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KILLIAN
“Your pops wants to see you,” Brooks said around the toothpick tucked into the side of his mouth.
I glared up at the old man, confused as fuck as to why he randomly just approached me with that shit.
“I just got back from seeing a buddy at Cherrywood, had a missive passed through for me to see.”
Fuck.
“They’re passing messages now?” I released the wrench, tossing it back into the tool bag closest to my bike.
I knew there was a network of club members inside those walls, but shit, the fact that my father got a message to Brooks through one of his friends, and the message pertained to me, was just fucking insane.
“Seemed rather urgent.”
I watched from my peripheral as Brooks gnawed away at his toothpick. I knew he did it because he had to stop smoking. Red made sure he didn’t risk picking the habit back up.
Wiping the grease from my hands, I finally turned toward the old timer. “Things with Jefferson are always urgent.”
Brooks toyed with the engine mount off to his left, his gray beard was untamed and bushy, nearly hiding his entire face. “So they are.”
He wasn’t leaving.
Heaving a sigh, I gave in. “You think I should go?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think, but intel from inside has always proven useful.”
I clicked my tongue. “Didn’t you just return from seeing Paul, anything worth knowing—he would have shared.”
Brooks laughed. “He doesn’t traffic the same sort of intel as someone like Jefferson Quinn.”
That was true. My dad had more loyalty than most, and he’d been in there for years establishing his place and the pecking order.
“Fine. I’ll go.” Didn’t fucking have time for it, but it was practically winter, my bike could wait a while longer. I’d just have to take the truck.
Brooks slapped me on the back, then on his way out called, “Take Giles or Wes with you.”
Yeah, wouldn’t want this entire fucking thing to be a trap, and sadly, knowing my dad, it probably was.
Cherrywood Penitentiary was a sunny name for a place so devoid of joy. A joke, the real name was much duller and more lifeless, but those inside had given it a name, and it helped when creating their messages. The cherry blossom was a stamp for this prison. There were a few others in the state, and the network managed to eclipse them all.
The buzzer sounded, alerting me that they were leading in a prisoner.
My head lifted and caught on my dad. He hadn’t changed much in the three months since I last saw him. Except for the way he was staring at me.
The guards secured him to the table and then walked back toward the wall, waiting.
“You came,” my dad almost sounded relieved.
I nodded. “Brooks said it seemed urgent.”
His eyes searched mine, taking in my ink, my plain white shirt, my clenched jaw.
“You’re president now.” His voice didn’t tip with pride, or fluctuate with any emotion whatsoever. He was merely stating facts.
I dipped my head again, preferring to answer silently.
“You gonna pull some strings to get your old man out?” His smile made my stomach churn. He had to know that I wouldn’t. I hadn’t been back in three months. I was devastated when he’d murdered that girl. His sins spilled over into my life, staining my soul in a way that I felt perpetually fucked up.
