Page 85 of Decoding Morse

“And if they don’t?”

“Then Aunt Thia will thump them upside their heads with a reminder that their mom deserves to be happy. But I don’t think that’ll be necessary. You raised excellent humans.”

“I did.”

“Don’t underestimate them. It’s time to chase your own dreams now, Momma Bear.”

23

Morse

THURSDAY MORNING, WHEN I came downstairs to head to work, Link was sitting alone at the bar in the common room, having a beer. Everyone knew the prez liked his hops, but some serious shit had to be going down if he was imbibing this early.

“Rough day?” I asked.

“You could say that.”

I could also relate, making me pull up the barstool beside him. It had been an insane past couple of weeks. Finding out about the hit on Amelia, moving her and her family into the club, Idaho, and then that entire scene at the hospital. It was all too fucking much. Link and Emily had kept me out of jail, and Tap and Hound had been working tirelessly alongside me to expose all of Eric Landry’s shady dealings.

And I was running on fumes.

I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep since Amelia had asked for a minute and walked away.

I had no fucking clue where we stood, and it was tearing me apart inside, making it impossible to shut down. The number to the burner phone Sage had given her was programmed into my phone, and even now, it whispered in my ear, tempting me to make the call. But this conversation needed to be held in person, where I could monitor every expression that crossed her face and fall to my knees and beg, if necessary, to stay in her life.

But that couldn’t happen right now. Amelia had enough shit to deal with. She’d asked for time. I’d fucking give it to her. I’d managed to stay away from her for years, but now that I’d touched her—now that I knew how good she tasted and how well her pussy strangled my cock—I was done with that shit. It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours since I’d last seen her, and I needed a fix.

Maybe the prez could provide me with a healthier distraction.

Link’s hair stood on end like he’d been running his fingers through it, possibly ripping some out. I rounded the bar and grabbed a beer from the fridge, popping the top off.

“What new and exciting shit storm are you caught up in, Prez?”

He took a swig before answering, “Havoc and I took Tank to see the doctor yesterday.”

Hearing that, I took a heavy pull. “What’s the diagnosis?”

“Fuckin’ dementia.”

I’d been expecting as much, but hearing it was still devastating. The members of the old guard that had started this club were getting up in years, so it made sense. But they all seemed so much larger than life. After all the stories I’d heard about Tank on the battlefield and in the club, there was something so wrong about dementia being the thing that would do him in.

“How much time does he have?”

Link shrugged. “A couple of years? Maybe? If the drugs they prescribed him slow down the progression. No guarantee they’ll do a goddamn thing, but the side effects promise one hell of a crazy time during his last days.”

“Shit.”

Link nodded. “I didn’t know what the fuck to do, so I called Pop. He suggested I find Tank’s kids.”

Tank’s kids—like every other member’s—were in our system. I’d put them into the software monitoring the dark web because kidnapping and sex trafficking were real, and we protected our own. Other than their addresses, birth dates, and phone numbers, I knew nothing about AJ and Brooke. They were out of the picture long before I became a prospect, and nobody ever talked about them.

“Did Tap get you their numbers?”

“Yep. I called them first thing this morning.”

“You talked to Tank’s kids?”

Link nodded. “AJ tried to hang up on me the moment he realized who I was. I had to convince him to hear me out. Didn’t give a shit that his father was dying. In fact, he had some choice words for his old man. Words I will not be fucking sharing with Tank.”

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