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“Jesus Christ, little brother. What can I do? And don’t say get you a fucking bottle or I’m going to slap you upside your head.”
“In a perfect world? You could have the police find my girl.” He keeps quiet, knowing damn well that’s a futile statement. At least Northgate has a police force. West City’s force left years ago. Every officer quit because of the gang violence. What’s worse, corruption or no safety at all? Considering what the Donovans have done for West City, my money is on no safety. It isn’t any wonder why people turn to criminal organizations and pledge their loyalty. Hell, Wes did it. I’ve done it. Take the bad with the good, but at least justice gets served for the most part.
My thoughts flick to Trace and how it seems more is getting done to help his situation than the progress I’ve made with mine. Guilt eats at me for not supporting my friend. But how can I when I feel like he’s throwing his life away? I’m terrified of losing him to that life, but I guess I’ve lost him either way.
“They will find her,” he tells me, and as reassuring as it’s meant to be, it does little to ease my mind. He knows as well as I do that it’s a lie.
“Bottle.” With a sigh, he raps his knuckles on the tabletop and backs away. Silently, he rounds up a glass bottle half full of amber liquid and two smokey black tumblers. Stubborn ass. The flaps of his sleek black suit jacket sway in the breeze when he makes his way over to the table.
This makes me a hypocrite, but pride for my brother swells within me. He goes through the same shit every day that I’m trying to stop, and don’t get me wrong, I worry about him, but I don’t fear or loathe his position in the Devils. Maybe it’s because I know Dani and the triplets care deeply about their people, or maybe I’m just so used to it. I’m not sure, but I don’t want him to stop. Hell, I could threaten to take the entire organization down as a police officer, but that still wouldn’t deter him. He’s where he’s meant to be.
“You’ve come a long way from the flannel.” He places his loot on the table and pushes a tumbler in my direction. With a soft grin, I motion toward the dark fabric in his hands. He slings the blazer over the back of the booth and rolls the sleeves of his lavender dress shirt up. Like me, and most other patrons of this town, he’s covered in tattoos. There is a telltale Devil hiding amongst them. Two actually. One when he pledged allegiance to Monica and another when he renewed his allegiance with Dani. The new piece now covers the original that was on his back—reworked into a proper, proud piece of artwork.
Holstered on either side of his ribs, strapped in with aged, honey-colored leather, are two Smith and Wesson, M&P 5.7s. Twenty-two caliber rounds. It has always cracked me up he chooses such a small round, but they haven’t failed him yet. He’ll argue to the death that he’s packing more heat because smaller rounds mean more ammo in the magazine. They also mean you can hit someone in the chest and do less damage, therefore keeping them around long enough to take back to a warehouse. Needless to say, I don’t argue with him about them anymore.
“Don’t get me wrong, flannel is still my favorite color.” I roll my eyes at my brother and move the bottle to my side of the table. Gripping the bottle by the neck, I twist the cap off and take a swig. “Bennett, for fuck’s sake. That’s a two hundred dollar bottle you just put your mouth on.”
Pursing my lips as I tilt the glass so I can assess the label, a dirty look possesses my features and I lift my shoulders in a perfunctory shrug. That’s not something I should afford right now, but I’ll survive. “I’m good for it. How’s Shelly?”
Glaring at me, he snatches the alcohol from my grasp and pours a measure for himself. He swallows it down and slams the tumbler down on the table. My annoyance shows in the flat look I give him. He returns that look.
“Shelly’s good.” I wait for more on how my sister-in-law is doing, but he doesn’t hand it over.
“Just good?”
“There’s more, but I’m not sure you’re ready to hear that right now. I want to know how you’re doing.” I don’t want to talk about myself. My brother is supposed to distract me from myself, from the mania that controls my mind as of late.
Taking a reinforcing gulp of top-shelf bourbon, I let the breath flow harshly from my lungs. “I think we’ve established that I’m not okay. Now, what is the other shit you’re not telling me?”
Something he finds in his scrutinization of me makes him give in and I nearly sag with relief. I’m hoping for some good news because we all know I could use that right about now.
Rimming the top of his cup with his pointer finger, he says, “Shelly’s pregnant. It’s still very early and I’m not supposed to tell anyone, so don’t say anything.”
“Wes… Holy shit, are you serious? I thought—”
“Don’t put that energy into the air. We have no clue how or why. We’re just trying to take it one day at a time. She’s so damn freaked out, worried all the time that something is going to happen.” Shelly and Weston have been trying for a long time to conceive. They’ve put a ton of money into testing, IVF, and even surrogacy, only to miscarry. This is literally nothing short of a miracle.
“I think we need to toast to that.” Wes watches me carefully, studying my face. I know what he’s looking for. For me to fall apart with this news. Just because my life is shit right now and I’ve likely lost the chance to give my girl babies doesn’t mean I want him to miss out on the good parts of life. God knows there is so much bad, we have to celebrate the good.
He lifts his glass and knocks it gently into the bottle. I take two big swallows to his one. Sitting at the table, we talk about anything and everything, drinking our way through the bottle until dawn is peeking through the windows at us. I’m thoroughly shit faced and during a stretch of silence, just me chilling with my big brother, my thoughts stray back Nox. There is absolutely nothing in this world I wouldn’t do to, at the very least, pick up the phone and hear her breathing on the other end of the line.
The ache that lives inside of me lurches back to life despite the alcohol swimming in my veins.
Maybe Trace has the right fucking idea finding his place in the Hellions.
“I want to come back. I want back in the Devils. It’s too hard living in Northgate without her.”
“That’s why you left in the first place. Because it was too difficult here without Elias.”
I go to take another drink and realize the bottle is empty. With the way my vision is swimming, that’s probably a good thing. “It’s been years since his death and I still feel him here. She’s everywhere in Northgate. All over the fucking place. I can’t escape her.”
“She’s a part of you, little brother. The love of your life. You’ll never be able to escape her, whether you’re here or there. That’s the way love works. Her disappearance is hanging over your head. You just have to keep fighting, keep working at it. Something is going to give and you’ll find her.” I turn my hazy gaze on him, blinking when his image tilts and sways.
“I won’t. If I follow the facts and statistics… According to them, I should move on.”
“I know you, and I know you never will,” he argues, and it doesn’t help. What am I to do? Just live with the fact that my girl is gone? I’m going to go insane, clinically insane, over the loss of her and not knowing. At least if I had a body I could accept that she’s dead and go on with my life, but this limbo?
“I don’t want to do this alone. The Devils will give me something to focus on, keep me sane. I know all of them. They were family to me once.”
