Outcast (Southern Rebels MC Book 2) Read online

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  I trudged toward the mausoleum where I’d stashed my bag, noticing the teenage boy was standing by the grave again, and idly wondered if it was his dad that he came to visit. Cemeteries weren’t really a hotbed of activity, if you didn’t count the ghosts, so seeing a young guy come by regularly was a little unusual. I’d thought at first he was up to no good, but the hunched shoulders and hands shoved into his pockets made me think it was guilt that brought him here and not mischief.

  I gave him a wide berth, not interested in conversation or eye contact as I hurried toward my mausoleum. I quickly checked over my stuff, making sure it was all there and settled in for the day.

  Chapter Three

  Cord

  “It’s been too long,” Creed finally said, studying me.

  “Not long enough,” I retorted lightly and his mouth lifted, creasing his cheek.

  “Same old Cord,” he declared, his expression lightening.

  “You look like Dad,” I answered, the words tumbling out as I took in the wavy dark hair he shoved back.

  He chuckled. “Same could be said for you.” He shook his head. “Wait until you see you Crew.” His gaze flickered to mine. “You remember those old photo albums Johnny used to show us?”

  “Who could forget?” I retorted, glancing at the old baseball ceiling fan I’d hung for Crew when I was sixteen. “He showed them to us every weekend for years.”

  “So we wouldn’t forget,” we repeated in unison, sharing a commiserating smile.

  “Well, Crew is the spitting image of Dad,” Creed finished, glancing away as he rubbed the back of his neck – a sure sign he was uncomfortable.

  “Plane got shot down,” I answered before he had to ask. “Medical discharge.” I said it casually, like it was nothing, like it hadn’t forced me back here, to this place I’d tried so desperately to escape. “Met your girl. How was prom?”

  He grimaced, knowing exactly what I was doing. Another reason I hated coming back. Creed could see through my bullshit faster than anyone on Earth. We were barely a year apart and it seemed like some days we were flip sides of the same damn coin.

  “She’s my old lady,” he corrected softly. “And we didn’t make it to her prom. I was locked up.” My lips parted, the question on my lips, but he kept talking. “Crew will be home soon. Don’t think, ‘my plane got shot down,’ will be good enough for him,” he stated, his tone mocking my explanation. His voice hardened. “I’m supposed to bring you by the club. Johnny wants a word.”

  “Johnny can shove it up his ass,” I snarled, my lip curling in disgust.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t announce your arrival since I didn’t find out till I got home. Crew can keep his mouth shut so you have a few days.” He met my eyes. “You will have to talk to him.” He went to the door before I could issue a retort, stopping at the threshold. “You want me to let Clutch know you’re home?”

  “No,” I said instantly and he nodded slowly.

  “You’re gonna have to face him eventually,” he murmured.

  “I wouldn’t be here if the military hadn’t sent me home,” I said icily. “Don’t make more of my being here than it is. I’ll be long gone soon enough.”

  “Home is where you go when no one else will have you. Guess it’s fitting you’re here.” He tapped the doorframe and Maisy darted past him into the hall. “Supper’s in thirty.”

  I sank down onto the bed, cursing under my breath as my leg spasmed painfully. I massaged the tight muscle, knowing I’d pushed it too hard the past few days. I thought about ignoring the invitation to eat, but I had a sneaking suspicion Sloan would just bring supper to me instead and I hated the idea of being an invalid more than eating with them.

  I stopped by the bathroom on the way to the kitchen, surprised to find it as clean as the head on an aircraft carrier. When I made it to the kitchen, Sloan was setting the last bowl on the table.

  “You look like a meat and potatoes kind of guy,” she mentioned casually, gesturing for me to take a seat. “Hope you like meatloaf.”

  “I’m a vegetarian,” I told her, straight faced, and she blinked.

  “There’s potatoes,” she finally said, not the least bit flustered by my announcement. “And peas.”

  “Can you not be an ass? Please,” Creed gritted out, snagging Sloan’s hand. “Jailbait worked hard on dinner while watching two kids and dealing with your unexpected arrival. She doesn’t need your shit.”

  Awkward tension filled the space and as my gaze darted between them, I could sense the newness of their relationship. “How long you been out?” I asked bluntly, taking the chair she’d pointed at and grabbing the spoon for the mashed potatoes.

  “Two weeks,” Creed replied, his stare hard. “Why?”

  I waved the spoon between them, and a glob of mashed potatoes fell on the table. “Just wondering why this whole happy home situation feels like a show and no one knows their lines,” I offered, plopping a heaping mound of potatoes on my plate.

  “Maybe because the brother I haven’t seen in eight years showed up unannounced today?” Creed mentioned, his jaw tight.

  “You didn’t get my letter?”

  “The one that said you were coming home? But didn’t mention when. Or, oh, the fact that you were wounded?” Creed ended in a shout, breathing heavily as he leaned back in his chair.

  “She the reason you went in?” I asked idly, reaching for the peas.

  “NO, for Chrissake’s, brother,” he roared, staring at me in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Sloan answered in the same breath and his attention turned to her.

  “What? No, Jailbait. What happened wasn’t your fault,” he rushed to reassure her and she shrugged.

  “Yeah, it was in a roundabout way. If I hadn’t confronted Fat Willy you wouldn’t have beaten the shit out of him.” She stabbed a piece of meatloaf and plopped it onto my plate, her gaze daring me to say something. My lips curled in bemusement, but I didn’t protest.

  “Fat Willy is why you wound up in jail?” I questioned, lifting my fork to my mouth.

  “Wait!” I paused at Sloan’s shout, my fork hovering at my lips, the bite of ketchup-coated meatloaf a tantalizing inch from my mouth. “We have to say grace,” she explained and I lowered the fork.

  “Jailbait –” I could hear the discomfort in Creed’s voice as he shot me a careful glance and I shook my head before he could say anything more.

  “Its fine,” I dismissed, bowing my head.

  She hesitated for a brief second, but went ahead when Creed nodded. “Lord, thank you for the many blessings you’ve provided us, the food on the table, and the safe arrival of Cord.” My knee jerked at the mention of my name, jostling the table, but she continued smoothly. “Give us the grace to accept what we cannot change, the strength to change what we can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.”

  “Amen,” I murmured almost inaudibly, not sure what to make of being included in her prayer. I shoved the bite of meatloaf in my mouth, chewing so I wouldn’t have to speak.

  “Fat Willy was voted out of the club,” Creed commented and my eyebrows lifted. He noticed and nodded. “He was roughing up the women. I gave him a beating for lifting a hand to Jailbait. He ratted me out to the police.”

  “He’s dead,” I stated, no question in my voice. Betraying a club member, even after being cast out, was a death sentence. Creed nodded even as Sloan paled slightly. “Let me guess,” I said, noticing her pallor, “He was crucified and Johnny made an example out of him to you.”

  “Something like that,” she said faintly and Creed looked startled. She gave him an apologetic glance. “Johnny brought me to Willy’s house. It was after you were arrested.”

  “What did he say to you?” We all heard the edge of anger in Creed’s voice and she curled her fingers around his hand.

  “He didn’t threaten me, Creed. It was more like we came to an understanding.”

  “Still, he shouldn’t have shown you that,�
� Creed mumbled, his hand tight around his fork. “You’re one of us, my old lady, he knew that and he should have treated you with more respect.”

  “It wasn’t disrespect,” Sloan disagreed, her voice soft but determined. “It was education. There are consequences to our actions, whether intended or not. He knows I won’t betray the club…now. He wasn’t as sure then. You’d just been carted off and he blamed me.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Creed muttered, the words strained, like he’d said them a thousand times.

  “Maybe not,” she conceded. “But a lot changed with my arrival and you’re going away. We’ve all had to adjust and survive.” There was no mistaking the warning in her words and Creed let out a breath, easing his death grip on the poor fork.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally sighed, surprising me. “I forget how capable you are, how strong.” He gestured to me. “None of this is easy, not Cord showing up or me getting paroled, Crew is….” He trailed off and I cocked my head, picking up on his hesitation.

  “Having supper with Norah and little Deacon,” Sloan inserted smoothly. “I meant to mention that before we sat down. He called earlier to tell me, but I didn’t want to tell him over the phone that Cord had arrived.” I inferred there was a lot more she wasn’t saying, and while I wanted to demand answers about my youngest brother, I knew I didn’t have the right. I didn’t intend to stick around after my leg had healed up a little more, and playing the older brother would do nothing but set everyone up for disappointment.

  “Deacon,” I said, drawing their attention. “Wasn’t there a prospect named Deacon back in the day?”

  “Yeah. He became a club member.”

  “He saved Johnny’s life didn’t he?” I asked, searching my memory while trying to avoid anything too painful. “Big black dude. Had Johnny’s back in a bar fight, if I recall.”

  “That’s the guy,” Creed confirmed. “He died last year. It messed Crew up.” I fought the urge to ask why, but Creed saw it in my eyes. “They were riding together. They split up and Deacon got jumped.”

  “Son of a….” My jaw clenched as my fist thumped the table.

  “Norah is Deacon’s widow. She had little Deacon after he died. Crew helps her out. Cuts the grass, changes the oil in her car. I watch little Deacon when she goes to work,” Sloan mentioned, scooping up some peas and eyeing our full plates. “Eat before it gets cold,” she commanded, her tone as forceful as any drill sergeant I’d met. I obeyed automatically, unsurprised to see Creed do the same. His old lady had a presence about her, a natural command that was easy to miss at first. So far she’d taken everything in stride and had no problem speaking her mind. She seemed older than eighteen, more mature, and I was curious what had made her that way.

  “Your dad club?” I questioned, eating with pleasure. “Food’s good,” I added grudgingly and she smiled in appreciation.

  “My dad’s dead, but he was a Flying Eagle,” she mentioned and I choked as my meatloaf went down the wrong pipe. “My mom was killed and that’s when I met Creed.”

  “A Flying Eagle?” I took a big gulp of milk as the food finally found the right hole. “I thought they all died a long time ago.”

  “He died when I was four. My mom raised me alone. It wasn’t easy, but she taught me to be independent,” Sloan said proudly, a light in her eyes as she talked about her mom. “She was the strongest person I knew.”

  “And she raised the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” Creed added, smiling softly at her, and I realized how far gone he was. She had him wrapped around her finger, but as her smile brightened at his words, I could see she felt the same.

  Something that felt suspiciously like envy stabbed through me as I remembered what it felt like to love someone past reason, to do anything, fight anyone, and go to any lengths to make them happy. I rubbed my chest, dismissing the sensation as a bout of heartburn in an effort to hold back the memories.

  “Johnny let you stay?” I asked, destroying the moment, as I tried to reconcile the tough as nails surrogate father I remembered with a guy who would allow a teenage girl into the club.

  “He did,” she said proudly and my gaze drifted to Creed. He didn’t meet my eyes and I knew then.

  “What did you threaten him with?” I questioned, sopping up my plate with a piece of cornbread.

  “Nothing,” Creed answered, a tight little smile on his lips. “We came to an agreement.”

  “Ah, yes, because Johnny is so reasonable,” I said mockingly. “How could I forget?”

  “You wouldn’t have if you’d been here,” he retorted, an edge in his voice.

  I pressed my lips together, pushing back from the table. “Guess family time is over.”

  “Can’t exactly recap eight years over supper,” Creed pointed out and I held up my hands.

  “Didn’t ask you to. Don’t need you to. If I cared, I would have been here.”

  “God, you fucking asshole. Same fucking Cord. Do what you want and get away with it.”

  “Jealous, little brother? You were always the one who had to make peace with everyone. Fix everything. Be the goddamn hero. Did it feel good when I left? Not having to stand in my shadow any longer?”

  Creed slammed to a stand, vibrating with anger as I sat there, feeling a twisted satisfaction in seeing him lose his cool. He loomed over me, his jaw working and I knew if my leg would hold me, I’d be standing toe to toe with him. We were an equal match in height and weight, and we’d gotten into more than one fistfight that ended in a draw.

  Sloan stood up, Maisy bristling at her side. “Don’t forget to do the dishes when you’re done with your pissing contest.” Her words snapped us from our staring match and we both glanced at her. “And put a plate in the microwave for Crew. He loves meatloaf and he’s a bottomless pit.” She wiggled her fingers. “I’m going to read for a while and then go to bed.” She gave Creed a pointed glance and his shoulders eased as he nodded. “Goodnight, Cord. Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

  I nodded, amused in spite of myself as she sashayed out the kitchen, Maisy on her heels. “Did she just assign us mess hall cleanup?”

  “Be grateful it’s not for an entire club,” Creed grumbled morosely, sitting back down as he stared at the dirty table. “That takes forever.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  He chuckled ruefully. “Clutch can confirm. He’s vowed to avoid clean up duty at all costs. Even if it means he cooks every meal.”

  “Still make a mean chili?’

  “Best you ever had,” Creed answered instantly and I nodded fondly in remembrance.

  “The Navy cooks tried, but it didn’t come close,” I admitted, staring at the table as I tried to figure out how to tackle the mess. “Do we just throw it all away?” I asked in puzzlement. Creed shook his head reluctantly and I could see he wished that was the case.

  “Nah, we have to put the leftovers in the fridge and then clean the pots and pans and put them away,” he recited dutifully.

  “Okay,” I grunted, pushing myself up. “Wash or dry?”

  “Dry,” he replied, adding, “I know where they go.” His forehead wrinkled. “Mostly.”

  “It’s the effort that counts, right?”

  He shook his head doubtfully. “Dunno. Kind of scared to find out though.” He pointed to the dish I’d picked up. “Don’t forget to make Crew a plate.” He grabbed the meatloaf. “In fact, we’ll just dump all the leftovers in one bowl and that’ll be his.”

  “Good idea,” I muttered, tipping the bowl I held. “If he eats like we did, it’ll be gone in a minute.”

  “He does,” Creed answered as we filled the bowl to overflowing. “Stick it in the microwave.”

  My leg cramped as I shifted to reach the microwave door and I almost lost the entire bowl of food. I managed to catch it with a curse, and took a deep breath, feeling Creed’s gaze. “Got it,” I managed to mutter, popping the door and shoving the bowl inside. “Let’s get the rest of this done.”<
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  “I can do –”

  “Do not finish that sentence unless you want an ass whooping,” I snapped, barely restraining myself from slamming the dishes in the sink. The kitchen was tiny and the table wedged in one corner made it even smaller. There was barely room for us to turn around, so I didn’t even have to take a step to move the plates from the table to the sink. I turned the hot water on and watched the sink fill for a minute. “You and Sloan?”

  “Why is it so hard for you to accept?”

  “You’re too young.”

  “You were younger than me,” he spouted in exasperation and I could feel his immediate regret. “I…”

  “Look how it turned out for me,” I said, interrupting whatever half assed apology he was going to give me. “I can see you care about her, but –”

  “But nothing,” he broke in, his voice shutting down any argument I may have had. “She’s it. Period. Accept my choice.”

  I took a deep breath, plunging my hands in the scalding water. “Could have done worse,” I finally replied, handing him the first clean dish.

  “Thanks,” he muttered and I wasn’t sure if it was for the backwards compliment or the plate. We worked in silence for a few minutes before he said, “That scar is gonna get you laid so hard.”

  “Good thing, cause this leg means they’ll have to do all the work,” I retorted wryly.

  Creed snorted, shaking his head as he leaned to the side and put the plate away. “Like that’ll matter.”

  We worked in silence for a few minutes before I muttered, “How many damn dishes does it take to make one meal?”

  My brother laughed quietly. “Jailbait says the same thing, but she still cooks every night.” The weight of his hesitation filled the air before he finally asked, “What do you think of her?” He paused then added like I couldn’t figure out who he was talking about, “Jailbait, I mean.”