Wild Like the Wind Read online

  “Scrappin’ at school. Skippin’ classes. Caught with your hand in the pants of a fifteen-year-old girl. Two months into your freshman year and already suspended twice. This is not Black’s boy. This is not Keely’s son. This is not you. Straighten the fuck out,” Hound warned.

  “You don’t know dick about who I am,” Dutch returned.

  That was a lie and a ticked one at that, and they both knew it.

  But Dutch was gearing up to shut Hound out and Hound could not let that happen. Not when he was fourteen and the measure of the man he was going to be was at stake.

  And Dutch was already falling down on that, acting out, doing stupid shit, driving his mother around the bend.

  Hound needed to sort this shit out . . . and now.

  “Slit the throat of the man who took out your dad,” Hound fired back and saw Dutch’s eyes get large. “Man who ordered his death took my bullet first, through his right eye. Vengeance is not taken lightly. Vengeance is earned and meted out in the way it’s bought. And bottom line, vengeance is carried out in the way the reason it’s deserved demands. I didn’t blink before I fired that shot. I didn’t hesitate before I drew my blade across that throat. And this was because the man who demanded that vengeance was your father. The woman who deserved that vengeance was your mother. And the boys left behind who wouldn’t know the straight-up, solid, steadfast, down-to-his-boots good that was your father, needed it. Black made you, kid. He raised you or not, not only the goodness of your mother but the man he was means you live, you breathe, you fuckin’ exist to make them proud. Are you hearing me?”

  “You . . . you killed them?” Dutch asked.

  “Fuck yeah, two proudest goddamn moments of my life,” Hound answered.

  “Whoa,” Dutch muttered.

  Hound had nothing to say to that.

  “Ev-everybody talks about how fuckin’ great he was,” Dutch said.

  “That’s because he was fuckin’ great,” Hound replied, easing up on his fist in the kid’s shirt but not getting out of his space.

  “I . . . Jagger doesn’t even remember him.”

  “But you do.”

  Dutch stared up at him.

  “You do,” Hound repeated. “And you know. You know you lighted his world. You know he was prouder of nothin’ than him and his woman makin’ you.”

  Dutch’s handsome face got ugly.

  “He was so proud, why’d he get dead?”

  “Because he wanted to live clean and he wanted to do right by his family. He wanted to slide into bed with the woman he loved and not bring filth into it. He wanted to make pancakes for his boys on Sunday and eat ’em with you, tasting nothin’ but goodness in his mouth. Because he was all in to fight for that. Because he was willing to die for it. And it’s just life that sucks in ways too mammoth to fully comprehend that he was the man among us who did. Not a brother who’s got a patch wouldn’t have taken his place. Believe that, Dutch, because it’s the straight-up, motherfucking truth. And I would have been first in line. And that would not have been for your mother. That wouldn’t have been for you boys. That wouldn’t have been for Chaos. That would have been for Black.”

  Dutch was searching for some smartass shit to say to that.

  But he couldn’t find it.

  “Stop fuckin’ up and drivin’ your mother insane,” Hound ordered. “She needs you. You’re all she’s got.”

  Dutch had something to say to that.

  “I know and that’s too fuckin’ much. I’m fourteen, man, and Jag’s only twelve. We can’t be everything to her.”

  “Your dad would not fall down on that job and he was all she needed. Sayin’ that, he would love every goddamn minute of it and woulda killed to have more.”

  Dutch looked away, a muscle ticking in a cheek that didn’t even have fuzz on it yet.

  “You got him in you,” Hound said quietly. “Be the man he didn’t get the chance to fully be.”

  “How do I do that when he’s not here to teach me?” Dutch asked the space at their sides.

  “You need a lesson, you find me.”

  Dutch looked back to him, misery and hope both fighting in his dark eyes.

  “If I haven’t proved it already, it’s you that’s not payin’ attention. I’m there for you, kid, any way you need me.”

  “Jag too?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Hound answered.

  “Chaos is—”

  “Yours,” Hound finished for him. “And it’s you. You grow up, wanna make that official, every man will welcome you. You just want us at your back, you’ll have that until the day each and every one of us stop breathing.”

  Something washed through his face before his lips quirked. “She was wet and hot down there, man.”

  Hound let him go but again didn’t get out of his space. “You’re growin’ up too fast. Your looks, you’ll get your share of hot, wet pussy. Before he tagged your mother, your old man made an art of gettin’ his share. When it comes your time, and by that I mean you hold your shit for another coupla years, first, you see to them. They won’t be pantin’ for it if you don’t give it good. You need pointers on that, talk to me, Hop, Dog, Tack. And second, condoms. No excuses, no exceptions. You can’t get your hands on ’em, you call me. I’ll make sure you’re supplied.”

  Something else came into Dutch’s face.

  “People think things about bikers, Hound. I don’t even have a learner’s permit, no way a bike, and still, my dad, Chaos, kids know things and they say shit. Am I supposed to just take that crap?”

  “Fuck no,” Hound replied. “But Jesus, son, you don’t blow your top on school grounds. Assholes need a lesson, you always do it smart and in a way your momma doesn’t feel the pain after you bring it.”

  Dutch stared at him a beat before he smiled.

  “Workout room on Chaos, your ass is there,” Hound told him. “I go to a gym, I’ll pick you up, take you there too. We’ll spar. Make sure you know what you’re doin’, don’t get surprised and can make your point and know when to stop. We got a deal?”

  Dutch nodded. He tried not to do it enthusiastically, but he failed.

  “I gotta make another visit to you like this one, it won’t make me happy,” Hound warned.

  “But you won’t give up on me,” Dutch stated.

  Hound stared at him.

  Dutch’s chin moved in a funny way before he made his face hard and he went on, “You won’t give up on me. You won’t disappear on me. Yeah?”

  “You got me, kid,” Hound whispered. “Always.”

  “You won’t disappear on me.”

  “I won’t disappear, Dutch.”

  “Never. You won’t go.”

  Christ.

  He’d pull that blade across that motherfucker’s throat again right then, no question about it.

  “Never, son,” he promised.

  That thing happened to his chin again before Dutch looked away and drew in a sharp breath through his nose.

  “Tomorrow, pick you up at your house, take you to Chaos,” Hound said. “Show you around the weights. After school. Wear shorts, tennis shoes, a loose tank. With me?”

  Dutch looked back at him and nodded.

  Finally, Hound stepped back.

  “Need a ride home?” he asked.

  Dutch shook his head. “Gotta go get Jag. He gets outta school after me. I walk him home.”

  Hound nodded.

  “Then git, kid. Jag wants to come with you tomorrow, call me and let me know. I’ll pick you up in my truck.”

  Dutch nodded.

  Hound moved toward his bike.

  “Hound?” Dutch called.

  He stopped and turned back.

  “I was five,” Dutch said.

  Hound locked his body.

  “But I still miss him,” he finished.

  “So do I, Dutch,” Hound made himself reply.

  Dutch took him in.

  Then he turned and ran the other way.

  Five years
later . . .

  She opened the door, and like usual, since he was always the one to do it unless he was on assignment, Hound stuck out his hand toward Keely, that hand holding the envelope containing the check Cherry had cut for her.

  “Your take this month,” he told her.

  She took it, her eyes on him. “Thanks, Hound.”

  He jerked up his chin, and like always said no more and started to move to turn away.

  “And thanks for that jumbo box of condoms you supplied Jag with,” she continued, making Hound turn around and look at her again. “Gave me one less thing to ream his ass about after I walked in on him drilling the head cheerleader on the couch in the living room.”

  Christ.

  How many times had he told those boys to play it smart when it came to location and timing?

  “You want me to stop bein’ their supplier, you’re their mother and I’ll stop. Not my place but I’ll still say, that ain’t smart.”

  “Please don’t stop. I don’t need my boys being baby daddy to half the kids in Denver.”

  That was a good call.

  Hound nodded.

  He was about to walk away again when she stopped him.

  “Dutch wants his name put forward to recruit.”

  His eyes went again to her, his heart squeezed in a good way, but he said nothing.

  “You, Hound, I’m tellin’ you, don’t allow the boys to let that happen.”

  Now that was not a good call.

  “You know that shit ain’t right,” he said low.

  “Don’t let it happen, Hound.”

  “He’s got Chaos in his blood.”

  “His father’s blood drained out for Chaos.”

  “Like I said, he’s got Chaos in his blood.”

  She stared hard at him. “I’ll never forgive you if you let it happen.”

  “Black would never forgive you if you did shit to stop it.”

  He hated it, but after he said that she looked like he’d slapped her.

  So he gentled his voice when he said, “That was harsh, but, woman, you still know it was true.”

  She lifted up the envelope in her hand and said, “You can take off like you always do but thanks for this, Hound. Big, fat check every month bet makes it a lot easier for you boys to live with what I lost.”

  And that was just bullshit.

  “If you think for one fuckin’ second, Keely, that you were the only one who suffered that blow, it’s time to get your head out of your ass, look around you and see how that shit really is.”

  Again, she looked like he’d slapped her but he didn’t go gentle because, for fuck’s sake, it had been fourteen years.

  They knew she’d never get over it.

  But she had to find her way past it.

  “You’re right,” Hound carried on. “We’ve been so damned focused on cushioning the blow for you that in our own ways we all sustained that we haven’t seen the kinda care you really need, and that’s for someone to tell you that you need to stop wallowing in your bullshit and get it straight, woman. You need to stop shovin’ the guilt in our faces that we feel and taste and live every day. And you need to get a fuckin’ life.”

  She didn’t look struck by that.

  She looked remorseful.

  “I shouldn’t . . . I shouldn’t have . . . not you. Especially not you. You stepped up. They all did. You all stepped up but mostly . . . you. I shouldn’t have thrown that at you, Hound.”

  To leave it at that, he nodded and again turned to walk away.

  “Thanks for lookin’ after my boys, Hound,” she called to his back. “With the condoms and with . . . well, everything.”

  This time, he didn’t stop and turn around.

  Because he had to. He had to bring her check to her. He had to get his shot at looking at her face. He had to have the mere moments he could get in her space. So he took them. Now especially, with the boys older, with all of them needing him less.

  And also because he had to once he got those moments, he got the fuck out of there.

  So he just lifted a hand, flicked it out and carried on walking away.

  Present day . . .

  “It gives me no joy to say that at least when this asshole takes you out, Hound, you’re not leavin’ anyone who loves you more than the breath they take behind,” Keely shot at him.

  He tried to fight it and feared he’d failed at beating back the flinch.

  Tack drew her attention to him. “Keely—”

  “Do not call me again, Tack,” she demanded.

  His mouth got tight.

  She looked to Hound and everything about her changed. She went from pissed and belligerent to sad and defeated.

  Seeing that, it killed.

  “Be careful,” she whispered to Hound. “Be super fuckin’ careful, Hound. Because you might not have a woman who loves you more than her own breath, but you still got folks who love you. So please, God, be careful.”

  With that, she turned, her hair flying, yanked open the door, stalked out, and slammed it behind her.

  He felt Tack’s eyes.

  He was in control. His face neutral.

  But he couldn’t stop looking at the door.

  “We done here?” Tack asked, and Hound cut his gaze to his brother.

  “Yup,” he answered, pushing away from the wall.

  Tack watched him walk around the other end of the table from where Tack was sitting in the meeting room at the Chaos Compound. He waited until Hound’s hand was on the door before he called his name.

  Hound looked back at him.

  “You know,” he said carefully.

  “Know what?” Hound asked.

  “You know you don’t go there.”

  Hound drew his brows together. “Brother, you call me when you got somewhere to go no one else can go. What the fuck?”

  Tack shook his head but did it with his eyes locked to Hound’s.

  “You know you don’t go there. She’s Black’s. Dead or alive, she’s Black’s. She can move on. I hope to fuck someday she does. But she can’t move on with Chaos.”

  At that, Hound got pissed.

  Really pissed.

  Because he’d been living that hell for so long, it felt like he’d been born to it.

  But his voice was quiet when he replied, “You think I don’t know that shit?”

  “I know you know,” Tack returned. “Just remindin’ you.”

  “Don’t need a reminder, brother,” Hound grated out, so done with it, now more than before after the words Keely lashed out with, he landed it on his brother. “Lived with that for years, bein’ in love with a woman I can’t have.”

  Without hesitation, after delivering that, he threw open the door and prowled out. When he slammed it, the door shook.

  He knew she had a reason to be mad. Things with the Club were again getting extreme.

  So extreme, an enemy had actually kidnapped an old lady. His minions putting hands on her. Hitting her.

  She was now safe, but that was not on.

  Not fucking on.

  Because they had no choice, even though she’d drifted further and further from the Club as the years passed, Keely was closest to High’s kids, so when High’s woman, Millie, was taken, Tack called Keely in to get to them and look after them while the boys rolled out.

  And since she knew things were again extreme, Keely was pissed.

  She had that right. She had reason. More reason than any of them and not just because she lost Black but because, back in the day, her and Millie had been super tight.

  When this asshole takes you out, Hound, you’re not leavin’ anyone who loves you more than the breath they take behind.

  He knew she was feeling deep feelings.

  But that shit was not right.

  It was not right.

  It fucking hurt.

  Over the years Hound did his best and didn’t think on it. He lived his life. He had his fun. He covered his Club. He took care of Keely. He lo
oked after the boys.

  But fuck him, he’d given himself to a woman who he not only could not have, but who would never have him.

  What the fuck was he doing?

  He was still tight with her boys. Of all the men, and all the men had kicked in, they were Hound’s.

  And he’d keep it that way, especially since Dutch was ready to approach Chaos, become a recruit. He was twenty-one, closing in on twenty-two. He’d got his mechanic’s license, he’d bought his first bike and he got some experience under his belt. He’d also gotten his other lessons from Hound, as well as all the men.

  It was his time.

  Jag, at nineteen, was going to follow his father, his brother.

  Hound knew Keely wouldn’t like it.

  But this was not his problem.

  If she wouldn’t mourn him should he go in the battle that never fucking died to keep the Club clean, so be it.

  If she didn’t know her boys would be lost again if Hound was not around, fuck her.

  They might not love him more than breath.

  But he’d stepped up for them, and for her, and he didn’t ask for any thanks, didn’t want any, it wasn’t duty, it was his privilege.

  But she was right.

  He had people who loved him.

  Just not her.

  She made that clear.

  So it was time to move the fuck on.

  Cowboy

  Hound sat on his couch in his wife beater with his hand down the front of his jeans staring at the TV, when the knock came at the door.

  He moved his gaze to it, his eyes narrowing.

  When another knock came, he reached to the gun sitting on the seat beside him.

  He pushed himself out of the couch and walked cautiously to the door but not in a direct path.

  To the side.

  Anyone out there felt like taking a shot through the door, Hound would not take those hits.

  His couch would.

  And he didn’t mind that. His couch was a piece of shit.

  He was to the side of the door when he yelled, “What?”

  “Hound? It’s Keely!”

  He stared at the doorknob.

  First, how did she know where he lived?

  And second, what the fuck was she doing there?

  “Hound?” she called.

  “The boys okay?” he asked, but he knew at least Jag was. The kid had left just a half an hour ago after bumming fifty bucks from Hound to take his girl out to dinner.