Page 3 of Gunner

Grace slipped in and set a glass of amber liquid down in front of Cash. “Don’t worry, Cash, I’ve got you.”

She winked at me and strolled back to the bar.

Cash grabbed the glass and with a smug grin, took a sip.

“Fuck, that burns!”

I shook my head at him. He didn’t seem to mind the burn as he took another drink.

I sat beside him and waited.

By the time his glass was empty, Big Ben and Tank had arrived. They walked in the door and looked around. Catching my nod, they made their way to where we sat.

“Take him home.”

“Not fuckin’ goin’ home.”

“Yes, you fuckin’ are.”

Why I was arguing with a drunk was beyond me.

I yanked him from his seat and pushed him toward Tank, who grabbed his arm and placed it over his shoulders. Big Ben grabbed his other arm and did the same.

“Getcha fuckin’ hands off me!”

“No can do, brother. Prez’s orders,” Tank told him.

“Fuck King.”

“Yea, I don’t think you’re the one he wants to fuck,” I said, slapping him on the back. Turning, I instructed, “Put him in a spare room, not his.”

Tank nodded, and he and Big Ben dragged him out of the bar and back to the clubhouse.

I followed them outside to make sure he didn’t give them any shit before they loaded him up. They didn’t bother with the back seat, just tossed him into the back of the SUV they brought.

I waved as they drove out of the parking lot.

One problem settled, for tonight anyway.

I’d have to talk to King about Cash and see what we could do. The brother needed help. He couldn’t go on like this.

The day of her funeral was a shit show. Things hadn’t gotten any better in the time since.

A somber sky, heavy with gray clouds and a persistent drizzle, reflected the day’s melancholy mood. As we stood at the graveside, our final goodbyes choked with grief, the cold raindrops mirrored our collective sorrow.

Cash stood at her grave. A blank expression on his face.

No tears, no pain, no anger, nothing.

When the service was over, we walked somberly into the clubhouse, and Grace went behind the bar and started pouring shots. Rachel loved her tequila. We would toast to her. Celebrate the short time we had her in our lives.

But Cash had a different idea.

“Brandy! Come here, babe. Let’s go.”

Brandy walked over, putting her arm around Cash. “Go where?”

He smiled. “My room.”

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