Page 22 of Deserter

I stared up at the ceiling until I heard the lock click before going in search of Dagger. I needed the feel of a needle against my skin. Anything to calm my mind.

What had she been thinking—that I’d take her in my arms and profess my love?

That was the kind of shit thinking that got people killed.

Angel had given Ma something more dangerous than love. He’d given her hope and made her believe that they’d get to be together someday.

He sold her on a fairy-tale; made her believe in something that didn’t exist. Because of it, she ended up dead, and he became a reclusive alcoholic.

Betsy had come here looking for her own version of hope, but I knew that if I intervened, she’d be worse off than she was now.

I’d already tried and failed to save one woman.

I wasn’t willing to go through it again.

Love was bullshit.

And hope was a death-trap.

Chapter Six

Grey: 1986

“Hey, Pres? What’s the difference between a lentil and a chickpea?” Comedian slid onto the barstool next to mine and leaned into Dragon’s face. I ground my teeth together before knocking back another shot.

Yeah, Comedian.

When Dragon saw that Sullivan was never going to drop his stand-up routine act, he’d decided to saddle him with a name to match.

I couldn’t stand the guy but respected his place in the club. It didn’t mean that I wasn’t planning on killing him the first chance I got though.

He elbowed Dragon when he didn’t respond. “I’ve never had a lentil on my chest!” His booming laughter filled the bar, and I noted that more than one biker rolled his eyes.

Dragon calmly snorted another line of blow before growling, “Shut the fuck up, Comedian.”

Sullivan just laughed and slapped him on the back. “I’ll work on another one for ya, but first, I gotta drain the lizard.”

I clenched my hand into a fist and stared down at the row of empty shot glasses lined up in front of me. I hadn’t wanted to involve myself four years ago; thought I’d let nature run its course and no one would be the wiser.

That lasted until he beat the ever-loving shit out of Betsy, almost killing her and the baby. If it hadn’t been for our club doctor being nearby, he would’ve succeeded. She’d been luckier than my ma, but Comedian’s actions had destroyed any chance of her having more kids.

Slim once told me that the first time he looked into David’s eyes; he knew that he’d do anything for him. I thought it was a load of shit until the first time I laid eyes on that baby boy.

He was mine.

There wasn’t a fucking doubt in my mind even if I couldn’t do shit about it.

I stayed back in the shadows after issuing a warning to Comedian to save the beatings for club enemies; anything more than that would’ve divided the club. He might’ve annoyed the shit out of most of the bikers, but he was great in combat and had earned their respect by putting himself right in the thick of it.

And, he did it all with a smile on his face, which was pretty goddamn unsettling.

I watched from the sidelines as my son, Mikey, grew into a toddler. Gradually, Betsy allowed me to come around when Comedian was off fucking anything that moved and I found, to my utter shock, that I actually liked spending time with the kid. That had been enough, at first.

Then, I began to notice how he’d flinch anytime Sullivan was around, and I vowed that I’d step up and end him. I’d claim Michael as mine and give him a last name he could be proud of.

“Good to see some things haven’t changed,” Slim noted with a wry grin as Comedian stumbled toward the back of the bar. While his kutte still bore the Silent Phoenix emblem across the top, the bottom rocker now proclaimed Slim a Nomad.

“Oh, yeah,” I responded dryly. “Comedian’s just a fuckin’ barrel of laughs.”

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