5. Crow
CHAPTER 5
CROW
As a child, she was an enigma, but as an adult, Addison McGill is a problem.
“Some things never change.”
I glance at Ghost, surprised to see him. “What’re you still doing here?”
“I’m heading out in a few,” he says. “Wanted to hang a bit though, especially after the week we’ve had.”
The party is in full swing so I’m grateful he doesn’t elaborate. I know he’s referring to the three dead bikers and the search of the clubhouse.
I lift my beer bottle and tap the neck of his. “Nothing like this ever happened in Oregon?”
Ghost transferred into our chapter a little over a year ago and quickly earned his patch and title of Sergeant at Arms. I was surprised when he took me up on my invitation to return to Texas, but then he explained that his mother was sick, and he was coming home to care for her.
“Plenty of shit happened,” he admits. “But I don’t have time to get into those stories.”
I chuckle. “Got it.”
“Well, I’m gonna head out. It’s Nancy’s night off, and I don’t want Mom to be alone too long.”
“How is she?” I ask. “Your mom, not Nancy.”
“There’s good days and bad days,” he says with a sigh.
“Nancy still the only help you have?” I ask, referring to the home health nurse Ghost hired.
“Not many nurses in Marble Falls specialize in Alzheimer’s care so yeah, she’s it.”
“You know if you need anything, all ya gotta do is ask, right?”
“Thanks, Pres. Appreciate that.”
“Hey, we’re family. It’s what we do.”
“And that’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear outta Trace Thompson’s mouth,” Ghost says with a laugh.
“It’s Crow,” I snap.
“Yeah, yeah.” Ghost slaps me on the back. “I’m outta here. See ya tomorrow.”
“Be safe,” I call after him. “And give your mom a hug for me.”
Ghost lifts his hand in response, and I watch as he walks out the door of the clubhouse, his steps a little heavier than usual.
I head to the pool tables where Journey is battling Screamer.
“I’ve got the winner,” I announce.
Fifteen minutes later, Screamer sinks the eight ball.
“Son of a bitch!” Journey shouts.
“Don’t be such a twat,” Screamer taunts as he holds his hand out. “Pay up, loser.”
Journey reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He slaps a hundred-dollar bill into Screamer’s palm before stalking toward the bar.
“He really hates to lose,” I comment dryly as I lift his discarded cue.
Screamer chuckles. “Don’t we all?”
“Yeah, we do,” I agree. “So how about I kick your ass, and you be the sore loser this time?”
“Two hundred says I win,” he counters.
I reach into my wallet and slap two crisp hundreds onto the side of the pool table. “You’re on.”
I rack the balls and let my road captain take the first shot. He sinks the eleven ball but misses his second shot.
“Looks like I’m gonna make an easy two hundred,” I say as I line up my shot.
I pull my arm back and?—
“Yo, Crow!”
I miss the cue ball completely. Rage blurs my vision as I whirl around and face the prospect who interrupted my shot.
“I swear to God, Conner, this had better be a fucking emergency,” I snarl.
“We’ve got a problem at the door, Pres,” he says. “Poker told me to come get you.”
I toss the cue onto the table, sending balls going in every direction. Then I snatch up my cash.
“Uh, that’s not how this works, bro,” Screamer comments.
“I’ll be back, and we’ll go another round, double or nothing,” I reply, and that seems to satisfy him. Focusing my attention on Conner, I follow him to the door. “What the fuck is the problem?”
“Some bitch is raising hell because Poker tried to take her gun,” Conner explains.
“Tried?”
Conner laughs. “Yeah, tried. She put him on his ass the second he touched the weapon.”
“Jesus,” I say with a sigh.
Commotion reaches my ears as we get closer, and when I step just outside the door, I freeze.
Poker has a woman pinned against the brick wall, and she looks very familiar. She’s sexy as hell with her long chestnut brown hair framing her nearly perfect face. There’s another woman shouting at him to ‘get his filthy hands’ off her friend, but she’s a redhead and not nearly as stunning.
Who is she? Where do I know her from?
“Let her go,” I command.
Poker shifts his gaze to me and frowns. “Pres?”
“Let her go,” I repeat.
He drops his hands, and the woman brushes hers down the front of her black leather jacket. My eyes follow the movement, and my cock hardens at the way her hips flare slightly beneath skin-tight denim.
“Now, what the fuck is going on?” I demand, not bothering to take my stare away from her body.
“Bitch has a Glock in a holster under her jacket,” Poker states, annoyed.
“That true?” I ask her.
“And if it is?”
“No weapons allowed inside.”
“Yet you’ve got one under that shirt of yours,” she says coolly. “And you’ve got a knife tucked into your boot.”
I arch a brow, impressed. “You seem to know an awful lot.”
“I’m observant.”
“Right.”
“Look,” her friend says, stepping forward. “Blain invited us to the party. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Then tell her to hand over her gun,” Poker snaps.
“P, go inside and grab a drink,” I instruct. “I’ll handle this.”
Poker stares at me for a long moment, but then he does as he’s told. Conner stays back a few steps, and I nod toward the door, silently telling him to get lost. He strides inside, letting the door slam closed behind him.
When I return my attention to the women, they’re both staring at me expectantly. I take a step toward them, and the redhead shifts closer to her gun-carrying friend.
“What’s your name?” I ask the one who was pinned to the wall.
“What’s yours?” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest.
Her cleavage pillows over the edge of her top, and my mouth waters.
“My name is Trace,” I say, not bothering to speculate as to why I’m giving her my legal name. “But everyone calls me Crow.”
She nods. “I’m Addison.”
The second her name passes her lips, a memory slams into me.
“Class, please welcome Trace Thompson.”
I stare at the other kids as they size me up. This is the last place I want to be, but my dad didn’t give me a choice. Since my mom died, there’s no one left at home to teach me.
Apparently, I need an education. It doesn’t seem to matter that I’ll take over the club one day.
“Trace, you can have a seat right there,” Ms. Cochran says, pointing to an empty desk. “That’s Addison McGill, and she’ll be your buddy for the next few days to help you get acclimated.”
Addison McGill is really pretty, but she looks upset about something. I move through the rows of desks until I reach mine. Instead of sitting, I face Addison.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
She glares at me. “Nothing.”
“Are you mad because you’re supposed to be my buddy?”
“No.”
“Mr. Thompson,” Ms. Cochran chastises. “Have a seat so we can get back to work.”
I sit as instructed, but instead of listening to the teacher drone on about state capitals, I watch Addison out of the corner of my eye. She’s drawing on a piece of paper, and I recognize the shape: handcuffs.
I shake my head to force myself to return to the present. After my first day in public school, I made a point to learn everything I could about Addison McGill. She was the prettiest girl in my class and somewhat of a mystery.
But one thing she couldn’t hide was her love for her father and what he did for a living. She idolized the man. It was easy for me to figure that out because I was the same way with my own dad.
Both of us wanted nothing more than to make our dads see us and believe in us.
The biggest difference was that we came from very different worlds. She grew up on the side of right, and I on the side of wrong… ish.
And now she’s at my clubhouse, staring at me very intently. As a child, she was an enigma, but as an adult, Addison McGill is a problem.
I can’t tell if she knows that I know who she is, but that doesn’t matter. There’s no way she’s leaving the property tonight. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever let her leave.
I force a smile while I’m burning with rage on the inside. Are the police really so desperate to pin those biker’s murders on us that they’ll send someone undercover?
Reaching out, I gently urge Addison toward the door.
“C’mon in and enjoy the party.”