"My pop died and I'm sad. Oh, and people at home are pissing me off."
The twins step off the porch, shouldering their weapons. The twin to the right smiles first, and I'm pretty sure she's Colbie. The less smiley one is Bodie. They join me at the SUV, staring at the world through identical eyes.
"Mi casa es su casa," Bodie says, sliding her arm through mine.
Doing the same with my other arm, Colbie grins. "We have beer and steaks. Come inside and let us feed you. You can tell us about your dad, and we'll nod reassuringly. We're great at faking sympathy."
Still crazy after all these years, the twins welcome me into their home in Last Dollar, Texas. I have everything I need now. Friends, food, and fun. Ellsberg can become simply a painful memory, and no way am I ever going back.
Chapter 2
Jace
Charmed Life
I've lived a charmed life. Healthy, loved, never went hungry, always had a warm place to sleep, my childhood was perfect. Except for the night I watched my family slaughtered by a motorcycle club my father had abandoned.
Refusing to let him go, his former friends soaked the house in blood as an example to anyone else thinking of quitting. They snuffed out Dad faster than they intended. Heroic in his last moments, he lunged for his old president. He bled out quickly. Much faster than Mom and Grandma. Or my baby brother crying in his crib to the sounds of our mom's screams.
Lucky even while trapped in hell, I hid under the bed before scrambling to a closet and finally out the window. I was fast, and they were sloppy.
My charmed life left me fucked up. Survivor's guilt is what my therapist called the flawed thinking I suffer from even to this day. Hell, I rarely trust anyone. I don't even like most people. I almost never feel safe.
No one can tell I'm fucked up by looking at me. I've learned how to hide in plain sight. I smile, laugh, and make eye contact as if everyone is my friend. The world is a perfect place, and I'm a perfect guy. People like me, but they don't trust me even without knowing why. Deep inside, in the part of a person's psyche, in their gut instinct if you will, they sense I'm full of shit. They keep their distance, and I don't blame them.
Blessed every day except that one bloody night, I'm adopted into a good family given to me by another motorcycle club called the Reapers. Years later, I join the same club. These people are my friends, my brothers, my family, yet no one knows me. The one person I thought could see past my lies is gone now.
Nearly a year ago, I hurt someone who loved me more than anyone else. I can't explain even to myself why I left Sawyer. The why doesn't matter anymore. What I did can't be undone.
My longtime hometown Ellsberg feels different these days. Quieter, lonelier even. I know logically how the small college town empties out in late springs and summers. However, my heart tells me the quiet is Ellsberg in mourning over Kirk Johansson's passing.
The man remained an enigma to me. He scared me when I was a kid. Something powerful radiated off Kirk even when sitting on a lounge chair and reading off a Kindle. I respected him but kept my distance. In his presence, I always felt like a loser. Even worse, I felt a poser. In his eyes, I was a nothing kid hiding behind the kind of tough guy mask Kirk was born wearing.
A tribute to the man's virility was the shock everyone felt when he died at the ripe age of 85. The saying "taken too soon" wasn't something people normally said about senior citizens. Kirk was a different kind of man. With him gone, Ellsberg will never be the same.
Thinking about Kirk, I pull my black Harley into the parking lot of Cooper Johansson's office. The engine on my bike runs rough, making me think I need to check it later. My brother-in-law Dylan works construction and has a way with cars. I figure I'll ask him to check. First, I need to chat with the boss.
Kirk's oldest boy was already president when I got it in my head to join the Reapers. He blew me off for years and refused to explain why. My adopted dad is in the Reapers, as is Dylan. Almost every man I respect is in the club. Needing to be like them, I kept asking Cooper for a shot. Sometimes, I wonder if he only gave in at his little sister Sawyer's instance. The girl had a way of getting what she wanted.
Cooper's dark eyes look up from his phone when I enter the office. His secretary is an older woman Cooper claims used to baby-sit him. Her gruff manner scares off most people, but I've caught her babying the boss more than once.
"Mister Johansson will see you," Joyce says even with Cooper stands a foot from her.
I follow Cooper down a hallway to his office. As I shut the door, he sits behind the desk. With his dark brown eyes focused on me, I feel like a kid. He does that shit to me every damn time.
Even though Cooper looks like Kirk while Sawyer looks like their mom Jodi, I see enough of a resemblance to make my stomach hurt. This man owns my soul, but his sister owns my damn heart.