Rowe by Jessica Gadziala

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Rowe

“With your pretty ass gone, I might be able to snag some more sweet hunnies,” Dezi said, shaking Sway’s hand.

“Oh, you’re going to miss me and you know it,” Sway said, smirking. “It’s gonna be weird leaving after all this time.”

It was going to be weird to not have the three of them around anymore. But it was time for Slash, Sway, and Crow to head out to Shady Valley and finally start their own club.

In their place, though, we had Valen, Voss, and Nave who was finally making his way to the club that afternoon. The Shady Valley guys would leave a hole, but the clubhouse wouldn’t be any less full.

“You let us know if you ever need any help,” Fallon said, shaking Slash’s hand. “I know you said it is going to be a tense and bloody couple months or years as you set up. I’m always happy to ship some of these assholes over to you if you need extra manpower.”

“Appreciate it,” Slash said, nodding. “I got this psycho,” he said, waving at Crow. “And some other men back home who I am going to tap the shoulders of. We should be okay, but I will let you know if that changes.”

“Good. Keep me updated,” Fallon demanded, nodding toward Slash before the three of them turned and made their way back out of the clubhouse. “Alright,” Fallon said after the bikes roared to life. “I think… the fuck now?” he grumbled when there was another bike rumbling into the front yard.

We didn’t wonder for long, though, because the door was opening, and in walked a tall, dark-blond man with blue eyes, wearing jeans and a tee, with a black backpack.

“Who’s that?” Dezi asked, moving closer to my side.

“I have no fucking idea,” I admitted, and I thought I knew everyone in this extended family we had going on.

“That’s Junior,” Seth explained. “So you know Alex?” he asked when the first name didn’t click.

“The hacker?” I asked. “Works with Janie and Hailstorm?”

“Yeah, that’s her. She’s married to this dude name Breaker who is friends with our parents. He’s independent,” Seth went on. “This is their only son. Actually haven’t heard shit from him in years. I thought he moved out of town.”

“I did,” Junior said, overhearing even though he was halfway across the room. “I was talking to my Ma a couple days back and she said Chris was going nuts on a case for you. And, therefore, so was Janie and my Ma. But no one could figure it out. So I decided to give it a shot.”

“Didn’t know you did this kind of shit,” Fallon said, brows furrowing.

“Went to Cal-Berkeley for programming,” Junior said, shrugging.

“Wondering why you dropped off the face of the Earth. You came all the way back to Navesink Bank to talk to us about our problem?” Fallon asked.

“I went to Cal-Berkeley,” Junior clarified. “I’ve been living in the city for a while now. It’s only an hour or so drive. And lately my mom has threatening to come up to the city and cook for me.”

“Your mom can’t cook,” Fallon said.

“Exactly. So I figured I’d come here instead. Two birds,” he said, reaching behind to unzip his backpack, then pulling out a laptop, fiddling with it for a minute, then turning it out toward Fallon. “Anyway. This is your crew,” he told us. “They call themselves The Copper Knuckles.”

“You’re shitting me,” Dezi said, laughing.

“I know. Pretentious as fuck. Sounds like some shitty garage band. But that’s what they call themselves.”

“What else do you know about them?” Fallon asked.

“This is their leader. Joey McGee. He’s got a minor rap sheet. But his street rep is ugly. Lots of accusations of assault that never made it to the cops.”

“Physical or sexual?” Cary asked.

“Both. He’s a real fucking charmer. Came from a shitty home in a bad area. Got his childhood friends motivated with the idea of being some sort of kingpins. They’ve been running their neighborhood for a few years now through extortion and intimidation.”

“Why would they ambush us, though?” Fallon asked.

“My guess? Clout? Maybe they’re having some issues with people in their neighborhoods trying to stand up against them. They figured the best way to puff their chests was to show that they are big enough to take down a generations-old MC. And, likely on top of that, steal the guns they’d made a deal with you for. But, whatever the reason, this is them. This,” he said, turning the laptop back to him to enlarge one picture, “is one of the guys your crew took out. This is another crew member. Mike Dougan,” he said, as he turned the laptop back.

And there he was.

The bastard who had shot me.

The one who’d been the reason for me falling off the roof.

And fucking up my back.

Now, if we were going to follow the timeline of events, if it weren’t for Mike Dougan, I never would have had a reason to go see Billie, which meant we might never have gotten together.

That said, I had shooting pains up my back and down my leg that doctors couldn’t guarantee weren’t lifelong. It was pain that kept me from being able to fuck Billie like I’d been dreaming about for years.

He had to pay.

“I got a question,” Fallon said, taking the laptop to inspect the images better.

“Yeah, shoot,” Junior invited.

“You like the city?”

“It has its perks,” Junior agreed.

“Got another one. What kind of job do you do there?”

To that, Junior shrugged. “This kind of shit. Other type of computer shit.”

“Okay. Got a third. You ever think about moving back to Navesink Bank?”

“Always figured I would eventually.”

“Well, when that eventually happens, if you want a job… and a patch, you let me know.”

“Huh. I’ll think on it,” Junior said, closing the lid of his laptop and taking it back from Fallon. “Lot of new faces here.”

“Always want more. The OGs, they are stepping back lately. And, eventually, they will step down. We need new faces and fresh blood.”

“Fresh?” Junior asked, smirking over at Cary.

“Careful, kid. I could whoop your ass,” Cary said.

“Yeah, the old man has spent more time behind bars than you’ve spent living on your own,” Dezi defended Cary, whacking him on the back.

“Gee, thanks, Dez,” Cary said, tone wry.

“Got your back, old man,” Dezi said, getting a sigh out of Cary.

“You in a rush to head out?” Fallon asked, looking at Junior.

“Not really.”

“Let’s grab some coffee and talk about this ridiculous gang,” Fallon said, waving toward the kitchen.

“Is anyone in your family ugly?” Dezi asked, looking at Seth. “I mean, if all you handsome fucks keep joining up, what chance am I gonna have to catch all the hot hunnies in this town? I want—“ he was about to ramble on when the front door burst open.

And there she was.

The woman I was just starting to be able to call mine.

Holding a goddamn teacup with a penis-shaped handle.

“Look what I made!” she said, beaming.

“Christ,” Seth said, shaking his head and walking off to join Fallon and Junior in the kitchen.

“Crafts with your mom again, huh?” I asked, shaking my head.

“We made saucers in the shape of boobs.”

“Of course you did,” I agreed.

“They’re going in the kiln today. The teacups wouldn’t fit, so we have to do a second batch. So I wanted to bring it to show you. When it comes out of the kiln, you will really make out the pink color of the cock and the blueish green of the veins…”

“Gee, can’t wait,” I said, smiling down at her as she rolled her eyes at me.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make you a titty mug next week. Maybe even an anatomically correct one,” she said, gesturing toward her breasts.

“Ah, pretty girl, could I maybe get one of those?” Dezi asked.

“You know what, Dezi, when you have yourself a special lady, I would happily make you a mug of her titty.”

“Damn, there’s always a catch,” Dezi said, giving Billie a smirk.

“There wouldn’t be a catch if you spent more than a night with a woman.”

“Well, now that they’re loosening up the rules about dating princesses, maybe I can—“

“You touch one of the girls and we’ll be roasting you over a spit in the backyard,” Fallon called from the kitchen.

“What makes him so special?” Dezi asked, jerking his chin toward me.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” I admitted, looking at Billie.

“Are you ready to head out?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I agreed, anticipation simmering in my system.

It had been two full days since the night we’d brought Billie back from her stalkers’ home. To be honest, the day after had been a pain-soaked blur. I’d barely been able to move around after Billie and I took a shower together and things got a little heated. I couldn’t find a single comfortable position.

The next day had involved a trip back to my doctor to check on the progress of my back. Which was terrible timing since I’d just tweaked it. But he’d been hopeful while telling me to be careful not to overdo it and set myself back.

Then Billie had her standing craft day with her mom first thing this morning.

We hadn’t gotten much alone time together.

But since shit had been settled with the stalkers, we were safe to go back to Billie’s place. And I, for one, was excited to get some time alone with her that didn’t involve the possibility of one of our loved ones—especially her father—walking in or overhearing.

All things said, the conversation with Sugar had been relatively painless. It worked in my favor that I had a long history working and fighting alongside him. And that I didn’t exactly have the history of going through women as much as men like Dezi and Sway and several of the others did. It also didn’t hurt that Malc had as much respect for me as he did.

Sugar just had to do the dad thing. I got that. I expected nothing less. I imagined that if I got to have a girl one day, I would be doing the same thing when she was old enough to start dating.

“I’m driving,” Billie insisted. “You need to stay off that bike for a while,” she told me, wrapping an arm around my lower back as we made our way out the front door.

“I wasn’t about to object,” I told her as we got to her van. I was pretty sure the bike ride was what had tweaked my back so hard that night, not so much the rushing around part.

“That bad, huh?” she asked as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

“It’s better today than yesterday. Tomorrow will be better than today,” I added, reaching over to give her thigh a squeeze as she pulled out of the clubhouse gates.

“Careful, Rowe, that sounds dangerously close to optimism to me,” Billie said, shooting me a smirk as she waited at a stop sign.

“What can I say, I suddenly have a lot of shit to look forward to,” I told her, feeling the truth of it down to my bones.

I wasn’t someone who believed shit like this, but something about every time I was with Billie felt “right.” Down to my bones right.

And because of that, I was thinking about shit. Future shit. A woman in my house shit. In particular, Billie bouncing around my kitchen making soup or herbal tea blends. And Billie in the yard doing yoga every morning. And Billie cuddled close on the couch in front of a warm fire with a couple of kids opening Christmas presents while we watched.

Was it soon?

Yes.

And no.

I’d known Billie for years. So while the relationship part was new to me, she wasn’t. I’d seen high and lows and crazy antics and heard even crazier stories. I felt like I knew her well enough to know that there was potential for something more. For everything.

“Are you crying?” I asked, looking over to find her blinking rapidly.

“Not crying exactly,” she admitted. “Ugh, okay, a little,” she said as she reached up with one hand to wipe at her cheek.

“Why?”

“Listen, sir,” she said, giving me fake stern eyes. “I had super high hopes for us. And then you dashed them. Then there were months of feeling really crummy. And now we are back to the high hopes thing, and you’re on board this time, and it is just a little much, okay?”

“I was a dick,” I said.

“You were,” she agreed, nodding.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she agreed, shooting me a blurry-eyed smile. “I think I was just repressing everything for a long time and now I am feeling it all at once. I need to meditate about it, process it all, and let it flow through me.”

I’ll admit I had no idea what that meant exactly. But that was part of what was so fascinating about Billie. How different she was from anyone I’d ever known. Penis mugs and pussy earrings and all.

“Did you spill something?” I asked as we made our way into her apartment. There was a fine white powder and what looked like herbs and flower petals all over the carpets.

“What? No.”

“Babe, you don’t see the shit on the floor?” I asked, waving down at it.

“Oh, that. I’m cleaning the carpets.”

“You’re gonna need to explain that to me. How does making a mess clean anything?”

“It’s baking soda and herbs,” she said, shrugging as she put her things down and kicked out of her shoes.

“Keep it coming,” I invited, still not getting it.

“Oh, well baking soda deodorizes and herbs and flowers put good smells in after. Then you vacuum it all up. Oh, and there’s a little salt in there too this time.”

“What does the salt do?”

“Cleanses. But in the less literal way. It’s kind of like smoke cleansing or sound cleansing.”

“Yeah, babe, I’m lost again,” I admitted, watching as she sent me a patient smile as she went over to her mail table to light a stick of incense, then pick up a little silver bell.

“Okay. Smoke cleansing,” she said, running the incense up and over then back down the door jam. “And sound cleansing,” she said, shaking the bell with the other hand. “It clears negative energy,” she clarified, going over toward the windows. “Oh, speaking of bad energies…” she grumbled.

And Billie wasn’t usually much of a grumbler.

“What is it?”

“Mrs. Barnard.”

“Neighbor?” I asked.

“She calls me 4A like it is my name despite having introduced myself to her and her Nazi dog about a dozen times.”

“I’m sorry, circle back to Nazi dog,” I said, a weird snorting sound escaping me.

“She named it after Coco Chanel. You know, the actual Nazi. She’s actually a sweet dog. It’s the owner that is a problem.”

“What did she do?”

“Well, the last time I saw her, she complained about my curtains being open, called me a slut, and told me to stay away from her husband.”

“She called you a slut?” I asked, spine straightening as I moved across the room to stand behind her shoulder as she tucked the incense stick into a holder.

“She did.”

“But she’s the one looking in your windows like a creep,” I said, wrapping my arms around her midsection.

“That’s exactly the point I was trying to make. If you don’t like seeing me walk bare-ass naked in my own damn apartment, don’t look inside it,” Billie declared, pushing the blinds open fully.

I had no idea what her intentions were when she turned with a light dancing in her eyes. But I knew that look well enough to know she had something crazy planned.

I didn’t know how crazy until she was lowering herself down in front of me, and reaching up toward my fly, a dark smile tugging at her lips.

“This is insane,” I told her, shaking my head.

“But so much fun,” she told me, reaching inside for my cock.

I had a feeling that those words were going to explain my future with Billie perfectly.

Insane.

But so much fun.