Strength from Loyalty (Lost Kings MC 3)

She huffs out a long sigh and wrinkles her nose. “I gotta find a stupid dress.”

Okay, I’ve been holding in my laughter all day. “I can help you with that.”

“Yeah?” She looks so hopeful my heart breaks for her. “Sweet! Thanks.”

“Anything else you need to unload on me before we head back to your house?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “No. But can I get a milkshake?”

Putting the car gear, I glance over at her. “You got it.”

Teller is in the front yard when I pull up to the grandmother’s house. He jogs over to greet us, and I roll down my window.

“Hey, I didn’t realize she was out with you, Hope. I’ve been going nuts.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a red-faced Heidi shoving her Planned Parenthood swag bag in her purse.

“Sorry.” I’m not really sure what else to say.

Heidi is quicker at thinking—or lying—on her feet. “She took me shopping for a prom dress,” she says as she steps out of my car.

He looks at her and then inside my car. “Yeah, where is it?”

“I didn’t find any I liked. Thanks, Hope!” Heidi slams the door and runs inside.

Teller leans on my car. “You didn’t have to do that, Hope.”

I shrug nervously. I like Teller, so lying to him bugs me. “She’s a fun kid.”

He snorts. “Yeah, fun. She’s a fucking handful.”

“Nah, she’s a sweet girl. I like spending time with her.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” He cocks his head at me. “How’d you manage to get out of the house, anyway? I thought Rock didn’t want you out by yourself?”

My cheeks heat up, but I shrug it off. “I was getting cabin fever.”

Teller shakes his head. “Rock’s gonna kick all our asses.”

“Well, then don’t tell him,” I joke back.

He grins at me. “Drive back safe, Hope.”

Alone in the car, I’m assaulted with a hundred different images and feelings from my childhood. Especially after my father died.

Loneliness. Desperation. Fear.

I haven’t been to my house since before the hospital, so I want to stop there before going back to the clubhouse.

After pulling in the driveway, I just sit and stare at the house for a while.

It didn’t escape my notice that Rock called my mother when I was in the hospital. From my phone, I’m able to see the call lasted long enough that they must have had some sort of chat about my condition. Yet she’s never tried to get in touch with me to see if I’m okay.

I’m not at all surprised, but it still hurts.

I wander through my house, staring at my stuff, thinking of what I can get rid of and what I’d keep. In the bedroom, I stop and stare at Clay’s side. I managed to get rid of his clothes finally, but his other things are still here.

Grabbing a few boxes, I set about packing up more stuff. I should call Lynn and see if she wants any of it, but the thought of speaking to her makes me ill.

Actually, maybe it’s not Lynn making me feel bad. I’ve probably done way more than I should have today.

Leaving the boxes on the bed, I stare at my bookshelf. Three photo albums are lined up on the bottom. One has the only pictures remaining of my dad. One is filled with friends I haven’t seen since high school, and the last is my wedding album.

I pull out the green leather one that has the old family photos and the white-and-gold wedding album before plopping down on the floor. It’s been so long, sometimes I just have memories and impressions of Dad more than a clear picture of him in my mind. To me, he was the biggest, strongest man in the world, and I always felt safest around him.

My favorite picture is in the front of the album. Christmas morning, my dad helping me ride my first tricycle. It was shiny purple with white flowers, and I rode that thing until my knees hit the handlebars two years later.

In my pocket, my phone buzzes against my hip, startling me out of my reverie.

It’s Wrath. Uh-oh, my escape has been discovered. Thankfully, it’s just a text.

Where the fuck are you?

Nice.

On my way back.

Grabbing the two albums, I search my closet for a bag to put them in and then toss in some extra clothes on top.

I don’t get any more texts from Wrath, but he’s waiting for me when I return.

“Where the fuck did you go?” he snarls at me as I walk in the door.

“I, uh, took Heidi out.”

“You didn’t think to tell me? Rock’s gonna have my ass.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” My gaze flicks around the room, seeking Trinity, but she’s not here. “I figured I’d be back before you noticed I was gone.”

He shakes his head at me. “Teller called me.”

“That little fucker,” I grumble.

Wrath laughs. “Agreed. But still, not cool, Hope. You took so long getting here from his house you had me worried.”

My eyes sting seeing that he’s sincere. “I’m sorry. I stopped by my house to grab a few things.”

“Okay. You need to go anywhere else, though, just tell me.” Yeah, right—he would’ve loved to tag along with Heidi and me today.

“I think I’m done. I’m exhausted.” I’m not lying either. I’m thinking of sprawling out on the couch because I don’t have the energy to crawl upstairs.

“Go get some rest, Cinderella.”

“Move along, sweetie,” I growl at this bitch for the second damn time.

Z’s sitting beside me, quivering with laughter. Asshole.

Murphy’s off balls deep in some bitch who tagged him the minute we got here.

The ride did its job and cleared my head.

Only to have it fucked with when we stepped inside the Devil’s Demons clubhouse. I haven’t set foot in this place in probably seven or eight years. Back when the Demons and I had a mutual enemy that needed to be put to ground. We’ve maintained a friendly relationship between our clubs, but since Wrath or Z usually took the runs that sent them through Demon territory, there’d been no need for me to come out.

After blowing off sweet butts all night, I have to say I haven’t missed this place at all.

Their president, the aptly named Stump, settles on the stool next to me. “Nothin’?”

“Naw, man, prez here is all wifed up now,” Z chirps.

“So fucking what?” Stump grumbles.

“Been there, done that. This one’s a keeper,” I tell him, hoping it will shut him up.

“Yeah, found himself a real smart, classy girl,” Z adds.

It’s a nice thing to say, and I appreciate Z feels that way about Hope. But I’m not sure if I want Z talking about Hope’s charms to a guy like Stump. The less he knows about my personal life, the better.

A sharp bark of laughter erupts from Stump. “What’s that like?”

“It’s good,” I answer with a straight face.

Stump studies me for a minute. “Never thought I’d see that. Good for you.”

Surprised, I thank him.

“How you been? Besides the wife thing?” Stump asks.

Wife. Fuck, I wish. That needs to fucking happen soon.

“Good. Business is good.” Demons are into way harder stuff than we are. Always have been, and that’s fine. They can keep their H, coke, and weapons running. I really don’t give two fucks if they think I’ve gone “soft.” None of the brothers in my charter are serving life sentences. The average life expectancy of a King is much higher than a Demon too. Those are the things I take pride in.

“Sucked about that thing awhile back. We got short notice about that wedding. Didn’t realize how close that park was to your area.”

I wave my hand in the air. “Not a problem.”

He jerks his chin at Z. “Well, at least we got to chat. I hear you’ve got a line of good shit coming up.”

I give Z the signal and he strolls outside.

?

??That we do.”

Z returns and drops a package of our new strain on the bar.

“Since when you run weed?” I ask.

Stump takes a long drag of his cigarette before answering. “People ain’t buying the heavy shit around here no more. Everyone wants the fucking green these days. Got no regular suppliers around here. Just punks.”

“I can get you a steady stream. I can’t guarantee we’ll be able to run it all the way out here every time.”

“My guys can meet you halfway. Outside Syracuse?”

“That would work.”

We hammer out a few more details. I gotta add a hefty surcharge because of the travel involved and the fact that Stump is stuck and can’t buy good, reliable shit anywhere else.

I also need to make sure this deal stays off the radar of the GSC.

“How’s Trinity doin’? She still with your club?”

My jaw clenches. “Yup. Still a big help to us.”

“That’s good. I remember she was a nice kid. Nothing like her whore mother.”

I make a noise that sounds something like agreement.

“How’s Wrath?”

“Laid up with a broken leg.”

“No shit. Didn’t think anything could take that big fucker out.”

“Yeah, he’s plenty pissed about it too.”

We end up talking business for a while. When we exhaust that topic, we catch up on some other things. Around midnight, my phone goes off. Thinking it might be Hope, I step outside to answer it.

“Rocky?” comes the tentative voice over the line.

“Who’s this?”

“It’s me, Inga.”

Fuck. “What do you want?”

“Don’t hang up, please.”

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I should hit end. There’s no reason for us to talk, but I feel a little shitty for the way things ended between us. “I’m here.”

“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

Aw, Christ. “Okay.”

“I, uh, you surprised me with Hope.”

“Inga—”

“No, no. I just want to explain.”

In the background, there’s suddenly a lot of noise.

“Where are you?”

“Back in California.” As soon as she says it, I realize I never actually knew where she lived when she wasn’t traveling. It kind of makes me feel like a dick.

“Well, not home, though. I’m in rehab.”

Fuck, I don’t know what to say to that. “That going okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. I’m leaving the film industry and dancing.”

Shit. “Sounds like that’s for the best.”

“Yeah, it is. I thought I could handle everything, but, well, I couldn’t. Obviously.” Her soft, nervous laughter comes through the line, surprising me. I can’t remember ever hearing Inga less than one hundred percent confident. It’s why I always thought our arrangement worked so well.

I swear I’m not so fucking full of myself that I think I’m the reason for her troubles, but I gotta ask anyway. “Inga, I’m sorry if I ever—”

“No, Rock. You were always straight with me. I think I just had it in my head that when I retired from dancing and films, maybe we could be together for real, but—”

“Shit, Ing, I’m sorry if I led you on.”

“You didn’t. You were always honest. You treated me well, trust me. Maybe that’s why I just figured there could be more between us. I don’t know.”

Nothing she’s saying is making me feel like any less of a shithead.

As if she hears my thoughts, she continues. “Ah, I’m not trying to make you feel bad or blaming you for my problems. That’s not why I called. I’ve had this habit a long time. I just always hid it well, but it finally caught up with me.”

Now I’m pissed I never noticed she had a drug problem and wonder how many other girls at CB are hooked on shit.

“Anyway, I kinda freaked out when I saw how serious you were with Hope. She doesn’t seem like your type. I mean, she’s awfully sweet. I feel terrible…”

“Inga, it’s fine. Just worry about getting yourself together.”

“Thanks. Will you tell Hope I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, sure.” Like fuck am I telling Hope about this phone call. She doesn’t need the stress.

“I, uh, already called Dex and apologized to him.”

“That’s good.”

“Okay. I’ll let you go. Thanks for listening.”

I don’t know how to respond. I want to end in a nice way so she can do her program with a clear head, but I don’t want to encourage any more phone calls either. “Get yourself well, Inga. Don’t worry about anything here. We’re good. Okay?”

I’d like to offer her some nice platitude like, “Your job is here when you’re ready,” or “Feel free to call me if you need something,” but they’re both lies, so I bite my motherfucking tongue.

“Thanks, Rock.”

We say our good-byes and hang up.

We’re going to be able to head home earlier than planned. So the day before we leave, I decide to do some sightseeing, which is a joke—there’s nothing of note for miles—and make a special stop.

Z’s all for it, until I hand over what I want to the artist.

“Prez, you fucking serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

He flicks his hand against the paper. “You’re the first one always telling us not to do this.”

I flick his shoulder in retaliation for touching the drawing. “Yeah, saved you some trouble once or twice too, didn’t it?”

Z shakes his head and gives me a comical eye-roll worthy of the most dramatic club girl. “Fine, let me see it again.”

Reluctantly, I hand over the drawing.

Since I guess he’s over the shock, he gives it a more critical review this time. “You have Bricks do it?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it looks good. Pretty sappy, though.”

“Fuck you.”

Z smirks. “Where?”

“Her favorite spot.”

Z gags. “I don’t think Bronze wants to see your dick.”

Bronze chuckles. “I’ve tatted worse, dude. Trust me.”

I knock Z back with a slap and point to the spot I want the ink to go. Christ, just thinking about the way she likes to kiss and nuzzle my hip gets me hard

“Not my dick, fuck face.”

I settle into the chair and let Bronze do his thing. He gets carried away and wants to add some color and shading to my pirate ship.

“‘Nother time. Why’d you have to set up shop so far away?” Back in the day, he was the only one I would let near me with a needle.

He chuckles softly, his eyes and hands never wavering. “Kings need an official tattoo guy? I’ll move back.”

I snort at that. “You’ll have to do more than that to earn your keep, man. Besides, I thought you were tight with Stump’s crew?”

“I am. It’s boring as fuck out here, though.”

“Empire ain’t exactly jumpin’,” Z says.

Bronze grunts and keeps working. “The talent out here is lacking.”

I don’t want to disturb him, so I hold in my laughter.

After a while, the buzzing and pain lulls me into a meditative state. The whole time, I’m imagining the look on Hope’s face when she finds this surprise.

My adventure with Heidi wore me out more than I realized. After sleeping in the next morning, I wander downstairs to find Wrath taking up residence on the couch.

“Hey.”

He looks up with a faint smile on his face.

Jerking my chin toward his cast, I ask, “How’s the leg?”

“Okay.”

“You eat breakfast yet?”

A small smirk, so I guess he’s forgiven me for sneaking out yesterday. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

No one’s in the kitchen. Not even Trinity. I scarf down some cereal and return to the living

room. “Where’s Trin?”

Wrath’s jaw ticks. “Out.”

Oh dear. I’m not touching that.

I throw myself into the corner of the other couch that sits at a ninety-degree angle with the one Wrath’s on. He glances over at me, taking in my sweatshirt, flannel pants, and wool socks.

“You cold?”

“I’m okay.”

He grunts and returns his attention to the television. I don’t think we’ve ever sat this close to each other when I wasn’t distracted by Rock or Wrath wasn’t trying to scare the crap out of me. The sleeveless shirt he’s wearing shows off his ink. Like a doof, I sit and stare, trying to make out the different images in the full-sleeve tattoo. The one on his upper bicep intrigues me the most.

“Is that Thor’s hammer?”

His lip quirks before he swings his gaze to me. Thrusting out his arm so I can see the intricate Celtic design better, he answers, “Yeah. You got any ink, Hope?”

I shake my head.

“Didn’t think so.”

If he’s trying to be insulting, it’s lost on me. When I don’t take the bait, he falls back against the couch, studying me.

I guess I look a little stiff.

“You still in pain?” he asks, his voice laced with surprising concern.

“A bit. I stopped taking the pain pills ‘cause they made me loopy.”

Leaning over, he opens a drawer I never noticed in the coffee table and pulls out a long, slim box.

“You smoke?”

“No.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Never?”

“You mean weed?”

A snort. “Yeah.”

“I tried it in high school a few times.”

He nods in an approving manner. “Well, well. You do have a little bit of bad girl in you after all. Come on, Fight Club is even better stoned.”

We pass the joint between us, and in no time, I’m out of my mind high.

“Feel better?”

Giggling too hard to answer, I nod my head. “Feeling no pain.” I gasp.

He gives me a blissed-out, serene smile.

“Why’re you being so nice to me, Wrath?”

Exhaling a stream of smoke, he flicks his bloodshot eyes my way. “I been mean to you, sugar?”

More giggles. “Uh, duh. Yeah.”

He passes the joint to me again, and I inhale like a pro now.