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“I think the wrong foot is kind of an understatement,” I murmured after a minute of silence, turning my body slightly toward him.
He nodded, doing the same, opening himself to me, so we could at least have some kind of a conversation, at least until someone came to my rescue. “Huntsman and I have known each other for a long time,” Brew explained. “We met at high school, we were kinda shitheads. By kinda, I mean Hunt’s mom spent a lot of time coming to the principal’s office to rescue us.”
“Just his mom?” I questioned instantly, and a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re a smart kid,” he acknowledged before continuing, “Yeah, I was in foster care from the day I was born. Shifted from one house to another as I got older. No one really around to give a damn. Was lucky to find Hunt and his parents. They helped me out. Let me stay with them when my foster parents were drinking too much or forgot to buy food.”
The more Brew talked, the more I turned my body toward him, opening myself up and feeling his pain. He was probably close to fifty, but the way he spoke, the grit in his voice, it was like he could still feel that pain as if it was only yesterday.
“Hunt’s granddad was one of the founding fathers, one of the original Exiled Eight. Huntsman was always going to join, he was always going to become the president one day because that’s just how things work around here. It’s about leaving a legacy, a bloodline to be proud of,” Brew explained, his gestures animated, telling me it was something he was really proud of. “I joined the club straight out of high school, there wasn’t anything else for me. I had nowhere else to go, and they were accepting of a kid who had nothing to show for their education.”
“What about Huntsman?” I asked curiously. I knew there was more to his story. There was something about the way he spoke and acted that reminded me of Uncle Leo. “He joined the army, right?”
Brew’s eyes grew a little wider, and he grinned before dropping his head in a nod. “You’re good,” he praised. “He wanted to follow in his dad’s path. Did eight years. Five of those as a Navy SEAL.”
My mouth dropped open. Navy Seals were the elite of the elite. Part of me wondered whether I should go and find him, ask for more information, desperate to hear how this man fought for our country and did so in one of the most demanding and dangerous jobs in the entire world. But would he tell me?
Huntsman so far was more of an ‘order people around’ and ‘refuse to share my emotions’ type of guy, which made me wonder how he and my mom had gotten on so well when she was so ‘in your face’ and ‘need to know every detail’ control freak.
“You know, I see your mom in you,” Brew continued, his eyes roaming over me, assessing and pulling apart my appearance. “She was strong, feisty, and determined.”
“You remember her?”
He hummed as he nodded. “Yeah. She was special, that one. Her laughter and the way she was always so bubbly and a little flamboyant.”
“Wait,” I interrupted, holding up my hand. “I thought my mom and Huntsman had a fling? She said it was like three days. It sounds like you knew her for a while.”
His brow seemed to pull together at my question. I could see the question going through his mind, and I watched as he asked himself whether he’d said something wrong. He was pulling back, but I just wanted more information. I wanted to know more about this strange woman who claimed to be my mother. Because the person he was speaking of—bubbly, flamboyant—it was hard for me to envision after spending so long with a woman who was not either of those things.
He was shutting down. There was something I was missing in this story. Something everyone seemed to be holding back from me.
So before the door could shut completely, I tried a different approach. “Why were you so intense with me the first time we met?”
His body quickly became alert again, and his eyes focused back in on me. “Because whether your mom knows it or not, what she did was the catalyst for a war that hasn’t ended since. And unfortunately, the other side has a tendency to really try and hit Huntsman where it hurts.” His eyes glazed over like he could see the enemy ahead of him, and he was contemplating how he would destroy them. “Huntsman is my best friend, and I’ll protect him whichever way I have to, even if that means taking down teenage girls playing games too old for them.”
Gone was the calm and talkative Brew, the one who had actually helped me feel a little more at peace about who Huntsman really was. He was replaced with the man who would do anything to defend the club and his best friend. The man who I know for a fact would have taken me out within a second if I hadn’t been able to prove my story. No matter that I was only young. No matter that I was a girl. None of that mattered when the person who had had your back for over forty years could be in trouble.
“That’s enough, Brewer,” Huntsman’s voice growled, echoing in the vast space. I looked over to see him standing in the doorway of the office he’d entered moments ago, watching me. Maybe gauging my reaction to the situation I was in.
Did Brew scare me?No, not really.
Because I knew he’d only act if he felt like the club was under threat, and I wasn’t a threat to the club, not like he originally thought.
Brew climbed off the barstool beside me, nodding his head. “See you ‘round, princess.”
As Brew moved away, Huntsman moved in, his eyes cautious, maybe even a little nervous. “You have a nice chat?” he asked, not snappy or rude, but definitely tense.
“Scared he told me something you didn’t want me to know?” I taunted, enjoying the way his lip twitched uncomfortably before he gained his composure. I was starting to see more and more of Huntsman not in control. Maybe it was because we were on his home turf, a place where he didn’t feel like his walls needed to be as tall. Or maybe it was because having a daughter had forced him a little out of his element.
“That’s not something I need to worry about given that none of my men would tell you anything I didn’t want you to know.”
I smirked. “So there is something?”
He didn’t have time to answer—despite the fact that I saw the way he wanted to argue—because a young guy, covered in tats and wearing nothing but a towel came around the corner, dragging my friend by her arm.
“Seriously, what the fuck is going on around here? We just let midgets roam the clubhouse walking in on people showering?”
Dakota was cringing, the pain in her face obvious from the tight grip he had on her.
