Page 72 of The Bonds We Break

His words soothe me. “You’re secretly a good man, aren’t you?”

Lips brush the side of my neck, the trail of them makes me shiver. “Maybe only for you.”

26

KING

“How’s the bitch?” Niro asks when I walk into the clubhouse two days later.

“Call her a bitch again and I’ll break your fucking face.”

Niro’s face shifts. “Pussy is no reason to beat on your brothers.”

He’s right. It’s not. But I can’t admit it out loud. I’m usually the one telling them to leave their old ladies at home. “Rae’s fine.”

“You haven’t lost sight of why you took her, have you?” He holds my gaze, and I take in the scar that runs down his face. My dad told me once how he got it, but I don’t think Niro knows that. It’s the only reason I give him more time than he probably deserves.

He’s loyal to the best interests of the club.

And I know he has nowhere else to go.

If I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to be here right now. And that’s a first because usually there’s nowhere I want to be more than here. I’d rather be in bed with Rae, but when I woke up this morning, she was already showered, dressed, and in the small nook in the living room she’s designated as her office on a call. Could hear her tell someone that taking accountability for hurting another person is a big step.

I leaned against the landing and listened to her explanation of why it was important to not make assumptions or try to shift blame as you apologize because that only makes things worse.

Which is why I’m here looking for Clutch.

“Clutch not here?”

Niro huffs. “Not seen him since the big reveal.”

He’s avoiding me, and it’s because I’m disappointing him.

Fuck me. I’m disappointing myself. But I’m not sure how to get myself out of the mess I’ve built.

I need my best friend. Even though we’ve been at odds, he’s the one I want to talk to. I grab my phone.

“Clutch,” I say when he answers. “I need to ride.”

“Where?”

He doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t make me feel like shit. I tell him where I’ll meet him, and he gets there before me. It’s cold, but above freezing. There’s no ice on the roads anymore, but the amount of water means I don’t open the bike up the way I want to. I slow as I pass him on my bike, and he pulls out to join me. He takes his place on my left, ever so slightly behind.

I skirt the shore, letting the cold wind and rain sting my face. By the time we get to Little Egg Harbor an hour later, I’m frozen, soaked, and half-starved. We park our bikes and step into a diner. The scent of bacon and greasy pancakes hits me along with the warmth. Windows are steamed up with condensation.

We pull off our riding gear and take our seats in a worse-for-wear red leather booth. Once we order food and coffee, a strained silence settles between us as I struggle to think through what I need to say.

“I’m fucking up,” I say, deciding to be honest.

“No shit.” Clutch runs his hand through his hair. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

I tip my head back against the leather. “You remember that time we got caught spying at the club party when we were fourteen? Trying to hide out in the clubhouse when our dads were hosting the Miami chapter?”

“Can still feel the paddling I got from Dad if I think hard enough,” he says. “Why?”

We’d decided we wanted to see what all the fuss was about. In the crawl space above the roof, we found holes we could spy through to see all the fucking and drinking and couldn’t wait until we were old enough. It was good for a while. Until Clutch stuck his foot through the ceiling tile and Cue Ball, recognizing Clutch’s sneakers, pulled his son down through the ceiling.

Two mugs of steaming coffee are placed on the Formica, and we thank our server.