The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (26 page)

Lennon

“So the house?” I ask cautiously. Thinking of its wood bones, raw and exposed, half finished. It has the makings of a lovely house with its perfect views and miles of solitary quiet. It would have been the perfect place to raise children and grow a family.

“Started it before they were even in my life. It was my dream, but they were motivation to finish it.” There’s a pain there when talking about it.

“Why didn’t you finish it? It’s too lovely to give up on.” The circumstances might be shit, but the house is too great to let rot away out here in the rain and wind. It deserves to be called a home.

“Ran out of money.” He shrugs, but I can tell it’s painful. He had to let his dream go at the hands of someone he hated.

“Oh,” I murmur, fiddling with a braided bracelet around my wrist, twisting it slowly, watching the trees sway. Buck hurts and it hurts me. We’ve only known each other a short time, but there’s something there, a connection. Whether it’s a friendship or more, it doesn’t matter. I like him, and I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about me.

“That bitch cleaned out my bank account before the divorce,” he sighs, scrubbing at his face. “Why didn’t I go after her? I was too goddamn embarrassed. My wife cheated on me and got pregnant by the dude. Then she jacked me for my money. Not something I wanna go around broadcasting, so I let it go. She’s doesn’t have a way to pay me back, so what was I gonna do? Kill her? Leave those kids motherless? I brushed that shit under the rug and moved on.”

“Do you hate this house?” I ask him, hoping his answer is no. After everything, I would understand if he did.

“I did until I saw you here,” he says and looks at me. “You make it so much fucking better.” I feel the same damn way about him. My life was good until I met Buck, and after meeting him, it’s been so much better.

“But I’ve got the other house. Maybe I’ll sell this land and the house to someone else,” he adds, looking up longingly at the house.

I really hope he doesn’t do that.

Buck got dealt one shitty hand after the next. Jess is not a bitch. No, she’s a terrible person. There is no heart there in her chest, just an empty space, void of anything worthwhile. To kick someone while they’re down takes a special kind of heartless human.

“I’m sorry about everything,” I tell him with all honesty. From someone who has hardly anything, I can honestly say I feel for him. Losing it all leaves a hole that not much can fill.

“Don’t be,” he waves me off, standing up. His big body looms over me for a second before he starts to walk away without a second look at the house, and it breaks my heart.

“Come on, darlin’. Let get the fuck outta here.”

“Would you finish it if you could?”

“In a fucking heartbeat.” If he had the money ...

The wind is really picking up, screaming though the shop, while I sit on an old wood crate, watching Buck chop wood. “Babe, you don’t have to sit out here with me,” he says, letting the axe drop to the dirt and leaning against it. Oh, but I do.

He removed his shirt. How could I leave now? Wearing nothing but a dirty, worn-out pair of black Carhartts and boots, I get a full view of every tattooed inch of his stomach, chest, and back. Buck’s not wearing his glasses, and he needs to brush his hair. His beard is a bushy mess, and his hands are permanently stained as he grips the axe handle. He’s still just so unconventionally sexy.

“I don’t mind,” I say, waving him off, but really, I’m just fanning myself. Watching him chop wood has become my new favorite thing to do. All that muscle at work makes me want to do wicked things to him.

Laughing, he shakes his head at me. I’m funny today.

Buck stacks and I stare. Buck chops and I stare harder. But, when Buck hefts a giant round of wood over his head, I damn near drool.

Chopping for a bit, he stops mid-swing and turns to me. “So, I told you my shit situation. You ever gonna tell me yours?” I stop staring and look down at my chuck covered feet, avoiding his unforgiving eyes. No, I’m never going to tell you if I don’t have to.

“Not much to tell,” I say, feeling guilty the moment the lie passes my lips. Buck was so honest with me, and all I can offer him are sweet little lies. Part of me doesn’t like talking about it, and the other doesn’t want to burden him with my truth.

“Why don’t I believe that shit?” Because it’s all lies. My life, my secrets, they’re as deep as the deepest ocean. They’re as dark and as cold and never-ending. “Give me something, babe.”

I dig down deep for something harmless. “I never knew my dad.” Well, that’s not entirely true. I knew he was a piece of shit, and I knew his name was Randy. “He was never in my life.” Even if he did have the chance.

Patterns have a way of repeating themselves. Vicious cycles, a never-ending song on repeat. My mother and me, we’re a lot alike in many ways. She was never settled, could never stay put. She loved to wander. A runaway at a young age, she found a home within the walls of MC clubs all over the country, and that’s how I found myself here, years later. Bouncing from bed to bed, scheme to scheme, drug to drug, my mother never stopped. Even when I was born, she carried on until she physically couldn’t, and then her ways were passed onto me, demanded of me.

I bounce and I wander. I avoid the bed hopping and drugs, but I follow in her sad footsteps in every other way.

“What about your mom?” There is absolutely no emotion on my face when he asks me the question because there’s no love there, only obligation. My mother wasn’t horrible to me, nor was she neglectful. She had zero interest in me when I was young. I was fed and I was clothed, but beyond that, I was on my own until she needed me.

Now she depends on me to feed her the drugs that keep her alive and functioning. She depends of me to do whatever I’ve got to do to keep the only family I have alive and comfortable. My mother doesn’t care what I have to do to take care of her, as long as she gets what she needs when she needs it. Lie, cheat, steal, whatever it is that helps feed her sickness. That’s the thing about her and where we differ. She only cares about herself. She’s number one, and everyone else is barely pulling up second.

“Eh, we don’t talk much.” That’s true. Hearing her voice just sucks the life out of me, so avoid it. “Any family?” Anything to change the subject.

“Had a brother,” he says abruptly, his voice raw. “Died a couple of years ago in combat.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It fucking sucks. Miss the shit out of him.”

“What about your parents?”

“Married since high school, my dad was a mechanic, and my mom stayed at home with my brother and me. They didn’t hate each other, but they didn’t really love each other either.” Like fifty percent of the married population. “Guess it was a marriage outta routine. Same shit, just a different day for forty years, and they’re still at it. Figure that’s why I gravitated towards this outlaw kinda life. Different shit every day. Adrenaline, excitement. New pussy, daily,” he laughs and shoots me a sly look.

Laughing, I say, “New pussy every day sounds like the perfect reason to join an MC.”

Buck nods, a smile on that rough face of his. “Hate the monotonous sorta shit. MC life suits this motherfucker.”

“Me too.” Buck and I have a lot more in common than someone might think. He might be smack dab in the middle of that MC lifestyle, but I’ve skated the outskirts of the same damn lifestyle all my life. Neither of us happy with the boredom average, everyday life offers. And both of us have that need to run engrained into our DNA. “Average doesn’t work for me.”

“Yeah, babe. That’s why me and you work. We’re two birds of the same goddamn feather.”

Buck and I, two people from two different, yet similar worlds, have found something beautiful worth hanging onto in the other.

14 - Fishin’ In The Dark

Buck

Here’s the thing about Lennon. She makes the best out of a shit situation, and all with a pretty smile on her goddamn face. She doesn’t bitch. She doesn’t complain. Lennon rolls with the punches, all while enjoying what life has to offer. Fuck, I admire that shit about her.

There’s something there. I don’t analyze it because I probably wouldn’t even understand it. All I know is it’s fucking beautiful.

Yeah, I haven’t known her long, but that’s not saying much. I went all in for my brothers, guys that’d been giving me their worst for an entire year, trying to break me as a prospect, but I believed in their cause. I believed in it enough to lay my life down for them and follow them into the bowels of hell on more than one occasion. So, what’s the  difference with Lennon?

I don’t know what the fuck is going on between us. Not even sure I want to know. All I know is I like her, having her around, and in my life. She makes me feel good, and I figure anything that makes you feel good is worth keeping.

It’s Sam’s birthday, and we’re having a little barbeque for her here at the club. The club and a couple of her friends are hanging out for the evening.

According to her, in two weeks, it’s girls weekend in Vegas, and apparently, that includes Lennon, but we’ll see about that shit. Not sure I want to let her go just yet. Swear, this shit is more for Dan than it is for Sam. A celebration of him surviving her bitchy ass a whole year.

Rain has forced us inside, and the bitches are not happy about it. Mossy’s old lady is bitching about being inside, busting his balls. Like the dipshit can control the weather. Some broad Tyler is sticking it to is whining in his room, complaining about the horrible lighting in the bathroom, and how she can’t do her make-up in there. I can hear her moaning at him through the paper-thin walls. Fuck, it’s sad and pathetic.

And here I’ve got Lennon, sitting on the bar, swinging her legs and singing along to some old ass country song playing on the jukebox. She’s as happy as a pig in shit. Nothing could ruin her day. Listening to these bitches makes me appreciate her even more for what she is, a goddamn angel compared to these ungrateful hags.

Standing in front of her, I lean in to get a little taste, but I’m shot down when Lennon plunks the glasses from my pocket, sticks them on her face, and starts belting out ‘Fishin’ In The Dark’ to me. The woman sings it word for word, occasionally passing her invisible mic to Rock, who fucking sings it with her. They’re feeding off each other. It might the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen, and it might also be the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed at the same damn time.

“Sing with me, Buck,” she hollers loudly. Yeah, not happening.

“Stop.”

“I just can’t help it!”

“Babe, seriously. What the fuck?” 

“Buck, we’ll be fallin’ in love in the middle of the night. Just moooovin’ slow.” She brings it home with her and Rock belting out the chorus loudly in my general direction. “You n’ me goin’ fishin’ in the dark.” I’m stuck watching her sing, and I can’t help the smile. Lennon is infectious. 

She finishes it up with a “Thank you, and good night” before breaking into a huge grin for me. She’s pleased as fucking punch she got a smile out of me, something she’s the goddamn master at.

“Fuckin’ love that shit,” she declares. Rocking on her ass on the bar top, another old ass country song starts and she smirks at me, ready to go again. I don’t have a fucking clue as to what’s wrong with this woman.

“Couldn’t tell. That was something special.” I applaud her.

“You loved it.”

“Before you get going again, let’s eat.”

Handing me another beer from behind the bar, Lennon slides my glasses up on top of her head, catching her hair with them, and pulling it out of her face. She’s beautiful.

I stopped wearing my sunglasses once I realized Lennon wasn’t going to bust my balls about my eyes. She didn’t care, my brothers didn’t give a shit, and I don’t give a flying fuck about my eyes. The only person who cared is sitting across the bar with a sour pinch on her dollar store, made-up face. It’s nice not giving a shit.