Nero (Blackhawk Disciples MC #1)

Chapter One

Nero

“Take him to the farm and finish it.”

“We haven’t got anything useful out of him,” Rebel, my Vice President says.

I get why he’s pissed, I feel it too. This asshole, Dutton, was supposed to give us a lead on who is trying to undermine my club. He hasn’t broken yet, and with my long history of handling this kind of situation, I know he won’t. He’s done, and we’re wasting our time.

No one else knows I discovered this sorry piece of shit murdered a woman when he was in college, or that woman’s brother is attached to my MC. It isn’t relevant to the situation my club is in now, so I will keep it to myself. The fucker deserves to die, that’s all that matters.

“And we’re not going to,” I tell Rebel, then look at each of the other men in turn, letting them know this decision is final. “Get him out of my sight.”

He’ll be taken to Stryker’s pig farm. The thought of that place leaves a nasty taste in my mouth, but it serves a purpose. Particularly when shit like this happens. The truth of it is, it’s never failed me yet and has kept the club safe over the years, no matter how disgusting it is.

The pointed silence from the men watching me comes from a place of respect and knowing where they stand in this MC. What I say goes, everyone knows that.

Dammit, I’m fucking tired. God knows I’m never fully able to switch off. It comes with the territory of being the President. It’s been nonstop for weeks, but for now, this road has hit a dead end. What comes next can be dealt with tomorrow.

Rebel is the only one who looks at me like he wants to have a serious fucking word. It will come but not now. I spare one last look at the sorry excuse for a man, then head out of the warehouse where we brought him to get some answers.

My VP may be against this decision, but only he fully understands the maneuvers I’m constantly making to keep this city safe. The people I pay off, bribe and make deals with behind the scenes. The civilians around the club need to be safe.

I’m not an idiot. There are certain dangers our club being in the community can bring. But I’ll be damned if it spills over into the lives of the normal people in my city. I have done my best to integrate us into the community. So far, it’s worked, and we have no trouble.

When my house comes into view, I breathe a little easier. There is something more important to me than the Blackhawk Disciples here. If you told me I would make that statement a few years ago, I’d have punched you in the face and threatened to break your neck.

Inside this house is my reason for living. My life changed in ways I’ll never be able to describe the second I found out about him.

It pains me to think of him as a complication. It left me reeling for weeks when I found out I had a son. There is no way to describe the emotions that went through me. Shock, to anger, to wonder, to love, back to anger. At her. Never my boy.

I’m a rational man, and ultimately, I’m thankful she came to me after giving birth. She could have kept him a secret, like she did with the pregnancy. I could have gone through life never knowing I had a child.

That is what I cling to the most. Hating my son’s mother will only harm him.

We get along, living separately, sharing custody, with an understanding she never tells a soul who he is to me. Loving him could be used against me, and I will never put him in that position.

Everything was going fine until shit went sideways when Sheridan showed up two weeks ago and left him with me, because she wasn’t coping.

After parking the bike at the far end of the drive, I slip into the house through the back door. Jesse is in the kitchen stirring a pot on the stove, the smell makes my stomach knot, reminding me that in all the excitement tonight, I’ve not eaten.

“Hey,” Jesse isn’t surprised by my appearance at the back door, used to my comings and goings at all hours of the day and night. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I lie. Jesse knows I’m lying, but club business stays between members. “How is he?”

“It took a while to put him down, but he’s sleeping now.”

“What was the problem?” That inherent worry that comes from being a parent kicks in.

“Sheer stubbornness.”

I eye Jesse, wanting to know what the fuck that means, then remember my son is more like me than I’d like to admit.

Two-years-old, and he knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid to demand it.

He’s a good kid, smart too. He’s going through some changes, what with his mom running off.

I’ve struggled to get him to sleep myself.

“You don’t need me in the morning, right?” Jesse asks.

Fuck, given what went down tonight, I’ll need to get back to the clubhouse early.

Jesse sees it and frowns. I’ve known Jesse my whole life.

We grew up on the same street. He was fascinated with my family’s way of life, but never aspired to join the MC.

Not that Crash, the previous president, would have let him.

From a very young age, it was clear Jesse was into guys. His sexual orientation never bothered me, but it wasn’t welcome at the Club. Now I run the place, things are different. Some of the old timers didn’t like it when I changed shit up, but I am in charge. What I say goes.

Anyone who doesn’t like it, they’re free to fuck right off. People have a right to be whoever they want to be, and unless they’re a raging asshole or a complete fuckwit, I’m not going to judge them. No one left, but I keep my eye on those who don’t like it.

By the time I was running the place, Jesse had gotten a business degree in college and opened his own financial consultancy agency. Over the years, it’s grown bigger both in size and reputation, and now he is CEO of a highly sought-after finance company.

Jesse was as shocked as I was finding out about Oscar, but he stepped up, knowing I couldn’t take care of my son the way a normal father does. They’re like two peas in a pod. Sometimes I watch them and think my son loves Jesse more than me, and guilt wracks me.

Jesse will never let Oscar forget I’m his dad.

“I have an appointment. It’ll only take a couple of hours. I can be back around lunchtime.”

My gut plummets. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s routine.” He watches my jaw clench and rolls his eyes. “I’d say if something was wrong.”

“I haven’t forgotten the time you thought you were going fucking blind and didn’t tell me shit.”

He turns off the burner and moves the pan to the counter, saying nothing as he grabs a bowl and scoops some of the stew into it. Anyone witnessing this would think he was my fucking husband. I’m too hungry to care. I’m also not letting this drop.

“You don’t go to the clinic unless there is a problem.”

“Christ, Noah. I’m fine.” Jesse never calls me by my road name. We’ve known each other too long for that. It also sounds weird as shit whenever he calls me Nero.

My eyes narrow. “Are you overdoing it? Getting too tired?”

“This isn’t about Oscar,” he snaps. “Keeping active is one thing that is good for me.” He shoves the bowl across the counter at me, together with a wedge of sourdough bread. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

If anyone in the club could see me now, they wouldn’t recognize me. The worry is written all over my face when normally I control my emotions. People think I’m an unfeeling bastard.

“Are you taking your insulin properly?”

“Of course I am.”

“So what the fuck is up?”

“Will you give it a damn rest? And stop cussing at me.”

Losing Jesse is not up for debate. Yes, I agree he takes care of himself. There has never been any worry, not really. The whole going blind thing was blurry vision that was corrected with dosage changes of his medication.

“I’m going home.”

He heads around the counter but stops in front of me. “I don’t want to talk about the symptoms I’m experiencing right now because it’s personal and you won’t want to hear it.”

Everything there is to know about diabetes is imprinted on my brain. All the complications, all the issues he lives with. I can’t help it, my eyes drop to his crotch. Not in a pervy way, but if he doesn’t want to discuss it, then it’s got to be something to do with that.

Without warning, Jesse punches me. He has a mean right hook and catches my jaw. I snarl at him, but don’t hit him back. It wasn’t even hard, he’s making a point. This is the way we are with each other. Anyone else tried that, they’d be on the ground in a heartbeat.

Truth is, I don’t need to hear about his sex drive.

It would make both of us uncomfortable. I can understand why it’s bothering him.

No guy wants their dick to stop working.

Even if I don’t like the dickhead he’s been dating lately.

Somehow, I know that prick would up and walk out on him if shit got bad. Jesse deserves better.

One of my men, Ghost ran a full background check on the guy for me when they first started dating, which came back clean. I still don’t trust him, he has a shitty job and rides on Jesse’s success more than I like.

Jesse tells me he’ll be here around midday, to eat the damn food, and focus on Oscar. Can’t argue with that.

I watch him leave then stare at the food he made me, suddenly not all that hungry anymore, but I eat it anyway because he’s right, I need to be on top of things tomorrow. Knowing my son, he’ll be awake before six AM.

After clearing up, I head upstairs and go check on Oscar. I’m grateful to Sheridan for bringing him into my life. The love I have for this tiny person goes beyond anything else I’ve ever experienced.

I hate that I’m keeping him a secret, but it’s for his own good. No one will ever harm my boy. I’d rain down hell on anyone who even tried. Careful not to disturb him, I go to my room, holding the baby monitor so I can keep an eye on him.

I need a shower and about nine hours of sleep. I won’t get either, but what’s new? This is my life.

A text comes through as I lay down, so I check the phone. It’s Rebel, letting me know the ugly business at Stryker’s is done. I send a one-word reply, then set the phone down and stare at the ceiling.

It takes a long time for sleep to take me.