The Boy I Grew Up With Read online

  As soon as he was gone, Moose looked at me. “He’s not unharmed.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “What’s he going to do? Sue us?” Then I gave a brisk order. “Spread the word. Get him before Richter finds out about this lawyer being here. We don’t need to have one problem merge with our other problem.”

  Moose nodded, a dark look on his face. “Got it.”

  All the shit in my life, that was one problem I could cross off.

  But I still had a need to pummel my fists somewhere.

  16

  Heather

  I broke the rules.

  I talked about her.

  There’d been an uneasy truce in the two days since then between Channing and me. We hadn’t talked about her anymore, but we both felt her. I knew we did. Channing was on edge more than normal, but so was I. It was probably the reason we’d gone at it like animals last night.

  Sex was easier than feelings. Always. Forever.

  I was leaving his place when Bren came in, already skipping on her first day of school. She had a bag of food in her hand.

  I lost my footing, like I did almost every time she was around.

  It wasn’t her fault.

  She hadn’t asked for their dad to go to prison and for Channing to be her guardian. Despite the nonchalance and cold exterior, I had a feeling she loved her brother. But I remembered being in high school. I remembered losing my own mother, and I remembered not wanting to get close to anyone. I’d barely let Sam in, though she never knew that.

  Bren and I talked a bit, and there was an awkwardness, like always.

  She was a caged female wolf that grew up being abused. There was such beauty there, but she was wild and dangerous. She needed love, so much love, and I was the dick, taking some of that love away because Channing hadn’t figured out how to juggle everyone on his plate.

  I ached for Bren. I truly did. I wanted to take her in my arms, hug her, and hold her—even though I knew she’d struggle to get away. She needed the love, but she didn’t want to need it.

  I didn’t have the words. I rarely did.

  So she was here. I was here. And neither of us knew what to say.

  I was surprised we lasted as long as we did. Eventually she took off, saying she was going back to school, but I wasn’t born yesterday. The girl was ditching. It wasn’t my place to step in. Fuck. I didn’t even know what I would’ve done, so I left too.

  I had to get back to Manny’s.

  But once in my car, I realized the gas was nearing empty, so I pulled into the one of two gas stations in Roussou. Channing was sitting on the front of my truck when I came out, an energy drink in hand.

  His feet dangled off the hood, and he flashed a cocky grin at the sight of me.

  I faltered for a step, glad to see the cockiness, not the turmoil I had unleashed two nights ago.

  I tightened my hold on my drink before going over. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He was mocking me, giving me the same tight-lipped response.

  I fought against rolling my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t answer that. “You just coming from the house?”

  “Yeah, I slept in.”

  We fell silent, but we both knew what was happening next.

  He was cocky. He was smirking. That meant we were going surface. We weren’t going deep.

  But Channing would wait for me to make the first move—if I wanted to touch him, or if I didn’t. I would set the tone. He usually let me unless his hunger was too much. Then he’d prowl for me, and I could either say yes or no. But not like this, when his hunger was sated, when we were in broad daylight and there were people watching us like I knew there were. Everyone watched us, especially Channing.

  He was revered here. They loved him, and they watched me because they knew he loved me.

  The decision was mine right now. I didn’t know what I wanted myself, so I played it safe.

  I forced out a fake laugh. It made me cringe. “I was heading back to Manny’s.”

  He nodded, still watching me, still not saying anything. His gaze took on a knowing look, like he was reading inside of me.

  “Okay,” he said.

  I shot him a look. “What?”

  His grin spread, slowly. “What?”

  “‘Okay’,” I mocked him. “What’s that mean? ‘Okay’?”

  “I’m not saying it in any way. I’m just agreeing with you.”

  “Come on.”

  “Come on?” His eyes danced, and he lowered his head. “Come on what?”

  He was flirting.

  I couldn’t hold my grin back. “Okay.” I said it exactly the way he had.

  He let out a laugh, reaching for me and pulling me in front of him. He slid his hands through my hair, bringing some of it to cover my face until I couldn’t see anything. “This is how you should wear your hair. It’s very Cousin Itt. You can start a trend, call it Heather’s Itt.”

  “Really?” I was eating my own hair, but I couldn’t dim my smile. He had that effect on me.

  “Oh yeah.” His voice fell soft, growing intimate, and he leaned down, his hand trailing over my back. “And then I can do this all I want.”

  His hand was on my ass. He grabbed a good chunk, but it wasn’t an offensive grab. It was a possessive claim, and I felt his breath on my neck. His lips grazed my skin. He held me close, almost draped over me. I moved into him, my arms sliding up his legs and around his waist. It was an intimate touch. It probably looked uncomfortable as hell from the outside, but they were on the outside. They weren’t standing where I was, and they weren’t feeling how I was feeling with Channing at that moment.

  I didn’t want to move back.

  He sheltered me, and I felt like everything would work out. All the bad shit would be fixed, and I wouldn’t have to face any of it. But that wasn’t the truth, and I groaned as I stepped away.

  His hand left my ass, though he didn’t let me go far. His legs tightened around me, holding me in place, and he closed his arms around my shoulders. He was hugging me, in an almost chaste way. His head rested against mine.

  I felt his tension then, and I knew this hug was for him.

  He needed me, and momentarily surprised, I stayed there.

  I sank back into him.

  “Aren’t you two sweet?”

  Dex Richter!

  The question wasn’t even fully asked before Channing whipped up and jumped down beside me. His body went rigid, and I turned. I knew whose voice that was, and I knew what Channing would want me to do.

  He went forward to deal with Richter as I slipped into my vehicle. I was reversing out of there as I counted how many Demons there were with their leader.

  Richter motioned to me, but I ignored him, spinning my tires to speed a block away before pulling over.

  I called Moose.

  “Heather?”

  “Channing’s at a gas station in Roussou with Richter.”

  There was no hesitation. “Which one?”

  “Miller’s.”

  “On it. Go to Manny’s.”

  “He had four others with him,” I added.

  I caught the slight swear before Moose hung up, and though everything in me wanted to go back and stand with my man, I went to Manny’s. That was my home. Dealing with Richter, that’s where Channing ruled.

  I went to work and tried not to think about what I’d driven away from.

  17

  Channing

  My jaw could cut steel.

  I was goddamn pissed.

  Here was Richter, four of his crew behind him. Their Harleys were in my town, and I wanted to pummel his face into the ground. Instead, I asked a question—with a definite chill to my tone.

  “You think you can roll up on me and my girl?” I took a step closer. “When I’m with my girl?”

  His guys were already standing at attention. That was my first clue Richter was here to mess with me. But at my snap-back, they got into a fighting stance.

&
nbsp; The rage stormed in me, thundering loud, and I was tempted to wade in—caution be damned. Heather and my time with Heather were off-limits. That’s a lesson I thought he’d learned long ago. It seemed a reminder session was due.

  “Whoa, Monroe.”

  I caught the flash of wariness in his eyes before he masked it. I scared him, and that was all I needed to know. That meant he didn’t really have the fortress of men behind him that he acted like he did.

  He rolled his shoulders back, trying to grin. His hand went up. “Chill, man. I didn’t know you and Jax were back together.”

  The fu…? I was done.

  I should’ve waited.

  I knew Heather had called.

  I should’ve given them time to mobilize, but a switch turned off in my head. I stopped thinking. And all the shit from the past few days rolled up and pooled in my fist.

  I swung—consequences be damned—because this fucker had this coming. I clipped him in the face.

  There was a second of silence right after. It was always this way in a fight.

  Someone made the first move, expected or not, then silence. For one blissful second.

  I loved that moment. I relished it. I breathed it in, because I knew it was all I had before time would slam back into place and the consequences would rush me.

  But in that moment right now, as his body fell, I stood over him, and it wasn’t his blood on my hand. It was mine. It was Bren’s. It was my dad’s. It was Heather's.

  It was my daughter’s.

  Then time rushed back to me, and the moment was gone.

  It was time to fight.

  His second rushed me, arm in the air.

  Wrapping my arms around Richter, I slammed him to the ground, but they were on me.

  Four pairs of hands grabbed me, ripping me away before I could really pummel him.

  I heard squealing brakes, and before they could start hitting me, two large figures were on them.

  Moose took one, threw him to the ground, and started railing.

  Congo was next, wrestling their big fucker.

  The last two holding me were yanked away, and Richter returned to my line of sight.

  He froze, seeing me coming, and started to run.

  “Don’t!” I tucked my head and went at him like he was about to score a touchdown, end of the fourth, and he was between me and winning the championship game. That guy was going down, and he knew it.

  He stepped back. His hands came up as I grabbed him.

  I body-slammed him down and began to pound.

  The first hit dazed him, and any fight he might have had was gone. But I was still going. Left, right, left right—I hit him in rapid succession at first, but the longer he stayed still, the more distance I got for my punches. I was rearing all the way up, bringing my fist down from past my shoulder when I heard the first shout.

  I couldn’t stop.

  He’d threatened Heather before. Bren too. Now he came over and… I wasn’t fighting him for the push I knew he was working on to get into Roussou. I was telling him, in my way, that he needed to stay the fuck away from the ones I loved.

  Bren.

  Punch.

  Heather.

  Punch.

  My daughter.

  Punch.

  “Chan!” Moose yelled in my face, pulling at my shoulder.

  I swung, pushing him away.

  I was free. For a second.

  Richter’s face was a bloody mess. I wasn’t even sure where I was hitting. I couldn’t see his eyes or anything. It was one giant mass of oozing blood, and it was getting all over me.

  I still couldn’t stop.

  “CHAN!”

  Three guys were on me, yanking, hauling me backward, pushing me away. They dragged me a few feet before I heard the cop cars coming.

  “Fucking run, man!” My cousin screamed in my face, and I caught a glimpse of Lincoln coming out of the station, the security tapes in his hands.

  We had to go. We had to go now.

  “I got it.” I shoved them off me. “I got it!”

  I didn’t want to spend the night in jail when the rest of the Demons would be on the prowl. They wouldn’t narc on me, wanting to get their own revenge, and no one in Roussou would talk. The security footage had been taken care of, so as long as we got out of here, we were safe.

  For now.

  I started for my truck, but glanced back.

  Five of them were on the ground, and only one had started to sit up. There was a hospital in Frisco. They’d go there, not Fallen Crest.

  As I jumped into my truck, Scratch was at the door.

  “Get over.” He shoved me, not waiting, and got in where I’d been. “You’re not driving. Not after that.” He tore out of there, spitting up loose gravel. “You lunatic.”

  The windows were down, and he was going more than sixty through town, but all I could do was grin at him. He was bleeding from the face, shoulders, arms, and hands, and I just laughed.

  “I bet you’re as bad as me.”

  He didn’t say anything, just drove down the back roads to the bar we ran together. It wasn’t until we pulled up to the back alley that his hands started shaking.

  He parked and just sat there.

  His head hung down. “You could’ve killed him, Chan,” he said before looking at me. “Where’d we all be then?”

  A chill went down my spine.

  He was right.

  An image of myself, throwing fist after fist down on Richter, flashed in my head. I’d felt his cartilage break. I’d felt his teeth shatter. I knew I’d broken a cheekbone.

  And I hadn’t been stopping.

  Scratch was right. I could’ve killed him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t reply.

  A truck pulled up behind us. It was Lincoln. He and Congo were getting out, coming toward us.

  They came for orders.

  My cousin wasn’t in our crew, but he might as well have been. He waded into shit like this for me.

  Congo opened my door and stepped back. “Moose called ahead. Scouts are setting up.”

  I nodded. They’d be positioned outside the hospital, the town of Frisco, and outside Roussou too.

  “I want two sent to Manny’s.”

  Congo pulled his phone out, leaving to put that order through.

  “Bren?” Lincoln asked.

  I hesitated before shaking my head. “Her crew will protect her. She’ll be fine. We’ll give them a heads-up.”

  Scratch rounded my truck, tossing my keys to Lincoln. “If we had any Demons here, they either trashed the place or took off. They’ll be back.” He shot me a dark look.

  I shut the door, wincing at how tight my hands already felt. “I had to,” I called after him. “He threatened Heather and Bren. That was the second time.”

  Scratch held his hands up, going to the bar. He understood, but he was annoyed.

  We needed to be ready, though a quick rebuttal probably wasn’t in the works. Demons were slow, too slow at times.

  I wasn’t planning on sitting back and waiting to see what Richter’s counter would be. I wanted to know before even he knew.

  “Come on.” I nodded to Congo. “You and Lincoln are working tonight. Clean up and start your shift.”

  Lincoln started inside.

  Congo waited. “You sure?”

  I nodded again. “I need to clean up, and then I have to do some work.”

  “What about that con man? Moose said you wanted to find him.”

  “You know where he is?”

  He gestured over his shoulder. “He left the hospital yesterday. He’s in Fallen Crest, at one of the hotels there.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Starroad.”

  Moose came out of the bar’s back door.

  "You parked on the street?” I asked.

  His jaw was tight, just like mine had been. “I did. There’s six Demons inside, just chillin’ like nothing happened.”

&
nbsp; I narrowed my eyes. “Who are they?”

  “Traverse and Connelly are two of them.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Their phones not working?”

  “They were on them, some of the guys. But not those two.”

  That wasn’t right.

  My crew heard I was in trouble and came for me. Those guys should’ve done the same for Richter, unless one of two things was happening—they’d been ordered to sit and wait, retaliate if they got a chance.

  Or…

  I was going with the hunch I’d had as soon as I saw fear in Richter’s eyes. I headed inside.

  Moose and Congo hurried to catch up. “What are you doing, Channing?”

  I heard the trace of worry in Congo’s voice, and it almost changed my mind, but my gut was telling me something. I needed to see if it would work.

  I didn’t know much about the Demon MC, but I did know that Traverse and Connelly were often the ones in my bar. Richter was their leader, but he mostly stayed away. And when Traverse and Connelly were here, they always had the same members with them, plus a few others here and there.

  I stepped inside.

  Moose and Congo were right behind me, and at my presence, Scratch and Lincoln stopped what they were doing. The regulars scattered, and the few customers that had randomly stopped in from Fallen Crest or Frisco weren’t far behind them.

  Traverse and Connelly stayed put, not getting up as I approached their table.

  I studied them, weighing the chances of one of them pulling a gun. As if reading my mind, Traverse flattened his hands on top of the table. Connelly did the same, and so did the others. None of them spoke. They were just waiting, sitting in their usual leather cuts, jeans, chains, and boots. They weren’t dressed any differently than the ones we’d left on the ground outside the gas station.

  I locked eyes with Traverse.

  “You’re speaking for the others here?”

  He nodded, slowly.

  His hair was long and scraggly, always pulled back in a ponytail. He had tattoos running from his ears down his neck, with a dragon tat sweeping all the way around. The head started underneath his left ear and curled to just underneath his right, with its tail in an S shape. His forehead was low and flat. His eyes sunk in, and he had a hard nose ending just over his mouth. I didn’t even want to look there. He had a few missing teeth, but all that ugliness, Traverse was cunning.