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Last night, I enjoyed a nice meal out with Monroe, Needy, and Amity at Rooster’s. We’ve fallen into a comfortable routine. Needy reminds me a lot of her daughter, and Monroe’s my favorite person. Getting along with her is easy. Amity’s always been one of my favorite bunnies. I ought to feel weird having my former hookup spending all her time with my honey, but they get along so well, and neither seems weird about how they both know my dick.
I’m rarely at my mom’s house except to sleep at night. Barbie hasn’t warmed up to Monroe, who gives zero fucks about winning over my mother. They avoid each other. Most days, Mom is busy with her yard, working out, or visiting with Fairuza. Monroe prefers the Overlook. Our current situation will have to do until the new house is built.
“I saw your whore riding bicycles with Dunning all over the Woodlands,” Mom announced earlier when we ran into each other in Bronco’s kitchen. “She’s immature. Too young for marriage and a kid.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Monroe what you said. Then, we’ll laugh. Anything else?” I asked as she rolled her bright blue eyes.
“She’s trash, Conor, but she likes to fight,” Mom said and gestured toward the backyard where several club brothers stood with Bronco. “These are your people, but they might screw you over from time to time. And I can’t always be around to keep them in line. The trash whore can watch your back when I’m busy with shit.”
Cupping my mom’s face, I smiled at her. “I see what you’re saying. Monroe is your favorite person, and you’ve built a shrine to her in your bedroom. I’ll let her know that. Then, we’ll laugh again.”
“You’re awful.”
I hugged her to me. “We’ll name our first son after you. Barber Jessup sounds like a winner.”
Mom squirmed around in my arms. Unwilling to kick her boy in the babymaker, she couldn’t break free.
Irritated at her loss, she muttered, “You’ll make a terrible father.”
“That’s just your hatred of children talking,” I said, stroking her head as I kept her pinned to me. “You fear having a Devlin running around your house, wiping his sticky fingers on everything. But don’t worry your pretty little head. Monroe said she’ll never let our kids visit your cootie factory. So, your furniture is safe.”
Once I freed Mom, she fixed her tousled hair and flipped me off. “My grandkids can go wherever they want.”
“Yes, everywhere except your place.”
“Good. I don’t want them interrupting my orgies.”
“That’s what Monroe meant by cooties. Dried jizz, basically.”
Barbie Jessup undoubtedly hates Monroe, and she clearly thinks I’m a pain in the ass. Yet, she couldn’t help laughing at the thought of dried jizz all over her house. She gently patted my jaw.
“I look forward to you moving out of my place,” she said as her way of letting me know she understood that times were changing and Monroe wasn’t temporary.
“I’ll still be over for free food,” I replied as my way of saying I’ll always be there for her.
Sharing a few more moments of teasing, I felt the shift in her insults toward Monroe. Mom likes to shit on people. She does it with everyone. It’s her way of protecting her overly fragile heart. But I can tell when she truly dislikes someone or has no interest in them. Today, her Monroe insults lacked the heat they had weeks ago.
Mom’s ability to embrace change inspires me to meet Wyatt at a hot dog stand for lunch. We’ve spent our lives at odds. Our fathers were buddies, while our mothers battled constantly. Wyatt and I rarely argue, but the cold hostility between us never eases up.
“What’s this about?” he asks, sitting across from me at the small round table outside the hot dog stand.
“I’m wondering if there’s a way you can stop treating me like your loser little cousin.”
“But you are my loser little cousin.”
“Yeah, but I’m also the guy Bronco and the club founders tapped as the future president. That means you either treat me with respect, or you’re a liability.”
“Fuck off,” he spits out and takes a bite of his hot dog.
“This is me offering you a chance to get in line before the time comes when I show you the door.”
“You can’t do shit.”
“You aren’t stupid, Wyatt,” I lie as my voice remains chilly. “You know Bronco will never hand over control of the club to you. You also know you can’t beat him in a fight. He’s made his choice. The founders agree. In the future, I’ll have to decide whether family matters more than the club. We both know how that’ll work out for you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“If I strip you of your patch, then you’re not in the Executioners. If you aren’t one of us, you can’t live in the community.”
“You’re blowing smoke out your ass.”
Wyatt loves to wear people down with his circular insult-bullshit game. I refuse to play with him.
“Fatherhood might mature you. I’d prefer if you could play an important role in the club,” I explain, despite not believing Wyatt’s capable of more than low-level muscle work. “Until then, I’ll stick you in the back unless I need someone willing to catch a bullet with his face.”
Leveling his pretty blue eyes at me, Wyatt growls, “You can’t make me leave the Woodlands.”
“The Executioners can, and I’ll be running the club. Your mama can bitch all she wants, but my mama will bitch right back at her. Rooster will never go against the club. You know that.”
Wyatt sneers at me, falling back into his hotheaded asshole comfort zone. Yet, his overly expressive eyes give away the truth. He’s aware of how the Executioners are held above everyone else in his father’s mind. For Rooster, his wife and kids aren’t the reason he lives a good life. The club offered him a chance to provide a good life for his wife and kids. To do right by the club, Rooster will quickly burn his son.
Wyatt shifts from denial to negotiation. “If you’ll be president, I ought to be VP.”
“You’re too big of an asshole to handle the shit Lowell handles.”
“You’re the biggest asshole, motherfucker.”
Ignoring his raging face, I reply calmly, “Wyatt, no one will follow a man like you.”
“Fucker.”
“You can’t see outside yourself. If you want something, you figure everyone should give it to you. But you never stopped to notice the men you were demanding the presidency from. Someone like Rooster needs to be dealt with in a certain way, but you’re too stupid to learn how.”
“You think you’re so fucking great,” he hisses, unable to deal with even the smallest amount of criticism.
“There’ll be time to get your shit in order. Bronco isn’t handing me power right away. Before he does, you can prove your worth to me. If not, I’ll cut you loose, and the club won’t stop me.”
“I will never be pushed aside.”
“Right now, you’re only in the club because of Rooster and Bronco. They wanted to believe the best in you,” I explain before hardening my voice. “As your loser little cousin, I know you’re an irredeemable shithead. Times are changing, Wyatt. Either change too or find a new line of work.”
Wyatt shakes his head. “We’ll see about this.”
“Whatever, ass—”
On the road in front of me, a black SUV rolls past. Nothing interesting about that. People in Elko love their black SUVs. Then, the back passenger window shatters, causing the vehicle to swerve. Standing up, I watch the SUV make a sharp turn off the main road. That’s when I notice the North Dakota plates.
I don’t have to answer my ringing phone to know what’s happening.
“They’re taking Monroe,” I tell Wyatt as I rush past him to my motorcycle.
After I mass-text the SUV’s location to the club, Wyatt and I zigzag through traffic to get across the street. Monroe’s captors are headed in the direction of the Village, probably hoping to use the side roads to reach the next highway entrance.
Rather than speeding to catch up, I have to hit my brakes when I spot the SUV pulled over. Swerving the Harley, I quickly park across from the vehicle and use my bike as cover. Wyatt follows my lead while texting our people with an update. I study the large man struggling with someone at the open back door. I assume Monroe’s giving him shit.
“There are only two of them!” Monroe screams from the SUV.
I glance at Wyatt, who already has his gun out. We move fast, giving the enemy little time to adjust to our arrival. The guy battling Monroe can’t pull his weapon before I shove him against the SUV. The second asshole is outside and hiding now.
“Come out before we kill your friend!” I yell while glancing into the SUV to find Monroe and Needy grinning back at me.
“Move it, fucker!” Wyatt hollers, sounding like a psycho like usual.
“Don’t get shot, David Clive!” Needy yells, looking out her window. “You’re too young to die!”
Realizing these guys are Clive’s sons, I see a chance to negotiate an end to our problem. I press the gun against the meathead in front of me and explain, “Tell him to surrender, and we’ll talk this shit out. If not, I’m letting my cousin start firing. The fucker’s not right in the head and doesn’t care if he dies today. Are you as cool with your brother getting iced?”
The guy frowns back at me and then yells out, “David Clive, put the pistol away! We’ll talk this out!”
“Fuck that!”
“Pa ain’t gonna like me getting a bullet in the head.”
I glance at where my cousin inches around the back of the SUV. “Wyatt, let him come out and call up his dad to fix this problem.”
“Fuck them both.”
“Bronco won’t be around much longer to protect you,” I hiss at my cousin. “Obey me or get the fuck out of my way.”
I notice the distinct sound of two motorcycles approaching. One likely belongs to Anders, while the other is Drummer. Neither of them will offer Wyatt protection if I have to break something on his still-battered face.
My cousin realizes he’s failing his test. I catch him imagining a life where he doesn’t wear the Executioners’ patch or live in our gated community. Suddenly, a light bulb goes off over his fucking head, and he shifts gears.
“Come on out,” he says, sounding like a normal person rather than a rabid dog.
Monroe scoots out of the SUV, still bound at the wrists. “David Clive, just come out. Your dad can fix this with the Executioners. It’s okay.”
Finally, the big hunk of North Dakota cheese peeks around the SUV with his hands up. Wyatt wants to pound on the guy so badly that I can feel him physically fighting the urge. Instead, he grabs the guy’s gun from his waistband and gestures for David Clive to join his brother.
Anders and Drummer park their motorcycles across the road and keep watch. I notice the McNamee boys eyeballing our giant. They react like most men when witnessing the monster-sized man.
“Call up your father to see if he can negotiate an end to this that doesn’t involve you two sharing a grave.”
The brothers share a look. I sense they’re as scared of pissing off their dad as they are of us killing them. Using my switchblade, I remove the binds from Monroe and Needy. My woman takes charge when her cousins don’t move. Fishing a phone from the older one’s jacket pocket, she dials her uncle’s number and sets the phone to speakerphone.
Then, Monroe smiles at me in a way that says she always knew I’d come for her and nothing will keep us apart
