lace curtains. The window was open to let in some fresh air. It wasn’t as bad in the early morning hours, but here in Louisiana, it would be unbearable… even in April.

We lived in a house on the edge of Chalmette, just east of New Orleans.

Mama came from a good family—one that had been here for a hundred years. They had money. She left it all behind to marry my father, a man her family disapproved of. By disobeying her father, she was immediately cut off.

But she was in love, and that was all she cared about.

With her being so sick, perhaps that money would have given her better medical care. Perhaps something could have been done for her. Now it was too late. The doctor told us she didn’t have much longer.

She’d wanted to go home, so he’d conceded to her request and released her from the hospital to die on her terms.

Daddy took to drinking and had spent the last three nights crying into his glass.

My two older brothers couldn’t deal with seeing her like this, so that left me.

Last night was a particularly bad one.

“It’s okay, Mama. I’m here. Do you want some water?”

She grasped my hand, her grip surprisingly strong considering how weak she was.

“I need you to listen to me, Magpie.”

I wiped her brow with a cloth. “Yes, Mama.”

“After I’m gone,” she whispered, her eyes intent on mine.

“You’ll get a letter. The attorney will explain…

everything.” She gasped for air. “Take what you get and leave town. Do it before your father or brothers know what you have. It’s all I have to give you now.

Find something better. Promise me, Marguerite. Promise me.”

She was delirious from all the medication the doctor had given us to keep her comfortable until the end. That had to be the cause of all this nonsense.

I had two brothers. Derek was the oldest. He and Remy were two years apart, though Remy always seemed to be the one who took charge, and Derek mostly went along with him.

Then there was me—the baby of the family.

“Yes, Mama. I promise,” I whispered. It seemed important to her, even though her words made no sense to me.

Everything my parents had was contained in this old, rundown house and the garage next door, where my father fixed lawnmowers and dirt bikes.

Her parents had cut her off. There was nothing she could give me.

My promise seemed to assure her, and she rested against the pillow, her grip weakening.

“I’ve always loved you, baby girl. I’m sorry if I let your brothers get all the attention. I’m sorry for so much. Maybe this will let you know how much I love you. How much I’ve always loved you.”

Her eyes closed, and I stared at her, then dropped my gaze to her chest. It still lifted and fell with her rasping, wheezing breaths.

“I love you, Mama,” I whispered, and she squeezed my hand once more. I stroked her forehead, and her hand went limp. The room fell silent.

“Mama?”

She was gone.

We buried her three days later.

The funeral was small.

A fancy black car showed up at the graveside. Her aging parents and one brother climbed out. No one had to tell me who they were. I knew. There was only one wealthy family that would come to my mother’s burial.

They must be responsible for the large standing floral arrangement of perfect white roses.

They didn’t speak to anyone, but the woman’s gaze fell on me, curious, taking me in. She was my grandmother—a woman I’d never met. I thought she might approach. She looked like she wanted to speak to me, but when the last prayers were over, her husband took her hand and pulled her toward their car.

They disappeared from my life as quickly as they had come.

Once my mother was interred, we returned to our home.

A few of the neighborhood people were there with cakes and coffee. My father’s family came. Cousins I’d never met.

My black dress itched. At the age of seventeen, I never wore dresses. This one was purchased yesterday for the saddest day of my life.

The crowd that filled our small house seemed to be everywhere I turned, and claustrophobia set in. When it all got too much for me, I slipped out the back door and walked to the gazebo in the park across the street. It was a rickety old thing that no one used anymore.

I sat gingerly on the bench, not wanting to snag the fabric. I don’t know why I was so careful; I would never wear the dress again. Sadness had seeped into the very threads. I’d never look at this dress and not feel the overwhelming grief of this day.

Movement across the grassy park caught my eye.

A man approached, coming directly from our house across the street.

I knew him immediately.

Sully Bossier. My two older brothers’ best friend. He’d been a part of our world since I was in pigtails. The three of them had been like the Three Musketeers.

He wore black pants and a white dress shirt. I think he had a jacket on at the service, but I don’t remember.

His sleeves were rolled up, and his hands were in his trouser pockets as he strolled toward me. The tie was gone, and his shirt collar was unbuttoned.

The breeze ruffled his dark hair. His eyes were a rich caramel brown, and his swarthy skin revealed his Cajun roots.

When he reached me, his eyes roved over me.

“You okay, Six?”

He’d called me by that nickname since the day my father taught me to ride a dirt bike. I’d lasted six seconds before I fell over.

I shook my head.

He shifted on his feet, and I wondered if he had no clue how to make any of this better. How could he? How could anyone?

But then he did the thing I needed most.

He sat next to me, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and pulled me against his chest.

He didn’t speak, and I didn’t want to talk.

I cried into his shirt, and he just held me and let me feel all the pain and grief of losing the woman who gave me life.

Eventually, I knew I had to pull myself together.

Sully slipped a white handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to me.

In all these years, I’d never seen him in anything but jeans, but here he was dressed up and prepared with a handkerchief at the ready, being everything I needed him to be in that moment.

I dried my eyes.

“Ready to go back?” he whispered and stood.

I nodded, and he took my hand, pulling me to my feet.

Instead of releasing it, he threaded our fingers together and walked me home.

My brother Remy was on the porch when we returned, and his eyes didn’t miss a thing.

I saw the look he gave Sully as we strode inside. The pure hatred of it shocked me.

“What was that about?” I whispered when Sully closed the door behind us.

“Don’t worry about it, Six. That’s just Remy being Remy.”

But I did worry about it.

That night I couldn’t stop thinking about what it meant.

The following day, my father and brothers were in the garage working on engines. My father had been a motocross racer when my mother met him. He taught my brothers to ride, and the three of them never missed an opportunity to load up their motorcycles on a trailer and drive to a race.

At fourteen, I got better at riding, and my father even took me to a few races. I did well, really well, and my brothers got a chip on their shoulders. They told me I’d never be good enough, and they told my father a girl didn’t belong on the track.

“Jealousy is all that is,” Sully had told me. “They hate the fact that you’re better than they are.”

But it didn’t end there. My brothers pestered my father so much that eventually he stopped bringing me with them to races.

When I walked inside the cool air of the garage, my father was sitting on a stool, staring into space while my brothers were busy working on engines.

“What is it?” Derek asked, glancing up.

“Nothing. Just came out to see what was happening.” The house was silent and lonely now, a place I needed to escape.

Suddenly my father rose to his feet. “I’m going out for a minute.”

None of us believed that. He was headed to Lucky’s, the local tavern, and he wouldn’t be back “in a minute,” that was for sure.

After he strode down the block, Remy threw a tool across the concrete with a clatter.

“Goddamn it. Are we supposed to do all the work now?”

Derek straightened and sighed. “Cut him some slack, Remy. The man just lost the love of his life.”

“And we lost our mother. Don’t see us wallowing in booze.”

“Go take a break,” Derek said.

“Fine. I’m goin’.” Remy climbed into his rusty pickup, slamming the door and roaring off.

When he was gone, I glanced at my oldest brother. “Did I cause all that?”

He huffed a laugh. “What, by just walking in? No, Maggie.” Then he cocked his head. “You doin’ okay?”

I shrugged, my arms folded. “What happens now?”

My voice sounded small, even in my own ears.

“Now we pull together. Take turns cooking dinner and try to keep the house from becoming a pigsty.”

“What about Daddy?”

“He just needs time. He’s grieving.”

We were all grieving. “How much time?” Tears spilled down my cheeks.

My brother stopped what he was doing, walked to me, and gave me a hug. “Maybe you want to go spend the night at your girlfriend’s house. Get away from here for a while.”

I dragged my sleeve across my face, wiping the tears away. “It hurts to even think about anything else. How can I laugh and be happy ever again?”

“How about I go get us some shakes from Reilly’s? You love those things.”

I shrugged, not really wanting one but knowing he was trying to help. “I guess.”

“Want to go with me?”

I shook my head. “I’ll wait here.” I didn’t want to see anyone I knew. I was already tired of the endless expressions of sympathy.

When Derek was gone, Sully drove up. He walked into the shop twirling his keys and glanced around.

“Where is everybody?”

Sully had worked in my dad’s shop throughout high school. Now he was twenty-two and had a real job working as a mechanic for one of the car dealers in town.