37. Maddie
37
MADDIE
His brooding profile highlighted by the dim glow of the fire, I find my uncle in the same spot as I've seen him a thousand nights before: slouched in the worn Chesterfield, one fist tucked beneath his chin as he stares into the open fire. His head rises when I approach, and Digger pats the cushion at his side in an invitation to join him in his midnight musings.
“Can’t sleep?” His words are as much a statement as they are a question.
"Not really." My brain can't decide which to ponder more: Sweetie's demise or Deo's lack of response. I drop beside Digger and lift his arm to tuck myself against his side. "Can I ask you something?"
“You could read me the fucking ingredients on a soup can, for all I care. It’s just good to hear your voice, Mads.”
I take a moment to relish his admission before forging ahead. “How does this work for you guys?”
He pauses. “What do you mean?”
"I mean, Daddy's up in Rae's room right now, and you're down here hypnotized by the fire." I sigh. "I guess I just don't understand how you both share her without getting jealous."
He stays quiet for a long while, chest steadily rising and falling against my cheek. "If I said I was never jealous when they're alone, I'd be a liar." He hesitates before continuing. "But I guess what makes it work is knowing that seeing how she makes him happy makes me happy, too. I've been tryin’ for years to get your old man to relax. To turn his mind to something other than the club. But there’s only so much I can do as his brother.” He shrugs. “Rae fills that void.”
"Do you ever wish you could have what she gives him for yourself, though?" I don't ask to stir the pot. I ask because I care about my uncle, and watching him retreat further into himself the older I get has been my own kind of torture.
I've never known Uncle Dig to be truly happy, but I want that for him.
"I do get the same for myself," he answers. "And again, I think that's what makes it work. Rae never pits us against each other. She never makes us compete. We each get what we need from her, and in turn, she gets all she needs from both of us."
“I guess.” Years of conditioning have me struggling to understand how their dynamic works, but I can see his point. My head aches as I try to undo my preconceptions of what love must be—of how a relationship needs to look.
If I can be wrong about this, then what else do I ignorantly believe?
Gaze soft on the dancing flames, I ask, “What’s next for us? For the club?”
Digger sighs, hand patting my arm. “Wish I could tell you, beautiful girl.”
“But you can,” I tease, aware nobody else is here to overhear him sharing club business with me.
"No." He smiles sadly. "I mean, I wish I knew the answer so I could tell you."
“Oh.” Hearing he doesn’t have the solution raises my pulse. He’s supposed to be my pillar. Part of the foundation for everything safe in my life. He’s supposed to have the answers, to know what to say to set me at ease.
To know how we get out of this.
The older people in your life are supposed to know how to deal with the monsters under the bed.
“I’m scared, Dig.”
His hand pauses, squeezing tight around the back of my bicep. “It’s okay to be, Mads. You had a hell of an experience. Nobody expects you to be okay after needin’ to do that.”
I sigh, fidgeting with a thread that sticks out from a torn section on the thigh of his jeans. “I’m not scared because of what happened with Sweetie.” Her name brings vomit to the back of my throat. Liar. "I'm scared about what comes next." I pull free of his hold, shifting to the front of the seat so I can turn to face him. "Daddy tries real hard to keep this club from being pulled too far underground, but we’re getting buried anyway, ain’t we? Terry, Volkov, Atticus, and all the fuckers that want us out from between them. We can’t hold on forever.”
Yeah—I had a while to think while I knelt blindfolded on that floor.
"No," Digger says carefully. "We can't hold on forever. But none of this is for you to worry about." He offers a cautious smile and sighs. "Things will get rough, but the Reapers will pull through. We always do."
I recognize the doubt in his tone. Catch the confliction in his gaze as he frowns at the flames before us.
The truth is, we've balanced a precarious line between the gangland factions for years. Used our ability to navigate the roads—main and lesser known—with agility and ease to make a name for ourselves as the people who get shit done. You want something carted from A to B without anyone catching wind of what or when? We're your people. You want something broken down and distributed to your employees across the state? We're your people.
But others have caught on. Kane's talked about it plenty of times, seeing the dollar bills in the young guys' eyes when he trawls the suburbs. The Reapers were once known for their brutality and lack of morals when it came time to get the job done. It was that fear that held challengers at bay.
And then Daddy took over.
I can't blame him for wanting change. It's not nice to walk down the street and have people push their kids behind their backs, for women to dart into the closest store, and for men to set their shoulders and never break eye contact.
It’s not a peaceful life when you rule by fear, but I’ve come to realize this past year or more that fear is what keeps the wolf at bay.
Alphas won't challenge another alpha without cause. But take the bite out of the dog, domesticate it, and make it a servant, and suddenly, alphas aren’t so shy about baring their teeth. Snapping at the heels.
Terry is an alpha. Volkov is an alpha. And Atticus Crow positions himself as one, too.
My father? He’s the dog that’s had the wild whipped out of it. Obedient and fair, he serves his masters, and his masters want what he has.
I love my father, but I understand why Turnip walked.
“Do you think he’ll be back?” I ask. Adding, “Turnip?” when I realize I've started talking halfway through my train of thought.
Digger shrugs. “I’d hope so, but then a part of me doesn’t want a man at the table who can’t be trusted to put the club above all else.”
“Who said he wasn’t?”
My uncle’s eyes snap to mine, suspicion evident in the narrowing of his smile lines. “What you mean?”
"I heard he walked because he doesn't like the direction the club has taken lately."
“Somebody’s been runnin’ their mouth more than they should.” He grumbles the complaint, rolling his jaw as he watches the fire lick over a log. “Turnip walked because he doesn’t like what your father suggested we do next.”
I tuck my knees up, shoulder burrowed against the back of the sofa, and give Digger my undivided attention. “What’d he say?” Hearing about this shit strangely keeps my mind occupied from the events of the day, and knowing club business has always given me the good kind of thrill that fills my lungs and warms my heart.
I want to be involved. I want the best for the Reaper name, our people, and our future.
I don’t care if women don’t sit at the table—most of what holds a club together happens between the sisters in a quiet back room anyway. Men may be the muscle, but the women provide the foundation.
"How much did you hear about what happened when Tyke went out this afternoon?"
“I know Uncle Fox is taking a dirt nap.” Good fucking riddance. “I know there was some shit go down before Daddy pulled the trigger. That’s why you all had a meeting after. And I know Kane thought it’d be a good fucking idea to choke the life out of my best friend.”
"Yeah." Digger rubs a hand over his head, ruffling his perpetually sleep-mussed hair. "I've had words with him about that. Won't happen again. He has to stay in line if he wants to keep his patch, so tell me if he gives you any grief, okay?"
"Sure." Visions of Kane spitting tacks at the probation bring a cheeky smile to my face. "Bet he's tripping over his bottom lip wherever he goes now."
“You betchya." Digger smirks, his face falling before he continues. "Terry's time has come to an end." He sighs. "The club needs him gone and this fuckin’ private road idea of his.”
“What’s the road got to do with what he did to Rae?” I pull my knee tight against my chest. “To me? I don’t understand.”
I was fucking kidnapped, and vetoing a goddamn private road is their priority?
“Fox made a deal with the Devil’s Breed to move trafficked women up that road.” My uncle peeks at my reaction, curling his nose a little at the expected shock that widens my eyes. “He did it while pretending to act on behalf of the club.”
"Fuck," I breathe, burying my hands in the warmth of my sleeves. "No wonder Daddy killed him."
“Tyke had no choice,” Digger says quietly. “Your uncle was too far gone.”
Not that I mind, really. Uncle Fox and I never saw eye-to-eye. He was an absolute menace to me, and we had no relationship to speak of, so what is there to grieve?
"What if we tell the Devil's Breed we excommunicated him?" I say. “Explain he had no right to agree what he did.”
"Don't work like that, sweetheart. Colors are a promise and a contract. The fact that he had them when he met with the Breed overrules anything decided between officers prior. This fuck up ain’t their problem, it’s ours.”
“Shit.” Daddy really messed up when he let Fox get away with not returning his patch. “The Breed won’t care what road we use, though, right? What happens when they push the contract?”
“We make it too expensive to be viable. Convince them to look elsewhere.”
"That's a bit of a stretch." I swallow, hands flexing over my shin. "They're more likely to try and force our hand, aren't they?" The Devil's Breed has a reputation for violence without justification. Giving them a reason to be mad with us gives them license to be twice as volatile.
“They are.”
“Daddy knows this, doesn’t he?” I whisper. “That he’ll start a war.”
Digger tips his head back and sighs. “Yeah. He does.”
I open my mouth to ask what made him change his stance like this, what made him head toward the very thing he's avoided his entire tenure as president when the door to the yard slides open.
Digger spins in his seat, rising to his feet to face whoever decided the small hours would be a great fucking time to walk into the clubhouse for goddamn one percenters without invitation.
A rush of cold air slides across the floor, tickling my ankles as I set my feet on the ground and prepare to either run out of harm's way or toward the asshole shaking off his hooded jacket as he slides the door shut, back to Digger and I.
“You got business bein’ here?” Digger growls.
The visitor turns, and my stomach flips before thrashing against my heart, waking the dormant organ.
“Fuck off, old man.”
“Deo!” I skirt the sofa and leg it across the room before coming to my senses and slowing to a stop out of reach. “Where have you been?”
He drops his welcoming arms, smile falling from his face as I place a spatial barrier between us. “What’s the matter, babe?”
"Why didn't you answer my messages?" Fuck him if he thinks he can just walk back in here and have me fawn over him like a goddamn simp.
I needed him. I needed his reassurance and love, and he fucking walked away.
“Had my hands a little tied up,” he quips, rubbing his wrists as he does. “Came as soon as I could.”
“You were already here,” I remind him. “You came back now because you already left . Why’d you leave me?”
“You got to ask that?” He smirks.
Fuck him and his goddamn perfect mouth. “I do. Yeah.”
Digger’s faint shadow falls across the cold floor. “Where you been, boy?”
“Doing things you fuckers are too goddamn precious to.”
My uncle steps forward, inches between him and the son of my mother’s new husband. “Stop.” I hold a hand between them, stomach in knots at what Deo’s words could mean.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Digger warns, nose inches from Deo’s as he assesses his rival. “You walk in here; you pay respect to the house you're in. You ain’t at home now, kid. And your daddy ain’t here to back you up. You're on Reaper property, meaning you afford my niece here the respect she's owed."
“Wanna back the fuck up, old man, so I can show you both the goddamn respect I paid her?”
Digger moves one boot backward, slowly shifting his weight to it. His brow remains furrowed, as does mine. What respect is Deo talking about? What the fuck has he been doing while I’ve mentally run the hard yards, pulling myself out of shock and shivering my way through the resulting panic attacks?
“What did you do?” I lift my hands to my arms and rub my biceps through the fluffy lining of my sweatshirt.
Deo's hungry gaze drifts down my body to my bare legs, stopping when he reaches my equally bare feet. "How about you find something warmer to wear, sweetheart, and then I'll show you."