Red (Hell’s Jury MC #5)

32. Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

Red

Rider shows up just before noon, his face the color of a dill pickle.

“Good night?” I say as I grab a load of lumber off his truck bed and haul it to the backyard.

“Can’t remember,” Rider says. “You?” He’s carrying the same amount of boards as I am. Compact bastard but strong.

I smirk at him. “Best night of my life.”

“She’s young,” he comments as we head back to the truck for more lumber. “And can’t cook worth shit.”

I feel the need to defend Stella. “Too many cooks in the kitchen. Her sister’s fuckin’ bossy.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking a run at the sister.” We drop the lumber.

“Don’t,” I say with a warning growl.

He shrugs. “Too bad. She seems like a firecracker.”

We get to work on the deck, Rider efficient and knowledgeable. The brothers wonder about his background. He can ride horses, build and fix stuff, and is a pretty good mechanic. He’s tight-lipped, a mystery. Anyone asks and he rebuffs them in a not so nice way.

We work until one when we’re interrupted by Sherri and Sorcha. They have a picnic basket in hand. I’ve never seen a real one and I shake my head at the Brady Bunch upbringing Stella’s had.

“What’s up?” I ask as I stare at the basket like a hungry dog. Despite the weirdness of it, there’s food in there and Sherri made it so I know it’s edible.

“The gramma and me made you some sandwiches.” Sorcha looks up at Sherri. “Didn’t we?”

Sherri nods. “We certainly did. And Sorcha wanted to come over to see the progress on the house.”

Sorcha is looking around with the same pinched look as the last time she was here. “Nothing’s changed. You said you were gonna fix it so I could come live here.”

I try to see it through her eyes. It’s cleaner and neater, but the carpets need replacing with hardwood and there’s no new furniture or window coverings. “The backyard’s changed.”

She looks out in the sliding glass doors as Sherri opens the basket and hands Rider and me chicken sandwiches. Then she pulls out a flask of coffee and pours it into cups. “You’ll need a dishwasher,” she comments.

“Yep.”

“What happened to the swing?” Sorcha says as she takes a plate with a sandwich from Sherri and sits on the floor. She carefully pulls up a corner of the bread and checks it. “The gramma made me peanut butter and honey.” Then she takes a big bite.

“Lucky you,” I say. “The old swing was garbage. We’ll get you a good swing and other outside toys.”

“That’s good,” she mumbles as she chews.

“Don’t talk with your mouthful, honey,” Sherri says. “It’s not polite and you might choke.”

Rider and I glance at eat other and dutifully follow suit.

Sorcha gets up and hands her plate to Sherri, who takes her napkin and wipes her face. “Run upstairs and wash your hands.”

“K,” Sorcha says as she takes off and I wonder if Sherri’s influence on her is good or bad. I decide it’s probably better than raising a savage.

If I get to keep her. A sliver of fear races through me. Stuart sounded convincing, but that doesn’t mean he’ll succeed.

Sherri turns to me. “I talked to a pastor about a service for your mom. Will it be private or,” she nods toward Rider, “will your friends be there?”

“No, they won’t.”

Rider clears his throat. “Hangman will want us to be there. After all, she’s family.”

“Hangman will fuckin’ go nowhere near that funeral or I’ll break his back and bury him.”

Sherri clears her throat. “Not really, though, right?”

I give myself a mental kick. I gotta start remembering who’s in the room. “No, not really, Sherri, but he’s not welcome. Neither are the brothers.”

“That’s cold, Red,” Rider says. “They were over here doin’ work for you. Anything you need. You know that.”

“Yeah. I get it but I need to keep this separate for Sorcha’s sake.”

Rider doesn’t seem convinced as he drains his coffee and gets up. “I’ll get back to work.” Then he disappears out the sliding doors. A minute later the hammering starts.

Sherri says to me, “You can’t be at the internment by yourself. And Sorcha should be there so she understands that her mom is not coming back. She forgets your mom is gone. She keeps asking for her.”

Shame and guilt intermingle. “You shoulda told me.”

“You have a lot going on and I can handle Sorcha’s heartache, but she needs closure, and so do you.”

“Okay. I’ll bring Sorcha.”

“We’re coming too. Stuart, Selma, Stella and me. If Stella says you’re family, then you’re family and you need our support.”

“S,” I reply as realization dawns. “All your names start with S.”

She grins like I’ve complimented her. “Cool, isn’t it? Stuart wasn’t sure about it, but I insisted. It’s kind of a fun thing. And Sorcha will fit right in.”

“Gabby won’t,” I say, wondering why I’m not weirded out by this nutty idea.

Sherri looks thoughtful. “What’s her middle name?”

“Imogene,” I reply.

“Well, then we have no choice. We’re going to have to change it.”

Jesus Christ, she can’t be serious. All the funeral talk made me forget that this woman is crazy. And she’s a fuckin’ dentist too. I shudder at the thought of having my teeth done by her.

I bring us back to the topic of mom’s service. I want Stella there, so I guess that means her whole family comes too. “When should we have the funeral? “

She’s gonna decide anyway, so why fight it?

“Maybe a week. After you get things sorted out with Sorcha’s custody.”

She turns when we hear Stella pull up. “I’ll leave you to it now that Stella’s home. She can look after Sorcha. An hour only. Sorcha needs a small nap or she gets whiny.”

“Thanks Sherri,” I say sincerely as she leaves.

Sorcha still hasn’t come downstairs and I hesitate on what to do next. Should I check on her? My gun is on the top shelf in the closet, pushed back but still loaded. Maybe I should keep it unloaded, but that would make me vulnerable. Us vulnerable. Me, Stella, Sorcha. And Gabby when she’s over. I don’t fuckin’ know what to do about anything. My racing mind is interrupted by Stella.

“Hello!” she calls as she enters the house.

“Stella!” Sorcha yells back as she comes flying down the stairs. She barrels into Stella, wrapping her arms around her legs, almost upending her.

“Sorcha!” I bark as I race over and steady Stella.

Sorcha’s eyes get big, her face turns red, and she starts crying. Fuck me. I pick her up and hug her. “I’m not mad at you.”

She shoves her thumb in her mouth. “You sounded mad.”

“I was worried that you were going to knock Stella over.”

“But I’m good. Still on my feet.” Stella raises a shopping bag. “And I got some stuff for you.”

Sorcha’s tears dry up immediately. “You did?” She squirms out of my arms. “Lemme see.”

When she opens the bag, she frowns. “These are clothes.” She pulls them out one by one. “Nothing’s pink.”

“I thought you might like a different color.” Stella kneels. “And this is a Wolf Pack jersey, just like mine.”

Sorcha looks from Stella to the shirt, then back again. “Just like yours! I wanna wear it.” She gathers up the clothes and races upstairs.

“Where’s mine?” I say as I pull Stella into my arms and kiss her soundly.

“I have to special order it. I got one for Gabby too, but I left it in the car.” She heads towards the kitchen. “I bought a few groceries.”

I should help her but I’m frozen. It’s so fucking domestic, like Erin and me. And that turned into a shit show. Is this the right thing to do? Is any of it?

As if it were timed, my cell rings. It’s Joker.

“Yeah?” I say.

“Come in. Hangman wants to talk about smokin’ out Chrissy. This time we’re gonna get the fuckers.”

I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I also want to be on the kill. Make sure the bastards who killed my mom die slowly.

“Rider,” I say as I bypass Stella in the kitchen unpacking the bags. “Gotta go. Hangman has a job for me.”

“No problem. I’m gonna stay here and try to get the deck up.” He says to Stella, who’s beside me now, “Maybe your sister can help.”

Funny guy. “I don’t wanna break your arms. Stay the fuck away from Selma.”

Stella looks between Rider and me, then says, “Yeah. What he said.” Then she adds, “It’s more for you, than her. Trust me.”

Rider smirks. “Next time you see her, tell her I said hi.”

Stella follows me upstairs where we find Sorcha sitting in the middle of her bedroom floor, wearing the Jersey and folding the rest of her clothes. “I was gonna hang them up but I couldn’t find hangers.”

Stella pulls out her phone, opens her list app and adds hangers to it.

“We can put them in a drawer until we get some,” I say.

The girls look around for the non-existent dresser. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” Stella says. “Today we have to shampoo carpets.”

“Hire someone, for god’s sake.” I sound a little harsh, but my brain is fucking with me. Thinking about Hangman and how the meeting’s gonna go. Needing to get away from this domesticity.

Stella nods. “Makes sense. You go. Sorcha and I’ve got this in hand.”

Sorcha looks at her hands. “I guess we do.”

I kiss both my girls goodbye as I think about Gabby, wishing she were here so I could do the same to her. I leave before I get emotional.

I shrug on my Hell’s Jury leather and grab my gun. Before I head out, I check on the girls again. They’re chatting together, don’t even notice me.

On the way to the clubhouse I think about mom and Hangman. I get why Hangman destroyed my dad. I would’ve done the same if I’d known the truth. At least I think I would’ve.

And mom deserved to have a decent relationship. My brain snorts at me. Hangman? Mom was abused and I don’t think she was capable of making good choices. Hangman took advantage of her vulnerability. My temper rises again and I try to cool down. I should’ve been there instead of prison. This is on me.

The worst is knowing Hangman is Sorcha’s father. That permanently links us whether or not he’s involved in her life. If I fuck up, he’ll swoop in. That’s what he does. He’s as psychopathic as they come and he doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t think through the consequences of his actions.

He’s capable of change though. With all the new ol’ ladies, he’s been forced to tone down his aggressiveness towards women. Has to watch his language. The ol’ ladies rag on him and every other brother when they curse in front of the kids.

I hit the highway towards the clubhouse and pick up speed. The wind in my face, the roar of the bike helps me settle. Should I still be pissed at Hangman? I don’t fuckin’ know. Right now, I gotta direct my fury toward the fucks that killed my mom. And Chrissy, who led them to her. She betrayed the club, she betrayed her husband and brother. It’s gonna fuck with all of us because we’ll lose two brothers, lose the trust. It’ll leave us vulnerable to the Blackbeards, our rival bike club.

Zero waves at me as he opens the gate and lets me through.

My heart is pounding and there’s a rush in my head that makes it hard to hear. Hangman. Fucking Hangman. He’s making me a headcase. I take a couple of deep breaths as I get off my bike. I remind myself that I’m not here to have it out with him or any other fuck. I’m here to track down the fuckers who killed my mom.

Joker and Hangman are in the boardroom along with Eight. Just the four of us. “Took you fuckin’ long enough,” Hangman snarls at me as if last week didn’t happen.

“Took the scenic route,” I reply just as aggressively. I slump into a chair and assess my prez. He looks like shit, pale, bruised, unsteady as he picks up his beer and swallows some.

Hangman stabs his finger at me. “We’re not here to continue the playground bullshit. You and me though, we’re gonna have it out. You don’t fuckin’ hit a brother when he’s already down.”

I stare coldly at him. “I’m not interested anymore, Prez. You and me are done. You stay the fuck out of my life and we’ll get on fine. Got me?”

Hangman glares, then shifts his attention to Joker. “What’s the plan?”

Joker’s eyes flick to me, then away. “We put a bounty on their heads. Fifty thou to anyone who brings them in alive.”

He’s lyin’ or keepin’ some details to himself. I listen as the three discuss logistics. It’s not like Hangman to part with 50k and we all know the Blackbeards will get in on the action, if only to give us the finger. Deliver the goods and take the payment. Crip will have a hard time resisting.

Joker interrupts my thoughts. “That work for you?”

I shrug. I don’t fuckin’ care as long as the end result is the fuckin’ feds in the chamber dying a long slow death.