Page 86 of Misguided
TWENTY-NINE
Dog
The smile on Mel’s face is undeniable as she follows me through to the garage. Thank fuck there’s something that makes me happy I decided to go through with it. Don’t get me wrong; I love to hunt. I originally organized the permit knowing I’d need the time away after dinner with my family. I just didn’t plan on walking out before I’d thought through the fact all my gear is still in my old room after last season.
“You should fit my old clothes,” I tell her as she waits on me to start the bike. “I’ve still got the smaller shit I wore when I was a kid.”
“Is it weird I’m looking forward to dressing up in it and looking like I almost know what I’m doing?”
I chuckle, turning the key and pressing the starter. “Weird, nope. Funny, yeah.”
She climbs on behind me, the shuffle of her hips as she settles into the seat having twice the effect after she stopped us short of crossing that final line. To think I offered to go camping with the woman; just the two of us, alone, no one to hear the things we might get up to. Fuck my life. It could never have ended any other way.
“We’ll stop off and get what things we’re short after I pick the gear up from my old man’s,” I explain as we pull out of the garage.
The prospects wheel the gate open as we approach, giving a wave as we pass through.
“I probably should have told someone what I’m doing,” she shouts over the roar of the engine as I accelerate onto the road.
“I’ll message Callum when we get there.” There’s a reason why I didn’t say anything before we left the property, and that’s because I didn’t want to face what Hooch might have done if he knew I was taking his sister away for a few nights.
Yeah, the big guy’s preoccupied with club business, but damn, a brother’s love ain’t anything to be messing with.
Mel’s still legally dead. I’m literally transporting a ghost on main roads and highways for the second time in as many weeks. How many times can we fuck with chance before the jig is up? I blame you for this, little fella. Goddamn, thinking with my dick again.
All I wanted to do was cheer her up. Bullshit. All I wanted to do was keep her to myself a little longer. Who knows what’ll happen when we get back this time? Mel will most likely get dragged back down to Fort Worth, and then there’ll be me, begging at my president’s door for a transfer because I’m one pussy-whipped motherfucker.
Mel settles into the same old comfortable position as we reach the open road, her hands placed against the muscles that dip below my belt line. I lean a little more than I should into the corners, seeing if I can get her to slip her hold a little bit lower. Yet she holds steady—a pro.
Sure enough, by the time we pull up outside my old man’s place, I’m sporting the convoy cock from hell at the most inappropriate time.
“What have we stopped here for?”
I sigh, looking at the ostentatious split-level house. “This is my dad’s place.”
“Oh.” She stretches, messing with her hair so it sits a little straighter. “I thought he had a farm or something.”
Yeah. She’s heard the bullshit lie too. I guess in a way that should make me happy. After all, it goes to show I did a good job of making people believe what I wanted them to.
“Nope. This is his.”
Mel climbs off, leaning left to right to flex her stiff back.
“Wait here.” I lean the bike on its stand and dismount. “I’ll be back out real soon.”
She frowns, but still, she nods and leans her ass against the side of my seat, arms folded as she watches me approach the house.
Hopefully the fucker isn’t home, but when he does half of his work from here, my chances aren’t all that great. It doesn’t take long before I find out the answer.
“You dare come back here after you accuse Derek of the things you did?” my father shouts as he swings the front door wide open. He advances onto the stoop, hands braced on his hips. His tie is undone, loose around his throat, and he’s kicked his shoes off, standing in his suit pants barefoot.
Must be working on something important. He’s always put together, presentable, unless he’s been buried in his office working through a proposal. Then again, Derek did say he was terminal. Might explain the pale skin and dark circles under his eyes.
“Got a few things I want to collect.” I reach his position and stop, giving him time to decide what he wants to do. “I’ll take my things and then you won’t see me again. Ever.”
If he chooses to throw down on the spot, then I’m all fucking for it. But his style is more verbal. His tongue cuts like a knife, leaving no visible scars and yet the damage is so severe I swear he’s taken years off my life.
“Nothing in here is yours anymore, Koen.” He jerks his chin higher.