How could this stupid asshole survive and his mother not?
Tommy couldn’t let that happen.
No freaking way.
He dropped the asshole’s head and moved around to the other side of the table, using the biker’s hand that still had its fingers.
Tommy had never shot a gun before. He’d only seen it done in movies and on TV. He knew there was a safety. Without touching the gun, he saw it was already flipped to off, like Fender might have been trying to protect himself.
But of course he failed because he was a big, fat fucking loser. Tommy recognized that, even though his mother never did.
Was the handgun used to bash in his mother’s face and skull? It had to be since it was coated in congealing blood.
Tommy used Fender’s own hand and curled the man’s fingers around the butt of the gun and his index finger on the trigger.
He wanted it to look like a murder-suicide. Hopefully to throw off the cops.
This way Tommy could find the Blood Fury bastard, or bastards, who did this himself.
With his hand over Fender’s, he lifted the gun and put the barrel to the biker’s temple.
Not even a second later, with Fender’s index finger under his own, he pulled the trigger.
Chapter One
Ozzy groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes. The Great Oz wasn’t feeling so fucking great this morning. Trip must have driven over him with the repo wrecker. Then put it in reverse, smashed the accelerator and did it again.
He rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow to block out the sliver of light sneaking between the two halves of the curtains and, of fucking course, happened to be shining directly across his face. Sliding a hand between him and the rumpled sheet, he moved it all the way down until he found his aching morning wood.
As hard as he hit the bottle last night, he wasn’t sure he could perform this morning, but his dick seemed to be willing.
But then, it usually was.
His dick thought he was still twenty. The rest of his body reminded him he was twice that age.
With his face still burrowed in the pillow, he reached out for Lizzy…
Nothing.
Empty.
Her side of the bed was stone cold.
She was gone.
When was he going to remember that?
A two-year habit was hard to break.
He turned his head on his pillow and forced open his right eye.
Yeah. Gone.
He was alone.
He drew a long breath in through his nostrils and closed his eye again. Then he shoved his face back into the pillow and groaned.
He’d fucked up.
Not the first time. Wouldn’t be the last.
But this fuck-up stung. It had left a mark.
He wasn’t sure how to fix it. Or even if it was possible.
Right after she left, he was tempted to chase her down, to force her to come back home.
He didn’t.
Then she came home anyway. He thought she was back, but she wasn’t. Not permanently. She only returned to share the news with Stella and Trip about how she’d discovered Crazy Pete was her father.
She’d been keeping a secret all the time she’d been a fucking sweet butt.
She’d been keeping a secret all the time she’d been in his fucking bed.
The secret being she was a goddamn Original’s daughter. She just hadn’t known who the Original was.
Now she knew. A DNA test proved it.
Stella was her half-sister. Fury blood ran through her veins.
Because of that, she should be back in Manning Grove. Not as a sweet butt but as part of the Fury sisterhood. Trip should’ve insisted she come back home. Demanded it.
He didn’t.
The Fury prez saw his sister-in-law hooking up with that motherfucker Crash from the Dirty Angels MC as strengthening the alliance between the two clubs.
He acted like Lizzy leaving was a good thing.
It wasn’t.
She’d be back. She’d get sick of that motherfucker’s shit and she’d come running home to her real family. Ozzy would then need to decide whether he’d let her back into his life and his bed.
In the meantime, he needed to push this fucking mistake behind him and think about moving on.
If she didn’t come home, he had nothing holding him here any longer.
It was really fucking tempting to hit the road. Go back out on his own.
Keep on keeping on.
Yeah, that was what he needed to do.
He didn’t know why he came back to Manning Grove, to the Fury, in the first place.
He shouldn’t have.
When he was seventeen, he only joined the club for one reason and one reason only.
Revenge.
But when word got to him that Trip was resurrecting the club, he was curious more than anything. He wanted to see who actually survived. What the new prez was rebuilding and why.
What he found was not many were left at all.
Dutch. And Crazy Pete until the cancer got him.
Some of the kids had returned, like Trip, Sig, Jemma, Judge and Stella.