Madeline Sheehan - Unbeloved

Miranda’s posture went rigid, her expression hostile, but she said nothing.

Blue shrugged unapologetically. “Might be an old man, might not know what fuckin’ year it is, but I know real when I see it and Deuce and Eva, that was some real shit. You’re the distraction, girl. Best get your head screwed on straight ’fore you fuckin’ lose what little brains you got left up in there.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth, attempting to stifle my laughter, but I was too late. Everyone had heard me.

“What are you laughing at?” Miranda demanded, her nostrils flaring with anger. “You’re no better than I am! You want to talk about what’s real, Dorothy? Jase and Chrissy’s marriage, that’s real!”

My stomach did a nervous flip, bringing all my insecurities boiling back up to the surface, and my smile slipped from my face, falling away alongside my hand.

I knew I wasn’t like Miranda, was nothing like her. She didn’t love Deuce; she only loved what she could gain from being with him. I loved Jase, loved him with all my heart. And he’d promised me he would eventually leave his wife.

But . . . if all that were really true, why did a meaningless insult from a woman like Miranda have the ability to wound me?

With a satisfied smile, Miranda slid off her bar stool. “It’s about time you learned your place here,” she spat. Spinning on her heel, she marched quickly across the room, disappearing down the same hallway Deuce had.

“Pay no attention to that one,” Blue called out. “She ain’t ever cared ’bout nothin’ but climbin’ the ranks in the club. You ain’t her, Dorothy, you hear me, girl? You ain’t like her. I know good people when I see ’em, and I ain’t never seen nothin’ but good from you.”

“Yeah, fuck her, D.” Ripper gave me another friendly squeeze. “She ain’t got a clue what’s she’s spoutin’ off about.”

“Fuck ’em all,” Cox grumbled. “Especially Kami. Stupid bitch.”

“Goddamn, dude, you’re actually feelin’ that stuck-up, good-for-nothin’-but-fuckin’ piece of New York ass?”

Cox glared at him. “You gonna try and tell me you didn’t?”

Ripper shrugged. “Kami’s a fuckin’ party. Bitch like that ain’t good for much else. ’Sides, she’s too fuckin’ skinny. Gotta have somethin’ to grab, yeah? Fuckin’ anything at all. And that bitch ain’t got nothin’.”

“Then why the fuck was I sharin’ her with your dumb ass?”

Ripper looked affronted. “Brother, I don’t pass up hot bitches offerin’ up free parties.”

“Fuck off and die.”

“You first, asshat.”

As the two of them had continued their usual arguing and incessant bickering, a new smile began to form and I’d felt myself relaxing once again. If anyone could make me forget my problems, it was the boys. Especially these two clowns.

“Why don’t ya both fuck off and die, and lemme finish drinkin’ in peace!” Blue had yelled.

“Is that even possible?” Cox had asked. “I mean, dude, do you ever finish drinkin’?”

Later that evening, after a day of heavy drinking and feeling sorry for myself, I’d ended up drunk and alone at the bar. Just as I was getting ready to call it a night and head to Jase’s room, a large figure stepped out of the shadows.

“Ain’t no fun drinkin’ alone.”

“Hawk!” I exclaimed, putting my hand over my heart. “You scared me!”

Stone faced, Hawk continued his stride toward the bar. Sliding into the seat beside me, he gestured toward the row of bottles on the shelf.

“I’ll have two of whatever you’re havin’.”

And then he smiled.

It was the first time I’d ever seen him smile.

**•

“Wat up little, D?” Cox called out, bringing me back to the present. “You need a drink, darlin’?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Just need to borrow Lucy for a moment.”

Lucy’s head emerged from Cox’s neck, her lips swollen from fervent kisses. She gave me a confused look and asked, “Me? Why?”

I shrugged. “Just wanted to talk.”

“Go talk,” Cox encouraged her, then over her head mouthed, Thank you, thank you, thank you, rather emphatically.

As Lucy reached me, I looped my arm through hers and led her out of the room. “I want to tell you a story,” I said, my voice hushed. “It’s about a young woman who fell in love with a married man, and the many years of misery that followed.”

Lucy stopped walking, forcing me to stop as well.

Looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes full of naïveté, she smiled sadly. “Am I that obvious?” she whispered.

“No,” I lied. “Sadly, I’m just an expert on this sort of thing.”

Hawk was reclining in bed, reading one of Tegen’s many publisher-rejected manuscripts that she’d forced on him, when Cage slipped his head inside the partially open bedroom door.

“You got a visitor, old man,” he said, giving Hawk a grim smile.

Grateful, Hawk tossed aside the thick folder of printed pages. As far as he could tell it was a love story; at least, it was Tegen’s attempt at a love story. In actuality it was more of a long-winded, hate-filled, rambling mess of words that she was trying to pass off as a love story. By two hours into it, Hawk’s brain began to feel like a game of ping-pong was being played inside it.

He guessed in a way the story reflected the woman who wrote it, which made sense considering he often thought Tegen could do with a heavy dose of medication to calm her the fuck down. How Cage dealt with that . . . yeah, Hawk didn’t have a clue. If he were Cage, he would have shot out of town as fast as possible to get as far away from her as he could.

But he supposed you couldn’t help who you fell in love with. He had fallen in love with a married woman, who had a boyfriend to boot. Although he couldn’t help but feel like he’d gotten a better deal than Cage, seeing as the mother was a whole shitload less volatile than the daughter.

Not that Dorothy didn’t have her moments, and sometimes her emotional outbursts made him want to stab himself in the eye, but Tegen . . .

Holy shit.

The walls in this house were thin, too thin, forcing Hawk to have to listen to fight after fight. They either ended in something breaking or what sounded like sex—did rabid animals have sex?—and left him contemplating smothering himself to death with his own pillow.

“Havin’ fun yet?”

The bedroom door pushed open, revealing Deuce. He took a quick visual sweep of the room before walking inside. He was followed by Ripper, who immediately closed the door behind him. As Deuce crossed the room, the floor creaking heavily under the sound of his hard, booted steps, Ripper remained by the door, looking anywhere but at Hawk.

It was the first time he’d seen any of his brothers other than Cage since they’d picked his sorry ass up from the Russians, and Hawk had felt the sting of that rejection. Although he didn’t blame them, how could he? In a way he’d betrayed them by lying to them all these years. Yet, he’d held out hope that once Deuce had explained everything to them, they’d forgive him. But judging by the look on Ripper’s face, that wasn’t the case.

Shoving his feelings on the matter aside, Hawk turned to face Deuce. There were far more important things to discuss than hurt feelings.

He’d been waiting for Deuce to show up, both dreading this moment and anticipating it. Half of him wanted this to be the outcome, but the other half desperately wanted things to be different. More so for Dorothy and Christopher than himself. Because he couldn’t give two shits about what happened to him, only it wasn’t just him anymore.

Funny how having a kid could change your entire perspective on life.

“Been listenin’ to Tegen and Cage fuck each other up,” Hawk said, looking again toward Ripper, who still hadn’t so much as glanced his way. “I’m thinkin’ I had more fun with the Russians.”

“Yeah,” Deuce muttered, giving his head a small shake. “I don’t get those two, but somehow she keeps him in line, focused on the game, and that’s about all that really fuckin’ matters.

“And speaking of the game,” Deuce continued. “Saw D at the club. She said you’re feelin’ better, figured it was time for us to talk.”

“Two weeks, Prez,” Hawk said, ensuring that every word he spoke sounded as devoid of emotion as he wished he’d felt. “I know what I gotta do. Just gimme two weeks with her, that’s all I’m askin’ for.”

Deuce unfolded his arms and dropped his head into his rising hands. Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed heavily. “Brother,” he started, but Hawk didn’t let him finish.

“Prez, please,” he said, struggling to sit up straighter. “I gotta see my boy. I gotta spend some time with them both . . . before . . .”

Realizing he’d let the very emotion he was hoping to keep in check seep into his words and body language, he trailed off.

When Deuce didn’t respond, just continued to stand there, his gaze on the floor, Hawk let out a ragged sigh.

“I’ll do whatever I gotta do,” he said quietly. “Just promise me you’re gonna take care of ’em. Look after ’em. I’ve been tryin’ to give Dorothy money for years, but she never uses it, just keeps puttin’ it into an account for Christopher. I don’t want her livin’ like that anymore, I want her here, near her daughter, near you. I want her in a damn house, her own place, for once.”

Deuce’s head raised, those cold blue eyes staring Hawk down. “You ain’t gotta worry about that fuckin’ shit, you know we always take care of our own. And you want two weeks, you got ’em. Hell, you want three weeks, you got ’em. I know you know what you gotta do, and I know you’re gonna do it. That ain’t why I’m here.”