Brooks (Dirty Misfits MC #1) Page 2

  But when I looked down at the mail in the passenger’s seat, the top letter infuriated me even further.

  “Why the hell does he keep writing?” I grimaced.

  I reached for the letter from Brooks on top of the stack of coupons and bills. I turned it over and ripped it open, much like I had done with the rest of his letters. And while I was brave enough at times to craft a letter to send back that explained to him just how much I hated him, I never had the balls to send it.

  That never stopped me from reading the letters, though.

  Dear Raven,

  I know this letter is a bit short, but I honestly don’t know if you’re reading these at this point. So, I’ll skip all of the stories and updates on the happenings around me and get straight to the point:

  I’m so sorry.

  I’m sorry that I didn’t have the foresight to see that something was wrong. I’m sorry that I didn’t do what I usually did with jobs like that. Usually, if something strange popped up, I’d call Gage and we would hash it out together. Had I done that instead of taking Hyde at his word, I would have been able t—

  I crumpled up the letter and threw it to the floorboard of the car. I absolutely abhorred the apology letters. The ones with his conspiracy theories on what happened that night. The letters that mentioned Gage and his death. The letters he wrote that made him sound like a flailing damsel in distress just waiting for someone to redeem him.

  I certainly didn’t want to talk with him about Gage.

  And I definitely wasn’t the one who would redeem him of his sins.

  “I’m not Jesus or anything like that,” I said breathlessly.

  Still, I looked down at the crumbled piece of paper and sighed. In the end, it all came back to how I felt about his apology. And the truth of the matter was that it didn’t cut it. His apologies were pathetic, if even that. Gage was dead, my life had been ruined, and no amount of apologies or sucking up could ever undo the pain I had lived with over the past five or so years.

  I mean what if Brooks simply didn’t go on the job? What if Hyde led the cops to Gage instead of shooting? Didn’t Brooks at least try to stop his men? Wasn’t he some big honcho in the group or something like that?

  So much about the shit Brooks spewed off in the letters I managed to read didn’t make sense. And it made me wonder how safe Gage had been with him. If Brooks was always this discombobulated in his mind, then it was no wonder men constantly dropped like flies around him.

  If he couldn't organize his own thoughts, he certainly couldn’t organize the thoughts of his men.

  I’ve left that life. And it’s time to let it be in the past.

  I threw back the rest of my coffee and slipped the thermos into my car cup holder. I eased myself out and tossed my purse over my shoulder, readying myself for another wonderful day with my kiddos. They were the ones that brought me joy in the midst of my sorrow. They were the ones that held the healing hugs and kisses I needed whenever my heart couldn’t mend itself together. And during those moments where I felt more angry and more confused than ever before, all I had to do was scoop up one of them and cuddle them until they told me to let go.

  Which, in some cases, was never.

  Maybe things might’ve been different if Brooks simply would’ve acted first.

  But I shoved the thought away as quickly as it popped into my mind. I needed to stop entertaining those selfish thoughts. I needed to stop cheating on the memory of Gage simply because his best friend had bigger muscles and a cocky-ass smile. Because at the end of the day, Gage was the one who stole my heart. Gage was the one that became the love of my life.

  Maybe that’s why you’re so angry at Brooks.

  Maybe part of me didn’t like reading his letters because it showed me that he was still the same competent, handsome, sexy, intelligent man he’d always been. Maybe part of me had written a few lettered responses I’d never had the balls to send because I was concerned I’d fall back into the same old trap of “loving the bad boy,” as my mother always put it. Maybe—just maybe—the anger I’d always carried wasn’t really anger at all, but rather guilt.

  Guess we both still have a lot in common.

  And as I started for the front door of the daycare, I wondered if Brooks ever tortured himself with what could have been, or should have been, or might have been if he had found the balls to walk up to me that night instead of Gage.

  Three

  Brooks

  “Just to repeat,” the plump man in the middle of the board room said, “this is the parole hearing for one, Michael Brooks. He has served five of his six years, and he was granted the option of parole via good behavior because of his willingness to cooperate with police.”

  I winced at his words because it made me sound like a fucking rat. And I despised snitching little rats. I didn’t cooperate with the police; I simply didn’t give them any grief when they asked me questions. I answered as curtly as possible, not once did I lie, and I still managed to get Hyde off with nothing but a few years of probation and fifteen months with a cuff slapped around his ankle.

  I didn’t cooperate with anyone.

  I just didn’t fucking lie to their faces like some idiots did.

  “I have his file as well as recommendations from both the warden and two of the prison guards,” Mr. Rothsfield said.

  I looked up at him with a curious look. I wasn't really sure how parole hearings were supposed to go, but wasn’t a recommendation from the warden a good thing?

  I watched as my lawyer and the fat man in the middle with a sweat-soaked navy suit exchanged documentation. I watched silently as the board of people sitting in front of me passed around letters and whispered to themselves in order to determine my fate. I peeked up at my lawyer and I found him smirking at me, which I’d only ever seen him do one other time before.

  Holy shit, he’s gonna get me out of here.

  The only other time I’d ever seen him smirk like that was when he took on Hyde’s case. He didn’t seem to mind the conflict of interest, and I liked that because I had been willing the entire time to take the fall for Hyde. As the Enforcer to my club, that was what I did for my men. They looked to me not simply for direction, but for protection. And when Mr. Rothsfield smirked at me in the courtroom before they gave Hyde his sentencing, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  So, why was he smirking at me now?

  Mr. Plump sighed heavily. “Well, I suppose the evidence is pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?”

  The two women beside him nodded their heads while one of them stroked my body with her eyes. She kept staring at my arms and my legs. One of my tattoos that crept up the side of my neck held her gaze before her eyes met mine. And the salacious desires that flashed behind her icy blue stare would have made me smirk just like my lawyer had done to me.

  Only, the woman for me wasn’t inside these prison walls.

  She was out there, living her life with a broken heart I was anxious to mend.

  Mr. Plump picked up his gavel. “This parole board hereby states that Mr. Michael Brooks—brought up on charges of drug trafficking, drug possession, and the selling of illegally-modified cars—has earned his freedom via good behavior over the past four years and eleven months. Mr. Michael Brooks is hereby released from prison, relieved of his sentence, and ordered to vacate the premises by 9 A.M. Friday morning.”

  Two days.

  I was a free man in two fucking days.

  His gavel banged against the desk and my lawyer patted me on the back. I stood and went to shake his hand, but he quickly pulled me into a hug. He patted my back and gripped my shoulders, smiling as triumphantly as I should have been.

  But my mind was already dwelling on thoughts of Raven.

  My God, I’d love to see her.

  My lawyer talked my ear off about shit I didn’t even register as we headed back to my cell. He told me he’d work out the details of my release with the warden herself, then reiterated that in less than forty-eight hours, I’d
be a free man. Granted, I’d need to go to a halfway house for a little while, and I would still have my movements monitored. But that was simply because I didn’t have family to bunk with, nor did I want to inconvenience any of my guys by taking my hefty ass in.

  Unless…

  She wouldn’t do that for me, would she?

  The second I sat down on my lower bunk, I pulled out my letter-writing materials. I wanted to craft the perfect letter for her to announce the fact that I was being released, and that I’d like to see her. I knew she’d say no, and I didn’t blame her one bit for that. Especially since the last time we saw one another, all she did was smack me across my cheek.

  A slap well-deserved, in my opinion.

  Nevertheless, she was the only person in my life I wanted to speak with. The only person I wanted to keep in touch with. While the men in my club had stopped visiting a while back, she was the one shred of happiness I clung to. The one small, beautiful point in my life that never ceased to amaze me. And while the guilt I harbored with continuously reaching out to my best friend’s girl sometimes ate me alive, the hope of getting a response from her one day was worth it.

  Even if the response didn’t come until I was knocking on her door come Friday morning.

  * * *

  “Here are your belongings,” the officer said flatly.

  A plastic bag with my clothes from the day I was arrested got dropped into my arms. I saw my wallet hanging out as well as my cell phone, which was still wrapped up in an old evidence baggy. I saw my socks and my boots. My faded leather cut and my light-wash jeans that had holes ripped in the knees.

  I also saw the blood as well.

  The massive patches of Gage’s blood as I held his body against my own.

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  The officer pointed. “Go through that door and down the hallway. There will be a bathroom to your left for you to change into. Leave the jumpsuit, get into those clothes, and then proceed through the metal door at the end of the hallway.”

  I slowly looked up. “You want me to put on clothes soaked with the blood of my best friend?”

  The officer shrugged. “Unless you’ve got other clothes.”

  My lawyer’s voice sounded behind me. “He does, actually. Brooks, down this way.”

  I turned toward his voice. “What?”

  He waved at me. “Just come down here, would you?”

  I looked the officer up and down before I headed toward the hallway. My lawyer swapped out the clothes in my arms for a fresh pair and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “What do you want me to do with these?” he asked.

  I jammed my shoulder into the bathroom door. “Keep the leather jacket, my wallet, and my phone. Pass me my boots and burn everything else.”

  He started unwrapping the plastic. “The best I can do is throw it in the dumpster on the way out.”

  “Fine by me.”

  I did exactly as the officer instructed and took a look at myself in the mirror. Mr. Rothsfield had been on the club’s payroll for years now. And while he had seen us through a great many sticky situations, I was the first man he had to deal with that had gotten prison time. He’d done well, too. He got me the lowest sentence possible for my charges and somehow wiggled me into parole even though that had never been on the table. From my point of view, the man needed a fucking raise.

  Especially since he helped handle my estate while I was away.

  “Thanks,” I said as I came out of the bathroom.

  He gripped my shoulder. “I’ve got your bike out here for you, if that’s what you’d like to ride away on.”

  I grinned. “You know me too well.”

  He chuckled. “Just doing what I can. You’re a free man now, and I’m sure you’ve missed the rides.”

  I’ve missed Raven more. “Thank you, man. For everything.”

  He opened the metal door for me. “Nonsense, it’s my job. And between you and me? Not everything about your case added up in the first place.”

  The hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end. “So, you think that, too?”

  He led me toward my bike. “Couldn’t discuss it with you while you were in prison, but I can now. And yes, there’s a lot of unanswered questions we didn’t get to the bottom of that night. That’s what I used to negotiate your parole. I told them that if we were really going to stop without having all of the questions answered, the least they could do is give you parole.”

  I snickered. “You’re a fucking snake, you know that?”

  He patted my back. “Oh, and one more thing. I also used that excuse to get you out of the halfway house. So, you’re free to go home right now.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Yeah, you need a raise.”

  He barked with laughter. “Again, just doing my job. But if you want to put in a good word for me? I won’t say no to that, either.”

  I grinned. “Consider it done.”

  I dug my helmet out of the back storage compartment on my bike and slid it onto my head. I looked back at the massive brick building surrounded by metal fencing and barbed wire. I was so glad to be out of that place, especially since Porter had to pay off some guys in there for my own protection. I was a massive target in that place, and it cost Porter a great deal out of his own pocket to make sure I was taken care of and not murdered on sight. Why the club didn’t foot that entire bill, I honestly wasn’t sure.

  But I was hellbent on finding out the answer.

  I was hellbent on finding all of the answers.

  I threw my leg over my bike for the first time in five years and it felt like coming home. The leather cradled my crotch like a dream and the handlebars were itching for me to strike up the engine. A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, though, and when I panned my eyes in that direction, I saw a familiar sight.

  A man, sitting on top of a bike, staring straight at me.

  I was no stranger to people tracking me down. That was just how it went in the lifestyle sometimes. But this was no particular stranger. This was a Black Flag. A member of our rival club that we had been at odds with for years. This was a man from the exact club that kept trying to push us out of our own territory.

  So, I flipped up my visor and stared straight back.

  I wanted him to know that I saw him. I wanted him to know that I had clocked him. That he had failed in his mission to keep tabs on me. And the second our eyes connected, he pushed off the ground and sped away on his bike.

  Before a bike approached me from behind.

  “I see Mr. Rothsfield did his job,” Porter said.

  He rode into my vision and I ripped my helmet off. “Get off that damn bike and get over here.”

  Porter chuckled. “You first.”

  I propped my bike back up and slipped off before I wrapped him up in the biggest hug I’d ever given anyone, outside of Gage. Porter barked with laughter as I picked him up and swung him around like we were in some sort of fucking romantic comedy movie. I never thought I’d be so happy to see that doofus in all my life, but here he was, greeting me as I got out of prison.

  Like the rest of the club should’ve been doing.

  I released the embrace. “So, talk to me. What the hell’s been going on?”

  He slid his helmet back on. “Ready to talk and ride? We’ve got business to attend to.”

  I put my helmet back on. “Already throwing me back into the fire?”

  He got back onto his bike. “You’ve been cooling down for five damn years. You can deal.”

  I chuckled. “You’re damn right, I can.”

  We synced up the Bluetooth headsets in our helmets, then blazed a trail away from the prison. Watching that damned place fall toward the horizon in my rearview mirror filled me with a happiness I couldn’t explain with mere words. The adrenaline and the happiness alone stiffened my cock. I poised myself above my bike and let the wind whip around my body.

  Freedom.

  The air smelled like freedom today.
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  “All right, so,” Porter said as his voice came alive in my ear, “we need to talk about Chops.”

  I blinked. “All right. What’s going on with Chops.”

  “How much do you know about how the club has changed since you’ve been gone?”

  I shrugged. “Not much, especially since you asshats stopped visiting about a year ago.”

  “Hey, not my fault this club went to shit. Had a relapse over it and everything.”

  I peeked over at him. “Seriously? You started drinking again?”

  “Once I tell you the story, you won’t be able to blame me one bit.”

  I vowed to keep an eye on Porter to make sure he stayed on the wagon this time around. Because the last thing I needed was him sinking back into his old, destructive ways.

  We almost lost him twice due to that nonsense.

  “So, you know Hyde was killed, right?”

  I almost ran my bike off the damn road. “Wait a second, what?”

  He sighed. “Oh, boy. Okay, backing up even further. Remember when he got off on his charges with nothing but probation and an ankle monitor?”

  “Uh, yeah. I was there for the sentencing.”

  “Well, a couple of weeks later he’s helping out with a job, right? With a fucking ankle monitor on, because he’s an idiot. Well, he has Chops and me come to his house, we’re planning shit to transport a car, and boom! Police swarm. Chops and I got out just in time, but that’s only because Hyde started shooting.”

  My jaw unhinged in shock. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Nope. Just shot as much as he could. And the police shot back. They riddled his body with bullets, man. It was insane.”

  I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. None whatsoever.”

  “Trust me, I know. Oh, and get this: when they raided his house looking for things after killing him, they found a closet full of coke.”

  I almost slammed on my brakes. “No. No way. Hyde was as clean and as good as they come. There’s no fucking way.”