Dark Destiny by Avelyn Paige

StoneFace

Not botheringto look up at the guard, I tell him, “I’m not going. I already said my piece to the club.”

Without warning, his hand is on my bicep and he’s spinning me around, pressing my face to the painted brick wall. I haven’t even had a chance to react before the cuffs are on my wrists.

The blood pounds through my veins as I turn and gape at him. “What the fuck, man! I have a right to refuse visitors!”

This guy again. And this time, I’m able to see his name badge—Johnson.

Well, if that isn’t the most common fucking surname in all of North America, I don’t know what is. “Who the fuck are you?” I ask again, my feet moving double-time to keep up as he shoves me down the hall toward the elevator.

Once the door closes, and it’s just the two of us, Johnson leans closer to avoid being detected by the camera’s microphone. “The Black Hoods have helped my family many times. I owe Judge my life, and you owe him some fucking respect.”

I turn and sneer. “Fuck you, man. You don’t know one damn thing about me.”

“I know this is the third time the club has been by, and only the second time you’re seeing them. I know the first time you didn’t tell them a fucking thing. Judge is ready to rip this jail down to its foundations, just to rip you a shiny new asshole.”

I let out a long, low sigh, and my chin drops to my chest. “They’re supposed to let this shit go.”

The elevator door opens, and Johnson leads me out the door and into the visitation room. Just as I reach the seat, Johnson remarks, “Family doesn’t just let shit go.”

My ass hits the seat, and I force myself to look ahead, straight into Judge’s angry eyes.

In many ways, Judge is kinda like a father to me. A swearing, motorcycle riding father who isn’t afraid to kick my ass if I step out of line. Lord knows, he’s been more of a father to me than my own father had been.

My father had walked out on us when I was five years old, leaving my mom to work three jobs just to make ends meet. She literally worked herself into an early grave, dying at just fifty-two years old, two days after I had graduated high school.

I rarely think about that time in my life. Hell, I rarely think about my past at all. But Judge sitting there, glaring at me from the other side of the thick glass, reminds me of just how far I’ve come. And before I have a chance to shut it down, his angry face also reminds me of exactly what I’m giving up.

Grabbing the receiver from its cradle, I press it to my ear and look at the very pissed off, very large president of the Black Hoods MC.

“Explain,” is all he says, his tone leaving zero room for argument.

My chest feels as if a trailer load of Harley’s has been parked on top of it, and it’s all I can do to keep on breathing, as if everything is okay. “Not much to explain,” I say. “I had a life before this club, Judge, and some unfinished business from way back then has popped up. I’m here to finish it.”

“What business?”

Yeah, he’s pissed. Judge isn’t necessarily the chattiest man I know, but these short, gruff responses tell me all I need to know about where I stand in his eyes right now.

I draw in a breath, but my lungs feel as if they’re being crushed by the weight of this moment. “No disrespect, Judge, but this is in regard to my family. It has nothing to do with the Black Hoods, and is none of your concern.”

Judge’s nostrils flare. His face lights with rage for a fraction of a second before he composes himself. “When you were patched into the club, the Black Hoods MC became your fucking family. You are a part of it whether you want it or not. Hell, whether we want it or not. Right now, I’d rather kick your ass than try to help you, but that’s not how shit goes in a family. You don’t just walk away.”

“Judge—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls. “You had your chance to speak, and you spoke wrong. Now it’s your turn to listen, and you’re going to tune those big fucking ears of yours in and listen close.”

Leaning forward, he presses the tip of his finger against the glass, pointing right at me. “Whatever your reasons, you fucked up not coming to me before pulling that stunt with stealing the police car. We’ll deal with that, but first, we have some other business to attend to. You remember Henry Tucker?”

That name brings on a whole new wave of anger. How could I forget Henry Tucker? That man had fathered and sold off his own woman as a sex worker and then wanted to do the same with his children.

He’d attempted to kill Judge and his old lady when they took in those kids, and he’d shot Karma and Lindsey, causing her to lose her baby, and Karma to nearly lose his life.

“Yeah,” Judge says, his eyes narrowed. “I see you know exactly who I’m talking about. But, did you know he’s here in this jail?”

I freeze.

It never sat right with me that Henry Tucker hadn’t met his maker at the hands of one of the Black Hoods. The slimy fucker had gotten arrested before we’d had a chance at retribution, and he’s been out of touch ever since.

Judge knows better than to say the words, but when our eyes meet, I know what he’s telling me. Henry Tucker needs to die.

“Looks like you have a lot of shit to sort out,” he says, with more meaning behind his words than anyone listening in would ever understand. “You get your shit handled and we’ll talk soon. And the next time I come in here, you better grow a set of balls and come down here like a man without me having to get Johnson to drag you down here by the short and curlies. We clear?”

Memories of Lindsey’s tears and Karma struggling to ride his motorcycle after being shot by Henry Tucker play over and over again in my mind.

“I said, are we fucking clear?”

I meet his glare with a new outlook. My own mission is still very much important, but now I have another one. Now I need to do something for my club.

I nod.

Judge studies me a beat before he says, “You can’t run from your family, son. We may be a fucked-up crew, but we’ve got each other's backs, always. Even when it’s not wanted.”

Slamming the receiver back into the cradle, he gets to his feet and leaves the room.

Jesus. I should’ve known I couldn’t just walk away, but bringing this shit to my club isn’t going to happen either.

I need to get this done. Get Henry Tucker. Get Chad Elscher. And after all that, if the club wants to have my back from the other side of these iron bars, then so be it. But I still have to do what I came here to do.