Roan (The Henchmen MC 17)

"Speak of the devil," I murmured when there was a familiar tap on the door to the ladder below.

"Open up, I have no hands," Liv's voice called, making me hop up and haul it open, finding her with her leg and one arm wrapped around the ladder, her other hand carrying a travel mug full of coffee for me. I took it from her and she hauled herself up, moving toward the window overlooking the town, scanning the dark sky. "You're sure you don't mind?" she asked, her head turning over her shoulder with a hesitant raised brow.

"I don't mind," I told her, popping open the top for the coffee.

"Don't worry. I didn't tell anyone your secret."

"My secret," I repeated, brows furrowing.

"That you take cream and sugar in your coffee," she told me with a sly smile. "You already get enough shit from all of them. Like it's so strange not to enjoy the taste of plain bean juice," she added, rolling her eyes.

"You're stalling."

"I feel bad leaving you," she told me, giving me sad eyes.

"I'm not alone. Always got a few Hailstorm people here," I reminded her. "And I told you I checked with Reign. Nothing to hesitate about."

"But you're-"

"Liv, it's your anniversary. Stop fighting with me. Go take your man out. Have a good time."

"Fiiine," she said, shooting me a relieved smile, guilt assuaged as she walked over, touching my arm with one hand as she leaned up to press a chaste kiss to my cheek. "Thank you," she told me. "Oh, and Roan?" she called as she started to climb down the ladder, making me turn to find her smirking up at me.

"Yeah?"

"If you thought that was a fight, it's been way too long since you've had a woman," she informed me before disappearing down the ladder.

There was no stopping the snort as I closed the trap door, moving back to the chair, dropping down.

She wasn't wrong.

I hadn't known a woman in a fuckuva long time. Hadn't known one long enough to fight with one since, shit, well over a decade ago.

I got a lot of the aspects of the life I missed out on by being part of the brotherhood, though. I got the girls club who were quick to play the doting mother role when they thought I wasn't sleeping enough, eating enough, when I got a cough or some little ailment. I wasn't so far removed from simple pleasures that I didn't enjoy it. I'd known a lot of cold and hard in my life. The warm and soft of good women was refreshing.

I got the family bond of my brothers. With the expected ribbing, especially from the young ones - the ones with too much testosterone and not enough wits to realize that fucks like me got to my age without a grave stone sitting over our cold bodies by being smart and quick and ruthless. It was nothing a little ass kicking didn't help. Hell, West was still favoring his busted rib from calling Reign "the old man" two weeks before. Though when Summer had confronted him about beating up on the 'kids,' he'd sworn he had no idea how West managed to throw himself into the corner of the bar.

"I'm just clumsy like that, I guess," West had told a very unconvinced Summer as he threw back a shot to ease the ache.

Brotherhood came above all else, even the truth sometimes.

And I liked that.

I liked the way you could count on any one of them to have your back, no matter what. It was something new to me, something it took a long ass time to learn to trust.

Then, of course, there were the kids.

I'd known from a young age that I wasn't going to be a father. I craved action and danger and uncertainty. And those were not things to build a relationship on, let alone raise a kid on. I couldn't say I felt like I missed out, that there was some clock, some biological pull to spread my seed. I wasn't that fucking arrogant. Like the world needed more of me running around. I'd been happy with my decision, with devoting my life to a cause, knowing I didn't have some things that were necessary for a good parent. That said, it was nice to have them around, to hear the belly laughs of babies, to hear squeals in the yard when a group of them were playing tag, to be able to teach some of the older ones some things.

And then it was just as nice to know they were going home with their parents, and I was free to do whatever I wanted to do.

Which, admittedly, these days, wasn't much.

I took a deep breath, feeling it burn my lungs before letting it out.

In quiet moments, I could confess it to myself. That I was getting sick of this room, this existence, this stand-still life.