Page 91 of Misguided

THIRTY-ONE

Dog

Mel dips her shoulder to help get the gun bag off, her dark hair slipping over her face as she untangles herself from it. We’ve stopped back at the clubhouse to get what things I can from upstairs, thanks to the old man banning me from his fucking place. Figured we may as well trade the bike for the truck, too, making it easier to bring anything back if we score a kill. It won’t feel right going out in my everyday clothes, but now that I’m determined to take her out for her first experience at hunting, I don’t want to give up on the idea.

Things have been hard lately, and losing myself—ourselves—in the wild for a few days sounds like heaven.

“Do you want me to do anything?” Mel asks, using the backs of her hand to flick her hair over her shoulders again.

“Nope.” Not other than stand there a while longer, looking pretty.

She’s a stunner—the best parts of her momma, and whatever her daddy filled the bucket with. I’ve never seen her mother, only heard stories about her, but I can guess just by looking at the woman before me what it was that stole Judas’ breath.

“Well, I might see if I can find Hooch, then. Make sure he knows I’m not riding back with them.”

“Sounds like a plan.” And like certain death for me.

All I can hope, now that Hooch has Dagne, is he can take one look at me and see I have the same good intentions for his sister.

Mel picks up her bag of clothes and tips her lips up in a smile when she realizes I’m still frozen, watching her. The rose of her cheeks grows slightly as she drops her gaze to the floor.

My next breath cements in my throat as the full force of how I feel about this little lady dawns on me in that moment. I struck up a conversation with her years ago, on a chance, not knowing it would lead to this.

Not knowing she’d be on my mind constantly ever since.

Not knowing a part of me would die when I thought she was lost forever.

And definitely not knowing that I’d be standing here, now, looking at her as she sucks in a deep breath, and realizing that I love her.

I fucking love Mel.

Her smile spreads as I step forward and wrap my free hand around her neck, the gun bag still in my other, and pull her closer. Mel’s breath hitches, eyes wide as I tug her body flush against mine and place a kiss to her parted lips.

“I’m lookin’ forward to this,” I admit as I let her go. So many things I’m going to tell her when the time is right.

She cocks her head and smiles. “Me too.”

I swing the bag to my shoulder and head for the clubhouse before I let my urges get the better of me. She’s so accepting of me, passing no judgment on any part of who I am. Yeah, she gave it to me straight when I was a cocky shit back at the barn, but never once did she put me down for who I am; just told me it didn’t impress her at all.

Truth is, I’m not trying to impress her. Even then. I’d pegged her as unobtainable given her status on the club, so I accepted the fact we’d probably always be friends. I didn’t want her to be amazed by me; I just wanted her to like me. Acceptance meant way more than accolades—still does.

I chance a look across the common room as I start up the stairs. Mel approaches King’s open office door, her shoulders rising with the deep breath she takes. I catch a glimpse of Hooch beyond, sitting in the seat before King’s desk. My gut twists at the thought of him telling her to stay away from me. What if he really doesn’t approve? Those two have only got each other left, and there’s no way, no matter how I feel about Mel, I’m denying her that.

To be the cause of her losing everything? Nope. Never.

I drop the guns on my bed, scowling as I look at the bag. Several grand worth of hunting equipment sits up in that fucking room at my old man’s place. I should have brought it across with me at the end of last season, but for some fucked up reason, I thought it’d be safer there; less people looking for shit to hock off to fund their drug habits.

Yes, the Aces are a good bunch, but there are still the few that ruin our name for the rest. Still a few that are stuck in the old belief that living an outlaw life means checking your morals and dignity at the door. Modern times call for a modern attitude, and with King at the head of the table, I’ve got confidence he can seamlessly blend the two: a life of crime and self-respect.

“Hey.”

I turn to see Callum leaning against my door. “What’s up?”

He jerks his head toward the stairs. “King’s in if you wanted to square that stuff away with him.”

Fuck’s sake. “Yeah, I saw him. We’ve already done it.” I cross to the closet; sure I’ve got a pack in here somewhere.

“Where you goin’?” Callum pushes off the doorframe and walks over to where I’ve laid the gun bag down. “Hunting?”