Chapter 1—Bass

   

     “Hey, man. It’s good to see you again.” I let Gator pull me in for a hug, and I don’t even give him crap about it. I need it just as much as he does.

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     We got close before I left, and while we kept up on the phone, it ain’t the same as seeing my brother in person. As seeing all my brothers in person.

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     “You, too, man.” I keep it simple and don’t say more. Not the emotional type, but I doubt anyone expected my “little” trip up north to take almost a year. I’m happy to be back. Hell, I’m more than that, but if I start talking about it, the boys will give me shit for acting like a chick.

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     “You been to the clubhouse yet?” Gator asks as he notes my clothes. Not that I look like shit, but it ain’t hard to see that I just got off a three-day ride.

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     “Nah, figured most of the boys would be here.”

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     He nods as he leads me past the front door of Chains’ house and walks me toward the back.

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     “You’d be right. Mama Bear went all out on Wyatt turning one, and while she didn’t say it was mandatory to attend, you bet your ass that Chains did.” He huffs out a laugh and pats me on the back as we come to a stop and look over the backyard.

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     When Chains commissioned Flint’s construction crew to redo Mama Bear’s aunt’s house and yard a few years back, it wasn’t hard to see that he’d expected this type of gathering. Every Hound of the Reaper I know—and I know a ton—pack the place, along with whoever they brought. Not sure what the theme is, other than kid friendly. From the two bouncy houses—yup, two of them—to the fairy-winged area that looks like glitter threw up on it, to paintball but with Nerf guns. If I didn’t see the text invite, I’d have zero clue this is for a one-year-old, other than the zillion number one balloons everywhere.

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     “Well, look what the crocodile dragged in.”

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     I turn at the voice behind me and don’t even try to hide my smile. This woman might piss off everyone else in the club, but I’ve got nothing but love for the president’s daughter.

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     “Hey, Ruby girl. How many hearts you breaking these days?”

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     I only get an eye roll from her in reply, which is typical. But it’s an honest question. Girl’s off-limits, and I honestly never saw her as anything but a friend. Nevertheless, I can still appreciate what she’s working with. Despite what her father says, Ruby’s always embraced the biker style, but she sure puts a twist on it. The corset tops with the laced-up boots would look slutty on anyone else, but she always pairs it with dark jeans and a cover-up, usually a leather jacket. Her red undertone highlights and braided hairstyle give her enough edge to tell everyone to back off, no matter that her body is screaming “come and pet me.”

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     “Too many to count if you ask Dad.”

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     “And if I asked you?”

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     She shrugs. “About average for a weekend.”

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     “Attagirl.” I pull her in for a side hug and keep my arm around her shoulders. Everyone knows we ain’t a thing and never will be, so I got no reason to think my life is in danger from her pops. “So, tell me, what did I miss?”

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     I nod to Gator as he wanders off once he sees I’m in good hands. No doubt to spend time with his old lady, who I notice is in a very nice bathing suit and not having a problem enjoying the random high temps Kansas is facing for late May. We’re usually still in jeans at this point, but that’s Kansas for you. Weather has never been predictable since the damn tornado came in and took Dorothy for a ride.

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     And before anyone gets too upset, yes, I checked out Gator’s old lady. Shit, I check out all the old ladies. I’m a Hound, not stupid. I know I can look but never touch. Once someone claims an old lady—hell, sometimes before—she becomes off-limits. I’d never risk losing the respect from a brother for a chance with his girl. Plus, the boys know they’ve got some hotties. They expect the looking, as long as those who do it don’t linger. I keep my eyes roaming the backyard, making sure not to stay too long on anyone as I see who all is here.

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     “Well, you missed the fireworks at Bulldog’s wedding.”

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     “Yeah, I heard Domino went a little over the top when they gave him the green light to do the sendoff.”

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     “Ha.” She shakes with her laughter. “Almost blew up the entire clubhouse. He had enough fireworks for a New Year’s celebration for the entire country. Guy was lucky to only get off by washing the outside of the clubhouse and the bikes that got the worst of the smoke once half his stuff caught fire from a sparkler that was set too close to the fuses. But that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

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     I raise an eyebrow and look directly at her. She has me intrigued. “Really?” She nods with an evil smile, one I match. “Go on.”

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     “Seems Margret was tired of not catching the bouquet and grabbed the thing out of Izzy’s hands before she could throw it. Then she dragged Mike, Gator’s dad, over to the judge we brought in to officiate and demanded he officiate their wedding right then and there.”

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     “No shit?” I so didn’t hear about this, and I would have expected my best mate to tell me if he was now related to the VP, even if it’s as stepbrothers with his dad marrying Bulldog’s mom.

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     “No shit,” she says with a nod. “The judge wasn’t for it, claiming that you got to get a license and all, but you know Margret.” She shrugs, and I nod. Boy, do I know her. Everyone knows her, and not in a good way.

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     While the entire club respects Bulldog, not only because he’s the VP but because he’s earned everyone’s trust ten times over for all the shit he does for us, not a single person gives a crap about his mom. Maybe it’s because she always reminded me of Kathy Bates in Misery, and that’s on her good days. Or that she’s just a mean old hag. But as I look over the yard, I take note that, for once, she ain’t yelling at someone. She isn’t smiling, but her not yelling is on par with a saint’s miracle—rarely seen and almost never believable.

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     “I know your dad likes to call us all family, but I never expected it to be a legit thing.” I get a huff of a laugh out of her as we both just watch the crowd before us.

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     A few brothers notice me and give chin lifts. I do the same. Ain’t mad that I’m not the center of attention. I’ll get my time when we’re back at the clubhouse. This moment is for Chains and his family. One that might not have been if things didn’t work out so well. Hell, almost every brother here wouldn’t even have an old lady if things went south like our enemies planned.

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     “You’re thinking too hard,” Ruby says without even looking at me as I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s always been good at reading people—a trait she picked up from her old man, no doubt.

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     “No more than usual,” I say with an easy smile, knowing what my part is for the club. What’s expected of me. I’m the clown, the jokester, here to make the mood light. Got no problem with the role. Everyone’s got to play their part. Hell, most of the time, I don’t even have to pretend to smile. I enjoy life and find shit funny at the most inappropriate times. It makes sense to have a guy like me who loves to smile and laugh—and talk. Can’t forget that last part. My big mouth’s gotten me into enough fights as it is, even without trying. But when I do try? Man, that’s where the fun really begins.

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     But today I don’t feel like playing a role. I’m too tired. I love my club, this family I’m in, but even I get tired. I just want to lie down for like a month. Setting up the training facility up north took longer than expected. And I had to supervise the training and a few missions, even if it was all done locally. It was exhausting. The mental game of keeping one step ahead of your enemy takes a toll. I’m good at it, but damn if I don’t need a break. The place up north ain’t perfect, but Law could hear the strain it was putting on me. I had no problem running most of it, but now I just need time to recharge. Which is why I came home. I did what I could and made sure the mother club could access everything off-site, but our sister chapter in North Dakota is going to take point on running the mercenary part for the club.

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     We finally named it: Operation Hell Hound. We track like a damn dog, seeking and destroying, and take those to Hell who need it. Also doesn’t hurt that the initials spell out OHH, my personal favorite. So much fun to drag out the name when someone asks how things go, and I’m like “Ohh, it’s fine.” Gets me smirking every time.

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     “Is he really dead?”

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     Her words have me dropping my arm from around her shoulders and turning to her head-on, which she mirrors. I lift one eyebrow, surprised as shit that she’s talking about this. But as I look over at a girl I’ve known a long-ass time, I see what she’s hiding. She has her arms folded in, hugging herself in a way to protect against the words yet to come out of my mouth. The small scar by her hairline from that attempt on her life, all due to him. The bastard who tried to take us all out once he realized a Hound is nothing without his family. Ruby might just be the daughter of the president, but she’s smart and knows things. It’s easy to believe that she would know our enemy, Duke, who we believe is dead. While we try to keep things to club members only, with a word here, a word there, and if you’ve got half enough smarts like Ruby, you’ll get the answer you’re searching for.

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     “Found nothing to say otherwise.”

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     Her lips pinch as her eyebrows narrow at me. It’s not the answer she wants, but it’s all I’m going to give her. I debriefed with Law about what I knew once I made it to Texas before going up north and checking in on the police raid that broke up a human trafficking ring. The reports we got were correct—almost all involved in the kidnapping and trafficking were killed. I just couldn’t ever confirm if Duke was one of them. Half the building was set on fire, and a few of the victims also got caught in it, which wasn’t included in the initial report. Of course the police wouldn’t make that part known; it makes them look bad—or hell, just human. Civilian casualties happen more often than not, just no one likes to talk about it. 

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     “Always knew you were a kidder, but I never pegged you to be an asshole.”

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     I take her glare in stride as she stomps away. Ruby is still a child in this world. Just because she plays with the big kids and is going to college doesn’t mean she’s ready for all the pains of the world yet. She’s gotten a taste and knows more than most, but if I can, I’ll hide the boogeyman from her. We all will.

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     “What pissed her off?”

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     I look behind me and see Casper moving toward me with beers from the kitchen, one for me and another for himself.

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     “The usual. Mad she ain’t in the club.” If we ever changed the rules, Ruby would be the first to sign up for club life. And she would fucking excel at it.

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     Casper harrumphs at my lame joke and takes a swig of his beer. It’s one of our brands. Bulldog is more than a VP for the club; he’s a damn good brewmaster. While we’ve always been into some of the easier ways to make money, we don’t deal in drugs or the skin trade. And the beer business ain’t easy to break into, but with the recipes Bulldog has from all the years he played at making home brew, we now take in a pretty penny of income. Helps that we just cracked the international market, making it easier for the club to use the beer business as a reason for some of our flight charters to remote international locations for our mercenary gig. We started that right after Chains got his woman back.

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     The boys were getting bored with the typical things and needed a bit more use for their skills. We don’t allow just anyone to be a Hound; you have to bring in a skill, one we can use. Casper’s the sniper. Bulldog’s got the bark and sense to never let shit go when it’s needed. I bring my planning skills, and of course, my charm. Can’t forget that.

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     “It’s been quiet without you, man. Damn quiet.”

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     “Ahh, you saying you missed me?”

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     He snorts. “Nah, just missed seeing you get hit in the face for that mouth of yours.”

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     I nod, because it happens. More than most. And yeah, usually from a brother, but I got no ill will. I know my mouth runs away from me at times. Other times, I do it simply to break the tension in the room, which might still get me a fist to the face, but at least people are smiling at the end. Got no problem being the laughingstock. It’s all part of the role I play.

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     “How are the newlyweds?” I say with a grin. I tried to make it back for Bulldog and Lady’s wedding, but there just wasn’t an opening that worked. Don’t think the VP was too mad about it, since I sent him a case of Johnnie Walker, the good stuff he likes.

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     Now it’s Casper that’s grinning. “Which ones?”

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     I shake my head at that. “Still can’t believe I didn’t know. I should have figured with all the hiding around the club those two were doing when Gator’s dad first showed up. But I thought it would have flamed out.”

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     “So did we all. Don’t know any man—or woman, for that matter—who can put up with Bulldog’s ma like Mike can. Margret is a real bitch when she wants to be.” He shakes his head as he takes another drink. “But seriously, Bulldog still denies it all. Gator is staying out of it, as he trusts his dad to know what he’s doing. Don’t think they’ve done the whole family meal thing yet. No one talks about it because we don’t want to end up on the VP’s shit list. Unless you were here to witness it, it’s almost like it never happened.”

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     I laugh. “Well, then, you and Ruby shouldn’t have told me if you wanted it to stay buried.”

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     “Asshole,” he says with a shake of his head and a smile.

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     Yes, I am. And no way am I going to let a happily married couple hide their love, or whatever Margret and Mike have. I’m already frothing at the mouth with all the ideas I have to bring out said couple.

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     As I look over the yard once more, a new face catches my attention. Okay, it’s not the face but the ink on her arm. So much color going all up and down her arm and not a lick in a flower design. The top half looks like two skeletons fighting as they get sucked into a bright blue second dimension, and the bottom half is fire and brimstone. I can’t tell from this location about the other details, but it looks badass.

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     “I see you spotted our new tenant.”

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     I look at Casper, who’s looking at the girl. I can’t see her face from this angle, mostly because she’s pulled her hair over her shoulder, blocking it. I’m not one to judge, but I would say she’s in serious need of a dye job. Not that she has the line of blonde vs. brown, but her roots are showing and then some. I might sound like a pussy, but I’ve been around women long enough, and I’ve picked up on a few things. Mostly when they aren’t taking care of themselves like they were. If this girl spent hours in a tattoo chair—and no doubt she did to get that level of detail and color on her arm—then she probably took care of her looks as well at one point. And I’ve got an itch to find out why she stopped.

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     “Tenant?”

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     “Yeah, Flint got the town houses fixed up a few months back, and we just booked our first renter.” He points his beer at the tatted woman. “She and her kid showed up last week, and Maddy invited them to the party since her son is the same age as Teddy.”

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     I look over the area and see Teddy already in the pool with a boy I don’t know and make the connection. She’s got a kid—that explains the hair. Don’t know a ton of moms, but the good ones usually go without when a kid is around to make sure they get what they need first. And if she’s just moved in, I doubt a hair appointment was at the top of the list with unpacking from wherever she was before this.

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     Casper turns to me, and I look at him. I might be a clown for the Hounds, but not even someone like me turns their back on the club’s sniper. He takes it as a personal offense, and being on his bitch list is worse than Bulldog’s. And trust me, I’ve been on both, so I know.

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     “So, let’s see the new hardware.”

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     Should have known that of all the Hounds, Casper would notice a new weapon on me.

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     I smile easily as I pull out the trench blade that the North Dakota president’s granddad, Bill, gave to me. His granddad had it in WWI, and he noticed that I’d admired the crap out of it from the first night I saw it when I was invited over for dinner. Knuckle knives might be easy to buy, but it’s rare to see one from a world war kept in such mint condition. Bill said it saved his granddad’s life a few times, and if it weren’t for that knife, he and the rest of the family wouldn’t be here today. He polished that thing weekly as his way of paying homage.

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     On the day I left, he gave it to me. Said it was time for it to save another person’s family and not just sit on a shelf collecting dust. Guy was a bit odd, but I could appreciate what he meant. Plus, I got a wicked knife out of it.

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     “Like it? It’s an authentic WWI blade. Guy who gave it to me said it became his grandad’s most precious weapon, even after the war. Had it with him almost daily, even slept with it.”

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     Casper takes the blade easily and weighs it in his hand before he gives it a few test moves, then hands it back. “Nice.”

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     I smile and open my mouth to tell him more when a scream from the pool draws everyone’s attention.