Page 566 of Hell Hath No Fury
Crackers never told me where he came from, what brought him to the Aces. Shit, the first year he refused to accept my place in this house. It wasn’t until I busted him struggling his way through a grade-school book that I got a glimpse into why he’s so damn guarded.
He hides his weakness. Hisperceivedweakness.
It’s not his fault he missed most of his schooling—the only insight into life before the club that he gave before finally relenting and allowing me to help. That afternoon in the summersun, listening to the man sound out his vowels and consonants ruined me for any other member.
He showed me a vulnerability that demanded nothing but respect. Respect and admiration.
Which is why I made it my secret mission to have him feel that same way about himself.
I slide the top left drawer open and find only socks, underwear in the next one across, and belts in the far right. I don’t know what I hope to find other than perhaps another glimpse into what makes Crackers my greatest challenge. A photo, maybe? A journal. Although he isn’t the kind to write much.
I take a T-shirt from the third drawer and bundle it in my hands while I roam the rest of the room. I know what’s in the nightstand—shit, some of it doesn’t come out until I’m here. What hurts is knowing the same tools probably get used when the other girls are in the room, too.
He doesn’t belong to me, and it’s that thought that has me take a step backward and head toward the shower with what I can get.
With his T-shirt in my hands. The pretense that I drape it over my body for some reason other than the truth.
Because my clothes are stained with proof of what happens to the girls when they get too attached.
CHAPTER FOUR
Crackers
Digits sat at that fucking table like the timber beneath his hands meant nothing. As though the oath he swore when he joined the club were nothing more than a fucking nursery rhyme. He painted a fucking smirk on his goddamn face and stared down our president like Hooch didn’t earn every ounce of respect we give the man.
Sure, he kept that fucking DEA agent trailing his ass secret for months before the shit with his sister forced him to explain. But none of those motherfuckers out there can set a hand to their heart and honestly say that they wouldn’t do the same if someone they love were at risk.
“Can you believe this shit?” I mutter to Murphy the second he comes downstairs. “That motherfucker should be countin’ himself lucky I didn’t just take him out on the spot.”
“Hooch ain’t the kind to keep him alive if there weren’t a reason.” The old boy pulls a pouch of tobacco from his pocket and sets to rolling a smoke. “You know as well as I do that this business with the Wingmen has our chapter, Nebraska, and now Cali running in circles. If that fucker’s tellin’ the truth,” he says, pausing to lick the edge of the paper, “then surely you can see the benefit in keepin’ him alive long enough to lead us to the mystery buyer.”
“I’d rather hunt down a hundred more drug-dealing fuckers than spend another day on the road with that traitor.”
“Ack.” Murphy makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. “Listen to yourself, boy. You’re not a reckless teen anymore.” He lifts a hand to jab me twice in the chest—straight over my badge. “You weren’t given that position because of your recklessness.”
“Nope. I was given it because I don’t hold back from doin’ what needs to be done.”
I glare across the room at Digits as he heads for the foyer with a duffle in hand, presumably to disappear out to the garage. It’s the only place he’d be welcome right now—in a room when none of us are.
“He’ll get his,” Murphy says with a sigh. “You keep your head focused on the task at hand.”
“Speaking of which,” I mutter. “We’re riding out as soon as Pres is finished up there. He wants to check out this fuckin’ address the Wingman rat supposedly gave the asshole.”
The Irishman nods. “Why ain’t you up there too, then, boy?”
“Why should I be?”
He shakes his head and then pops the rolled smoke between his lips. “Jesus, fuck, Crackers. You truly are fuckin’ blind when it comes to her, ain’t you?”
“Pays to be, brother.”
Otherwise, I’d go do something dumb like catch feelings for a hooker.
* * *
Four hours on the road and the only thing I can say I enjoyed about it as we pull into a motel to layover for the night, is that I got to ride ahead of Digits. I’m not sure I could have stomached staring at that motherfucker’s back for hours on end when the main thing on my mind directly relates to him.
I didn’t see Beth before I left, justifying it to myself that we were pressed for time to get on the road. I fucking regret it now. And not for the reason I would have expected. Sure, I wonder how she is, who’s with her, and if she’s okay. But what bothers the fuck outta me is that I broke a promise.
