Chapter Seven #2
not hide she liked what she saw.
He was wearing a pair of dark-red sleep shorts with a black
drawstring and that was it.
Last night, and right now, he’d not missed she was making
another play with her wardrobe decisions considering he doubted she usually
wore what she had on now to bed.
Halter top, all lace up there, cut low, lots of cleavage,
semi-sheer skirt, not lace, but super short.
His girl.
He smiled at her, got into bed, put his back to the
headboard, legs stretched out, and Murtagh made what Dutch thought was a
lunatic decision.
This being, he defected from Georgie’s lap to take residence
on Dutch’s abs.
“You’re stealing my-cat-not-my-cat,” Georgie accused.
“Cut the crap, babe, he’s your cat,” Dutch replied,
simultaneously reaching for his coffee and stroking the cat.
“Whatever,” she mumbled and shifted so she was angled his
way, one knee resting on his hip.
Okay.
Here we go.
Shit.
“Dutch—”
“No offense, darlin’, but you won’t get it,” he said gently.
“I know that, but I think you need to explain it to me
anyway,” she returned, just as gently.
He drew in breath and let out a big sigh.
Then, instead of explaining, mostly because he had no clue
what to say, he took a sip of coffee.
“I’m gonna say something and you
tell me if I’m off base,” she declared.
“Shoot,” he invited.
“I watched that movie, now twice,” she began. “And your
father…”
He felt his body grow taut.
Murtagh mrr’ed.
Georgie persevered.
“He was…I suspect this is not lost on you…he was revered by
your Club, Dutch.”
“It’s not lost on me,” he grunted.
“That’s a lot to live up to.”
He stilled.
“And then there’s Hound,” she said.
He stared at her.
“Your Club has four pillars that hold it up,” she stated.
“Kane ‘Tack’ Allen, the president, the visionary. The man who would stop at
nothing to guide them to being the Club it was intended to be. Cole ‘Rush’
Allen, his son. The man who would take the reins and lead the Club into the
future when they were as they were meant to be. Graham Black, the example. The
man who exemplified everything they wanted to become. And Shepherd ‘Hound’
Ironside, the dependable. The backbone. The man who would sacrifice whatever he
had to in order to get them there.”
Now Dutch was finding it hard to breathe.
“Two of those men are your fathers.”
“I know,” he pushed out.
“I don’t know, but I assume it’s hard being the son of
either of those men. Never mind both.”
Good fucking Christ.
“Dutch, do you have any clue how unbelievably amazing you
are?” she asked.
Good fucking Christ.
“Georgiana—”
“They made you that, blood and guts, they made you that,
Dutch. And you let them. You became you, not someone else, because of
them and because of you.”
“Stop talking,” he growled.
“No,” she denied.
Shifting out of cross-legs, she leaned over him to put her
coffee on the nightstand, took his and did the same, and she stayed close.
“They had a war to fight and you grew up under their example
and you’re searching for your war when they gave everything so you wouldn’t
have to do that.”
“I’m not a man who can’t not have something to
strive toward.”
It came right out of his mouth, what was bugging him, and he
didn’t even know it was that until that moment.
“Okay, you know that isn’t a bad thing.”
“I manage our shop. The auto supply side. The inventory. I
do the books and give them to Rush. I make sure the shelves are stocked. I do
the ordering.”
“Dutch—”
“It’s suffocating me.”
And those words sounded like he was suffocating.
Georgie didn’t miss it.
“Stop doing it,” she whispered.
“I gotta. It’s my part of being a
brother.”
“They would not want you to suffocate.”
“They got mortgages to pay and families to feed.”
“It’s driving you away from them.”
Fuck, she was right.
Fuck, she was so right.
He averted his gaze.
She grabbed both sides of his face and made him look at her.
“You can’t be you without them.”
“I joined them because I wanted to be a part of something.”
“You are.”
“I wanted to be a part of who they were…are.”
He meant his dad.
And his other dad.
She pressed in on his face. “You are, Dutch.”
“It isn’t there anymore.”
“Because you’re not letting it be.”
“What?”
“You and I are going to find Carlyle. We’re gonna figure this out for him. Do you know how much faster
that would go if a motorcycle club whose members know the streets better than
the cops helped us out?”
He sat up straighter, losing her hands, and Murtagh jumped
off with an annoyed “Muwrrrr.”
“Babe.”
“Quiet, please, and listen—”
“They’ve been through too much. We vote on shit like this
and they’ll vote it down.”
She sat back and asked a shocked, “Have you lost your mind?”
“Watchin’ a documentary, even
twice, does not mean you know my Club, Georgiana.”
“No, but I stood in your own damned living room, with your
brother and your dad, both in pain because you hadn’t shared, you hadn’t asked
them to be at your side through this, and I figure it isn’t a stretch that
every brother who wears your patch would feel the same way.”
He shut up.
“They are not going to vote this down, Dutch. They’re going
to feel angry and betrayed you went this alone. And they’re going to feel pain
too, because you’re drifting away when you are the bones of them.”
Her words made something in his chest squeeze.
Hard.
“What?”
“You’re him.”
And at that, his stomach started to churn so much, he
thought he’d be sick. “I’m not.”
“Dutch, both of you are.”
“Georgiana, don’t talk shit you don’t know.”
“My God, Dutch!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in
exasperation. “Carolyn has been stealing from your brother for
years to feed a drug habit and Jagger was justifiably angry
when he found out. He called her an ugly name and within seconds apologized
to me because he said that about my sister when I was around. That is your
father. That is Jagger. That is you.”
Dutch stared at her.
“You’re right, I never had and never will have the absolute honor
of meeting your father. And you’re right times two, all I know about him is
that film, and getting to know you. You look like him. And you look at
me like he looks at the camera in pictures I’ve seen of him—”
“Stop talking.”
“And you held Murtagh like he held you—”
“Stop talking.”
“And Murtagh is just a cat. God works in mysterious
and sometimes hideous ways that are still wondrous. He took away Graham Black.
But when He did, He left the world with two of him. Jagger and you.”
He surged up, taking hold of her, and landed on her with her
on her back.
She let out a puff of air.
“Stop fucking talking,” he bit out.
She stopped talking.
He scowled at her until, like he couldn’t hold it up
anymore, his head dropped, his forehead slamming into hers.
She didn’t make a peep.
He shut his eyes, tight.
And then she spoke.
“You miss him,” she whispered.
His throat closed, he moved to shove his face in her neck,
and it came out strangled when he said, “Yes.”
He’d been five.
But he never forgot his dad.
You don’t.
You don’t forget that kind of love.
It’s planted in you in a way that never dies.
She slid her hands down his back, murmuring, “Baby.”
He pushed his face in deeper, tightening his arms around
her.
When he felt she was having trouble breathing because she
was bearing all his weight, he shifted so he had it in his forearms, but he
didn’t take his arms from around her.
“Talk to your brothers,” she urged gently.
“I’ll talk to them,” he agreed.
“About helping us with Carlyle…and other.”
“Yeah,” he grunted.
She glided one hand up to his neck and gave it a squeeze.
He read her request, lifted his head and gave her his eyes.
“You’ll find your passion, Dutch.”
He wasn’t sure about that.
But he nodded anyway.
She took her hand from his neck, curled her fingers in and
used the backs of them to stroke his jaw.
He took her warning and was glad he read it before she
asked, “Do you feel guilt you miss him so much when Hound gave you so much in
his stead?”
Christ, how was she driving to the meat of everything?
“Yes,” he answered.
“Hound was his brother. Do you think he wouldn’t have given
you the same thing, perhaps not in those proportions, but in the way he could
even if your dad had not died?”
Jesus, he hadn’t thought of it like that.
“No, he would have given it,” he told her. “They all did and
do. They did it with Rush. Tabby. With Cutter and Rider, Tack and Cherry’s
kids. Nash, Lanie and Hop’s boy. All of them.”
“It’s family,” she whispered.
Fuck, it was in front of his face.
It was what they fought for, what his dad died for.
And it took Georgie to point it out.
“Yeah.”
“You can’t drift away from family, honey,” she said, smiled
and finished, “ever.”
“No.”
“No matter what path you take, they’ll have your back.”
His forehead dropped to hers a different way before he said,
“Yeah.”
“Okay, good we have this sorted out,” she muttered.
He lifted his head. “You paid some serious extra attention
to that movie the second time around, didn’t you?”
“Well,” she shrugged on his bed, “I was into you.”
Thank fuck, that made him smile.
“I was gonna make you a quick
breakfast before we hit it,” he told her. “But it’s gonna
have to be fast food on the way to the Compound. I gotta
call a meeting of the brothers.”
She eased under him. “Good.”
Yeah, what was happening here between them…
It was a lot.
Dutch bent his head and kissed her.
And after all of that, what she gave him, where she took
him, the release he felt inside, down deep, still not knowing what it meant to
his future, but at least understanding what was there, his kiss was not quick.
Since she was Georgie, she responded wholeheartedly.
They got lost in it, some serious groping was happening,
when a questioning, “Mwr?” semi-penetrated right
before there was a hammering on his front door.
He lifted his head, aiming his eyes to the door of his
bedroom.
“What—?” she started.
He looked down at her.