Page 62 of Gunner

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because you went out, and now Paddy’s dead. Where did you go?”

“Here and there.”

I caught his hand before he could take another bite of his grilled cheese sandwich. “Tell me the fucking truth.”

“You want to know the truth? I waited around until Paddy came out of the apartment building. Then I confronted him in the parking lot.”

My stomach dropped, and the bread I’d just eaten threatened to come back up. “You killed him?”

“That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“You just said—”

“I know what I just said. I also told you last night that he was alive when I left him.”

How could I believe him? Gunner was a criminal. He killed people, even if I couldn’t prove it. He wasn’t a nice man at all.

He stood, dumping the rest of his sandwich into the paper bag. “Let me tell you something, Witter. Yes, I’ve murdered people. Will I kill again? More than likely. I got my temper from the devil himself, and I solve my problems with my fists, but I have always been upfront with you. You believe what you want.”

I got up when he headed for the door. “Where are you going?”

“Back to Smoky Vale, where I belong. Let’s not meet up again, yeah? And that fuck you owe me? I have no need for it anymore.”

17

GUNNER

I keep making promises to both. Gunner never calls me out on my bullshit, but he knows I don't mean shit. Why doesn't he say anything?

“Hello, my name is Sierra, and I’m an alcoholic.”

The people sitting in the church basement echoed a greeting to Sierra, a pretty brunette with a nervous tick of scratching her arms. Sierra announced she’d been sober for one year and ten months, to which she received encouraging applause. When she launched into her story about being a single mother at sixteen who’d given her child up for adoption and turned to drugs—a story I’d heard before—I tuned her out.

A furtive glance around the room revealed some new faces. Nobody I knew, thank fuck. If anyone recognized me, my name would be ruined. If there were people who could identify me, they automatically knew to quickly forget where they saw me. I was the president of the Blood Hounds. Somewhere in that title was the description of drinking, partying, and whoring around.If I was trying to cure the drinking, what sort of president could I be?

I’d always been a heavy drinker. My old man had given me my first beer at eleven, and it’d been a part of my life since. Everything worth celebrating was done with liquor. But when Mason died, I’d lost my will to control how much I drank. The threat of losing my club when Crowe and his men showed up in town had sobered me up long enough to seek out an AA meeting.

At least once a week, I attended. Reverend Homer, who was in charge of the meetings, said we should come even if we fell off the wagon, so I came, even if I was a hopeless cause.

Fuck. But I didn’t want to be hopeless.

I flicked my hundredth one-day sober chip between my fingers. Lately, I’d been drinking again. A sip here and a mug there. What could it hurt? It’d all been going well too until Witter. Something about the man fucked with my emotions and made everything too intense. In equal parts, I wanted to fuck him and hurt him.

His refusal to believe I hadn’t killed Paddy still stung. Maybe I’d shattered one of his kneecaps. It was the least he deserved after the shitshow he had been a part of and pulling that gun on us, but the man had been breathing and writhing in pain when I’d left him.

But why should Witter believe me when he thought the worst of me? Hell, the way he’d reacted to the fact that he’d slept withmewas telling. He was fine getting his rocks off with me as long as no one knew. I was done being some cop’s dirty secret.

Mason had done me wrong. I wouldn’t give Witter the chance.

Still, would it have killed him to pick up the fucking phone and admit he was wrong for suspecting me? Nothing but radio silence for the past four days since we’d returned to Smoky Vale. And I knew he was back. Yeah, yeah, watching him from across the street as he came home from the police station every eveningwas kind of a psychotic move, but I had this burning need to know what was up with him and the cute, not-my-type neighbor who pretended to watch his dog. I’d slipped the dog away from the house a few times already, and he didn’t even know.

“Thank you so much, Sierra,” Reverend Homer said, bringing my focus back to the meeting. “You’re an inspiration to us all. Looking around us, I see some new and some familiar faces. Do we have anyone here tonight who wants to share with us for the first time? Remember, this is a judgment-free zone. We’re here to support each other and let you know you’re not fighting this illness alone.”

The reverend was staring directly at me. I glanced over my shoulder. Had someone else taken a seat behind me? No such luck. I was the last person in the row. Was he expecting me to stand in front of everyone and admit I was an alcoholic? No way in hell. I was trying to stay anonymous, not putting myself as the focal point of the room.

“I can share.”

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