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Reminding himself he really liked Val so he didn’t want to kill him, he threw him a dirty look. “What do you want, fuckhead?”

Val shrugged. “Don’t feel like being out there. Thought I’d see what you were doing.”

“Where’s Mortician?”

“In worse shape than you. I think he’s in deep shit with Bailey and K-P gonna enjoy slicing his dick off piece-by-piece.” Flipping off the radio, Val walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He held out his hand. “Give me her photo, John Boy,” he demanded quietly. “You’ve come enough times looking at it. Time to fucking stop.”

Instead of handing the photo over—or responding to Val’s accurate speculations—Johnnie leaned over and opened his drawer, dropping the photo there. It was one of the only photos he’d saved of her from that time with the exception of Aunt Patricia. Before slamming the drawer shut, he pulled out his baggie and cigarette paper. “I’m going to be generous tonight, Val. Roll one for each of us.”

Val didn’t respond and Johnnie finished his task with the ease of long practice before passing Val a joint. Once they’d both lit up and taken hits, Johnnie sighed. “What’s going on, dude? Are you in pain?”

“Nope. Pills help.”

No comment, so he sucked on his roll again. The man had
just
been released from the hospital, so, maybe, it was reasonable that he took so many pain pills. “How’s Ryan?” Johnnie asked, referring to Val’s son.

“Don’t know.” He took another puff. “I’m sick of Zoann’s bullshit, so I didn’t call her after I was released.”

Zoann’s bullshit wore Johnnie out, too, and he wasn’t even in the relationship with her. Or whatever the fuck Val had with Zoann. “Do you need anything in particular?”

Mortician appeared in the doorway and walked in without invitation.

Johnnie blew out a noisy breath. “It’s a good thing I like you motherfuckers,” he grumbled, shifting to the left when Val moved up so Mortician could take a seat. He really needed to bring some chairs in here. “What do
you
want?”

“Don’t get all pissy, John Boy,” Mortician said with a knowing smile. “Til Outlaw comes back, you our Prez, so we coming here to talk like we always do with him.”

“All the fuck I want to do is not kill anyone in Christopher’s absence. Not have any major fucking problems arise. And not lose fucking money. Is that so fucking hard to ask?

The longer Christopher stayed away, the more Johnnie recognized how much of himself his cousin gave to the club and the membership. The brothers came to Johnnie for
everything
and he knew this hadn’t just begun. He remembered Big Joe complaining that grown ass men needed to learn to take their dicks in hand and leave him the fuck alone with bullshit. That wasn’t about to happen and Johnnie knew it.

Pussy problems? Depending on whose pussy the problem was with, they needed advice on how to a.) fuck it; b.) stop fucking it; c.)protect it; d.)buy it…the fucking list was an endless pain in the ass. He had his own fucking pussy problems, how could he tell another man what to do about a woman?

Money problems? They’d stop at the club for more either through a.)a loan…which wasn’t fucking happening; b.)a transfer from one of their businesses to another…which only took place if you were a member in good-standing and had been with the club over five years; c.)a run…which was a waste of fucking breath because Val was in fucking charge of arranging the runs and choosing who the fuck he wanted with him.

Johnnie supposed they wanted to test him and see what they could get away with on his watch.

He’d heard it all in the past, few days, right down to an idiot calling and asking how to bake wieners because his old lady had left him. While he agreed some of it was serious and club business, the rest of it was a heap of bullshit that had served no purpose in telling him. Other than to annoy the fuck out of him.

“Johnnie in fucking wonderland,” Mortician called, snapping him back to the present, “you mind rolling me one?”

Johnnie smirked at his friend and took a long drag just to piss him off. “Only if you tell me what in hell you’re doing with Bailey.”

“Not open for discussion,” he bit out. “And, for your information, I didn’t come in here to bitch and complain like a bitch. I came to tell you we have some chicks out there we haven’t seen in a while. Thought your dicks might be happy at a change of pussy. Mine is.”

“You know, Mort. You have an unhealthy fascination with your dick,” Val observed. “That shit’s a little scary.”

Johnnie snickered but jostled Val aside, so he could stand.

Mortician hooted with laughter. “You have malfunctioning dick radar, Valentine. I don’t.”

Val glowered at the other man. “Fuck. Off.”

“Mortician has a point, Val,” Johnnie pointed out, pinching the end of his roll to extinguish it. “Unfortunately, my dick radar always points to the wrong girl as much as yours does.”

Chapter 5

24 years earlier

“Christopher, where are you going?” Johnnie ran behind his ten-year-old cousin, not caring he left behind the other guests at his birthday party. Grandda had called Christopher all kinds of horrible names in front of everyone. It even hurt Johnnie’s feelings. He loved both his cousin and his grandfather and couldn’t understand why Grandda insisted on being so mean to Christopher, his oldest grandson. Although Christopher was only six months older than Johnnie, Johnnie still looked up to him. “Christopher!”

A small figure in a pink dress with a head of long chestnut colored hair bounded past Johnnie as fast as her little legs could carry her.

“Christy!” Three-year-old Zoann screamed behind her brother.

“Wait, Zoann,” Johnnie yelled. Christopher liked to go to the edge of the river and he didn’t want his little cousin propelling herself right into the water in an attempt to get to her big brother.

The little girl skidded to a halt and turned to Johnnie, her brown eyes filled with tears. He went down on one knee and thumbed them away.

“Christy leaving,” she said around sniffles. She launched herself into Johnnie’s arms, her small body shuddering. “If he potties right, can he stay?”

Johnnie cringed at the question because he didn’t know how to answer her. He knew, though, Grandda calling Christopher a filthy piece of shit had nothing to do with going to the bathroom. He hugged her tighter and swallowed, rising to his feet as he lifted her into his arms. “Let’s go find him. We’ll think of something so Christy can stay. You and me. Okay? We’re Grandda’s favorites. He’ll listen to us.”

With grave and teary eyes, Zoann stared at him and nodded. As Johnnie suspected, Christopher sat on a sandbar of the Columbia, contemplating the water as if he considered jumping in.

“Christy!” Zoann squealed, squirming in Johnnie’s arms in an attempt to wiggle free.

Christopher’s shoulders stiffened and Johnnie picked his way closer. As the days went on, his cousin grew more and more reckless. Less interested in school when he’d always done so well, too. He turned a narrowed gaze to Johnnie and Zoann. “Leave me alone,” he ordered.

Zoann’s face crumpled. “Christy?”

Christopher got to his feet and Johnnie took a step back. In the last, few weeks, his cousin had gotten taller and he looked like he was real old. At least thirteen or fourteen. He dusted off his jeans and stomped to them, yanking Zoann out of Johnnie’s arms and hugging her.

“Go back to the party, Bitsy,” he said, sounding embarrassed. He kissed the top of his little sister’s head and she melted against him, laying against his chest and popping her thumb into her mouth. “You’re pretty in your dress. Shouldn’t be out here by a dirty river.” He looked at Johnnie like he expected an answer.

It was
his
birthday and he wouldn’t just listen to Christopher like he always did, so Johnnie did what he saw his father and grandfather do all the time. Shrugged. He was a big boy now. Just like Christopher.
Ten.
Forever out of the single digit birthdays. “Had to bring her,” he answered, leaving off words from his sentences and wording them like Christopher had started doing. “Didn’t want her to run straight into the water trying to get to you.”

“Oh.” Christopher’s hand cradled the back of his sister’s head. “Then thanks, John Peter.”

Johnnie smiled. “They have to sing happy birthday to me, but we can’t do it without you.”

Christopher frowned. “Don’t see why not. It’s your party. Not mine.”

Not that Christopher ever had parties. On Christopher’s last birthday, him and Johnnie had celebrated right here with a swim in the river after they’d looked at a bunch of their Grandda’s naked girl magazines. After that, Johnnie hadn’t ever wanted to see his mother or his girl cousins naked again.

This morning, Johnnie walked into the bathroom while his mother had been putting on her makeup like she always did—in the nude—and his father had yanked him out.

“I didn’t mean to!” he’d cried, almost traumatized. He didn’t want to see the parts his mother had and remember those same parts on all those pretty girls in the magazine. “I didn’t know she was in there.”

“Next time, knock, boy,” his father had said. Simon Donovan had the same brown hair as his grandfather and Aunt Patricia, Christopher’s mother. He wasn’t mean but he wasn’t all that nice, either. “You’re ten now. Can’t see your mother without clothes on from this day forward.”

Fine with Johnnie. “Yes, sir,” he’d mumbled and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him.

The rumbling of motorcycles snapped Johnnie back to the present and he turned in time to see a bunch of awesome Harleys kicking up grass and mud as they pulled up in the large open field right behind them.

The same interest and awe wrapping around Johnnie’s brain gleamed in Christopher’s eyes. Zoann buried her face in her brother’s neck and screamed. The piercing sound hurt Johnnie’s ears but Christopher’s eye-rolling made him laugh.

Girls were such scaredy cats and both he and his cousin knew it. Christopher knew it better than Johnnie because he had four younger sisters. No, five. Aunt Patricia had had another baby two days ago.

As suddenly as the earth shifted with the noise of all those motorcycle pipes, it went silent real quick before grumbling men, the rattling chains attached to some of their belt loops and holding wallets, amongst other sounds, replaced it.

“S’okay, Bitsy,” Christopher swore, his eyes widening when a blond man headed straight for them.

Johnnie stepped a little closer to Christopher, who placed his body slightly in front of him. “I got this, Johnnie,” he whispered. “I’m used to taking licks anyway.”

Johnnie quailed because his cousin’s words made him feel like a scaredy cat girl. Maybe, he was, because he was trembling as the man who wore a vest with the word
Probate
on it reached them. Christopher’s face showed no fear and Johnnie admired how calm he was.

“Who are you?” the man asked, his blue eyes not real friendly. “And who’s the crying brat?”

“I’m Christopher,” his cousin answered, not looking away or down, staring directly at the man like he was a grownup, too. “This is my sister. Don’t worry about who she is. Grandda might not like
me
but he loves
her
.” Christopher nodded to Johnnie. “He loves him, too. So who are you?”

The man lifted a blond brow and stepped a little closer. Johnnie thought sure Christopher would budge, but he stood there, almost daring the man to hurt him. He whispered to Zoann and she shook her head.

“I promise. I’ll never let anything happen to you, so stop crying.”

She tried to suck up her tears, but they kept leaking from her eyes. By now, two other men had joined them. They had the same word written on their vests, too. When the blond man shifted and spoke to the other two so low Johnnie couldn’t hear, he saw two emblems on the back on the vest. The words Death Dwellers MC arced over the top. The half-moon on the bottom read Hortensia, WA.

He’d heard about them. Sometimes, Grandda talked about them to his father when they visited. They were mean and Johnnie didn’t think Christopher knew that.

“Christopher,” he whispered. “They’re from a motorcycle club and they’re not a good motorcycle club. Don’t make them mad at you. They might hurt you.”

“Nobody can hurt me more than Grandda.” Sadness made his green eyes fill with water. Like he was about to cry. “Or Gran,” he added.

Yes, Gran was mean to Christopher, too, but she wasn’t as bad as Grandda. “They can kill you,” Johnnie pointed out. “And neither Grandda nor Gran would ever do that.”

Christopher shrugged. “Maybe, they should. Only reason they keep me around is to be mean. Why I want to keep being around for that?”

“Christy!” Zoann shrieked and the three men jumped.

Johnnie winced but he couldn’t let Christopher take them on by himself. He even tried to protect his cousin from their Grandda and had made a deal that
he
take some of the whippings meant for Christopher. His backside and pride stung remembering the paddling he’d gotten for that offer. He’d been a scaredy cat girl again because he never interfered with whatever happened to Christopher after that.

“You, kid,” the blond biker said in a mean voice. “Shut the fuck up before I beat your little ass and give you something to cry about.”

“She’s a girl,” Christopher pointed out. “And she’s scared. And girls cry when they’re scared, so shut up, stupid, because you’re making it worse.”

“You either the bravest little fuck or the fucking slowest,” the man standing in the middle said. He was baldheaded and had small black eyes that made him look like a rattlesnake. “Show some respect to your elders, boy, before I decide to teach you a lesson myself.”

“Shut it, Rack,” the man snapped before glaring at the brown-eyed man with the thinning hair. “Kitchen Pussy, call up Prez. Tell him our boy isn’t here yet.”

“
Kitchen Pussy
?” Christopher said, laughing like a maniac. “Only girls have pussies.”

Johnnie’s entire body grew warm with embarrassment and he didn’t know where Christopher got the nerve to say anything like that.

Amusement danced in the blond man’s gaze and he smiled. “What do you know about pussy, son?”