CHAPTER EIGHT
Pulling through the clubhouse gates, I catch myself looking at the compound through fresh eyes, wondering what Foxy thinks of it.
The three-story steel monstrosity that is our clubhouse stands in the center like a fortress—which is exactly what it is.
Built to withstand hurricanes, floods, and anything else Mother Nature might throw at us, it’s anchored a hundred feet into the ground with rebar and concrete.
But it’s not just the clubhouse itself.
It’s everything around it that makes this place home.
The massive garage with its bay doors open. The shooting range off to the east. The fire pit where we have our parties. The basketball court where Jagger and some of the prospects shoot hoops. The pool where Saylor learned to swim.
This place is more than just a compound.
It’s a legacy.
Something my pop built.
Something that I’ll pass down to my son one day if he wants it.
I glance in my side mirror at Foxy following us up to the clubhouse on her ridiculous sparkly bike.
Is she comparing our home to the Saints’?
Is she impressed?
I mentally roll my eyes. Is she impressed?
With all the shit that’s gone down today, her liking this place should be the last thing on my damn mind.
Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I pull into my spot near the front door.
Bane pulls up beside me, and Foxy brings her crotch rocket to a stop on the other side of him.
I take a moment to appreciate the way she swings her leg over the seat.
Those tight leather pants leave little to the imagination, and my imagination’s already in overdrive where she’s concerned.
Climbing off my own bike, I move to help Bane.
“Shit,” he hisses, eyes scrunching from the pain as he climbs off his Fat Boy.
My brother’s as stubborn as a mule, but even he knows when to accept help.
He throws an arm around my neck, and I wrap mine around his waist, taking some of his weight as he stands.
“This is fucking embarrassing,” he mutters, wincing as we take the first step toward the clubhouse.
“What? That you got your ass handed to you twice today?” I smirk.
“Fuck off.”
Foxy rushes ahead of us to the door, holding it open. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something there I can’t quite place.
Concern? Guilt?
Not sure why. She saved my brother’s ass today, and that earns her points in my book.
“Thanks,” I grunt as I squeeze through the doorway, still supporting Bane’s weight.
The moment we step inside, I spot my parents sitting at a table near the stage, and I groan internally.
Fuck.
Ma’s going to lose her shit when she gets a look at Bane’s face.
The woman raised us to be tough, but she still loses it every time one of us comes home bloody.
My parents glance over their shoulders, and sure enough, my mom’s eyes go as big as a beach ball when she spots us.
“Oh my God! What happened?” She’s on her feet in a flash.
My dad trails behind her, but he’s not nearly as worked up. He was president before me. He knows firsthand that shit can go sideways in the blink of an eye, like it did today.
Mom steps in front of us, lifting her hands to Bane’s battered face. “Son. Why do you have to keep pissing people off? Look at your beautiful face.”
Bane turns his head, pulling his face from her hands. “Ma! Stop fussin’.”
Ma’s hands land on her hips.
Oh boy. Here we go.
“I’m not fussin’!”
Dad’s eyes are lit up with humor as he comes up behind her and wraps an arm over her chest. “Roxy, leave the boy alone.”
Her eyes narrow up at Pop as she waves a hand out in front of her, crystals dangling from her wrists. “I wouldn’t have to fuss if they’d learn some damn self-control.”
Bane and I exchange a look, both of us trying hard not to smile.
Ma’s a natural redhead. She has one hell of a temper. We get our lack of self-control from her. She’d never admit that, though.
She’s not wrong, though.
If I’d been able to keep my shit together when I caught my ex-wife in bed with another man, I wouldn’t have gotten locked up for five years. I wouldn’t have missed my daughter’s birth. Wouldn’t have missed out on the most critical years of my son’s life.
I fucked up.
Royally.
And I regret it every fucking day.
“Daddy!”
I turn around when I hear Saylor calling out, and I see her running across the room as fast as she can.
Foxy’s raccoon is right behind her, both of them like little tornadoes of energy.
Saylor starts to stumble, and my heart leaps in my chest. Arms spinning like a windmill, she manages to catch herself before she falls.
“Saylor! Slow down.”
“Okay,” she chirps, still hauling ass in our direction.
Foxy’s raccoon scurries past Saylor, making a beeline for its mama. The little fucker climbs up Foxy’s legs like it’s scaling a tree.
Bane snorts beside me. “Fat fucker, ain’t it?”
You can say that again.
“It’s not nice to say fat, Uncle Coopey,” Saylor says, skidding to a stop in front of us.
Bane looks down at Saylor to say something, and my little girl’s eyes flare. “Uncle Coopey!” Her face falls. “What happened to your face?”
Jagger swaggers over and pulls his sister against his side.
I’ve done a lot of bad shit in my life, but seeing my boy comfort his sister is how I know I’ve gotten some shit right, too.
Jagger’s lips turn down as he takes in his uncle’s ragged appearance. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Bane grumbles.
“Uncle Coopey, who did that to you?”
“Nobody, kid. I’m fine. Fell off my bike, that's all.” He forces a smile, and a drop of blood spills from his split lip. “I’m okay, Princess. Promise.”
“Don’t worry, baby. Uncle Bane is tough,” I reassure her, squeezing Bane’s shoulder harder than necessary.
Before Saylor can ask any more questions, Foxy steps in, crouching down to my daughter’s level. “How did Panda do while we were gone?”
I shoot Foxy a grateful look, thankful for the redirection.
Saylor’s eyes light up immediately. “Oh my goodness! He climbed the big tree behind the clubhouse and wouldn’t come down. Pop-pop had to get the ladder, but then Panda jumped on his head!”
I hear Foxy telling my baby girl that Panda loves climbing trees as I help Bane down the hallway.
“She’s something else,” Bane mutters as we make our way down the hall.
“Who? Mom?” I ask, knowing damn well he doesn’t mean our mother.
“Shut up, asshole. You know who I mean.”
I help him onto the exam table in our infirmary, a room equipped with everything from bandages to surgical tools.
Dad follows us in, his weathered face set in grim lines. “What happened?”
“Sinners,” I tell him as Doc comes in behind him. “Ambushed Bane outside Dave’s. It’s like they knew we were coming.”
Doc, a gray-haired man in his fifties with steady hands and a perpetual scowl, pours alcohol on a cotton ball and dabs it on the gash on Bane’s eyebrow without warning.
“Fuck!” Bane hisses, jerking his head back.
“Be still,” Doc orders, gripping Bane’s chin to hold him steady. “So, you want to tell me what happened with the mayor? Word around town is he’s missing.”
I sigh, running a hand over the top of my head. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is,” Doc mutters, probing at Bane’s ribs with his free hand. “You’ve got at least two broken ribs. Gonna need stitches in that eyebrow too.”
Bane pulls out his phone, tapping away with his thumbs. “We need to call church tonight.”
I nod in agreement.
This day has been nothing but one clusterfuck after another.
First, the mayor’s body at Kitties, then Foxy dropping Bane on his ass and putting a gun to his head. Now, Bane is beaten to shit. Can’t forget about Chief drawing a big fucking line in the sand where his sister is concerned. A line, I’m positive I’m going to cross.
Fuck.
Bane’s phone chimes, indicating he’s sent off a text to the rest of the officers.
“Eight o’clock,” he says, wincing as Doc starts preparing the suture kit. “Everyone will be here.”
“Good,” I reply, my mind already racing through all the shit we need to discuss.
The mayor’s murder, the Sinners being in our territory, and whatever the fuck that message on the wall meant.
It doesn’t take a genius to put all the pieces together.
I blow out a long breath, trying to release some of the tension that’s been building all day.
“Shit,” Bane hisses when Doc starts to sew up his brow.
Thank the gods Foxy was there today.
If she hadn’t stepped in when she did...
I scrub my hands over my face.
My brother would be dead.
No. I don’t even want to think about it.
“I’m going to check on Chief’s sister,” I announce, heading for the door. “Make sure she’s okay.”
Bane looks at me questioningly, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“She shot a man,” I clarify, though that’s not the only reason I want to see her.
Bane’s expression shifts to concern. “Yeah.”
Stepping out of the infirmary, I pause in the hallway, leaning back against the wall for a moment.
What a fucking day.
The sound of Saylor’s laughter drifts down the hall, followed by my mother’s voice telling some story or another.
Then I hear it—Foxy’s laugh.
It’s light and genuine, not the forced laugh of someone trying to fit in, but the real deal.
I push off the wall and head back toward the main room, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
This pull I feel toward her is dangerous—I know that.
Chief made it clear she’s off limits, and getting involved with her could jeopardize our business with the Saints.
But since the minute I clapped eyes on her, something shifted in me.
Something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
Something I’m not sure I’m ready to examine too closely.
I round the corner to find Foxy sitting at the table with Ma, Jagger, and Saylor. Panda is curled in her lap, munching on what looks like a cookie, while Saylor chatters excitedly, her hands moving animatedly. My Ma is watching with amusement, and even my boy seems charmed.
Foxy’s eyes find mine across the room, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
There’s a question in those emerald depths, a curiosity that matches my own.
Who are you? What is this between us?