16. Cam

sixteen

Cam

Riley was with Kenna. Instead of heading toward Archer’s to hang out alone, I turned toward the winding stretch of highway that slipped through the edge of the county and butted up against a state park.

Here the desert gave way to rolling hills and bright, painted rock formations. It was like riding through an alien planet. I had too much going on, too much to think about. I needed to slow it down, make sense of shit.

Preacher had killed Archer.

He’d tried, twice, to intimidate Riley.

He wanted my patch.

And he was fucking around with my godmother.

“Shit.”

I turned the bike, kicked it into gear, and headed toward Ro’s place. She’d be off, probably asleep. But something in my gut had soured. There hadn’t been many people in my young life I trusted, looked forward to seeing, or who made me feel loved. Ro was one of the only ones.

I wouldn’t have this life if not for her and Archer.

We’d seen her at the diner. She could have easily overheard Riley and me talking. I hadn’t thought of it before, because I didn’t want it to be true. The past few days had proved that the only two people Riley and I could trust fully were each other.

Ro had broken my heart. Now I needed to hear her say it. Before I cut her out of my life, I had to know.

I pulled down the familiar gravel drive. A few sturdy trees had tried to grow here, most likely from Ro’s attentions. Her cactus garden flourished in front of the deck I’d helped build a few years ago.

A mixture of betrayal and hurt swamped me. It was like being a kid all over again. I hated the vulnerability. Climbing off the bike, my stomach folded in on itself and bile rushed up the back of my throat.

One look at Ro, standing on her tidy porch, arms wrapped around herself, and I had all the answers I needed. She thought her relationship with Preacher was real. I was too damn mad for pity.

“Want to come in?” She was hesitant, afraid even.

Scared of me. That was fucked up. I wanted to throttle Preacher just for that. No matter how pissed off or hurt I was, I’d never lay a finger on Ro. She’d raised me, loved me, and just like Archer, got sucked into Preacher’s manipulations.

“Nah, I won’t be here long.”

She recoiled with a sort of sadness, looking twenty years older than how I saw her in my mind. Would Mom have looked like this? A healthy woman in her mid-forties, with lines showing around her eyes and at her neck?

I hadn’t thought much about Mom since Riley came into my life. She’d distorted all the painful things, sandblasted them until even the color of the blood was gone.

But when I did now, it was like being dropped off in front of this place by child services all over again. Hell, her robe looked old enough it could have been the one Ro was wearing that night.

“I’m sorry, Cameron, I should have told you.” Tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of a trembling hand. “And I’m so sorry you lost him, so sorry for all the bad things—”

“Stop.” I rubbed a hand across my mouth and chin, then shoved it in my front pocket. “I don’t want to hear any of that bullshit.” Then I pounced. “Why Preacher?”

She balked, then her face went hard. “I’m allowed to have a personal life.”

“You could have picked any man in the fucking state. Why him?”

“Do you not want me to be happy, Cam? Isn’t he allowed to have a life, too?”

“I don’t give a fuck about what he does outside of the club.” I laughed without humor.

“Seems like you do.” She made a point, but I was past caring.

“I thought, with how close you’ve grown to Riley, maybe you could understand.” Her expression slipped back to sad.

“That’s not the same. And what you know of that is a distorted version he fed you.”

“He said you’d say that.”

“No shit. Preacher is a manipulative fuck. He’s using you to get to me.”

“He said you’d say that, too.”

Of course he did. I rolled my eyes and turned out toward those two trees again, to keep from losing my shit on her.

The wood of the porch creaked as she stepped closer and leaned against the railing. “Whatever is going on between you and Preacher, he really wants what’s best for you, for the Kings.”

“That’s a mother fucking lie.” This time when I faced her, I was beyond angry. My rage must’ve shown because she recoiled like she’d been shot. “When you told him we’d been at the lawyer, he took that information and showed up at Archer’s trying to intimidate Riley, scare her. Then tried to take my patch this morning. And you think he cares about me ?”

She didn’t correct me, instead she dropped her head in defeat, admitting with that one move that she had told him.

The closest thing to a mother I’d ever had, even when Mom was alive, had betrayed me. I stepped onto the bottom step and let all my anger leak out. “The biggest joke is you believing he cares about you. That a woman as smart as you can’t see what a piece of shit he is. And when he’s done hurting me through you, he’s going to toss you to the side like desert roadkill.”

“You should be happy for me.” Crying now, she closed her eyes, not daring to look me in mine.

A memory of Mom surged forward; one Riley hadn’t scrubbed away. Each time I railed against whatever new junkie guy she’d brought home, she’d turn on me. Her desire to be wanted, or whatever the fuck it was, had cost me a childhood.

“You sound just like her.”

“Your mom—”

“Said the exact fucking thing each time she found someone new.”

Ro shook her head no, tears falling freely. “This isn’t the same, Cameron.”

“Funny.” I climbed on my bike, unable to watch her cry. “The betrayal I feel, this pain in my gut? It’s exactly the fucking same.”

“Cam…”

I fired up the engine and took off before I said something even more damaging.

Preacher would drop her as soon as he realized he couldn’t use her to get to me. She couldn’t say I didn’t warn her.

Riley was still at Kenna’s when I got back to the house. I sat at the table under the carport, kicked my feet up, and rolled a blunt from the bag in my pocket.

“God damn it, Archer.” I cursed out loud. He’d put me in a hell of a place. Everyone I cared about was circling the drain.

Fuck.

I was still sitting there, smoking, when the sound of Harleys approaching broke into my thoughts. Merc’s I could tell from sound alone, and someone else.

Several seconds later he coasted into my driveway, Puck right behind him.

“Hear him out,” Merc said, as he hopped off the bike. He was amped up; out of nowhere, suddenly bursting with energy and emotion. He’d been that way since he’d come back from deployment. Calm and unshakeable, until he wasn’t. Then it would take him days to wear back down. He’d be ready for a fight the rest of the fucking week.

Puck got off slower. His face was solemn, like something really bothered him.

“What’s up, brother?” I passed the blunt to Merc, who hovered as Puck collapsed into the chair across from me.

“It’s been a long-ass twenty-four hours.” Puck soothed a hand over his beard.

Amen to that. “How’s Kenna?”

“She was out of it when I saw her. But Dylan says she’s better today, up and about and whole.”

I didn’t want to know how bad it was, didn’t need to, and wasn’t planning on asking.

“We got there just in time,” Merc told me, anyway, as he passed the blunt to Puck.

“Any blowback to get Preacher all wound up again?” I’d smoked nearly half the fucking thing by myself and didn’t feel shit.

“It’s all over the news.” Merc nodded to my phone. “Regular sort of coverage, not a whisper of us.”

It only took a few quick swipes of my finger to see the report. Four dead. Car crash. All fairly anti-climatic. I felt no guilt. One of them had put his hands on Riley. I’d have killed him right there in front of her, but I hadn’t wanted her to see that.

The rest of them, well, they wouldn’t be gang raping anyone ever again.

I was tired down to my bones, regardless.

“How’s Riley?” Puck asked on a short cough.

“She’s good.”

“About all of this.” Puck took another contemplative drag and passed the blunt back to me. “As we were leaving Desert Lights, I ran into Preach and Ghost. Told Preach what was going on. He shrugged it off, said it wasn’t a club problem.”

He leaned forward, lips tight. “Then he brought it up sideways at Chapel this morning. But brother…I don’t like the way this is playing out. Letting the peckerwoods off scot-free, this shit, his sudden desire to have that little fuck patched in, but threatens to rip yours? Something’s off.”

Then he looked from Merc, unsure, and back to me. “One of my tattoo artists fucks around with one of Garza’s guys. Said they were asking her about Preacher.”

“Remember what we talked about?” Merc grunted.

Loyalty. Last night, and this morning, had showed me which guys would follow me into battle. Even if it was against Preacher.

“If the cartel is looking for him, that explains a lot.” The man had vices. He and Archer had argued about them a lot.

“You’ve got the votes to take his place,” Puck mused.

“I don’t want it.” Fuck that, no way in hell. Not since I’d met Riley. I was finding better things to consume my life than the club.

Which was a crazy fucking thing to think about.

Unless she left, then I’d have nothing. My heart stuttered in my chest, and my lungs pulled tight.

“You’re the only one the younger guys would back.” Merc paced near the table, speaking over his shoulder. Restless.

“We’d all back your dad.” Neither of them could argue that. “But we don’t need to go that far. Not yet.” Not until I figured some shit out.

I couldn’t tell them all my suspicions, not yet.

“What did you say to Ghost?” Puck changed the subject. He shifted in his seat. “I beat his ass.”

“I rattled his cage. Nothing important.”

This time Puck grunted.

“Shits going to get real at some point,” I said, because I had to give him something. “Keep your eyes open, especially where he’s concerned.”

“You think it’s all connected? Archer dying, the peckerwoods?” Puck stopped short of saying Preacher’s name.

“Archer didn’t have a god-damned reason to off himself.” Merc’s words were sharp, matter of fact.

I held my tongue. Let him draw his own conclusion.

“Jesus.” Puck tugged on his beard with a shake of his head. Then he stood, stalked toward the edge of the carport and stared at nothing.

“If half the table went rogue, it would make him look weak. Force him to do something stupid…out himself,” Puck said.

“You got any ideas?” I mused.

Merc turned to me, grinning. “I might have a few.”