Chapter Four—Rory
Watching his mother had become Rory’s new pastime, since his fuckhead father turned his back on her.
With Rebel and Aunt Meggie so gravely ill, he just couldn’t face his father.
At the hospital, Rory would’ve been relegated to the waiting room, so when Mom announced she was going to her office, he jumped at the chance to escape, relieved it was Saturday.
His focus on school diminished every day. Soon, he’d have zero interest.
The minute Mom dropped him off at the mall and drove away, Rory called Gypsy and hung out with her.
Although questioning her about whatever she remembered from years ago was his primary goal, for which he paid her, he also didn’t turn down the other things she agreed to teach him.
Once they finished talking–and other things–he told Gypsy to drop him off at Turn Creek Bridge.
He’d been on the pedestrian deck for hours, watching Mom.
Like everyone else, he was reeling, unable to believe that less than forty-eight hours ago, fun and games were on everyone’s minds.
Rory hated to see her cry, but he loved her strength, even when she didn’t realize she had it. It took a strong woman to deal with—and still love—John Peter Donovan.
He had been a good dad to Rory and JJ, a nightmare to Mattie, and indifferent toward Blade.
Rory loved his father; he just hated that motherfucker.
All the qualities that helped to make him such an icon among some of the members, all the smarts that allowed him to draw his own faction within the club to continue blocking Uncle Christopher, lay in fucking flames, burned away by jealousy and stupidity.
If Dad wanted to lead the club, Rory might understand his behavior better but his dislike of overseeing the club was legendary. Rory didn’t even know why his father continued to run for, and win, the vice president’s position.
He wasn’t fucking qualified.
Lighting a cigarette and taking a few puffs, Rory watched Gramps walk out of Mom’s office. She grabbed her purse and her fur of the day, draped it over an arm, and looked around.
Did she suspect she was being watched?
Rory doubted it. Mom wasn’t bluffing Gramps that she’d tell Diesel about Grandma’s idiocy.
Rory wasn’t sure what his little sister had done, but they both knew Rory’s watchful eye had to fly under the radar of their father.
If Mom saw a red light, she might ask Dad about it, then Rory and Mattie would be busted.
He could handle his father; Mattie couldn’t. Just as he was determined to protect Mom, he was just as determined to protect Matilda. Dad was erratic and his mood turned without warning. For now, he played nice with Mattie. How long that would last, no one knew.
So, no, Dad didn’t need to know Rory watched Mom. During school, he set alerts—Mattie set alerts. Whenever someone came into her office, it beeped or vibrated, and Rory did a quick check to make sure everything was fine.
He planned to call Dad if he ever found her in distress. If Dad didn’t answer or refused to help, he’d speed dial Uncle Christopher and Uncle Mortician.
He took more drags and smoke plumed in front of him. Mom remained in the middle of her office, her expression so vulnerable Rory wanted to find Dad and bash his fucking face in.
How could Dad do that to her? What the fuck was wrong with that motherfucker?
Logan.
Logan was wrong with Dad.
He was Logan’s grandson. He looked like that fuckhead and the older he got, the more he turned into him.
Pain shot through Rory.
Was that his fate, too? Did insanity run in the family?
He looked like his father and, by extension, his great-grandfather.
Should he even marry when he was older? Would he curse his sons, too?
Or was he just running scared because of the depth of his father’s fuckery?
Was it because of what he thought he knew.
Mom’s research debunked most of Bash’s claims, despite his documents. So now what?
A few short weeks ago, Rory was convinced Bash marked Aunt Meggie for death.
He’d told CJ everything he’d discovered.
He’d almost confessed to Aunt Meggie. If CJ had been listening and actually heard Rory or if he hadn’t chickened out when he faced Aunt Meggie, his confession would’ve been pointless.
Dad would’ve died because he’d believed Bash as much as Rory.
More proof he was doomed.
Sometimes, Rory felt the inescapable weight of the Donovan genes. He viewed women a certain way; embraced vengeance and violence.
Nature or nurture?
As a Donovan, it was in Rory’s nature to be a self-righteous coward. As a Caldwell, he needed to tap into the loyalty so much a part of Uncle Christopher. Of CJ, Axel, Ryder, and Ransom.
Of their grandfather. Dad had taken the worst of Cee Cee Caldwell, but Rory preferred his legacy to Logan Donovan’s.
Mom drew in a deep breath. She was a tall woman; she still loved her heels.
She’d relented slightly on cooking slop passing as health food.
They had less squid ink and more brown gravy.
Rory smiled. Mom would forever be Mom, and he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
It frightened him so much that Dad’s behavior could lead her to suicide.
But no.
She was accepted. She didn’t need Dad’s approval. Her kids and her family would hold her up. Lolly and Aunt Meggie would go to war on Mom’s behalf. Aunt Zoann would beat a motherfucker to the ground for her. They were strong women, who looked up to Mom as much as Mom looked up to them.
Mom ran her fingers through her hair, adjusting the thick mass to one side, so it streamed over a shoulder. She joked that Aunt Meggie finally looked twenty-five. Well, Mom finally looked thirty-five. An ‘It’ girl who seemed to have it all.
Except real true happiness. Except a husband who still placed her on a pedestal.
Rory flicked away his cigarette. “What happened to you, Dad?”
He wanted his father back. Mom’s sadness was pervasive. Rory didn’t want that for her or for himself. He especially didn’t want it for Mattie. She’d been through enough.
The sound of footsteps reached him and he tensed, but he refused to look up. He wouldn’t give the motherfucker the satisfaction.
“Like father, like son.” Easton DeLuca snickered. “Same thing happened to Johnnie, the day I met him. My father just snuck in.”
Mom flicked off the light, walked into the hallway, and closed the door behind her. He’d need to leave, so he couldn’t linger. If she didn’t find him home or at the hospital, she’d worry.
Rory shoved his phone into his pocket. “What does Bash want, DeLuca?”
“You already know.”
“The club. Aunt Meggie dead. But there’s no proof that any of his claims are accurate.”
“He has fucking documents.”
“That my mother is researching, and she hasn’t found a fucking thing.” Rory glared at the motherfucker—his cousin. One of several, since Bash spread his seed as much as Cee Cee Caldwell. “But what does he want now? Why are you lurking?”
Today, Easton wore a suit and tie. He was so much more refined than Bash. More handsome and elegant. A man who could blend in anywhere.
“Why do you think?”
“Personally? To fuck with my father. Which we discussed when I found you in his office. But there has to be another reason. Are you here to kill Aunt Meggie?” He couldn’t find evidence nor could Mom. Neither could he dismiss what he’d been told.
If DeLuca was sent to kill Aunt Meggie, Dad was dead. As he should be as the motherfucker who introduced her to her killer, despite how much the thought devastated Rory.
DeLuca glanced away. “He wants me to,” he admitted. “But…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I…even if I agreed with killing women and children…I couldn’t kill her. In my time around Bash and Cleaner, I’ve met a lot of women. She’s one of the fiercest and she just adores her husband.”
“A husband who is a psycho.” Rory thought of Diesel and the photos he’d sent of Joplin and Gail. First, evidence. He hoped Diesel didn’t send mass texts. Second, horrific even by Rory’s standards. “She has a son who is even more of a psycho.”
“What the fuck do you want me to do? My allegiance is to the Scorpions. I could’ve told them I was meeting you—”
“First? Fuck you. You aren’t here to kill me. Second, why give them your allegiance, DeLuca? We’re your family, too. If that’s what you need, choose us. Help me save Aunt Meggie so I can save that idiot.”
DeLuca snickered. “Johnnie, I assume?”
Rory didn’t answer.
“I want to meet with CJ. Bring him to me—”
“Fuck you. Fuck no. You’ll never ambush my cousin.”
“Those are the terms, kid.”
“You want to meet with CJ? Talk to him at the club. You’re there, pretending to want to patch in. Otherwise? Fuck. You.” He spat the words slowly and succinctly, so DeLuca wouldn’t miss his derision. “Fuck you. Understand?”
“Even if you’re risking your Aunt Meggie?”
“You’re not playing that fucking game with me, asshole. I’m already risking her trying to save my father. I’m not throwing CJ to the fucking wolves with sick fucking games.”
DeLuca shrugged. “Your choice.”
Rory thought about his mother and how, at one point, it seemed as if she would break, before she looked at the camera and basically told his father to fuck himself.
“I love my dad,” he reiterated evenly. “I want to save him. For me. For Mom. I’m deserting my aunt, a woman I love, respect, and admire, for a man who seems as if he no longer has a brain or a heart.
I’m deserting CJ, a cousin I’ve looked up to my entire life for a man who doesn’t value anyone’s life, even his own. You don’t know how that makes me feel.”
“As if you carry a great burden. One you shouldn’t have to bear at your age.”
“I’m days away from fifteen, yet sometimes I feel fifty,” Rory confirmed.
“When I was fifteen, my predominant thought was school, football, and girls. Not these life and death decisions.”