Chapter Fifty-One
Hunter
“You’re more bloody than when we left you. And you brought your baby. What happened? Did he shoot someone?” Mayhem leans down and tickles Charlie. “Someone has a bright future as an assassin. Oh yes, he does.”
I pull my son away from him. Maybe it was a mistake to come to the clubhouse. But, after everything that happened with Emily earlier, and that Diesel is still in surgery, the last thing I want is to be alone with my thoughts. I was so close to having it all — a club, a son, an ol’ lady — and now, I’ve lost a significant part of the reason I was putting down roots here. There’s a black mood on me, and it seems to be so thick that it’s infecting everyone around me.
Charlie goes into my lap, my beer goes in my mouth, and Mayhem gets a withering glare.
“Don’t touch my kid and call him a murderer.”
Mayhem raises his hand and takes a step back. “I was kidding. Relax, Hunter. We did well today. I gave Rabid a breakdown of everything. He’ll be talking to you soon. You’re in. And there’ll be a party later in the week to celebrate.”
A dark-haired and angry-looking man with an aura that’s about as welcoming as a skull nailed to a front door looks up from his beer on the other side of the bar and says, “Mayhem, never tell someone to ‘relax.’ It never works. You want someone to chill out? Try to stop being a lunatic, or at the fucking least, stop with the unwanted touching of their kid.”
“Whatever, Bishop. Mind your own business.”
“It becomes my business when you do it right in front of me.”
“Unless you both want to be cut off for a week, you’ll simmer down. Got it?” The bartender, Molly, says. When Mayhem opens his mouth, she levels a finger at him. “I go to Hotcakes all the time, Mayhem, so don’t even start or I will drag Stacy into this. And, Bishop, before you even say a fucking word, I will talk to Eden, too. I’m supposed to get coffee with her on Friday. Don’t think I won’t make sure she whips your grouchy ass raw.”
“Sorry, Molly,” both men mumble.
The two men could have disappeared for all the attention she pays them. Instead, she leans across the bar and looks at Charlie. “And what happened to you today, little Charlie? Did you and your daddy get into trouble?”
Charlie giggles and reaches for her, so I hand him over. It takes effort; of everyone here, Molly’s the only one I even feel like I can talk to, but answering her — putting into words the pain I’m experiencing, the loss — feels like I’m putting my heart through a woodchipper.
“Day started great, surviving the fucking mess with Havoc and Mayhem, then it went straight to hell.”
Molly says nothing. She simply nods and fills my glass.
It’s all the prompting I need.
“This blood? It’s from my friend, Diesel. He’s in the fuc—” I pause, mindful of Charlie being right there in Molly’s arms, “—freaking hospital right now. The person who shot him is the woman I love. Emily. And, no, not ‘love.’ It’s ‘loved.’ Because she went behind my back and bought a gun, she lied about having a stalker who was apparently intent enough on hurting her he broke into her apartment and also left death threats for her at her work, and, oh, yeah, she also shot my friend right in front of my infant son.”
My voice shakes with rage, and Charlie whimpers, only calming when Molly hushes him and rocks him in her arms.
Molly's eyes widen, but she keeps her voice calm for Charlie's sake. "Jesus, Hunter. That's... I don't even know what to say."
I down the rest of my beer in one long swallow. "Yeah, well, welcome to my fucked-up life."
"Language," Molly chides gently, nodding at Charlie.
I grunt an apology, but my mind is elsewhere. The events of the day keep replaying in my head like some twisted highlight reel. Emily's terrified face, the gun in her shaking hands, Diesel's body hitting the floor. The blood. So much blood.
"You know," Bishop's gravelly voice cuts through my thoughts, "sometimes the people we think we know best are the ones who surprise us the most. And not always in a good way."
I turn to look at him, surprised by the unexpected wisdom. His eyes, usually hard and cold, have a hint of understanding in them. For a moment, I wonder what ghosts he's carrying around.
"Yeah," I mutter. "Seems that way."
Mayhem, uncharacteristically subdued, slides onto the stool next to me. "Look, man, I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Rarely. According to some jerks. But if you need anything... we're here. That's what the club's about."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The lump in my throat threatens to choke me.
Molly hands Charlie back to me, and his little hands grab one of mine, as if he knows I need him in this moment.
“What now?” She says. “You going to talk to Emily? Call her? Press charges for shooting your friend?”
Even hearing that name sends a knife of pain into my heart. I shake my head, wincing. “I’m going to have another beer, then Charlie and I are going to visit Diesel and pray that he survives. Assuming my best friend doesn’t die because that b—” I pause, correct myself for Charlie’s sake, “that bad woman shot him, I’m going to do everything I can to forget I ever let that walking mistake into my life.”