Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I miss my old life. I miss the person I used to be, and I’m still mourning for her loss. It’s not his fault though.
“All right, love. Cheer up, okay? Today wasn’t a total waste.”
“How’s that?” I ask, wiping my face and feeling like an idiot.
“We know where Rocco’s getting his supply. Maybe we can’t work with Gregory, but now we know where else to look.”
I let out a laugh. “The Bullethole Boys?”
“Exactly.”
“Aren’t they getting patched over to the Faithful Servants?”
“We’ll see about all that.” His hand slips down to my thigh. I turn and he’s smiling slightly. That old smirk is back. “And don’t worry about today. That fight might’ve been childish, but there’s nothing like a brawl to bring the lads together. Right, Seamus?”
“Damn right, boss,” Seamus says. I look at him and he’s grinning ear to ear.
Niall is too. “Nothing better than kicking the shit out of an asshole biker. Seriously, who the fuck wants to ride those things?”
“Obnoxious and ridiculous,” Seamus says, nodding in agreement.
Most of the tension dissipates. I’m not ready to smile and act like nothing happened, but I’m grateful that they seem ready to move on already. Ronan squeezes my leg.
“Get some rest. We’ll be in touch.”
I push open the door and get out. The Hummer doesn’t move as I head inside, and it stays there until I’m safely in the elevator heading up to my apartment, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.
Chapter 14
Ronan
“Iheard there was a fight,” Mom says as she piles more plates beside the sink. It’s mid-afternoon and the Sunday breakfast broke up a half hour ago. I’m elbow-deep in sudsy water helping her clean up before I take the rest of the day for work.
“Wasn’t anything to worry about,” I tell her, trying to put her at ease.
But she can see through my shit. She prods at my broken nose and pokes at my bruised cheek. “Looks like something. Who was it?”
“Bikers. Really, it’s all right. Not the first time and won’t be the last.”
Mom leans against the counter, studying me. I know what she’s thinking. Dad didn’t get into brawls, not himself at least—he had the good sense to make his brainless soldiers do all the dangerous shit most of the time.
But I’m not in that position right now. I need the soldiers to see me as one of them, and if I’m acting like a coward in front of fucking Gregory and his scummy MC assholes, then they’ll never accept me fully as their leader.
“I hear it was because of the girl.” Mom says this very casually, but it’s clear she’s been thinking about it.
“It’s not like that.”
“Niall said it was definitely like that.”
Fucking Niall. I’ll have to have a conversation with him about what’s appropriate to say to my goddamn mother.
“Honestly, Mom.” I dry my hands on a dishtowel. “Someone was being disrespectful to her, that’s all, and I stood up in her defense. I would’ve done it for anyone.”
She quirks her lips. “Really?”
“Really.” Although probably not. I don’t like Gregory, but he’s a useful ally to have—or at least, he was. Now I can’t say what he is. Enemy? Former associate? I’m not sure, and I haven’t tried to reach out yet to see where we stand.
“It’s okay, you know. If you like her. I mean, like I said, marriage wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“Would you cut it out with that?” I get back to washing, frustrated and annoyed. “The fight was just a fight. The lads needed to blow off some steam, and now it’s done. That sort of thing is good for the group every once in a while, and nobody was seriously hurt.”
“Sounds like it worked out this time.” Mom touches my arm. I look over and she’s got that concerned mother look on her face. “Just remember, you don’t have to be your father.”
That’s where she’s wrong.
Colm Hayes was beloved. If anything, that’s an understatement. He was a hard man who lived a hard life, but he cared about his people in a way that’s hard to fake. He was immensely real, almost too real sometimes, and he wore his emotions out in public with no shame and no remorse. Though mostly his emotions ranged from “bored” to “homicidal” with not much in between.
When he passed and I took control of the Group, everyone assumed I would run things like he did, with an iron fist. Except that isn’t me. It’s not how I manage my life or how I want to operate. Dad was good, and he kept the family together, but nobody flourished under his leadership. We just kept on going, year after year, in the same old houses in the same old neighborhood doing the same old petty crimes.
I want to be bigger. I want more for these people, even if they don’t realize it. That’s why I work my ass off, and why I can’t ever be like my old man, even if everyone around me wishes I were a young version of him.