“Not my preference, but it’ll do under the circumstances.”
Houston understood. He might not be part of the club, but his love for a rumbling bike underneath him had been ingrained long before he was legal to drive. He tossed his bag into the backseat and slid into the passenger side of Axel’s truck. “Been a while since I’ve been able to ride.”
“How bad is it?”
Axel didn’t need to clarify his question. If they knew he was here then they’d know why. And his injury would be the elephant in the room until he set them straight. Fortunately, his doctor had cleared him for everything but active duty. So whatever Axel was thinking didn’t matter, Houston was more than capable of taking care of himself.
“I recovered. Got some nice scars and I get a little stiff if I sit too long. Other than that, I’m good to go.”
Axel shoved his gear into reverse. “Glad to hear it.”
They rode in silence for several miles while Houston took in their surroundings. Axel was probably keeping an eye out for anything needing taken care of and Houston simply wanted to reacquaint himself with the town. Other than a few new restaurants and shops, everything looked pretty much the same.
“Good to see the Tan hasn’t been overdeveloped.” The city was technically named after the Sultan River, but locals tended to simply call it the Tan. “Always loved the fact it held onto roots with a death grip.” Not all roots were bad. And if you were smart, you learned how to cut out the bad ones early on.
“It hasn’t been easy. Developers and businesses are always trying to move in. Fortunately, we’ve got a city council with their dicks on straight who know what’s right for their town.”
Houston nodded. The club had a way of making sure the town’s interests aligned with their own.
They turned off Main Street and drove past the fire department and surrounding residential streets. As they got closer to the old homestead the pressure in Houston’s chest multiplied. Ten goddamned years he’d avoided this. What had he been thinking? He should not have come back.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, wishing he’d bit back the bitterness before he answered.
“You don’t have to stay there. We’ve got more than enough room at the compound. Some of the guys are looking forward to seeing you again.”
Houston shook his head. “I’m good.” He wasn’t about to get into the details of the shit churning in his stomach with anyone, let alone Axel. Any weakness and they’d find a way to manipulate him right where they wanted him.
He and Axel had this conversation too many times. In fact, their last conversation included Houston telling him the club could fuck off for all he cared. He hadn’t heard from him since.
Axel turned the truck into the driveway and Houston faced forward to take in his childhood home. Same blue shutters, same white siding and same black door. Surprisingly it looked well cared for, especially for an empty house.
“Club’s been keeping it up. We send a prospect over here once a week. Gives them extra shit to do and it keeps the neighbors happy.”
Houston turned and lifted his left brow. “The neighbors?”
Alex laughed. “Yeah. About six months after Pops left, the club got a visit from old Mrs. Mallory. She just drove in and marched into the mill wearing her brown old lady loafers, clutching her purse and pearls and demanded we do something about the mess.”
“Oh boy.” Houston could easily imagine the scene. His former neighbor had a way of sticking her nose in everyone’s business whether she had a right to or not.
“Oh yeah. JD about lost his shit so we hustled her out of there before he could explode. Been handling the situation ever since. Whatever it takes to keep that crazy woman off club property.”
The laughter Houston had been trying to hold in died instantly at the sound of the current club president’s name. JD Monroe had been his father’s best friend up until the day Houston’s mother died. The memories he kept locked down broke free, tearing through his flesh and blood like claws of a big cat taking down a deer.
Fuck.
He’d come home late to screams and shouting so loud he heard them halfway down the block. He rushed into the house and skidded to a halt at the horrifying scene before his eyes. JD was on the ground, his father straddling him with his pistol pressed right between his eyes. Even more terrifying was his mother standing across the room from them with another gun held to her own head, her finger on the trigger. Tears streamed down her face as she screamed at his father, begging him to let JD go or she’d blow her own head off.