Craving Redemption (46 page)
Read Craving Redemption Online
Authors: Nicole Jacquelyn
Tags: #Coming of Age, #Romance, #Genre Fiction, #Contemporary, #Literature & Fiction
Men like my father and my uncles. Men I loved with all my heart.
Men like Deuce.
“I like Hendrix,” I said. “But Janis rules. I listen to ‘Rose’ almost every single day!”
He grinned down at me and dimples popped out all over the place.
“I like you, kid,” he said, still grinning. “You got good taste in tunes, and you’ve got a pair of Chucks on instead of those stupid fuckin’ high-tops everyone’s wearin’.”
He liked me. This was hands down the best day ever.
“I hate high-tops,” I said, wrinkling up my nose.
He winked. “Me, too.”
I was so throwing out all my high-tops when I got home.
When it was my turn in line, I stood on my tiptoes and popped change into the machine. I took my time studying the selections, deciding on a small bag of salted peanuts. Moving out of the way, I watched as the man bought two bags of potato chips, three candy bars, and a big chocolate chip cookie.
“Wow,” I said. “You’re really hungry.”
He laughed. “Not for me.” He pointed across the room. “My old man.”
I spared a quick glance at my father and Uncle Joe. Their heads were bowed over the table, still “having a word.”
“Can I meet him?” I asked.
His eyebrows popped up. “Uh, he’s kinda cranky.”
I laughed. All the men I knew were kinda cranky.
I slipped my hand in his and looked up, ready to go meet his father. His hand was warm and comfortable, like my bed was after I’d slept in it all night.
He stared down at our joined hands, his expression confused.
“Ready,” I told him, tugging on his hand. Shrugging, he led me to a nearby table where an older man with a long gray beard and a shaved head sat, cuffed the same way my father was. He released my hand to take his seat, and I climbed into the seat next to him.
“Hi,” I said cheerfully.
“You got somethin’ to tell me?” the old man asked his son.
“She likes Janis,” he replied.
The old man studied me. “You like Janis, kid?”
I nodded. “And Steppenwolf and Three Dog Night and the Rolling Stones and Billie Holiday—”
“Billie Holiday?” he interrupted, sounding surprised.
I popped some peanuts in my mouth and nodded. “She rules.”
The old man grinned and his entire face changed. I knew immediately; a long time ago, this cranky old man had been as beautiful as his son.
“I like Billie Holiday,” he said gruffly.
“I like you,” I said spontaneously because I always said stuff spontaneously. “Do you want some peanuts?”
“Sure, kid,” he said, smiling. “I’d love some.”
I poured the rest of my peanuts into his hand, and he popped them all into his mouth at the same time.
“Eva!”
I jumped at the sound of my uncle Joe’s voice. He was walking briskly across the room toward me. Once he reached the table, not only did Uncle Joe looked pissed off, but so did my two new friends.
“You got a death wish?” Uncle Joe whispered to the old man. “Horsemen are in good with the Demons. Let’s fuckin’ keep it that way.”
“Ah,” the old man said, looking back at me. “You must be Preacher’s little girl. He’s talked ’bout you. Proud as fuck, he is.”
I nodded proudly. “I am Preacher’s little girl. And I’m gonna be just like him when I grow up. I’m gonna have a Fat Boy, but I want mine to be sparkly, and I want a pink helmet with skulls on it. And instead of being the club president, I’m gonna be the club queen ’cause I’m gonna marry the biggest, scariest biker in the whole world, and he’s gonna let me do whatever I want because he’s gonna love me like crazy.”
My uncle Joe burst out laughing, and the old man shook his head, smiling. The beautiful man turned to face me and leaned forward.
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he whispered.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was captivated by the intensity I saw in his bright blue-and-white-flecked eyes. They reminded me of a frosted-over lake. He had beautiful icy blue eyes that sucked me in to a warm, safe place that I wanted to stay inside of forever.
He stuck out his hand, breaking the spell. “Name’s Deuce, sweetheart. My old man here is Reaper. It was nice talkin’ with ya.”
I put my hand in his, and his big fingers closed around mine. “Eva,” I whispered. “That’s my name, and it was so, so great to meet you, too.”
He smiled. And his eyes smiled, too. I got lost again in his pretty eyes.
Then Uncle Joe picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. “Isn’t that fuckin’ expensive-as-hell private school teachin’ you ’bout talkin’ to strangers?” he said. “Gonna have a talk with those prissy fuckers. Gonna have a talk with my fist.”
“Bye,” I yelled, waving frantically as I was marched away.
Reaper gave me a two-handed handcuffed wave and a big smile.
Deuce got to his feet grinning and gave me a two-finger salute. “Bye, darlin’.”
Darlin’.
It was official. I was head over heels in love.
• • •
Deuce watched One-Eyed Joe, Silver Demon lifer, stalk off with Preacher’s kid hanging over his shoulder, grinning and waving like a lunatic. He shook his head and smiled. When he could no longer see her, he lost his smile and turned back to his old man.
His old man had lost his smile, too.
“Cute kid,” Reaper grumbled. “Shoulda had a girl instead of you two fucks.”
He stared at his old man. He had a moment of longing, watching him smile at that kid and talk to her the way he should have talked to his own kids but never had. He’d been too busy beating on him and his brother.
Good times.
“Preacher’s on the move,” Reaper growled. “Takin’ that fuckin’ deal with the Russians right out from under you. Why the motherfuck didn’t you snap that shit down when you had the chance?”
And there it was. He was VP, and that’s all he was to his old man. Someone to pass the fucking gavel to when he finally—and it couldn’t come fast enough—kicked it.
“Preacher’s road chief beat me to it. Snagged that shit ’fore I even heard about it.”
Reaper’s expression went glacial. “You’re such a fuckin’ fuckup. Shoulda made Cas VP. Shoulda had that fuckin’ cunt of a whore get ridda ya.”
His mother had been a whore—not a streetwalker but a club whore. She was sixteen when his father knocked her up, his old man nearly thirty. After he was born, his old man kicked her to the curb with nothing but the clothes on her back. All he’d ever had of his mother was a gritty picture of a very young girl sitting on his old man’s Harley; O
LIVIA
M
ARTIN
was written on the back. He liked to think that she started a new life somewhere else with someone who was nothing like his old man. Found some peace and a family who loved her.
His younger brother, Cas, was the product of another knocked-up whore. Same story, different day.
For twenty-three years, he’d been putting up with his shit. He’d had enough. Pushing out of his chair he stood up, placed his palms on the table, and leaned forward.
“Nobody—and when I say nobody, I mean fuckin’ everybody—gives two fucks about what happens to you, you miserable shit. The club respects their prez, but not one of your boys gives a fuck whether you live or die. You got life, old man, and I been runnin’ shit in your absence. And seein’ as I been runnin’ shit a fuck of a lot better than you, I don’t have to come here. But I do outta fuckin’ respect, and I just lost the last shred of respect I had left.”
“You little shit,” Reaper hissed. “You’re gonna pay—”
“No. You’re gonna pay. Puttin’ the cash up for bids the minute I walk outta here.”
Fear flashed through his old man’s eyes. He’d never seen anything sweeter.
“Remember, you piece-of-shit fuck, when you’re bleedin’ out, that it was me who fuckin’ ordered it.”
He turned away before his old man could say another word and strode through Rikers’ visiting room breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest, determined to end that man.
“Deuce!” a little voice squealed. He turned.
Eva was gunning for him. Just before she reached him, she came skidding to a stop, breathing heavy, and thrust her hand out. “Didn’t get to share with you,” she said breathlessly.
He bent down and closed his hand around a small bag of peanuts.
His throat closed up.
This kid, this little fucking kid who didn’t know him at all, had just given him his first gift with nothing expected in return, no favors, no stipulations, no nothing. He’d been wrong. There was something sweeter than seeing fear in his old man’s eyes. Eva was far sweeter. If he ever had a kid, he wanted a kid like this one.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he said hoarsely.
“Will I ever see you again?” She cocked her head to the side, wide-eyed, waiting for his response.
He stared into her eyes, her phenomenal eyes that were too big for her face. Big and smoky gray like a thunderstorm. Fucking beautiful.
He smiled. “Hope so, sweetheart.”
She gave him a killer cute grin and bounced back to her old man and uncle—who were staring daggers at him—shaking those pigtails.
After shoving the peanuts in his pocket, he left. First street pay phone he saw, he posted the hit. It took all of an hour, and he had a buyer. Three days later, his old man bled out in the showers.
Table of Contents
