Page 64 of Redemption (Brazen Bulls Birthright 1)

Because he wanted her.

He thought. Maybe. Was that it?

In his mental whirlwind, that thought caught and held steady. He wanted her.

But she hated him. And he wasn’t sure he liked her.

She was a world-class fuck, but she was also a mouthy bitch, riding his ass more enthusiastically than she rode his dick. Did he really want someone like that in deep in his life?

Of course not. He was a lone wolf, doing whatever the fuck he wanted, not worrying about anybody but himself and his club.

Right?Right? Right.

So why the fuck did he feel so bad?

Goddamn, he missed Becker. Beck had known about Marcella and the boy. He would have been able to talk him straight again.

The water was cooling, and he hadn’t washed yet, so he got down to it. Then he pulled his shaving mirror out on its collapsible arm, lathered up his head and face, and scraped the stubble off. Fucking hated all that grey and white. Goddamn old man. He’d shave his eyebrows, too, if it wouldn’t make him look like a robot.

Out of the shower, he stood naked in front of the mirror and wiped the steam away. Yeah, his shoulder was going to get infected if he didn’t take care of it. Probably he should get a rabies shot, too.

That sarcastic thought was far from the worst thing that had ever gone through his thick skull, but it struck him hard nonetheless. In the act of soaking a cotton ball in peroxide, Eight stopped and faced himself in the mirror. Shit, did he feel guilty forthinkingit? Alone in his own damn house?

Jesus, what waswrongwith him?

~oOo~

Out of the shower, he pulled on a pair of clean boxers and went to the kitchen. It was Sunday and he had nothing going on today, so he meant to crash for a few hours and then go to the hospital to check on JJ, and then probably to the clubhouse.

First, though, he needed some food.

In his refrigerator, beside a Brita pitcher, half a case of Bud and a weird bottle of homebrew Jazz had given everybody last Christmas, was a pizza box from before the California run and a takeout clamshell of pasta from before he’d ordered the pizza. Also an orange that had gone soft enough to sit flat on the shelf. Condiments and a single egg sat in the door shelves.

Pulling a bottle of Bud out, Eight slammed the fridge shut. Fuck. He’d forgotten he needed to shop. He fucking hated shopping for groceries.

Well, he could run through a drive-through for a breakfast meal somewhere, he guessed. But that sounded gross and pathetic.

He’d just go to bed, then. The beer would have to do.

His stomach rumbled in protest.

Fuck. He was not in the mood for this shit.

Then it struck him. He knew exactly where he could get a good meal—and somebody he could talk to. Somebody who’d set him straight.

He grabbed his phone and sent a text:You busy? Could use an ear.

A minute later, his phone gave a short buzz, and Eight read the reply:Of course, love. Come on out.

~oOo~

Brian and Mo Delaney lived in Bixby, about a half hour south of Tulsa. They’d lived there longer than Eight had known them, as long as the Brazen Bulls had been a club—coming up on forty-five years. Delaney was the founder and first president, and he was the only one still standing of the five men, most of them vets, who’d formed the club.

Mo had been the first club queen. She’d reigned over that clubhouse for a quarter century, until Delaney set down the gavel and shrugged the kutte off his back.

Mo was also the closest thing Eight had ever had to a mother. His Aunt Agnes didn’t count. That nasty old bitch had treated him like a farm animal from the time he was five years old—when she wasn’t treating him like vermin infesting her house.

Eight had been a man full grown when he’d found his way to the Bulls and met Mo, and he absolutely would have said he had no need for a mother. He hadn’t been looking for one, hadn’t wanted one, hadn’t needed one. But Mo was just … Mo, mothering everybody, not exactly pushy, but steady. She didn’t care if you said you didn’t need what she knew you did. She just did her thing and waited for you to understand.

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