Home > Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(24)

Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(24)
Author: Madeline Sheehan

Deuce sent the toe of his boot into Tiny’s shin. “Wake up,” he growled. Nothing. Tiny continued to sleep, his large head lolling side to side with every earth-shattering snore.

Deuce kicked him harder. “Wake the fuck up!”

Tiny jerked, blinked twice, and then started snoring again.

Muttering curses, Deuce gathered the collar of Tiny’s sweat-stained T-shirt in his fist and yanked him upright. “Wake the fuck up, you useless piece of shit!”

Tiny’s eyes flew open. “What? Where?” Breathless, Tiny frantically scanned the waiting room.

Deuce released him with a light shove. “Who killed The Judge and his old lady?” he demanded.

There was no sense in beating around the bush. The Hells Horsemen and the Silver Demons were more than just business partners. While still technically two clubs, they both operated under one umbrella and functioned as one unit—a unit both Deuce and Preacher presided over. Soon though, all of that power would be going to Deuce’s eldest son, Cage, and who-the-fuck-ever the Demons chose to replace Preacher. Long story short, Demon business was Horsemen business and vice versa, and so Deuce figured he had every goddamn right to know who the fuck killed the former president of the Silver Demons.

“Wh-what?” Sputtering and wide-eyed, Tiny glanced nervously around the room.

“You heard me,” Deuce growled, his irritation mounting. “Who killed The Judge?”

Tiny pushed himself into as much of an upright position as his overly round body would allow. “Ain’t nobody ever figured that shit out, and why the fuck you bringin’ this up now? Ain’t it bad enough my Prez is—”

“Your Prez is on his fuckin’ deathbed spillin’ his guts to Eva. Tellin’ her all about Debbie and the summer he met her.”

Placing his hands on the loveseat’s armrests, Deuce leaned down into Tiny’s personal space. His next words were spoken softly, but with deadly intonation. “I’m guessin’ you remember that summer, yeah?”

Tiny’s eyes grew rounder, wider, and he began to shake his head, his heavy mass of gray curls bouncing riotously around his shoulders. “You’re lyin’!” he shouted, and Deuce quickly straightened in order to avoid the mist of spittle flying from Tiny’s mouth.

“You’re lyin’!” Tiny repeated as he attempted to stand.

It took him three tries to gain enough momentum to lift his giant body from the couch. Panting with exertion, Tiny glared angrily at Deuce. “Ain’t nobody talks about Debbie, you hear me? Ain’t nobody talks about The Judge and Ginny, or that summer! Those are Preacher’s rules and he wouldn’t be breakin’ ‘em!”

“His rules, genius,” Deuce said flatly. “And he’s dyin’, remember? So I’m guessin’ he doesn’t give two fucks about breakin’ ‘em.”

Tiny, his face a mass of angry red blotches, went still. The rage in his expression quickly shifted to shock. “Shit,” he muttered, wiping his brow. “Eva’s gonna know. She’s gonna know we all lied to her. She’s gonna know I lied to her.”

Deuce felt a pang of pity for Tiny, and for all the Silver Demons that had been around long enough to have been wrapped up in Preacher’s web of lies. Eva wasn’t just the love of Deuce’s life; she had an entire club full of old men who’d watched her grow up, who’d helped raise her. Men who’d rather shoot their own faces off than ever see her hurt.

“The Judge,” Deuce pressed. “Who killed him?”

Tiny’s features pinched and twisted. “You don’t understand—it ain’t as easy as all that. Things weren’t never black and white. Preacher, he was different back then, and this was…”

Tiny threw his hands up in the air helplessly. “You don’t know how bad he beat himself up for so many things. But he didn’t know! He didn’t know until later, until it was too fuckin’ late and everybody was already long gone.”

As Deuce tried to make sense of his nonsensical declaration, Tiny collapsed back onto the sofa and dropped his head into his hands. His next words were muffled and full of grief.

“He never forgave himself.”

“Who did it?” Deuce slammed his fist on the arm of the sofa and Tiny’s head shot up, his eyes filled with tears.

“Did the club vote?” Deuce demanded. “Did the fuckin’ gavel go down? That means whatever went down was club business, and seein’ as how our clubs are—”

“West.”

One-Eyed Joe’s boots pounded an agitated rhythm as he crossed the room. And damn, the man could still glare. Even with only one eye. In fact, it was the eye patch that made him look even more menacing—like an angry old pirate.

“Leave him be,” Joe snarled. “It ain’t his story to tell.”

“Yeah? Whose fuckin’ story is it then?” Deuce straightened to his full height and folded his arms over his chest. He matched Joe’s one-eyed glare with a two-eyed scowl that usually sent his own boys running for cover. Joe, however, didn’t bat an eye. He wouldn’t though, not with a man like Preacher for a brother and boss.

The stare-down dragged on for several more tense seconds until Tiny let out a nervous laugh. “You two ain’t gonna fight, are you? ‘Cause I don’t wanna get kicked out of the hospital.”

Stone-faced, Deuce turned to Tiny and stared him down until Tiny had enough smarts to look away. How the rest of the Demons could stand the blubbering idiot, Deuce had no idea.

“They were my parents, too.” Some of the anger faded from Joe’s expression. “So I’m thinkin’ it’s my story to tell.” Joe gestured with his chin. “Walk with me.”

Neither Deuce nor Joe spoke as they headed down the hall. The elevator ride to the main floor was tense and silent, punctuated by Joe’s irritating tendency to suck loudly on his teeth. By the time they’d reached the first floor, Deuce pushed ahead of Joe and practically burst outside—only to be greeted by stale, pungent air and the obnoxious sounds of too much traffic.

“I know my niece has got you on a tight leash, God love her.” Smiling and shaking his head, Joe offered him a cigarette. “But brother, you’re gonna need this.”

Eyeing the cigarette, Deuce hesitated. His cravings had never really gone away entirely. And now, stuck in this concrete hellhole, dealing with Preacher’s bullshit, they’d doubled.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and lit what was undoubtedly going to be his very last cigarette in life after Eva smelled it on him—and promptly killed him.

“How much do you remember of that summer?” Joe asked.

Deuce shook his head. “Not a whole fuck of a lot.”

He’d racked his brain, trying to remember anything else other than what he’d already told Eva, but it was half a lifetime ago. The older he got, the more everything began to blur together—murders included.

Joe stared out across the street, smoke filtering slowly through his nostrils. “Some of us thought it might have been Reaper,” he said quietly.

“He didn’t kill women,” Deuce replied tonelessly, hoping he didn’t sound as if he were defending his father—a man he’d hated all his life, a man he’d personally paid someone to kill. He was simply speaking the truth. Reaper West had treated the fairer sex like shit on a shoe, but had only ever killed people he’d considered a problem. Seeing as how Reaper hadn’t thought much of women to begin with, hadn’t had a use for them other than to fuck them, he wouldn’t have thought they were worth the trouble or the resources.

“They were good people.” Joe faced Deuce. “My old man started the club to help vets get back on their feet, you know? And my mom, hell, she woulda given you the shirt off her back and whatever else you needed. That woman had a heart of gold.”

Deuce scarcely remembered them. He’d met The Judge way back when, but it had been during a time in his life when his main concern had been trying to survive having Reaper as a father. That unlucky lot in life had included incessant name calling, and dodging punches or taking them so his little brother didn’t have to.

   
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